Author's Notes: I had a lot of trouble writing this chapter and I'm still not that happy with it, but classes start tomorrow so I really wanted to get one up. Will probably be rewritten/replaced at some point in the future.

Demons were a dark mark upon the earth, slinking out of the depths of hell to prey upon the desperate and hopeless. But the real war happened on a different plane of existence, in the aether between heaven and hell. Great garrisons of angels descended upon the rising legions of demons, locked in combat for thousands of years while humans continued on in blissful peace and ignorance.

Here, among his earth-bound brethren, the battles were smaller. There were only a few hundred angels scattered across the globe, supported by thousands of Hunters, though they were called different things in other languages. (The Aztecs had referred to them as Warriors, the Japanese, as Priests. A small tribe in Africa named their men and women the Shield that Shattered.)

But nearly everywhere, angels were Guardians.

While some people spent their entire lives trying to figure out their purpose, all angels shared only the one. They were here on this earth to destroy demons. All these things and more were the mantra drilled into every young angel by teachers and mentors.

Of course they were also capable of smiting everything from ghosts, to werewolves, to the self-styled pagan gods that still haunted the hidden waterways of the old world, but their primary objective would always be to rid the world of hellspawn.

It was almost unthinkable when Castiel had tried to burn one out during his final days of training, that the demon had thrashed and writhed, choking up bursts of black smoke, but was otherwise unharmed. He'd hoped that, of all his failures, this wouldn't be one of them.

The three demons circling him warily, however, didn't know of his weakness. One of them carried a small caliber handgun, another a silver sword, and the last a flagon of something that Castiel could only assume was holy oil and a lighter.

He went for the third demon first, grabbing its wrists and slamming it against the ground. The fine bones crunched beneath his fingers and the oil spilled over the concrete, staining it deep brown. Three pulls of a trigger sent bullets into the air and Castiel twisted to avoid them. His elbow landed on the outstretched hand of the downed assailant, crushing the plastic of the orange lighter, sending shards into the soft flesh of demon's palm. Though the creature cried out in pain, Castiel knew all these wounds were superficial.

Though demons were the felled souls of humans, they seemed so much closer to angels. Wounds healed at unnatural speeds. They were faster, stronger, and could spot other monsters though they hid under well-formed masks.

And they were notoriously difficult to kill. If you were a human. A burst of Grace would burn out the demon's dirtied soul, and its body would follow. Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes.

The demon with the sword slashed at his back at the same time the one with the gun fired off two more shots. Castiel tightened his wings against his sides and leapt backwards. The demons would try to reduce his mobility by hurting his wings. With them he was faster by far, but if one should be injured, they'd turn into hindrances.

The sword demon swung around in an arc, forcing Castiel to duck, lashing out one wing to catch the first demon in the side, knocking her up against the wall. He grunted when he saw she still held the weapon in her grip.

Something caught him in the back of his left knee and he staggered forward. The previously downed demon had gotten back up and was currently low to the ground, swinging an empty fist. Castiel grabbed its wrist as it moved forward and slammed his palm against the demon's forehead, his momentum carrying them against the side of the nearest car.

It'd been over a year since he'd last tried this, when he'd begged Balthazar to let him come along on a case. As he forced as much of his Grace into the center of his hand, he could only hope it turned out better this time.

It was worse. The demon's eyes flickered black and black smoke leaked out of its mouth as Castiel pushed, harder and harder. He felt the trickle of power flow faster within him, stronger than it'd ever been before and he let it loose.

Raw heat coursed through his veins, an animal in itself that he could just barely contain before it broke free, pouring into the demon's tainted essence, burning as it went. But then it was too much, and Castiel realized with horror that it wasn't his Grace anymore that poured through his fingers. The energy now was golden and warm, almost cool after the burn of his own Grace. And it flowed so easily out of him, on and on, streaming into the air, filling the space until Castiel could barely make out the dark outlines of the demons.

He doesn't realize he's screaming until strong hands grip his shoulder, ripping him away from the side of the car where the imprint of the demon is burned into the paint. The golden light abruptly stops and he feels terribly empty, coldness seeping into the spaces left behind, making his shiver. His knees collapse and he finds himself against a warm chest, light brown wings pinning his own down against his back.

"I've got you, squirt," a familiar voice said.

"Gabriel." His own voice is strange, rough and barely a whisper.

"That's twice in a week, kid. Going to start thinking you're needy."

He couldn't fathom why the older angel sounded so happy. He lost Dean's soul, practically shoved it out of himself when his own Grace hadn't been enough. His first and only charge was gone.

"What the hell was that?"

Castiel's eyes snapped open and there was Dean, hand rubbing against his chest, staring at him with wide eyes and slightly open lips. And inside him, glowing soft and gold, was his soul.

"How are you alive?" The words slipped out of his mouth without him meaning to speak them. He'd felt Dean's soul leave, felt it snap into the open. But when he examined himself closely, he saw the thin thread that still tied them together, faint but solid.

"Well, you, I assume? Gotta say, Cas. I've never seen demons get screamed to death before." The hunter chuckled lightly and winced at the movement. Dean was hurt, not the level of hurt he had feared, but the normal, physical type of injury. There was a cracked rib and two bruised ones hidden under the bulletproof vest accompanied by a constellation of small cuts that littered his hands and face.

"I don't understand," Castiel murmured, unsure of who he is asking. He'd seen the man's soul leave. He'd grasped at the last wisps as they faded away into the air around them. He'd felt himself lose control.

"Okay," Gabriel chirped, shifting his shoulder underneath Castiel's weight. "How about we get this figured out somewhere else? I'm sure these nice crime scene folks would like to start off a load of paperwork-induced quarantining."

Castiel swayed back onto his own two feet. "Where?"

"I've got just the place. Come on, Dean-o!" Gabriel grabbed the Hunter by the wrist and flew off in a haze of golden brown wings. Castiel stretched out his own and followed though his limbs ached with each flap. He wasn't paying attention to where they were going, so it surprised him to find himself at a large yellow house surrounded by fields of sunflower stalks. The sky was clear but the sun was just peaking over the horizon in the east.

Gabriel had landed on the wide porch at the front, but Dean was no longer by his side. Instead, the Hunter was balled up at the base of a large beech tree, his sides heaving as he spat out the final remains of his lunch.

"I'd take him back to the factory. This one's defective," Gabriel sighed, flopping down onto the porch swing.

"We need to take Dean to a hospital," Castiel said, a bit irritated that Gabriel had brought them to the middle of nowhere.

"We will, but I need to talk to you two first."

Dean had stood up, face ashen gray as he clutched the side where his ribs were hurt. His steps were steady, though, as he climbed up onto the porch to glare at Gabriel. "Never do that again," he croaked.

"I had to get you away from there quickly."

"Why?" the Hunter asked with a scowl.

Gabriel folded his hands over his stomach and fixed Dean with a cold stare. "Because, Dean, sixteen demons just banded together and tried to kill you."

"There were only four demons," Castiel corrected him.

"There were only four demons that made it to the motel. Why do you think it took me so long to get there? In fact, there's still four demons trapped in a Safeway about a mile out that I need to go back and take care of."

Castiel was stunned. Demons rarely congregated into large groups. If it happened, it would only be for convenience or safety in areas with a lot of hunters. It was even rarer for demons to have specific targets. They weren't picky about whose soul they managed to steal or coerce. Something else occurred to Castiel as he went over the events of the past hour.

"They weren't expecting me to be there. Only one of them had holy oil and it was in a pitcher."

"Yup. They were going all in for Winchester over here. Probably only had the oil as a precaution. But there's something else as well. They came in four teams of four." Gabriel paused and looked at the two of them expectantly.

It took a moment but Castiel figured out what the other angel was implying. Five or more demons would have warranted a Level 4 warning, sent to all angels, putting them on alert. Twenty or more demons seen at once would have put everyone on a Level 5 warning, sending all checkpoints and government buildings into lockdown. A curfew would be imposed and traffic in and out of all major cities would be strongly regulated. By splitting into teams of four, the demons would maintain their more common Level 3 warning that was mostly ignored, should they be caught out individually, and by staying well under twenty, they wouldn't trigger quarantine or lockdown.

"Someone is feeding the demons angel operating procedures," he said, eyes wide and disbelieving.

"What?" Dean asked, slightly annoyed, and Gabriel nodded.

"That's what I thought, too."

"What are you talking about?" the Hunter demanded. Castiel glanced over at Gabriel who gave a slight shrug.

"The way the demons attacked was arranged to stay unobtrusive to the angel's warning system."

"These past two weeks have been extremely quiet. Almost no demon activity. And then suddenly sixteen demons show up and they're all headed to gank Pukey over here? Sorry to tell you but someone wants you bad," Gabriel grimaced.

"Shit. Two weeks? That's when I had my meeting with Michael," Dean added. After a pause he added, "You think he has something to do with this?"

"You should not jump to conclusions so quickly." Hot indignation shot through his stomach at the Hunter's callous accusation. Michael did not merely manage the HAS, he was also God's chosen, the one angel their father communed with personally. Even past that, Michael was just, forgiving of the righteous, merciless towards the corrupt. Castiel had worked under him for a year and he knew no better angel.

"What happened at your meeting?" Gabriel asked.

"He looked into my soul and found out I had a chunk of your Grace shoved in there." Castiel couldn't help but catch the slightly accusatory tone of his voice. "And then he said he'd have to find out whose it was."

"If he had to investigate who the Grace belonged to, I doubt he kept it a secret," Castiel argued.

"And what about that thing in his office?" Dean snapped.

"It was a captured demon! He was designing a new binding trap," Castiel said, though even he found the situation rather strange. There were far more suitable places to do research than the Director's private office. And Zachariah wasn't part of their usual development team. If anyone, it should have been Gabriel with there with Michael.

"Wait, what demon?" Gabriel asked, eyes narrowed.

"This morning, after we got out of the hospital, Cas zapped us over to Central to grab my stuff. Michael was in his office with this weird mutant demon thing."

"It was odd," Castiel admitted.

Dean snorted. "Yea it was odd. Dude did not want us anywhere near that office, tried to get us to leave as soon as we got there. And there was that creepy ass angel."

"Zachariah," Castiel amended.

"An angel named Zachariah? Are you sure?" Gabriel was sitting forward now, elbows on his knees.

"Yes. Have you heard of him?" If anyone knew, it would be Gabriel who'd spent over sixty years in and out of Central.

"Never met him," Gabriel shook his head and Castiel felt a pang of disappointment. "Okay, we need to get going before they notice we're missing. Before we go, though," he pointed at Dean, "You two need to be careful and stick together. If the demons want you dead, they'll be a hell of a lot less eager to come at you with an angel around, especially if word about what Banshee did at the motel got out. We'll talk about this more later."

He reached out to take Dean's arm, but the Hunter jerked back.

"I said never again! You're worse than a freaking biplane."

Gabriel shrugged and took off without them.

"Come on Cas. Pony up."

Castiel started again at the nickname. It was what Dean used to call him twenty-two years ago.