Dean blinked stupidly, certain he'd completely misheard that statement. "We're what?"

"You two are the beginning and the end to an Ineffable Plan that has been in the works since the dawn of time. Selling your soul to save your brother makes you a Righteous Man. You were supposed to break while in Hell and take up the knife, dealing torture to others as you received it."

Dean's tongue sat frozen in his mouth, and his arms sagged, unable to keep up the crowbar infinitely. Castiel watched the shock and denial flash across his face. "You're...nuts. You've definitely got the wrong guys."

A caustic chuckle escaped Castiel's lips. "No. No mistaking you or your brother's divine destiny. I'm sorry, Dean."

The worst part was, he seemed genuinely remorseful.

Dean spoke in a hush. "I wouldn't have…I would never have…."

Despite standing tall, with his shoulders squared and back ramrod straight, Castiel's face and voice softened a touch. "You would have, Dean. Hell was throwing their worst at you-it was going to take a while because you were determined. But eventually, they would have worn you down."

"But...why? Why would Hell care about me enough to break me like that? I'm nobody."

Castiel stared at the stars peeking through the breaks in the clouds. For a moment, he seemed lost in their glory, but then he took a deep breath to continue.

"Breaking you breaks the First Seal," he intoned. "Think of the seals as locks on a door-if sixty-six seals are broken, then the door to the Cage will open."

Dean hesitantly asked: "What's in the Cage that we don't want getting out?"

Castiel's sky-blue stare came back full force to Dean. "Lucifer."

The hunter's face grew pale as the blood drained from it. "You mean...literally? The literal Devil...walking around?" Dean took in a stuttering breath. "Are we talking Al Pachino or Tim Curry?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow in question at Dean but continued on.

"You and your brother are intended to be the vessels for the Archangels Michael and Lucifer. Heaven has touted this skirmish as the beginning of Paradise on Earth. The faithful will be rewarded, and the evil cast down once and for all."

Castiel scoffed. "In truth? The battle will decimate the planet and end the human race. That is your divine destiny."

Dean gripped the forgotten crowbar harder and backed away to get some air. "You...you're lying! What is this stupid bullshit you're trying to sell?"

"This bullshit is your fate," Castiel frowned. "And it's one we must stop."

"There is no such thing-Lucifer is just a boogeyman used to keep the other demons in line." Dean knew he sounded like a little kid plugging his ears and screaming he couldn't hear anything. But destiny, the fucking Apocalpyse? That was way above the paygrade of an alcoholic hunter with a G.E.D., whose only home was the family car.

Dean wanted to shove his crowbar right through Castiel's face. Instead, he snarled: "Why me? Sam is the one with the stupid powers because of your boss Yellow-Eyes. What the hell am I supposed to do to stop the Apocalypse, use harsh language?"

"Dean, it has to be you."

"And if I told you to go back to Hell and leave me alone?"

Without blinking, Castiel strode forward the few steps needed to stop a few inches from Dean's concerned face. He felt like he was getting filleted alive by that stare.

"I was under the impression you cared about your brother more than that," Castiel hissed. Each word was laced with so much disappointment and venom that Dean actually flinched. " Sam will suffer a fate worse than death as Lucifer's puppet. The World. Will. End."

Sam, his giant little brother with floppy bangs and a deadly temper protecting his heart of gold. Sam was his only family, his only rock; Dean's whole purpose was to protect his brother from anything the world could throw at them.

"Help me, Dean, and we can save him. We can save all of them."

Whatever Castiel was, he wasn't above pleading for Dean's help.

Unconsciously, Dean lowered the crowbar and acquiesced to the desperation in those unearthly eyes with a simple, "Okay."

Having gotten Dean's word, the enigmatic entity disappeared into the night.

Dean looked down and saw that the salt circle had not been disturbed. Castiel had gotten right up in his face yet he hadn't moved a single grain of salt. No demon could cross salt, and neither could a ghost. What the hell was he?

Dean dropped the crowbar at his feet; suddenly, the beers he'd brought outside were not going to cut it anymore.

The car ride was quiet, a classic rock radio station playing softly as they traveled the miles in uneasy silence. Dean drove the old rust bucket of a Chevelle, not bothering to tell Bobby that he still hadn't slept since he'd gotten topside and didn't feel worse for wear about it. One crisis at a time.

"Bobby, have you ever heard of the name Castiel?"

From beneath his old trucker's cap, Bobby gave Dean a once-over. "Where'd you hear it from?"

"Don't want to say just yet," Dean admitted. "I mean, I can try to look for it myself, but you're the lore guy-gotta make you earn your keep, ya know?" The crooked smile Dean was going for came off as strained instead.

"Glad to know my place in this family: Lore Guy," Bobby complained. "While I can't say I remember everything I've ever read..." He leaned back into his seat and glanced up at the car's ceiling, fingers stroking his clean-shaven face. After thinking about a moment, he brought his eyes back to Dean.

"If I were a betting man, I'd think you were talking about an angel. Sounds angelic, anyway."

The younger hunter narrowed his eyes and his lips pursed together. "Angels? Bobby, those don't exist," Dean protested.

"Says you. No offense, Dean, but you're not as worldly as you think you are." He took off the cap, dusted off the bill, then pulled it back on. "There's shit out there even you can't fathom. We deal with demons on the regular, and there's just as much lore on angels, so why can't they exist?"

"If angels existed, then why does life suck?" The bitterness in Dean's voice cut straight down to the bone.

"Pretty sure you're mad at their boss, Dean, not the angels themselves. Still, the name's not entirely ringing a bell." They drove around a Taurus sedan and cruised past an 18-wheeler on the highway. The old Chevelle did not have the smooth gear shift; it stuttered in protest like Bobby did when asked to move too quickly. Dean missed the Impala.

"Guess it's time to take you out back with a double-gauge, huh Old Yeller?"

Bobby crossed his arms and pointed his full-powered glower at Dean. "I know a psychic who's good at finding those kinds of answers. Once we find Sam's wayward butt, we'll need to make a detour to go meet up with Pamela Barnes."

"She cute?"

Bobby grunted. "I ain't touching that with a ten-foot pole. And neither should you."

That was all Bobby had to say on the matter; they returned to the classic rock gently playing in the background.

Dean chewed on his lip, mind reeling at the idea of Castiel being an angel. There was no way, right? He hadn't shown up with wings or a harp, or a white robe or anything. He'd shown up in black, with those big blue eyes and husky voice-

He squirmed in the seat unconsciously.

Castiel's stubble-lined chin and dry, pink lips kept replaying in his mind like a needle stuck in the same groove on an old vinyl record. Dean licked his lips, then gently shook his head.

Angel or Demon, it didn't matter; Dean didn't need a boner for whatever Castiel was.

Dean couldn't help but tap his fingers on his leg as he anxiously waited for Sam's motel room door to open. Bobby had knocked, and they waited, and Dean wasn't sure what he was going to do if his baby brother wasn't okay.

As it turned out, Sam was okay. Better than okay-he even tried to stab him with a knife and Bobby had to convince him Dean was the genuine article.

Dean didn't stop grinning, even when Sam hugged him hard enough to almost crack a rib. For a moment, all the weird shit he'd experienced was worth seeing his little brother misty-eyed with happiness at his return.

He chuckled awkwardly when they broke apart and Sam examined him. He even went so far as to grab the hem of Dean's t-shirt and lifted it to look at his unblemished abdomen. "Yeah, I know. I look great!"

"Sam, you have any idea how Dean came back?" Bobby's question was accusatory.

"It wasn't me," Sam said, crossing his arms. "I mean, I tried, I'm not going to lie. But no demon would deal. Do we need to kick the hornet's nest on this one?" It wasn't a real question-it was a wish that something good had happened for no reason.

Everyone in the room knew that Winchester luck was never that good.

Dinner was delivery pizza and a 6-pack from the nearest gas station. Sam told them that some demons had been spotted in town, so they agreed to deal with them tomorrow. Dean hadn't figured out how to bring up the weird hallucinations, so he decided to wait to see if Pamela could figure out anything first.

After dinner, Sam passed out while watching a murder documentary. It was weird how he could find serial killers fascinating-they were kinda serial killers. Sort of.

It seemed like a redundant hobby to Dean, but hey, not everyone could love the intricacies of Asian cartoon porn.

The agony was endless.

The smell of sulfur infused with the stench of death and fear and fire. It was a noxious miasma that kept him from ever gaining a full breath of air. And when he did, it felt like his lungs were full of rusty iron nails.

He couldn't remember his name or what he had done in the years leading up to his death. He barely remembered the hellhounds that had ripped his sorry ass apart to fetch his soul.

The only thing he could remember was a face and a name: Sammy, his little brother, for whom he had sold his soul so he could keep fighting the good fight.

There was agony, and he didn't know how long he would fight the offer of a knife. The pain would stop once he promised to inflict it on another. So far, he had spat it back in the blackened face of his torturer every time.

He knew that eventually, Sam's memory would fade, and he would have no reason to reject the offer again...

Dean jerked awake, pain radiating down his arm, heart pounding. He had fallen asleep hunched over the tiny table, Sam's laptop open in front of him, the screen dark. His t-shirt stuck to him from the sweat he was drenched in-he shivered from the cold air of the A/C.

It was his shoulder that worried him-he hissed because it felt like it was on fire. Jerking up the sleeve, his jaw hung open for a few seconds. The damn handprint was glowing and radiating heat like molten metal in a blacksmith's forge. Dean was certain if he touched it, the skin would literally burn him.

A few silent tears trailed down his cheeks but he wiped them away with the back of his hand. Scanning around the dark motel room, he glanced at the snoring lumps that were Sam in the bed and Bobby on the couch. Despite the rattling in the old A/C unit and the cars zipping past on the road beside the motel, it was quiet.

There weren't the screams of the damned ringing in his ears, so it was already an improvement.

Dean tip-toed to the bathroom to splash water on his face. Once he stuffed his wallet and his new phone into his jeans pockets, he pulled on his boots and slipped outside.

There were few cars in the motel parking lot, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the black 1967 Chevy Impala gleaming in the night. He approached with a grin and ran a hand over her smooth, shiny hood. Wow, Sam's actually keeping up with the buffing and waxing. I'm impressed.

He wished he'd brought a beer or something, but he had still been trembling from the dream-no, the memory-and had forgotten.

There was no one outside so he leaned on the hood. His right hand absently cradled his sore shoulder, while he cradled his weary head with his left.

When Castiel appeared a few steps in front of him Dean didn't even jump.

"You were having a nightmare," Castiel explained quietly, his right hand lifted up as if to gently touch where the handprint lay, under Dean's hand. "I was trying to remind you that you weren't trapped in Hell anymore."

Before Castiel could touch him, he pulled back-Dean left a strange sense of loss.

Gathering his nerve, Dean blurted out, "Bobby thinks you're an angel." He crossed his arms and watched the man before him. "So, wanna give me the low-down on what you actually are?"

Castiel's eyes widened and they flickered away from Dean. "I thought it would take you longer to figure out my identity."

He shoved himself from the car's hood and away from Castiel, scrutinizing him. After a few seconds, Dean stammered: "I..wait...what? Angels don't exist!"

"On the contrary, Dean. We may not have walked amongst you in centuries, but we've always existed."

With a sudden easiness, Dean crossed his arms and declared smugly: "Alright then, prove it. Prove you're an Angel; should be easy, right? Got wings, a harp?"

Castiel glared at him. "I don't have a harp."

When Dean made a dismissive hum, Castiel sighed and closed his eyes.

"Fine."

He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders under the black trench coat. His head tipped down and as his eyes cut back up to Dean's they were suddenly glowing with an alien blue light. A crack of thunder portended the appearance of two giant wings that unfurled from Castiel's shoulders.

Dean stumbled back several steps, hand over his open mouth as he stared up and up.

The wings stretched easily twelve feet straight up and at least fifteen feet out both sides. Some of the flight feathers were as long as Castiel was tall. Every feather looked like glass yet they moved fluidly when the wings opened to their full spread. The feathers were black like smoky quartz though the edges became an omber cascade of purple, pinks, and blues. A shimmering line of neon green made him think of the Aurora Borealis over the Arctic sky.

The air was sucked out of Dean's lungs as his jaw hung open in shock, eyes bulging. There were many feathers missing or broken and bald in places. Even with every feather ragged with burnt, blackened edges, they were still-

"Awesome," Dean finally whispered, in every sense of the word.

Another thunderclap and the wings were suddenly gone, as well as the glow from Castiel's eyes. "Proof enough?" He managed to sound both haughty and fatigued.

The hunter got to his feet warily, eyes darting back from Castiel's face to the empty space behind him where the wings had been. "Okay," he started, licking his lips. "If you're an angel, what were you doing in Hell, huh? Take a wrong turn at Albuquerque?"

Castiel squinted. "No...I was trapped there, same as you."

"Trapped?" Memories of various movie plots crossed his mind. He absently rolled his sore shoulder. "Like a Fallen Angel, or something? Did you used to work for Lucifer?"

"I was never on Lucifer's side," Castiel snarled. Just as quickly, though, his shoulders slumped as his anger drained away. "But in the end, Heaven was not what it claimed. I was damned either way," he said forlornly.

Dean motioned at Castiel's outfit. "So, what, you went native? What's with the crossroad's demon look?"

Instead of answering, a frosty bottle of Dean's favorite beer appeared in Castiel's hand. He held it out towards Dean-the hunter stared at it like it was a snake about to bite him.

"I might be stupid, but I'm not that stupid. I know what happened to Hades' girlfriend. I'm not going back to Hell for a cold brewsky."

The side of Castiel's mouth curled up for a second. If Dean had blinked he would have missed it. "What would be the point in breaking you out, only to throw you back immediately? I'm offering this in solidarity," he explained. "We are partners now, Dean, per our agreement."

After a moment, he took the beer from the angel's hand. It was a real beer, the glass cold enough to make his fingertips ache. When he cracked it open and it smelled normal, Dean gulped it down in a few practiced swallows. He carefully placed the empty bottle on the asphalt by his feet.

"Pulling you off the rack early has hopefully stalled the Plan. But there are still pieces on the board, and the game is far from over."

Pulling his trusted Zippo from his pocket, Dean started flicking it open and shut. The movement was soothing. It helped him think. "Pieces like Lilith, you mean? You can't just smite her ass?"

"Lilith is the final lock on Lucifer's Cage. Killing her opens the door."

Dean stopped flicking the lighter and blinked. "Are you serious?"

Castiel's brow furrowed. "Absolutely."

"I mean...we can't gank this bitch? She's killed good people, Cas, innocent people! She's-"

Castiel barked out a laugh so bitter it was enough to stop Dean's tirade cold.

"Sorry," Castiel said, shaking his head. When Dean stared at him, Castiel cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away. "It's, um...unimportant."

"You wanna let me in on the joke? I'm starting to feel left out."

Castiel shook his head "Maybe someday," he said cryptically. "But, we were discussing Lilith. The problem is, there's only one way to kill her, and we can't employ it."

Dean flicked the lighter open again. "Well, I assume you have a plan?"

The tufts of grass growing through the cracks in the asphalt were suddenly more interesting than Dean's face. "...I'm making up as we go," Castiel confessed to a dandelion.

Despite claiming to know so much, this poor angelic bastard was just trying to muddle through, just like him. It was comforting in a way-made Castiel more relatable.

The echo of large footsteps quietly jogging down the metal stairs made them pause. Dean watched as Sam came around the corner, looking down at his phone as he started towards the parking lot. A few steps later, he looked up and almost jumped out of his skin when he saw his brother beside the car.

"Oh, ho, ho. Where are you sneaking off too, Samantha?" Dean asked with a smirk and hands on his hips.

Sam recovered quickly and walked up, putting his phone away. "What're you doing out here?"

Dean turned to where Castiel had been standing, but the angel had poofed away when his back was turned. He slipped the Zippo back into his pocket.

"Couldn't sleep." Dean leaned down and picked up his empty beer bottle to show to Sam. "Sorry, I'd offer you a beer, but I wasn't planning on having guests at this impromptu tea party."

Sam shrugged. "Least it's a nice night." Sam was bereft of most Winchester layers since it was the middle of summer, wearing just a faded indie band t-shirt and jeans. Dean, who had walked the nearest trashcan to throw away the bottle, turned back to Sam with his eyebrows raised.

"You're seriously talking about the weather? Man, you just made whatever you're doing a thousand times more suspicious!"

Sam ran a hand through his hair. Dean noticed how much it had grown in the past few months. He was tempted to hold Sam down and shave him like a sheepdog. "I was just...going to go for a drive, try to clear my head. Not every day your dead brother shows back up on your doorstep."

"Well, I saw a midnight diner about a mile that way. We could go hit it up together." Dean playfully elbowed Sam in the side, grinning. "I'll never say no to midnight pancakes with my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother," Sam replied automatically. He seemed to think about it for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the Impala keys, and was about to unlock the driver-side door when Dean cleared his throat.

Loudly.

Rolling his eyes, Sam walked around and dropped the keys in Dean's open palm. Then they slid into their proper spots and closed the doors in tandem: Sam riding shotgun and Dean behind the wheel of his pride-and-joy.

His cooing was cut short when he saw Sam's 'modification.' Dean pointed at the iPod jack like it was the thing responsible for their mother dying on the ceiling. "What the hell, Sam? I said not to douche her up!"

Sam threw his hands up indignantly. "I thought it was my car!"

Dean ripped the iPod out and threw it into the backseat. Then, he motioned for Sam to give him the busted-up shoebox of yellowing cassette tapes. AC/DC's Back in Black filled the car; the bass of the music and the rumble of the Impala's engine made his spine tingle. He had missed that sound, the smell of the car's leather and his brother's aftershave. It really hit him right then, that he had escaped Hell, and was back home where he belonged.

As they drove through the city, Sam pulled out his phone and started texting rapidly.

"Where's the fire, Sam?" Dean teased.

"Letting Bobby know we're out," Sam explained, then slid the phone back into his pocket. Then, he just considered Dean for a moment. "What do you remember?"

Dean winced and ran a hand over his mouth. "I remember Lilith monologuing us to death. I remember the hellhound making me its chew toy." He took a steadying breath. "Then, uh, nothing, 'til I woke up in a pine box six feet under." Dean shot a displeased look at his brother and pointed at him. "I should kick your ass for breaking protocol-"

"I was going to save you, Dean," Sam cut him off. "Salting and burning seemed so final when I hadn't exhausted all of our options yet."

The elder Winchester just reached over and ruffled his brother's hair good-naturedly. "I said I should. You're like a starving dog on a bone when you get something in your head. You would've gotten me out, I'm sure of it."

His brother managed to look broth proud and pissed as he tried to fix his hair. Dean would never admit it, but the bitchface was a sight for sore eyes.

Dean pulled into the overnight diner off the highway. There were two other cars in the parking lot, and the restaurant itself looked newer than the usual dives they found themselves frequenting. The paint was fresh, all the lights were working, and no weeds grew through the cracks in the sidewalk. The bright neon signs, proclaiming they were 'open' and had something called a 'Full Moon Pancake Special,' tinted the parking lot red.

He parked the Impala at the opposite end from the cars, close enough to leave fast but without worrying about someone scraping up her paint job. As they climbed out of the car, Sam smiled at him. "It's good to have you back, Dean."

Concerned they were headed into dreaded chick-flick territory, Dean just winked at him "Yeah, me too, Sammy. Can't get pancakes down there, you know." He motioned towards the sign as they walked up to the doors. "What makes it a Full Moon Special, I wonder?"

Sam recognized the deflection and just shrugged his shoulders.

Despite being empty because of the late hour, they opted for a booth in the farthest corner, Dean sitting so he could watch the doors. Their waitress was about their age, and she gave Dean a strange, condescending little smirk that put him on edge. Still, she returned quickly with their coffees and food. While Sam ordered pancakes, Dean decided to celebrate his resurrection with the greasiest burger, the tallest stack of fluffy pancakes, and the largest slice of blueberry pie he could order.

"So, whatcha been up to?"

Sam's answer was cut off by the positively pornographic moan Dean let out around his burger.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't laugh. "You two, uh, need a room or something?"

Dean swallowed his food, then motioned for Sam to continue. "It's just...really good."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Been laying low, actually.". He carefully cut up his pancakes, but he seemed to be pushing them around the plate more than eating them. "After Lilith killed you, she tried to kill me. I was immune."

That made Dean pause as he brought his burger to his mouth, long enough for a dollop of ketchup to escape onto the plate. "Immune?"

"She tried to use that white light on me. Nothing happened. Before I could make a move, she took off. Been trying to find her while staying under the radar."

Dean chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "Guess...I'm glad for your freaky powers if they can protect you like that. I mean, I'd rather you not have freaky powers at all, but…"

Despite the perfect segue staring him in the face, Dean froze. Unsure how to bring up Castiel's warning, or the weird hallucinations, he just let the moment pass. They ate in companionable silence for several minutes before he leaned forward across the table and spoke quietly. "Let's just focus on the immediate picture. We'll deal with the demons here first."

Their waitress returned, but instead of coffee refills, she dragged a chair with her. She plopped down into the chair in front of them, predatory smirk back in full force.

Sam put his silverware down onto his plate and narrowed his eyes at her. "Um, can we help you?"

"Oh, I dunno. I thought you were looking for us?" Her eyes changed to solid black.

Dean dropped the last bite of his burger in shock when he caught sight of her true face. Under the human one she was wearing was a writhing, pulsating mess of black smoke that made him instantly nauseous.

Between one blink and the next, Castiel appeared behind the demon-he reached over her shoulder to wrap his long fingers around the front of her throat. With a graceful yank, he flung her into the wall across the room; she barely had time to hit the ground in a heap before Castiel was on her. Her body left a dent in the drywall when he held her aloft by her throat and slammed her into it.

The demon hung there, legs kicking and hands flailing, but she never once made contact with Castiel's hate-filled eyes. She instead begged Dean and Sam: "Let me go, put me down!"

"Dean, Sam, get out!" Castiel's voice brokered no argument.

Dean jumped up, grabbed Sam's arm, and hauled him to his feet. "Sam, go! Cas said run!"

Sam's eyes darted back and forth between his brother and the demon choking on the wall. "Dean, there's nothing there!"

Dean looked back to see Castiel still holding up the demon like she weighed nothing. Castiel's grip tightened, and she choked on a loud cough. He placed the palm of his other hand on her forehead. She writhed and screamed in pain as white light flooded from her eye sockets and open mouth. When the light disappeared, her eyes were burned out.

Dean and Sam turned back to find a possessed chef barreling towards them, eyes black and lips curled in an inhuman snarl. Sam pulled out the demon-killing knife and Dean ducked down, grabbing the man as he went by and shoving him into the back of their booth. The guy fell onto his back with a loud thud, which allowed Sam to drive the knife into his stomach before he could recover.

As Sam stepped back, everything seemed to slow down-a teenager with black eyes, probably the dishwasher, had lunged for Sam's back with a cleaver from the kitchen in his hand.

Deja vu hit Dean like a truck. His mind replayed a memory of a muddy town, a different blade about to take his brother away.

"Sam!" Dean barely had time to think of his brother's name before Castiel reappeared between Sam and the incoming demon. Castiel grabbed the kid and slammed him onto his back hard enough to crack the floor tiles underneath. Again, Castiel shoved his hand to its forehead, and the kid's high-pitched scream echoed around the diner. The screaming only stopped when there was nothing but a smoking corpse left.

Sam stumbled backward, eyes and mouth wide in the realization that something had saved his life, something he couldn't see.

"Dean, what is going on?" Sam demanded. Dean shook his head, trying to keep his burger down instead of letting it join the demons on the floor.

Castiel stood up and motioned to the demons. "You and your brother must be protected. This is only the beginning, Dean. Go!"

Dean just nodded numbly as Castiel vanished. It took Sam shaking his shoulders for him to snap out of his confusion. "Dean, what the fuck was that?"

"We need to get Bobby ASAP. Could be more of them." They fled the diner after wiping down everything they'd touched.

Dean's pie was left behind, uneaten.

They got back to the motel a few minutes later. Dean pulled into a spot but Sam sprang out of the car before he'd even stopped moving. Sam slammed the car door and took several fast steps before he realized Dean hadn't left the car.

"Dean?" Sam walked back and tapped on the window. "Dude, come on."

Sam didn't react when Castiel appeared in the passenger seat, between Sam outside and Dean. A shiver went up his spine.

"You have to leave him, Dean," Castiel spoke urgently.

"What are you talking about?" Dean's breath was barely above a whisper. Sam was trying to pull open the door handle, but Castiel reached up and locked it.

"He's in danger around us, Dean. You have to separate to save his life."

"Screw you, Cas, I'm not ditching Sam!"

Sam banged his fist on the closed window, panic growing on his face. "Dude, let me in-Dean! Hey!"

"That's the problem," Castiel growled. His eyes were fiery when they locked into Dean. "You two are each other's weaknesses, and all of Heaven and Hell know it. Do you know somewhere defensible to regroup?"

Castiel's orders were concise and rapid-fire; he must've been a commander or a leader, at some point. Dean sat up a little straighter as if John were giving him orders once more.

Sam reached the end of his patience. He jerked his t-shirt off over his head and wrapped it around his elbow. "If you don't open the door, I going to break the fucking window!"

"It's not safe!" Dean finally yelled. Sam froze in confusion. "I'll meet you at Bobby's tomorrow! Go, Sam! Haul ass!"

Years of training instantly took over. Sam nodded his understanding before he fled back to the motel, head on a swivel as he kept an eye out for incoming trouble.

Dean put the car into drive and pulled away. He watched, his heart pounding, as his little brother's retreating form disappeared in the rear-view mirror.