Vessels

"Cas, if you're out there … look, just come back as soon as you can, ok?" Dean prayed into the empty night sky. Dean was exhausted from a long day of driving, but he waited a minute longer, hoping the angel would appear with his usual, dry, 'hullo, Dean', not a scratch on him as though he had only been waiting in the wings for Dean to call on him. But that didn't happen. They hadn't seen Castiel since Tucson when he was dispelled by a witch with some particularly nasty anti-angel warding. Rubbing the corners of his eyes, Dean tried not to worry. He returned to the motel room where Sam was already passed out on his bed, laptop still open next to him.

In the morning, they had work to do, bright and early. Over some bagels and convenience-store coffee, the brothers ran through potential victims in their current case. There seemed to be a feral hell hound targeting its own souls. Drawn to the scent of sin, it naturally brought them to lower Nevada. Tracking the creature was proving to be a problem, and narrowing down its next victim in this place was like finding a needle in a needlestack. Dean's vision blurred in-and-out the longer he looked at his laptop screen, so he shut it off and leaned back in his chair.

"I don't know, Sam," he said. "There's just too much ground to cover. We need some better way of tracking this thing."

"Yeah, well, once we catch it, we'll tell Crowley to bring it to the vet and get it microchipped, ok?" Sam replied, testy from a morning wasted.

"Hello, Dean," a deep, soulful voice from across the room made the brothers jump with surprise. A woman suddenly stood in the room with them. Her dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, her bright eyes under thick lashes studied the pair of them expressionlessly. She wore a blue cotton blouse, light grey slacks, and a knee-length beige trench coat. "Sorry it took so long, I, uh, had to find a new vessel," the woman explained.

"Cas?" Dean asked, and the woman nodded

"Of course," she said, as though it were obvious. Dean stared, and not at her eyes.

"Uh, you …Uh. What happened to your vessel?" he asked.

"It will be difficult to retrieve. This one was more convenient," Castiel explained.

"Well, it's a hell of an upgrade," Dean regained control of himself, tearing his gaze away

"So, where are we with the hellhound?" Castiel asked, picking up as though he had never left. Dean got to his feet and offered his chair as he explained,

"It's only targeting people at night, three victims so far, rich businessmen who stopped by Reno to, ah, blow off steam." Castiel accepted the chair, looking perplexed by the gesture.

"Ok. Have you checked with the crossroads demons? If there's a hellhound lose, they'll have an idea of where to find it, and they'll want it off their streets. They might help us," Castiel suggested.

"Is that a good idea? Summoning a crossroads demon for information?" Sam asked.

"This is Reno," Castiel said flatly. "You don't have to summon a crossroads demon at midnight here. A number of them have set-up shop." Sam shrugged acceptingly, and Dean nodded. Yeah, that made sense.

They made their way to a suburb just a short distance from the casinos. It was a seedy-looking street, even by Reno standards. There were a handful of pawn shops, personal injury attorneys, payday loan offices, and a timeshare office.

"There's definitely one around here, not sure exactly where…." Castiel assessed, getting out of the impala and looking around.

"Well, let's split up and start canvasing," Sam suggested, and that's what they did.

Dean walked away from his third pawnbroker not sure how many times he could laugh and say "just kidding," after asking if his soul was worth anything to them. Hopefully the others were having better luck. He found. Castiel talking to a group of men at the corner of a liquor store. The man she was speaking with wore a smug expression while his companions ogled her, nudging each other and leering. A fire ignited in Dean's chest, and he squared his shoulders, walking over to them.

"Hey, Cas, what's going on?" He asked, standing next to her and looking challengingly at the men.

"These locals know the area, I thought they could help is find who we're looking for," Castiel said.

"We were just helping the lady," one of the men retorted, sounding too inebriated for the middle of the day.

"Yeah, cool it," the man who had been speaking to Castiel added. "She came up to us, we're just being friendly." His eyes gave Castiel a slow once-over that made Dean's stomach turn.

"Alright, well, thanks, but no thanks, ok?" Dean said, he put an arm over Castiel's shoulder and started leading her back up the street.

"I wasn't done," Castiel protested, looking confused. "They might know where the demon is." Dean heard one of the men whistle provocatively as he and Cas walked away.

"The only thing those idiots can find is the bottom of a beer can," Dean said gruffly. "Trust me." Castiel looked at the hand still placed protectively over her shoulder, then back at Dean.

"Did you have any luck then?" she asked.

"Not yet, but we should find Sam. I'm starving."

Sam was still inside speaking to one of the personal injury attorneys, so Dean and Castiel waited for him at the car. Dean leaned against the passenger-side door, arms folded across his chest. Castiel sat on the hood, legs crossed.

"Are you ok, Dean?" she asked at length. "Did something happen after, well, while I was gone? You're acting strange."

"I'm not acting strange," Dean said defensively. "Like I said, I'm hungry."

"I know, but that wouldn't make you behave differently. If anything, that's normal," Castiel observed.

"Ok, maybe the new vessel's just, throwing me off a bit," Dean admitted. Castiel looked confused.

"Why?" she asked. "It's … still just me. Nothing is different." Dean let out an involuntary laugh at that. He could think of a few things that were very different.

"Look, man – or – Cas, whatever. Just drop it," Dean said. Castiel put a hand on Dean's shoulder, and Dean's muscles tensed. He took the smallest of side-steps, and Castiel's hand fell away.

"It makes you uncomfortable," Castiel said slowly, as though suddenly putting two-and-two together.

"No," Dean protested too quickly. "It just doesn't suit you, you know? You're my friend, and you're a dude, and this is just…" he didn't know how to finish the statement.

"I'm not though," Castiel said. "I was never a 'dude', just like I'm not a woman now. I'm just me. The vessel was never me. Why would it matter what vessel I'm in?" Dean sighed, exasperated and not really wanting to explain himself or give a biology lesson to a friggin' angel.

"I know it's still you, but, come on, did you not notice the way those thugs were looking at you? This is the human world where the vessel matters. And hormones suck, but they are very much real." Castiel pondered this, and Dean rolled his eyes.

Mercifully, Sam finally emerged from the attorney's office. He spotted Dean and Castiel, and jogged over, smiling.

"He's not our guy, but I think I know who is. His office is just up the street."

"Great, can we eat first?" Dean asked, but he was already walking around the car to the driver's seat.

They found a diner nearby. Dean ordered a burger and large coke, Sam ordered a veggie-burger and coffee, and when the plump middle-aged waitress asked Castiel 'and whaddya want, hun?' Castiel replied,

"Oh, nothing, thank you." The waitress looked at Castiel's trim figure with a somewhat mournful look in her eye and said gently,

"You sure, hun? The cook makes a good egg-white omelet."

"I'm sure, thank you," Castiel repeated. The waitress cast a somewhat reproachful look at Sam and Dean before departing, saying,

"Pair of burgers, coming up." When the waitress was safely out of earshot, Sam sniggered.

"She seemed concerned," Castiel replied.

"Maybe I should have explained to her that angels don't need food," Sam sniggered, and Dean laughed.

"She would have smacked you," he said, wiping a tear from his eye and laughing even harder at the confused look on Castiel's face.

After lunch and leaving a generous tip for their waitress, the trio followed up on Sam's lead, which led them to the demon they needed. He was surprisingly helpful. Castiel was right; it didn't benefit anybody to have a hellhound running lose. And the demon was more than happy to let the Winchesters stick their necks out to get the situation under control. He gave them a jar containing a "corrupted soul" that would act as a beacon to lure the hellhound into a trap, so all they had to do was set up the trap.

They had until nightfall, driving around town to find the perfect, secluded location. They chose a fenced-in parking beneath an overpass. They put up wards to block off the hellhound's exits.

"Ready to hunt the big bad wolf?' Sam asked, putting on his glasses burned in holy oil and passing a pair to Dean.

"The better to see you with, my dear," Dean said, putting on his glasses and reaching into the Impala's trunk for a long, silver angel blade. "And, Grandma, what a big knife you have."

They set the corrupted soul at the center of the mostly-vacant space and waited in ambush at intervals around the lot. An hour or so passed, but eventually, just like the demon promised, the hound arrived. It walked into their trap, and Castiel quietly stepped behind it, blocking off its only retreat.

The hound sniffed the jar and cocked its head. Dean tried to creep closer, tightening the grip on his blade. He could see Sam closing in from the other side, and the hellhound hadn't yet noticed them as it tried to figure out the strange disembodied soul in a jar. It took another sniff, and it's head whipped up, eyes locked on Dean. It lunged, giving Dean just a moment to throw himself out if its path. It's jaws missed him, his blade slashed at the air over its head. They squared off, and the beast suddenly noticed the trap it had gotten itself into. Sam approached from the side, wielding his own knife and forcing the hound to turn, putting its back to Castiel and the exit.

Sam took a stab at the hound that nearly lost him his whole arm. He managed to spatter himself with its black blood, and the creature howled angrily. Dean took a chance, but the creature turned suddenly on its heel and bolted directly for Castiel. She didn't get out of its way but braced herself for impact. Teeth and claws slashed, and Dean saw the glint of the blade before it plunged into the ghostlike flank of the creature. The angel's scream mixed with the hellhound's yowl and both landed with a thud on the ground.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, running toward them. The hound's form melted away back down to hell, leaving Castiel on the ground in a pool of black and red blood. Her shoulder and forearm were shredded, and she was clutching her good hand over the deepest gash. "Hey, you ok?" Dean asked, and she let out an agonizing groan in response. Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. "Ok, good."

"Let's get her back to the hotel," Sam said, and he hurried to retrieve the corrupted soul jar. Dean knelt by Cas, placing an arm behind her knees and the other around her torso. He lifted her from the ground and carried her to the back seat of the impala.

"There," he said, watching grimace with every movement. Dean could still feel his heart pounding in his chest. He wished he could bubble-wrap this dumb accident-prone angel. "Hang tight. We'll get you cleaned up in no time."

"Thanks, Dean," Castiel said. "I guess I'm not much good at this part of the job."

They drove back to the motel. Sam dropped them off and then went to return the soul, not wanting to hang onto anything that belonged to the crossroads demon any longer than they needed. Dean helped Castiel get to a chair in the motel room and rushed to get bandaging materials out of their extensive and always freshly-stocked first-aid bag. When he returned with the supplies, Castiel was trying to clean the wounds with a damp cloth. She had removed the trench coat and with a sharp cry of pain, she removed the shreds of a sleeve off of her blouse so that the entire side of her shirt hung open over a lacey black (and blood-soaked) bra. Dean cleared his throat, resenting himself for both for looking and for feeling so uncomfortable that he had to look away when he handed Castiel the bandaging materials. Castiel noticed and, surprisingly, turned self-consciously away from Dean to dress her wound. Dean let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and asked,

"You need anything else?"

"No, thank you. I'll be alright," Castiel replied.

"Right, I'm going to take a shower, then." And he retreated. By the time he emerged from the bathroom in a fresh outfit, Castiel was gone and Sam was back.

"Where's Cas?" Dean asked, and Sam shrugged.

"Gon when I came in. She didn't say anything to you?" Dean shook his head.

The next morning when the brothers returned from breakfast, they found Castiel standing by their motel room, their Castiel with his short dark hair, pale eyes, and continuously mournful expression. Dean beamed.

"Cas, boy is it good to see you again," he said, clapping Castiel's shoulder.

"Yes," was all Castiel said.

"What happened to, uh, the other vessel?" Sam asked. "I thought this one was going to be difficult to get back."

"It was, but that woman nearly died last night, and, I felt bad about it," Castiel explained.

"Well, wait around a minute. We still have to pack, but we can fill you in on our next stop," Dean said.

"You've still got to pack," Sam corrected him. "I can fill in Cas." Dean nodded and returned to the hotel room. Castiel was staring out at the open road pensively. Sam was about to launch into an explanation of where they were headed next, but saw the look in Castiel's eye and paused.

"What's going on?" he prompted.

"I forget how visual humans are," Castiel mused. "He said it was good to see me."

"Well, it is," Sam said, not sure where Castiel was going with this.

"He said it as though he didn't see me yesterday." He took a long pause before continuing. "I never thought much about the attributes of different vessels, the advantages or disadvantages. It's so counter-intuitive to an angel how much of a difference appearance can make."

"So, why did you really change back?" Sam asked. Castiel took a long breath.

"You and, and Dean matter more to me than anything, and this is how he imagines me. Not just me as I am, but me in this particular form. He is human, and for humans the vessel matters. Sam nodded animatedly, thinking he understood.

"And you didn't like that Dean treated you differently in the other vessel. Well, don't worry, you're not the first attractive woman to feel that way." He smiled, but noticed that Castiel just looked away … embarrassed? Sad? His brows drew together, and he finally said, cautiously,

"Or you preferred the way Dean saw you in the other vessel?" Castiel looked at him, and his expression answered Sam's question.

"Oh," Sam could only reply, and with no idea what else to add just repeated, "oh." The silence filled the few steps between them, making it feel like miles. Sam slowly recovered from the revelation and found his voice again. "You know, you could have stayed in the other vessel."

"It made Dean uncomfortable. I didn't like that," Castiel said with a shake of the head.

"Yeah, it would be an adjustment, but, he cares about you, Cas, more than anyone else. Maybe…"

"No." Castiel cut Sam off firmly. "The last thing I want is to make his life more complicated. He relies on me to be his friend when he is questioning everything else. And I cannot change how he is, but I can be what he needs me to be. And I will, because I love him." Castiel looked relieved to have confessed this to Sam.

"I won't tell him," Sam replied. "But I hope it's a choice you can live with." Castiel nodded.

"Thank you, Sam." He stood a little taller, and straightened the lapels of his trench coat. "Have a good drive. I'll meet you both in Vegas." Sam looked confused.

"Did I tell you we were headed to Vegas?" he asked. Castiel cocked his head to the side and adopted a sympathetically patient look.

"Sam, you're this close to the strip, don't have a new case, and Dean is driving. You didn't have to tell me you were going to Vegas." Sam laughed. Castiel vanished.