AN: Well, I'm an asshole. Sorry I couldn't update yesterday, I went to a covert and was exhausted by the time I got back home! Anyways, this chapter is fluffy, painful, and... strange. Word of warnin: updating might get a little difficult from now on, since finals and winter break are busy, freaky times. I still have a few chapters done, though! Thanks for reading! Now, how about a few reviews? Please?


JThe mist seemed to choke the four humans as they trekked through the forest. Castiel, however, attempted to remain impassive as the fog swirled around them. He could feel a demonic presence, but the feeling was so overwhelming that it pressed in on him from all sides. Dean seemed to notice his discomfort and placed what he assumed was a reassuring hand on the small of his back. Castiel nodded gratefully at the hunter before flexing his shoulders and spreading out his senses once more.

A sickening black blot was splattered across his mind's eye. One of the hounds had scented them. It wouldn't be too long before it warned the pack. Castiel stiffened and shot his wings out, finding the hound within seconds and destroying it before it had the chance to warn its brothers. Castiel returned immediately to Dean's side, aware that Sherlock and John would notice the lack of his presence after a few minutes.

Luckily, neither human seemed to have noticed his disappearance besides Dean, who fixed him with a questioning look. Castiel grunted out, "Hellhound," and Dean nodded gratefully. Without hesitating, Dean held Cas back and stopped walking. Sam passed them with a questioning glance, but Dean shook his head and gestured with his hands for Sam to continue on with the other two humans. He frowned at this, but continued all the same. After a moment, and certain that no one else could hear them, Dean fixed Castiel with a gaze so intense it could have melted his very Grace.

"You found one of the dogs." It was not a question. Castiel nodded, biting back the urge to move closer to Dean. He did not like it when Castiel invaded his private space.

"It was going to warn the pack that an angel had happened upon their hunting grounds," Castiel murmured quietly, suddenly aware of the utter silence around them.

"Could you tell how many more there are? Three, ten, two hundred?" Dean was insistent, putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder and gripping him tightly. It sparked something within Castiel's stomach - a deep, slow burn that he quickly ignored.

"Judging by the size of it, I would say this is a relatively small pack - the bigger the hound, the less need there is for a team to take down prey. There should be somewhere around five to ten hellhounds in this pack."

Dean smacked his own face, the slap of skin hitting skin ringing through the forest for a second. "How big are the hellhounds, Cas?"

"No larger than a normal wolf, by your standards." Dean's other hand slipped from Castiel's shoulder, and the imprint where his hand had been burned with the cool forest air.

"So we are hunting five or ten big, bloodthirsty hounds of Hell that decided to take up residence in freaking England. Awesome." He threw both hands in the air, in a sign of exasperation. "Think Crowley decided to breed some grade-A asshounds on the Motherland?" He flipped around to face Castiel, who only continued to stare into Dean's glinting eyes. They were more green than the forest around them - they spoke of sunny summer leaves, with sunlight speckling the ground in tiny bursts of light. Castiel wished he could watch Dean's eyes for the rest of time, but there was no Heaven that was specifically that. It was why he enjoyed the autistic man's Heaven - it was an endless summer, just like looking into the freckled hunter's eyes.

He shook himself out of his reverie before Dean could wonder what he was up to, but it seemed Dean had been lost to his gaze as well. "We should catch up with the others," Castiel suggested, "I am too far to sense if the hounds have snuck up on them."

Dean nodded in agreement, and with a tint to his cheeks, grabbed Castiel's hand. "You don't need to do the forehead-thing, right? Any contact could do?" At Castiel's confused nod, he smiled. "All right, then this is fine. I don't need no angel feelin' up my face."

Castiel was confused as to why Dean wanted to hold his hand all of a sudden. He was not complaining, as Dean's hand was warm against the chill of the English forest, but it was... odd. It mattered not, however, as Castiel appeared directly behind Sam merely moments later. His reaction, claimed Dean, was 'never going to be lived down'. Castiel didn't really understand what that meant.

Sam shook his head of floppy brown hair and sighed. "Sherlock and John noticed you two left. Sherlock was sure you guys were making out and that you're both hiding a gay relationship from all of us because of your 'insecure father issues,'" Sam quoted and spoke the words in a snobby British accent. Dean grimaced, and Castiel noted the hint of a blush on his cheeks. Perhaps Dean was abashed by this idea - Castiel was still not entirely familiar with human emotions and such. True, he was one of the more human-like angels in the world, only inferior to Balthazar and Gabriel, yet he was still confounded by the strange antics they insisted on.

"Good, you're back from your... oh," Sherlock announced, then paused and Castiel noticed Dean held back a chuckle, "you weren't having a roll in the hay?" He looked genuinely perplexed at this, and it made Castiel's Grace twirl in amusement.

"Dean and I do share a more profound bond than most people, but our relationship is strictly platonic." He instinctively hid the twinge of regret that attempted to color his voice. Sherlock's eyes flicked to Dean, then back to Castiel. He seemed extremely confused. He threw his hands up in the air and sighed heavily.

"I don't have time for relationship counseling. Come see me after we solve this case - then maybe I'll get your idiotic heads straight." The world's only consulting detective pinched his nose between two fingers before looking around once more. "I haven't found a definitive presence of the dogs, but I noticed -"

"Cas over here already ganked one, so... we know what's going on here." Dean was smug as he blasted a grin at Sherlock. John gasped in surprise, while Sam crossed his arms over his chest. Castiel knew he was preparing what Dean would call a 'bitch fit'. "Yeah, definitely one of the things that goes bump in the night." He pulled out a gun - the Colt, in fact - and smiled devilishly as he cocked the barrel and made sure there were enough bullets in it. "This is a job for us, really. You two should just go home. It's starting to get dark." He nodded to the fast-approaching dark blue stain in the sky, which was creeping towards them at a steady pace.

"We're, uh, staying at an Inn not too far from here... there isn't much to do, and Sherlock gets rather pissy when he can't finish a case," John stated quietly, as Sherlock fixed Dean with a glare that almost promised certain death.

Of course, it was Dean's turn to get 'pissy'. "Listen, you and Boy Wonder over there might think you own the world, but let me burst that bubble real quick - there are things out here, right now, that will tear you apart and drag your asses down to the very depths of Hell. And, no offense, but I'm not willing to send an angel down after you. We're stretched kind of thin." His voice was low; a deep, seductive growl that forced Cas to use his Grace so that the effect wouldn't show up too well on his vessel. He noticed Sherlock's curious gaze, but fixed the detective with a glare so fierce the detective had no choice but to face Dean once more. "So get to your damn Inn, lock your doors, and salt every entrance possible. It won't keep 'em out forever, but it'll have to do - just in case."

"We have no time to be arguing about whether a dog that can drag a man down to Hell exists," Sherlock grumbled. Oh dear. Castiel could see Dean's soul pulsating with righteous fury.

"They exist," Dean snarled, and at Sherlock's raised eyebrow, the hunter clenched one hand into a tight fist, making sure he had a firm grip on the gun in his other hand. "They exist," he repeated, "because I have felt them ripping into my skin. They tore out my goddamn throat!" He was shouting now, but Castiel would not warn him to quiet down - he would only cause Dean to yell louder. "They dragged me down, and I will never forget." He stopped then, biting his lower lip and visibly shaking. Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder, right over the brand he had placed on Dean. A wave of comforting Grace washed through from Castiel into Dean, and the hunter visibly relaxed.

Of course, as soon as he stops paying attention to his surroundings, the hounds find them. A whorl of inky black poison bursted across his vision, and the hellish beasts slunk in and around them from the trees. Dean stiffened, his pupils shrinking to near-nonexistent proportions. Sam pulled out the demon-killing knife, and slipped into a battle-ready crouch. Castiel let the burn of his Grace swim in his fingertips, and he knew his eyes glowed with the slightest indication of his true power. Sherlock and John jumped at the growls that had erupted around them, but they saw nothing as they searched with wild eyes.

"What is that noise?" John asked, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

"What I warned you about," Dean glared at the space around him. He spared one moment to glance at Castiel, flashing wide, scared eyes at the angel. "I can see them," he breathed, "Why can I see them?"

Castiel noted the panic seeping in to his voice - and he wasn't the only one. Snarls of sick pleasure erupted around them, and Castiel (Dean, too) watched warily as a few hounds stepped closer to the group. Sam tried to follow their gazes, but it was clear he could see nothing - his eyes never focused on the writhing masses of evil that had surrounded them.

The hounds were rank, with steam rising from their ripped flesh. Blood dripped from rips in their physique, where ribs and other bones peeked through the scarred fur. Their tails wagged with devilish glee, yet they were no more than small, bony stubs that poked out from their behinds. Their muzzles were pulled back in demonic grins, with jagged teeth gleaming in the dim light. The eyes were a glowing red, unlike any color Dean had seen before. Castiel, however, had seen it enough times in his existence.

Castiel could sense Dean's immediate distress, and he spared barely a moment's pause before reaching out with his Grace and attempting to soothe him. He realized that Sam and the other humans were blind to the atrocities before them, so he merely rolled his shoulders and felt his wings shift in the air. They were not visible to human eyes, but they were on a plane closer to the existence the humans were on - perhaps a clairvoyant or a highly esteemed religious figure could see their outlines.
Castiel shifted his wings, allowing the power centering in them to flow through his vessel. There were three hounds, which was a difficult battle enough. He knew he would have to be very delicate about this. "You all need to close your eyes."

"Dude, there's only like three of 'em! We can take them," Dean insisted with wide eyes. Castiel shook his head.

"They have caught our scent. If we do anything less than completely obliterate them, the rest of the pack will be upon us like - well, a pack of angry dogs." The angel argued, knowing that his eyes were shining brightly as he spoke with authority. "Now close your eyes, all of you!"

Sam and Dean wasted no time in clapping a hand over their eyes, and they both had the insight to do the same for Sherlock and John, who had both been staring at Castiel with a look of amazed awe.

Certain that he would not harm any of the humans, Castiel loosened his vice-like grip on Jimmy Novak's body. He let all six of his wings unfurl, the energy that ran through them sparking like a roaring fire. The hellhounds shrank back, their glowing eyes wide with fear and instinct to get away. After a few paw-steps backwards, Castiel let go completely of his vessel, and fully showed himself to the demonic dogs.

They disintegrated on the spot, with nothing more than a whimper to indicate their annihilation.

Castiel slowly sank back into Jimmy's body, curling up four of his wings and letting the largest pair slip into another plane of existence again. His light toned down until he shined as Dean's own soul did. "You may look now," he announced.

Sherlock and John were quick to push the hunter's hands off of their faces, and their eyes were wide with shock. "What the bloody hell was that?" John breathed.

Dean clapped Castiel on the back, a sly smirk on his face. "That, my dear Watson, was an angel." At Sherlock and John's confused looks, Dean chuckled. Sam was busy giving Dean what he would no doubt name 'Bitch Face Number Fifty-Four'. "Y'know, warrior of God and all that?"

"No, that can't be. It was a - a trick of the light. The fog, along with heightened adrenaline... no. There is no way..." Sherlock was not one for stammering, but John looked shaken to his core. "It is not possible."

John looked like he was ready to faint. Castiel took a gentle step forward, hands low at his side. "I know this is a lot to take in-"

"A lot to take in?" John echoed, astounded. "You're right, it's a whole bloody lot to take in! You're telling us that Hell is a real place? Demons are real?"

Shrugging, Dean smirked. "Vampires and demons and ghosts, oh my." A dark chuckle erupted from his lips. John paled, and Sherlock stiffened. Sam shuffled his feet nervously.

"We should probably get you guys back to your room, huh?" The gigantic man suggested with a bashful smile.

As Castiel stepped forward to transport the men away, Sherlock held up one hand to stop him. "One question, if you don't mind."

At Dean and Sam's careful nod, Sherlock turned to face them, his ocean-colored eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Why do you choose to kill these things? There must have been some instigator for this kind of life." His question pricked at the brother's hearts, yet Dean hid it with a slick smile. Sam merely turned away, refusing to look either British man in the eye.

"What can I say," Dean began with a broken smirk, "we're on a mission." Castiel frowned; he knew where this was going. "From God."