Castiel circled the cemetery a second time, reading the names and dates on each tombstone. They meant nothing to him. There were no connections that he could see, there was no… what had Dean called it? Monster residue? If it weren't for the large rectangular patches of bare earth where the grass had yet to grow back- he would say that nothing of interest had ever happened in the little cemetery.

He glanced over at Dean, ready to apologize again, but it seemed as if the hunter had fallen asleep leaning up against the tree. So Cas kept quiet, and maybe kept his eyes on his friend a little longer than he knew was right to do. But Dean's eyes were closed and he couldn't give Cas that disapproving frown that he got anytime the Angel strayed too far from 'socially acceptable behavior'.

It wasn't often that he had a chance to see Dean with his arms bared. He normal had on a jacket or flannel. Cas found that he liked the look of Dean's arms, the tightness to the muscles where they were folded over his chest. And it was probably not normal to admire someone's arms, especially not Dean's. Castiel had a feeling that he was earning himself a lecture.

He had no idea why Dean thought he had any right to lecture an Angel.

He also had no idea why he let Dean lecture him.

Their relationship was… tricky in some places.

He turned to make one last sweet of the grounds, and his eye caught the little stone buildings in the corner, not for the first time. They looked innocent enough, tucked away in the corner amongst the statures of angels and crosses. He walked closer, over the gently sloping grass and frowned at the stone walls.

"Dean?" He called out, turning to see the hunter still resting against the old tree. "Is this the sort of thing I'm looking for?"

Even from the other end of the cemetery, Dean's eyes were intense. Greener than the grass on which he stood. "I don't know." He sounded almost annoyed at being woken, but he started making his way to Cas. "What'd you find?"

Castiel found that his mouth had gone dry and the words that he wanted seemed to have fled. He looked away from Dean and his slow swagger, and instead pointed to the mausoleum.

Dean came to rest beside him, radiating warmth. He still smelled wonderful and Cas didn't mention it. He was getting good at this whole thing.

"What are they?" Dean asked.

"Writings of some kind." Castiel answered simply, confused that Dean couldn't see that. "They are mostly washed away."

The hunter grunted in reply, which didn't mean much of anything to Castiel, but Dean was like that sometimes.

Castiel started to wander over to a different building, but paused when he saw that Dean had decided that they would open this one. It was hard to walk away when his friend was putting on such a splendid display of strength. And yes, it was true that Castiel's grace made him considerably stronger than the human- it was also a sad truth that Castiel's muscles never moved quite like that.

He resisted an urge to put his hands on Dean's arms, to feel the strength in them while he struggled with the door. It was a stupid urge anyways. It wouldn't get him anything other than a weird look and a snide comment.

The door slid inward with the rough protest of stone rubbing against stone, and Dean ducked into the shadows.

Castiel followed. Why wouldn't he? Dean obviously missed the writings the first time- if there were any inside he would most likely miss them as well.

"Cas, you mind-" and the door groaned closed behind Castiel- which he thought quite odd for the fact that there was no draft and the door was obviously too heavy to close on its own.

"The fuck?" Dean exclaimed far too loudly in too small of a space. "Open the damn door, Cas."

Which was precisely what the Angel was attempting to do, but he found no handle on the inside and his fingers could not slip into the hairline seam of the door to pull it open.

The soft click click of Dean's lighter and the tomb was bathed in flickering golden light, no brighter than a candle. He looked oddly startled to see Castiel so close to him, but in such a small space, the Angel had no idea where else he was supposed to go.

"I can't."

"What do you mean, you can't?" His eyes reflected the little flame, all gold and green in the dying light.

"There is no handle."

"Of course there's a handle, so idiots like us don't get locked inside." He leaned around Castiel, their shoulders brushing. "Where the hell's the handle?"

"Obviously it is on the outside of the door." Sometimes it felt like explaining things to a child.

"Use your Angel juice and blast it open." Dean demanded.

Castiel did not bother to explain that the door swung inward and a strong blast of energy would not be able to reverse the placement of the hinges. He would have to tear the whole door off, which went against his better judgment. This was a cemetery, hallowed ground. Not the sort of place where breaking things was appropriate.

He ignored the command and places a hand on Dean's shoulder, intending to simply blink the two of them back outside. But Castiel had to pull on his grace to use it, to let the power burn through him, and when he reached for it- he found he could not grasp it. It wasn't gone. He could feel that perfect warmth of power and strength that came from his grace, but it slid away from him like starlight and he could not find a hold.

It was not something that had ever happened to him. He looked down at himself, confused and slightly worried.

Dean shrugged off Castiel's hand, stepping back a half step, which was all the small space allowed him. He had an odd look on his face, his emotions unreadable in the flickering light.

But Castiel had always struggled to name the things that passed over Dean's face, so maybe it wasn't fair to blame the light.

"Open the door, Cas." His voice had dropped, gone as soft as a whisper. As soft as a sigh.

"I can't."

"What'd you mean, you can't?"

"The writings on the outside, what was left of them look like enochian." He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as he assessed the amount of trouble that they were in.

"And that means what to us?"

"It means that they must not have all been washed away, perhaps on the far side, or on the roof there are some still intact." He looked up, as if he could see them through the stone.

"In English, Cas." The lighter died and Dean struggled in a furry of clicks until they could see each other again.

"This room is warded against Angels."

"Are you serious?"

"This is not the sort of thing that I would joke about, Dean."

Dean erupted in a string of curses and Castiel watched in silence, knowing it was best to wait for the storm to blow itself out.

It took longer than he expected, mostly because the lighter's flame kept going out, and the tense moments of darkness seemed to only give Dean something new to curse.

"I'm calling Sam." He announced once he caught his breath. He held the lighter aloft and dug into a pocket, presumably to get his phone- but by the look of consternation, Castiel knew that something was wrong.

"Fuck!" Dean yelled loudly, his voice bounding off the near wall.

The lighter died again, but this time he didn't struggle to immediately bring it back to life. The two of them stood in darkness, Dean's ragged breaths the only sound.

"My phone's back at the motel." He finally said with a note of defeat in his voice.

Castiel considered this, and the sort of predicament that it placed them in. "Sam knows where we are. When he returns to the motel and you aren't there he will come here to find you."

Click click click

But there was no light.

"He's in Joliet. He won't be back for a few hours at least."

"So we will wait for him." It was inconvenient, yes. But even so, Castiel could think of no one else he would rather be trapped in the little stone tomb with.