Xoxoxox

Dean tapped at the dashboard as he watched Sam disappear into the park. The trees might be bare, but the branches tangled in knots, obscuring the center of the park, and most importantly, Sam.

He hated being benched. He hated it beyond words. While he supposed he should appreciate this new, forceful Sam, he wasn't too eager on taking a backseat to Sam's demands. Every day, Dean felt more and more like he was out of the loop. Sam acted like he didn't need him anymore. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought Sam had buddied up with a new partner.

Ruby was gone. The bitch couldn't do any more damage.

Yet, here he was still sitting on the sidelines.

While he waited, a variety of weapons by his side, Dean scanned the treetops. One of the first things Dad had taught them was to keep an eye on their surroundings. Bobby had taught them to add animal behavior to that list. Animals had a keen sense of the supernatural, more so than the best hunters on the planet. If something was out there tonight, an animal would know.

The sky was still. There were no birds, aside from a crow, and the ground was quiet and deserted. Once in a while, the bushes would rustle and a four-legged critter would scurry away. Granted, he didn't expect much action in the middle of the park at night, but the fact he didn't see a damn thing of import unsettled him more than a parade of monsters.

Dean sunk lower, trying to search the park from a different angle. He winced.

Cas had done his best to heal some of the wounds that marred Dean's back. Most of the scar tissue and physical changes ran too deep, not to mention whatever angel magic blockade was thriving in his body. He could come back from the dead, perfect and new, but couldn't get rid of unwanted wings? Dean wasn't buying it.

He reached back and scratched at an itchy spot. The muscle rippled, and before Dean could do anything, his shirt bulged and tore. It was a minor rip, thankfully, but didn't cool any of Dean's anger. The budding wing pressed harder, demanding to be let out, and man did he want to give in.

Dean breathed in and out, trying to remember what Cas had taught him. Slowly, the fabric of his shirt deflated and the wings dematerialized back to wherever they liked to go.

He slumped in his seat, completely exhausted. The discomfort was the worst part, along with a case of the sleepies. Dean didn't know what was draining his batteries, but he couldn't shake the urge to close his eyes and pull a Rip Van Winkle.

He covered his face and rubbed his eyes. No sleeping. Not now.

He flipped on the radio and let the sounds of Rush fill the car. While the local classic rock station belted out a block from the band, Dean scanned the immediate area. He didn't see a damn thing and started to wonder if this was a waste of time. He didn't know why he'd promised Cas they'd find this Watcher. Let the angels go and find it themselves. After what they'd done to him, Dean wasn't up to doing them any favors.

He hated to admit Cas was right. Whatever this Watcher person was, he couldn't end up with demons. Dean just wished the angels and demons would fight their own friggin' wars and leave him and Sam out of it.

He glanced at his watch. Sam had been gone for several minutes now with nothing to show for it. Maybe some freak had gotten the drop on him.

Sam would kill him if he left his post to check on him. Dean smiled and reached for the door handle.

A flash of light zipped by his side.

"What the hell?" Dean jerked and peered left and right. At first he thought Sam had returned and flashed a light in his eyes, but as he continued to survey the area he knew it wasn't true. Nothing had changed. The trees stayed where they were supposed to be. No fangs leapt out in front of the Impala. No claws. Nothing.

Especially no phantom light.

The last thing he needed was to start seeing things again. He sighed and popped open the door.

Dean did another survey of the park and its surrounding area. If possible, the night had grown so quiet it left a buzz in his ears. The breeze died, the bushes stilled, and a cold nip to the air sent warning bells blaring in his mind.

When he took a step, the ground crunched under foot.

Dean glanced down. A smattering of dead insects and other filth trailed away from the Impala and the large elm nearby.

Dammit. They weren't hunting a werewolf this time.

Slowly, he backed to the rear of the Impala. Abandoning the weapons in the front seat, Dean popped the trunk and grabbed one of the few brass knives he and Sam carried.

The fact that the son of a bitch was invisible wasn't going to stop him. He still had a bone to pick with the last rakshasa that had played fun house with him.

Dean wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the knife, steady as a rush of air surged behind him. He swallowed hard and ignored the itch in his back.

One, two, three…

"Should have stayed in India, you sonuvabitch!" Dean sliced at the air.

Wet grass slapped his face.

He blinked and stumbled back, the knife disappearing into the grass. Pelting rain hammered his shoulders until he was soaked from head to toe. Dean wiped at his eyes and squinted through the rain, the water running down his face in rivets that dribbled off his chin. The blinding rain made it damn near impossible to see and get a pulse on his bearings, but the air was thick and heavy, not a trace of the bitter winter wind remotely close.

"Cas?" He shielded his eyes as it continued to pour. "Hey! Anybody?"

The sound of rain was his only reply.

Dean wiped away another wave of water from his eyes. Tall grasses rolled ahead of him for at least a mile, stopping when they reached a cluster of small buildings. To his south, the ground buckled into a few small hills dotted with thickets of trees.

This wasn't the park.

A knot tightened in his stomach. Was Cas just dropping him off places now?

"Auntie Em?" Still no answer. "Come on, Cas. Quit screwing around."

A sharp cry from his right caused Dean to spin around. Far down in the fields, three men were staring at him. One raised his hand and pointed.

"Faristha! Faristha!"

His body gave a wild shake and it was only then Dean realized the wings were out in full force.

Crap.

With a quick roll of his shoulders, Dean slicked the wings back and willed them to fold in on themselves. Though the maneuver took less than a minute, it didn't buy him enough time to hide. The men sprinted toward him, screaming a string of words that sounded like gibberish.

Dean turned heel and ran.

The rain battered his body; it was like running through rubber bullets. Dean kept wiping the rain from his eyes, clearing his vision to see for a few more seconds before the water blinded him again.

The muddy ground beneath him sucked at his feet.

Where in the hell was he?

The men pursued from behind as Dean bolted for the cover of trees. They continued to shout at him or curse him for all he knew. Dean wasn't the type to get caught on particulars, not in the middle of a chase. He had to find cover and find it fast. That was the second time that night someone had caught him exposed. He wasn't about to make a habit of it.

"Come on, Cas," he muttered under his breath. He pushed harder, over a small hill. "Where are you?"

The yells were getting closer.

Dean grunted, tearing over the next hill. The boundary to the thicket loomed ahead.

There was a small itch growing between his shoulders. This itch was different than that other ones he'd had. Subtle, small. If it could speak, Dean imagined it would whisper in his ear, urging him to let the wings expand to give him an extra push. He could use the nudge forward. The men had already seen the wings. Would it kill him?

Yes, it would. The minute he gave in, he'd be no better than those monsters. He'd be no better than-

He didn't want to think about what had happened while he'd been away in Hell.

Dean crossed over the next dip and splashed into a pool of water. The rain continued its relentless attack, and he swore his skin was bruising from the pellets. He didn't bother to look back. He'd been in enough chases to be able to get a feel for when the pursuit was hot or not. Wherever the hell he was, these guys knew the terrain well. He couldn't afford to screw up.

The damn itch niggled at the sweet spot on his back.

Reaching over his shoulder, Dean tried to scratch it away.

Mud snared his boot.

Dean slammed into the mud, unable to stop the fall. It took him a split second to decide whether to go for his boot or to run. He made a mad dash for the trees.

There weren't many, and he knew he couldn't hide for long, but running in the rain in some God forsaken place wasn't scoring him any bonus points. He needed a secure hiding place or at least somewhere he could get the drop on his pursuers.

Dean bypassed the nearest trees and took a hard left. The rain pounded the green, leafy tops, but the canopy helped keep most of the water out. His vision cleared, allowing him to finally get a good grasp on his surroundings.

The water-logged air, the heat, sounds of animals croaking in the distance…He wasn't anywhere near New Jersey.

If he could see better, that meant the others could, too.

Dean spotted a decent-sized tree and jumped toward the lowest branch. He caught on his first try, thanking his days of tree climbing as a boy, and hauled himself up. The tree seemed to hold his weight well enough. Encouraged that he didn't hear any snapping noises, Dean climbed further into the tree.

The shouts of the men grew closer. From his perch, he could see them come into view. With the wings, he could easily take them. Jump the guy in the middle and the wings would knock out the ones on the right and left.

Dean rolled his shoulders and shook out some of the tension. He willed the wings wherever they went when they disappeared and opted to keep still to study the men.

They were dressed simply, farmers or workers, with dark hair and brown skin. The more they spoke, the more familiar the words sounded to him.

He'd heard this language before. He'd seen it in those old Bollywood films he watched when he was bored.

He was in India?

Dean ignored the bubble of panic that threatened to emerge. No way was he in India. How the hell was he on the other side of the world? He wasn't playing freakin' Carmen Sandiego.

The men started murmuring again. One of them even had his lost boot and knife. The debate seemed intense, save for a lone individual who, through the cracks between the leaves, looked up and squinted.

Dean froze. The leaves were broad and green with plenty of cover. He had to hope it was enough.

One of the men inched closer, reaching up to shake the lowest limb. While the tree branch shook, only a mild vibration reached Dean. He clenched his teeth. It was enough to nudge the wings closer to appearing.

Dean focused on calming them like Cas had taught him. It took a ton of concentration, the type of focus he didn't have right now, but he wasn't about to expose himself in front a bunch of strangers. He kept his breathing light and steady, never taking his eyes off the curious man.

He couldn't move. He couldn't beat them into submission. To do so would be to give in. Dean wasn't about to give in any more. He wasn't weak. He refused to be that person who had succumbed in Hell.

Out of all the freaky stuff to happen to him, couldn't he get invisibility? That would be cool. That would be useful. Of course, being Frodoed wasn't necessarily the best option.

The man let go of the branch and twisted his head for a better view. Dean held his breath. Most of the spaces between the leaves were paper thin, and the branches were thick and sturdy enough to block even the most dedicated peeping tom, but just one glance in the right direction and it was over. Dean would be forced to act.

The man moved out of sight.

Dean exhaled, careful not to rattle the leaves around him. Once again the men started talking. He couldn't make out any of the words, but he was confident it was definitely Hindi or some other language spoken in India. That didn't make him feel any better.

Soon, the conversation drifted and the men vanished into the woods, either having given up on their prey or going for reinforcements. Dean couldn't stick around to find out which.

He gave himself a few minutes before climbing down to the lowest branch. Checking to make sure the coast was clear, he jumped to the ground. The mud sucked on his bootless foot with a loud slurp which reverberated through the forest. Dean stopped. He still could barely see squat, despite the canopy holding back most of the rain.

The men could be just beyond the mist. With pitchforks. Charging at him like he was some kind of monster.

"Cas," he said under his breath. "Any time now."

Dean searched the area, but found he was alone. The drum of rain on the large leaves above made that point strikingly clear.

Figures that when he actually needed an angel, there was none to be found. Good thing he wasn't praying or else he'd be pissed.

Relying on an angel was out of the question. Like he wanted to be dependent on one anyway. He needed a place to regroup. Then he could figure a way out of this mess.

Dean walked away from his current refuge and weaved through the trees. They all looked the same to him, and he realized that he wasn't sure whether he was heading back toward the field or deeper into the thicket. He vaguely wondered what was beyond the trees: was it a town? More trees? Something else entirely? Where was he supposed to go?

Give him a car, the open road, and a weapon and he could get the job done. Stick him in the middle of nowhere? Dean wasn't keen on playing Survivor.

He started to slow, the rush of the hunt winding down. After a moment or two, he paused and leaned on a tree for support. Sam must be going crazy. If Sam was even alive. He tried not to think of Sam being taken by surprise by the rakshasa. He was smart enough to take care of himself. That's what Dean had to keep telling himself. He'd make it back to Sam somehow.

His back started to itch. Dean resisted the urge to scratch it and pushed off the tree, continuing on. The growth seemed to thin out, the trees more sparse. The good news was that he no longer felt so confined. The bad news was that the clearing allowed for the heavier rain to slip through. He covered his head the best he could with his jacket, but it was no match for the heavy Indian rains. Dean knew he was going to have to either find shelter or venture back into the cover of trees. The latter option left a bad taste in his mouth, so he'd pass.

Why couldn't he have been sent to Hawaii?

Dean wiped the water from his face, stumbling into another tree. A growing ache gnawed at his muscles, and all he could do was think of sleep. He splashed some rain water in his face. Stay awake. That was his mantra. He couldn't let whatever mess his body was going through get in the way now.

Through the mix of rain and mist, he finally saw a couple of old shacks that had seen better days. One was completely boarded, the other looked semi-passable. He'd try door number two.

He yawned as he reached the second shack. He didn't know why the hell he kept getting so tired, but it was starting to really piss him off. He was willing to bet dollars to donuts that the stupid wings had something to do with his energy levels. Dean hated it. The whole thing made him feel off his game. How was he supposed to show Sam he could still hack this job when all he wanted to do was rest?

Another wave of sleepiness hit. Damn. He could feel the air leech the last of his energy as the adrenaline wore off. Using his shoulder, Dean pushed at the shack's door, and stumbled as it creaked and popped off its hinge. The rotten wood fell to the ground with a wet thud.

Dean was too tired to care and walked over the door into the shack.

It definitely had seen better days. There was a giant hole in the roof, allowing both the rain and streams of water to rush inside, which had caused water damage to most of the walls and floor. Some old work tools and items, including some empty gas tanks, were piled into a rusted corner that smelled of oil and mold. He shuffled past them to the driest corner he could find.

Hiding out in an abandoned shed was not his best plan. He knew that coming in. If his foreign friends had run off for reinforcements, this would be one of the first places they'd look. He supposed he could have stayed in the tree, but it was too tempting. The wings could pop out at any time and he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. He'd do this the old way.

He settled down into the corner and stretched his legs. The air was warm and balmy, so unlike the crisp winter air back in Brighton. Under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed it.

The feeling was fleeting. Already, he could feel the heaviness settling into his face and his eyes. Dean tried to push it away. He just needed to wait out the rain. Once there was a break, then he could get a better sense of bearings and find a way out.

He kept repeating that in his mind as his head threatened to rest against the wall. As the thought slowly flitted away, his head dropped to the side.

It connected with something hard and cold.

Dean snapped awake. Darkness covered the space all around him. He couldn't see the hole or the rusted saw or the bug infested wood. Though a blanket of warmth hugged him, a chill hovered close by.

He spit out a feather.

"What the hell."

Dean rummaged in his pocket for his lighter. He withdrew it and tried to snap it on, but without success. It must have gotten wet in the rain. But as his senses slowly returned, he started to get the sinking feeling he wouldn't need it anyway.

Reaching out, Dean pressed his palms against the invisible barrier encasing him. His fingers brushed against the downy underside of the wings.

A shiver ran up his spine. He didn't remember calling them out.

Dean bolted upright and slicked back the wings. A rush of icy air smacked him hard, almost knocking him backwards.

He blinked. He wasn't in the shack anymore.

He looked back to where he'd been sleeping. To his right there was a large garbage bin, the one he had been resting on, leaning against the side of a shop and a wooden fence. To his left, he could see where the opening of the small alley spilled into the street. The sunlight poked over the horizon, giving the sky a rosy glow. Too bad none of that warmth translated into the frigid morning. Dean rubbed his hands together, feeling the lingering warmth from his wings start to wane.

From where he was standing, he could see the buildings across the street, lined in a row. The names of the stores, at least the ones he could see, were in English. He breathed a sigh of relief. That would make things easier. In front of the buildings, the sidewalk was lightly dusted with snow, though there were some bigger plowed piles down the street. A pain, but not unmanageable.

Dean wiped his face. First it was rain and trees and now it was snow and concrete. No way was he in the same part of India. Had he magically appeared somewhere else? Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe the whole entire disaster was a dream.

An awful thought crept through his mind. What if he'd been cocooned in the alley for hours? Anyone could have seen him.

He willed the wings to dissolve. The damn things were stubborn, urging him to allow them to stay, spread and give some much needed warmth, but he wasn't giving them that satisfaction. He could take the cold and had managed just fine earlier.

Dean whipped out his phone and dialed for Sam. "Come on," he muttered, wishing he could will the phone like he did the wings. There was nothing on the other end, not even a ring.

That meant either Sam's phone was out of commission and the monster had gotten to him or his own phone was dead from the rain. Awesome. Time for Plan B.

Dean marched over to the bin and pried open the lid. As he started picking through the garbage for any kind of info, he couldn't help but think about what he'd become. He was a freakin' trash picker. At least Sam wasn't there to see him.

"Gross." He flicked his fingers as some sludge that must have once been food flung off. Next time he was bringing gloves everywhere they went.

He managed to come across some flyers in English for a blowout sale at Benny's, which confirmed the building signs weren't a fluke. There were some expired McDonald's coupons and a Walmart flyer, only the date had been ripped off. Perfect.

At least it was a start.

Dean tossed the garbage back in the bin and started toward the edge of the alley.

Something had to be open at this time. As he peered down the length of the street, another winter chill crept over him. He flexed his toes, an uncomfortable tingle settling in. He needed out of the cold before he froze to death, or worse, did something incredibly stupid.

Dean hurried down the street. His wet clothes stiffened against his body as gust after gust hit him. Without another thought, he grabbed the door of the nearest bakery and stepped inside.

The heat of the bakery immediately warmed him. It was a small place, cozy, with a few booths and a large selection of breads and pastries. His stomach gave an appreciative growl.

"Hey," he said, approaching the women behind the counter. He scanned the walls, searching for any clues where he was. He smiled, seeing the American flag. No city name. No state. He still had no clue where he was, but at least he was narrowing it down. "I'm a little lost. What town's this?"

The women eyed him closely but didn't reply.

"Oh, right." He wasn't thinking. Dean reached into his pockets and pulled out some damp bills and change. "A glazed donut, a newspaper, and a coffee, black."

The older of the two women slinked off wordlessly to fix the coffee, while the young girl continued to stare at him. Dean's confidence sagged, and immediately felt self-conscious. He reached behind his back to double-check, but only found the shreds of what was left of his jacket and shirt.

Now it made sense.

He glanced down. He was covered in mud along one side of his body and was missing a shoe. Along with the shredded clothes, he must look like a drug addict or some kind of crazy mental escapee.

He forced an uneasy smile. "I was mugged," he said lamely.

The younger of the women looked to the older for help, but whatever was going through the older woman's mind she kept to herself. She put the coffee in front of him. "Hudson. You're in Hudson."

"Hudson, right." Dean nodded, running his mind through all the Hudsons he'd been to over the years. "Hudson…"

"New Jersey," said the younger.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He was in the right state. Now it was a matter of figuring out how to get back to Brighton.

He took out a few more coins as he accepted the donut and paper. "You got a phone I could use?"

The younger woman pointed to the pay phone on the wall. Dean thanked her, grabbing the donut, coffee, and paper before he made it to the phone. He munched on the donut as he called Sam. Man, it felt great to eat. He was famished.

"Hello?"

"Sam?"

There was a pause. "Dean?"

Dean nodded into the phone as he shoveled the rest of the donut into his mouth. "Yeah." He swallowed. "Dude, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."

"Where the hell are you?"

"I'm in some place…Hudson. How far is that from Brighton?"

"Does it matter? What's going on?"

"I-I don't know. I-" He glanced over his shoulder. The younger woman was still watching him, but the older woman had disappeared. He craned his neck to see where she had gone, but all he saw was her shadow. She sounded like she was on the phone.

There was a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Sam, gotta go. I think they're calling the cops on me."

"What? Who?"

"My phone's junk. Come get me in Hudson."

"Dean, wait-"

Dean hung up the phone. He folded the paper under his arms and raised his coffee cup to the younger woman. "Thanks, ladies." With that, he rushed out the door, back into the cold.

He wasn't gonna get thrown in jail. He didn't want to think of the consequences if they found him in the database or if the wings spilled out when he was getting booked. He'd chance frostbite.

He hurried down the street, sipping the coffee to keep warm. Each step brought another painful jolt up his leg, a false warmth blanketing his numb toes. The wings begged for release in response to his dropping body temperature, but no wings would help his exposed foot. The best solution was to find shelter and find it fast.

Most of the businesses along the main street were still closed, and he wasn't sure he wanted to chance running into one so close to the bakery. Not if the cops were coming. Dean knew he could also find an abandoned building or hide in an alley, but it wasn't the best option. The cops were sure to look there, too.

He needed some place safer.

He stopped his searching gaze stopping at the church on the corner across the street. When sirens began to wail in the distance, Dean's mind was made up. He crossed the street and went around to the side entrance and gave it a good shake. Locked. Of course.

A quick check over his shoulders proved no one was around. He grabbed a rusty nail and a paperclip he kept on him at all times and jimmied the lock. It popped with ease.

The church really should look into getting better locks.

He entered and searched the inside. The church was dark, aside from the altar, while the floor broads creaked with every step. The empty pews made the entire place feel eerie and uncomfortable. Dean didn't think he could dislike churches any more, but he guessed the day was full of surprises.

He passed the altar to find a door that led to the back. When he tested the handle, it opened with ease. Thank goodness for small favors.

The room behind the altar had to be for priest things. There were papers and closets and religious-looking items that Dean figured Sam would know by heart.

A phone rested on a small table in the far corner. Dean smiled.

He collapsed into the chair by the phone and dug his aching, numb feet into the carpet. The fibers were warm and plush, heaven on his tired feet. Sleep tugged at his eyes. He could fall asleep right here. Five minutes. That's all he needed.

That's all it took to let down his guard.

He rubbed away the fatigue from his eyes and dialed. "Sam, it's me. Pick up."

"Dean, what the hell is going on?"

"I'm at a church. Come get me. I'll explain then."

Another long pause. "Please tell me you didn't break into the church."

"Okay, I didn't break into the church?"

"Are you trying to tick off Heaven?"

"Just come get me before someone finds me."

There was a shuffle on the other end. He could hear cars honking in the background. Sam must already be on the road.

"How far are you from Hudson?"

"It's a couple of towns over. I'll be there in a few minutes. What church?"

"St. Michael's."

"Dean, there's a thousand churches named St. Michael's."

Dean rolled his eyes. Couldn't churches be more original? There was a stack of papers next to the phone. Some kind of church paraphernalia, he figured. He started flipping through some of them until he found an address. "Off the corner of Cross and Trinity."

Sam fell silent.

"Yeah, I know. Just hurry."

"There in ten. Be ready." The line went dead.

Dean hung up the phone and slumped. He wasn't sure he wanted to face Sam about what happened. He wasn't sure he wanted to admit it to himself. But sitting there in the church, alone, Dean had no other option but to face the facts. It wasn't Cas. It wasn't any angel he knew. It was him.

He leaned forward and held his head. It was all him.