Dean slowed down his car and desperately looked out the window. His kid brother had run away and their father blamed him.

It wasn't his fault. Sam and dad had been on outs ever since he'd learned what dad did for a living – hunt things that go bump in the night. And every time dad returned from his weeklong hunting trip, he and dad argued about it. This time too they had fought and Sam had, as always, threatened to run away if he didn't stop it. And finally tired of his constant tantrums and empty threats, dad had yelled, "You don't have the balls, boy!" Dad had left that very night, and Dean had realized Sam was missing the next morning. That was four days ago.

Dad was gonna come back tomorrow and if he didn't find Sam before that, dad would kill him. But that wasn't all he was worried about. The world was not safe place for a 13-year old kid, out by himself. Sure, Sammy was smart… and good at hustling… and trained in basic martial arts, but he still was no match for a grown-up with a knife or a gun. And four days is a really long time. What if… what if Sammy was hurt? Or dead? Or worse!

The thought filled Dean with sudden dread. He stopped the car by the side of the road and stumbled out. He collapsed onto the grassy patch, joined his hands below his chin and uttered one word, "Cas".

That's all he said. "Cas… Please… Cas…" He was sobbing softly, pleadingly… only two words on his lips…"Cas… please…" He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to. Cas knew. Cas always knew.

Dean Winchester was not a religious person. He didn't pray every night, like his brother… he didn't go to church, like his father. He was more like his mother. "I don't believe in God," she'd say "I believe in Lennon." So she sang "Hey Jude" to them every night. But she did believe in one thing – Angels. "Angels are watching over you," she'd say every night tucking her little boy into bed, pointing to the little ceramic bust of an angel above his crib.

"Cas!" baby Dean would smile toothily.

"Castiel," that's what Mary called the bust. "Castiel . The Angel of Thursday." It didn't mean anything other than (a) It was a bust of a little angel, (b) she had bought it at the flea market on a Thursday and (c) she had read somewhere that Thursday, the most obscure day of the week was assigned to Castiel, a faceless angel of questionable existence. Hence, "Castiel . The Angel of Thursday."

Of course, the name was hard on little Dean's tongue. So he called it "Cas". Cas… his best friend in the whole world.

After Mary's death, John, in his thirst for revenge, had sold the bust along with most of their

other possessions "to buy ammo". The bust was gone, but Cas remained. Dean grew up with Cas. He didn't believe in God, he didn't believe in angels… he just believed in Cas.

And now… laying on that grassy patch, in the shady part of a strange town, his head almost touching the ground Dean prayed. He prayed for his best friend to come through for him.

Suddenly, he felt something cold and wet against his cheek. He raised his head to look into the brightest, strangest bluest eyes of a giant golden-retriever. The dog stood there, his eyes sparkling, his tongue hanging out, his magnificently bushy tail wagging at him. Dean extended his hand and scratched its chin. The tail started wagging even harder, and Dean could almost swear the dog was smiling.

"Bones!"

"Bones, heel!" A young boy followed his dog. The dog turned away from Dean and ran to its master, took hold of one skinny trouser leg and dragged him towards Dean.

The boy stopped in the front of the figure huddled on the ground.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up. "Sa…?" the word died on his lips as he raised himself to his knees and crushed his brother in a tight embrace, squeezing the life out of him.

"Dean?" Sam squeaked when Dean loosened the grip and he was finally able to breathe. "What are you doing here?"

Dean could only pull his brother in another tight hug. "Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again!" he warned. He loosened his grip a bit after he had hugged out everything he wanted Sam to understand. "Thanks Cas," he murmured into his brother's shoulder.

"Bones?" Sam looked around after Dean finally finally released him. "Where's Bones?"

Dean turned around to see the dog trotting further along the road, without a care or worry in the world. It was a stray. It would be alright.

"C'mon," he said rising up to his feet. "Let's get you home."

Castiel smiled. "Watch over the boy," those were his orders. "Just watch. Don't interfere."

"The boy is destined for a great many things," all his superiors had said. "Dean Winchester. Michael's future vessel… the boy who would help them in their battle against Lucifer. Dean Winchester. The man who would bring paradise back on Earth." And Castiel was told to watch over him.

So Castiel watched over him. He had watched Dean Winchester ever since he was a single-celled organism in his mother's womb. He had watched that single-celled zygote grow into a full-fledged baby and he had watched him after that. And when Dean Winchester was 2, he had acknowledged Castiel's presence. "Cas!" Castiel heard a child's gleeful voice call him.

Of course, Dean Winchester could have no idea who he was. Castiel was not one of the known angels. He had no lores written about him, he had no ballads sung about him. He was no one. Just one of the hundreds of faceless foot soldiers in the "Host of Heaven". A common warrior. No one worshipped him. No one prayed to him. No one even knew he existed. No one but Dean Winchester.

Ever since that first gleeful cry, Dean Winchester had constantly spoken to him. Not just prayed… Castiel had heard Dean cry for him, beg him for help, fight with him, ask him for opinions on music and pie… and girls…

But… "Just Watch. Don't interfere," those were his orders. So Castiel watched. He watched quietly when a four-year old Dean carried his brother out to safety while Azazel's Hell Fire burnt their mother alive. He watched silently when an eight-year old Dean woke up from his own nightmares to soothe his younger brother back to sleep. He watched mutely when a 13 year old Dean prayed to him every waking minute their dad was out hunting some supernatural creature. He just watched and did nothing.

But today, 18 years later, when he heard that pitiful wail of the boy huddled on the grass, Castiel couldn't bear it anymore. He knew he had to do something. And he had. For the first time, since his existence, Castiel had defied his orders. For the first time, since the beginning of time, Castiel, a common foot soldier, had rebelled against the Heavens.

He knew the implications… he knew the consequences… he knew about Lucifer. But he didn't care. He had done it all for Dean Winchester. And he would do it again.

So Castiel smiled. And wagged his tail.