Castiel dreamt of a pillar of light, easily as tall as the Chrysler building and yet somehow alive. There was a shape hidden by the brilliance, something so familiar and yet impossibly foreign that when he woke to a commotion somewhere outside of his room he couldn't shake the feeling that the dream should have meant something to him. Someone outside of the room cried out, a sound he could not discern the nature of even as his body propelled him to the door.

"Cass!"

He acted before thinking of the danger, the need to protect Dean overriding his need for self preservation. Slamming the door open he found his companion's ajar as he rushed forward to offer assistance.

Dean dreamt of the night before his world changed. He was drunk and delirious, stumbling over air as he made his way to where he left Lisa to die. After he destroyed the Angel, past the point of urinating on the cards and pictures he felt his stomach turn and lurch before he found himself vomiting profusely onto his shoes. Oh well, he'd needed new ones anyways.

A warm hand suddenly was on his back, rubbing circles into his shoulder blades while his body expelled the superfluous alcohol from his system. As they whispered small comforts into his ear he did not recognize the voice and yet somehow felt grateful for the lack of knowledge. The gray green eyes that met his when he turned to face his new found companion were familiar in a way he could not place, being intoxicated not helping.

"Are you alright, Dean?"

He didn't remember giving his name, a thought he did not bother dwelling on.

"Yeah. Fine."

He growled his reply out through gritted teeth, his stomach still lurching.

"I don't believe you."

"Fuck off."

The air shifted, the wind getting bitter and cold as the man's eyes darkened.

"Your soul is so beautiful for a man with such little faith."

"What?"

Dean woke to the sound of glass shattering, a sheet of cold sweat across his skin. His head pounded while his eyes darted around the room until they focused and landed on the man in the doorway.

"…Pastor Jim? What…"

The jarring realization that his wings were in clear view immediately woke Dean's sleep fogged mind. Sitting up and turning to face him as quickly as he could his wing connected with and sent the bedside lamp shattering to the ground. Pastor Jim suddenly moved forward, rushing Dean and causing him to cry out as he backed up against the headboard. The winged man heard the footsteps from across the hall, calling out to his companion.

"Cass!"

Just as the pastor went to breach his personal space Dean snaked a hand to his forehead and focused all of his thoughts on sleep. Pastor Jim collapsed onto the ground in front of the bed as Dean's panic filled eyes met Castiel's.

"Cass, I-"

"Are you alright? What happened? Did he hurt you?"

With each question Castiel made his way closer to Dean before sitting down in front of him and leaning forward – looking into his eyes as though he was searching for something.

"Uh yeah. I mean no! I mean…I just woke up and he was there and then he rushed me so I did the sleep thing and well..."

Castiel's entire body relaxed as he sighed. He had feared that perhaps a Demon or some other supernatural creature had snuck into the church somehow and that Dean was in danger. Despite his fears having been quelled it raised the question of why Pastor Jim had entered Dean's room to begin with. Shifting to take a look, Castiel hissed through his teeth while pain shot up his leg. In the heat of the moment he had ran through the broken glass in the doorway barefoot, further shattering it and embedding the shards into the soft flesh of the bottom of his feet matching the slices in his shoulder and upper arm from the morning before.

Dean looked in horror at the floor as he noticed the bloodied footprints that lead to Castiel. Meeting the priest's eyes, he couldn't find a hint of pain there. Then again, he couldn't find any kind of emotion which he rationalized as his overcompensating in order to shield Dean from the truth.

"Dude, are you okay?"

"I will be fine."

He watched in a stunned fascination as the priest rested his right foot on his thigh and began pulling shards of glass from his weeping cuts. Sputtering, he grabbed his wrist to stop him from continuing the horrific display. Dean wasn't sure what was worse – the almost methodical manner with which he removed the glass or the vacant expression he greeted him with.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"I've had worse."

He openly gawked at him for a second.

"Dude, that's not the point!"

"I am accustomed to self treatment, Dean. I assure you, I am as thorough as any practiced physician."

"Yeah? What happens if you miss a piece of glass?"

"I will deal with it then."

Dean knew he had little room to talk – he grew up having to treat himself – but it still irked him to watch him do it.

"Look, let me help you."

It was Castiel's turn to look horrified.

"I couldn't possibly –"

"I'm begging you, man – let me do it. I know a thing or two about patching people up."

Dean allowed the 'myself exclusively' to go silently as worried blue eyes watched his face for a moment before the cleric reluctantly offered his foot.

"…Thank you."

"No, Dude – thank you. I probably would have hurled if I had to watch –"

Unlike the exorcizing of ghosts, there were no theatrics involved when Dean discovered his newest ability. There was no flash of light, no dramatic lead up. He touched Castiel's foot; one second the sole was completely shredded and the next it was as if nothing had ever happened.

"Cass?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"You were just picking glass out of your foot…right?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay…just checking."

In awe Dean gently ran his thumb over the pristine skin on Castiel's arch, eliciting a shiver. Looking to the confused priest he reached for the second foot. Sure enough, it too was healed. Briefly, he wondered if the effect had even reached the priest's shoulder – he had seen the cuts his rescue had provided him. It seemed Castiel coming to his rescue always caused some kind of collateral damage.

"Dean?"

"I think I just use my mojo to magic away your cuts."

"I don't…"

"I think I just accidentally healed you."

"I see."

Dean couldn't stop himself, he balked.

"That's it?"

"What do you mean?"

"'I see'. That's it? Just 'I see'. See what?!"

"I had my suspicions."

Castiel was steadily getting uncomfortable with the continued contact. Pulling his feet from Dean's lap, he tucked them under himself before elaborating.

"The Angels of the Bible have many abilities, Dean."

Before Dean could interrupt he held up one hand to silence him as he continued.

"I know you do not believe yourself an Angel, but you do exhibit Angelic attributes and abilities. It is merely a logical conclusion to speculate that you have as many."

"Still weird."

"Weird is relative, Dean. We're currently conversing over an unconscious cleric – one you put into the before mentioned condition with a touch. I would think that of all people you would understand that."

Castiel smiled softly at the teasing he had just used, still unsure of the metaphorical ground he stood on. His smile only broadened as Dean's eyes peered over the bed at the sleeping reverend. He silently cataloged the image for later comedic enjoyment, leaving the smile behind and returning to the issue at hand.

"What happened, Dean?"

"I-I don't know. One minute I'm dreaming and then I wake up to a crash; see Jim over there in the doorway. Next thing I know he's rushing me and I just did the first thing that came to mind."

"Am I correct in assuming he saw your wings?"

"Yes."

Castiel was at a loss at what to do. He had known Pastor Jim for most of his life, being the man that had inspired Father Christopher into the title himself. Despite that, this was a matter he was unsure if he could trust him. Thinking for a moment, he knew he had to come up with a plan swiftly. Suddenly, it came to him.

"Help me carry him to his chambers."