(A/N: Sorry this one's not as substantial. A little plot progression, a little fun... I might add another chapter later tonight.)

Chapter 10: Dig for Fire

Dean sat at the work table in the cabin's basement, stripping down and cleaning his guns as his thoughts wandered their own course. He kept circling around the mystery that was Jimmy Novak and Castiel. He couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, if 'Jimmy' might not just be an aspect of the angel's broken psyche.

Jimmy seemed a lot more stable in the time he'd been back with them, but last night's incident in the museum had Dean worried. What had set him off, anyway? Was it just a knee-jerk reaction in response to nearly getting his head ripped off by Greeley's spirit?

Even more to the point, how? Cas had seemed so weakened, and Dean had assumed that most of his mojo must've been burned off by whatever had happened. But, if that were the case, how the hell was Jimmy tapping into it?

When the dude had lost it in the hallway, Dean couldn't help but think of the first time he had met Cas in that barn, that awe-inspiring presence as the angel had for all intents and purposes freaking peacocked himself in front of Dean and Bobby, the power crackling off of his vessel and the vague suggestion of massive, feathered wings.

This had, of course, been decidedly different. For one, Jimmy had looked like he was about to piss his pants, and other than the light show and that oppressive energy, he hadn't appeared all that angelic. He'd looked like a dude who'd been caught in the eye of a freaking hurricane.

"So just what the hell are you supposed to be then, Jim?" Dean wondered aloud, exhaling slowly, his eyebrows drawing together as he saw the puff of steam on his breath as he did.

He had been deep in thought, not noticing that the temperature in the basement had abruptly dropped by a couple dozen degrees.

"..Bobby?" Dean asked the empty room, eyes moving over every corner. That was just another screwed up thing he was going to have to face eventually. A hunter, a man who was like a father to Dean and Sam, who had decided to stick around after Dick Roman had shot him in the head.

Although disturbed, Dean couldn't quite tell himself that he hadn't been overjoyed to see the old man again after having watched him die in that hospital. He also had to admit that their father-figure-come-spirit companion had pulled them through more than a couple of rough spots since making his lingering presence known to them.

Trouble was, Bobby was becoming more and more obsessed with the monster that had taken his life, and the longer it went on, the more pissed off he got.

It tore at Dean's heart to watch Bobby Singer go v engeful. Even worse, he would have to do something about it, soon.

"Hey, Dean," a somber, gruff voice responded, pulling Dean out of his revery.

Dean turned to face the spirit of his murdered friend, regarding him in contemplative silence for a stretched moment. "Hey, Bobby," he said finally, breaking the uncomfortable lull. "How you feeling?"

The spirit of Bobby Singer shrugged. "Never felt stronger," he replied, sending alarms ringing through Dean's head at the odd choice of phrasing.

"You, uh," Dean began, pausing to choose his own words carefully. "You been hangin' out"

Bobby gave the hunter a sideways, lingering, sardonic look. "No, ya idjit, I've been kayaking in Niagra."

Dean allowed himself a small chuckle. Vengeful or not, the spirit definitely possessed Bobby's withering sarcasm.

"Look, Dean" Bobby went on. "I know you're worried about the kid, but don't you think you should be going after Dick?"

Dean sighed. Every time he talked to Bobby anymore it always circled around to Dick Roman, without fail. Granted, the situation was urgent, but the the wrathful obsession in the former man's eyes when the subject was brought up destroyed any illusions Dean clung to that Bobby was still really with them.

"We're working on it, Bobby," Dean sighed. "We've only got half the stuff we need so far. We still need the blood of the King of Beasts, and the Leader of Fallen Humanity. As far as I figure, means we need an Alpha, which, hell- I don't even know if there are any now, and Fallen Humanity, near as I can tell, that'd be Crowley."

Dean couldn't help but flinch as the lights in the basement flickered and a stack of old tomes was inexplicably hurled off the table. Bobby and Crowley, the self-proclaimed King of Hell and former Crossroads demon, had a bit of history- and it wasn't anything good.

"Well," Bobby growled once he'd gotten himself in check. "Why don't you call his ass up here, then?"

Dean watched his former mentor for a long moment. He knew that it was inevitable, if they were really going to put this weapon together and take out the head of the Leviathans, but after what had happened with Cas, he was reluctant to do so. What if Crowley decided he wanted some kind of vengence on the angel? Jimmy would be caught in the crossfire. Dean didn't think that Crowley would give a damn if Cas wasn't in charge anymore. Would the demon take it out on the man? Would he know that Cas was, supposedly, still in there somewhere?

"I know, Bobby," he said finally. "But even if we get Crowley on board, what about the Alpha?"

"You'll figure something out," Bobby replied confidently. "You always do."

Dean sighed. Luck was a two way street, he had found. The good always came with a shit ton of bad.

[XXXXXX]

Most people seem to believe that it was one thing or the other; an explosion of matter, or seven days of Creation. Really it was more of both. God put all the pieces into place, and then it all just sort of went... BANG, I suppose? Anyway, I can tell you it took considerably longer than just seven mere days, that would be ridiculous, even by celestial standards. Of course, I wasn't even a fledgeling when the universe was created. Not even my brothers had yet been created. But we all, you know, just took God's word for it. I mean, who's going to say, "Oh, God- you're just yanking our chain," right?

So anyway, I was watching the sea with Uriel, and-

Jimmy lay on the couch, face down with a pillow over his head, groaning softly.

Castiel had awoken some time around four-thirty in the morning and had yet to shut up. The angel had decided that, in light of the fact he couldn't go anywhere and Jimmy wsa, for the time being at least, stuck with the angel, he should tell Jimmy more about himself.

Jimmy had, of course, indicated that while he was glad that Castiel was feeling so much better, at the moment he- Jimmy- would rather continue sleeping for now.

It was now just before eight in the morning, and apparently Castiel had decided it was imperative that he clear up a few common misunderstandings regarding the Big Bang.

Like a giant frisbee on the backs of four elephants on the shell of a turtle flying through space. I have to admit it's very creative, but it's not very practical, is it? They wondered often about the elephants, but if I had to guess, I believe that the elephants would have to have been genderless. There's only so much space to stand on the back of a turtle, and-

Of course, the problem with that was the angel no longer seemed to have much concept of coherency, often getting side-tracked and dithering off on wild tangents that could only be described as 'loosely connected' to the original subject.

And so I told him his ancestors were air-breathing mud fish, but he didn't seem to think it was funny. Uriel had said it was funny, and, well, he was the funniest angel in the garrison. It was the truth, however, but I-

Jimmy was beginning to miss when Castiel had been too ill to speak, granted it made him feel a little guilty to think so.

Because the irony that Greenland is covered in ice, and Iceland is verdant-

"Cas," Jimmy grumbled into the cushion.

Which means that even though you see blue, the sky is actually black. Unless you were colour-blind, then it would be-

"Cas..." Jimmy tried again. He wasn't sure how much more of the angel's rambling he could endure.

Evolution was tricky. It was all about putting the elements into place and giving them a little push. I have to admit, though, I was betting on the Neanderthals. Their poetry was-

"CAS!" Jimmy shoved himself up, running his fingers through his hair. He was not in a particularly good mood. "Shut up!"

Meg was sitting in the arm-chair, secured in the devil's trap that Dean had drawn on the ceiling the previous night, examining her nails. She was watching Jimmy with bewildered amusement.

"Mornin' sunshine," she said with a big plastic grin.

Jimmy shot a grumpy glare at her. He wasn't tired, despite only haven gotten a couple of hours of sleep the night before, but he was utterly exhausted. Castiel was driving his nerves up with his constant babbling.

"... Where's Sam and Dean," he asked the demon.

"Sammy's in town lookin' for components. Dean-o's downstairs," Meg replied, shifting her focus to picking at the ends of her hair.

Jimmy got up off the couch, going into the bathroom.

After taking care of business and washing his face in the sink, Jimmy turned to the mirror to inspect the bruise he had received from the Glock during shooting practice.

To his surprize, he had a difficult time finding it. It had faded to almost nothing in less than two days, the only evidence it had even been there being a pale yellowish splotch over his cheek bone.

Tattered pieces of my Grace have become tied to your soul, Castiel supplied, a little sheepishly.

Jimmy frowned, contemplating this. "... Is that what you meant by 'intertwined'," he asked the angel.

Well, yes... when the Leviathans tore me apart, they did so entirely. I was still healing when Dean came to me and brought me to Sam. I guess you could say I, 'fell apart'... heh.

Jimmy hung his head and sighed. What did that mean? Did it mean that it had been all his doing at the museum? The lights? Burning the spirit?

"Great," he murmured. "So, how do we fix you?"

... I don't know. I've never heard of such a thing occurring. Think of it as two pieces of glass welded together- one cannot be separated from the other without damaging both.

Jimmy frowned deeply at his reflection. "What do you mean," he asked evenly, not sure he wanted the answer.

Until more is learned of ... our condition, as it were, I do not think that this can be undone.

Jimmy just stared into his own eyes. Castiel was implying this might be permanent. That Castiel removing himself from Jimmy's mind and body could kill them both.

Jimmy imagined the rest of his life listening to Castiel chat him up about God only knew whatever tangent he might go off on. Even in the case that this was temporary, Jimmy was going to have to lay down some ground rules for the mad angel.