"So this is what Kansas schools are like?" Castiel asked breathlessly.

"Sh!" Dean held up his palm as they were crouched behind dusty barrels by the shoe factory. They could still hear Ricky, Chace and Rob tearing about the place, upending crates and screeching war.

Where did that jerk-off get a dang knife from? Dean thought to himself. In truth, he had his own strapped to his ankle, but considering all the trouble he had been in recently, he hadn't taken the time to get it. Besides, it was no use scaring away Castiel.

"Cas, your knee," Dean warned.

"Oh, sorry," he scuttled backwards a bit. "They're coming this way."

"Where are you Winchester!" Ricky was roaring.

"Come out, we're gonna mess you up, son!" Chace followed.

"Why are they baying for blood, I've barely looked in their direction since my first day here," Castiel hissed.

Dean felt uncomfortable being so close to the guy. He smelled like peppermint and tires.

"Don't even bother trying to psychoanalyze these guys, man, or whatever crap you're doing right now," he responded. "They don't need sound reason. Just a switchblade and a weekend. You don't know these guys."

"They made fun of my tie."

Dean glanced over his shoulder - Castiel's face was an angry blank. He had to suppress the urge to laugh. Kid was this close to being stabbed twice in the neck and all he can think about is his damn tie? Freakin' great. Just what had he gotten himself into. He tried a new vein.

"I saw you back there," he said, "You ain't half bad, but tell me, Cas, how does a little guy like you learn to fight without running into a bunch of dicks like these on a regular basis?"

"Fight club," Castiel said plainly.

Dean glanced at him again, "You're joking right? You? In a fight club."

"Yes."

"You telling me you gathered up your little boy scouts in a ring and let your fists do the talking?"

"You don't believe me."

It was more of a statement than a question.

"No offense, but you don't look like the type of-"

"You don't know me."

"Point taken."

Just then there was a sharp buzz coming from Castiel followed by music - so sick of love songs, so sad and slow...

"What the hell is that?"

"It's Ricky's phone."

"Ricky, I see 'em!" Chace cried, coming up in front of the barrels.

"You STOLE Ricky's phone?"

Castiel shrugged, "I have plans for it."

"Crap," Dean growled, standing up to his full height, kicking at the barrel with all his might so it rolled and crashed angrily into Chace's shins. As he fell to the dirt howling, the pair of them raced around the factory, looking for a way out.

"Dean!" Castiel called, having stopped by a ladder.

"No," Dean shook his head furiously. "We'll be sitting ducks."

"Trust me."

Dean searched his ice blue eyes, and the shouts of Ricky and Rob urged him on up the ladder after Castiel.

They had climbed up onto a loft of sorts that was now festooned with pigeon droppings, dust and down. He hastily swing his legs over the side just in time as he heard footfalls dancing around chaotically beneath.

"They were right here, Big Ricky. I swear."

Dean stood in the shadows as he studied the tops of their heads. How he wanted to gut em and toss em into the back of a van.

Rob was furiously pacing with the knife. Dean watched in horror as he dragged it across the hood of the Impala that was still sitting sleepily among the weeds.

"Dean," he heard a voice from behind him. As he swung around, he saw Castiel charging at the window with a large crate in his arms, his face contorting with the effort. The crate plummeted out of the loft, falling heavily down towards the three boys on the ground. They scattered like roaches while Castiel watched the scene serenely and Dean watched him with a mix of admiration and fright.

"Surprise, surprise," Castiel called out to the upturned faces.

"Surprise, surprise," Dean breathed, still studying him.

It didn't take long for Ricky to order his boys up the ladder. There was no way to stop them, the metal was welded right into the frame of the building. But it didn't matter. Castiel was already leading the way down the dirty staircase. Dean followed him.

"You know you could've killed somebody just now."

"I doubt it," Castiel said obstinately. "Just sending a warning message."

A warning message?

As they were coming down the last flight, a hulking figure accosted them at the base of the stairs. He grabbed Castiel by the hair and dragged him to his knees. If he was in pain, Castiel didn't make any indication of it.

Dean tensed up, daring Ricky to give him a reason to draw out his own knife. Two neat cuts on the cheek for the Impala and for Castiel; two neat cuts the jerk could wear as a badge of remembrance.

"Sorry to cut your time short with you boyfriend, pumpkin," Ricky sneered into Castiel's ear, "but Papa gonna set you straight right now so you can never pull a trick like that on Ricky or his b-"

The three of them were completely caught unawares when something black and massive crashed into Ricky, ripping him from Castiel, and thrusting him into the far side of the factory. He hit his head against an old bit of machinery with a resounding clang and then fell in a heap.

Dean rushed forward, "Hey, Cas, you okay?"

His face was drained of blood and his eyes were fixed not on the body of Ricky Hollis, but to the opposite side. Dean followed his line of sight and found Jo standing in a corner, menacingly pale with a ghostly fire in her eyes. He was half relieved to see her there. Only half relieved. Because in that moment Dean realized that Castiel could see her just as plainly as he could.