Chapter Ten

Castiel shifted onto his side, tired of lying on his back. At least he was clean now. He'd been able to stand long enough to take a shower, though it had been a quick one because his ankle had been throbbing.

It'd been a few days since the failed summoning and he still hadn't really talked to either Winchester or Bobby. Mostly, it had gone by in a blur, via the pills Bobby had given him. But now, he felt disappointed and maybe a little depressed. He had worked so hard to find Gabriel, but his brother wanted nothing to do with their family. Unless he could save the Righteous Man, but the task was beginning to seem nearly impossible. He still wasn't very confident in what needed to be done—finding the Righteous Man was going to be much harder than trying to find Gabriel. There was no ritual he could use, nothing.

It was all beginning to seem hopeless.

He rearranged the pillow under his ankle to make it more comfortable. His ankle was better now that Gabriel healed most of the damage, but it was still swollen and he could barely put any pressure on it for too long. Sam said to keep it elevated as much as possible, in order to keep the swelling down. So far, he hadn't noticed much difference. But hopefully it would heal soon.

Not that he felt much pain. No, the medicine that Bobby had given him certainly helped with that. Apparently, he had a low pain tolerance, according to the older hunter.

A thunk on the bedside table had him opening his eyes in surprise. He hadn't realized he shut them, but found a steaming mug sitting in front of him. Looking up, he found Dean standing beside him. "Don't worry, it's not coffee. Hot cocoa," he explained.

"Oh," Castiel said as he sat up slowly, a fluttering in his chest as he realized Dean was concerned for him. He reached for the mug. It was a welcome warmth against his fingers and he pulled it closer. "Thank you."

Dean pulled out a chair and sat across from him. "How's the leg?"

"It's better," Castiel relented, taking a sip from the steaming liquid. He still hadn't told the hunters everything about Gabriel. Just that the archangel dream-walked into Castiel's mind and healed his ankle, before carving protection sigils on all their ribs. "I… wanted to apologize."

Dean leaned back in his chair, "Don't worry about it, Cas."

Castiel pressed his lips together, trying to figure out his thoughts. "It's just that I don't know what to do. And right now, I'm a liability to you. I can't even help you and Sam on a hunt." He almost glared at the bandaged ankle, wishing it would heal faster.

"We've been taking care of ourselves for a long time," Dean said in a soft tone. "Not that we don't appreciate your help or anything. I mean, you were pretty badass with the Nightmare, and that banishing sigil?" He whistled at the memory of a determined Castiel, kicking that other angel's ass even though he was only human.

"So, how do we find Gabriel this time?" Dean ventured. If the other angels were monitoring the summoning ritual, they would have to find another way to locate the archangel. But the hunter had no clue how to proceed. And Castiel had been in and out of consciousness the last couple days.

Looking at the Fallen now, though, he realized the archangel was a sore subject. Uncertainty flashed across those blue eyes before he turned away.

Castiel looked down at his mug. The cocoa was delicious but suddenly he'd lost his appetite for it. He set it on the bedside table. "We don't. He's not going to return to Heaven."

Dean decided to let the matter drop, "Don't worry, we'll figure something out. Always do."

The smile Dean gave him caught his breath. That he was trying to cheer Castiel made the fluttering in his chest increase in warmth, spreading through his body pleasantly. This smile was directed at him, not Sam or Bobby. The urge to kiss the hunter overwhelmed him, but he didn't know the correct protocol for initiating such a thing. So instead, he said bluntly, "Dean, I want to kiss you."

Green eyes widened almost comically in shock and his mouth fell open, trying to speak. That was honestly the last thing he expected Castiel to say. And dammit, he wanted to kiss him too. But it just seemed wrong, taking advantage of an angel, especially one that was loaded up on painkillers. There were too many consequences. "We can't," he said after a moment of gathering his thoughts. When an almost hurt looked crossed Castiel's face, Dean explained, "I mean, isn't there some kind of rule against angels ah, being intimate?"

Castiel finally understood Dean's reluctance and felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He had thought the hunter didn't want to kiss him. He didn't know why that thought bothered him, but for some reason, it had. "There are no rules stating that angels cannot be intimate."

There was a silence as Dean mulled over the words. If angels could have sex, then what was he waiting for?

"Besides," Castiel continued with a slight smirk on his lips as he set the mug down and leaned forward. "Right now, I'm human. And I want to take advantage of that."

Who was Dean to argue that? He grinned as he moved towards the bed, eyes never leaving Castiel. His hand slid up the angel's arm, stopping just under the scar uncertainly, before covering it completely. It was a perfect fit and for some reason, the fact that his handprint was on Castiel, turned him on.

Impatient, Castiel pulled Dean down, pressing their lips together. Now that he knew what to do, he dragged his tongue across Dean's lower lip. The man's weight pressed against him, somehow making the kiss a completely different experience than his first one. There was no hesitance when their tongues brushed each other, just passion and heat, and something else that he couldn't find a name for.

Dean wanted this, curse be damned. He only had a few months left, so why the hell not enjoy life, and sex, while he could?

His finger's brushed the hem of Castiel's shirt, sliding under and feeling smooth skin underneath. Dean bunched the shirt up as far as it would go without breaking the kiss. Castiel understood and pulled away reluctantly, long enough to rid himself of the offending article. Dean took the opportunity to remove his own shirt before pulling Castiel back to him.

Kisses down the angel's neck had him moaning softly at the sensations. Even without the shirt, he was feeling hot, his pulse racing. "Dean, I feel hot," Castiel murmured softly, unsure if something was wrong with his body.

Dean chuckled and bit gently at the base of his neck, earning a surprised gasp. "That's a good thing," he whispered, blowing on the small welt.

Castiel couldn't reply, too focused on the hands running down his sides and the lips on his neck. Dean was so warm, almost hot and he wanted closer, to feel skin against skin. He wanted to kiss the man again, but he batted Castiel's hands away. With a frustrated groan, he managed to reverse their positions, balancing on his knees on either side of Dean's hips. He gave Dean a shy smile as he looked over the hunter.

Dean's skin was darker than his own. Not much, just a few shades tanner. He splayed his fingers against the man's chest to see the difference, fascinated by the golden cast to the hunter's skin compared to his paler complexion. But there was a small patch of lighter skin, almost like a scar, above Dean's heart. He tilted his head curiously, "What happened?"

Dean realized what Castiel meant and tensed. He hadn't thought about the mark when he started this. Of course the angel would be curious. Instead, he tried to distract him by pulling him in for a kiss.

But Castiel wouldn't be deterred. He pulled back with a crease between his brows. He recognized the symbol from somewhere, though he couldn't think completely straight. His mind was too foggy, but he knew he had seen it somewhere. "Dean, what is this?" he asked again, tracing his finger gently over the mark.

Dean wasn't sure what to do. Sure, he could shrug it off, say he didn't know. But Castiel would catch his lie. He could just storm out of there, telling him to just drop it. Somehow, that idea didn't sit well with him. He was tired of arguing. With Bobby, with Sam, with Cas. His decision made, he started, "I fucked up a long time ago."

Castiel scooted on the bed to sit next to Dean against the headboard. He was surprised the hunter was telling him anything. From what he'd learned, Dean wasn't one for sharing emotions or talking much about his past. Especially if it was painful. So he listened, gaze never leaving him for a second.

He listened as Dean spoke of a previous life, hundreds of years ago before the Black Death in Europe.

Dean shocked himself when the words began pouring out. He'd never told anyone, not even Sam, the full story. And that was because Sam remembered some of what had happened, knew the basics of what was going on. But for some reason, telling Castiel the truth was a weight off his shoulders.

"And then she cursed me," he finished, hesitantly. "She decided Sam should stick around, keep me company, I guess."

"What are the terms of the curse?" Castiel asked. He'd heard of similar curses, albeit rare, and knew that it was possible to break them.

Dean rolled his shoulders, "Dunno." He wasn't going to tell him the exact details. Didn't want the guy to feel obligated to help him, though he knew it was a moot point. But at least this way, Castiel wouldn't try to do something he didn't want to do.

Castiel hummed. His head cleared now, he could remember why the symbol was familiar. "The witch that cursed you, she was working for a demon known as Tamara. Without research, I can't tell you much more than that."

"Don't worry about it, Cas," Dean said as he stood up to stretch. "I'm going to hell in a few months, curse or no curse."

"But Dean—"

"Hey, Dean!" Sam's voice interrupted, followed by a loud slam of the door from somewhere downstairs.

Dean blanched as he realized both he and Castiel were still shirtless. He hurriedly shrugged his own on and just finished as Sam walked into the bedroom. The younger Winchester glanced from his brother to Castiel curiously. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"No," Dean grumbled while Castiel shook his head.

"Good. Listen, I was doing some research and I think I found us a case."

He sat on the bed, chest feeling tight. He barely remembered what he and Sam were arguing about, the tightness growing. It felt like a sleeping limb trying to wake up, blood rushing through his entire body leaving behind a strange, prickling impression. The pins and needles sensation grew until it was sharper, "Bunch of knives inside of me," he remembered gasping out as he gripped his stomach.

The pain intensified, sending him flat on his back and gasping for breath. A particularly brutal wave had him coughing up blood and rolling off the bed. His vision was blurred, could swear Sam had left him.

Left him to die alone.

His rational mind knew that Sam was trying to save him, to kill the coven. But he couldn't shake the fact that he was alone right now, blood dribbling down his chin and it felt like he was hacking up a lung with each cough. The pain only grew, felt like his insides were being ripped to shreds by a dull knife.

When Ruby stormed in the door, looking like a bat of hell, he could only laugh weakly, "You wanna kill me? Get in line, bitch."

In a blur of movement, he found himself pinned to the bed with the most disgusting liquid being forced down his throat. It burned all the way down, more than any alcohol ever had, had him coughing again, though he barely had any energy left in him. He ignored Ruby's cocky complaint as he sucked in a welcome breath. The pain finally receded and all that remained was the god-awful taste in his mouth and a lingering burning in his chest from the coughing.

"What was that stuff? God, it was ass," he grumbled as he sat up, staring dubiously at the demon.

She scoffed, shaking her head. "It's called witchcraft, short bus," Ruby replied and left the hotel room before Dean could think of a decent comeback.

He sat there for a full minute, taking in her words. That Ruby knew witchcraft was unsettling. What the hell else did she know? But he shoved the thought from his mind, needing to hurry and find Sam. Taking on a coven of witches, plus the demon they served, was not a one-man job.

Driving across town in a car he hotwired, he tried to remember which subdivision the coven lived in. Finally, he spotted the Impala parked in front of a house and pulled up behind it. Grabbing his gun, he ran inside just in time to distract the demon from killing Sam. Before he could shoot the damned thing, she had him pinned to the wall. He could see Sam on the opposite wall and groaned. How were they going to get out of this?

He felt a crushing grip against his throat, though the demon stood several yards away. Damn thing was powerful enough to choke him to death and keep Sam pinned. Dean struggled to break free but it seemed like it was a downhill battle.

For the second time that day, Ruby appeared in the nick of time, door swinging open behind her. "I brought you the Winchesters," she chatted the brunette demon and Dean mouthed to Sam, knowing the bitch would betray them. But then the two demons scuffled until Ruby was pinned to the floor.

"She was one of mine," the brunette commented idly. The brunette looked from Dean to Sam, noting the bewildered looks on their faces at the admission. A sly grin spread across her face as she held the blonde to the ground. "Ruby here was a witch. Of course that was when you were human."

Dean didn't hear much after that. Ruby had been human, one that sold herself to a demon. And now she was a demon herself. Castiel's words wrung in his ears, "They are born of humans that sin, Dean."

He grit his teeth as he mulled over the words. Was he going to become a demon? Just another thing that he and Sam hunted. The thought was sickening, had his stomach rolling.

Hours later, after he'd stabbed the demon with Ruby's knife and left the blonde to clean up the mess, he stood outside their motel room. The room had been too stuffy, needed some fresh air. The night air was cold, sent shivers down his spine. But it was a relief. At least, it had been until Ruby showed up again.

The conversation left him reeling, too much to take in. And all that seemed to echo in his mind was the fact that he was going to become a demon someday, after his time in hell. God, the thought made his stomach flip. He had his suspicions, but for Ruby to say it outright. Just once, he wished things would go his way instead of the shit hitting the fan. It's like he could never catch a break.

His thoughts strayed to Castiel then. Damn, he'd found an angel after all those years of searching, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation but was too damn miserable.

"Dean?" Sam's voice broke though his thoughts. He turned to see his brother sticking his head out of the motel door. "You okay?" There was a crease between his brows as he watched his brother. He knew there was something wrong with him, but couldn't figure out what. Sam wanted to dig deeper, find out what was distressing Dean. Instead, he'd given Dean some space. But Dean had been outside for nearly an hour. And with the temperatures dropping, Sam was starting to worry.

Dean gave him a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, just getting some fresh air," he said and turned towards the motel. As he moved inside, he tossed the can of soda to his brother. "Did that demon say anything to you?" Dean sat in the chair, stretching his legs out. He still ached all over, but it was nothing that a good night of sleep wouldn't cure.

Truth was, he was curious about Ruby's ex-boss. He'd killed the bitch easily enough, once she'd been distracted. But she'd been powerful, and if the blonde demon hadn't shown, he and Sam would've been killed.

"Who, Tami?" Sam said while opening the soda. The room was so quiet that the hiss of the carbonated air that exhaled from the can was like a gunshot. Sam took a drink, not noticing Dean's reaction at first, before saying, "She said there's another demon trying to lead the army, and it wants me dead." He didn't mention the fact that Ruby had told him the same thing not too long ago. He was still trying to process that fact and telling Dean that he already knew would lead to an argument.

Dean froze at the name. Gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white, he ventured, "You said its name was Tami?" It had to be a coincidence, right?

Sam's brows furrowed in confusion and he cast his gaze to Dean. How could Dean be focused on the demon's name, when he'd just told him that there was another one that wanted Sam dead? "Yeah, that's what the girl called her."

"Think it's short for Tamara?" Dean asked reluctantly.

"I guess it could be." When Dean cursed, Sam asked, "Why? What's wrong?"

"Cas thinks the witch that cursed me was working for a demon named Tamara," the hunter responded, gritting his teeth. He'd killed the demon without even realizing she was the one that had given Rossa the power to curse him. If he'd known she was the one, he'd have taken his time killing her.

Sam's eyes widened at the confession. "You don't think…" his voice trailed off.

"Yeah, I do. I mean, how many demons out there are named Tamara? It's gotta be the same one."

And not only that, but something Ruby had said, when she approached Dean, had his gut churning. She'd said she'd been a demon "since the plague was big." He'd thought nothing of it at the time, more concerned with how he was going to turn into a demon after being in hell. But the words returned like a slap in the face. And she'd been a witch before that, if what "Tami" said was true.

He paled at the realization, a little pissed he hadn't put two and two together sooner. Sooner, like when Ruby was within shooting range.

Sam noticed and leaned forward, "Dean, what is it?"

Dean said nothing at first. Couldn't believe it. She'd been stringing Sam along this whole time, and Dean had been none the wiser. But it had to be her. It had to. Eyes hard, voice low in anger, he said, "I think Ruby is Rossa."

He expected Sam to deny it, to get all defensive like he usually did when it came to Ruby. But Sam nodded after a long moment. It made sense, really. Rossa was Italian for red. And ruby was a shade of red. "What do you want to do about it?"

What Dean wanted to do was to kill her, send a bullet straight through her skull. But that would be kind. Besides, they had no way of contacting the demon, no way to track her down. She'd always come to Sam, usually when Dean wasn't around.

"Do you think she can reverse the curse?" Sam asked hesitantly when Dean didn't say anything.

"No. And even if she could, it wouldn't matter. I just want to kill the bitch."

It was a goal. Gave him something to do now that they were really just killing time until his deal came due. Because Castiel was at a loss now that his brother ditched him, and Dean certainly had no idea what to do about that. All they could really do was track down demons, killing as many as they could while saving a few lives in the process, and hopefully they'd run across Ruby.

It was a start, at least.

Ruby watched Dean from the shadows. The numbskull still hadn't connected the dots, thank Lucifer for small miracles. And it seemed he believed her lie about the contract. That there was no way to break it. She'd been honest with Sam when she had told the younger man that there was a way to break the contract.

There were a few ways, really.

The first and most unlikely way was for the demon to willingly release the human's soul from the contract. But the odds of Lilith terminating Dean's contract was like a billion to one. Never going to happen, end of story. Because they needed Dean in hell, needed him to break. And Lilith wasn't going to release him for anything.

The other was a little more practical, but still unlikely. Kill the demon that held the contract. But Lilith was old, one of Lucifer's first, and powerful. More powerful than anything the Winchesters have faced.

Smiling at the thought of being able to take a blade to the man's soul, Ruby walked away. Oh, she would enjoy torturing the man, making him scream until he learned that she was not to be messed with.

But there was a pressing problem that she needed to attend to. The angel was still alive, the Nightmare having failed to kill him. Ruby, and all of hell especially, couldn't afford for him to live. Dean didn't know yet, believed that he was doomed to go to hell no matter what, but the angel held his salvation.

If he found out, everything would be ruined. Because the angel could destroy the contract. Ruby wanted Dean badly, wanted his soul for herself. She wasn't about to let the damned angel take Dean away from her, not after getting this far. So the only solution was for the angel to die. And it appeared as though she was going to have to take matters into her own hands.

Melting into the shadows, she appeared in a shed about a hundred miles away from the Winchesters. The old, two-story house was dark, no lights on. She'd been here before, when she helped the older hunter fix the Colt. Part of Lilith's plan, she thought grimly. A good way to get the boys to trust her.

But there was no way inside, she found as she circled the house under the cover of shadows. Couldn't get closer than a hundred feet. Bobby Singer had completely demon-proofed the house. And angel-proofed, it seemed, judging by the sigils painted on the siding.

Why would they need that? she wondered as she stopped underneath a tree, crossing her arms. Unless, the angels didn't take kindly to one of their own becoming human.

Before she could even move, she found herself pinned to the tree, feeling the meatsuit's skin scraping against the bark. Looking into the cold, brown eyes of the man, she realized what he was. Felt fear, real fear, boil up inside her.

"Demon scum," the man drawled, voice low. He brought a dark hand to her forehead and she knew she had to act quick.

"You want the angel dead, right?" she gasped out hurriedly. The hand paused in midair and the angel's brows rose. Ruby took that as a sign to continue. "So do I."

"And this concerns me, how?" he demanded, not releasing her.

"The hunters he hangs out with, they trust me. More or less," she explained. "I can get close to him."

The smile that spread across the dark angel's lips was a little disturbing, even to her. But he let go and she dropped to the ground, breathing a sigh of relief. Damn, but this was messed up, even for her.

Castiel stood at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes that had accumulated in the past few days. With just him and Bobby, there wasn't much. And even though it was just cleaning, he felt better doing something rather than sitting around.

Wiping his hands on a towel, he rolled his sleeves down before hobbling to the library. His ankle was feeling better, he could actually walk now. But he still couldn't put too much pressure on it or stand for too long without it throbbing.

Looking out the window, he noticed the snow had stopped already. There was only a light dusting of white across the ground. He'd made the decision to find the Righteous Man. But the only way he could think of to do so, was to contact the King of the Crossroads. He'd never met the creature, had only heard stories about the man.

But surely he would know all the souls that had a contract with a demon. If he could just get a list, then Castiel would be able to track the people down and determine if they were righteous or not. It wasn't the most infallible plan, but it was a start at least.

Bobby looked up from the paper he was reading, watched as Castiel stopped in front of the window. The kid looked almost mopey, a pout on his lips and shoulders slightly slumped. Figured he wasn't used to just doing nothing. So he set the paper down and stood, surprising the angel who turned curious blue eyes to him.

"You ever shot a gun before?" Bobby asked as he grabbed the handgun he kept in the top desk drawer. When Castiel shook his head, the hunter motioned for him to follow.

Castiel followed obediently. He grabbed his trench coat when Bobby tugged on a coat of his own, before heading outside. The older man set up a few cans on the hood of an old, rusted car that had seen better days before moving to stand beside Castiel.

"First things you should know about guns is safety. Don't point it at anyone unless you intend to shoot 'em. And for that matter, don't point it at yourself." Bobby held out the gun, resting it in the palm of his hands. He pointed to a small switch on the side, "This is the safety. Keep it on 'til you're ready to fire."

Castiel listened intently as the hunter explained the many rules of guns. When asked to, he repeated them, showing that he understood. Finally, he handed over the gun and told Castiel to aim for the cans.

The gun was foreign in his hands. He was used to an angel's blade, knew how to use it deftly and precisely. With the gun, he felt awkward. Much like most of his first experiences at humanity. But it seemed like he would be a human for a long time, trying to find the Righteous Man. And it would be wise to learn about their weapons, should the occasion ever call for it.

Sucking in a breath, he released the safety and aimed, finger brushing the trigger. He exhaled slowly and released.

He wasn't surprised that he missed the targets. Or even the car, for that matter. Bobby smiled and clapped him on the back. "Don't worry, kid. Shoulda seen Dean's first attempts at shooting." He smiled fondly at the memory.

It was blaringly obvious that Bobby was a vital part of the Winchester's lives. Castiel was grateful that the hunter let him stay, after everything that had happened. Because of him, Bobby's house had been wrecked. And now he had to worry about angels coming after him.

At least Gabriel had managed to carve protections sigils on his ribs. No angel would be able to find him, or the Winchesters.

Bobby noticed the distant look on the angel's face. Taking the gun, he flicked the safety on and unloaded the cartridge. "C'mon, let's find something to eat."

The old hunter had been teaching Castiel different things off and on while the Winchesters were gone. He could now use a microwave to fix macaroni and cheese or soup, knew to shut the door on the refrigerator, and could make simple sandwiches. The stove, however, was off limits.

"Don't want my house to burn down," Bobby had said.

After dinner, Bobby was back to reading through newspaper articles. Castiel sat on a couch, book in hand. Contacting the King of the Crossroads was tricky and Castiel didn't want another repeat of what had happened last time he used a summoning ritual. Bobby's library, he'd learned, was extensive, if a bit unorganized. Surely he would have something that could be useful.

Bobby looked over at Castiel hours later. The kid managed to fall asleep on the couch, book in hand. Reminded him of Sam, to be honest. That boy always had a book around, growing up. Glancing at the clock, he realized it was only ten. He'd give it another hour before turning in for the night.

At least there hadn't been a bunch of phone calls. Hunter activity must be slow.

Flipping through another paper, this one from somewhere, he found a potential case. It seemed like something supernatural, so he decided he'd check it out in the morning. Another look to Castiel had him thinking. He'd been doing fine the last couple days. Certainly could find something to eat, and now that he knew how to use a gun, though not very well, Bobby was certain he could manage a few days on his own.

Mind made up, he turned in for the night.

Castiel woke with a kink in his neck. He rolled his neck to relieve the tension, startling as a loud thump broke the silence. The book he'd been reading last night had fallen to the ground. He picked it up and set it on the couch before standing.

Bobby was nowhere to be found.

Frowning, he moved into the kitchen. There was a large piece of paper stuck on the fridge. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a note from Bobby, saying he'd gone on a hunt and to call if he needed anything. A couple phone numbers were listed.

He stood there, staring at the message for a long time. What was he supposed to do? Everyone was out hunting, and here he was, left behind and useless. And, he realized after a long moment, a little lonely. He'd never felt alone before. Back in Heaven, his brothers and sisters were always around, and even if he was technically alone, their voices were always in the back of his mind.

But now, he was completely alone.

It was strange and he didn't like it. So he kept himself busy. He skimmed through nearly a dozen books on demons and had found nothing potentially useful. When that lost his interest, he began cleaning. Dusting, sweeping, and he even organized Bobby's books on subject. Demons, ghosts, vampires. That had taken the longest and it had been three days since he'd heard from anyone.

His gaze wandered to the telephones near Bobby's desk. There were several of them, all labeled. They rang a few times, but Bobby had told him not to answer any of them except for the white one on the end. And it hadn't. It was also the one that Bobby had taught him to use, and Castiel wondered if he should try calling the man. Or even Dean.

But he decided against it. There was nothing wrong, he didn't need anything. He was just lonely.

So he forced his gaze away and found something else to clean. That he'd become so dependent on the hunters didn't cross his mind.

He found his way upstairs and started in the hallway. Then the room he'd been sleeping in. There wasn't much to dust in there, so he made the bed and dusted off the rickety dresser. There was an oblong black box on it that had a layer of dust, so he swiped the cloth over it too.

"Dead I am the sky, watchin' angels fry while they slowly turn, conquering the worm," a guttural voice broke out loudly, shocking Castiel so much that he stumbled backwards, dropping the cloth. The loud music continued and his heart rate returned to normal once he realized it was a radio, like the one in Dean's car.

He stepped closer, trying to figure out how to turn it off, or at least lower the volume. He'd watched Dean do it a dozen times or more, surely he could figure it out? Reaching towards a knob, the music turn to static before another song came in.

"…or some eclipse of the moon? Let an angel swing and make you swoon. Then you will see, you will see," a softer male voice sang. The song was much nicer than the previous one, but it was still loud. He tried a different knob, found that it was indeed the volume. He turned it the wrong way at first, then the other way. He let it stay at a reasonable level, nowhere near as loud as it had been, but loud enough he could still hear it.

Now that the music was playing, he found he liked it. It was much better than the quiet house. Satisfied, he continued about the room cleaning.

ooooo

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