Disclaimer: Same as usually, don't own diddle squat. C'est la vie.

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews :) It's great to be back too.

Chapter 2: Sam begins to notice little things...for instance someone's been messing with the music.

Sitting in the car, tires eating miles of road, Sam flips through newspapers, checking out any signs on the Apocalypse or trials to the find the Colt. So far, the brothers were merely driving from town to town, Dean doing little tune-ups or supply runs in between. Any mundane thing to avoid talking about angels, demons and being meat suits for an epic Cain verses Abel battle royale.

"Dean, here's something maybe. Colorado Springs gets intense hail storm for three days straight."

Dean's left hand curls slightly more over the steering wheel, his relaxed face tightening. "Don't care right now, Sam. I say we take a small break and try to find our footing again. I mean come on, you've still gotta have cravings for bitch blood."

Sam's face flares red as he snaps the newspaper closed. "I'm fine Dean, haven't had a craving in months." He remembers when those other hunters had forced the demon blood into his mouth. He had been terrified that he'd fall off the track again and that this time there wouldn't be no omniscient being to cleanse him.

And somehow knowing he had a second chance, he resisted and split the foul blood, how did he even think that stuff was delicious, right back into the hunter's face.

The thing is, is that Dean doesn't know because if he did, Sam knows that Dean would track down those hunters and do things…

Then again, his brother might not.

Sam catches the tail end of the one-sided discussion. "So, that's why we're going on the lowdown, Sam. And I mean deep, deep underground." Dean sends a glance full of authority leaving no room for objection.

"Fine," the younger Winchester tosses the paper and notes onto the back seat. Just as he's about to straighten out, he spots the tiny box full of tapes. Reaching across, he pulls the box towards him, flipping around to face the dashboard and a tiny little change that unnerves him more than the soda and pie.


Stepping out of the small motel office into the bright, rising humid air of a Thursday morning, Dean halts in whistling a nameless tune, keys swinging between his fingers. Leaning against the Impala's passenger door on the driver's side is Cas, keen eyes watching a young couple running towards the pool trying to cash in another swim before check-out at noon.

Despite how tempting that pool is, Dean pushes forward noticing how the angel is not affected by the rising heat even with that damn coat on.

"Hey Cas," greets Dean, opening the trunk tossing his bags inside. The angel had called last night wondering where he was, but after that there was nothing except a soft goodbye. It wasn't like the angel to just call for the mere sake of it and it had left Dean a bit uneasy for the rest of the night.

Blue eyes narrow slightly as if trying to figure out why it was so funny about making huge splashes. "Hello, Dean," comes the expected response. Even after everything, the angel never says Hi.

Dean rolls his eyes as he slams the trunk closed. "Dude, stop ogling the swimmers."

Of course, Cas follows his orders and instead fixes that intense stare onto him. Swallowing, the hunter jerks his head to the side, gently nudging Cas away from the door. At least he's used to the soul-piercing gaze, which he doesn't know if that's a good thing or not. Either way, Dean doesn't care because despite that whole speech about liking being alone, he hates it. And with Cas here, it melts that frozen wasteland in his gut just a tad.

It's gonna be a hot nasty day today and he wants to be long gone before he melts into a puddle of goo. Opening the door, he shuffles off his coat and green shirt, tossing it in the back. The black tee is already sticking to his back. Dean knows he should feel awkward with Cas standing quietly next to him, but then a cool breeze ghosts past his neck sending shivers running down his spine. Jerking upwards, he watches as the angel walks quietly to the other side.

"You tagging along?"

Blinking up at him, Cas's normally pale face hints at a tiny dash of red. "If that is ok."

Slamming the door closed, Dean slides into driver seat, smiling as she rumbles to life. "Then hop on in or I'm leaving your feathery ass behind." Locking the door shut, he glances to the passenger seat spotting his new companion. "You're one lazy angel, you know that."

Cas' lips purse in confusion. "Why?"

"The door, you idjit. You know never mind." Shaking his head, Dean feels the tension of the heat; a bad night's sleep and the absence of a certain overgrown weed build up in him. He wants Sam to sit there. Instead he has to settle with a Colombo wanna-be angel. But as the air conditioning kicks in, it freezes away the anger making him realize that anything beats an empty seat.

"May I ask what brings you here this fine mornin?" Pulling out on the interstate, he switches into cruise, turning off the air conditioning while rolling down the windows. Nothing beats the feel of wind rushing over you going at 70 miles per hour. The tiny town disappears into the horizon with a sigh of relief of a job gone well.

Cas shifts in his seat, his shoulders seeming to ripple as a certain blast of wind whips into the car. "I…merely wanted to see how you are doing."

"Well ain't that sweet, Cas." Dean can't help but tease, picking up on the nervousness. The fact that he was beginning to read the angel now was a bit alarming yet comforting. "But it's only been like three days since we dealt with Raphael. Nothing new here."

"I know." Cas's solemn voice cracks at not knowing how to say what he's thinking yet full of honesty. No hidden meanings or secrets tainting the meaning.

And somehow that makes Dean grin, cheerfulness reaching his eyes.

They drive in comfortable silence, crossing the state boundary an hour later. Clearing his throat, Dean flashes an inquisitive gaze at the angel. It's not in the other guy's nature to simply sit in one place without a purpose. "Ok, what is it? Shouldn't you be out there looking for God or something instead of lounging here with me?"

Breaking his gaze from the window, Cas's eyes drop with surprised resignation. "My leads for God have gone cold. I thought that I would keep you company till something surfaces. Besides, with Raphael roaming now, I figured it would be best to stay low for a while and be near you in case..."

"Is that guilt I hear for using me as a bullet shield?" pushes Dean, trying to keep his eyes on the road while waiting to see the angel's reaction.

Instead of the wallowing puppy-dog eyes the angel uses more and more, Cas shoots a gaze full of power and otherness. Even though no words are exchanged, Dean can almost hear the words of apology, of regret for dragging Dean into a mission that in the long run didn't accomplish anything. Yet, determination shines with conviction that the angel had to do what he had to do.

'This is war' those blue eyes dictate. In an electrifying moment, Dean remembers exactly the type of angel Cas is, that despite all their fun times together the warrior of God that visited him in the kitchen is still present and hurl-happy.

Sighing, Dean flips on his cassette player, wanting to get away from how tiny he feels. "Just forget I said anything." Bobbing his head to the music, it takes only ten minutes till that foreboding power is gone leaving behind the infamous awkward silence.

Curiosity shadowing his eyes, Cas turns his head, face pursed in concentration. Dean can't help but bite. "What is it?"

The inquisitive voice is back, the nervousness and holy anger vanishing behind a stone exterior. "Why does this man sing about not fearing the Reaper? He is right but is it not in your nature to fear death?"

Dean shakes his reeling head on how fast the angel could change gears of infinite superiority to socially inept. "Yeah but it's a song, Cas. It's by Blue Oyster Cult called 'Don't Fear the Reaper.'"

"There's a cult of blue oysters?"

"No," sighing Dean feels his energy begin drain away. This is harder than raising Sam. Opening his mouth, Cas surprises him by pulling out the small box of tapes and peering inside. "Is there something you want?"

"I liked the other band we were listening to on our way to the…" a faint blush dashes across his face. Scratching the back of his neck, he quickly mutters, "The one about a green river."

Dean's mouth falls open, eyes wide with shock and glee as he takes in the blank face of Cas. "Really? I never would have guessed you a CCR fan."

Cas nods, before fixing back on the box. His face displays a lost look at not knowing where to start with all the choices sprawled out before him while he states with utter calmness. "Dean, I suggest you turn to the left a bit before we run off the road."

Yanking his head forward, Dean snarls out, "Shit!" The thrumming of the tires driving over the ridge lines on the side of the interstate jostle the car. With a quick and smooth swerve, he glides the Impala back onto quiet tarmac. "You're freakin distractin, you know that."

"That is what she said."

The pure deadpanned expression is nailed as Dean slams onto the brakes knocking both passengers into the dashboard as a screeching sound pierces the air.

"What the-Where did you pick that up?" Dean's shocked voice; eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights make Cas tilt his head.

"Did I not say it correctly?"

"Yeah you did, you know, wait a sec!" Easing off the brake, Dean drives the Impala back on the side of the road and placing it in park before turning to fully face the angel. "Where did you pick it up?"

"I was searching a campus, thinking God would be amongst the young and I heard a group of men talking about such things."

Licking his lips, Dean chuckles as he scratches his head in mild shock. "I swear Cas, when you think you know a guy…" Cocking his head, Dean's mouth flies open before he can stop himself. "Just don't say it to any strangers, except me, ok."

"Why?" Cas's voice sounds almost child-like.

"Because hearing those words coming from a man with your appearance and get-up would likely lead to your arrest or getting shot." Dean's about to say more when those usual bright, eager eyes dull, falling down with a hint of disappointment towards the box full of tapes.

Dean feels his mouth begin to open again as understanding blazes to life like a light bulb in his mind. The reason why Cas truly is with him, why he tries to throw in human expressions…his new interest in music. Cas knows that in order to successfully hide, he needs to blend in, needs to try and not stick out like a sore thumb for all to see. He needs to learn all of earth's complicating mannerisms in such a short time so that he won't fumble on the next hunt. He needs…

Mind spinning with how much the angel has to learn makes the Winchester feel sick. If he were in Cas's shoes, he would have thrown in the towel months ago. Hell there's stuff; Dean still has to learn himself. But there was two things going for the angel, thousand of years of observation and Dean Winchester himself. Straightening his shoulders, no longer feeling tired but determined, Dean grabs the box of tapes from the angel's lap causing Cas to watch him with full-blown interest. From here on out it would be his personal mission to educate his angel on the fine art of being human.

Popping out Blue Oyster Cult, Dean places it back into its case before tossing it into the box. "Ok, now usually the house rule is that the driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole. But since you don't got Sammy's crappy taste in music, here's the plan when you ride with me. You pick a tape out, I'll give the lowdown and we'll move on from there. But no touching the radio, capeesh?"

Cas's eyes pinch as he tries to understand the Italian word. After a few futile seconds, he nods in acceptance, those blue eyes are once again shining with what looks like gratitude. "Very well."

Handing back the box to the angel, Dean puts the car in drive and rumbles back onto the interstate. Picking up a battered plastic cover, Cas gently takes out the black rectangle and places it into the player.

Dean can't help but smile softly at the motions. No one's handled his music that reverently except him on the special occasion. A second later, Ram Jam's 'Black Betty' blasts from the speaker causing Cas to jerk back eyes wide with alarm. Barking out a laugh, Dean reaches out to turn down the volume. "Oh man, you know how to pick them, Cas!"

Cas does his little head tilt; a ghost of a smirk warming over his face at Dean's own beaming grin. Turning his focus back on the box, Cas moves his fingers gently over the cassettes, sorting the tapes and propping them up so he can read the name of bands while Dean speaks with a confidence that's faltering on the history of Ram Jam and how this Black Betty has become an icon.


He reaches to grab a tape, wanting to fill the tense air with the blaring music he's too proud to admit he's missed. It's a Metallica tape and he could have sworn that the tape's film had been dented. But now, in blinding light of the afternoon sun, it looks brand spanking new.

Tossing the tape back into its cover, his snooping nature at wanting to see the rest of the contents override his need for music, Sam's about to toss it back into the pile when Dean's hand lashes out, hand slapping his arm, voice brimming with irritation, "Hey, don't mess up my tapes. You know how long it took me to get it to that state!"

"20 something odd years?" quips Sam, sly grin making itself known.

Green eyes flash with agitation as a fake laugh fills the air. "Ha, ha, ha."

Sam swallows, knowing when to pick and chose his battles. "Ok, ok, I won't touch your precious babies." He carefully lays the box back down on the seat as Dean quickly grabs a tape with accuracy while he continues to watch the road. His brother probably memorized each cassette by their dents and cracks alone.

"Don't forget either, driver picks the music…"

"Shotgun shuts his cakehole."

Dean grunts in approval, sticking the tape into the player. Pushing back into the black leather, Sam loses himself into the thrumming of a guitar of CCR's 'Green River'.

Things like Dean's cassette box now resting on Sam's lap scream out changes he doesn't want to even comprehend. Once a swirl of chaos, foggy plastic cases of tapes he's heard a million times lie in an organized state. Some are propped up on their sides, names of bands sticking straight up with pride while the others remain in a pile. Blinking Sam's eyes widen slightly as he takes in the alphabetized pattern.

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed. I should hopefully keep this up with an update at least by the next day.