So, I'm kinda returning to this story after way too long... Most of my original readers have probably lost interest, so for that I'm sorry. Hopefully, I'll be updating this weekly alongside Michael's Angels and the odd one-shot etc. I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

Castiel had to check the address twice before venturing towards the white picket fence; after 4 months of no leads on Crowley's location, he and Sam had finally gotten something. Just two weeks earlier, a man of Dean's description had been spotted entering a gas station 3 miles away, leaving four bloody bodies in his wake. The interesting thing was apparently, according to a witness, the man appeared to have black eyes…

The angel held back, still uncertain, and fumbled in his pockets for the mobile phone he secretly enjoyed using "Sam?" He surely wasn't in the right place.

"Cas?" On the other end of the line, Sam sounded groggy and, simply put, beat.

"I'm here. A local woman kindly pointed me in the right direction, but I fear I may have been led astray…" He glanced back at the picturesque house; it looked like it had been plucked right from a catalogue.

Sam groaned, the sound of sheets and footsteps muffled in the background "What, why?"

"Well," Castiel began "it's too nice."

"Not the usual abandoned farmhouse, huh?"

"No. Definitely not."

There was a pause; Sam was probably changing into some clothes. Ever since Dean's disappearance, he'd been a little out of sorts, getting up late, refusing hunts, only calling when it was of the upmost importance… Cas, on the hand, was taking the opposite approach. He couldn't recall the last time he rested properly and he didn't care. Until Dean was back safe, he didn't care about anything.

"This source of yours, is it reliable?"

There was a rustle before Sam's reply "Yeah, well… of course. An old hunting buddy of Bobby's interviewed the witness. Apparently, after seeing this black eyed man coming out of the gas station, they called the police and followed the guy to that address. They didn't wanna say anything to the cops cos they didn't think they'd believe them. Why, what is it?"

Castiel sighed "It's a house. And it's quaint."

The bricks were a pastel shade of yellow, with a small collection of a slightly darker greeny-grey colour bundled at either end of the building, forming two hearts. A couple of square windows, each placed atop the hearts, were complete with glistening, white window sills and thin, lilac curtains that billowed gently in the summer breeze. The door, a pale cream to complement the colours of both the hearts and window sills, was placed directly in the centre of the building and sported a charming little doorbell in the shape of a cupcake. Castiel felt dirty just looking at it.

"Maybe he's being careful?" Sam suggested "You know, like a cover up. We're always saying how predictable Crowley's hold ups are… but, Dean knows the drill."

Castiel was willing to hold onto anything at this point in time "Okay. I'll take a look."

"Call me back when you're done."

He felt a small pang of frustration at the fact that Sam wasn't here beside him; it was his brother they were looking for, after all. Sure, they'd both decided that he wasn't exactly himself at the moment and perhaps he'd be more suited as the 'stay at home' kind of guy, whilst Castiel did all the heavy lifting, but still. This was the closest they'd got to finding Dean in 4 months and he strongly believed that Sam should be the first face he saw.

There was a small, silver button at the centre of the cupcake, scarcely the size of Castiel's little fingernail. He couldn't help but recoil at the sound of three voices giggling their way through some sort of greeting song; this family had actually pre-recorded their own doorbell.

"Welcome to our loving home!"

He glanced over his shoulder awkwardly and cleared his throat; he'd love to see Dean's reaction to this monstrosity.

After a few moments, he could hear the titter-tatter of shoes heading towards the door and was soon greeted by a middle aged woman "Hey, there!"

She appeared to be in her mid-forties with straw blonde hair pulled back into a loose bun that fell about her shoulders artistically. All stray hairs seemed to purposely frame her face - as opposed to being merely accidental - and in her pale hands, she was wringing a tea cloth. When she noticed Castiel scrutinizing the flour dabbed about her face and clinging to her hair, she gave an exasperated sigh.

"Baking! Who knew it could be such a hullaballoo!" She then offered him a smile and extended her hand.

He wasn't quite sure what that word meant, but he assumed that she was being witty and returned the smile. But not his hand.

"I'm looking for this man, have you seen him?" He flashed a photo of Dean, now crumpled after months of residing in his back pocket.

The woman tilted her head "Hmmm…"

"His name is Dean Winchester."

"I don't think so, sorry!" She went to close the door, but was stopped by Castiel's foot.

He furrowed his brow, searching her face for signs of deceit "He's in a lot of trouble."

A lock of hair had fallen from her bun and, instead of framing her face, clung to her bottom lip. Her eyes were wide "I-I don't know who that man is."

"I think you're lying."

With that, he pressed two fingers against her forehead and closed his eyes; he sifted through her mind effortlessly, past memories of smiling children, birthday cakes and school runs, until he came across an image that made him gasp. A man's hands were grasping at her waist and trailing up her thighs, lips smacking her jawline and breath tingling the back of her neck. She turned her head to face her lover; a man with light brown hair and freckled skin. Dean.

He forgot how to talk for a moment. Even though he knew this man wasn't really Dean, just a twisted version of him, he still couldn't shake the intense feeling of betrayal and humiliation.

"W-What was that?!" The woman stumbled against the door, rubbing her head frantically.

The angel didn't have time to go into details "You slept with this man two weeks ago."

Her face flushed "I-I… how did you? Oh my goodness. Please don't tell me husband!"

"I have no interest in your husband. Where is this man?"

She thought for a moment, desperately wringing the tea cloth between her hands "I-I'm not sure. We met a bar, just down the street." Her face fell "He was so young and charming… and I was so drunk…"

Castiel sighed "Did he tell you where he was staying?"

"No… he just said he was passing through. I gave him my address," He could see that she was now mentally scolding herself for making such a silly mistake "but he said he had something to do first. Then he turned up at my house about 40 minutes later."

"Was he wearing a change of clothing?" He asked, picturing the mess four bodies must have made.

She shrugged helplessly "Just a different shirt. I-I presumed that's what he went home to do."

"Did he leave any contact information?"

"Well…" She pursed her lips into a thin line "He did send me a, um… rather inappropriate text the following morning…"

Castiel perked up at the possible lead "Can you show me, ma'am?"

Her face flushed an embarrassing shade of red as she continued to strangle the tea cloth in her hands "Oh, gosh no, I… I wouldn't risk my husband finding out! I-I deleted the text shortly afterwards."

Great. So, perhaps there wasn't a light at the end of this tunnel… maybe they were still a long way off finding Dean. He knew that the longer they were delayed, the worst state he'd be in. The situation seemed hopeless and the thought of having to deliver the bad news to Sam yet again and be forced to watch as the younger Winchester continued his downward spiral made him feel sick. And angels didn't get queasy often.

"But," The woman brought him out of his thoughts suddenly "I did happen to jot the number down, just in case he, uh… f-forgot something…"

Castiel wasn't an expert of reading between the lines, especially when it concerned humans, but even he could understand that her shameful expression and beaming cheeks suggested that she'd kept the number for other reasons - just in case.

He accepted the proffered scrap of paper eagerly and thanked the woman for her time before fleeing to somewhere away from the eyes and ears of nosey passer-byers. For a moment, he considered updating Sam and attempting to shed some light on his friend's dismal behaviour, but then he considered the possibility of the number being a bust and decided that it was best not to raise false hopes.

He'd dialled the number before his mind had had time to adjust and soon he was panicking with the device pressed to his ear, wondering how he could wring his location from Dean. Surely he wouldn't agree to meet up with him, after all.

His anxieties were stilled by a familiar tune blasting from a nearby alleyway. Although he couldn't name the song for the life of him, he instantly recognised it as being a personal favourite of Dean's- one he'd always turn the volume up for in the Impala. What followed the music was even more startling; a gruff voice, muffled by the distance between them, silencing the tune. It was a voice he'd never forget, a voice he'd recognise a mile off. Dean was here; perhaps just around the corner with no idea that Castiel was so close.

"Hey, this is Dean Winchester speaking… What can my sexy-self do for you today?"

An awkward silence commenced.

"Uh, you there? Hey, is this the hot mom from that club a couple weeks back…? Hey-"

"Hello, Dean."

He expected a gasp of surprise, maybe an emotional uttering of his name in return, but instead, Dean scoffed. He scoffed, and then groaned and then laughed bitterly to himself.

"Seriously? Frickin' Castiel? Great…"

It felt like someone had physically removed his heart (if it was fair to call Jimmy Novak's heart his own) and squeezed carelessly. Someone was kicking at his emotions, oblivious to the blinding agony it produced, just watching him writhe about helplessly drowning in his own pain.

His voice was broken as he spoke "Dean, I-"

"How'd you get this number? Did that whore give it to you? God, I'm gonna slit that bitch's throat…"

Castiel could scarcely believe that even a smidgen of this monster was his trusty and courageous friend, Dean Winchester. Sure, Dean was ever the ladies' man - much to his dismay - but he'd never threatened to purposely harm one of them. Despite what some might think, he did treat women with the upmost respect- much like a gentleman. Thisdemon possessing his kind-natured soul was only trying to warp Castiel's image of Dean and thus destroy his loyalty. But he wouldn't give up that easily.

"You will not bring any harm to that woman, Dean. I located your contact information from a different source…" He lied smoothly, hoping the deceit would go unnoticed.

He suddenly remembered to lower his voice so that Dean wouldn't figure out his hiding place. He couldn't risk him hearing him and fleeing- not when he'd got so far, not when there was a chance that he could reunite the Winchester brothers and actually see Sam smile again.

"Yeah, right." Thankfully, he mustn't of cared too much and decided to change the subject "So, how've you been, Castiel? You and Sam had mad, emotional, 'I feel your pain' sex, yet?"

He flushed what he could only imagine was an angry shade of red "How can you talk about your brother and your friend like that?!" Disappointment coursed through his veins "I thought you said we were like family? Then if that's the case, you should be able to fight this, Dean –"

"Ha!" Dean scoffed "Family, Castiel? Family? You seriously gonna play that card with me? A frickin' demon who couldn't give two shits about you?"

No, this wasn't right… This wasn't Dean. His Dean would grin – he'd hear the smile in his voice – and call him Cas and buddy and brother and – And what? What exactly was he to Dean? If he was like a brother, then surely their relationship was platonic and nothing that he felt for the hunter was returned. A brother pats your shoulder and hands you a beer, calls you names but doesn't really mean it and makes you laugh at stupid jokes. What does Castiel do for Dean? He hunts and rebels and gives up armies and fights and protects and watches over and stares and hopes and longs and… well, what's the point in denying it? Falling for the Winchester – a man he could never possibly have – was inevitable from the start. The very moment he laid a hand on Dean in hell, he was indeed, as Hester had put it, lost.

"This isn't you, Dean." He choked.

"No, you're right… This isn't the old me. Now I'm – I'm frickin' powerful."

Castiel edged his way across the wall, following the muffled voice echoing not far from his hearing. The ground was damp and cold (not that that could bother him much) as he turned a corner, stopping dead in his tracks because there he was. Dean Winchester – just as he'd remembered him – leaning against a battered bus stop with the phone pressed to his ear.

"You listen to me, alright?" His voice was now clear as day from where Castiel stood "You give up on the search party, or I'm gonna find you and Sam and rip your fucking lungs out!"

The line went dead.

And Dean was on the move.

Adrenaline coursed through Castiel's veins as he slipped the phone into his pocket and sidled down the alley way, making sure not to stumble across the crushed cans and beer bottles littering the floor. All he had to do was keep quiet and follow Dean wherever he went; hopefully, he'd find where his friend had been hiding all these months.

Dean pulled the collar of his jacket up close around his face to shield his cheeks from the cold, shoulders hunched from where Castiel could see his retreating silhouette fading into the shadows up ahead. He'd have to keep up if he didn't want to lose him again, which would involve running and possibly blowing his cover. It was times like this that he really missed his wings; if he were still a real angel, he could simply poof here and there and keep track of Dean easily. Of course, the enochian he'd carved into the hunter's ribs would prevent him from locating him entirely. Sometimes he wonders if that wasn't his best idea…

He stalled, hands falling limply to his sides.

Dean was gone.

Castiel turned around frantically, eyes darting from left to right and heart pounding dangerously in his chest. The hairs on the back of his neck were raised – a human reaction to fear he still found quite remarkable – whilst his fists were clenched in frustration. All he'd had to do was follow Dean and bring him back to the bunker! He'd been one simple task away from getting his best friend back, from seeing Sam smile again, to making things normal for once. But he'd screwed it up. Now he'd never get to finish his conversation with Dean and figure out what exactly he'd meant by those words.

You know why.

No, he really didn't understand. Why would Dean sacrifice himself for Castiel? He'd certainly lost the privilege of being called a Winchester,let alone a brother. But still, he'd pressed their foreheads together, raked his fingers through the angel's hair, touched those lips to his forehead… Surely that meant something, right? Well, he'd never find out –

He was suddenly thrown against a wall with impressive force, the impact creating a sickening crunch that prickled pain through Castiel's spine. The world was blotted with dark spots that clouded his vision, obscuring the figure approaching him. The stranger's shadow was square-shouldered, bow-legged, the glint of a blade dangling from his fingers…

"Dean?" He managed to croak out.

"Stupid fuckin' angels," Dean muttered "Just can't keep their beaks out, can they?"

"Dean –"

A hand shoved him hard, pinning him back against the cold bricks "Why you following me, Castiel?"

"Cas…" His voice was soft, barely audible around the blood oozing from his lips.

"What did you say?"

"My name is Cas," He cried "You call me Cas."

Dean chuckled bitterly "Really? Really? Oh, that… that's sweet. But ya see, I don't know any Cas." He dug the heel of his foot sharply into Castiel's abdomen "All I see now is a spineless, pathetic, lost little angel reaching out for daddy but fallin' flat on his face."

Castiel groaned against the foot pressed to his stomach.

"The big guy's left the building and ya brothers' think you're a piece of crap, so that leaves you with the lumberjack and yours truly…" He grinned "But, sorry! I'm outta business too, now. You're gonna have to find a new toy boy to mess around with."

"We're family, Dean!" Castiel wheezed "Do you hear what you're saying?!"

His body was hauled up from the ground and slammed against the wall once again, his head now hanging limply – chin touching his chest and dead blue eyes pleading with Dean's black ones.

"Never say that to me again!" Dean growled "I have no fuckin' family, ya hear?!"

"Yes, you do…" The words now rattled painfully in his chest "Like it or not, you can't get rid of me. Or Sam. We love you, Dean."

This wasn't the way he'd pictured first uttering those words, but beggars can't be choosers.

"Ha, screw you, angel!"

"You have to believe me, Dean. You are strong – stronger than the mark, stronger than you give yourself credit. You can fight this –"

His shoulder blades collided with the wall again, more pain shooting through his bones "Shut the fuck up!"

"Just listen –"

"You don't love me! No one loves me!" Dean spat, rage and agony warring on his face "How could anyone love this?!"

Castiel clutched the sleeve of Dean's jacket desperately "Because love is unconditional!" He gasped "You could be the devil himself and I would still love you, Dean Winchester."

Dean released his grip and he fell to ground, coughing and wheezing into his the back of his hand. Pain shrouded his body like a blanket – suffocating and choking every inch of his being.

"You say that shit to me one more time…" Dean squeaked; his eyes were now bright with that familiar, forest green Castiel often found himself pining for "And I'll… I'll –"

"I won't say it," Castiel sat up as far as he could without being overwhelmed with agony "But that doesn't mean I won't still feel it."

"Shut. Up."

"No!"

"I'm warning you, Castiel…"

"Do what you want!" He challenged "Without you, I'm already dead inside!"

Dean's face was suddenly drained of colour, sweat beading his forehead and arms shaking violently.

"Dean?"

The hunter's knees buckled and he came crashing to the ground. The blade clattered on the concrete beside him, handle pointing in Castiel's direction like an invitation – a way out. But he wouldn't, of course. He just fumbled with the pockets of his trenchcoat and fished out the phone, dialling as deftly as his swollen fingers would allow.

"Cas?" The voice that picked up was groggy and thick with presumably alcohol; it hadn't been long since their last conversation and already Sam was drunk. But that didn't matter now because he could finally bring home his brother. He could make things right.

"I've found him," He smiled against the pain "I've found Dean."

Cliffhanger! I'm so cruel. I wonder what Dean will say when he regains consciousness and finds himself back in the bunker... Plus, we'll finally see Sammy in the next chapter! Yay for Team Free Will! All faves and follows are very much appreciated, but reviews make me smile and encourage me to write more. So, if you have the time to leave a little feedback, I'll be sure to give you a shout-out in the next chapter. Thanks guys! :)