Chapter Three

"Dad?" Vis asked awkwardly. He was still disheveled from the rushed bathroom sex, and finding a stranger sitting down to beers with his dad was taking a moment to process in his mind.

"Is this—" the stranger started, but Dean cut him off.

"Castiel, this is Vis. Vis, this is Castiel. He's an old friend."

Vis stepped forward and held out his hand to shake Castiel's. The man took his for only a second, before turning away with a slightly bothered look on his face. "Uhm… I'm sorry I'm late. I tried to get home on time…"

Dean looked confused, like he didn't even realize that Vis had gotten home later than he promised he would, but he just nodded. "It's okay, Vis. We were just discussing some stuff. You didn't sleep well last night, did you? Why don't you go get some rest?"

Vis hadn't slept well in a couple of weeks, between headaches and nightmares, so he shrugged. "Yeah. Uh. It was nice to meet you, mister…?"

"My name is Castiel," the man said bluntly. Vis nodded and left the room, heading back to his bedroom. Sam followed him out, leaving Castiel and Dean at the table.

"Cas, you could've been kinder to him. He's a sensitive kid, he assumes that anyone who isn't as friendly as a Care Bear hates him."

Castiel looked at Dean carefully. "There's a storm coming, Dean, and you have to be ready. And so does he."

xXx

Vis was even more put-off the next morning, when he found Castiel sitting at the kitchen table for breakfast. He gave Dean a questioning look, but Dean didn't seem to catch it. There was an odd tension in the room, and Vis wasn't much of a morning person, especially when his head was hurting too bad to ignore the awkwardness.

"You two look like you used to be a thing or something," he said tiredly and half-joking, after watching Castiel and Dean exchanging glances every few seconds as he filled his cereal bowl. Dean nearly choked on the bacon he was eating. "What?" Vis asked. "Did you used to be a thing...?"

"No!" Dean half-yelled, his voice sounding even rougher than usual.

"Well, you look like it." Vis half-grinned as he put a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. Dean glowered at him, while Sam looked amused and Castiel utterly lost. "How do you know each other anyway?"

Dean kept a lot of old stories secret. Vis knew some of the stories, but most of them he was only told on a need-to-know basis. He had once been caught with a copy of the Supernatural novel, and promptly had it confiscated.

"Castiel is an old friend. He helped stop the apocalypse a time or two," Dean replied.

"So you're a hunter?" Vis asked Castiel, joining the adults around the table.

"No. I am an Angel of the Lord."

Vis looked over at Sam, a 'he's kidding, right?' look on his face as he chewed a spoonful of cereal. Sure, he'd heard a little bit about angels, but this scruffy guy in a tie and a worn-thin trench coat surely couldn't be an angel. Sam just nodded and looked between Castiel and Dean. Dean was looking at Castiel, almost as though Castiel had done something he wasn't supposed to do.

"You don't look like an angel," Vis said. "Aren't angels supposed to be like... blonde, and muscular, and have wings or something?"

Castiel gave him a slightly put-off look. "This body is simply my vessel. Seeing my true form would kill you."

"For real?" Vis grinned. "Like, straight-up, you come out of your meat suit and boom! Everyone in the room is dead?"

"Well, yes, I suppose..."

"THAT IS SO COOL!"

"Vis." Dean gave him a slight 'chill-out' look, and Vis sunk back in his chair slightly.

"What? It's cool. Even demons just come out in a cloud of lame smoke."

Dean shook his head, moving around a bit in the kitchen as though just to have something to do. Castiel was staring at Vis in what Vis took to be a curious manner, and when he looked to his uncle Vis found a similar expression.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sam said, suddenly taking interest in the tabletop.

"Dean," Castiel said, looking away to where the other man was still moving around the kitchen. Dean turned towards them and leaned against the counter with a small, nearly inaudible sigh. "Perhaps you should tell him?"

"Tell me what?" Vis knew his voice was whiny, but he was beginning to get annoyed with being the only person not in the loop.

"Uhm," Dean looked at Sam, as though looking for a final way out of whatever he was going to say, "we were just discussing some things last night, and we, well, that is to say, well. Look—"

"We need to leave. And soon."

Dean let out a breath as Sam finished for him. He wasn't usually at a loss for words, but he already knew that Vis wasn't going to have a good reaction, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of his son's anger.

"Leaving? What, you're going on a hunt?" Vis was used to his father and uncle leaving, even if they had said they were done. He didn't expect them to actually stick around, but he was confused by the air of mystery they had caused.

"No. Not a hunt. And not just us, you, too," Dean replied. Vis' face went blank for a moment, before he bit his lip and spoke.

"Why?"

"Because if you stay here you'll be dead by the end of the week," Castiel's voice was cold, which caused Dean to shift uncomfortably. The angel seemed to have changed a lot since they had last met.

"Dead?" Vis looked at Sam. Sam was always the level-headed one, the one to make things seem less dangerous, the one to make things seem normal. "I thought we were safe here?" Sam didn't break his glance from the tabletop. "What do you mean we'll be dead if we stay here?"

"Things change, Vis," Dean said carefully, "and I'm sorry. You're not safe here, and it's my job to protect you."

"What are you protecting me from?" Vis was standing now, biting his lip harder and harder as the conversation progressed.

Dean looked at Castiel and Sam, before returning his eyes to his son. "We don't know yet."

xXx

Vis hadn't been on loads of hunts, hadn't travelled a lot, had barely strayed from home his entire life, but he had packed and unpacked bags a thousand times.

Two pairs of jeans, two shirts, a jacket, his phone charger, his wallet, a knife, a picture of his mother, his mp3 player, and his sketchbook and pencils. That and the clothes on his back. He went grudgingly, but he went.

His father put their bags in the trunk of the old impala the morning after Vis was told they were leaving. The car was old, but in a sickeningly perfect condition. The cassette collection made Vis want to bash in his skull. The army man was still stuck in the door.

"Dad, where are we going?" Vis asked, before he got in. "How far? How long? If you won't tell me what we're running from you can at least give me that."

He was being hunted, and he knew it. He wasn't dumb, he could tell from the whispers and the looks. It wasn't Dean or Sam in danger. It was him, the one who had never set foot into another creature's territory.

"I don't know," Dean replied. "Get in."

Vis could picture how Dustin would react if he just disappeared. It wouldn't be good, especially not if Vis ever came back. He felt a shiver down his spine at the thought of what Dustin would do if he disappeared for months. "I need to tell someone goodbye," Vis said as he took a step away from the vehicle. "I just need a half hour. I'll be right back."

"Vis, we don't have time for—"

"Dad, it's important."

Sam had come down from the apartment and was checking to make sure they had everything they needed. He gave Vis a suspicious look, but told Dean to let him go.

"Half an hour. And then I'm coming to find you."

"Yes, sir." Vis walked off down the sidewalk, feeling like there were weights in his feet. He didn't want to be the one to give Dustin bad news, let alone tell him he wasn't going to have whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.

He entered the diner and was thankful that the only people inside was a group of out-of-towners who were passing through. He walked carefully up to the counter, receiving a charming smile but knowing that behind it would be anger.

"We need to talk," he whispered to the older boy, grabbing his wrist and pulling him around the counter and into the back. They went through the back door and into the alley, before Vis released the other boy's wrist and turned around, his hands laying on Dustin's chest as he looked straight ahead to avoid eye contact. "I'm l-leaving town. My dad and my uncle and I can't… what are you doing?"

Dustin's hands were holding onto his wrists painfully tight. He tried to pull them away but couldn't budge the older boy's grip. "You're not going anywhere." Vis looked up to find himself face to face with pure black eyes and a downright evil grin. His breath caught, and he found himself unable to scream. His mind was racing to the knife in his jacket pocket – had he put it in his jacket pocket?! He cursed in his brain as he tried desperately to pull away, but he found himself slammed into a wall and felt warm blood trickle down the back of his neck and pain shoot through his shoulder as he whimpered. Next thing he knew, he was on the ground, with Dustin's foot on his chest to hold him down.

"Vis Vires Dean Pratt Winchester," the voice was Dustin's but it wasn't. Vis had definitely heard Dustin sounding angry and violent, but this was something else, "we've been looking for you, you know. I'm very happy to be the one to find you. Comply and it'll hurt less." Vis was trying not to shake, not to show weakness, to make a noise or a comeback or anything, but he found himself motionless on the ground, barely able to form a breath.

"Dustin?" he finally managed to squeak out.

"Sorry, Dustin's checked out. But he left behind some great memories. You really were just his little whore, weren't you? I may not be allowed to kill you, but I must say that Dusty darling left some wonderful memories that have given me a desire to see how much fun I could really have with you." Vis squeaked and managed to find the strength in himself to grab Dustin's leg and twist it off of himself, trying to get up and get away, his hand flying to his pocket in hopes his knife was there. How could he forget his knife? His one protection?

A hand grabbed him and slammed him into the wall again. "You little sl—" The sound of flesh hitting flesh sounded loudly in front of Vis as Dustin was knocked off of him. He sunk to the ground as Sam stabbed a knife violently into Dustin's chest, a glowing light illuminating vaguely. His vision was black. Suddenly Dean was kneeling in front of him, his eyes full of worry as he put a hand on the side of Vis' neck.

"Vis? Vis, are you okay? Vis, answer me!" But Vis was staring at the bloody body that Sam was pulling a knife out of. Dean grabbed his shoulders and gave him a shake before repeating, "Vis? CAN YOU HEAR ME? ANSWER ME."

"I-I..." But whether from hitting his head or mere shock, his vision was swimming and he couldn't seem to form words.

"We need to go," Sam said, "before someone sees this. Before more come."

"Vis, can you walk?" Dean asked.

"I-I... I don't..." Dean stood up, pulling his son with him. Vis nearly fell over, but Dean grabbed him and half-carried him as he immediately started walking, Vis' shoulder felt like it was on fire and he couldn't seem to move his arm from its limp place at his side, but he didn't say a word as he was dragged out of the alley, Sam walking behind them with a firm grip on his knife. As they made it out of the alley, Vis began to regain his balance on his feet. They made it to the Impala and Dean shoved him into the back seat as Sam and himself took the front.

"Dad... Dad what was that? That was a demon?" Vis could feel himself beginning to freak out, but he didn't have anything to keep his hands busy. His bag was in the back of the van. His phone was cracked from hitting the pavement. His chest felt tight. "Dad that was... you killed him?"

"Yeah, kind of." Dean was driving faster than he should've, just aiming to get out of town.

"He was going to hurt you, Vis," Sam said carefully, "maybe kill you, even."

"He was... you killed him."

Sam looked back at Vis uncomfortably. "You knew him? The kid who was possessed."

Vis hadn't realized it, but he was crying. He couldn't quite figure out why. He wouldn't miss Dustin, really, but he was dead. He was a person and he had been taken over and killed and he couldn't help it, and even if maybe he deserved it sometimes, and maybe if Vis had wished him dead on one of the bad days before. He was dead. He found himself nodding at Sam's question, trying to figure out the strange combination of horror and numbness that filled his body.

"I'm sorry, Vis," Sam said. Dean kept his jaw set as he kept driving as fast as he could.

The silence and sense of anxiety filled the vehicle. "Dad," he said quietly, panting through the pain in his shoulder, "he said he wasn't allowed to kill me." He left out what the demon was planning to do instead of murder. "Why not? Who isn't allowing them to kill me?"

Dean looked at his son in the rearview mirror. They had the same eyes, some would say, but Vis' held much more innocence and youth than his father's, and Dean could feel his own heart sink when he realized that was being stripped away, slowly. "I wasn't lying when I said we don't know, Vis."

"Where's Castiel?"

"We'll meet up with him soon. How hurt are you?"

Vis knew injuries. He patched up his father and uncle all the time. He closed his eyes and tried to focus, but his mind was still going in and out. "I can't move my arm. Shoulder dislocation? Possible concussion. Abrasion on back of head – oh no! Dad, I got blood on the headrest!"

"Oh my God. Vis, blood on the headrest isn't important right now! How long can you make it before we stop?" Vis was, admittedly, surprised that anything was more important than the Impala's headrest.

They were out of town, but the pain in his shoulder was already overwhelming. He felt nauseous. "Not long."

"Okay. Okay, we're going to just get away. Twenty minutes tops, okay? Hang in there."