The sign said Welcome To Casper. Dean fervently hoped that he'd be welcomed. Castiel had reached out and made contact. What if he was in trouble? Dean checked his pearl handled colt. He pulled over for a moment, allowing his eyes to close. He had driven straight from Lebanon. He whipped out his phone and googled carwash in Casper. The town boasted nine carwashes. None which was going to have a neon sign saying 'Castiel woz here'. Cruising the sleepy town at 6.30am Dean assessed them for likely Castiel hiding spots. He had purchased a gas station coffee at the first location and after hitting the head he looked around. The back lot had failed to reveal anyone behind the carwash. The rain began to fall as he pulled out onto East 2nd Street. It was pelting down. Dean hoped Cas had shelter and wasn't standing by the side of the road for hours, like he had on the night all those years ago when Zachariah had sent Dean to the nightmare future.

Driving through a community starting its day Dean felt out of place and wondered if he was on a wild goose chase. The text had come the previous afternoon, Castiel could have spread his wings and be in Nepal or Naples by now. Angels were causing mayhem and havoc across the globe. Maybe Castiel was trying to deal with their messes. Dean was still left with the question; why hadn't Castiel shown up at the bunker by now? Even if only to show his face and let Dean and Sam know he had survived. Dean raised his hand to find his cheek wet from a single stray unwanted tear. He had considered, very seriously the possibility that Castiel was dead. He'd imagined the imprint of blackened wings at Metatron's feet. Castiel was a small stupid child who never listened. Except that he wasn't. He was so much more than the baby in a trench coat. He was loyal and honorable to a fault. He was principled and righteous. His mistakes had never been due to selfish motives. Dean stiffened his jaw and his resolve. He was not slipping back into a state of mourning.

The notice outside one of the churches called on Angels to come to God. Dean would have laughed if he thought it was funny. His thoughts drifted back to three weeks earlier. He had been in battle mode when the angels had been cast out of heaven. It hadn't stopped him screaming his voice hoarse for Cas, but his mission was to get Sam home and Crowley secured. Back in Kansas he'd focused on locking Crowley down, putting Sam to bed, and dealing with Kevin's protests about not ganking Crowley. Finally late the next day, Dean had stood down and collapse on the sofa with a beer. The TV was all channel angel reports. Dean searched the blank faces for Castiel, but there was no sign of him. He listened to Kevin's logical objections to living in the same space as the demon who killed his mother. He could sympathize. He doubted if he would have put up with Azazel under his roof. Once Kevin had talked his heart out, Dean went to check on Sam. He listened to his wheezing sleeping breaths and then ventured to the corridor with the dungeon. Crowley's sobbing was deeply disturbing. Not figuring things would improve any, Dean had hit the memory foam. He didn't sleep.

The amount of sleep he had achieved over the last twenty one nights was less than recommended for even a junior doctor. Each day without news chiseled a shard of flint from Dean's faith that Castiel could be alright. New nightmares woke him. Sometimes he saw them during the day when his lids drooped. He could see the concern on Sam's knitted brow and his brother's hesitant dance around him as if Dean was fragile and about to snap like a twig. Sam speculated that Castiel would be making his way to them from a distant land and be helping his brethren along the way. Dean had shrugged and reminded Sam that angels could appear in a flutter of wings.

Inertia crept into Dean's limbs and he found it an effort to move around the batcave. His mind replayed Castiel's sacrifices over and over on a loop like the film reels the Men of Letters had stored so preciously.

A disembodied voice taunted in his ear, "Always ready to bleed for the Winchesters."

Outside the second gas station carwash Dean took a breath and closed his eyes. This time the vision was of the steely look in Castiel's eye when he stayed behind, sending Dean from Chuck's house to Ilchester.

The only thing behind that carwash was a pile of used condoms.

Cy Avenue had four venues to search. Dean pulled the Impala onto the street and made the turn.

Sometimes the nightmares started innocently. Castiel would tell the girl in the brothel about her father. Dean would laugh. Then Castiel would laugh but the timbre would change to that broken noise of Future Castiel. Dean would look sideways and Castiel would be carving the angel banishment symbol into his own flesh. Dean might blink only to see Castiel letting go of his hand at the Purgatory portal, or Lucifer snapping his fingers in Stull, the jerky movements of Leviathan ridden Cas sinking into the reservoir, the lost look in Castiel's eye after he had smited Alfie, or the Leviathan in Purgatory opening his jaws to consume the angel until Benny beheaded it. Every vision, hallucination, vivid memory drove a hot poker through Dean's heart until he admitted he did more than need Castiel. He loved the sonovabitch. He was family. He was important. Dean needed him to come back. He'd promised Sam that no vampires or angels would ever take priority over his little brother. The thing about Cas was that he understood that. Dean didn't know what he was meant to do with this searing painful love in his chest. He wanted to beat the angel's face in for leaving again, but he'd tried destructive anger when Cas had landed on the road in front of them after losing the angel tablet. He didn't know what he would do if Cas was hurt now. The one or ones who had hurt him would have to deal with a very angry, hulk-angry, Dean Winchester. He would finish them and take Castiel home and never let him go again. Not that he would tie Castiel down to a bed, although that image had produced a stirring in Dean's nether regions, but he vowed that he would make Castiel understand that he needed the angel to stay.

With determination Dean marched through the rain of his first Cy Avenue stop. The carwash was a service offered by a thin elderly employee who literally ran into the store under the piercing glare of Dean's eyes.

The next carwash machine was shielded from the road by the auto-shop. Dean parked the Impala and ventured on foot. He pulled his collar up as a placebo against the deluge. The smell of newly soaked hot asphalt filled his senses. It was pelting down and Dean squinted through the heavy rain.

Folded like a stray dog against the galvanized wall of the garage was a black haired figure under a filthy trench coat. Dean's mouth went dry as the Gobi Desert. He licked his lips and then gritted his teeth. He attempted to call out, but his voice failed. Instead he crouched on his toes and laid a hand softly on Castiel's shoulder. Cas stirred. His lack of attack response to an unknown assailant took Dean aback. In a naïve uncurling Castiel's face turned upwards, like a sunflower finding the light. He smiled at Dean. Dean leaned further over, unbalancing his centre of gravity so that his weight collapsed onto Castiel and crushed him in a fiercely tight hug.

"I missed you man," Dean clapped Castiel on the back and felt the grin splitting his face.

Castiel pressed the rain soaked skin of his face into Dean's neck.

"Sonovabitch man, I thought you were gone this time." Dean squeezed tighter until Castiel gasped for breath.

Dean jerked back. "Cas?"

Castiel hung his head and picked at grimy bitten nails. Dean took in the dirt, the ragged clothes, the scraped knees and ring of insect bites on his neck. Castiel's soles were parting from his shoes. He had a patina of dirt on his face and a scruff that would give his purgatory beard a run for its money.

"You're not an angel are you?" Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head and managed to lower it further so that his chin was pressed against his chest.

Dean grabbed hold of that part of his essential self that took care of those chosen few who made the grade as family. He reached out and raised Castiel's face with a hand on his jaw. "I don't care, Cas. I need you."

Castiel tried to twist out of the hunter's hold but Dean kept him there, green eyes meeting blue. "I need you Cas. You. Not some hammer of heaven. You are gonna get your butt into Baby and we are pit stopping at the closest motel. You reek man."