My Roots Take Flight

by KismetJeska

After forty years in Hell, Dean's more than willing to accept the offer: become a guardian angel and earn his freedom. But his new ward seems destined to hunt alongside Sam, and there are secrets in Heaven that the angels don't want found out. Dean's going to have to choose between his duty and the people he loves- and to work out just where Castiel fits in.

3. Chapter 3

A/N- the next three songs from the playlist are now available via the link on my profile. Thank you for reading!

---

Sigh no more, no more
One foot in sea, one on shore.
My heart was never pure
You know me.

- Sigh No More, Mumford and Sons

---

Out of all the phrases in the word, Dean hates 'time heals' more than any other. Thirty-something years later (time in Hell discounted), he still carries the pain of his mother's death in his heart, a heavy weight that scrapes like gravel. Dean's grief for his father is even stronger, and just because Sam's wounds healed over doesn't mean the ones left by his death ever will. Time's never done a damn thing for Dean.

Until now.

It still hurts to live behind a glass wall, to be able to hear and see Sam but not to say a thing. It hurts the most when Cas and Ruby are somewhere else and Sam thinks he's alone, when he finally gives in and lets himself collapse. Dean only sees Sam cry once, but that's more than enough.

Dean's just grateful that, despite the many reasons they gave him not to, Cas stuck around. Nowadays, when Ruby orders Sam to do something, he glances over at Castiel to get his opinion on it first. Dean still doesn't know where he stands on Ruby, but Sam putting less trust in her can only be a good thing.

As for Dean, talking to Cas more often is making him feel a little closer to the human race- more 'real', somehow. He's taken it upon himself to bring Cas into the 'real world', using a programme centred around awful TV and excellent music. It's not so bad. Dean would rather be human, sure, but it's better than Hell and it's more than he deserves. He can suck it up and deal.

A couple of weeks later, including a Thanksgiving that nobody bothers mentioning and eleven hours spent making Cas watch every Lord Of The Rings movie in a row (Dean refuses to entertain the idea of any edition that isn't extended), Anna shows up again. It's been a while since Dean reported anything back to Heaven, but that's because there's honestly been nothing worth reporting.

"Dean," she greets him. "How are you?"

"Not bad," he says truthfully.

"Good," Anna says, pleased. Dean guesses that there's a touch of that personal-boundary-ignoring, mind-reading crap going on here, but as it's Anna, he lets it slide.

"Something up?" he asks.

"No, not really. I just wanted to see how things were on Earth."

"Kinda messy. Sorta crap. The occasional marshmallow in ten tons of cardboard-tasting cereal." Dean shrugs. "It's Earth."

"Which means it's preferable to Heaven," Anna says, more viciously than Dean's used to. It must show on his face, because she sighs. "I'm sorry. Things are difficult right now."

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Lilith," she says brusquely. "Ten Seals so far. We've got our best angels protecting them, but we can only do so much, and she works so fast."

"We'll stop her," is all Dean can think to say. "Me and Sam, we've gone up against hundreds of her kind before, and we've stopped every single one of those sons of bitches. And we're only two kids from Kansas- you guys are angels."

"Yes, we are. Which means we lie to each other, and we distrust each other, and we're not allowed to even acknowledge it," she says bitterly. "Nobody ever asks an angel what they think, because angels aren't expected to think. Humans don't know how lucky they are."

"What do you mean?" Dean says warily. His personal experience of being human hasn't really been all that enviable.

"Angels were made to be warriors. You were made to be you."

"Most of us end up warriors anyway."

"That's different. You fight for what's yours, or for justice, or for love. We fight because we're told to." Anna lets her gaze drift over to where Castiel is fast asleep. "You know, sometimes I think I prefer humans to angels."

"In terms of knowing one or being one?"

"Either. Both." Castiel mumbles something in his sleep and rolls over.

"Don't tell anyone I said that," Anna says suddenly, anxiety in her voice. "Any of it. I shouldn't even be here, I-"

"Anna, calm down," Dean says. "I'm not gonna tell. All we're doing is talking, right? Not even Zachariah can get bitchy about that."

"You'd be surprised," she mutters, but gives him a small, thankful smile.

"Hey, ever hear of something called of holy fire?" Dean asks, figuring it's a good time for a change of subject.

"Holy fire?" she repeats, frowning. "Yes, it's one of the only things that can hold an angel. Why?"

"Read it somewhere," he says nonchalantly, working on keeping his thoughts smooth and shallow. "Would it work on me?"

"No. Nor would angel banishing sigils. They work on something deeper than grace."

"Sweet," he says appreciatively. Castiel mumbles something again, and Dean glances over at him.

"Have you tried dreamwalking with him yet?" Anna asks.

"No," Dean says. "You think I should?"

"Yes," she says immediately, but she doesn't elaborate. Deciding that he's got nothing better to do, Dean settles on the ground and shuts his eyes.

Dean doesn't know what he expects, but it's certainly not what he finds. Castiel's dreamscape reminds Dean of Uriel's Heaven, turned up to ten and spun around in circles. Everything is blinding and dizzying; Dean's vision dips and swirls so that he can't focus on anything for more than the most fleeting of moments. A noise so high pitched and loud that it steals his air away rings through his head, and he thinks that this is the closest to pain a person can feel in a dream. Dean breaks off as soon as he's able to, with a sensation that's less like stepping down and more like plummeting.

"What the hell was that?" Dean gasps as he returns to his body with a hard jolt, the necklace Anna gave him banging against his chest. His wings are trembling.

"What happened?" Anna asks, crouching in front of him.

"There was… light. I think. Light and noise. It hurt, Anna."

Anna doesn't seem surprised. "Sounds like a nightmare," she tells him.

"Who the fuck has nightmares like that? I'm telling you, if you'd have heard it-"

"It's not much fun, I know, but it's honestly not a big deal. Try not to worry. He's not- I have to go," she says suddenly, standing up. "A Seal is in danger."

"Maybe say 'goodbye' the next time the enterprise beams you up!" he shouts at the empty space Anna leaves. Still muttering, he glances back at Castiel.

Dean's no stranger to nightmares, but he's never experienced anything like that. As awkward and out-of-touch as Castiel is, he never really gives the impression of being unable to cope, and sometimes Dean finds himself forgetting just where his ward's been for the last sixteen years. Dreaming like that must be a side-effect of all the other pieces of crazy that got Cas locked away, whatever they were- Dean doesn't pry. He figures that Cas will tell him when he's ready; until then, there's no reason to make the guy trawl through bad memories.

Dean debates waking Castiel up, but he doesn't know what he'd say. 'I took a trip into your head and shit seemed pretty intense' doesn't really cut it; it feels like telling someone you read something worrying in their diary. Castiel's not even stirring, and Dean's not getting blasted with panic or fear, so Cas can't be that distressed.

Still. Shit's weird.

Dean returns to the chair he was sitting in when Anna arrived, preparing himself for a few more thrilling hours of Fuck All. He has way too much free time now. Maybe he should teach himself ancient Greek or Latin or something- at least it'd make research go faster.

---

When morning comes, Sam wakes up first and launches into a routine of push-ups and sit-ups. It's something he's only started in the last week or so- now that Castiel's around more and Ruby around less, Sam's back to relying on hand-to-hand and running rather than staring at someone till they puke up their demon.

Morning, Dean says when Castiel gets up a short while later.

Good morning, Cas replies. Do you want breakfast?

What is there?

Muesli bars. I'm going to persuade Sam to go to a diner instead.

Man after my own heart.

"Hey," Sam says, wandering in from the bathroom with wet hair and clean clothes. "You hungry?"

"Yes. We should go to a diner."

"I've got-"

"A diner," Castiel repeats, with an edge of desperation. Sam gives in.

"Sure thing," he says, pulling his jacket on. They pile into the Impala, Dean sprawling in the back.

There's nothing in this town worth hunting, Cas complains. I don't know why we're still here.

Hasn't Sam got some demon lead?

He says so, but there's been no sign of demonic activity. I don't know why Ruby was so insistent we remained in this area.

Maybe wherever she's gone, she doesn't want us following, Dean says darkly. It's been five days since they last saw Ruby, and they've heard nothing from her since.

"You sleep well?" Sam asks as they drive.

"Well enough," Cas replies. "You?

"Okay," Sam says. "That motel had crappy beds."

"Don't they all?"

"I don't know, the one before this wasn't too bad."

"Wasn't that the one with a dead rat in the shower?"

"Yeah, but the beds were okay."

Dean waits for their conversation to reach a natural pause.

So I checked out your dream last night, he admits to Cas. Sorry for not asking or whatever.

It's alright, Castiel said. I doubt what you saw made any sense.

Diddly-squat. Man, what are your dreams even about?

They're… unpleasant. Castiel doesn't add anything more. At the diner, he orders two breakfast burgers, and Sam's face screams 'really?'

"I'm hungry," Cas says stiltedly.

"Dude, you are so much like Dean sometimes," he says, and everybody ignores the slice of awkwardness that pushes into place. Castiel quietly wraps the second burger in a napkin and pushes it into one of the numerous pockets of his trench coat.

Thanks, man, Dean says.

It's no problem. They've got this 'sneaking the angel food' thing down to a fine art.

Ruby appears a few hours later and declares that she made a mistake; there's no demon activity in the town after all. Dean thinks it's weird that it took her so long to figure that out, but Sam's too eager to move on to bother arguing, and Castiel goes along with it. Ruby tells them she's found one of Lilith's henchmen in a town in Washington, and soon they're back on the road.

This one seems more likely- they visit a school that reeks of sulphur and has three suspicious deaths under its belt. They're in town for a couple of days, during which Sam and Ruby share a room, which still makes Dean shudder. It has its benefits, though- it means Cas is alone, so Dean gets to spend four or five hours each evening actually existing. Incorporeality can start to get to a guy.

Cas asks a lot of questions about Dean's life- about his childhood, about hunting, about Sam. He gives any questions regarding Dean's afterlife a wide berth, and in return Dean doesn't ask what it was that got Cas modelling this season's straightjacket.

There's no denying that Cas is pretty odd, but the more Dean talks to him, the more he thinks he understands him. It's just a case of tuning himself in to Cas' way of speaking, to his way of being. It's different, sure, but that doesn't mean it's bad.

They find the demon responsible for the school killings, but there's nothing to relate it to Lilith. The night after they gank the thing, Dean turns up in Sam and Ruby's room to find Ruby gone. It seems as good a time as any to dreamwalk, so he spends some quality time with his little brother. In Sam's dream, they watch fireworks explode in an abandoned field. It's a good dream.

---

Sam wakes up at about seven and drags himself off to shower. Dean flickers back into Castiel's room, where the lights are still off. He touches down and heads over to the window.

"C'mon, rise and shine," Dean says, pulling the blind up. Sunlight floods the room, and behind him, his wings spread out to welcome it in. His lip quirks upwards- he swears, the damn things are like solar panels. Dean turns around, opening his mouth to say something or other, but the words die in his throat.

The bed is empty. It's slept in, and Cas always makes his bed but here the sheets are a mess, the dangling over the side like someone left in a hurry.

"Cas?" Dean calls, his voice hollow. There's no answering call. He switches to their private link.

Cas? He waits. Cas, c'mon, just let me know you're there. Nothing. The usual pull at the back of his head is faint- so much so that when Dean tries to tune into it, it slips out of his reach.

Dean bangs on the bathroom door, peers down the hallway, checks every inch of Sam's room, but Cas is nowhere to be found. His trench coat is hung up in his closet, and for some reason the sight of it strikes Dean deep in his gut, a raw kind of pain. Why would he go somewhere and not take the coat?

Dean closes the door and then closes his eyes. Enough of this human bullshit.

He envisions Castiel- without the coat, though he doubts it makes a difference- holds onto his image, and lets the sense of the building flood into his head. Nothing. Cas definitely isn't anywhere in the motel. Dean reaches out further and searches- a one mile radius, five, ten. Nothing. The air is cold and feels dead, empty with no signs of life.

Dean tries harder. He sends tendrils sprawling through the air, ties them to the cabs outside and runs them down telephone wires, expanding his search to fifteen miles, twenty, thirty. Cas isn't there. Panic and anger start to bubble in Dean's stomach, but he forces himself to stay calm. He sits cross-legged in the centre of the floor and holds the coat loosely in his arms as a reference point. He takes a deep breath and feels his wings breathe with him, and then he searches properly.

Ever since Dean was given Castiel, his ward's presence has been tangible, a tug on a mental rope that never falls slack. Distance has never mattered- whether Cas was miles or metres away, the sensation of his presence never lessened.

Dean can't feel it now.

Would he know if Cas was dead? The sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that this is what it would feel like: this dangling string, this nothing where before there was most definitely something. He feels bizarrely alone- lost, even. What's a guardian angel without anything to guard?

"Maybe my mojo's malfunctioning," Dean mutters to himself. He's never tried doing this kind of thing long-distance before, after all- maybe it takes more experience than he has. He can't think of a reason why Cas would be so far away, or why he's not answering, but there are angels and demons out there and 'why' is really the least of his worries.

Dean teleports to the city centre, and then from state to state- Kansas, Texas, New York City. He goes further. Toronto, Alaska, Venice. Nothing. London, Budapest, moving on to Crete, Rome, Nairobi, Canberra. He goes to places he's never been before in his life- places filled with new food, new women, new experiences to be had. He touches down in vibrant, exciting worlds, and they seem dead to him. Grey, meaningless, and they're nothing more than another background in a search for the familiar burst of light.

He's actually in the North Pole of all damn places when he suddenly feels something explode into the corner of his mind. It's like something falling into place, something solid and familiar and completely unmistakable. He's back at the motel in the blink of an eye.

"Cas?"

"Dean?" a familiar voice replies unsurely, somewhere behind him. Dean spins around. Castiel's clothes are dishevelled and he's covered in bruises, dried blood clinging to his shirt, his face. Dean grabs him by the arms, his hands tight against Castiel's biceps.

"What the fuck, Cas?" Dean barks, inches away from his face. "Where the hell were you?"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas says, and he sounds it. Dean realises he's been shaking Cas slightly as he speaks, and loosens his grip guiltily. The fear and the anger it masqueraded as are fading, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief.

"It's fine," Dean says. "I just…" His eyes meet Cas' and he holds the intense stare. Dean moves his hands to smooth Cas' clothes lightly, unwilling to let go of him in case he ups and vanishes again. "You left your coat," he says without really knowing why.

"I know. It was very sudden. I wanted to let you know where I was going, but he didn't give me the chance."

"Who didn't?" Dean says, anger rocketing back as he sweeps his eyes over Cas' injuries again. "Who took you? Tell me, and I swear I'll rip his goddamn-"

"What is it this time, lungs or heart?" somebody says in a bored voice. "You should mix it up, try something more creative. I have an odd fondness for the spleen."

Dean damn near growls. "Zachariah. Why aren't I surprised?"

"Oh Dean, you flatterer, you. You can go," he says idly to Cas, who glances at Dean for confirmation. At least Zachariah's an angel, so Dean gets to keep his body rather than being shunted out of the physical plane. As far as silver linings go, it's not exactly a huge one.

"One second," Dean says warily. He puts his hands back on Cas' shoulders and turns him away from Zachariah. He gently touches his fingers to the cuts and marks across Cas' face and hands, watching the redness ripple away and the skin close over.

"Thank you," Cas says when Dean's done.

"Go find Sam," Dean tells him. Cas nods and Dean moves aside to let him past. He turns slowly back to Zachariah, who's been leaning against the door frame and observing Dean at work. Dean scowls. He doesn't know why he doesn't want Zachariah watching him and Cas, but he doesn't.

"You had no right," Dean begins, his voice low.

"Right?" Zachariah says, like it's the funniest thing he's heard all year. "You want to talk to me about your rights? Kid, it's not so much that my name's at the top of the list and yours is at the bottom as it is that yours isn't even on a list. You're disposable. You're a guardian."

"And you took my ward!" Dean shouts. "Castiel is my ward, and you had no goddamn right to take him without telling me."

"So you're getting fond of your little darling!" Zachariah says with scathing delight. "Took you long enough."

"I'm not fond," Dean objects hotly. "I'm doing my duty- the duty you damn well assigned me."

Zachariah looks at him then, and Dean slams on every mental block he has. Stay out. Zachariah grins.

"Very nice. I could get past it, of course, but I won't. Sometimes you can tell a lot more about a man from what he tries to hide."

"Bite me," Dean snaps. "I swear, if you take Cas without asking me again- if you even go near him-"

"You'll make more vague and frankly hysterical threats?" Zachariah says, picking at a hangnail on his thumb. "Calm down, Dean, it's bad for your blood pressure. I only took him for a few hours." He pauses. "Well, there it was more like a few days, but you know how things are with time-travel."

"What?"

"I suppose you don't. How insensitive of me."

"Like, actual time travel?" Dean says, still not really buying it- though it does explain why Cas wasn't replying. It's pretty hard to talk to someone when they're not technically on the planet. "Where did you take him?"

"Not where, when. Honestly, the clue's in the name."

Dean takes a very deep breath and tries again. "Okay, when did you take him?"

"1973."

That seems suspiciously specific. "Why 1973?"

"Why not? It was a good year. I got to spend two straight months watching people pass out at showings of 'The Exorcist'." Dean just keeps on glaring, and eventually Zachariah carries on. He loves the sound of his own voice too much not to.

"There were some things Castiel needed to know," Zachariah says. "Events he needed to understand. Things about Sam's… how to say it? His personal tastes."

"What?"

"His powers, idiot. Castiel needed to understand why Sam has to stop using them."

"Uh, because they're freakin' weird?" Dean says, spreading his arms.

"A valid reason, I'm sure, but not the one I gave him."

"Then why?"

"I absolutely, under pain of torture and death, forbade him from telling you, so I imagine it'll take you around two minutes to get it out of him." Zachariah breaks off and looks up at the ceiling. "Oops, Seal alarm. Toodles."

There are two things, Dean's decided, that angels rely on way too much and are way too annoying, and those two things are searing light and disappearing for no reason.

Zach's gone, Dean tells Castiel.

Good, Cas replies bluntly. I disliked him.

Yeah, that's the standard reaction. Did Sam ask where you've been?

Yes. Apparently he's been very worried. I did as Zachariah advised and told him I'd gone for a walk- Sam wasn't happy, but he seemed to accept it. He thinks he's found a case.

What we got?

Uh… from what we can gather, some form of invisible shower spirit.

Awesome.

---

The shower spirit leads to a guy attacked by Bigfoot, which leads to into a friggin' eight-foot suicidal teddy bear, and personally, Dean's calling Trickster.

"Have you heard of something called a Trickster?" Castiel asks Sam after Dean's presented his theory.

"Oh, God," Sam says, pulling a face. "I guess… but no, the attacks don't fit the MO. Tricksters go for the high and mighty. I mean, we don't know much about the Bigfoot guy, but the little girl? There's something weird going on here, but not Trickster weird."

Dean grudgingly accepts that Sam has a point.

"We could try Audrey again," Castiel says. They'd barely gotten two words out of the little girl- it turns out that Castiel's even worse at dealing with children than he is with adults, and Sam's still rusty with conversations that don't begin with 'tell me where Lilith is or else'.

"Maybe," Sam says, glancing out the window. "Hey, that seem weird to you?"

Three teenage boys are running at full pelt, looking back only to curse and run faster. The thing causing their apparent terror is a boy who wouldn't even reach Dean's waist.

"You could say that," Castiel says evenly. Sam stops the car and they get out.

"Hey, kid!" Sam shouts. The boy stops cackling and slows to a halt.

"You got a problem, mister?" he demands.

"Uh- no?" Sam tries.

"Why are they running from you?" Castiel asks.

"Want me to show you?" the boy asks aggressively. He looks around the street and approaches a small, dirty white car. He grabs hold, heaves, and tips the vehicle over.

Son of a bitch, Dean murmurs to Cas.

The kid glares at Castiel as if daring him to comment. For his part, Dean hopes Castiel doesn't, because he really really doesn't want to have to smite an eight year old. Cas stays quiet.

"They're scared," the boy boasts. "Audrey Elmer told me the wishing well worked, and now they're gonna get what's coming to them."

"Where's the well?" Sam asks. The kid snorts.

"I don't have to tell you."

"You don't, but it'd be really helpful if you did."

"Shut up," the kid says. The novelty of shocking grown-ups is wearing off, and his targets are getting close to safety. Sam seems to weigh things up in his head, shrugs, and holds out a $5 bill.

"Where's the well?"

---

Six hours later, Castiel and Sam are sitting in a bar, both on their second 'we-saved-an-entire-town-and-we-deserve-alcohol' beers.

"A teddy bear," Sam says for the fifth time in twenty minutes. "Seriously, Cas."

"I don't think it will make any more sense if you keep repeating it."

"I don't think it will make any more sense, ever."

It's good to see the two of them talking- really good, actually- but Dean feels like even more of a third wheel than usual. He still hasn't managed to discover what it was that Cas found out about Sam- he asked a few times, but Cas had only replied with 'later'- but whatever it is, it can't have been finds himself thinking of the way Sam looked at the well for a moment too long, the way he kept going to say something but then cutting himself off, and he thinks that he doesn't want to think anymore.

Dean decides that now would be a good time to check the news from upstairs. The possibility of the world ending is always a pretty good distraction. He heads out of the bar and sits on a stone wall by the entrance.

"So how's Heaven these days?" Dean says out loud. He waits.

"Trying our best," a voice replies from his left.

"Hello, Dean," adds one from his right.

"Huh. I get the two-for-one deal on angels," Dean says. He watches people walk down the frosty path, their eyes seeing an empty wall and their ears picking up nothing but the quiet whistle of the wind.

"Is everything okay?" Anna asks.

"Had a free minute, that's all. Thought I'd check when the world's planning on ending."

"Not just yet," Anna chuckles.

"Twenty-one Seals have been broken so far," Inias says, his voice more sober.

"Awesome," Dean says bitterly.

"We're trying our hardest to stop it," Inias reassures him.

"Our garrison prevented a Seal from being broken in Mexico earlier this morning," Anna shares.

"That's good."

"Two more were broken later that day."

"That's not so good."

"We didn't even know they were at risk," Inias says. "Lilith is like nothing we've seen before. Sometimes I…" Inias trails off.

"Go on," Anna urges, but Inias shakes his head.

"It's no matter," he says. Anna seems disappointed. "Lilith might be strong, but we're stronger."

"You've got God on your side," Dean points out. "Don't you win any kind of cosmic rock-paper-scissors by default?"

"It's not that straightforward," Anna says.

"What do you mean? Can't you just book an appointment and respectfully ask him to smite the bitch?"

"Only four angels have ever seen God," Inias explains. "We have not."

"You ever spoken to him?"

"No."

"Have you even heard his goddamn voice?"

"We don't have any more evidence for his existence than you do," Anna says.

"That's not true," Inias argues.

"Isn't it?" Anna counters. "What do we have, Inias?"

"I have faith," Inias says, sounding more confident now. "As do you."

"And that's enough?" Dean challenges. "Out of every angel in the sky, four of you have seen God, and you're seriously telling me that 'faith' can explain that away?"

"I can't give you any answer you're going to like, Dean," Inias says, which Dean thinks is one hell of a co-pout.

"Okay, so answer me this," Dean says. "You know something about Sam, something I don't. What is it?"

"We can't tell you," Inias says.

"We'd be disciplined if we even attempted to," Anna agrees sadly.

"Bull. Zach swore Cas to secrecy, but it didn't sound like he was gonna deliver on those threats."

"He won't," Anna confirms.

"So why are you so scared?"

"It's different for angels, Dean. Zachariah wouldn't think twice about placing either of us- both of us- into discipline if we broke even one of his rules."

"What, you can't handle being whacked over the knuckles with a celestial ruler?"

"No," Inias says bluntly. "I'm sorry, Dean, but we can't tell you what Castiel found out. If it's any consolation, Zachariah wouldn't have told Castiel if he really didn't want you to know."

"Nice and straightforward," Dean mutters.

"Nothing's ever straightforward," Anna laughs suddenly. "Do you ever think about Castiel, Dean? I mean, really think about him?"

"Anna," Inias says warningly.

"What do you mean?" Dean says, ignoring him.

"I mean, does he seem insane to you?"

Silence hangs between them.

"We should go," Inias says, his voice low.

"Things are more complex than they seem," Anna tells Dean, keeping her eyes fixed on his face. "Don't forget that."

"Anna, we need to go," Inias says again, gripping her hand in his. Holding Anna's gaze, Dean nods slowly, and she vanishes. Even Inias seems shocked, looking down in confusion at his empty fingers.

"Now do you appreciate how annoying it is when you guys do that?" Dean says.

Inias' mouth twitches. "Goodbye, Dean."

---

Dean sits on the wall and watches people pass until Sam and Cas emerge from the bar. Sam is swaying slightly.

"I can," he's protesting.

"No, you can't," Cas says absolutely.

"I'm fine. I'm totally fine. Dean used to drive after double that."

Castiel pauses. "Then Dean really should have known better."

Aww, don't be like that, Dean objects.

Your brother is insisting he's capable of driving.

Not in my car, he isn't, Dean says immediately. He moves closer and looks Sam up and down. Okay, I see your point.

"Give me your phone," Cas says.

"No!"

"Sam," Cas says, his voice deepening to become vaguely menacing. Sam meekly hands his mobile over, and Cas dials.

Who are you calling? Dean asks.

"Ruby?" Cas says when she answers, and Dean's eyes widen.

Cas, man, no. Don't do this to me.

"Can you drive the car?"

No, she cannot!

"Yes, I believe so," Cas says down the line. "Thank you."

Ruby appears in front of them a second later. Cas jumps slightly; Sam doesn't really appear to notice. "You know, you really need to learn to drive," Ruby says, eyeing Cas.

"Unless I can learn in the next two minutes, your point seems of little relevance."

"Careful, sunshine, or you two can sleep out here tonight," she warns. Her face softens when she looks at Sam. "Is he okay?"

"I'm good!" Sam says with a sloppy grin. "I'm actually great. You should have seen the case we worked, Ruby. There was a really big teddy bear. Like, really big. It talked and everything."

"Distressing though it may be, he's telling the truth," Cas says.

"Cas was great," Sam says, throwing an arm around Cas' shoulders. "He found out all this stuff about the coin, and he talked to people like a real person, and he- and- I think I might throw up."

"Let me take that off your hands," Ruby says, reaching out, and Cas carefully unhooks Sam's arm from his shoulders. She eases Sam into the back of the car and he stretches out, leaving no room for Dean unless he wants to sit in somebody. He teleports back to the motel instead, and makes Cas reassure him every minute or so that Ruby hasn't crashed the car yet.

Ruby gets them all home in one piece, and Cas helps her manoeuvre the unconscious Sam from the car and into his bed.

"Thank you," Cas tells her once they've done. She grunts and disappears without another word..

"Ruby didn't cause the car any damage," Cas says, keeping his voice low.

Dean drops into visibility. "She still drove it," he complains. "She got her gross demon hands all over my baby." Castiel tilts his head. "My car," Dean elaborates.

"She's driven it before."

"I've eaten tofu before. Doesn't mean it should ever happen again."

"There was no way Sam could drive," Cas points out.

"It's been a while since I saw him that far gone," Dean admits. "Is he okay?"

"I think so," Cas says. He goes to say something else but pauses, and Dean has a sneaking suspicion that the ice-cold guilt trickling into his gut is not his own.

"Cas?" he says, with the kind of tone he used to reserve for when Sam started sentences with 'promise me you won't get mad'.

"Sam and I… we talked about you," Cas says. Fear blooms in Dean, but Cas sees and shakes his head. "He's still unaware of your presence. I meant that Sam explained the circumstances of your death."

"Oh," Dean says. He's not really sure what to do with that. "What did he say?"

"You could always try and see, if you wanted," Cas offers.

"What, like mind reading? I don't know, man."

"It's up to you," Cas says, "but I have no objection to it."

Dean considers this, then looks at his ward and concentrates. Images drift up like before, but this time Cas makes no effort to snatch them away. It's a bizarre first-person view, and it takes some getting used to. Cas sits in front of him, quiet and still, as the memory plays out.

"Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

"What would you have wished for?"

"Nothing," Cas replies. "Every wish inevitably produced a bad outcome."

"Yeah, but I mean…" Sam trails a finger around the top of his glass. "If the bad stuff wasn't there, or if it didn't matter…"

"But it was, and it did," Castiel frowns. "Why? Would you have wished for something?"

"No," Sam says, but too quickly and too forcefully. Castiel looks at him until he goes on. "Maybe," he admits.

"What?"

Sam swallows more of his drink as Cas waits. "You know I told you about my brother?"

"Yes," Cas says, after a beat.

"I'd have wished for him," Sam says softly. He set his glass back on the bar and stares into it. "I mean, how bad could the bad part be? They take me instead? I wouldn't mind that."

"You can't mean that," Castiel says.

"Believe me, I do. I never even told you how he died, did I?"

Dean can guess where this is going. He's seen Sam in 'I-need-to-get-this-off-my-chest' mode half a hundred times, and he recognises the signs of the incoming tidal wave by now. He focuses back on the memory.

"It was my fault," Sam says. "We were… there was a demon. And I'm talking big-name, big-deal bad guy here. He killed our mother when I was just a kid."

Castiel says nothing, only listens.

With no body language to judge it by, Dean can't be sure, but he'd swear there's something about the way Cas holds himself which is almost anxious- like he knows something he shouldn't, like he's afraid of being found out.

"And Dean killed him," Sam says.

"Good," Castiel says, with startling ferocity. Sam is temporarily distracted, meets Cas' eyes and offers a slight smile.

"Yeah. Well, he did, but there was a price." Sam swallows hard. "This demon- Azazel- was doing something with certain people, building up an army of us. He picked us out as kids. He wanted to find a leader… we don't know what for, a demon army or something. He was pitting us in fights against each other to find the best, and I… didn't make the grade."

Back in the motel room, Dean's breath catches in his throat. His wings wrap around his shoulders like they're trying to comfort him.

"You don't have to go on," Cas says immediately. "I can-"

"No, I'm good," Dean says. Castiel nods, and Dean picks up where he left off.

"And Dean, he… I don't know what he was thinking. He made a deal."

"He made a deal with a demon?" Castiel says.

It kind of hurts to hear the disbelief in Castiel's voice, like he can't imagine Dean stooping so low.

"My life for his," Sam says bitterly. "He got one year. One measly year, Cas. And you know what we did with it? We hunted. He spent his final year on Earth running and fighting and being scared. And I promised him, I swore that I wouldn't let him die. I told him I'd find a way to stop it. And I didn't."

Sam has to take a moment to compose himself before he can go on. "Lilith took my brother. She killed him, and I had to watch as he was dragged down to Hell. Hell, Cas. The only thing I want, the only thing that really matters, is getting Dean back- and let me tell you, I've tried everything. Nobody would deal, nobody would even listen. So yeah, if I thought there was a way that that well could get him back and take me instead, I'd do it. I wouldn't even have to think."

They sit in silence for a long, long while, until Sam mutters "So, yeah, now you know" and drains the final dregs of his drink.

"For whatever it's worth," Castiel says, voice uncharacteristically gentle, "I'm sorry for what has happened to your family. Dean sounds… incredible. And whilst I wish that there was a way you could see your brother again, you are still alive, Sam. I am grateful for that."

"It's my fault he's dead," Sam says thickly.

"No, it isn't. Your life doesn't need to be traded for his. You don't owe him that."

Sam doesn't reply for a long time. "You're right about one thing," he says eventually, rubbing a hand across his face. "He was pretty freaking incredible. Dean pretty much raised me. He wasn't just a great hunter, he was a great person- and trust me, you don't always find those two things go together. He-"

"Yeah, I think I've heard enough," Dean says, breaking off.

"The conversation moved on soon after that," Cas reassures him. Dean doesn't reply- he's busy bracing himself for a tirade on why selling his soul was eleven kinds of stupid. He's kind of thrown when it doesn't come.

"Go on, then," Dean prompts, like picking at a wound. "Yell at me or call me a jackass or whatever."

"Why would I?" Cas says. He sounds genuinely surprised. "I'm not you, Dean. I can't imagine what it must have been like to lose a brother."

"You don't think it was stupid?"

"It was very, very stupid, and the amount of disregard the Winchester family display for their own lives is alarming at best and incredibly depressing at worst- but I can't judge you."

"Thanks," Dean says hoarsely, before pulling himself together and conjuring a grin. "So go on, then. How do I live up to my brother's description?"

Cas sits back and looks him up and down. "You're taller," he says eventually. Dean bursts into laughter, but when it dies away he can't ignore the question for any longer. Cas said 'later'; this is later. Zachariah sent Cas back to 1973 for a reason, and Dean needs to know why.

"Cas, what did you find out about Sam?" he asks softly.

"As far as I understand, you know most of it already," Cas says. Either he's forgotten Zachariah's threats or he's ignoring them, and Dean doesn't really care which. "Sam was selected by Azazel to become some form of leader. I'm sorry, but I don't know what for. He… this will be unpleasant," Cas warns.

"Shoot."

"Azazel briefly possessed your father's body."

"You met my father?" Dean says in disbelief.

"And your mother," he says. Dean's mouth falls open slightly as he stares, hoping Cas is bullshitting, but he's not. Dean's chest feels hot and tight, and he wants to complain that it's not fair. He'd give anything to see his mother or father again- how come Cas gets to when he doesn't? It's too surreal to fully take in, and Cas' words filter in through Dean's shock. "Azazel wounded your father fatally. The only way to save him was for Mary to make a deal."

"So her death was some demon collecting his goods?" Dean says in revulsion.

"It wasn't that kind of deal. Azazel asked to be allowed access to your brother's nursery on a day ten years from that date. He promised that no harm would come to Sam or her-"

"Then he lied!"

"- unless he were to be disturbed," he finishes. Dean's mouth goes dry.

"Oh."

"She agreed to the deal and John was saved. I tried to intervene and stop her, but Azazel was too strong." Cas sounds disgusted in himself, and Dean remembers the cuts and scrapes that had covered Cas' body on his return. Zachariah didn't even bother healing him.

"That was all I saw before Zachariah brought me back," Cas finishes.

"What did Azazel do to Sam?"

Castiel seems to struggle with how to phrase what comes next. Dean doesn't take that as a good sign.

"Azazel contaminated him," Cas says.

"With what?"

"Demon blood. He allowed drops of his blood to fall into the mouth of each child he chose. That's why Sam has his… abilities."

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, turning away and running a hand through his hair. When Dean's father died, it was like someone had yanked the world out from underneath his feet. This feels more likely somebody peeling away the sky, leaving a whistling black void that Dean can't even begin to understand, a loss he can't comprehend because he'd never thought there was something there to miss. "Fucking hell. What am I supposed to say to that, Cas? How am I supposed to react to that?"

"He's still your brother," Cas says.

"Is he?"

"He's had demon blood since he was six months old," Cas reminds him, another punch to the gut. "You've never known him any other way."

"Jesus," Dean says again. I never realised. He's been half-demon since he was six months old, and I never even fucking noticed. Something deep and dark is coagulating in Dean's veins, weighing him down- even his wings feel heavy, like they don't see a point in holding themselves up.

"Do you want to talk to him?" Cas says, turning to look at where Sam's splayed asleep on the bed. "I don't know how much he knows about the true circumstances of your mother's death, but-"

"Not now," Dean says.

"Is Zachariah going to want to talk to you?"

"I don't care. I am not dealing with any angels right now."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Dean admits. He wants to knock Sam out, to hug him close, to scream at Anna or Zachariah or God himself until the world starts making sense. But in whatever sick game Heaven and Hell are playing, Dean's no better than a moth, a flea with wings glued on, and what he wants doesn't mean a damn thing anymore.

"I don't think I can do anything," Dean says, the truth of it bitter in his mouth.

"Then don't," Castiel says simply. "Stay." And Dean, for lack of a better idea- or really, any other idea at all- does exactly that. He sits by the window and he stares out at the sky until it fades from black to cobalt to blue.

---

Even now, Dean turns to hunting to avoid the things he doesn't want to think about.

The case is in Iowa, where a handful of guys have decided that now would be an excellent time to reduce their loving wives to piles of meat- in one case, quite literally. That's seriously not how a meat tenderiser is supposed to be used.

"Her name was Jasmine," the killer they're interviewing breathes, like that's supposed to explain everything.

"She was a dancer?" Sam questions. Dean's having trouble looking straight at him.

It turns out that 'Jasmine' was a stripper, and whilst all three men fell in love with women from a local 'adult' club, none of their descriptions match up. Sam and Cas hit up the path lab, where a pretty doctor (who damn-near throws herself at Sam, but he's too tied up in sadness and sulphur to notice) tells them that all three guys had crazy-high levels of some 'love hormone'. The next step is obvious.

"I guess we're going to a strip club," Sam says, with a little grin like he'd forgotten he was allowed to enjoy that kind of thing. For once, Dean's glad he can't be seen, because that means he can laugh as much as he wants at the sheer terror on Cas' face.

"Strippers not really your thing?" Sam asks as they drive. Cas mumbles something about 'dens of inequity', which makes Dean laugh even harder. This is going to be fucking precious.

"What kind of creature are we looking for?" Cas asks, a transparent attempt at changing the subject. Sam takes pity.

"No idea," he says. "Something that can make people fall in love with them, apparently."

"I don't know if it has any real world significance, but in Greek mythology, a siren was said to be able to entice men," Cas says.

Like the Odyssey? Dean asks.

"Like in the Odyssey," Cas adds on.

"I've never heard of one, but that sure doesn't mean they don't exist," Sam says. "If the club doesn't turn up anything, we should check that out."

Ask him if there's anyone he could call, Dean urges Cas. Anyone who might know something about this crap. Demons and ghosts are one thing, but a creature they've never hunted before? That's got 'Bobby' written all over it.

"Is there anybody you could contact?" Cas asks obediently. "Anyone who might know more about this… area?"

Sam hesitates. "Yeah, but- no."

"Yes or no?"

"No. I mean, there is, but- it's complicated. So what, are they separate women?" Sam asks, moving the conversation on. "Or is it all one creature?"

"A shapeshifter of some kind? It's possible. That would mean..."

"It could be anybody," Sam agrees. That narrows it down, Dean thinks bitterly. It gets even worse when they get to the club- it's a cramped, dingy place, and there aren't many patrons who aren't staring at the dancers like they're goddesses. Sam's halfway through a very awkward (and potentially dangerous) conversation with a guy who's twenty stone of solid muscle when Cas provides an escape route.

"Sam," he says, his voice tense and tight. Dean has his back to Cas, but he can still sense the anxiety coming off of him. The lack of any accompanying mental freakout assures Dean that his ward isn't in danger, which means it can only be one thing, and that thing is going to make Dean's goddamn month.

Sure enough, when he turns around, there's a girl on either side of Cas- a curvaceous blonde in a Vegas style outfit, all feathers and glitter, alongside a slender woman with long dark hair and a tight white dress. They're both pressed flush against him; the blonde is leaning up to whisper in his ear, the other woman brushing her hand slowly along his arm.

And, weirdly enough, Dean's not laughing.

It actually pisses him off, to be honest. Cas is clearly uncomfortable, and they're enjoying it.

"You shouldn't be so shy," the raven haired woman teases, trailing her finger down Cas' chest. He visibly swallows. "We can show you how to… loosen up."

It must be some guardian angel thing, because Dean kind of wants to hit them. He wants to drag them away and tell them to leave his ward alone, that Cas isn't interested in being mauled by a skeezy Dita Von Teese wannabe.

Sam's face twitches with the effort of staying straight. "C'mon, Cas, we need to go."

Cas hastily untangles himself from the women- not a particularly easy task- and hurries out after Sam, who has given up on trying to hold back his laughter.

Now that they're out of the bar and Cas is safely away, Dean starts to smile- after all, it was kind of funny, right? The smile drops when he realises, suddenly, that this might not be a one-off occurrence. Sure, most women don't drape themselves over men like that pair had, but it seems a fair guess that this stupid, illogical, 'I-just-got-punched-really-hard-by-an-angry-spirit ' feeling is going to show up whenever his ward gets propositioned. And when his ward looks like Cas-

Okay, wow, uncomfortable thought territory.

In the end, all it comes down to is that it's Dean's job to look out for Cas. He can sense the guy's emotions, read his thoughts, and when you have that ridiculous level of connectivity with a person, it's bound to have some whacked out side effects. It doesn't mean anything.

It's still annoying, though, just like research is still incredibly boring. It's a Saturday night, and they're sat in a motel room reading Greek mythology. Who even does that?

Who was the person Sam was so reluctant to contact? Cas asks, midway through the ninth book of the evening.

His name's Bobby Singer, Dean replies. If anyone knows about this siren crap, it'll be him.

If we don't find something in the next five minutes, I'm phoning him myself, Cas says threateningly, throwing the book aside in tired disgust. Luckily- or unluckily, from Dean's point of view- Sam finds the information before Cas gets exasperated enough to make the call.

"A bronze dagger, covered in the blood of a sailor, under the spell of the song," Sam reads out loud. Morning's finally come, and Cas stifles a yawn as he listens.

"I don't understand why none of these supernatural beings can ever be killed with a handgun," he complains. Dean has to agree.

"Looks like we need blood," Sam says, closing the book, "and I think I know where to go."

---

The collective clusterfuck of their encounters with Hendrickson aside, Dean's found that most people, when faced with an FBI badge, will go 'yep, seems good!'. Really, when you take Sam's hair into account, it's amazing they don't get caught out more often.

"What's your name?" Sam asks the latest obstacle- who's still holding up his own FBI badge- as Dr Cara backs away to give them some space.

"Special Agent Shane Tewcinder. You?"

"I'm Special Agent Sam Johnson, this is my partner Cas Jones. What office are you from?"

Should we tell him the truth? Cas asks as they watch Shane talk to Sam.

No, Dean says. Really no.

He might be able to help.

This guy? Really? Special Agent Shane Tewcinder looks like he thinks knives are just pointy mirrors.

"I should probably ask for your badge numbers, but life's short, and I'm starving," Shane's saying. "You guys aren't lying to me, right?"

"No," Cas replies immediately.

"Good. This case is plain nasty. You checked the bloodwork?"

"Yeah, dead end," Sam says.

"Crap. You know they all hooked up with chicks from the same club?"

"Really?" Sam says, feigning surprise.

"Yeah. There's gotta be something there, right?"

"Definitely could be. You should go check it out."

"Yeah, I will. Hey, why don't you come along?"

"Me?"

"Sure. I could do with another pair of eyes. You too, if you want," Shane throws at Cas.

"No," Cas says bluntly, because someone still needs to steal the blood and he doesn't like lying for lying's sake. Shane shrugs.

"Whatever. You coming?" he says to Sam.

"Uh, if Cas is okay with it, then sure," Sam says. Dean doesn't really want Sam going off alone with this guy, but if it gets them the blood, it'll do.

"It's fine," Cas says after a quick confirmation from Dean.

"Awesome," Shane says. "Hey, let's swing by a drivethrough first, get something to eat. I'll buy, but I'm only going to say this once: get anything on my seats and I will end you."

Dean acts as a guard as Cas smuggles out the blood samples in his coat pocket. Cas heads out in search of a bronze dagger and, after checking he's okay to go on alone, Dean goes to find Sam and the douchebag.

The guy drives some ancient Ford Galaxie, a fact that he's way too proud of- and despite his warning, he doesn't seem to care about the sauce that drips onto his shirt from his own burger.

"Aww, crap," Shane frowns, rubbing at the stain with a fingernail. He soon brightens again. "Nah, I can't stay down on a case like this."

"A vicious quadruple homicide?" Sam says wryly.

"Yeah, well there's that," Shane dismisses with a shake of his hand. "And then there's the strippers. I'm on an actual case with strippers. Finally."

Sam snorts. "Looking on the bright side, huh?"

"You bet," the guy grins, taking another bite of his burger. He pauses suddenly, eyes widening. "Crap, I didn't mean to- man, I'm sorry."

"What?"

"When you called Cas your partner, I didn't, uh-"

"Oh, what? No! We're not… no."

"Then I'm sorry a second time around," Shane says. "Put on a tape before I say more stupid things."

"It's okay, really."

"No, it's not, because it's been more than twenty minutes since I listened to anything Zeppelin. Hey, can I have some of your drink?"

"Uh, sure, I guess." Sam passes his bottle of water over and Shane swigs from it.

"Thanks," he says, handing it back. "Two in the afternoon's probably a little early for the harder stuff."

"Just a little," Sam agrees, lip quirking into a smile.

Dean leaves Sam and the asshole behind. Cas has somehow managed to get hold of a bronze dagger- the handle's been reattached with duct tape, but it'll do- and he's back in the motel room. Dean goes to materialise, but then he thinks of something.

Cas?

Yes?

Just wanted to let you know I'm, uh, here. Dean lets himself drop into reality and, this time, Cas doesn't jump. Dean considers that progress.

"I had to go to six different stores to find this," Cas tells him, holding up the blade. "I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't found one."

"eBay," Dean advises sagely. "And Craigslist. You can get some good stuff as long as you avoid the weirdos."

"Who's Craig?" Cas frowns, and Dean chuckles in disbelief.

"Man, talk about living under rocks," Dean says. "It's a website."

"I don't really use the internet," Cas defends.

"You don't watch TV, you don't go online… you must have had some interesting visitors in Brightwood, or you'd have gone nuts from the boredom alone."

"I only had one regular visitor- a friend of the family who came once a year or so."

"Must've gotten lonely," Dean comments.

"I was… isolated," Cas admits. "I didn't really interact with the other patients, and I very rarely left the home. I spent most of my time reading."

"You read for sixteen years?" Dean says in disbelief.

"What else was there to do?"

"I don't know!" Dean says helplessly. "Talk about your feelings?"

"I stopped having psychotherapy at eighteen years old," Cas says. Wait, what? They're moving into the territory that they mutually, silently agreed to never discuss, but there's something seriously weird going on here. Leaving weird things be isn't in Dean's nature.

"If you didn't even have a shrink, why did they keep you there for so long?" Dean asks.

"I never knew. I used to ask about discharge, but all they would say was that it was important I remained where I was."

"You never tried walking out?"

"Once, when I was twenty." Cas grimaces at the memory. "They threatened to section me."

"What?" Dean says. "Why?"

"They wouldn't say."

That doesn't sound even the slightest bit legal. "So you just quit asking?"

"I was admitted at fourteen, Dean. I'm used to following orders. This- making my own choices, being trusted with things- this is what feels strange to me."

"But good strange, right?" Dean checks.

"Yes," Cas admits, and he offers Dean a rare smile. Dean grins back, and then the mobile phone Sam bought Cas rings.

"Hello?" Cas listens. "Yes, I have. Yes. I'll see you then."

"News?" Dean asks once he's hung up.

"Sam's coming back here. He asked if I'd gotten the dagger ready."

"You think he's found her?"

"He didn't say."

"I'll check." Dean turns up in the club, but they're not there. He focuses on the interior of the Ford Galaxie instead and finds himself sitting in the backseat. AC/DC blasts from the speakers as Shane drives, whistling, but Sam's nowhere to be seen. Dean switches his attention to the infinitely superior car and, third time lucky, Sam's sat behind the wheel. Good. Dean's still working on forgiving Sam for abandoning his baby in a random parking lot.

Dean returns to the motel. Back, he tells Cas before he appears.

"Anything?" Cas asks.

"Not unless you want to count that assclown having an unexpectedly good taste in music."

"They haven't found the siren?"

"If they have, Sam-"

There's a knock at the front door. Dean flickers out of visibility and Cas answers it, keeping the door on the chain.

"Hey, Cas," Shane says with a lazy grin. Cas opens the door fully.

"Hello," Cas says politely.

"So the club gave us jack all," Shane launches straight in. Dean scowls. He never asked, douchebag. "Looks like we're back to step one."

"Where's Sam?"

"Gone to rescue that beautiful creature of a car," he says. "Hey, mind if I come in?"

"If you want," Cas says, opening the door properly. Shane smiles again, showing perfect white teeth.

"Thanks," he says, walking in and looking around. "How come you guys are shacked up in a motel room?"

Cas doesn't know how to answer. Neither does Dean, actually.

"Well, you know," Cas says vaguely. "It's- do not touch that," he warns, voice low and with a hint of threat in it, as Shane goes to pick up a bag that Dean's guessing contains the blood samples. Shane backs away, hands up.

Cas is still glaring. "We got a problem?" Shane says brazenly.

"The problem is you touching things that aren't yours," Cas says, steel in his voice. He moves closer, as if to remove the bag by force, but Shane stays where he is, even when Cas is a mere breath away. His eyes only break Cas' stare to flicker up and down his body. Dean's wings bristle behind him.

"Why are you here?" Cas says, a growl at the back of his throat, still standing entirely too close to Shane to be considered normal. Dean doesn't get why Shane won't just frickin move.

"If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't take so long to get there," Shane says. "Fact is that there's one nasty son of a bitch causing trouble 'round here, and I don't want you being alone 'til he's found."

"I can take care of myself."

"Are you sure?" Shane challenges. "Look at yourself. You really think you're cut out for this kind of thing?" Shane's face softens and he moves back- but only a little bit, nowhere near enough. "You gotta be careful, Cas. I don't want you getting hurt."

Dean laughs out loud, in a 'can you believe this guy?' kind of way. It's adorable that Shane thinks Cas needs his protection- though it's also annoying, in a way that crawls under Dean's skin and scratches around.

What's even more annoying is that despite his tone, Cas doesn't actually seem pissed off, which he really should be because come on. But no, it's less like anger and more like a prelude to friggin' angry sex.

Dean's laughter dies away. When he focuses on Cas, really focuses on him, the readings he gets are just plain strange. Cas' emotions swing between contentment and wariness, to the point where it reminds Dean of somebody falling asleep and continually jerking themselves awake, fighting off the comfortable pull.

A car pulls up outside, and Shane grins. The tension between him and Castiel breaks, and Shane turns towards the door as Sam walks in.

"Hey, Sammy," he says easily.

"Hey!" Sam replies, his whole face lighting up.

"Don't forget to say hi to Cas," Shane says meaningfully, and when Sam turns around his smile has gone.

Cas! Dean says, alarmed, but Cas is way ahead of him. He's already got one hand behind him, curled around the bronze dagger.

"Hello, Sam," Cas says evenly.

"Castiel," Sam says darkly. Dean doesn't like the look in Sam's eyes, doesn't like the sneer that curls his lip. Out of everything Dean's seen- and fuck, there's been a lot- nothing scares him more than Sam not being Sam. Shane- and Dean could kick himself for not realising, for dismissing him as just another douche- leans against the wall, his smile stronger than ever as he watches them circle. It'd be fine if he tried to attack Cas, but it's not Shane that poses the danger here. It's not Shane that Dean might have to hurt.

Cas, the blood! Dean urges. His wings are alive behind him, feathers twisting and straining like they're about to burst free. Cas' eyes find the bag, but Sam is blocking it. Cas' shoulders slump.

"I'm sorry for this," he says apologetically. Dean has no idea whether it's meant for him or Sam, but either way, Cas springs forwards.

"No!" Dean shouts- uselessly, out loud, but echoing the sentiment a thousand times over in his head. Sam brings his arms up, ready to deflect a fatal strike, but Cas turns instead to slice the blade across Sam's arm. Blood trickles over the metal's surface and Sam hisses in pain, grabbing his gun from his belt. Dean shoots a hand out without having to think about it and the gun flies across the room, smashing into pieces against the wall. Shane stares in disbelief, but Sam's barely even noticed. He's completely focused on Cas, who swings away from Sam and brings his arm down as hard and as fast as he can.

"No!" Sam cries out, but it's too late. The blade is embedded in Shane's chest, and he looks down at it like he can't quite believe it's there. Sam rushes forwards as Shane crumples to his knees, spluttering, and then slumps to the ground. Sam reaches his side and then comes to a complete stop. Dean holds his breath.

"Cas?" Sam says uncertainly, his voice shaking. Dean sags with relief, his wings doing the same behind him.

"Here," Cas says, returning from the motel room bathroom and pressing a towel into Sam's hands. "Hold that to the wound."

"You… he…"

"I'm aware. Sit down."

Sam does so, looking much younger than he is. "It… it was Shane?"

"Yes," Cas confirms. "We were mistaken in believing Sirens only take the form of romantic interests. It's more targeted than that: they change their form to whatever it is you need the most, be that a partner, a friend, or a family member. For you, I'm assuming that was a brother."

Cas doesn't lower his voice like most people would when bringing up a sensitive issue. He just states it like he's reading something from a textbook, and Dean's not sure if that makes it better or worse.

"He even looks like Dean," Sam says dully, staring at the body.

What? No he doesn't, Dean objects.

There are… similarities, Cas says evenly.

"When did you find all this out?" Sam asks, tearing his eyes away from the bleeding corpse.

"I made a phone call while you were out," Cas tells Sam. "I'm sorry for going behind your back, but if I had to read another Greek mythology book, there was a strong chance I would have had a psychotic break." He pauses. "Again."

"Wait, what do you mean, 'behind my back'?" Sam says. "Who'd you call?"

"Robert Singer," Cas says.

What? Dean says at the exact same time as Sam.

"I found his contact information in one of your notebooks. He was very helpful," Cas pauses. "And mildly insulting."

Sam huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, that sounds like Bobby."

"He said you were to contact him," Cas says. Sam's face grows solemn, and he nods.

"Yeah. I'll do that."

Now, or he never will, Dean warns. He knows his brother.

"Do it now," Cas urges. Sam swallows.

"Shouldn't we clear up the Siren first?"

"I can take care of it. You should phone Bobby."

"Okay. Okay, I will." Sam picks the phone up and dials, a number Dean knows they've both learned by heart. Sam brings his mobile to his ear and waits. "Bobby?" A pause. "Yeah, it's me."

Sam winces and holds the device away from his head. Dean can hear Bobby's shouting from the other side of the room. Sam makes a hand gesture that somehow equates to 'I'm gonna go' and, for lack of anywhere more private, shuts himself in the bathroom. Dean hears the lock turn and guesses that Sam's going to be a while.

Angel incoming, Dean informs Cas, before materialising by his side.

"Nice work," Dean says, feeling vaguely queasy as he looks at the body. This isn't shapeshifter levels of weird, but it's pretty close.

"Thank you," Cas says quietly. "I'm sorry for not mentioning Bobby. I meant to, but I was worried you'd be angry I made the call without your consent."

"What? No, we're good," Dean says, and he means it. He doesn't care how Sam gets back in contact with Bobby, just that he does. "So when did you start suspecting sunshine here? Hey, Sunshane," Dean grins. Cas takes the time to shoot him a despairing look before he answers the question.

"The hospital," Cas says. Dean whistles.

"Seriously? How come?"

Cas looks at Dean, his eyes as wide and as blue and as honest as ever.

"You are… unique, Dean. I have never encountered anybody who affects me as you do. Shane did."

Dean stares back, trying to make sense of the words. "What do you mean, 'affects' you?"

Cas' reply is cut off when, through the door, they hear Sam shout.

"Oh, come on, I was twelve!" A pause. "And I'm really sorry!"

Dean has to laugh. "He's not letting Sam off easy, is he?"

"If he's going to do this chronologically, how long do we have before he reaches present day?" Cas asks seriously.

"Enough time for Lilith to end the world ten times over. C'mon, let's get rid of a Siren."

---

Dean sticks around to help out with the clean-up, and together they get rid of the body and scrub the blood from the carpet. Sam's on the phone for nearly two hours; Dean doesn't listen in. He likes to think that it's because he trusts them- but in reality, with the familiar adrenaline of working a case fading, the things Dean was pushing away are flooding back. As Dean stares at the faded stains on the floor, he thinks again of red, hot blood: dripping onto a baby's lips, coating his hands in South Dakota, dribbling from Sam's nose as he holds out a hand.

Later that night, when Cas and Sam are fast asleep in the Impala, Dean looks at Sam briefly before deciding that he can't handle it. Not yet.

Cas' dream isn't very different from the last time Dean swung by. This time, Dean's expecting the chaos, but it's not the kind of thing you can really brace yourself for. He feels both hemmed in and lost in nothingness, like he's being crushed and pulled all at once, wanting to laugh hysterically and curl up and sob.

please

The word is born from the high pitched scream that ricochets throughout the dream world, slides into Dean's head before he's even realised it's there. He focuses, trying to pick something else out.

late

… pl…

Dean struggles to concentrate, but it's difficult to keep his hold on anything.

don't

br…

er plea

castiel

don't don't DON'T-

The noise is too intense; Dean can't hold on anymore. He bursts awake with a desperate breath, eyes flickering wildly until he's sure that he's back in the real world. Still shaking, his chest heaving, Dean leans forward to look. Cas is curled up, solemn and still, like nothing's wrong in his world. Dean shakes his head in disbelief.

"Most people," he tells his sleeping ward, "have nightmares about ghosts."

---

Ruby turns up the next morning and hangs around just long enough to piss Dean off. He's not comfortable leaving her and Sam alone together in light of what Cas found out, but she leads Sam off by the hand and actually undoes her bra as she walks and yeah, Dean's having no part in that.

Later that day, once she's disappeared off to 'continue searching', Bobby calls. Sam picks up the phone halfway through the first ring. There's nothing like verbal abuse from a cranky alcoholic to better your reaction time.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam says, and listens. "No, no, no, you're right, it's definitely weird. Okay, Bobby, thanks."

Cas looks up in interest. What's weird? he asks Dean.

Bobby used to put us onto cases sometimes. Could be anything. Especially considering that Sam told him about the Seals, which earned him an incredulous 'you didn't care to mention you've been fighting off the goddamn apocalypse?' and a good thirty minute lecture.

"No, I know- Bobby, I know," Sam says. "No. I won't. That's not even- fine. Yes. Yes, I- okay. Bye."

Sam hangs up. "So there's this town in Wyoming where nobody's died for a week and a half," he says with no preamble.

Castiel bites into a stick of jerky with little concern. "Is that really so unusual?" he asks as he chews.

"Yeah, when you look at how they're not dying. A guy with terminal cancer suddenly gets better, another gets shot- at point-blank range- and walks away. Seems kinda odd, don't you think?"

"It's worth investigating," Cas agrees, and ten minutes later, they're on the road.

Why are we even looking into this? Dean complains to Cas as they drive.

What do you mean?

I mean that people not dying is an idea I can get behind. Why are we trying to stop something good?

In my short experience with this line of work, 'good things' rarely come without something venomous attached.

We are making you way too cynical way too fast.

He also thinks that they're making Cas way too damn blasé about things, because the idea of summoning a dead kid for interrogation might as well be a proposal to get Chinese instead of pizza for all the reaction it garners from Cas. It's his first grave desecration, though, so that's gotta count for something. It's mid-December, coming up on Christmas, and their breath is white in the cold night air. Castiel glances nervously around as Sam thumbs through the journal.

What if somebody sees?

Nah, nobody ever sees. See, Cas, people are simple things. They'd much rather write off any crap that doesn't make sense as 'freak weather' or 'kids screwing around' than actually-

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

You were saying? Castiel says dryly, which Dean elects to ignore. The bright spot of a flashlight finds them, a dark shape moving behind it. Panic begins to pulse from Cas, strong enough for Dean to sense it without trying.

Hey, stay cool. Sam'll fix this. "Sam, you'd better fix this," he warns out loud.

"What the hell is this?" the voice says in disgust as it moves closer. "Is this Devil worship?"

"We're leaving," Sam says, and Dean really can't blame him for not trying to think of an excuse. The figure finally gets close enough for Dean to see its face.

The blood in Dean's heart turns to ice and the shards rip open his arteries, a deep and desperate kind of fear biting at the walls of his stomach. He draws back, seeking the cover of the shadows, and prays that it'll be enough.

"So soon?" the man says, and even though a demon's true face is grotesque beyond belief, Dean's learned to tell when they're smiling. "You haven't even told me what's going on here."

Cas, I need you to listen to me very closely, but don't do anything sudden. Don't do anything out of the ordinary. Okay?

Dean?

That guy is a demon, and not just any black-eyed son of a bitch. His name is Alastair, and he's every single kind of bad news. You need to get away, now.

"- a dare. We're so sorry," Sam is saying, beseechingly.

"We won't be returning," Castiel adds firmly. Alastair looks at him with interest- too much interest- and despite Cas' calm demeanour, the panic radiating from him grows even stronger. Dean wishes he could tell Cas not to worry.

"A dare?" Alastair asks suspiciously.

"It was stupid, I know. I'm so sorry," Sam says again.

Let them go, Dean thinks desperately. Dean's guessing that Alastair's here to guard the grave, but he's got no real reason to think that Sam or Cas are anything but idiots playing around. Maybe if Death was in town, Alastair would take the time to put them in the ground, but as it is, all he can do is leave two walking corpses with a very interesting story to tell. Let them go, you bastard.

Dean might not believe in God, but he thanks every deity he can name when Alastair steps back and gives a curt nod.

"Go on, get out," Alastair says. "And if it's all the same to you, I'll be sticking around to clean up your mess- after all, somebody has to. Don't let me catch you back here."

"Of course. Sorry. Thanks," Sam says, and Dean's breathing only returns to normal when they're back in the car and driving away. Even then, his wings stay tucked tightly behind his back, like they're afraid to show themselves.

Who was that? Cas asks as Sam drives.

Nobody.

Then why did we run away?

Because he's not a very nice nobody, Dean says tersely. He can tell his non-answer frustrates Cas, but Dean doesn't care. His dealings with Alastair are a secret to be buried under layers of rock and dust, kept next to the bloodied blades of Hell.

It's actually kind of odd, because remembering what Alastair did doesn't make Dean feel a damn thing- the memories might as well be scenes from an old movie he's half-forgotten. But the idea of Alastair getting hold of Sam or Cas? That's a different story. Thinking about that makes Dean want to tell them to keep driving, to drive and drive until they're far, far away, until they're somewhere safe.

Dean laughs bitterly at himself for that; there's not enough gas in the world.

"So what's plan B?" Sam says once they're back at the motel. "I mean, we can't dig up Cole with Mr Neighbourhood Watch keeping vigil."

Should I tell him? Cas says.

Dean considers this. Alastair being topside is definitely something to worry about, but…

Nah, not yet. No need.

"Hey, what if it's a Reaper?" Sam says, struck with sudden inspiration. "I mean, the souls can't go up or down if there's no one there to work the lifts."

"That sounds plausible. We could ask Bobby what he thinks," Cas suggests.

"Good idea," Sam agrees. "What time is it?"

"Uh, sixteen past two," Cas says, checking his watch.

"Good, he'll still be up."

You're keeping things from me again, Cas accuses as Sam makes the call. Dean groans- he knew this was coming.

Would you give it a rest?

No. I don't know why you insist on being so evasive.

Personal reasons, Dean answers.

A pause. How can things be personal with a demon?

Okay, if you're thinking like Sam-and-Ruby personal, then stop. For the love of God, stop.

One Winchester procreating with a demon is certainly more than enough.

Dude, I said stop!

"Bobby says he'll call back if he finds anything," Sam declares when he puts the phone down. He falls back onto the bed and groans. "I'm tired. Don't normal people sleep at night?"

"I don't think we would be classed as 'normal'."

"Shame," Sam says, very softly. Neither of them say anything else for a while. Cas makes an example of Sam, bringing his feet up onto the single bed and settling back.

"I wonder where Ruby is," Sam says.

With any luck, shot, stuffed and mounted, Dean says to Cas.

"I'm sure she's fine," Cas says, a little more firmly than the conversation requires.

"Yeah," Sam echoes. "Still."

Do you think she always dipped in and out like this? Dean asks. Cas considers this.

"Before we met, when you travelled with Ruby, did she stay with you for longer periods of time?" Cas says to Sam. If this goes badly, Dean's not taking any responsibility.

Sam screws his face up. "She never really left."

"Then why the change now?"

Sam laughs, a short, sharp thing. Cas tilts his head enquiringly. "Nothing, it's just- she says you 'weird her out'," Sam says, rolling his eyes. "She'll get over it. She's just not used to sharing."

"Believe me when I say that Ruby is entirely yours," Castiel says, with an undertone of revulsion.

Amen to that, Dean says with feeling. Demon sex is a concept that he tries his hardest to avoid thinking about.

"Yeah, not so much," Sam says. "Me and Ruby… I don't know, man. It's complicated. You know how it is."

"Not really."

Sam looks over curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I have never been in a sexual relationship," Cas states, matter-of-fact as ever, and it really shouldn't shock Dean as much as it does. Okay, so psych ward's not the ideal place to score- but seriously?

You're kidding me.

"You're kidding me," Sam says. Castiel looks slightly taken aback by the double incredulity.

"I've never had occasion," he says defensively. "There's never been anybody who I've been close enough to… who I've wanted to do that with."

"Fair enough," Sam says.

No, not fair enough, Dean says, not about to let this go. You're thirty, Cas. You're telling me in thirty years, you never once met someone you liked enough to see naked?

I don't understand why that shocks you so much.

Dean doesn't either, to be honest. His ward is inexperienced in about a thousand other ways; Dean doesn't know why this one seems so important.

Dude, you must have turned down like, a hundred women.

Not really.

The conversation is getting kind of strange. Dean's glad when Sam speaks again and distracts them both.

"It was actually pretty funny," Sam says, chuckling to himself. "When me and Shane were talking, he asked if you and I were together. Like, together."

"Oh," Cas says. After a beat, he asks "Is that amusing?"

"Well, not really. It's just been a while since I was asked that, I know? It used to happen to me and Dean all the time- seriously creeped us both out. It was kind of funny to hear it again."

Castiel nods, though Dean suspects he still doesn't really understand. "I see."

"I hadn't missed it," Sam comments. "It's pretty difficult to get a date when everybody thinks you're gay."

"And neither of you were?" Cas asks, and Dean would swear on any number of holy objects that Cas was this close to slipping up and saying 'are'.

"I'm not, no," Sam answers. "Dean used to say that he didn't discriminate- if they were hot, it didn't matter."

"Really?" Cas says. There's a note of amusement in his voice that will mean nothing to Sam, that's planted there purely because he knows Dean's listening in. Dean grimaces.

It wasn't like that, he defends.

"Really," Sam confirms. "Direct quote- 'it doesn't matter what's in their pants, so long as I can get in them'."

Okay, okay, move it on, Dean complains. His little brother talking about his sex life to his Heaven-assigned ward feels like the kind of thing that's either going to make him vomit or get him smote.

---

They turn in for the night an hour or so later. Dean's still feeling queasy about having to face Sam, but it doesn't feel right to go so long without talking to him, so he sneaks his way into Sam's dreams. Dean's constantly on the edge of bringing up Azazel and the blood, but he swallows his words back down every time. They don't talk about much, but they do talk. Dean feels better for it.

The next day, at about twelve, the phone rings.

"Bobby? Hey!" Sam answers. "Okay, hold on a sec…" He grabs a notepad and a pen and scribbles furiously. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh- wait, what? What's that even from? Yeah, that'd do it. Thanks again, B- yes, I know! I said, didn't I? Okay, seeya."

Sam hangs up and leans forward. "So get this. Bobby thinks I'm right- someone's kidnapped the town reaper. And in the words of some ridiculous version of Revelations: 'he bloodied death under the newborn sky- sweet to taste, but bitter when once devoured."

Is there a 'simple English' option? Dean complains to Cas.

"What's the translation?" Cas asks.

"Basically, kill a Reaper under the solstice moon- which is tonight, by the way- and you've got yourself a broken seal."

"So we know that something or someone is going to try and kill a Reaper, but not who, where, or how to stop it," Cas says. Put like that, things don't seem quite so bright. "How do you kill Death itself?"

Sam shrugs. "Really big gun? No idea. I'm not sure it matters. Even if we do find what's ganking Reapers, there's no way we can intervene. The only people who can see them are the dead and the dying."

Dean grins. Have faith, my brother, for I am here.

What?

Sam missed a spot. Sure, humans can only see Reapers when their hearts start to go- but what about things that didn't need the heart in the first place?

Like what?

Like angels. Dean Winchester, reporting for service.

No.

Dean blinks, taken aback at the bluntness. Whaddya mean, no?

I mean no, Dean.

"Cas?" Sam frowns, confused by Cas' sudden silence.

"Yes," Cas says automatically, before focusing back on Sam. "There must be a way. Are there any recorded cases of a Reaper being killed? Or bound?"

Dean doesn't miss the flicker of guilt that crosses Sam's face. "Some," he says carefully. "Binding, at least. Not sure about killing. Looks like we're hitting the history books again."

"Friggin' researchophiles," Dean grumbles as Castiel nods his agreement. Dean has the solution; he doesn't get why Cas is being so prissy about taking it.

Cas boots up the laptop and Sam begins to flick through their father's journal, triple-checking anything and everything he wrote about Reapers.

You, Dean accuses Cas, are being weird about this. Why are you being weird about this?

Cas hesitates for a moment and then carefully rests the laptop on the arm of the sofa. He glances over at Sam, but he's engrossed in the book. Cas sits back and folds his arms.

I'm 'being weird' because you're proposing not only that you go after something with the power to destroy Death itself, but that you do so alone. Dean, does that honestly seem like a sensible decision to you?

Right, because we've got so many other options.

We can find one, Cas says. We're going to have to.

You can't stop me, Dean says, equally stubbornly. I'm your guardian, not the other way around.

Cas' eyes dart around the room before he realises it's pointless and drops them. Cas says a lot with his eyes, and Dean knows he doesn't like not being able to see the person he's talking to. Dean approaches Cas and crouches down so they're at face level.

I'm here, Dean says. Right in front of you. That's what I was put here to do, okay? Stand between you and anything trying to hurt you. Whatever's binding Reapers is trying to break a Seal, which is going to fuck up humanity pretty badly, and that kinda includes you by default. This is my job, Cas. Let me do it.

There must be another way, Cas says, but Dean thinks he seems uncertain. His eyes have stopped flickering, and without knowing it, he's looking right at Dean's face.

Maybe. But we don't have time to find it.

Dean, what if Alastair is involved?

The word might not come from Cas' lips, but hearing it in his voice still sounds wrong. Then if I can handle it without having to get you or Sam involved, I'll be friggin' ecstatic.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam asks curiously. Cas stops staring into space and looks over at Sam.

"Yes," Cas says.

"You seemed kinda spaced out there."

"I was concentrating. Do you think Ruby could be of any help?"

Sam's lips draw into a tight line. "She's not answering her phone."

"Shocker," Dean mutters.

Cas draws the computer back onto his lap and begins to search, a determined look in his eyes. At first, Dean reluctantly agrees to wait and see if there is another way- but as he watches Sam, he starts to change his mind.

Sam died. Their parents died. Dean's presence is tainted, like he carries some curse in the air he breathes out. When he cares for people, they get hurt, and then they get hurt too badly for him to fix. Against Dean's better nature, there's something about Cas that means Dean's getting closer to him- way closer than he ever meant to get- and wouldn't it be just like Dean to be the only guardian angel to ever get his ward killed?

Even if Sam and Cas can't die, here in this whacked-out town, that makes things worse rather than better. Dean doesn't know for sure that Alastair's behind this, but it seems like too big a coincidence for it to be anything else. He knows from personal experience that, to Alastair, death is nothing more than an inconvenience that, when removed, makes torture significantly more enjoyable. When Dean thinks about what Alastair's done and what he could do, the idea of sending Sam or Cas up against him doesn't even bear thinking about.

Dean's handled Alastair once; he can do it again.

The more he thinks about it, the more he convinces himself it's the right thing to do. By late afternoon, they've found nothing, and Dean has made his decision. Sorry, Cas, but I'm flying solo, Dean thinks as he disappears from the motel room.