Second Verse, Same as the First Chapter 1, a supernatural fanfic

Warnings: This is Dean/Castiel, written before Season 5 of Supernatural (when the trickster was still a trickster).

I don't own them. If I did, there would be more making out and less walking away.

Summary: On a day that doesn't seem to want to end, Dean and Castiel are faced with an opponent who attempts to force them apart with the barter of one's freedom in exchange for the other's absolute death. But who's life is worth more? A human's or an angel's? And for two creatures who seemingly dislike each other, why is it so hard to choose?

Something didn't feel right.

Dean opened his eyes and shut them almost instantly, a bright, perfectly placed ray of sunshine falling directly across his vision that scorched his retinas on contact. He cursed, stuffing his face into his pillow and rolling over slightly in order to avoid the stretch of unnecessary light.

What a way to wake up. Lame.

"Saaaam..." Dean groaned out, sounding like he was ten years younger. "Close the damn curtain…" His words were muffled by the pillow, but it would be enough to annoy his brother from sleep, at the least.

Sure enough, he heard the blind shift closed, the extra warm feeling that had stretched down his bared leg in the sunbeam now fading. He grinned into the cheap, fake fluff of fabric beneath his face, glad to have won that argument rather effectively. Sam must've really been tired if he just did it without comment…

Then it took him a second to remember that his brother wasn't supposed to be there yet.

Dean's hand gripped around the handle of his knife beneath the pillow and he twisted, ready to yank it out at any second with deadly intent.

"Hello, Dean."

Instead, he very nearly jumped out of his skin.

Dean cursed, louder this time before he fell back onto the pillow with an irritated groan. Figured.

"What the fuck, Cas." He mumbled before pushing himself back up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He yawned, then stretched, blatantly ignoring the figure behind him for as long as he possibly could. The stupid angel wanted to watch him sleep, fine, what the fuck ever. Let'm enjoy the scenery while he was at it, the kinky son-of-a-bitch.

But that feeling was still there, and it twitched a nerve that felt like a shiver down the back of his spine. Dean blinked before turning and giving Castiel an odd look, barely able to see more than a human shaped silhouette as he stood before the sun blocked curtain.

"Wait…seriously, what the fuck this time? Didn't you do this to me yesterday? What're you, batting for a heart attack?"

There was silence in reply, and Dean moved to wipe the sleep from his eyes and scrub a hand down his face impatiently as he ran through what he could remember of the previous day. It was weird, but everything seemed kinda fuzzy, like he hadn't actually gone through it so much as maybe dreamed it?

All this 'save the world' shit was really gonna make him lose his mind.

Still the angel didn't answer him, and Dean made a face. He stood to his feet and walked over to him, rumpled t-shirt falling down over his slim fitting shorts. There was a time when it would have bothered him that Castiel was standing in the room while he was half naked. Funny how he really didn't care so much anymore.

He reached up and yanked the curtain back again, spilling the room with light so that Dean could now see Castiel's face in all his plain-expressioned glory, as he himself blinked groggily into the sun.

The damn android was looking at him contemplatively (or what Dean assumed was with contemplation of some sort), but there was confusion there too. Maybe? Or maybe Dean was seeing things.

"You gonna speak at all? If you're just gonna come in here and watch me sleep, I demand breakfast in return ya know."

Castiel didn't bite, but then, that was nothing new. Kill joy.

"I have more information for you on the seal you're currently researching." He finally said, his voice its usual, husky drone of righteous and boring. Dean rolled his eyes. "The book you need is called the Sefer-"

"Yeah, duh, you told it to me…yesterday." Dean interrupted. " Right? The thing with, uh…with the Hemlock book. The one with the spell we're gonna need? For the medallion? You told me that yesterday…morning…I think." Dean felt just as confused as the words he was saying. What the hell?

Castiel's eyes narrowed, and he suddenly looked even more confused than Dean did as his gaze shifted from Dean's face to some un-aimed spot on the floor. Dean almost didn't blame him, as the air seemed thick around them with something out of whack that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Looked like he wasn't the only one working late hours then.

"Ok, so…" Dean started, avoiding any and all discomfort by way of distraction. "Now that that's cleared up, what're you-..." Dean let his words linger in the air, but stopped them short the second that Castiel disappeared in front of him, after a disapproving look that ended with empty space.

"Yeah, ok." He finished, knowing he was now talking only to himself. Lovely, cause doing ithat/i made those visits so much more fun, especially early in the morning.

Or was it early? Dean glanced back over his shoulder at the alarm clock that the last century had forgotten to take with it, only to realize that it was later than he'd thought.

"Shit." He grumbled, making a beeline straight for his coat in order to pull the cell phone from his pocket; expecting a million angry voicemails in the process. He'd promised Sam he'd pick him up from Bobby's that morning, especially since they'd found out that the book Castiel was talking about was ironically buried within the piles of Bobby's library. Along with the holy grail and Jimmy Hoffa, no doubt.

Dean was surprised, however, to see that his phone was clean of voicemails, missed calls or texts. He checked the signal, but all the bars were full, even when he was standing near his coat. No draining battery, either.

"Huh." Dean said aloud, hitting the speed dial and walking back over towards the bed to collect his clothes. It rang three times before Sam picked up, good sign.

"Sup?"

"Where the hell are you?" Dean asked, but without heat as he stretched his free arm back behind him with a few snaps and pops in retaliation.

"Uh…Bobby's? Remember? Research…splitting up to cover more ground…you got a hangover or somethin man?"

Dean made a face.

"Naw, dry as a desert, promise. I figured you'd be pissed at me for being late though, since it's already past eight." There was some muffled talk on the other end for a few seconds. "Sam?"

"Sorry, Bobby was askin me something. And what do you mean, late? We agreed on two days, remember? You're picking me up at eight on Sunday morning, not Saturday."

Dean stilled for a moment, that feeling once again rolling around in the pit of his stomach and making him feel ill. He swallowed, glancing back down at the ancient clock again to see that the date was, indeed, Saturday. Either that, or the clock really was as old as it looked and Sam was just screwing with him.

"I thought…wait…" He collected his thoughts for a second as he heard more muffled talking on the other end. "Isn't…isn't today Sunday? I thought I did the Saturday thing…"

"Bobby says it's Saturday, and he's right so I'm not arguing. He said you need a calendar."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, tell him he's buying. Screw fluffy kittens and waterfalls, I want naked chicks and pin-ups."

"You tell him yourself whenever you feel like doing some actual research. You seen Castiel lately? Cause narrowing this search down would be a whole hell of a lot easier if-"

"Just use that book I told you about, dumbass. The one Cas suggested…yesterday." Dean trailed off again, his head starting to feel numb as he tried to pull up memories of the previous day. That did happen, right?

"What book, Dean? When you called me yesterday it was to brag about some chick you flirted with at the local diner."

Sam's irritated tone usually made Dean smile, or laugh even, but whatever wasn't feeling right was making things very un-funny. Dean wasn't usually this scatterbrained, especially when it came to something as important as a seal. He licked his lips, scratching the back of his head and trying to think.

"Dean? Wasup?"

Sam knew him too well.

"Nothin', guess I'm just still half asleep. Look, Cas told me about a book called the Sefer Razzle Hemlock…or something like that. He said it would have what we're looking for, but it's gonna need some decoding once you find it. You brainiacs are smart enough to figure it out, so it's all yours." Dean let it all ramble out of him in his usual tone, disregarding the feeling in his gut that didn't seem to be going away. If anything, it wasn't like Sam was there with him to help even if he needed it. Which he didn't. He coulda sworn he'd told him about the book though…even been told in return that Bobby had found it.

Weird. Guess he was just getting old.

"The Sefer…what? Razzle who?"

There was another string of muffled conversation before Dean heard a fairly loud and mocking disapproval from someone that wasn't Sam on the other end. Then Sam laughed, and Dean knew what was coming.

"The Sefer Raziel HaMalakh, Dean. Is that what he was telling you?"

"Yup, you got it. That. See, that's why I leave all the book stuff to the bookworms. Have at it geek, and I'll pick you up tomorrow. I'm gonna see if there's any family history on that medallion around here, cause so far I've found diddly." Dean pulled his pants on one-handed, hating how much this conversation was giving him a feeling of déjà vu.

"You sure I didn't tell you about this yesterday?"

"Pretty damn. You sure everything's ok there? I can come back early if-"

"Naw, dude. No worries. Don't fall asleep in a book, bitch."

"Kiss my ass, jerk."

And that was their goodbye and I love you all rolled into one big happy dysfunction.

Dean grinned before he snapped the phone shut, glad to have at least talked to his brother just a little bit, even if he was off his rocker and thinking it was the wrong day. Whatever, small towns blew.

ieiei

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. Dean still had that nagging feeling that he was re-doing everything he'd done the previous day. No one recognized him or called him on it though, so he shook it all off as something he must've eaten. Or dreamed. Or the angels were messing with him again.

Which was so fucked up, but incredibly possible.

While Sam was up in Sioux Falls with Bobby, Dean had taken his few days down in Norfolk, Nebraska where Castiel had told them that another one of the seals would be. Not that he had given them much more than that, iobviously/i, but apparently it was the thought that counted. Aside from it being some kind of funky necklace that was involved somehow, there wasn't much else to go on. Which encompassed pretty much Dean's entire career with anything angelic so far.

Dean was fairly sure he wasn't going to find much of anything, knowing how seals usually seemed to work, but he had no qualms mapping and working the place out ahead of time. It was better than sitting at Bobby's feeling like a third wheel as the geek masters of the century plowed through the Singer Historical Library.

That, and Dean didn't mind having a few days to himself. He loved his brother, that wasn't even in question, but living out of each other's back pockets could wear on the both of them. It would be good for Sam to get away, and easy for Dean to let him since he knew Bobby was watching over the kid. Pretty win/win in the end, if only Dean could stop feeling like he was missing something.

By the end of the day, Dean knew that Norfolk had been built in 1881 by German pioneers, some of whose ancestors still lived there. The largest employed company was the Faith Hospital, and the biggest draw for people to visit the place in general was to…camp. Awesome. No sign of the medallion or who it may belong to, especially with so little to go on. Castiel hadn't even told him what the fucking thing looked like aside from 'Silver' and 'old'. Helpful, that wing-ed one was.

It had been a peaceful day, but an annoying one after all. Despite how nice it was to chill out, Dean soon realized after the first few hours that he wasn't all that good at it. He'd have rather been at Bobby's throwing random shit in Sam's hair than have to listen to anyone else in that city tell him how great and family oriented the place was.

It took everything he had not to call Sam again, but Dean talked himself out of it. The kid needed the space too, so there was no use being a thorn.

Which was why Dean was an awesome big brother.

By the time he got back to his motel, Dean was already dragging his feet enough that he didn't even have the urge to find a bar or pool hall. There were probably plenty of shady places he could weasel his way into, but the fight just wasn't in him. The chick at the diner he'd gotten the number from the day before hadn't even remembered who he was, which was always an instant downer, and he just didn't have the patience for hustling that night. No big loss, he had enough money from the last place to get them through another week or so.

The sun had long since set when Dean walked in the door, flicked on the light and stepped over the salt line to an empty, single bed room. Which was weird, but he wasn't about to complain. It had cost him less anyway without the sasquatch included. Something almost arguable for the next time they were short on cash, and Dean smirked as he wondered if he could convince Sam to sleep in the tub.

He watched television half heartedly for a few hours before getting fed up with the local yokel channels and the 24 hour 4-H network. Shutting off the nightly farmer's report, Dean twisted back around on the bed and doused the light.

It was eerily quiet, but it had been the previous night too, after Dean had dropped off Sam. He set the alarm for the next morning, despite the fact that he was sure he'd wake up before then, but didn't want to chance listening to his brother bitch if he was late. Not that he'd admit to missing the kid or anything, hell, he might actually be late on purpose just to piss him off.

The thought made him grin as his fingers curled around the handle of the knife beneath his pillow.

Dean drifted off, wondering randomly if Castiel was gonna be around on Sunday morning, just to spite him. It was a weird thing to have pop into his head before sleep, but Dean wrote it off as just another one of those weird feelings he'd had all damn day.

"Dean…"

The voice was soft, and hoarse, but loud enough for the completely silent room. Dean was up almost instantly as instincts kicked in, the lamp flicking back on and the knife in his hands ready for attack, all in one breath. It took just a second for his eyes to adjust to the light, Dean's heart thundering in his throat, but a few seconds extra to register what he was seeing before he could move.

"Jesus, what the hell?" Dean let the knife drop to the bed, his eyes trained on the magically appearing angel as he stood in the corner of the room. Not that 'stood' was any good way of describing his posture at all. Castiel's hand was braced on the television stand, the entire front of him covered in blood, along with the ruined tatters of his shirt and coat. He was deathly pale, and breathing so hard that Dean wasn't sure why he hadn't heard it before Castiel had said his name.

The second he got to him, he saw his eyes roll back and Castiel's knees buckled; it was obvious he was going to go down hard. Dean got to him quick enough to avoid him hitting anything, but not enough to keep him upright as the two men slid to the ground awkwardly with a dead and messy weight. Castiel's eyes were closed, and he didn't even make a sound on the way down.

"Cas…hey! Castiel!"

Dean stared down at him in horror before shifting the angel off his lap and to the floor in front of him in order to assess what he could see. What was left of Castiel's business shirt was quickly yanked open and to the sides, wide and frightened eyes staring down at what wasn't just one wound, but several, that were deep lacerations across his abdomen and chest. All of which were bleeding and had obvious internal injuries to go along with them. So much so that Dean wasn't sure where to put his hands first.

It looked like Castiel had been mauled by a bear. Or a raptor, Christ.

Dean got to his feet and ran into the dingy bathroom, catching sight of his now blood covered self in the mirror out of the corner of his eye as he grabbed all the towels he could see. He swallowed hard, running as quickly as he could to get back to Castiel where he fell to his knees at the angel's side. Dean put as much pressure as he could on the largest of the wounds and Castiel suddenly opened his eyes with a loud gasp, confusion and pain blatant across his features.

"Hey! What the hell happened, Cas…why can't you heal this?" The towel was already halfway soaked, Dean's fingers drenched in the heat, and it turned his stomach. "Heal yourself, man! I can't just take you to a hospital, can I?" His hands were steel, but inside Dean was shaken to the core. What the hell could do this to an angel where they couldn't heal? What had Castiel been doing for God sake?

Castiel, for his part, didn't seem to be able to get much more out than a choke, his hands moving to Dean's wrists and clinging there as if he was holding him in place. Dean didn't know what else to say or do, catching eyes with the bright blue that were more inhuman than human, but seeing a fear in them he'd never seen before.

"Cas…" Dean said in what was almost a mere breath, just as Castiel's hands went limp and his eyes closed.

Dean stared with an unblinking gaze, still putting pressure on the wounds as if it would somehow put back all that had just drained from the body beneath him. His breathing staggered into his lungs, but there were no words. Castiel was as pale as a sheet, and there didn't seem to be a damn bit of life left in him, let alone anything angelic. Whoever he'd been possessing didn't seem to have much to come back to either, if there'd ever been anyone there to begin with.

Castiel was dead.

He wasn't sure how he knew, but he did.

Just as Dean was about to move his hands, a sudden burst of electricity jolted out of the body and arched Castiel upwards with a blinding light before he sagged back to the ground. Dean scrambled backwards and cursed as he felt the skin on his hands scald and burn from the extreme heat. He jumped to his feet before he realized that the carpet had already been scorched in a long and ominous stretch on either side of Castiel.

Dean swallowed, his hands red and shaking with sweltering burns as he took a few steps back, still staring with wide and horrified eyes as he realized that the cheap, burned carpet spreading out from Castiel was in the shape of something.

The shape of wings.

He couldn't process it, couldn't pull together what had just happened in the last few minutes that had just resulted in the death of an angel. The death of his angel. For no goddamn reason that he could see or fight or take back aside from some crazy, fatal wounds on a guy that had once taken buck shots to the chest and hadn't bat an eye.

Dean felt like he needed to scream.

"What the mother fucking-"

ieiei

Something didn't feel right.

Then he froze, taking in a quick breath as he forced his eyes to focus and take in what was around him.

Motel room. Single bed. Sam not there? No, Sam at Bobby's. Sunday?

Wait…

"Castiel?" Dean twisted himself on the bed, the sunlight still streaking over him and the rumpled sheets that looked like he'd been twisting himself up in them all night. He blinked again, but was finally able to focus on the figure that was indeed standing in the corner of the room and still partially shadowed in low light.

Dean stood, glancing at the clock to see that it was eight in the morning before he turned back towards his early visitor.

Castiel, for his part, was not only standing where he had the previous morning, but was also looking down at the front of him with a spread fingered hand across his stomach. A completely intact, clothed and bloodless stomach. For a second, Dean couldn't breathe, images flashing through him of something horrible that had just happened…or might have happened…maybe something he'd dreamed?

Castiel finally looked up at him as he approached, confusion plain and obvious on his features as he cocked his head at an angle like a damn parakeet.

"Hello, Dean." He said, but it sounded more like a recording than he actually meant it. Like it was something he knew he was supposed to just say.

"What the fuck, Cas." Dean replied in turn, but it was the same feeling, like he'd said it all before. "Ok, seriously, what the fuck is going on?" He wasn't sure who he was yelling at this time, considering that he doubted Castiel would screw with him ithat/i badly. If so, that was some crazy unnecessary dedication to prove a point.

"Why…why does it feel like I've done this before? In fact…many times before. Are you…did you…"

Castiel didn't seem to be able to offer anything but a slightly more confused version of his usual stare, before he suddenly up and disappeared without another word and a flutter of wings.

"Damnit!" Dean cursed angrily, his eyes moving almost automatically to the floor where he could still feel the phantom pain in his fingers from the burns Castiel's death had ignited across his skin. "That is SO not helping, Cas!"

Stupid angel. What the fuck was going on!

ieiei

Pissed off and hell-bent on figuring out who was screwing with him, Dean had pulled all of his things together in five minutes and headed immediately to his car.

The clock on the nightstand had said it was Saturday. Dean had knocked it to the floor.

If his head wasn't so damn fuzzy, he'd know absolutely for sure that something was seriously wrong. But since he didn't really have all that clear of a picture or memory, it felt more like he was going batshit instead of any kind of concrete evidence of manipulation. That or he was freaking out over a really vivid, reoccurring nightmare of some sort, cause it sure as shit didn't feel real.

It didn't help that Castiel had bailed on him so quickly either, but then, if Dean had the ability to disappear from everything that confused him, he'd probably have done it too.

He reached the city limits with the Impala, faster than he probably should have been going, willing and more than ready to get the hell out and maybe meet up with Sam sooner than they'd planned on. Mocking be damned, if this place was going to go all Silent Hill on him, then he sure as hell wasn't planning on staying.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, however, irony reared its ugly head and Dean realized just a little too late that he'd crossed right back into the city. Without ever making a turn.

Cursing angrily enough to put even John Winchester to shame, Dean yanked the steering wheel to the side, turning his Baby in a great big U in order to head right back where he came from. The system wanted to mess with him? Fine, but he wasn't about to go quietly into the night. There were other corners of this place, other streets that led away from being damned, and he was going to exhaust each and every one of them until he found the way out.

ieiei

After a few hours of driving and a nearly empty gas tank, however, Dean was now more frustrated and angry than confused. Whatever was fucking with him was now at the top of his 'things to kill today' list, but he couldn't even give it a name.

Dean sat in the warm, quietly ticking car as it parked on the side of the highway staring at a 'Welcome to Norfolk' sign that should have been telling him he was leaving. He glared at it with his arms crossed over the steering wheel, worrying his bottom lip as he tried to think of what next to do.

Ok, so he was trapped. Awesome. There were worst places to be stuck in, he guessed. Sam wasn't with him, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he should call Sam? He didn't think he'd died, seeing as the Hellfire was little more than a chipper fifty degrees Fahrenheit and nobody was screaming but him.

And there was no fucking way that Heaven was in the mid-west. Limbo, maybe?

Dean banged his forehead on the steering wheel, scrunching his eyes shut and taking in a slow breath.

"I think I know what's wrong."

Dean startled, hitting the car horn on his way up which in turn jolted his heart with just a little something extra he didn't need to feel. He coughed angrily before turning to glare at his holy co-pilot.

"I can come up with a list, for fuck's sake. Where the…" Dean trailed off, taking in the sight of the disheveled man sitting next to him. Castiel looked like someone had shoved him down the side of a mountain, then kicked him in the face at the bottom. His clothes were ripped in random places and he was bruised on the side of his neck and jaw, hair all over the damn place. No blood, thankfully, but it was still weird to see the angel in any state other than a Folgers's perfect morning.

"Cas? What happened to you?"

"Every time I leave here, I go straight into a fierce battle. it seems I have no other choices but to either stay here, or be slaughtered." Castiel stated bluntly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He looked exhausted, and Dean assumed that what Castiel simply called 'a battle' was probably far worse than what he could picture. "Just as, every time you try to drive out of this city, you end up back where you started."

Dean bit his lip, trying hard not to point out the Master of the Obvious himself, but he looked too beat to prod further, and Dean didn't want to know what a 'fierce' battle meant to an angel.

"Have…we've done all this before, haven't we?" Fingers gripped tighter on the steering wheel. How long had he been stuck there? Days? Weeks?

"Yes. But I'm not sure for how long. You and I alone are being manipulated, I believe, but it's by something more powerful than myself."

"Something more…wait…" Dean pursed his lips and swallowed hard, his eyes scanning over the road in front of him as he thought hard. There was something familiar about this, something he probably should have recognized before but hadn't really been in the right mindset. It'd been so long and they'd run into so much crap since that one, awful day. That, and it wasn't like he could remember even half as much about it all as Sam did…

Dean jumped as he felt Castiel's hands on him. The angel gripped into his clothes like a vice as he yanked him sideways and pulled the passenger door open at the same time in order to vacate the car. Dean cried out in confusion as he was abruptly pulled toward Castiel, just as his car was suddenly plowed into by a very large and very menacing looking piece of machinery.

The sound was deafening and everywhere.

Pain erupted through his lower half, the part of him that hadn't made it out of the car in time as his vision flared white and he lost the ability to move himself in any way that might stifle it. Dean screamed, his fingers clenching into fabric of some sort and eyes burning with tears as it felt like his legs were practically being pulled right out of their sockets. He was being burned, run-through, dismantled, crushed; it felt like everything and anything at once that could possibly have hurt in the worst of ways.

The movement and noise finally stopped after an agonized few seconds that had somehow flipped the world upside down.

Unsure why he was still breathing, Dean opened his eyes in shock, his hands clenched and shaking as he realized he was clinging to Castiel. The angel was lying beneath him, staring up at him with wide blue eyes that had more emotion than Dean could ever recall seeing. It wasn't exactly a happy emotion, either.

He turned his head, but suddenly wished he hadn't, catching sight of what was left of his beloved car, scattered across the interstate. He choked out a sobbing breath, unable to stop his body from shaking as his eyes moved to follow the massacre back towards them and discover that a part of the car, the metal framework that he'd so painstakingly rebuilt himself, was twisted through and around his legs like a death-claw pretzel. Like he was suddenly more machine than man from the waist down.

Not just that, but the truck that had apparently been passing by them, the one carrying the oversize load of construction equipment a few yards down the road he assumed, had lost one of its rigs. The large and terrifying looking thing that was now holding him in place like he was a pinned moth.

Dean screamed again in agony as he tried to move, unable to stop his hands from shaking before giving up halfway. He felt his head start to go cold and everything was numb aside from where he wished it was. His training went into overdrive as he thought about the signs of shock, what he should do, whether or not that big artery in his leg had been hit, how long he had until he'd pass out…too much to remember; his vision was blurring.

There were hands on his face and Dean cracked his eyes blearily, unable to recall when they'd closed. It was Castiel, his face smeared with blood, iDean's blood/i, and he was saying something. In fact, he was sorta kinda overtop of him now. How and when had that happened? Castiel looked like he was yelling something important at him, but it was hard to hear around the sound of his heart beating so loud in his ears.

"Dean! Lis-…Dean! –ot real!"

Dean swallowed, feeling more tired than he knew it was safe to be. Sleep would be a bad idea, right? Wasn't that what Dad had told them? Don't fall asleep if you get hit…take care of Sammy…

"Dean!"

He focused on Castiel again, wondering why the stupid angel was screaming at him.

"Dean, this is not real, it's not actually happening. Do you hear me? Don't close your eyes!"

Well it sure as shit felt real, but hey, if it wasn't, then what was wrong with closing his eyes anyway?

ieiei

Something didn't feel right.

A second later and he was on his feet, hands reaching for his legs as they cramped with the ghost of wounds that were no longer there.

Dean cursed loudly, a strong urge growing in the pit of his stomach to just crawl back into bed and hide underneath the covers with the biggest gun in his arsenal. It was difficult to ignore.

"What the…sonufa…" But Dean had just woken up, and now that all the blood had drained from his head after getting up so fast, he couldn't help but sit back down on the edge of the bed. He felt like he hadn't slept in a week.

And of course, just as he feared, Castiel was standing in the corner of the room, just as he always was. Same spot, same look, same goddamn morning. They met eyes, but before Castiel had a chance to say anything, Dean was on his feet, a determinately pissed off look on his face.

"Where the fuck are you, you sonufabitch?" He called out angrily, grabbing the nearest gun he could reach from where he'd been cleaning them the night before. On Friday night. Cause it was Saturday. Again.

Damnit!

He slapped the clip into place and cocked it one handed as he reached for his pants, stone-faced and beyond pissed off in a way that few would live to see past.

"Dean…"

Castiel tried, but Dean wasn't about to let him do much more as he held up a hand. Not yet, especially since he knew it wasn't the angel's fault and he wanted the focus of his anger to go straight to the source. Cas wasn't doing this…but he knew what was. He cursed his own stupidity for not figuring it out before.

Pants acquired, Dean stormed out of the room, walking into the middle of the parking lot with no shoes and nothing but the clothes on his back and a weapon in hand. A deadly, seriously pissed off Winchester with a firearm. He fired six shots into the air and screamed.

"Show yourself, asshole!"

Dean seethed, his breathing harsh but his eyes sharp as he scanned the area. Someone had screamed in the distance, car tires had screeched, and Dean was sure after a minute he could hear the sound of a siren as he spun himself around, but he really didn't fucking care. It wasn't like he'd actually shot anybody to gain attention, and Dean would bet his favorite gun that the douchebag was watching them from somewhere anyway. Dean didn't care, he'd rather draw the bastard out the hard way than sit there and take it up the ass without knowing why.

He glanced back over his shoulder, but Castiel wasn't doing much more than standing in the doorway to the room, looking stern as he scanned the area. Good, that meant that he was pretty much on the same wavelength Dean was, if he hadn't already been there sooner.

The sirens got louder, and Dean was really starting to wonder just how great of an idea it was to draw the kind of attention he was getting. He was sure of it…he was sure he knew who it was…but there was no way of knowing it exactly without the damn thing showing itself.

But this was what it liked, wasn't it? Bravado, pompous arrogance. Well, Dean would be happy to shove his arrogance straight up the creature's ass.

And then the cops appeared, and Dean wasn't so sure anymore.

Two cruisers pulled into the parking lot and paralleled with a screech of rubber on asphalt, the occupants practically leaping from their cars and pointing weapons at him from four different directions.

Shit.

"Hold it! Put the weapon on the ground, and put your hands behind your head!"

Yeah, that sounded too familiar. Dean glanced towards Castiel again, but the angel didn't really look all that concerned, his gaze drawn to the cops like it was something interesting he was watching on TV. Lovely. Dean swallowed hard, still amazingly pissed off, but now iced with a layer of dumbshit to boot.

"Easy there boys, this one's all mine."

A man stepped out from the backseat of one of the cruisers, dressed as a cop, wearing a sidearm and the badge of a cop, but not really a cop at all. He had a wide-brimmed hat on and boots that made him about four inches taller, but Dean knew that smirk and that swagger from anywhere. He sneered, itching to raise the weapon up and just start firing, but catching eyes with the other four guns before he did anything. Even if the days were repeating themselves, getting shot sucked.

The man stepped away from the vehicle, after adjusting his belt, and walked towards him, a great big sideways grin plastered on his face as the remaining officers didn't say a word in response. They were all apparently under the impression that this was some high-ranking cop of some sort, somebody in charge. But Dean knew better.

"Trickster." He practically spat, fingers itching to pull the trigger, even though he knew it wasn't going to really do any good. It'd sure as shit make him feel better.

The Trickster's grin grew impossibly wider, his hands moving from his hips to clasp in front of him in a mockingly familiar way. Dean felt ill.

"Am I blushing? After all this time and you still remember! That takes about a half an hour outta our conversation now, doesn't it?" He snickered, far too amused with himself than Dean was comfortable with. The Trickster, however, didn't seem to care as his eyes moved to catch sight of Castiel.

"And you, my feathery little God-whore, this is your party too, c'mon down!" He made a mocking swoop with his arm that Dean hoped would piss Castiel off enough to set him on fire.

Castiel, for his part, didn't look all that happy about approaching, but approach he did regardless. Dean suddenly recalled the faint memory of being told that whatever was manipulating them was something more powerful than he was. Awesome. They were so outta their league.

"S'great, isn't it? I love working with this medium, it's so much more fun than non-existence." The Trickster was practically salivating with glee, turning to wave his arms around him as if he was showing them the latest piece of crayon crap he'd tacked on the fridge. "Of course, the threads help too, dontcha think? I always thought I'd make a decent five-oh…"

"What the fuck are you doing here, and why the ifuck/i are you doing it to us?" Dean seethed, unable to keep himself quiet any longer. Screw subtly.

"Tsk, Dean. Such language. Do you kiss your…oh, wait, I guess that's why we're here…"

Dean surged forward as his blood boiled, but was stopped with a hand on his shoulder. He flashed an angry glare at Castiel, but was also silently glad that he'd been kept from doing something monumentally stupid.

"What are your terms?" Castiel asked him calmly, and Dean's eyes widened as he looked back to the Trickster, who was giving the angel an appraising look.

"So business-like and efficient, I like it. I oughta get me a couple of you guys one of these centuries…" He scratched his chin and cocked an eyebrow, looking more than obnoxious doing so with the hat and the getup .

"But anyway, so here's the deal! First of all, it's about damn time you guys noticed what was going on." He laughed in a short spurt of noise that was like nails on a chalkboard. "Course, it's not the first time, but this is the first time you've noticed now that you're remembering what happens the day before. Ya know, I considered just keeping you in the loop cluelessly, just to see what happens, but it was starting to get old after awhile…"

"How long is a while?" Dean practically cursed, shaking Castiel's hand from his shoulder in annoyance. "How long have you been fucking with us, you piece of shit? Who're you doing this for?"

The Trickster's eyebrows shot up in a mock offense, his hand splaying across his chest like Dean had slapped him.

"I'm offended, really Dean, after all we've been through together and you think I can be bought? You're in my tennis court baby, and even if you win this game, it's still my field and those are still my rackets and my balls that you're playing with."

"Yeah, there's an image I didn't need." Dean grumbled, shaking his head as he noted that the creature hadn't really answered his question. He changed tactics. "What the hell is the point of this? Just dicking around for fun? Don't you see that there's a war going on?"

"War, shmore. I've seen scarier shit on daytime television. Not my problem. But hey, I'm not without my vices. If I see something that's getting on my nerves or that catches my attention, I find it worthy of my time. Plain and simple." The Trickster drawled as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Why are you here?"

"Hey, you called me, remember? I was just sweet enough to stop by, otherwise you'd still be pecking off sparrows like a crazy-"

"Enough." Castiel interrupted, Dean somehow almost forgetting he was there. "Terms; address them, or discontinue your game. We have little time to be wasting in your plane, so have your fun then be done with it."

Dean turned slightly to catch a look at Castiel out of the corner of his vision, surprised at how bluntly and calmly he was taking everything. Not that the angel riled much; except at Dean, he thought proudly, but he was currently fairly diplomatic. The Trickster snorted a giggle in reply, and Dean felt his hackles rise again.

"What the hell do you mean by 'getting on your nerves', anyway?" He added.

"Dean…" Castiel warned.

"Ah, but you see, both demands have similar answers, my young padowans. Here's the game, and these are the terms. The two of you are annoying the crap outta me, therefore, one of you has to go." He paused, seemingly for dramatic effect, but neither of them said anything.

"…And you guys are gonna decide who."

"Bullshit. Ain't happening." Dean said immediately. He started to raise the gun, but heard the cocking chambers of the weapons that were still trained on them from the cars. Dean pursed his lips.

"Oh ho, cocky aren't we? I see death has done little to improve your sensibility. But it ain't bullshit kid, it's just business. My game IS my business, after all. So either you are going to tell me to kill your little angel pal there…or he's gonna tell me to kill you. Easy cheesy. And I don't mean the fake, bring you back the next day 'kill' we've been playing with, I mean the pushing up daisies kind. If neither of you offer up the other…well, then it looks like you're gonna be playing for a bit."

"What, and watch you keep killing us day after day before bringing us back to do it again? Is that how this works?" Dean took a step forward, itching to misalign some of those perfect teeth…

"Basically? Sure, why not? I'm mixing it up just a bit, though, for shits and giggles. That, and you never know when I'm just gonna get bored and cut it all off for good, so don't get used to it. I've got a goodie bag to play with this time, which means that the angel can get just as screwed as the human if you're not paying attention.

So rule number one; PAY ATTENTION. Then, there's no fast healing, and no leaving. Trying to leave is gonna be a surefire way of getting your asses handed to you, either one of you, just so you know. Oh wait, you already do!" The Trickster grinned, glancing back over his shoulder as if he was expecting the peanut gallery to join in with his glee.

"Anywho, boys and…boys…that's pretty much it! So, round one, any takers? Anyone? Someone wanna go first or do you want a running head start? Rock, paper, scissors?"

Dean glared down at the deceptively small man, refusing to look back at Castiel with a determined avoidance. He knew Cas wasn't gonna do it, not yet anyway, but it was an unnerving feeling all the same. Castiel had a hell of a lot more to do than just babysit and deal with his sorry ass. That, and this was a fight between the importance of an angel versus a lowly human. If he really wanted to…

"Obviously, neither of us will be feeding into your sadism. Your terms are set, so leave." And damn him for being so politically tactful. Dean sure hoped he knew what he was doing.

The Trickster shrugged again, wiping his hands together as if he'd just rinsed them off. "Suit yourself bucko, you're the one who said you ain't got the time. Cause you know, I've got all the time there is. So enjoy! I've done my homework this time, you can count on that. Oh, and Dean? You try getting Sam to come here? And he'll be joining you, so I suggest you, ya know, don't. Or do, if that floats your boat, whatevs. This is the only time I'm gonna show up when you… well, shoot at clouds, so don't be expecting me at your beck and call. It just doesn't work that way. Cheers!"

With that, he turned on his heel, adjusting his hat obnoxiously before turning his back on them and walking towards the cars. Dean felt a surge of panic sift through him, the only source of information they had was walking away when he didn't feel like anything had really been said at all.

"Wait, you sonofabitch!" He called out, taking a few steps forward. The Trickster paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a raised and curious eyebrow.

"That can't be it…it just can't be. Who the hell pulls together something this involved when all they want is someone dead. No, no stupid games. It's a 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am' and it's done. Not a set up house and roll camera. Not for something like you. There's gotta be more than that…more to this fucking game, cause you coulda easily just blinked the both of us out of existence instead of all this elaborate shit. So what the fuck?" Dean hoped to God he hadn't just given the crazy demi-god any ideas. "Is that really all there is?"

The Trickster glanced back and forth between the two of them and gave him a smirk that Dean couldn't really read.

"Oh Dean, I always knew you were smarter than you looked." But said nothing more, before turning back around and strolling away.

Dean raised his gun.

And maybe he really wasn't smarter than he looked.

ieiei

Something didn't feel right.

He groaned, letting himself fall flat into the cheap bed and just lay there for a few minutes staring at the ancient clock. Eight in the morning, Saturday. He should start taking a tally. Not that it wouldn't be any less depressing.

"That wasn't really the wisest thing to do."

Dean smirked, feeling the bed dip slightly on the opposite end. Like he didn't know that already.

"Yeah, but I got a few shots off in his skull before I went down, so I feel better." He grumbled, though not really feeling as proud of it as he should have. He did, after all, end up with a couple hammers to the chest in return. Stupid cops. Stupid Trickster.

"It would have made more sense if bullets could actually kill him."

Ugh, stupid angel.

"That's not the point." Dean rolled himself upwards, feeling the room sway as the last bit of the previous day's pain was fading. It wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't have to wake up to the phantom memory of it like it was still friggen there…or that he felt like he wasn't getting much in the way of sleep in between. Hell, maybe he wasn't. "You saying you wouldn't have a problem with me shooting him in the back? Or the ass, now that'd be funny…"

"I would not argue that, no. I'm trapped here just as much as you are. The Trickster may be one of the old gods, but that doesn't mean I would mourn his passing. Especially after this."

Dean twisted around to face Castiel, drawing his knees up and resting his elbows on them as he took in the angel before him with a raised eyebrow.

"So what do we do now? I'm fresh outta lamb's blood, and it's not like he doesn't know that song and dance already. The bastard is too good at his game to get caught."

Castiel nodded, still looking absurdly calm with everything that was going on. Didn't it bother him at all that he was stuck there? With Dean, of all people? The world was still technically out there, so was Heaven and Hell, he assumed, but no one else was repeating it all like they were. Come death or the next day, it didn't matter who the hell they told it to, since it would all be forgotten by everyone.

Everyone, but them. Dean shivered.

"We have no choice but to play, but the rules aren't strict. If the Trickster gets bored, he will concede."

Dean licked his lips, nodding. So that was why Cas was so chill about the whole thing. Cause lying low and doing nothing meant boring for a demi-god. Fair nuff, but man, what a chore.

"You really wanna just do the whole vacay thing and pretend like none of this is happening? How the hell can you stand that?"

Castiel made eye contact with him, and it was always slightly more intimidating talking to him when he did that. Like it was the reminder to Dean that he was dealing with something otherworldly, regardless of how human he looked.

"Watching and waiting is what I do, Dean. I've done it for a very, very long time."

Dean made a face. "Lame. Well, I'm more of an active participant than a watcher, thanks much. So I ain't buyin it. The Trickster wouldn't have a damn bit of interest in us unless there was something obvious we were missing. Something that he's gonna trick us into just so he can get his rocks off about it and brag back at Asshole's Anonymous. I still call bullshit."

He pulled himself to his feet, reaching for his clothes as the thought occurred to him that he could probably call Sam to get his help. At the same time, though, and knowing his geek brother like he did, Sam would snag one of Bobby's old clunkers and head straight for him if he knew. Not just because Dean was in trouble, but because he'd already learned firsthand the agony of what these kind of pranks could do. He'd see it as some kind of personal responsibility to be there, and Dean couldn't have that.

Sammy didn't deserve to go through it a second time. Especially since he had a good feeling that what lay ahead would soon have him once again in various, bloody pieces. This was going to suck.

"So…" Dean said finally, clearing his throat as he turned to see Castiel standing quietly by the window. "Breakfast?"

ieiei

The Trickster was not a fair player.

Dean had sort of known this, despite how little he actually remembered of his half year beat down back in Ohio. Still, he hadn't really expected him to be so stiflingly unfair as he was until Dean was running as fast as he fucking could away from a horde of hungry zombies.

The first three weeks were pretty much like that. Whatever plans Cas had originally had of lying low and playing human fast becoming an idea of the past as Dean woke up one morning to the damn things crashing in through the front door. And windows. By the ihundreds/i.

Man, those fuckers could bite.

Day one was a mess, literally. It didn't last long.

Day two had Dean rolling out of bed and going instantly for the weaponry after only a few seconds of that morning confusion, trying in vain to get Castiel to hold a shotgun before even he went down.

Zombies weren't demons, they didn't stop if you stuck your palm on their foreheads, they ATE YOUR HAND. Dean had never seen the look before on Castiel's face that he had that day, but he wasn't soon to forget it.

When the Trickster had said they'd both take damage, he'd meant it.

Day three was just as disgusting, especially since Dean had given up the option of shooting his way out and had simply vouched for fire first instead. Unfortunately, whatever cleaning agent the motel used was apparently highly flammable, and went up faster than a hayfield in a dry spell. Dean had only ever felt that much heat in one other place, but he was determined to believe that Hell was nowhere near Norfolk, Nebraska.

Day four came and they finally made it out the front door with a combination of bullets and flames. From there, it was only a few steps further to absolute mayhem and horror. The Trickster had infected the entire fucking town, like it was some kind of freak video game or horror flick where they were the last fighting human and human-ish left at the end of days. The last living and breathing free meal when there were too many mouths to feed.

And they weren't the nice and slow kinda Romero zombies either, no, it had to be the fucking fast, running and screaming zombies from all the remakes. The ones that could come at you faster than a damn thoroughbred, even if they were missing feet, and take out your jugular in a few seconds flat.

Dean had never appreciated the fact that his fingers were still attached to his hands more than he did in those couple of weeks.

It wasn't until day ten that Dean and Castiel finally made it out of a 'civilized' area and into the local park, where they tied off their wounds, brandished their weapons and tried to pull together some kind of contingency plan. What made it worse was that Dean knew trying to leave town meant instant death for either or both of them. So they'd need somewhere in the city itself to hole up if they wanted to make it to tomorrow's Saturday without getting ripped to pieces. Dean had no problem taking out zombies, but there were so fucking many of them that they kept running outta ammo while the horde was still coming.

Cas, for his part, didn't seem to know what to make of this new revelation aside from doing what he apparently did best. Fall into line, pick up a weapon and fight til your wings fell off. Dean was starting to get used to shouting orders at him as the angel fired his own suggestions back just as quickly. And most of them were pretty good too. It was like a real, honest to god war, complete with trenches and Zack in the trees.

Not that Dean was given all that much time to really contemplate exactly why Castiel was so willing to help through it all. He may not have been able to zap himself out of the city, but he could at least do the whole star trek thing and hide somewhere easily enough. The day would just reset if Dean got killed, but Castiel fought as if the thought just hadn't occurred to him to do anything otherwise, or if he just…didn't want to.

But the onslaught was so chaotic and constant that there wasn't much else for Dean to really ponder aside from run, shoot, kill, RUN.

They finally holed themselves up in an empty library, aiming for it every day after that but only really making it there every other. Thankfully, Dean didn't have to think about anything long term after that, aside from staying alive after dark. (which was SO MUCH MORE FUN THAN DAYLIGHT, REALLY.) It was the only benefit of restarting after a day, since they wouldn't really need provisions.

Though it occurred to Dean he had stopped eating about a week ago. Just didn't really have the time, and every morning reset him as if he'd eaten the previous day. It was weird.

Dean tried hard not to think of what was happening where Sam was. If the zombie thing was widespread, he hoped his brother and Bobby had given the damn things hell.

Day one of the zombie massacre had cut off all phone lines.

ieiei

On day fourteen, Dean realized he had lost count of how many times he'd died.

It wasn't always him taking damage, but he knew he was going to outnumber Castiel regardless, since the angel had that whole 'I can take a knife to the heart and giggle about it' going for him. He didn't have the quick healing, but his fortitude was a bit higher than Dean's. Castiel could still take quite a bit of damage before ever having issues with pain or any conditions, but it soon became obvious that he could feel it. Dean assumed that was the Trickster's way of leveling the playing field.

How sweet of him.

At the same time, Dean had only actually seen Castiel completely dead dead just the once. Every other time he'd either been too late to help when the angel got pummeled, or Cas was just so much of a bloody, mangled wreck that everything restarted anyway.

Dean hadn't seen that weird flash and burn thing with the wings happen again, but he was quietly grateful for that. There had been something about seeing the angel actually and truly die that had knocked something loose in Dean's head, even if it had only been for a few minutes. He didn't want to re-experience that, regardless of how many times he was getting ripped to shreds with an inequitable, mortal disadvantage. Wasn't about to admit it either.

If Cas thought it was unfair, he didn't say anything. And Dean really didn't think it was, for some reason, so he didn't say anything either.

It was around the cusp of that second week that Castiel was really catching on with how inot/i to alert the horde that they were there. Thankfully, he was a fast learner, and could bash in skulls like the best of em, but wasn't used to hiding so much as standing at the front line. Which they seriously couldn't afford to do, as it ended up being more hazardous to Dean than it was to him. By then, though, the angel was searching for safe ground just as much as Dean was, if only to keep his vessel in less pieces than he had previously.

Or, if Dean really had a second to think about it, maybe to keep him just a little safer too.

On the other hand, Dean was more human than anyone else involved in The Game, so it was his ass that was going to get chewed on the most, no matter what. Literally. Fucking zombies.

ieiei

On day twenty, Dean opened his eyes to the sun shining in from the window, his retinas scalding almost immediately from the onslaught of light a half second before he was on his feet. Clothes and shoes were yanked on quickly as he heard the familiar sounds of Castiel quickly loading the weapons on the other side of the room, before Dean turned to catch the two that were tossed in his direction. All were cocked and ready to go without a single word spoken.

Thirty seconds after he'd gotten up from the bed, both Dean and Castiel had burst out of the motel room with a weapon in each hand, aiming in any and all directions they could see as they prepared to run.

Only to realize that there was nothing there.

Dean froze, his heart hammering in his chest as the faint memory-like dreams of the past three weeks were like a throbbing nightmare in the back of his mind. But there was nothing. Just the sound of cars passing on the nearby road, birds in the trees, people talking in another room; all normal, living city noise. No screams, no moans, no nasty squishing, breaking, slurping, gurgling, crunching zombie soundtrack on a twenty-four-seven broadcast.

Dean jumped when he felt a hand on his arm, ready to start firing, or kicking, or flailing if he had to, only to realize it was Castiel. The angel's eyes were wide, but he motioned silently with his head back towards the open door of the motel room. Dean took one more glance around before he nodded and they both went back inside without ever turning their backs on the outside world.

Once the door was closed, and locked, Dean kept on going until his back finally hit the far wall and he slid slowly to the floor. His eyes were still trained stubbornly on the unbroken windows and his hands still gripped tightly to his guns.

A minute passed in silence, Castiel standing closer to the window but holding just as tightly to the shotgun in his hands as he watched the parking lot through the curtain. It took a few minutes more of their heavy breathing, almost in sync, before Dean finally watched Castiel relax his shoulders, the gun angling downwards despite the fact that he didn't really look like he was going to put it down.

It started out small, like he had the hiccups or something, and it made his whole upper body jerk once; then twice, and again. Dean felt the jerk again and again, a smile starting to curl up on one side as the jerk turned into a snicker and continued to become louder and more manic.

Castiel turned to look at him, staring with that weird look he had with the whole stupid head tilt as Dean finally took a moment to breathe. Something they hadn't done for about three weeks straight.

"Aaaaaugh, what the FUCK!" Dean cried out suddenly, continuing to laugh. His chest started to ache as he banged his head a couple of times against the drywall until he felt light headed. Zombies, sweet fancy moses, they'd been fighting zombies and getting their asses handed to them each and every day. So much so that they even had a damn routine every morning just so they could get out of the parking lot, let alone hope to make it to the library.

Dean let his guns fall to the floor with a clatter, burying his face in his hands for a moment as he let out a high pitched, part relieved part flabbergasted sound. He couldn't decide whether it would be better to laugh or breathe. Finally he let his head fall back against the wall again and made eye contact with Castiel, bringing his hands up in utter defeat of any hope of trying to explain what the hell just happened. What had ibeen/i happening, nonstop before it all suddenly just…went away.

"Dude….Fuck. I'm starving. You hungry?"

And to his complete and utter disbelief, Castiel gave him a small smile and nodded.

ieiei

The Trickster showed up randomly on that one peaceful day where both Dean and Castiel were sitting huddled in the diner booth like they'd just gotten out of prison. They'd already freaked out the waitress after nearly jumping out of their skins at her arrival (especially since Dean could recall shooting her in the head a couple of separate times), but were otherwise ignored. They were now strangers in a strange land, just waiting for the next bomb to go off. Dean felt like he couldn't predict anything anymore.

But the Trickster had seemed delighted, watching their faces intently and judging them in a way that made Dean want to start shooting him all over again. Castiel didn't look too far from that option either, even if it didn't really do any good.

He'd asked them who he was there to drop from The Game, but they both told him to go screw himself. Castiel far more eloquently than Dean, of course. Although, Dean was more than happy to spell it out for him, at length, for about as long as he'd been throwing the two of them to the zombie horde. It was only fair.

The Trickster, however, didn't seem all that bothered by their refusal. Encouraged, even. He gave them an odd grin before nodding with an exaggerated sigh of his acceptance than disappeared.

Dean really didn't know what to think anymore, but that was inot/i how somebody acted when they wanted another person dead.

But they'd gotten through round one.