I just had to drive from one end of the state to the other, and then back again. I can't form intelligent thoughts right now.

Friday, September 19th, 2008

Pontiac, Illinois

Dean was still picking little pieces of glass out of his hair and trying to wipe his face clean as Bobby speeded down the main road. As Dean had easily imagined, the duct tape did nothing to keep the mirrors and windows from shattering. When he finally got to his senses, there was glass all over the ground and he had various cuts and scrapes down his body. The worst one was on his arm, where he had fallen on top of a pile of shards in those few moments where he lost touch with reality. Bobby had patched that one back up with a bit of gauze and declared the rest of Dean's wounds as being "not serious" before they headed off on their way.

Where were they going? That was a good question. When he noticed Sam wasn't around to stop him, Dean told Bobby to get in the car and start driving. He was going to act, find out what this thing was, once and for all. With any luck, they'd have answers. Dean could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but he wasn't sure if it were from anxiety or excitement. Regardless of what it might be, the promise of answers outweighed everything else he was feeling.

"How you doing, kid?" he heard Bobby ask him through the darkness. Dean threw the rag he was using down on the console beside him.

"Aside from the church bells ringing in my head, peachy."

Dean then directed his attention to the cellphone he had in his lap. Picking it up, he had it open and dialing Sam's new number within seconds. Not only had Sam mysteriously gone missing after Dean's interrupted nap, but they found that Baby had, too. They didn't want to waste time, so they took Bobby's car as they set out on their little mission. Still, Dean wondered where his little brother had gone.

It took two rings for Sam to pick up.

"Hey."

"What are you doing?" Dean asked without preamble.

"Couldn't sleep," Sam explained. "Went to get a burger."

"In my car?" Dean questioned.

"Force of habit, sorry," Sam said. "What are you doing up?"

Dean didn't hesitate.

"Well, uh, Bobby's back," he said. "We're going to grab a beer." Bobby shot Dean a questioning look from across the car, but Dean held up his index finger to say, "give me a minute."

"Alright," Sam said. "Well, uh, spill some for me, huh?"

"Done," Dean said before quickly concluding the call. Bobby glanced at him with a confused look as he flipped the phone shut.

"Why the hell didn't you tell him?" Bobby asked.

"'Cause he'd just try to stop us," Dean explained.

"From what?"

"From summoning this thing." Glancing over, Dean saw that Bobby's face had fallen blank with disbelief. "It's time we face it head-on."

"You can't be serious," Bobby said.

"As a heart attack." Bobby gave Dean another questioning look. "It's high noon, baby."

"We don't know what it is," Bobby pointed out. "It could be a demon; it could be anything."

"That's why we gotta be ready for anything." Dean reached for the knife at his belt and slid it out of its sheath. "We got the big-time magic knife." He gestured behind him with his thumb. "You got an arsenal in the trunk." Bobby shook his head.

"This is a bad idea."

"I couldn't agree more," Dean said. "But what other choice do we have?"

"We could choose life." Dean frowned.

"Bobby," he said. "Whatever this is, whatever it wants, it's after me – that much we know, right? Well, I got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down again, or we can make our stand."

"Dean," Bobby said. "We could use Sam for this."

"Nah, he's better off where he is," Dean dismissed. He meant it. If he were wrong and this and this thing wanted him dead, at least Sam would still be around to ice the freak for them.

They found an abandoned barn a few miles outside of town and as soon as they arrived, Bobby set about spray painting as many wards and protection sigils as he could. He happened to have a lore book on him that contained quite a few rarer ones that could be useful. They didn't know what they were dealing with, after all. The smartest move was to protect against everything. Meanwhile, Dean had tasked himself with organizing their weapons.

"That's a hell of an art project you got going there," Dean remarked as Bobby started to walk over.

"Traps and talismans from every faith on the globe," Bobby said, setting his spray paint can down on the table Dean had been working at. "How you doing?" Dean gestured down the row.

"Stakes, iron, silver, salt, a knife," he listed off. "I mean, we're pretty much set to catch and kill anything I've ever heard of." Bobby sighed and shook his head.

"This is still a bad idea," he said.

"Yeah, Bobby, I heard you the first ten times," Dean remarked exasperatedly. "What do you say we ring the dinner bell?"

Bobby gave Dean a dissatisfied look, but nonetheless moved across to the other table where they had the ingredients for the summoning spell set up. He sprinkled the last few pieces in and began to recite an incantation in Latin. It was supposed to be able to summon anything, regardless of species, so it was their best bet for calling whatever it was to them. Once the incantation was done, all they had to do was sit back and wait.

Saturday, September 20th, 2008

Two and a half hours later, they were still waiting. Dean kept checking the time on his watch and watched as one day flipped over into the next. It was now 1:15 AM and his mystery savior had yet to make an appearance. For the fourth time since they started, Dean looked across the barn at Bobby.

"You sure you did the ritual right?" Bobby's glare said everything that words couldn't. "Sorry," Dean said as he spun the demon knife around in his hand. Under his breath he murmured, "touchy, touchy, huh?" Bobby said nothing to that.

Suddenly, the wind outside started to pick up. For a moment Dean wondered if they really were in for a storm, but then realized it was too abrupt, loud, and violent to be anything natural. It quickly increased to a pace that caused some of the loose metal patches on the roof to slam against the rafters. Both got to their feet, looking upwards for some indication as to what was causing the phenomenon.

"Wishful thinking," Dean remarked. "But maybe it's just the wind."

The lightbulb exploding behind them had to disagree with that. As did the other seven that followed it. Dean looked around, trying to find what could possibly be causing this, but the sudden lack of light made that difficult. Distantly, he could hear wood cracking somewhere. Automatically, his eyes went to the roof, but it still appeared to be holding itself together against the violent winds for the moment. A sudden burst of wind hit Dean's face and he realized that the sound hadn't come from the roof. It had been the sound of the door they had barricaded breaking open.

Despite the violent phenomena happening around them, the doors came open rather easily. The shadow of a figure appeared on the other side and started stepping closer to them. In the brief flashes of light, he caught from the overhead lamps exploding, Dean could see that the figure appeared to be that of a human man, but he knew better than to trust first appearances. In one quick motion, he leveled the shotgun he held at the thing that was approaching them. To his left, he could see Bobby doing the same. He could feel his fingers putting pressure on the trigger…

"You raised your little brother for love, you fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are."

Dean's gut jumped at the same time the gun went off. Again, the same dreadful, feeling was gripping his heart and lungs. Something was incredibly wrong, and he knew it. So, he did the one thing that he knew had a chance of fixing it – he kept firing the gun.

For a second, Dean just thought he and Bobby missed the first few shots, but as the figure drew closer, they saw that their shots had indeed hit their marks. The bullet holes that appeared in the man's trench coat were proof of that. Whatever this guy was, it was clear shooting him wasn't going to slow him down. Dean's eyes widened as his heart clenched again.

"You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know."

Dean tried to shake it off. This was wrong. He shouldn't be seeing things. He shouldn't be hearing things. He shouldn't even be in this barn right now. Deep in his gut, he knew he was meant to be somewhere else. It was a feeling he'd been pushing off for a long time, but suddenly he found himself being overcome by it, right when he had a dangerous supernatural creature that was apparently immune to gunfire approaching him. Boy, his emotional crises just had a great sense of timing, didn't they?

Fighting against the noise that was beginning to cloud his mind, Dean went to the table and reached for the Demon Knife. The only things he'd ever seen take a bullet – never mind six – and keep on walking were demons. Whatever it was, it had to be demonic. It just had to. So, Dean let the man get closer, keeping the knife hidden, but prepared to strike at a moment's notice.

That's when it hit him.

"You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell… Knowing you has changed me."

It's the same guy.

Dean's blood ran cold. His hand tightened around the knife, turning his knuckles white. He clung to the hilt of the blade like a lifeline. It was the only thing grounding him to what he was semi-sure was reality. He couldn't feel the rest of his body, it was lost somewhere in the ether.

"Who are you?" he heard himself asking.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." It took a second for Dean to register that the man had spoken, and it wasn't sourced from the memory/vision/hallucination/whatever it was he was experiencing. When it did, he was hit with the shock that the voice sounded the same – deep and like gravel – making it more apparent that he was being faced with the same person.

"Yeah," he forced himself to say. "Thanks for that."

In a combination of both instinct and reflex, Dean found himself shoving a knife into the man's chest. He'd somehow hoped that the action would make his feelings of dread and helplessness stop, but it proved to be for naught, in more ways than one.

Dean waited a second for the man's skin to glow with orange light; for him to let out a death cry and fall to the ground. That didn't happen. The knife remained stuck in the man's chest, but he was otherwise unaffected. Calmly, he grabbed the blade by the hilt and pulled it free with little effort. Once it was out, it clattered to the ground. Dean could only blink.

Bobby thought faster than Dean did. As soon as it was clear that the knife had no effect, he reared back a metal crowbar, ready to strike the man with severe blunt force right in his blind spot. The man shouldn't have been able to see it coming but somehow, he did. He blocked Bobby's strike with one hand, getting a firm grip on it and spinning around to face him. With the two fingers of his other hand, he brought them up to Bobby's forehead and pressed them directly to the center. In seconds, Bobby's eyes rolled back into his skull and he fell to the ground.

"Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you, I cared about Sam… I cared about the whole world, because of you."

The man stared down at Bobby's body, expressionless. Dean's gut twisted. The air in the room got thinner. Noise clamored throughout Dean's skull, so loud he couldn't even tell apart what he was hearing and what he was thinking. It was all one big indecipherable mess of panic and pain. He realized too late that the man's eyes were on him.

"You changed me, Dean."

"We need to talk, Dean." The parallel startled him. His eyes darted around the room, trying to look at anything other than the man in front of him. They settled on Bobby's motionless body on the floor, which the man seemed to take as a question. One that could only be answered with "alone."

Some sense must have come to him, because in seconds Dean was pushing past the man and getting down on his knees next to Bobby. He brought a hand to the juncture of Bobby's neck to search for a pulse but found nothing. If it were possible for his heart to beat any faster, Dean was sure that it would. Belatedly, he realized that his own increased heart rate could be part of the reason why he couldn't find a pulse for Bobby, but it was becoming clear that the rational part of his mind was left somewhere back in the pit.

Enraged, Dean looked back up at the man who had joined them in the barn. He stood at the table, flipping through one of Bobby's lore books casually, as if he hadn't just been shot at and knocked a person unconscious. (At least, Dean hoped he was unconscious.)

"Your friend is alive," the man answered, unbidden. Dean repressed a shudder at the eeriness of the man knowing exactly what he was thinking. Instead, he hardened his face and steeled his voice.

"Who are you?"

"Castiel." He didn't even look up from the book.

"Yeah, I figured that much," Dean said. "I mean, what are you?"

Another question – one asked by his own voice – echoed through his mind.

"Why does this sound like a goodbye?"

Dean swallowed hard, not sure which question he was more afraid of learning the answer to.

"I'm an Angel of the Lord," the Castiel present in the here and now responded.

"Because it is," the one that had been invading his thoughts the past few days said.

Dean's face remained cold, giving off no emotion as he tried to process both sets of information. Castiel regarded him similarly, until something clearly dawned on him. Afraid to find out where any of this was going to lead, Dean got to his feet.

"Get the hell out of here," he said. "There's no such thing." Castiel took a step towards him.

"This is your problem, Dean," he said. "You have no faith."

Out of nowhere, lightning began to strike outside of the barn. Loud booms of thunder accompanied it. Dean remained as stoic as he could, but it was a little hard when each bang made him want to duck for cover. However, his body remained rigid, and his eyes stayed on Castiel.

The strikes lit the barn up with an almost ethereal glow. At first, Dean wasn't sure what this guy was trying to prove, until a shadow began to appear behind Castiel. For a moment Dean glanced away from the man to try and find the source, but nothing in the room was big enough to cast a shadow like that. Then he realized that the shadows were unfurling, taking an almost tangible state. Dean almost balked.

Wings, he realized. Those are wings. He tried to keep his breathing even as Castiel affixed a hard look on to him. Outwardly, Dean didn't move a muscle, but inwardly his entire body pulsed with fear, pain, and rage.

"Some Angel you are," he said. "You burned out that poor woman's eyes." Somehow, Castiel found it in him to look at least the tiniest bit remorseful.

"I warned her not to spy on my true form," he explained. "It can be overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice… But you already knew that."

"You mean the gas station and the motel? That was you talking?" A part of him still questioned Skye's involvement with that, but Castiel nodded to confirm and for whatever reason, Dean didn't doubt him. "Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

"That was my mistake," Castiel said. "Certain people – special people – can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."

"And what visage are you in now, huh?" Dean asked. "What, a holy tax accountant?"

"This?" Castiel said, looking down at his body. Clearly, he was unbothered by the bullet holes and blood that marred his exterior. "This is… A vessel."

Just when he thought nothing could add to the noise ringing through his head, Dean heard alarm bells being raised.

"You're possessing some poor bastard?" he snapped.

"He's a devout man," Castiel said. "He actually prayed for this."

"Look pal," Dean said. "I'm not buying what you're selling. So, who are you, really?" Castiel tilted his head slightly.

"I told you," he said.

"Right," Dean said. "And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?"

Me? Why me when I've… Dean had tried hard not to go down that spiral. He knew he'd lose it if he did. Instead, he focused on what was happening in front of him. He focused on the way Castiel's eyes narrowed and he steepened the angle of his head tilt. Then the pieces clicked together, and he took another step towards Dean. Dean could feel anticipation building up inside of him, but what kind of anticipation, he did not know.

"Good things do happen, Dean," Castiel said.

"Not in my experience," he bit out.

"What's the matter?" Castiel asked in a tone that Dean felt was far too gentle. For the first time, he saw emotion soften Castiel's hard blue eyes. "You don't think you deserve to be saved."

Dean forced himself to take one quick breath. He didn't like the mind-reading thing that this "angel" seemed to be doing.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked shortly. Slowly, Castiel's posture straightened, and his eyes bore deeply into Dean's own.

"Because God commanded it." Dean didn't react. He couldn't. "Because we have work for you."

Whatever reality was real, whatever version of Castiel was standing in front of him, Dean didn't know. He just knew that he was suddenly face-to-face with a teary-eyed version of the same man, emotions thrashing, blending, and threatening to kill him all at once. Dean wanted to explode – and he was certain he did when he heard the next words come out of Castiel's mouth.

"I love you." A hand on his shoulder, a heart beating way too fast to even be real. "Goodbye, Dean."

That's when the world came to an end. He remembered nothing after that.

Thank you to And_Softheart, Little One, and READINGREADER for the comments on AO3, and also to flatdaysandstaticnights, Andressa_Snape, 3131934, and the three guests who left kudos! It really means a lot!

Only one chapter left in this episode! Hope everyone's excited! I also happen to be posting this on Jensen Ackles' birthday, so that's a good reason to celebrate!

Remember kids, try to plan your life better than I do.

Originally uploaded to FFN on 3/1/22.