A/N: Ah, just re-watched the promo for season 7 and it seems that so far this story could be pretty close to the truth. But I'm going to hurry up and see if I can't finish it before the season actually starts. If they decide to kill Castiel in the first episode or something that would defeat the whole point of this story.

Okay, so I hated my writing of G and B - so I've changed it a little. I don't honestly know if it's enough, but a little less serious and a little more insulting + way more innuendos. Let me know if I change something again, because those two won't stop annoying me with their complicated personalities.

A/N 2: Just mentioning that the pace is a little slower again, but'll pick up in the next chapter^^

A/N 3: Btw, AWOL means: Absent without official leave. In case someone is wondering later on

Short tales

Sam runs his hand through his hair. He isn't worried, not really. His brother is a big boy and so what if there haven't been any status updates for the past day? It isn't unusual for long breaks of communication, it's just… this isn't any job, this is Castiel, ex-soul junkie with too many people gunning for him to make Sam feel comfortable. Searching for Castiel is more than likely to neon- light a sign over Dean's head saying "Winchester, come kill me." And freaks would love to help themselves to a hunter, especially this one.

On the other hand, Sam has always known that Dean has that proud streak of big brotherliness that refuses to allow Sam to worry until Dean is a second from dying again.

He pushes back his hair again and paces the living room in Bobby's house, so familiarly cluttered with a thousand books he will never even wipe the dust of the covers from. He may be a geek, but Bobby is far more knowledgeable than he'll probably ever be. He doubts he and Dean will survive until they're Bobby's age anyhow. The next time they die there'll be know one to bring them back for some obscure purpose first revealed in the last chapter. The thought is oddly comforting.

He sits down on the sofa and suddenly decides to pick up one of the books and thumb through it. He won't call Dean, he decides.

Dean is in a seedy motel room, leaning against one of the walls, wishing he had a drink. He hasn't the faintest clue as to what part of the world he's been transported to, but currently doesn't care about himself. Hell. He's in Hell. I'm too late.

The shock has made him adopt an inert, unemotional demeanour that threatens to explode. He is going to shoot the next person that addresses him, angel or not.

Zuriel casts a curious glance in his direction. Dean wonders whether the angel even knows what the word "curious" actually means or if it's merely the vessel that portraying some inner, unknown emotion from the angel. Briathos and Karael stand beside Zuriel, unblinking, awaiting orders. Zophiel is in deep conversation with Balthazar and Gabriel. He is the only one who originally seemed unsurprised at seeing the two. Dean's mind is so exhausted that he can't be bothered to know why. Zophiel nods one last time, turns towards Dean and hesitantly holds his hand out.

"Good luck, Mr. Winchester. I pray you succeed."

He shakes Dean's hand with a startlingly human firmness and inclines his head towards the other three. Then they're gone.

Dean walks towards the bed and sits down, ready to yet again await whatever orders the angels have for him now that… now that Castiel is in Hell. I'm too late.

Luckily his mind has a way to adapt to loss. To save himself he'll turn to going to die now, as he should have done years ago.

Gabriel suddenly holds out a bottle towards him. Sadly, it's just ordinary beer, not exactly a forgetfulness potion.

Balthazar looks awkwardly from Dean towards Gabriel, who nods decisively, grinning slightly, and Balthazar sighs, resigned. "We have deliberated and we'll tell you how we arrived at your particular dead end in the factory. Much against my will, for I feel it's a bloody waste of time when concerning your mission – "

"What mission?" asks Dean, his voice hoarse. He can feel an urge to either scream or cry and doesn't particularly want to pour his heart out in front of two of the biggest dicks he's ever had the misfortune to receive help from, so he opens the beer and takes a long draught, downing the whole bottle. Gabriel immediately hands him another bottle and the first one disappears. Dean opens the second beer, but drinks it slower, waiting for an answer.

"The mission to save Castiel, of course," Balthazar declares, as though it's obvious and Dean is being deliberately stupid.

Shock wave number two breaks through Dean's numbness and smashes through the mental block of ice that has built its usual defence system in his mind.

"S – " the word chokes in his throat and he regrets having drunk the beer so fast. He swallos and tries again: "Save?"

"He may be in Hell, but he is not completely unreachable. For you, that is. But we'll get back to that, for now just accept my word. He is salvageable, both now and… later."

"Accept you word?"

"Please don't insult me, I'm still an angel. I can twist and bend the truth, but this… is unadulterated honesty, for once in my life."

Gabriel nods, shoving Dean's third beer into his hand. Dean raises an eyebrow.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna get you that drunk," says Gabriel, leering.

Dean shrugs, deciding not to turn down free beer.

"Later?" he asks.

"Oh please," scoffs Gabriel. "You haven't been wondering whether his soul is tainted, whether he wasn't bound for Hell anyway? Well, good news for the love struckWinchester, he's not. It's a brand new soul. He never had one before, we don't have souls. We have Grace."

His voice carries a certain smugness that Dean recognizes from the old days, when they'd first met – as enemies, strangely enough. Good times. Simpler, certainly. But without Castiel – and the constant innuendo by his older brothers.

"Anyway, this story is going to be as short as possible, you won't ask questions and if I skip most of it I hope you won't sue," states Balthazar bluntly.

"You died," says Dean.

Gabriel nods. "Yeah, but that's pretty unimportant in the end. I mean, I didn't even meet this guy until I was resurrected. And he was killed a year after me, give or take."

"Yes. We were dead. But then we sort of weren't," clarifies Balthazar brilliantly.

"And you don't remember anything about being dead?" asks Dean.

"No questions, I think I mentioned. And if we do remember, it's private whatever may or may not have happened after the death of an angel. We don't go where the majority of human souls end up, that poor reproduction of a human's perspective of paradise."

"That's not heaven?" Surprise.

"Oh, please do shut up," snarls Balthazar and Dean does, not wanting to miss whatever small details he will be told.

"Well, resurrection is a strong word," continues Gabriel as though there have been no interruptions, enjoying his own (or the vessels) voice for the moment. "We were re – created,"

"By God?" Dean can't help asking.

"No. God oversees, guides, leads. The angel in question is called Radueriel. Radueriel is in control of the archives, futures, pasts of a million, billion humans and angels. It's all in our little library in heaven," says Gabriel. "And Radueriel sees it all."

"Radueriel is one of the "upper class." Works closely with Sophia, Yehudia and Azrael who're the advisers. Wisdom, benevolence and death."

"Oh, so… they know everything?"

"Mr. Winchester, drink your beer and shut up," Balthazar says through gritted teeth.

Dean obliges.

"Our mission instructions were to find you," continues Gabriel. "And find Castiel before it was too late."

"I thought heaven hated Cas," mutters Dean.

"Yeah," shrugs Gabriel. "Most up there do, but not the ones who make the decisions," says Gabriel. "Castiel is to be saved."

"Why?"

"To save you, though seriously, God only knows why."

Dean's phone rings.

Bobby shoved the phone in his hand just as he reached page 40, to do with divine numerology. The book was fascinating and strangely religious for Bobby, but he promptly forgot all about it as Bobby slammed it shut and pried it from his unresisting hands, putting it delicately on the table, beside his favourite Jack.

"Call, ya idjit." Simple, to the point. Helpful.

"Yeah?" The voice on the other end sounds strange. Sam can't place whether his brother is sad, hopeful, impatient, curious – perhaps a weird mix? What the Hell has happened since they parted?

"Uh, just, you know checking," says Sam, nonchalantly. "How're things?"

"Been better, been worse. I'm good. You and Bobby?"

"Yeah, we've been hunting."

"Tell me about it."

"Wasn't anything important," mutters Sam.

"I wanna hear."

His brother's voice is soothing, somehow. At least he isn't dead yet. Sam can tell he's trying to make up for not calling. Jesus, even now he's watching out for me, when it was meant to be the other way round. But he wants to tell Dean.

"I'll make it short," he says. He knows that he's keeping Dean from his search.

"Yeah, that'd be best."

"We arrived inRedLakeFallsearlier this morning, because some lunatic in an asylum claimed to have witnessed a creature devouring her boyfriend. Except, when we went to check her out she didn't have the usual MO for insanity, just grief. So we decided to check it out. Turns outRedLakeFallshas had high demon signs, power not working, nature freaking out and – get this – weird abortions and desecrated graves. Seems that the unborn were disappearing."

"Well, demons do like baby's blood," Dean pointed out.

"Yeah, only these ones were leaving their resting places on their own. We checked out the graves. They were broken out of from the inside. So, naturally we thought zombies, except someone would have noticed zombie babies crawling around town and what did they have to do with the demons?

So we did some digging and found: Tikbalang."

"That sounds as made up as Rugaroo."

"They're friggin hard to kill though. Like a mix between a horse and humans. So we had to take out the demons – stop them from possessing poor bastards and getting women pregnant and then make the horse guys docile and order them to kill themselves."

"Yeah, but why do this in the first place? Seems pointless."

"We got one of them, riding one of the inhabitants. Luckily it was a weak, snivelling coward. Turns out that demons are celebrating all over the place, being allowed free pass out of Hell, because Cas has gone AWOL. It's gonna get chaotic pretty soon."

"You're telling me," mutters Dean.

"How's the search?"

"It's... it's good, I suppose. I'm closing in."

"Hey." says Sam.

"Yeah?"

A pause as though Sam is considering what to say, then: "Good luck."

He hangs up.

Dean sighs, grateful that his younger brother is fine. It's one of his constant worries that has become so permanently etched into his being that he hardly notices it until the burden is lifted.

Balthazar is drinking a glass of something expensive that has appeared suddenly and Gabriel is munching on some unnameable candy. He casts a glance towards Dean.

"You done with the verbal family reunion, chuckles?" he asks and Dean actually smiles.

"Weirdly enough, I've missed your really bad insults, Gabriel."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "You shoulda said hi to your brother from us," he mutters.

"Oh yeah: "By the way, Sam, Balthazar and Gabriel just returned from the dead, I'll tell you all about it later." You want me to mentionCrowleywhile I'm at it?"

"Fascinating as your conversation is," Balthazar interrupts. "I believe the formalities can now cease. It is time to inform you of your particular part in this mission."

"Why don't you just go to Hell and get him yourselves?"

"Well, obviously we can't, or else I wouldn't be forced to side with you again."

"You did it with me. Cas did, anyway."

"Dean, Dean, Dean," says Balthazar, exasperated: "We laid siege to Hell to bring you to earth. The fact that Castiel happened to be the angel to grip you was purely coincidental."

"I thought angels don't believe in coincidences."

"The truth is, that any angel with Castiel's naivetywould have been ensnared by your particular brand of black and white stupidity and could have become loyal enough to assist in defeating Lucifer. Everything that followed – from Crowley to your battle in heaven – it could easily have been anyone else. It is coincidence, the way the two of you consistently seem to be drawn together," Balthazar explains, as though Dean is a child that doesn't understand.

"You're like two weirdly epic lovers, dirty trenchcoat and dirty leather jacket," Balthazar smirks, finishing the last of his glass, then taking another sip as it refills itself.

"Weird though, how it wasn't any other angel. But I'm not arguing. I've been trying to screw Destiny for a long time now."

"You seem to be formulating an argument based on something you don't believe in," Balthazar quarrels.

"Whatever."

"Nice woman, Destiny," says Gabriel to no one in particular. The silence that follows is thick enough to try out for a second employment as glue.

Gabriel, himself breaks it: "There is a piece of information missing, before we can be sure that our brilliantly constructed plan in which you do all the work can even function, sort of. You need to tell us about heaven."

"What?"

The word is somehow painful to utter, as though everything from the previous year has just echoed through his body and exited via his vocal chords. A year he'd rather forget – especially heaven, if that is even the appropriate name for the Hell he met up there. No. He isn't going tell. It's between himself and Cas, if Cas can even remember now that he's lost everything that made him an angel. Although, technically he lost that a year ago – sacrificed a week or so ago. A week? He isn't actually sure whether that is true, time is somehow eluding him. He doesn't remember how long he was in heaven, hasn't even bothered to ask Sam.

Dean shakes his head. He's babbling to himself. He's not even sure what to tell, even if he wanted to. He feels like the information is being erased from his mind, trauma? More likely the angels deem it forbidden information.

Suddenly he feels a hand on his shoulder and he is yanked back to that motel.

"Don't be a bloody wanker, just stop fighting forgetfulness and tell us. It'll help."

Balthazar has never sounded so sincere.

Gabriel hands him another beer, still chewing on his never-ending candy.

Dean smirks, wryly.

"I'll make it short, shall I."

Ah, hope everything isn't suddenly weirdly confusing. I promise an abundance of Castiel in the next chapter^^