Denidriel is one of the younger angels, not yet grown distant like his older brothers and sisters and far too eager to discover the secrets that the Human world holds. He goes by Dean, mostly because it annoys his brothers and sisters. He's lived his existence being told that he's a bad influence on Samuel, who, to be fair, doesn't always fight that influence very hard.

When Dean stumbles across a tight-knit band of hunters, he's intrigued to learn they share not only their passion for helping people but also their blood. The youngest, a mere pup in comparison to the others, reminds Dean in a way of Samuel, his own younger brother and the only other angel he's ever enjoyed being around.

Dean wants to learn about humanity, about the humans and their world. Castiel has caught his attention and Dean is determined to stick around this human, despite what the other angels say.

Chapter One

Castiel stared at the old farmhouse, seeing the blacked out windows and feeling his heart threaten to drop. He stood at the end of the driveway, weeds older than him curling around his shoes and wishing he could convince himself there was light behind the lower lefthand window, that it wasn't his imagination that the black square was slightly more grey than the others. His ears could catch no sounds.

He'd tried them all, all the ones he knew, all the ones that had been in play before he… Before he died, and several more besides. He'd even tried the one he knew had been compromised. The ones still standing, at least. It had been nearly two months. This was his last, his desperate card, his empty hand. The car wasn't there but that didn't mean they weren't. They often stashed it somewhere, but Castiel was too afraid to wander off and check the usual spot. Too afraid he'd find nothing but more old weeds.

He took a breath, feeling the memory of Alistair's searing knife as it scraped his spine. He swallowed, knowing he was shaking but hoping that he could ignore it into disappearing. He was out. He knew he was out. But his skin, his organs, his nerves… They still forgot sometimes. He swallowed more air, feeling desperate tears threaten. It took an inordinate amount of willpower to make his legs move.

The driveway, if it could even be called that anymore, was long, long, long. Castiel felt he'd never get there, that it was another trick, another form of torture from the ones who'd had him for so long. That he was forever trapped, doomed to be so close and yet so far. Had he even escaped?

But then his feet reached the steps to the porch and the fearful grip of illusion was gone. He was sure of where he was, a cool breeze crossing the sweat on his face in the fading day. The lowest step complained, old and rotting wood that didn't want his feet to be there. The sound was sweet and familiar, nostalgia to his ears. It had been a very long time since he'd stood here, on these steps.

His parents had been alive then.

He stepped up, and suddenly he was there, facing the door and feeling his heartbeat fast and devastating in his chest. His fingers reached, caught the old brass doorknob. But his hand wouldn't turn it.

What if they weren't there?

What was he going to do if they weren't in there, behind the old, fading green paint?

What if he was truly on his own?

A scared part of him wanted to turn away, wanted to leave and run somewhere far. Somewhere he wouldn't have to address that fear, somewhere he could kid himself that he wasn't alone. He didn't know how long he stood there, his fingers curled hard against the cold metal and his throat dry. It could have been minutes, it could have been a day. Fear had taken hold of Castiel and he was afraid that he wouldn't be strong enough to face what might not lie beyond the door.

When he did find the courage to push open the creaky old door, it was with his eyes shut tightly and his breath held like a flighty bird in its cage. For a moment he couldn't move, for a moment he couldn't even feel his heart beating.

And then all at once he surprised himself, letting out the breath and taking two steps across the threshold and forcing his eyes open to see…

A darkened and empty hall.

His heart finally fell, and it took Castiel with it. He landed on his knees, his head bowed and his hands gripping his sleeves as though to hold himself together.

They're not here. They were never here.

I'll never find them.

Castiel began to cry. His tears were silent, falling onto his jeans, onto the scuffed and warped old floorboards. Castiel cried, feeling like his heart was breaking, wishing there were something, anything he could do to make the tearing pain in his chest leave. Alastair had come back for him, he knew, that razor-edge slipping into his skin like a swimmer into water, barely rippling. Castiel cried knowing he was truly alone and that there was nowhere else he knew to look, that there was a whole country out there beyond the old weeds and that they could be anywhere in it.

He'd never find them.

"Now, now." came a cold, disgusted voice. "There's no need to cry over a little Devil's Trap. It's the least of your worries."

Castiel couldn't breathe, freezing in place as the words washed him over, as the familiar voice wound into his chest and seat about lifting his heart back into place.

"Now me, that you should cry about."

Castiel lifted his face to see him, revealing the figure from toe to top. His clothes were dark and worn, his favourite was coat missing and his hands were gloved. His sleeves were rolled up, the twisty, elegant tattoo that hid his anti-possession charm stark against the pale skin. His face was older, or maybe it was Castiel's memory that was wrong. There was scruff on his chin and his cheeks were hollowing. There were dark circles around his eyes and his hair needed cut. He was always so neat.

"Balthazar." Castiel rasped, and in the empty air it sounded like a prayer.

The man had begun to move forwards, one hand tucked into his jacket to reach for the knife Castiel knew lived there. But he'd stopped, his face paling and the coldness in his empty eyes filling with surprise, confusion, fear. And then suspicion, dark and scary. Castiel watched him, unable to find the energy to move, even to stand. His body was weak with relief, with the knowledge that finally, finally he'd found them.

"I looked- everywhere." he wheezed, his heart and his lungs losing control, skipping and stuttering because he'd found them. "I- tried them all. I- Balthazar. I almost lost hope."

He closed his eyes as more tears fell, spilling hotly over his cheeks. But now they were salted with relief, with joy. With the fact that it was finally over. His search was done. He'd found them and everything would be okay now. As okay as their lives had ever been, anyway.

"You-"

"I found you." Castiel whispered, before his vision began to swim and he felt himself swaying.

He didn't even have time to tell him that he thought he might be passing out. Castiel's world was black before he hit those worn floorboards, his brain powering down for the first proper time since… Since before.

At least this time, the darkness was empty.