A/N:Part two!

Thanks a lot to those who left me comments for part one! Greatly appreciated! I hope you'll keep enjoying!

ooo

Somehow, it's always when Dean has nearly forgotten all about him again, that the angel flutters back into their lives.

This time, they're in an old, empty house a couple of miles outside of Redmond, Oregon. They're in the middle of a hunt, and knees deep in research that seems to lead nowhere.

It's been close on five months since they last saw the angel.

He appears close to the door, as if he's prepared to dive right out if they throw something at him. Not that it'd hurt him unless it was an angel blade, and Dean hasn't told the others he keeps one close all the time now. Sometimes he wonders if he's getting paranoid.

Bobby jumps a bit as the unexpected visitor materializes, and for an instant looks ready to reach for the nearest weapon himself, but the boys' faces – Dean's scowl and Sam's neutral look of recognition – tell him that this must be their new little helper. He relaxes some, and then studies the angel, curious, and once the shot of adrenalin subsides and his mind catches up in full, almost a bit nervous.

'You're on the right track,' the angel says, nodding at Sam's laptop and the papers and books they've spread out on the floor in the middle of the room. He's not one for pleasantries and small talk, it seems. 'But you're missing something. I could help?'

'I thought you're supposed to be a guardian angel, not a hunter,' Dean remarks, a bit more condescendingly than strictly necessary. Sam shoots him a look, but he ignores it. If this angel pulls them out of too-tight spots, well, he won't complain after all. But this, this is going too far. This is something Cas would have done.

'I am,' the angel replies. 'But I also –' He hesitates, suddenly looking a bit guilty, in a strangely tired way. 'I'm also a servant of heaven, and the more time you spend on this case, the longer it takes until you get back on the leviathans' track.' He looks at Dean, one hand raised in a pacifying gesture. 'No one's asking for anything, alright? You're hunting them anyway, aren't you?'

Dean stares at him for a few moments, jaw working as though he's trying to chew up the curse that's trying to escape him, then he just turns away, shaking his head.

'Why aren't the angels doing anything, if you want them gone?' Sam asks.

'We don't know anything about them. They were locked away in purgatory before even we were created, so reliable information is hard to come by.'

'So you leave us to do your dirty work?' Dean retorts. 'See how it goes and if they chew us up, maybe you'll think of something yourselves?'

'Dean.'

Dean doesn't understand how this isn't making his brother angry. He feels like it's the apocalypse all over again. Same script, just a slightly different cast.

'What are we missing?' Sam asks quickly, changing the subject before his brother can say anything more. And, he admits, maybe also to spare the angel more of this subject. It goes deeper and is more complicated than Amatiel probably knows, and, he looks uncomfortable enough as it is.

Dean listens from a few paces away as Bobby and Sam discuss their current case with the angel, unwilling to join in the conversation. It only takes a couple of minutes for the puzzle to come together, and the angel makes to leave again.

'Hey … Amatiel?'

The angel stops and turns to look at Bobby, waiting for him to continue.

'Was that you? You know – who bailed me out?'

For some moments, the angel seems unsure how to react to that question. Then, he simply nods.

'You told Dean you couldn't do it,' Sam puts in, just as Dean says, 'And you didn't think we might want to know that?'

The angel glances at Dean, eyes just the slightest bit narrowed. 'I said I couldn't do it because I am just a guardian angel. We don't really have that kind of power, and we're not supposed to interfere like that. It's not allowed. It can … upset things.'

'But you did it anyway,' Sam concludes.

The angel smiles crookedly. 'Well … I guess I'm still feeling a bit rebellious from time to time.'

ooo

After this, inevitably, the moment arrives when one of them, Sam or Bobby, decides that they should call the angel, ask for help with one thing or another.

'No,' Dean says determinedly. 'We're not calling him.' He gets up from his chair abruptly and walks to one of the tiny, grimy windows of Rufus's cabin.

There's a brief silence that practically sounds like looks exchanged behind his back, then Sam asks, 'Why are you so against this, Dean?'

He says it like they've all discussed the matter a dozen times already. They haven't spoken about it once, but Dean supposes that between themselves, Sam and Bobby have, and supplied Dean's standpoint in the debate all on their own. He chooses not to wonder what arguments they will have used.

'Because they want something, they always do, and I'm done with all that crap. I'm sure as hell not asking for favours and ending up owing them something.'

'Well, if you're going down that road, then we already owe this particular one a lot, wouldn't you say?' Bobby points out. 'I know I do.'

And Dean really can't argue with that, of course. But still.

'I just don't get how you can be trusting him so easily.'

Now Sam and Bobby do exchange a look that clearly says they've been waiting for this conversation to happen. What's the use of being the silent one if everyone guesses everything anyway, Dean thinks petulantly.

'We're not trusting him, Dean,' Sam says calmly. 'Do you really think we're that stupid? It's just …' He shrugs and gestures at the mountain of books and loose sheets of paper that covers the small table like a recently erupted volcano. 'He can help. And … I don't know, his story rings true.'

'What story? The one about how someone is in charge in heaven and they're just handing out new guardian angels with nothing but our best interests at heart?'

Sam smiles his infuriating Have your tantrum, then I'll explain things to you smile. 'Yeah,' he says, 'that one, just the long version.'

Dean is silent. He wonders how often Sam has already talked with the angel without him knowing.

'He says heaven is a lot as it used to be. Apparently, a few archangels are running the place –'

'Archangels? Which of those that aren't locked up in hell or dead?'

'There's not just four archangels, Dean,' Bobby puts in. 'In most religions that believe in angels, there are at least seven, right up to several thousands of them. Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and Lucifer are just most frequently named and iconic enough to be widely known, I guess.'

'And where have they been all the time? When there was a war in their hometown, for example?'

Sam shrugs. 'Amatiel says it's difficult to explain because it's got nothing to do with … the world as we know it. He says they just weren't there. I don't know, I think he meant a different dimension or something like that.'

'Right. He gives you some cryptic explanation of the beyond-human-ken variety and you just buy it?'

Sam sighs and runs a hand through his hair. No one expected this whole angel-thing to be a simple matter. Least of all him.

'I just don't get it, Sam,' Dean goes on. 'I mean, how do we know those other archangels aren't as trigger-happy as Raphael was? How do we know this isn't the same as with Cas in the beginning? He was supposed to get us to play our roles, how do we know this one isn't the same? Seriously, after all that's happened you're happy to just believe a couple of archangels want to protect us along with the rest of humanity?'

Sam is silent for a while, and Bobby doesn't say anything either. Eventually, Sam admits, 'Yeah, maybe I really want it to be like that. Look, Dean … we derailed the apocalypse, I went to hell to kill the devil and came back without a soul and then it was about to start all over again. And we somehow ended up fighting our closest friend and lost him and now I'm seeing things and you're probably seeing double all the time while we're facing an enemy we have no idea whatsoever how to beat and I just … I know I might be a fool for it, okay? But an angel is a powerful creature, and the way things are now, I'm damn glad to have one helping us again, even if I can't be sure about his motives.'

For a few moments, all three of them are quiet. Then Bobby gets up, taking a few steps closer to Dean, and asks: 'Is this hard for you because you don't wanna trust a stranger, and an angel at that, or because it isn't Cas?'

Dean half-heartedly shakes his head. 'It's got nothing to do with Cas.'

'Alright. Look, your brother and I, we ain't stupid either, okay? So until we've got real cause for concern, we'll keep picking his brain, 'cause it sure as hell is helpful.'

Dean doesn't move for a while, then he says, 'Okay, fine, do it. Go ahead and call him. I'm getting some air.'

Grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair, he heads for the door. He's not sulking. He just doesn't want this. And the truth is that Bobby isn't all that wrong.

That angel slipped smoothly into the space where Cas used to be, not because they're alike or because there's any chance in hell Dean will let them all become friends, but simply because of what he is.

An angel watching over them. And if Dean had learned to stop his thoughts from turning to Cas whenever they felt they needed more help than Bobby's books and Sam's research could provide, that safety catch seems gone now. There's someone there again where, after Cas's death, for quite a while there was nothing.

That doesn't make things easier at all.

ooo

'Are you doing that for exercise, or …'

Dean brings the axe down on another log of wood and then rests it on the chopping block, handle pointing skywards.

'No, I just don't think we'll have the time to put central heating in that thing before winter.' He nods towards the cabin. 'Assuming it's still standing then.'

'Fair point.'

Dean starts picking up chopped wood, piling it rather haphazardly next to the uncut logs. He found a stash of them at the cabin's back a couple of days ago, and wanting some fresh air and guessing Rufus wouldn't begrudge them his old wood anymore, decided to make use of the free afternoon.

The last piece of fir on the pile for now, he takes off his gloves and accepts a bottle of beer from his brother with a nod.

They drink in silence for a few moments, Sam looking out into the forest and Dean studying him. He looks a little pale, Dean thinks, a little tired.

'How're you doin', Sammy?'

Sam smiles. By now he knows that there's two ways in which Dean asks that question. This is the other one.

'You mean how are things with me and Lucifer?'

'Yeah.'

Sam looks down, apparently quite intrigued by the bottle in his hand.

'Good,' he says eventually. 'I'm fine.'

Dean just barely suppresses a sigh. 'You think I'm buying that?' he asks. 'Have you ever considered acting classes?'

Sam snorts, but doesn't look up. He runs a hand through his hair. 'I … actually I wanted to talk to you about that.'

'Acting classes?'

'Shut up,' Sam mutters, rolling his eyes. Then he sobers a little. 'About my hallucinations. Amatiel –' He breaks off, chewing his bottom lip.

'What about him?' Dean's voice is instantly a little more guarded.

'He says he can –'

'What, fix it?'

'No, not fix it. He says just because an angel tore the wall down doesn't mean an angel can rebuild it. It's … apparently it's too complex. Death made it, after all. But …' He fidgets a bit, as if he isn't quite sure to explain it properly 'It's like a room full of paintings, okay? And you cover them up. I'd still know they're there, I'd remember everything, but I couldn't … they couldn't draw me in anymore. I wouldn't get them mixed up with reality.' He lifts the hand that still bears a white scar and smiles crookedly. 'Wouldn't even need to run around digging my thumb into my palm all the time.'

Dean is turning his bottle around in his hand, feeling how it's always on the brink of slipping from his grip, moist with condensation as it is.

'So you went to him about it?'

Sam half shakes his head, half shrugs. 'No, not really. He knew something was wrong. Maybe it's an angel thing. I guess I just gave him the details.' He pauses. 'Look, I know you said you didn't want to owe him anything.'

'Yeah, well,' Dean sighs. 'Bobby was right, anyway. We owe this one already and if he can help you – hell, I'm all for it.'

Sam slowly nods his thanks at this, and for a while they're both quiet.

'This isn't about me, Sammy. If you trust him to … do stuff in your head …' Dean shrugs, and Sam smiles.

'Yeah,' he says. 'I do, actually.'

Dean nods and gets up again to put another log on the block, but leaves the axe where it is for the moment.

'You talk to him a lot, huh?'

'And you never do.'

Dean picks up Rufus's work-gloves, dirty and stiff with old labour, and sits on the block, arms propped on his thighs. 'Look, Sammy, for what it's worth I guess he's alright. And I get why you and Bobby want to keep him close at hand. I get it and you're probably right. I just –' He stops, shaking his head.

Dean can't argue with Sam and Bobby's points. He doesn't even genuinely dislike the angel. He hasn't spent enough time with him for that. But he never wanted to cross another angel's path again. Told himself it was because they're nothing but trouble, all the different kinds and colours that trouble comes in.

When he's drunk enough, though – and, lately, that isn't too seldom – he'll admit that it really is because he wishes things had gone differently with Cas, that he could have or had done something, saved his friend, and somehow angels and Cas are still too inextricably connected in his head.

And he's really doing his best not to compare this one with Cas.

He does it all the time.

ooo

Dean sits outside Rufus's cabin with a bottle of beer in his hands. It's cold beneath a clear sky, but with a new moon and only the small, grimy windows of the cabin behind him, the forest is a wall of blackness just a few feet ahead of him.

Sam and Bobby are inside with the angel, poring over some books and trying to get to the bottom of one borderline academic question or other.

He hears the door open and thinks it's Sam about to tell him to get inside, but the footsteps aren't his brother's. They're the angel's, and they stop beside Dean, but a safe distance away.

Dean takes a sip of beer and stares ahead. 'Leaving?' he asks pointedly.

'Yes.'

'Since when do you walk? Should take you a while, all the way to heaven.'

'I'm not going to heaven,' the angel replies. His voice is quiet, appeasing. 'Bobby asked me to tell you that he and your brother would like you to come and help them. That's all.'

Dean narrows his eyes at the darkness. 'Alright.'

He hopes the angel will take that as the dismissal it is, but of course he doesn't. Instead, he moves to stand in front of Dean, watching him until Dean looks up out of sheer discomfort.

'Something's bothering you,' the angel states. 'Something about me.'

Perceptive, Dean thinks, but bites down on the remark before it escapes him.'I'm just not a big fan of you guys, alright?' he says instead.

The angels nods. 'Understandable, I guess.'

'Alright then,' Dean mutters and looks away, waiting for his unwanted companion to take the hint this time and take off. Then he sighs as he realizes he'll obviously have to be clearer about it. Jesus, he thinks. He's just like Cas.

The angel lifts his hands in deference. 'I … get it,' he says. 'Good night, Dean.'

Dean chews on his bottom lip as the angel turns and starts walking away. Dammit, he thinks.

'Hold on.'

The angel stops and turns, looking at him curiously.

Dean scratches the metallic layer off the beer label for a few moments.

'So, new archangels, huh?'

'Yes. New archangels.'

'The last one in charge wanted to reboot the apocalypse.'

The angel nods slowly. 'These don't.'

'Really. Why not? And how do I know you're not lying?' Maybe there would have been a less cutting way to say this, but Dean won't let himself care.

He watches the angel out of the corner of his eye, just because his reaction might tell him something. And there is something. It flashes in the angel's eyes, but it's too quickly gone because he looks down and then off into the darkness.

'I'm not lying,' the angel says, and then smiles. It looks strangely heavy for a near-stranger's smile. 'But I understand if you don't believe me.'

Dean smiles humourlessly. 'Yeah? Why's that?'

There's a brief silence, then the angel shrugs, a ripple in the darkness. 'I know how the end of our war … went down.'

All of a sudden, Dean feels horribly tired. The kind of tired that makes you forget what being awake and alert is even like. He pushes the bottle down into the loose soil between his feet and rests his head in his hands for just as long as he'll allow himself such a sign of dejection in front of the angel.

When he sits up straight again, the darkness looks like it's swimming.

'Sam and Bobby want me to work on it, I think.' He does think so. Despite what they're saying about just using the angel, they're still looking for something solid in their interactions with the angel, some undeniable proof that he's truly just there to help them, and they want Dean to make the same effort. Because, as Sam says, they're lost. 'You know, trusting you.'

'Don't.'

The word comes quick as a shot, and Dean looks up at the angel. Through the nine or ten or eleven feet that separate them, Dean is surprised how much pain he can recognize in the other's eyes. It confuses him. Nothing about this reaction makes sense to him, and he can't think of a reply.

Before he can do anything at all, the angel is gone.

TBC