Dean sits on the hood of the Chevy he and Sam had jacked earlier, and takes a long draught of his beer. After weeks of mourning Bobby, Dean had toned down the boozing but still found it hard to sleep no matter how tired he was.
The stress of the last five or six years was catching up with him. He had caught a glimpse in a store window, earlier that day, and didn't even recognise himself. When he realised that the man with the tight mouth and dark circles under the eyes, was him, he had felt so much older than his thirty-two years.
Dean catches movement in his periphery and turns, hand resting on the gun at his hip. Moving towards him is a girl, she looks pale and ethereal in the hazy light of the lampposts. Dean grips his gun a little tighter, as his brain processes the potential threat. He only dismisses the idea that the figure is a spirit when she moves closer and it's apparent that she's wrapped in a thick coat and scarf and her very human breath is frosting the night air.
"Hey, kid. You ok?" Dean ventures cautiously.
The girl moves closer, her face clearer now and Dean's brain spikes with the memory of a silver-eyed girl comforting a bleeding and distressed Jimmy Novak.
"Claire?"
The girl tilts her head in an uncanny imitation of someone Dean once knew.
"Cas?" Dean asks, more hesitant now.
The girl blinks and shakes her head as though clearing it.
"No, it's me, it's Claire. Claire Novak. But…Castiel. He's in here somewhere."
Dean slides all the way off the car.
"What are you doing here?"
Claire looks at him, rubbing her hands along her arms and looking behind her as though she expected someone to appear there.
"I just need to give you a message. My mom is waiting for me, parked on the street."
Dean's brow furrows and he approaches the girl, who shrinks back from him. Their last meeting had been so fraught he could understand her apprehension.
"I'm not…going to hurt you," Dean says, as benignly as he can, but he wouldn't blame Claire if she didn't trust him.
"The way Castiel explained it, there are 'fragments' of his grace. He couldn't exactly rebuild…his old vessel, but he can 'take refuge' in, well, me. For a while anyway." The words sound so odd coming out of this young girl and Dean can almost hear the angel's gruff voice explaining the whole process.
"But he asked me to pass on a message, Dean," Claire shuffles closer and Dean stoops a little, meeting Claire's eyes.
The girl took a deep breath, like a swimmer breaking the surface. The streetlight flickered, buzzing and ticking and, for a moment, the light picks out icy blue shards in her eyes.
Claire's breathing is steady, but harsh-sounding and her head drops to her chest.
Dean puts a hand on her shoulder, "Claire, are you ok?"
Suddenly, Claire's breaths even out and she lifts her head, eyes shining with tears. The gaze she runs over Dean's face has nothing of the young girl in it. And then she speaks, and the voice is all Castiel.
"I'm coming, Dean. Please…wait for me…I'm coming back to you."