When they reached the gym, Dean had reached the conclusion that angels were weird. The angel hadn't taken the walk with Dean and Bobby, but rather disappeared as they had started towards the gym, and had been in the changing room waiting with a ham sandwich and a bottle of apple juice in each hand when they arrived. Having never met one of God's servants before, Dean hadn't quite known what he was getting himself into.

"I sensed your blood sugar levels were low," was the only explanation he gave upon handing Dean the food. "You can't exercise on an empty stomach," Dean nodded and took the food sheepishly.

"Er, thanks," he said, before taking a bite of the sandwich. It was pretty good.

Professor Singer took the time Dean spent eating, in order to show "Castiel" around the gym. Naturally it was empty; Men of Letters preferring their libraries to their lifting. From what Dean could tell from Bobby's explanation, the angel was visiting on some sort of check-up of the academy, and as the Vice-Head of the school, it was Bobby's job to impress. And now; apparently, Dean's. He took a bite of his sandwich and watched as the angel considered the treadmill.

Dean finished his lunch with a swash of apple juice and nodded at Bobby to show his readiness. Contrary to his academia, Dean strived at the physical side of his work, and was earning a high 8 in every fighting class available. It was the only thing that had been keeping him in school for two years, something which his father was angrily thankful for. Apparently, John Winchester didn't send his sons to the top academy in the world for them to become personal trainers.

Sam had just turned seventeen, and had finally finished his rebellious stage. However, during this time, the youngest Winchester had taken to training with Dean, learning to fight, and even in the aftermath of that, Sam enjoyed to box and play about with his brother. But Sam understood that for men of letters, it wasn't about being physically able, not when you could be mentally so.

Deciding how to best show off (in order to make Bobby look good, obviously), Dean walked forwards towards the wooden block, that had been dented so many times, it was almost falling apart. He picked out the knife that someone (probably himself) had stabbed into the heart of the dummy, and dropped into fighting position. Bobby took the liberty of explaining what Dean was doing, and that he was (surprisingly) the top of his class. Dean struck out at the dummy, a little slower than he would like, but his uniform constricted his movements. Had been be allowed to unbutton the white shirt and replace the tight dress-trousers with a pair of jeans, Dean would be able to gank the thing with much more grace.

Castiel was staring on at Dean as though he were fascinating. Dean would lash out at the lifeless block of wood, and retract as though it had hurt him. Then he would dash around the thing and stab into the bulk of its back. The boy's eyes kept darting from the dummy, and back to Castiel, who stood entranced by the dance that Dean had set out. It made Dean blush and straighten up.

"So er…" he started. "Do you wanna go?" Dean held out the knife. It could do with sharpening (or replacing all together) but Castiel eyed it as though it was dangerous.

"I have never used a knife before," he commented. Bobby looked worried that Dean had upset their inspector, but Dean continued with a smile.

"C'mon, I'll show you," he offered. Castiel seemed hesitant but stepped forwards. He took the knife, but not before removing the scruffy cream trench coat, and laying it on one of the pieces of equipment.

Dean put the handle of the knife into the angel's hand, arranging it so that the finger dents matched his strangely graceful fingers. Then, he showed Castiel how to stand, jumping on the tip of his toes so that movement in all directions was easy. Seeing the angel copy his movements made Dean want to laugh, but he didn't, instead he gestured how to stab at the thing, and clapped when Castiel hit it. Dean had seen more accuracy from Ash (which was saying something), but he applauded nonetheless.

"My true form is just getting used to my vessel," he commented, having sensed Dean's reaction. Dean nodded, pulled the knife easily from the dummy and handed it back to Castiel. The dark haired man stared at him, before re-enacting Dean's previous movements and bouncing around the block, stabbing it gently in the back.

"You're doing well," Dean lied, clapping his hands together once.

"I am not. That attack would not have killed a mere human, never mind a monster," Castiel's voice was grave and emotionless, and there was something about his words that struck a chord with Dean. The angel thought that he was weak. He'd show him just how strong a mere human could be.

"Not if you attack like that," he growled. "It's a knife, not a paper plane, you have to put some force into it," Dean took the knife from the angel and with a flick of his wrist had thrown it until it was dented into the wood. He motioned for Castiel to retrieve the weapon, and when he did, he had trouble shaking it from the dummy.

"In heaven we have special weapons. We have no need for cutlery to defend ourselves," he growled, turning to shoot Dean a scowl. Behind them, Bobby didn't look happy with how the lesson was going. Dean sauntered towards the angel and ripped the knife from the dummy with a resounding crunch, and stared down at Castiel, taking advantage of the two inch height difference.

"That must be why the war is going so great," Dean suggested venomously. "Maybe if you guys trained how to actually dent wooden dummies, you'd be able to kill some demons,"

The look he received was one so inhuman, his knife hand flinched. Castiel was staring up at Dean, but it was Dean who felt small. It was Dean who was twenty one years old, and Castiel who was as old as the world. And in that moment, Castiel flared out, letting the light that escaped his eyes shiver down his hand and hit the wooden block. But Dean couldn't look away. The Winchester had never been so scared, but with that, he had never felt quite so brave, as to stand staring the impossible being right in the eyes.

An alarm sounded, and it was only at the feel of the sprinklers raining down on him that he noticed the enflamed wooden dummy, and was able to remove his glare from the angel. In turn, the angel's gaze was stuck on Dean as though interested by what he might do. A trickle of water dripped down his temple, leaving a mop of previously messy hair sticking to his forehead. The angel cocked his head, almost challenging the boy. But he was an angel, not a human. Dean wondered if the vessel the angel had taken could even feel the rain.

"You set a fire in the gym!" John was shouting at Dean for the fifth time that evening. The entire academy had to be removed from lessons, resulting in Dean being caught skipping class, as well as apparently arson. Bobby had said nothing in Dean's defence. It was, after all, Dean who had provoked the angel of the lord into setting fire to random pieces of exercise equipment.

"I didn't set the fire. The angel set the fire," Dean tried to explain calmly, but his father wasn't hearing any of it.

"You do realise how dangerous fir es are, Dean? Or do you forget your mother?" Dean took a deep breath in. He wanted to hit him, just for bringing it up. He wanted to shout that this was nothing like that – there had been no demons after his little brother – and that the fire wasn't even dangerous. There had only been an angel, angry that Dean had pissed it off. The fire wasn't going to kill anybody, and it wasn't his fault anyway. Did he mention the immature angel of the lord?

But instead, Dean nodded and waited for the lecture to be over. When his father had finally run out of steam, he gestured for Dean to leave, and watched his oldest son leave the room with the shimmering green eyes the smiled out from a wedding photo on his desk. It killed him how much Dean reminded him of Mary. How much flair he had for finding trouble, how he would defy everybody except for John Winchester. Sam was very much like himself, which had left their relationship in tatters over the past few years, but the boy was settling in the academy; accepting becoming a Man of Letters over going to normal college. Dean never questioned his father, but his father was beginning to question him.

In his room, Dean had one wall decked with an array of knives that he had collected over the years. They were all different lengths, colours, and shapes, but each one shined and reflected his face as he stared into them. Dean had never used a knife on a real monster before. Only ever wooden dummies or vegetables, when he was forced to cook for Sam whilst their father was away on business. The closest he'd come to stabbing anyone had been earlier that day.

His room was full of little things. There was a record player that Bobby had given him years ago, that he'd been meaning to fix up. There were matching records – some classic rock, some classic roll. A necklace Sam had given him for Christmas when he was twelve hung up on a cork board, because he wasn't allowed to wear it to the Academy. His room was so full of little things that it looked messy, but really it was just lived in, because Dean liked to have his own space.

Dean was eyeing up his knives when he realised that right now it wasn't his own space. As he turned away from the wall, Dean was stunned to see a short (and now considerably drier) angel stood next to the foot of his bed. He swore in shock, and jumped back against the drawers that held his clothes, whilst Castiel tilted his head as though he was confused. Dean wondered how he knew where he lived.

"Fuck man, what're you doing?" he demanded, wondering if it would be worth removing one of the knives to keep himself safe. But then he realised that he had no idea how he could go able harming, never mind killing, an angel. The thought didn't make him feel safer, so he gripped the drawers tighter.

"I wanted to apologise," Castiel spoke as one who had words put into their mouths. But then, he had spoken like that before hand – as though this language was not natural to him. Dean nodded in a gesture to allow him to continue. When he was met with silence, he added,

"Go on then," the angel stared at him. He stared back.

"I'm sorry that I set your training toy on fire," Castiel said. Dean scoffed, and gawked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Is that it?" he quizzed. Castiel looked confused.

"That is not what you are upset about?" Dean shook his head. "I thought humans were purely materialistic creatures," he mused.

"See! That, right there," Dean said, throwing his hands up and walking around the other side of the bed. He leant against the window sill, staring intently at the puzzled looking angel. "All of this… humans are materialistic, humans are weak, humans need sandwiches to be able to train…"

"Did you not like your meal?" Castiel worried.

"No, It was great, but that's not the point, dude!" Dean sighed. "The point is, that you don't break into a guy's room and tell him that he's nothing but a mere human, it's annoying,"

"I didn't break in. Nothing is broken," Castiel pointed out.

"Dude,"

Castiel stared at Dean. Dean felt as though he was under his father's scrutiny once more, but there was something about the gentleness of the blue eyes; something that spoke of willing to understand, rather than angry vengeance.

"Not all humans are weak," Dean sighed, trying to make the angel see. His thoughts wondered to what his father might say if he was caught with an angel in his bedroom – an arson angel – and dropped his voice.

"In comparison to angels you are very weak," Castiel insisted, and Dean wondered who it would hurt more if he were to punch the angel straight in the nose. Probably himself.

"God prefers us," Dean quipped childishly. "Or he would if he existed,"

"God exists,"

"Okay," Dean rolled his eyes. "Then isn't daddy going to be wondering why you're hiding out in my bedroom?"

"I wanted to apologise," Castiel repeated.

"For setting fire to my toys?" Dean quizzed with a bite of sarcasm. Castiel's eyes narrowed, looking as though he wanted to say 'of course, what else?', but there was something that held him back.

"Dean?"

"Yes?"

"Your brother's coming…" he said finally. Dean blinked, wanting to force the apology out of him, and maybe even strangle him with the stupid blue tie that dangled loosely around his neck.

"What?" he demanded, but the angel was already gone.