A Ghost of Friendship

By the time Cas has been with them in the bunker for a week, Dean really wants to kill something. It's a well-known urge, too, one that's born from frustration and has less to do with his newly acquired infernal tendencies than with the mostly luckless search for a way to help his angel.

Sam hasn't managed to relocate the file in which he originally found the reference to 'divine light' yet. He's optimistic enough, though, and if that was the only problem, his good mood could have carried Dean. But it never rains.

Dean doesn't know what he had expected from living with Cas. But he had expected something, and that might just be the problem. Castiel is worse than they thought. Even if he is in the same building as the brothers now, they barely see him. He sleeps almost constantly and when he is awake he moves slowly and unsteadily if he even deigns to leave his room at all. He won't eat, though Dean has done his best to convince him that he needs all the strength he can get. ("Human food doesn't do anything for me, Dean." "But I swear, you're losing weight, Cas!")

Worst of all, however, is the way Castiel reacts to Dean. It makes Dean want to hurt someone. Castiel startles if he comes up behind him too fast. He stares at Dean when Dean isn't looking (and that's not new, but the averting his eyes, when Dean does look over...). And he's made it very clear, though without ever speaking the words, that Dean are not to come into the room he is using.

Sam takes a couple of files to Castiel so he doesn't have to get out of bed. Later he just brings him light reading for entertainment. Dean goes off to seethe with anger discretely.

His eyes hurt and his body burns when he refuses to give into the rage. But Dean's had worse aches.

Through it all, Castiel keeps insisting that he is fine. There's nothing Dean can do, but to trust his friend's promise that he will let them know in advance if he takes a turn for the worse – before it is too late. In the meantime he has to deal with not seeing, let alone talking to Cas any more often, for all that he is living with them now.

It is Sam and the damn trials all over again.

Dean knows that watching the news isn't exactly a way to relax, even if it's just the local station and the worst thing they have to report is the increased shoplifting from a gas station after a school opened just down the street from it a year previously. (Dean actually snorts out loud at that one. Seriously, what did they expect?)

But it is the little fun fact story that the anchor is rounding off the broadcast with that really catches his attention.

"Less than an hour's drive from our borders, just outside Gravette, Arkansas Arts has opened an early 19th century mansion to the public. The former owner, now late Mrs. Horne, and the last four generations of her family have been covering any available surface with watercolour paintings, creating art which, and I quote, 'should be saved for posterity, and must be shared with the public'. The project has been underway for almost two years, suffering various delays, but finally opened on the 8th. However, in the less than two weeks since Horne House's official opening, they have suffered no less than seven different water-related incidents, which altogether have closed the new art gallery for eleven out of the twelve days it should have been open. None of the decorated walls have suffered so far, but there are definitely some new patterns added to the floors. It gives a whole new meaning to 'water paintings', doesn't it?"

As the overly cheery newscaster passes the ball onto the weather girl (with another bad joke), Dean starts drumming a rapid beat on his thigh. It's not just the story. It is the footage too, especially the shots of a wildly gesticulating guide that, though muted, speaks clearly of someone who's seen something they can't explain. And there're other things too, little details that he only registers because he has grown up in the life, and which only means something because they are all there.

It takes him 20 minutes with Sam's laptop looking into the delays during the preparation of the old mansion for him to be sure. Laptop in hand he walks to the library where Sam is still trawling through files.

Sam looks up as he enters, and the room's other occupant startles. Dean momentarily forgets what he meant to say, as Castiel looks at him and then quickly adverts his eyes. Dean walks slowly over to the table and does not take the seat next to Cas.

"Dean. What're you doing?" Dean looks questioningly at his brother, "I told you to get out of here, not an hour ago, to go take a break or something. The only thing you're achieving here is disturbing me!"

Sam has been reading old, dusty files for a week straight. He doesn't even have the comfort of its being new material – he's been through all of these before. Dean is prepared to make excuses for him. "I was taking a break—"

"Great! Can you go back to that, please? And maybe take Cas with you? The staring doesn't exactly help. And I need to—"

"Sam. Sam!" Dean has to raise his voice to stop his brother, "Slow down. I'm thinking you might be the one who needs a break—"

"I'm not the one who's been staring at the files as though contemplating how to kill them most painfully—"

Dean ignores his brother's mumble, "—but that's not exactly news, and it wasn't what I came in here to say."

"What, then?"

"This."

Dean doesn't think about it; he puts the laptop down and leans over the table, bringing him a lot closer to Castiel. The angel startles visibly and Dean only just manages to repress his own flinch.

It's not just the angel's proximity that makes him want to flinch. He can feel it, just barely; stronger, but still mostly the same as he could when he was human. Dean supposes Cas can sense him, sense his demonic, twisted soul, in the same way. He suspects that's why Castiel flinches. But the biggest reasons for Dean's startled reactions are still Cas'.

He just can't get his head around that Castiel suddenly wants to keep a (proper) distance.

"What is it?" Sam's prompting makes Dean realise that he's been quiet for too long. He represses the urge to curse and gently eases a little away from Castiel.

"I think I found a ghost. Or, actually, I think the local news station just found a ghost. Although I think they put the accidents down to karma or something."

Sam skims the articles Dean has pulled up on the screen. A couple of minutes later he nods, "You could be right. Want me to get you Omar's number, see if he can find somebody to take a look at it?"

Dean stares at Sam for a moment. He's still very aware of Castiel sitting just off to his left. He bites his lip, "Actually, I was thinking about taking a look at it."

Sam raises his eyebrow. Castiel moves as well, but Dean refuses to look over. "I thought we had a project?" Sam gestures to the files on the table in front of him. Dean sighs.

"Yes, but it seems the main accomplishment of the last... two, three days at least, is that we have not bitten each other's heads off yet," Dean meets Sam's eyes, "You told me to take a break. You've told me to, what, twenty times over the last few days? And it's necessary, too, I don't deny that, but if I hear you say it one more time..."

It's not a threat. Dean feels perfectly in control of himself, the simmering murderous rage notwithstanding. He wants to break something, sure. But he isn't about to attack Sam (or worse, because he probably would have less of a chance to defend himself right now, Cas). Not yet.

And that right there is part of the problem.

"I need to do something else, Sam. I can't just sit here. Especially when you won't even let me touch the files half the time. I need to do something." At least he has already told Sam of the need to kill somewhat explicitly. Cas doesn't have to know that that plays a part in his need to get out, too.

"Okay. You're right. I'm just... I'm afraid we'll miss something, you know? If you look at a file that might ring a bell for me without being the right one, and then just discard it, and..." Sam shakes his head, "I would rather do this myself. It will take time, sure, but there's not much left now. Another couple of days worth. Three, four at most."

There's no guarantee that they will have a solution in four days, though. And that is the other part of the problem. Dean wants to implement plan B, and he doesn't think waiting is going to do them much good.

"You could go hunt the ghost in the meantime. Long as you can find out who and what's keeping it there, it should be pretty straightforward. Maybe you can even make it back here by the time I'm done."

"Yeah. And if, when you find anything, you could give me a call. It's only like, a four-hour drive from here. I could be here pretty fast."

"Yeah, that could work. Maybe you could go with him?"

Dean thinks it's possible Sam's just gotten an aneurysm. It seems like the most plausible explanation for that suggestion. Castiel for his part looks startled.

Dean wants to shoot the suggestion down. He does want to take Cas, could even imagine that a cut-and-dry ghost hunt would be a good way to spend some quality time with his friend, but even without the whole jumping-out-of-his-skin-thing which occurs every time Dean gets too close, Castiel sleeps for about 23 hours a day. He is in no shape to hunt, angel or not.

Yet at the same time, Dean is very reluctant to say anything, anything at all, to suggest that he doesn't want the angel's company. He is still trying very hard to convince Castiel that he is no different for being a demon.

Castiel cuts Sam down himself, "Sam, I joined you less than half an hour ago, and I am about ready to return to my room. I am in no condition to hunt."

Dean looks at him then, can't help it, and he hates to see that Cas does look tired. Tired, and gaunt, and completely worn out. Yeah, Dean needs to get out and he needs to go alone. Maybe Castiel isn't going to give them enough time to obtain some grace from another angel, maybe he just doesn't realise how bad he is. But something needs to be done, and it needs to be done fast.

"I have to agree with Cas on this, Sam," Dean's locked eyes with Cas and he isn't about to look away just because he addresses his little brother.

"It was just a thought," Sam sounds uncomfortable. Dean thinks he should be. It was a stupid idea. Castiel's eyes are the most fascinating blue he's ever seen.

Castiel stands, breaking the connection, "I wish you luck with the hunt, then. I will retire now." He wobbles, once, before he reaches the doorway, and Dean has to make a conscious effort to stay in his seat. As Castiel exits the room, Dean can just make out how he puts the hand to the wall to support himself, as soon as he thinks he's out of sight. Dean turns his gaze to the table in front of him, clenching his jaw.

"You're doing it again."

Sam's comment startle him into looking up, "What?"

"The whole, glaring at something to find a way to kill it. Painfully," Sam cocks his head, "I don't know if it is reassuring or more disturbing that you're limiting the look to inanimate objects," Sam grins.

Dean growls at him, but it is playful. He sobers quickly, though, "What the hell were you thinking, suggesting he come with me?"

Sam sighs, "I was thinking that you can see we're running out of time, just as well as I can."

"Yes! Isn't that exactly why he should stay here and rest?"

"Dean, you want to go after an angel, don't you?"

Dean flashes a quick look to the doorway and after a second's hesitation lets his sight slide. The hallway is completely empty. Castiel has gone back to his room, just as he said he would. Of course he has. His eyes are green again as he turns back to Sam, "Of course."

Sam just shakes his head slowly in exasperation, "You're being stupid."

"How the hell is helping Cas being stupid?"

"Going after a full-blown angel is stupid."

"I've fought angels before, Sam."

"Not as a demon, you haven't!" Sam quickly lowers his voice again, apparently as wary of having Castiel walk in on the discussion as Dean.

"It doesn't change anything."

"It changes everything, you idiot. There's going to be nothing, nothing left in any angel holding them back from smiting you on the spot. And they're going to do that, and it's going to be so much easier for them now!"

"What do you mean?"

"You're a demon, Dean. You can't pick a fight with an angel. They could bloody well yell at you with their true voice, and your brain would most likely turn to mush."

Dean fists his hands and takes a deep breath. He could argue, but he doesn't particularly want to. In fact, he thinks the best plan is to concede the point, "Fuck. You're right."

"I can't believe you haven't thought of this, Dean."

"I just..."

"You want to help Cas. I get it, man. I get it. But you need to keep your head."

"What the fuck are we supposed to do then, Sam?"

Sam smiles slightly at him, and though it is faint, it is genuine, "We're going to hope this works out. I still believe it could. But if it doesn't, we're going to hunt down an angel to use together. And Dean? I know what I said back when we discussed this with Cas, but... I suppose I'm every bit as tired of seeing our friends suffer and die as you are. Demon, demon blood... It doesn't matter. Even without any of it, fact remains that this is Cas, and the angels in general have never cared much for us, so..." Sam's eyes turn hard, "If I can't find anything here, we hunt down an angel. Any angel."

Dean nods. He remembers a time when his brother was young, and innocent, and where he would have done anything to protect him. The latter remains a fact, but he cannot mourn the loss of the former now. "Good. But time's running out."

"I agree, but I don't think it's quite as bad as you think. I've been watching Cas – no, not like you, more, ah, systematically – he's still got quite some way to go. We still have time, Dean. At least a month, if I'm not very wrong."

"But we won't know for sure, will we Sam, not until the resonance or whatever starts to destroy his actual essence, and then... He said it wouldn't be long," there's something curling in Dean's chest, seeping into his voice, and he doesn't know if it is anger or desperation or a noxious combination of both.

"We have time. We might not have to go behind his back. Let me finish this. Go hunt a ghost. Come back in four days and we'll know where we stand."

Dean gives Sam a long look. "Okay."

Dean gathers what he needs in the duffel in his room. His weapons are part of the walls' decoration, and he takes a moment to glance around before he moves any of them. When he came back to the bunker with Sam, these were part of the reason it felt like coming home.

He packs a couple of shotguns and what is probably a ridiculous amount of salt rounds. Then he pauses. He has a couple of different knives on the wall, none of which would be efficient against a ghost. But then again, it could be something else. Or he could run into something more than whatever haunts the old mansion (to be fair, he is sort of hoping to, after all).

Dean decides to bring a silver knife. With silver and salt and his handgun, he should have all the basics covered. And he likes this knife; it's as long as his forearm and slightly curved. It's a nice blade.

Dean used to prefer guns. He's always been adept at handling any kind of weapon to fall into his hands (makeshift ones included), but guns offer range, and range offers security when the thing you're hunting wants to go for your throat with claws and fangs. That has changed, though. There's something to the feel of a knife in his hand, the swish of the blade that feels almost like an extension of his own arm.

(There was another blade, the Blade, that felt more like an extension of his entire being, but he doesn't think about that. He tries very hard not to think about that. He doesn't want to know.)

Dean's mostly prepared, but there is one more thing he ought to bring. An angel's blade. He doesn't have one of those in his room, but that doesn't mean he and Sam haven't got a few by now. When angels started dying left, right and centre, they sort of stopped being a commodity. The only problem is getting one without Sam's noticing.

Dean knows Sam means well. And it would have been a valid point that Sam had raised, if Dean had actually been just another demon. But the fact that Sam can even think so, and more than that, seems to rely on that fact, rubs Dean the wrong way. Dean knows that if he wanted, he could take a fight to Sam, which Sam might be hard-pressed to win.

Dean's not just another demon. Dean's a Knight. Dean's the only Knight left.

He wonders why it is that Sam doesn't realise this, or doesn't seem to pay it any heed. Perhaps it is because Dean is being so pliant. He is being sensible and calm, and okay, that might not have added up to demon in his book, either. But it's bullshit, and both he and Sam knows it. Cain seemed scarily reasonable; not even when he went back to killing did he leave reason entirely behind. And Crowley has always been able to scheme and deal without screaming bloody murder. Even Ruby knew how to play her role.

(Dean doesn't think about Meg. There're various reasons.)

His point is, all the demons they've actually gotten to know have mostly behaved calmly. Human. Sure, their ethics have been twisted all to Hell (literally) along with their souls, but their actual, everyday behaviour... Perfectly sensible citizens.

But there's more to Dean's status than his being able to keep a level head. If he runs into an angel on this hunt, he will go for the kill. He might be a demon, but he is not necessarily more susceptible to the angels' powers now. In fact, probably less. Neither Cain nor Abaddon were taken down by angels. Even Alistair would have won his fight against one if Sam hadn't interfered. (Dean does wonder what it says about his and Sam's relative powers, but it will never come to the test, so it doesn't really matter.)

He wonders how big a change his death (and subsequent demonification) has made in Sam's perception of him and his abilities. Hell, he meant to go after Metatron with the First Blade, would have killed the dick with it, angel tablets or no. The thought that he can't fight angels as he is now is ludicrous. But he doesn't feel like investing the time it will take to convince Sam of this. (Also, his brother has been very accommodating in accepting his new state of (after)life. No reason to jeopardise that.)

When he takes the bag back upstairs, Sam is still sitting in the library. Dean makes his way to the weaponry unnoticed. The angel blade goes into the duffel, the zip is closed, and he thinks he is in the clear. He even manages to mentally laugh at himself for thinking it would be hard to get to one of the blades.

Then he turns, and comes face to face with the resident angel.

Dean startles, much like he used to do before he got used to Castiel's pendant for appearing suddenly and just a little too close. And he is close now. Dean breaths in, and he gets a whiff of ozone, of that smell he always associated with Castiel and only recently has started identifying as angel. There is a smell that's distinctly Cas, too, though. It's warm skin and Dean's own shampoo, underlaid by a faint odour of someone who's spent a week sick in bed.

"I thought you went back to sleep?"

"You're taking an angel blade on a ghost hunt."

"Dude, I think this is the most awake you've been within 24 hours since you got here."

"Dean," Castiel's voice grows more insistent. Dean decides to play dumb.

"Sorry, sorry, I was just distracted. What were you saying? Are you sure you're okay to be moving around? The blade?"

"Yes, Dean, the blade."

Not the Blade, though. (But Dean doesn't think about it!)

"Can't be too careful, man. Not really in a state to be picking fights with angels, you know."

"Dean, we both know that you are no common demon."

Dean didn't actually know that they both knew. Sam seems kind of ignorant after all. He feels the urge to point this out, "Not what Sam thinks."

"Don't insult me. My powers may be greatly limited, but I am not naïve," Castiel doesn't really have sufficient energy to growl, Dean thinks. That thought makes him want to actually go hunt down an angel, rather than just preparing for the eventuality of running into one.

He raises his hands, "Sorry, Cas. Didn't mean to. All the same, I'll feel better with a weapon that can actually do jack squat, if I need it."

"So you're not intending to, ah, go to plan B? The ghost hunt is not just an excuse for you to leave?"

"Cas, man," Dean leans back against the table in the middle of the room, "It is sort of an excuse, but I'm not leaving to hunt down one of your siblings. I am going to gank a ghost, 'cause I need to do something," he looks up and meets Castiel's stare, "Also, Sam says he's been monitoring you. He gives you about a month before things get really messed up. He right about that?"

Castiel keeps the eye contact for a long moment without speaking. Then he nods once, almost imperceptibly, "The grace in me will buffer my being for another 24 days, before it is completely burned out."

"You can tell? With that kind of accuracy? And when, exactly, were you going to say anything?" a slight growl sneaks in to the last part of the comment.

"Eventually. I would have left you enough time to implement your plan B," Castiel sneers slightly at the thought, "but Sam is making progress with the files. He is bound to make a discovery soon."

"I hope so, Cas. I really do."

"Do you?"

Dean turns around and leans over the table, facing away from Castiel. "Do you honestly think I enjoy doing anything that would cause you pain?" His voice is very silent.

"I," this actually seems to give Castiel pause, "The Mark which turned you into a demon as well as your very nature now should demand that you kill. Killing angels..." Cas shakes his head; Dean can hear the rustle though his back is still turned, "But you don't feel any such urges?"

Dean looks over his shoulder at the angel with a slight smile on his face, "I told you, I'm going to gank a ghost," somehow Dean sounds more tired than Castiel for all that the angel looks like he is ready to collapse where he stands, "doesn't make what I said any less true."

Castiel doesn't answer except for giving another tiny nod. He scoffs his feet. Dean shuffles slightly.

"Seriously, though. Should you be up?"

"I am feeling rather weary. I think I shall return to my room again." Castiel only manages to turn around before he stumbles and has to catch himself against the wall. He stays there, as though it is all he can do to stay on his feet and moving is completely beyond him.

Dean makes sure to move slowly and make sound as he comes up next to him. At least Cas doesn't flinch.

He hesitates for a moment, "Do you need help?" Castiel doesn't answer, doesn't even look over at him. Dean sighs, "Can I touch you?"

That prompts a reaction from the angel. Castiel's head snap to the side and his eyes find Dean's, "Why do you ask?"

"Come on, Cas, I'm not blind. I know how little you like being around me," Dean looks away, "And I'm sorry. Even knowing that, I can't just let you go. You're stuck with me, us," Dean chews his lips and hates the next words out of his mouth, "at least until you feel better." Castiel makes a soft sound, and Dean looks back up at him, "If you want to go once we've gotten you back into shape, I won't stop you, Cas. I swear. I just need to know you'll be okay." Dean doesn't like how close his voice comes to sounding like a plea.

Another of their trademark staring contests follow. This time it is Cas who breaks the eye contact, "I would appreciate your help, Dean."

Dean hesitates, then nods and pulls Castiel's arm over his shoulder. He wraps his own arm around the angel's waist, and tries not to notice the sharp jut of his hipbones.

"Will you do something for me?" they've only made it a few steps out of the room when he asks, keeping his gaze ahead.

"What is it, Dean?" Castiel sounds calm, and if he had only his friend's voice to go on, Dean wouldn't know that anything was wrong. But he's got the sensation of bone under his hand, too, and that's the problem.

"Try eating something. I know it's not supposed to do anything for you, and maybe it won't, but if there's even the slightest chance it could help...?" Also, it will make Dean easier, but he doesn't say.

He probably doesn't have to, either. "If you wish."

Dean glances over at the angel. They're almost to his door, "I'm sure Sam'll help you find something you'll like. Maybe pancakes? Sam makes decent pancakes."

Dean stops outside the open door to Castiel's room and gently extricates himself from under the angel's arm. He leaves his hand resting lightly on Cas' back to offer some support.

Castiel looks confused, "Dean?" His eyes dart from Dean's face to his bed and back.

"You don't want me in there, Cas," Dean doesn't know where the hurt in his voice comes from, he doesn't, he swears. It still makes Castiel suck in a startled breath.

"Dean," Castiel shrug out from under Dean's hand, and instead clasps his wrist in a surprisingly strong hold. Dean is dragged into the room, and though Castiel sways unsteadily on his feet, he makes it to his bed and plops down, fingers still locked on Dean's arm.

Dean stares at him.

"I didn't realise... I didn't think," Dean thinks Castiel sounds almost contrite, "I apologise, Dean."

"No, Cas, you've got nothing to apologise for." The protest is reflexive; Dean doesn't even know what Cas is apologising for, anyway.

"I do, though. I have observed that you have retained a part, possibly even a very large part of who you were, of your feelings and behavioural patterns. Even so, I have refused to let you care for me, and in this way I have hurt you."

Dean stares some more. Castiel is right, of course, not being able to do something – however inefficient – has been killing Dean (not that he would ever admit it), but the whole avoiding him and jumping every time he comes near has been so much worse. Yet now he is standing less than a foot in front of Cas sitting on the bed. They haven't been this close since Dean had to half carry him into the bunker when they got there.

"You've got nothing to apologise for, Cas," Dean makes his voice stay steady and stern. It's easier that way, anyway.

"Dean," Cas looks down and finally lets go. He doesn't continue.

"Cas?" Dean squats in front of the bed to get them to eye level. The next instant he feels kind of ridiculous for it. His knees protest loudly (though luckily inaudibly). Cas meets his eyes again.

"Just be careful, okay? I don't... I don't want to lose you again. Not when there's even the tiniest part of me that thinks, I might actually have gotten you back. Even if," he flounders and trails of with half a gesture in Dean's general direction.

"Even if it's in a slightly darker version?" Dean keeps his voice level.

"You're not evil, Dean. You are, you have always been a good man. Even Hell cannot fully corrupt that in you."

"If it didn't all those years ago, it won't now," Dean pauses, "I haven't been back, you know. Not more than... once."

Castiel looks genuinely surprised by this piece of information, "But Sam was looking for you for months."

"Yeah, I've tried the whole hanging around in Hell for a coupla months. No need for a repeat performance."

"Where have you been?"

"I've been hanging around."

"But how," Castiel furrows his brow, as though something's just occurred to him, "How, then, do you travel?"

"I've been nicking a car here and there..." Dean trails off at the look Castiel is giving him. It takes him a second to catch up. "Oh. I don't."

"That seems like," Castiel considers, "an unnecessary limitation to submit yourself to."

"Unnecessary my ass. It keeps me out of Hell."

"But the ability to travel across the globe in less than seconds... You would forego that?"

"I've only done it once. When I first woke up here, I decided I needed to get out, get away from Sam, from my life, everything. I couldn't stay here the way I was. It wasn't even a conscious decision to do it like that. Next second I found myself in Hell. Imagine my surprise," Dean's voice turns slightly bitter, "Not a site I needed to revisit. And then I was back out."

It sounds simple, and it was. Still, Dean did not like the short stopover. He used to think that the nightmares hadn't gotten better over the years, but they had. Impossible as it had seemed at times, the memories of Hell had dimmed some. He really hadn't wanted to get those images refreshed, and he hadn't even ended up in the Pit proper. Yet what he told Sam is true. When he sleeps now, he dreams; he doesn't have nightmares. But the fact that Hell, now in all the vividness of a fresh memory, doesn't repulse or scare him into insomnia any more, freaks him out in turn. He doesn't want any sort of tolerance for Hell. Actually, he doesn't want anything to do with Hell at all.

"But to move with that speed... don't you miss it?"

"I've only done it the once, Cas. I'm used to travel like a sane human being. The only other times I've gone somewhere that fast has been when you've given me a lift."

Castiel goes very still, "I miss my wings." Ah, so that is the problem.

"We'll find a way to fix you, Cas."

"Getting me more grace won't restore my wings."

"We'll figure something out, okay? It'll be okay," Dean puts his hands on Cas' knees, both to get the angel's attention, but also because he really needs the support by now. His own knees hurt, and he doesn't think its fair that he feels aches like that, when he is technically already dead.

"Thank you, Dean."

Dean nods once and stands. He manages to repress the urge to grimace as he straightens his legs (as much as he ever can). Castiel lies back on the bed and draws the duvet over him. Dean doesn't think he'll ever get over how weird it is to see Cas like that. He represses the urge to tuck the angel in.

"I should get going," he pauses slightly, but starts towards the door at Castiel's nod.

"Dean?" He turns back, one hand on the door frame. "Where did you go? When you got back out, I mean."

"Told you, Cas, not much conscious thinking on my part. I ended up in that same clearing. Above ground this time, though," he smiles teasingly, "I walked to the gas station where you first tried to talk to me again. It's completely abandoned now, and the windows are still busted, but it sort of reminded me of you. Good times."

Castiel shakes his head, but there is a fond light in his eyes.

"Get some rest, Cas. Everything's gonna be alright." Dean thinks it's off to a good start, at least. If he's not much mistaken he has just gotten his best friend back. That goes a long way towards alright in his book.

A/N: Does the part about teleporting and Hell make sense?