Chapter Two: Dean


He notices it sometimes. That glint in his- in the angels' eyes when he thinks he isn't being watched. It sends shivers down his spine. He won't admit it out loud, but it scares him.

Because it's like being back in that warehouse when Cas- when he told them to kneel before him. Back when his body (because Dean knew deep down that Jimmy was long gone) was taken over. Consumed by black sludge. He prays to whatever deity out there who'll listen that it won't happen. Not again.

The angel is quiet. Ever since he appeared in their doorway during the storm. Then again, Dean hasn't said much to him. Neither of them had. The past week has been an awkward dance of avoidance between the three of them ever since the angel dropped on their doorstep.

He remembers it vividly.


It feels like a dream. Because it's been so long since those intensely blue eyes have looked at him like that. Because the last time he saw those eyes, they had been wide and crazed as the monster declared the angel dead before that last walk into the lake.

Now they were watching him again and he knew it was different. He knew that somehow, his -dammit-the angel had survived. He didn't have time to question it before the rough voice was saying his name and the sopping wet body was collapsing to the ground.

His name. He could hear everything the angel wanted to say in that one word.

Sam had heard him shouting. He had been rendered just as speechless as his brother while the two of them wordlessly moved the unconscious angel to the threadbare couch.


That feels like forever ago.

Now he is conflicted. On one side, he is angry at the angel who'd betrayed him -them; who'd torn the wall in his brothers mind down. But on the other, he was... not exactly happy, but inconceivably relieved. The Leviathan's had told them the angel was dead. Gone.

He couldn't even bring himself to yell after the angel had woken up. Not when he just sat there looking so miserable, dejected, hurt. It gives him time to think. About what both he and the angel have done in the past. It is then that he realized they had both made their mistakes. Funnily enough, he thinks bitterly, this whole mess would've been avoided if they had both just sat their stubborn asses down and talked and -more importantly- listened.

Presently, he doesn't have the heart to ask if the angel even is an angel anymore. Frankly, he doesn't want to know.


Some days Cas -the angel had become 'Cas' again- would sit at the small kitchen table. Just sit there and stare, his eyes void of any kind of emotion. They didn't bother him when he was like this. It was unnerving. Almost as bad as the crazed glints. Almost.

Other days, he would bleed. Not red, black. Filthy, Leviathan black. He had panicked the first time he'd seen it. The angel had been surprisingly calm about it, telling him his grace (so he had stayed an angel to some extent) was in the process of purging as it had been tainted by the touch of the Leviathan and that this would be happening from time to time.

He wonders why the angel could be so calm, as it has done little to ease his own worries.

The worst had been the last time this happened. He had been woken up to the sound of coughing. He finds Cas, perched on the small couch he'd taken up, teetering on the verge of choking. Black blood is running from his mouth onto his hands. He sees the angels face as he stares at the blood. He doesn't look scared, he doesn't even look like he's in pain.

It almost looks like he's angry.


Author's Note: So I've decided to update. Admittedly not a very long chapter, but I didn't really intend for this to be a very long story.

Huge thanks to Luxy-Minion-of-the-Lordfor reviewing/favouriting!

Criticisms and feedback welcome!

~DrHooksTowingandCo