I highly recommend that y'all go read this on my AO3 instead of here. There's an image and a translation section, both important parts of the story, and neither one comes through well on FFnet. Link here (remove spaces and use actual dots and slashes): archiveofourown dot org slash works slash 778874

The witch breathed heavily, her eyes darting from side to side as she backed slowly towards the wall, one hand questing furtively behind her. Dean didn't blink, his eyes narrowed and muscles tight in nervous energy as he tracked her every motion with the barrel of the gun in his hands. He knew she was hoping to find the hidden doorway which the Winchesters weren't supposed to know about. Unfortunately for her, the Winchesters knew about it.

Dean paused in his advance, not wanting to scare their target and force Sam's hand. He had to keep her distracted and slowly moving backwards until she was close enough to the hidden door for Sam to ambush her. From that point on it would be smooth sailing: once the witch was tied up with the special rope they had prepared, she would be unable to hurt them. Castiel had spoken a magic-muting incantation over the rope and imbued it with a tiny drop of his Grace. 'For good luck', as Dean had commented in a cavalier manner.

Speaking of Castiel, where the hell was that feathered bastard? He had assisted them in the preparation of the hunt, but had then vanished before they could invite him to come along. Which would have been really damn useful about now, Dean thought, gritting his teeth and refusing to blink even though a drop of stinging sweat had fallen into his eye. This witch was proving harder to corner than they had anticipated. She was a clever one.

All right, close enough. Dean finally let himself blink, distracting his opponent by taking a sudden step forward. He saw the witch's eyes go wide, and suddenly something moved behind her. But it wasn't Sam. It was the door she'd found, swinging open at the touch of her own hand, and before Dean could react, she'd vanished through it and slammed it shut.

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed, lowering his gun and dashing to the door. For some reason the damn thing wouldn't open. Where the hell was Sam?! Dean took a step back, preparing to run at the rotten boards and just Bruce Lee it, when the silence was broken by a scream. White light flooded through the cracks around the edge of the door in a blinding microsecond before vanishing again, and Dean blinked in shock before throwing himself forward. This time the door opened with no resistance.

The sight that met his eyes caused his pulse to race at the same time as relief rushed through him. Castiel was standing over the fallen form of the witch, his eyes blazing and hair looking wind-blown, as if a high-speed curse had just missed it by a millimeter. The form on the ground twitched weakly, and the witch's hate-filled voice croaked out a few words.

"Boelpeh amama... bialo aellareh!"

The words dissolved in a wisp of breath, and then there was stillness. Dean let out a long breath and tucked his gun away, kneeling to examine the body. "Ding dong, the witch is dead." He glanced up at Castiel with a shaky grin. "Nice timing, Cas. She almost slipped me."

Sam burst in through the door, breathing heavily. "Dean! Is everything okay? The other entrance was blocked, I couldn't get to my spot..." His voice trailed off as he took in the scene before him. "Cas... killed the witch?"

Castiel nodded, and Dean became aware of the expression on the angel's face. Rather than looking pleased with his own accomplishment, or even just blank like he normally did, Castiel looked puzzled... almost spooked.

"What did she say?" Dean demanded. "What were those words? Was that a curse?"

Castiel tipped his head thoughtfully to one side. "Ipeh faaipeh."

"What's an ee-pa-whatever?" Dean glanced at Sam again, automatically checking to make sure his little brother was okay. "Come on, let's get out of here."

They left the body where it was and started back towards the car. "Camaliaatz sapaho pireipesoel," Castiel muttered, still looking perturbed.

Dean stopped in his tracks. "Okay Cas, joke's over. What is that weird stuff you're saying?"

The angel's eyebrows drew together and he gave Dean a vaguely irritated look. "Oem?"

A frisson of fear went down Dean's spine. "Wait a second. That was a curse, wasn't it?"

In confusion, Castiel looked to Sam for clarification. Slowly Sam's eyes widened. "Dean. I think he can't hear the difference. Cas, if you can understand me, nod once."

Like an impatient adult trying to humor some silly children, Cas gave a single over-exaggerated nod.

"Okay, but we can't understand you," Sam explained. "You're saying things like... what was that word you just said... um... 'oh-em'?"

Castiel's eyes widened slightly and he looked back to Dean. "Biehn?"

Dean shook his head. "It's all Greek to me."

"You know... it kinda sounds like Enochian, actually," said Sam, with an intrigued tone that Dean knew all too well. "Say something else, Cas."

"Sam!" Dean barked. "Focus. This is serious. Cas can't talk. We need to fix him." He turned and started back toward the deserted barn where the witch's body still lay, but Sam grabbed his arm.

"She's dead, Dean. We won't find any answers there. The best thing we can do is head home and hit up the books. I'm sure we can find a counter-spell."

"Niiso," Castiel agreed.

On the drive back home, Dean kept glancing at the angel in the rearview mirror. "You don't seem too worried about this. Don't you think there might be some nasty side effects we're not experiencing yet? I mean, that witch bitch was powerful."

Castiel was still for a moment before answering softly with downcast eyes. "Baizodizodraes baeltanah."

Dean growled in frustration and drove faster.

Back at the Batcave, everything else was put on hold as fixing the angel became priority number one. Or at least it should have been, Dean thought grumpily after catching Sam ignoring the books in favor of transcribing the sounds Castiel was making. He tried to shoot his little brother a death glare, but was unable to say anything due to being on the phone with a hunter in Missouri who had been a friend of Bobby's. "Yeah... yeah, I didn't think so either. Well, thanks anyway, Luther."

Dean hung up and came to sit next to Castiel on the sofa. "He says he's never heard of any witch strong enough to curse an angel. I don't know, I just keep hitting dead ends." He rubbed a hand across his face.

Sam made a sympathetic grimace but wasn't able to hide his excitement. "Well, Cas and I think we've got something. He wrote down the words of the curse, I mean, as well as he can remember them, I guess––"

"Azodiazodora bevotamoni," Castiel interrupted severely.

"––Or verbatim, whatever," Sam continued with hardly a stumble. "And I cross-checked it with some of Bobby's old angel lore, and it looks like we can say with 99% certainty that this is indeed Enochian." Castiel nodded emphatically.

"That's not exactly comforting," Dean pointed out. "I mean, since when do witches speak Enochian?"

If Dean didn't know better, he'd say that Castiel looked both scared and despairing at these words, while Sam simply shrugged and returned to the growing stack of books.

That evening, both the brothers were exhausted. They'd spent the entire day researching and it was coming on midnight, but Dean was determined not to go to bed until they'd found something, at least one tiny bit of information, on angels who'd lost their ability to speak English.

Dean slammed his current book shut and stood up. He pressed the heels of his hands to his tired eyes, and decided to test how much of Castiel's angelic power had been affected by the curse. "Hey, Cas," he announced. "Try flying somewhere." In response to the angel's little frown, he quickly added "But come right back. I just want to see if you can do it."

Sure enough, Castiel vanished and then appeared again a second later, wearing the same gloomy expression.

"All right, well at least you're not broken," Dean said. "But you might as well stick around for a while until we find something. It's just a matter of time."

Castiel sat down rather heavily on the sofa again.

Dean frowned. "That is... unless you've got other places to be."

Castiel shook his head slightly. "Pibeliara vepe dodesio."

Dean caught Sam mouthing the words to himself from the middle of his pile of books, and spoke loudly to get his little brother's attention. "Hey, Marian the Librarian! You found anything?"

Sam sighed. "Dean, I don't think we're going to get anywhere tonight. Let's just hit the sack and continue in the morning."

"No way," Dean said firmly.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam had retreated to his room and Dean was brushing his teeth. Castiel had trailed after him into the bathroom and Dean didn't have the heart to tell the angel to leave him alone. Earlier, Castiel hadn't seemed bothered by his new handicap, but after a long day of being unable to communicate with the Winchesters, he was drooping a bit. Dean had noticed that he'd talked less and less throughout the course of the evening as well.

Dean spat out his toothpaste and eyed the angel in the mirror. He looked so forlorn that Dean felt the need to say something. "Hey, listen, you can go ahead and talk if you want. Heck, it sounds kinda cool, even if I can't understand it. It's just a little creepy when you're constantly silent, you know?"

Castiel regarded him with a piercing gaze, and Dean almost thought he was smiling. "Od nidali gigeipaho biabe tabliora pamabeta."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Nice. That's the longest sentence I've heard you speak all day. Now if you only knew how to play charades, maybe I'd understand what it means."

Castiel's eyes briefly dropped to Dean's mouth before he shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

"Have it your way." Dean shrugged, hesitated briefly, and then laid a hand on the angel's shoulder. "We'll figure this out. Trust me, Cas."

Castiel's gaze seemed to soften. "Voendel, Dean. Ol berenesageh zodoemdevo beregeda."

Dean shook his head at the strange-sounding words. "Good night to you too, you crazy angel."

By noon the next day, after another morning of fruitless research, Sam and Dean were starting to grate on each other's nerves. After a while Sam announced that he was going out for food, although Dean suspected he really just needed the drive. Feeling antsy and irritated to be the one left alone at home, Dean decided to bother Castiel.

"Hey Cas, talk to me."

The angel looked suspicious.

"No, I'm serious. Just talk." Dean shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward. "Enochian is cool."

Castiel regarded him for a moment in silence before speaking. "Ti dodehs bevotamoen ipeh gohoen noenka."

Dean couldn't keep a reluctant grin off his face. He'd calmed down somewhat since yesterday, seeing that Castiel's condition didn't seem to be worsening in any way. And he wouldn't admit it to Sam, but he did kind of like hearing Castiel speak his 'native language'.

Castiel raised an eyebrow at Dean's reaction. "Oel ipeh omana bagleh eopehana gohues noenka blioraatz aai."

"Do you know any songs?" Dean suggested.

Castiel glared.

"Okay, okay, it was just an idea."

By that evening, they'd settled into a routine. Admittedly it was a routine that caused Sam a great deal of amusement, but Dean didn't care.

"Cas, your wings don't feel weird, do they?" Dean asked vaguely, flipping through a stack of old notes of Bobby's. "Any pain or itching? Because there's a reference here to something called a wing-binding spell... sounds like it could be an angel thing, right?"

Castiel shook his head. "Vopaaho gekahisageh vogegeh."

Dean noted the gesture with a nod of satisfaction. "Good. So everything's as fluffy white as ever, I take it?" he joked, returning to his papers.

Castiel sighed softly. "Oel goholora aai voraes de iaelpevorageh. Oel zodieldara maelperageh. Vopaaho zodireopeh oelpiretah. Oqua toenugeh. Oel zodoenrehnsageh."

Sam raised his eyebrows, looking back and forth between the two of them with a disbelieving chuckle. "You know, you guys are pretty cute with your two different one-sided conversations."

"Shut up, Sam," said Dean at the exact same moment as Castiel said "Bialo aellareh, Sam."

"Sheesh, fine, forget I ever mentioned it," Sam muttered, burying his nose in his book again.

A few seconds of absolute silence passed before Sam's head slowly emerged over his book again with a look in his eyes that Dean knew all too well.

"Hey, Cas?" Sam asked in a weirdly light tone. "What did you just say?"

Dean chortled and reached for his beer. "I'm pretty sure he told you to shut your face, Sammy. You just got burned––in Enochian!"

"Yeah, but did you hear exactly what he said?" Sam repeated excitedly, putting down his book. "Say it again, Cas."

The angel looked somewhat uncomfortable but muttered "Oel camaliaatz, bialo aellerah, Sam."

"Those words!" Sam's eyes lit up in recognition. "Bialo ah-el-whatever, those words were in the curse! Look!" He pushed a scrap of paper towards Dean. On it were some mysterious lines in Castiel's precise script, with a scribbled transcription below in Sam's hand.

[image here]

"Wait..." Dean said slowly. "So you're telling me this witch basically just told Castiel to shut up in Enochian, and it worked? Does it work on anybody? Hey, Sam: bolp amma, bialo allar!" he read aloud awkwardly, making up for his bad pronunciation (Castiel was wincing in the background) by waving his fingers in what was intended to be a mystical and frightening way.

Sam gave him a look. "Haha, Dean. Very funny. I'm pretty sure you need some actual magic behind the curse to make it work."

Despite their joking, both brothers were excited about this new development, and redoubled their efforts to deduce exactly what the content of the curse had been. By the time evening fell on the second day, they still hadn't found a solution, but they were definitely closer than they had been twenty-four hours previously. At least, that's what Dean kept telling himself.

Flipping through channels aimlessly as he waited for Sam to be done in the bathroom, Dean assured Castiel "Listen, this whole thing will have blown over in a week and we'll be laughing at ourselves for not having figured it out sooner. Trust me."

Castiel didn't look away from the television (Dean was certain he was silently judging humanity, having just seen Honey Boo-Boo, some rabid televangelism, and a particularly unfortunate American Idol contestant in rapid succession), but he mumbled "Paideh, Dean."

"Thank God you can still say my name, at least," Dean muttered, although on reflection he wasn't sure why this was so important.

Still, his words finally caused the angel to turn his gaze from the TV and fix it upon Dean instead. For a few moments there was silence, and then Castiel spoke, his tone startling in its sudden intensity. "Napeai de pireh!" His eyes were shining as his gaze traced over Dean's face searchingly.

He continued, murmuring as if to himself. "Esiasakaho piade koemaho odeh taliobeh nonekaef tapevien eoraes cocasageh."

If Dean had been a little more eloquent when it came to descriptive language, he might have said that the look on Castiel's face was 'awed compassion'. But he wasn't eloquent at the best of times, and especially not right now. He opened his mouth but ended up just breathing shakily instead of saying anything.

Castiel's voice grew deeper and more respectful as he spoke, barely above a whisper, as if pronouncing a holy benediction. "Vupelief i gono odeh oekarimi. Karipeh vogeara el iadepiel i mofafaes."

Dean didn't know why he felt so immobilized by these words. The television was still blaring in the background, but he barely noticed it as Castiel tentatively raised a hand. Dean remained unmoving as the hand floated along his jawline, feather-light, like an art-lover unable to resist shyly touching the perfection of a marble statue, even at risk of getting caught by a museum guard.

"Bathroom's free," came Sam's voice, breaking the breathless moment. In the instant that Dean's eyes flicked to the door, Castiel's hand was back down on his lap, demurely, as if it had never moved from the spot. Dean felt a rush of irritation, but concealed it, directing a grin at the angel that was meant to be confident but came out somewhat unsure.

The next day, they finally hit the jackpot. A tiny book bound in red leather had fallen behind the rest of the books on one of the top shelves of the many bookshelves in the Batcave and had therefore escaped their scrutiny, but when Dean pulled it down and flipped quickly through it, he immediately recognized the odd script that had been the object of his focus for the past two days. "Sam! Check it out." Despite his words, he wasn't eager to give it up, and Sam growled in irritation.

"Give it here, Dean! Let me compare it with the words of the curse."

It only took a few minutes before they had located the curse in question, which turned out to be quite simple after all. As Dean had skeptically suggested the previous day, it was indeed a variation on 'shut up' in Enochian.

"So get this," Sam explained, glancing back and forth between the book and his handwritten notes, "The words 'bolp amma bialo allar' literally mean 'Be thou cursed, the voice bound up!' Or something along those lines. It's hard to translate Enochian."

"And that means," Dean said slowly, "That she wasn't able to completely shut him up, because he's an angel and therefore full of super-powerful angel juice..."

"...But she could 'bind up' his ability to speak English!" Sam concluded triumphantly. "And that's not even the best part––"

"I don't see how that's a good part at all," Dean grumbled.

"––Check this out!" Sam indicated a note at the bottom of the page, and read aloud. "'The power of the curse will weaken with the waning of the moon.' So I guess that means when the new moon comes, Castiel will be back to his old self."

"When's the next new moon?" Dean asked.

"Um..." Sam grabbed his laptop and typed rapidly, before cracking a smile. "Tomorrow! Is that lucky or what?"

Dean let out a deep sigh of relief and sat back in his chair, blinking at the haphazard piles of books around him like a man awaking from a bad dream. "Wow. Where's Cas? We've got to let him know."

"Zodireh ehmnah," came the angel's low voice from the other side of the room, barely preceded by the soft fluttering of wings.

"Oh, there you are!" Sam raised his eyebrows in welcome. "Haven't seen you all morning. Did you hear what we just found? The curse will vanish by itself tomorrow night, so all we have to do is wait."

Castiel approached with an uneven tread. When he got closer, the brothers realized why.

Dean was the first to jump to his feet. "Hey, you look awful! No offense, but... are you all right, Cas?"

The angel stared at him with glazed, tired eyes, before swaying slightly in place.

Before Dean had time to think about it, he'd sprung forward and caught Castiel under the arms, already muttering meaningless words of comfort. "Hey, hey, it's okay, I got you. Sam, get those books off the sofa!" he directed, and helped Castiel sit down, or rather, collapse.

"Huh," mused Sam worriedly, examining the bedraggled picture the angel made. "I wonder..." He picked up the small red book again and flipped through it until he got to the page with the curse. He scanned the notes rapidly and then his eyes widened. "Guys, how did we miss this? Listen: the curse has a 'purpose'. It says here that it will only work if it is cast for a particular reason, with the aim of achieving something... and if this goal is not achieved by the time the new moon comes, the victim of the curse will die!"

"No way," Dean responded automatically. "Cas is not going to die. Let me see that."

Sam knew when to give in to his brother's demands, and he willingly handed over the book. Unfortunately, the notes on the curse only confirmed what he'd just told them, and Dean found himself collapsing on the sofa next to the exhausted angel.

"No way," he repeated. "This is not––this is not okay." He stared at the book for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was louder. "How the hell are we supposed to know what this mysterious 'reason' even is if Cas can't friggin' COMMUNICATE with us! Genius planning, idiot who made this thing up!" In a fury, he hurled the book across the room, stood up, and stamped out the door.

Three hours earlier, in Heaven...

"I don't understand," said Castiel. "It was a witch who cursed me. No angels were present."

Joshua smiled, and closed his eyes to better focus on inhaling the delicate scent of a Bird of Paradise flower before opening them again and turning his gentle gaze upon Castiel.

"That's right. No angels were present. But the Hand of the Father is not always visible, and His wishes are not always carried out by His Host. His acts are many and subtle. Even His most loyal servants cannot comprehend his ways."

Castiel lowered his eyes in humility. "I know that. I do not mean to presume any such wisdom."

"I understand your confusion," Joshua assured him. "You smote a creature of evil and in the act were blessed with the touch of the Lord. It is... unexpected."

"You're saying that God... sent the curse to me... through the witch?" Castiel asked cautiously.

"Yes, that's what I'm saying."

There was a moment of silence as they walked in the garden, and then Joshua let out a low chuckle. "You're trying so hard not to blaspheme in your thoughts that I can feel it, Castiel! Stop worrying. It's not a sin to ask something like that."

"But it is," Castiel argued. "We must not question His deeds."

"You know, I'll tell you a secret," Joshua said with a twinkle in his eye. "He doesn't mind that much if you question them. It's only when you challenge them outright that He gets a little testy. So go ahead and ask."

"All right." Castiel still felt very uncomfortable, but he made himself speak what was on his mind. "I don't wish to question my Father's intentions, but... why would He curse me? This curse has brought me and my human wards nothing but anguish. They are convinced I will die within a day. Although I'm sure His mercy will see fit to direct my fate, I am still regretful that my... friends must suffer so."

"Ah, yes." Joshua nodded to himself for a few moments before smiling again. "Listen, fledgling." Castiel bowed his head shyly at the nickname. He was no longer truly a fledgling, but he was still quite young in comparison to most of the Heavenly Host. "I want you to think on something. Sometimes when your tongue is tied up, it gives you the freedom to say things you wouldn't otherwise say. Hmm?"

Castiel nodded meekly. He knew he would receive no further revelation at present. "Thank you, Joshua." In a whisper of wings he was gone, to glide among the celestial spheres and ruminate upon the words of wisdom he had been given.

It had not escaped his notice, however, that manifesting and using his wings had become steadily more difficult and tiring over the past two days. He was trying to keep this from the Winchesters, knowing it would only worry them further. But when he all but crash-landed in their living room three hours later, the secret was out.

As a far more frantic and short-tempered Sam and Dean returned to their research, Castiel stayed with them, despite the unpleasant energy they were putting out. He knew their anger was on his behalf, and was in truth merely a testament to the love they felt for him. A love which, of course, he returned. But was it returned equally to both of them? Or did he love them in two different ways?

Castiel sighed heavily. He couldn't deny that he finally knew what Joshua had been talking about. He knew the purpose of the curse. And he knew, too, that Dean could not understand any of the words Castiel said to him. Still, he found himself hesitating, scared to uncover this deepest secret of his soul by speaking it aloud.

He kept waiting for Sam to leave the room so he and Dean could be alone, but eventually he realized that night was falling. He didn't have much time if he wanted to obey his Father's wishes and break the curse. It was time to speak the truth.

"Dean," said Castiel.

Dean looked up, heart heavy with hopelessness. It seemed like there was no possible way to figure out the purpose of the curse. Only the victim could know it. And the victim was unable to communicate it to anyone around him, so there was no way for the Winchesters to help Castiel.

"Cas." Dean took a deep, shuddering breath before burying his head in his hands. "I'm sorry," he mumbled through his fingers. "It's not looking great. We can't find the purpose."

"Dean," the angel repeated. "Adegeta gohues laiade noenka?"

"That sounded like a question," Dean replied stupidly, for lack of anything else to say. "The answer is, um... sure. Fine. Yes. God, I hope that's the right answer."

Castiel paused briefly before continuing. "Adepehahota maderideh desaberamageh. Papenora moh'oaho." He gave Dean a long look, blue eyes seeming haunted.

On a sudden impulse, Dean got up from his chair and came to sit next to the angel on the sofa. Sam didn't even look up from his book, eyes racing non-stop across the pages.

Dean swallowed, placed a hand on Castiel's knee and squeezed gently. "Hey. I don't know what you're talking about that makes you look so down, but I promise it's not that bad. It can't be that bad." He wanted to say something else, something better, but there was a lump in his throat. Night had fallen by now and they'd turned on all the lights. It was 9:28 p.m. Sam had found that the moment of the new moon tonight was going to be at 9:30 p.m. exactly.

"Oqua..." Castiel stumbled over his words, took a breath, and continued softly. "Oqua lukifetiaes pamabeta aqualo vorabaes oaona ozodazodem berien bliora."

After speaking these words, Castiel timidly reached down and placed his hand over Dean's. Dean swallowed nervously, but he was too caught up in the moment to even glance over and make sure Sam wasn't watching.

Touching Dean's hand seemed to give the angel courage, however, because his next words were stronger. Even though he couldn't understand them, Dean felt a shiver go down his spine. Castiel spoke each word as if it were holy, and the majestic rhythm of the language was like a celestial heartbeat.

"Oel goholora aai odeh aai ozodazodem goholora."

"Eoel voraes caosago odeh aai ozodazodem caosago."

"Oel bahael aai ipeh gemikaelzodomah oqua aai ipeh bevotamoen ozodazodem faaipeh."

"Oel odekuasabeh oraes oqua aai zodorageh."

"Oel dorapeha pieldeh odeh pireipesoel dorapehael noenka."

There was a longer pause before he finally spoke again, almost whispering the last words.

"Noana ozodiehn quazodmozod iadepiel."

The grandfather clock in the corner struck the half-hour, and the single bell tone was still reverberating throughout the room when Castiel said solemnly "I love you, Dean."

Blue eyes widened in surprise to see the spark of understanding in green ones. Castiel looked nonplussed for a moment, and then the faintest touch of a smile curved his lips.

"I appear to have discovered my purpose," he said, almost shyly.

Twenty-four hours later...

Yes, Sam had graciously volunteered to do the grunt work of putting all the books back on the shelves, but that was only because of the circumstances. And yeah, okay, he was definitely planning on using it as leverage to get Dean to wash the dishes for the next week. But it was mostly because of the circumstances.

And what were those circumstances?

Castiel, still exhausted, his 'mojo' drained from his close call yesterday, was actually sleeping. But he hadn't chosen to sleep on one of the available beds. Instead, he was lying on the sofa, his head resting in Dean's lap. Dean was very gently stroking his hair as if he thought the angel might break. Sam was pretty sure his older brother hadn't breathed in the past five minutes. He kept staring down at the angel in his lap like he couldn't quite believe it.

Eventually Dean finally had to take a rather deep breath to make up for the past few minutes, and the motion of his body drew a sleepy protest from Castiel.

"Hey, Cas," Dean whispered. "You awake? I want to ask you something."

"I am now," the angel grumbled, turning onto his back to squint up at Dean, dark hair more tousled and spiky than ever. "What do you want to ask me, Dean?"

Dean shifted awkwardly. "What were you talking about? I mean, all that time, when you were cursed and couldn't talk English?"

The angel tipped his head consideringly (a motion that caused Dean's Adam's-apple to bob in his throat) and gave a tiny, secretive smile before answering "Berita."

Dean's hand froze in Castiel's hair, and his expression took on a guarded attitude. "Say that again."

Castiel obliged. "Berita."

"Oh shit. Cas. I think you're still cursed. Say something else!" Dean prompted urgently.

Castiel narrowed his eyes up at Dean for a second before he was unable to conceal a tiny smirk. "Pilaho."

"What––wait a second." Dean glared down at him in confusion. "What the––?"

"That means 'something else' in Enochian," Castiel explained, nestling back down into Dean's leg with a pleased expression.

Dean groaned. "Don't DO that. You friggin' scared me, Cas!"

Sam finally gave up trying to stifle his laughter, and Dean almost tipped Castiel off his lap in his attempts to reach a cushion to throw at his brother. In order to avoid falling, Castiel clutched onto Dean, which brought them both crashing to the floor. And in the ensuing chaos, Dean entirely forgot to ask Castiel what 'berita' meant, after all.

~ fin ~