Finally! It has been way, way too long since I updated this I know…X.X (and I know, most of you want To Reign In Hell more, and there WILL be more of that soon I promise, but it had been longer since I updated this so I wanted to get a new chapter up.)

I would say that I can't wait until the semester's out and I'm back at work for awhile, but actually, as far as my writing's concerned that's worse. O.O (so I guess this is a heads up now? Unless I defy what I've been able to do for the past 3 years, there won't be many updates over Christmas. I'm sorry, and I really will try.)

Again, Dean, Michael.

Even though he'd travelled with Cas several times, it hadn't really prepared him for what it was like to travel angel speed for real. If he'd thought it was bad before, it was nothing to how nauseating it was now. The whole experience was really giving him a whole new appreciation for what Jimmy had said about having felt like he was tied to a comet.

Your mode of travel sucks, just so you know.

Michael smiled, lips barely quirking up as brought one hand up to lean against the doorway.
Better or worse than flying, hm?

You know what, kiss my-

Oh, relax. He knocked on the door, soft, and Dean couldn't help but wonder why he was going through with the whole 'normal' charade.

Y'know, Cas doesn't usually bother with the doors. Of course, Cas also had no inhibitions about showing up 2 inches behind him in the bathroom, close enough that if he stepped back he'd be right against him. A brief spark of heat flared in his chest at the thought but he shoved it back quickly, tried his best to block the thoughts out. The effort hurt like a bitch and he was pretty sure it still accomplished nothing, but he couldn't help but try. Problem was, having the angel in his goddamn head it was impossible to really hide anything from him. True, Michael hadn't really been prying yet but that didn't mean he wouldn't, and there was plenty here that was no one else's fucking business.

Castiel also doesn't have to worry about upsetting you by showing up in your living room. Sam still sees me as his brother, and I assume he wouldn't be too pleased to have me just show up behind him. And you can stop wasting your energy, you can't hide anything from me. Don't worry though… He could feel Michael's amusement, warm and far too real. Feeling someone else's emotions in his own head was a whole other level of wrong, and he couldn't help but bristle at it. Whatever you may think of me, I don't take pleasure in ruining your privacy.

Sam came to the door then, and both of their thoughts pretty much slid to a stop. He hesitated in the doorway, and dammit, Dean could see the sharp pain in his eyes before he stepped back, his face shadowed farther away from the porch light.

Jesus, Sammy, it's ok, alright? It's ok… He couldn't help thinking it, couldn't help trying to say it even though the pressure that pushed back on him when he tried to get control was so strong he never had a second's chance of breaking through. No matter what Sam had done, they'd been getting better. Honestly, he'd been working up the courage to sit him down for a couple beers, tell him that he'd been wrong to say things could never be the same, that he wanted them to, and if they kept working at it, he was sure they were gonna be just fine. He'd been almost ready to say it, and now this….

I could always tell him. I wouldn't mind, Dean, and I'd-

The hell you will! He raged against him, furious, tried to ignore the pain of Michael forcing him into submission. He was getting pretty used to it, and that…that was something the son of a bitch had no right messing with. That's between me and him, you got that? Anything important I have to say to Sammy, he's not gonna be hearing it through you.

If that's what you want, leaving him wondering. Personally I'd think-

Well I don't give a damn what you think. Just keep your mouth shut about it, ok?

Haven't I told you enough times already that I'll respect your wishes on anything private? My mission here isn't just to meddle in your life, you know. I was only trying to help.

Even silent as it was, it was clear Sam had picked up on their argument. His eyes were studying Michael's expression, and he swallowed hard. "Is he…" His hand tightened on the door, his throat bobbing again as he tried to bring up the words. "Dean, are you ok?"

Earlier that afternoon Dean would've been willing to bet there was nothing that would make this whole situation just a little more bearable, but he would've been wrong. Sam talking to him and not at him, that made him feel just a little more human and a little less like a goddamn Buick or something. It definitely helped. Yeah. Yeah tell him I'm fine. And…and it's good to hear from him. Bored outta my mind in here.

He could feel Michael's agreement, and he couldn't help but be just a little bit grateful that dick or not, he at least didn't mind passing on messages. "He says he's fine, and that it's good to hear from you. Also, he's bored out of his mind." Michael chuckled a little at that, flashing a grin.

Glad someone finds that funny.

Sam actually almost smiled too, but his was different, almost broken. "Yeah. Yeah, I bet he is." He coughed, looked away and stepped back farther into the library. "C'mon in. Didn't expect you so soon. Bobby's asleep and I dunno exactly where Cas is. He'd gone out to take down some wards but I'm guessing since you guys are here that he finished with that already."

Michael stepped inside, reaching out to take the door from Sam and push it shut behind him. "He might be awhile. I'm fairly sure Castiel has no interest in having anything to do with me."

"He's upset. Can't say I blame him." Sam's words were short, a little hint of anger showing in them. He slumped down in a chair by the fire, kicked the leg of the other one to scoot it closer toward Michael. It was the only invitation he was gonna get, and Michael took it, settling easily into the chair, his eyes studying Sam.

"And you? Do you hate me, Sam?"

Of course he hates you, dick, now get to the-

Quiet. I want to hear it from him, if you don't mind.

Sam's jaw clenched and he shook his head once, tense. It was clear the fact that it was Dean's voice speaking was clearly still effecting him. Dean's anger flared but he kept silent, fuming. It was slow going, but he was starting to get the point that short of asking Michael to do or say something, nothing else he did in here had any value other than to set him back. It was infuriating, but if he was gonna get anything done while he had he asshole inside him, he was gonna have to learn to work with those constraints.

Sam was looking into the fire, carefully avoiding Michael's eyes as he spoke. "Castiel says you were supposed to be one of the good ones." He looked at him then, his gaze steady. "You're supposed to save the world, not destroy it like we thought."

Michael nodded, slow. "That's true, yes. And I will do my best, I promise you that."

Sam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes glinting bright in the semi-dark. "You're a little late to have me believing God gives a damn whether the whole world goes to hell or not, cause if he did, then he'd have made sure someone took me out before I went too far. Even if Dean couldn't do it, Gordan could've. Someone could've stopped this."

Dammit Sam, stop it, I don't wanna hear this shit! They'd talked about it too much, that year before he went to hell. He could still see it in his dreams sometimes, the way Sam had clung to him in that hotel room, begging him to promise, to give his word that he'd finish it if the time came. He could still taste his answer on his tongue, feel the weight that had settled heavier on his shoulders from that moment. He always woke from the dream in a cold sweat, shaking, but he never regretted the fact that he hadn't gone through with it. Even if it came down to the end of the world, he couldn't kill his own brother, not for anything, and he was damn tired of hearing about it.

"You're upsetting him." Michael's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper but Sam caught it, his head dropping in defeat. He took a breath, ready to speak, but Michael didn't let him, leaned forward in his own chair to shorten the distance between them. "You used to believe in God, Samuel. You had such great faith."

Sam laughed, weak. "Yeah, and look where it-"

"Your faith didn't get you here, Sam. Love did." His head snapped up at that, and for just a second Dean could feel Michael's response, something fierce and protective and oddly familiar, but he hid it from him quick. "I know why you did the things you did, and I can't say I approve but I do understand. And so does my Father. He doesn't hate you, Sam. And I believe in you. You could be the Antichrist, did you know that? You're supposed to be. But if you're strong, then you won't."

Sam swallowed, looked down at his hands again. "I think we've already proven that I'm not that strong. Not when it's important."

"You're wrong about that. You can do this, and I think you will." Michael settled back in the chair, leaning on one arm and facing toward the fire, still watching Sam out of the corner of his eye. " 'As it is written, Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated.' " Sam looked at him quizzically, and he angled his head just a little more in Sam's direction. "Romans 9:13. I assume you know what it's referring to?"

"The story of Jacob, the man that God named Israel." Sam's voice evened, settling into the easy rhythm of remembering research, and Dean couldn't help but be just a little amused. Honestly, he really was a walking encyclopedia. "He had a brother named Esau, but God favored Jacob."

"Not just that God favored Jacob, God adored Jacob. It was on Jacob that he built the foundations of his people. But most people, they don't look too deeply into the story. Jacob, you see…he was a younger brother." His eyes cut to Sam, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "And he stole the birthright from their father, took the blessing Esau should've had. He ruined his brother's life. He ran away, wrestled an angel, lived away from his family for years and married first by accident a woman he didn't love. By the time he returned to his brother he had a whole laundry list of sins, and he certainly wasn't done. Esau, on the other hand…Esau had always been the good son." Michael, paused, took a deep breath before looking back at the fire. For his part, Dean was shocked into silence. Sure, he'd skimmed the Bible before and he knew the parts that pertained to the job. Hell, he'd even heard this story told a couple times by Pastor Jim when he was a kid, but he'd never heard it told like this, never seen it laid out in a form that looked way too eerily familiar. There was silence from the space across from them, and he knew Sam was holding his breath, as shocked as he was. "But Jacob…God loved Jacob so much more. Do you know why that is, Sam?"

Sam didn't have an answer right away, and Michael didn't give him much time to think.

"God loved Jacob because of his imperfections, not in spite of them. Esau, he was a good son, and God cared for him, but our Father, he loves those of his children that need Him, and Jacob needed Him desperately. He doesn't want you to be perfect, Sam. He just wants you to be willing to try."

"He neglects to mention that sometimes trying gets you nowhere." Castiel's voice was rough, worn and heavy and tired, but Dean still responded to it, warmth diffusing through him at the sound.

Cas.

Michael turned to face the door, dipped his head in greeting. "Castiel."

"We didn't bring you here to lecture him, Michael." His crossed over to take a seat on the desk next to Sam, his eyes hard and cold as they stared Michael down.

"It was a discussion, Castiel, nothing sinister I assure you." He pulled himself up to sit up straight, eyes meeting Castiel's for a moment before flicking away. "Right. You both want in on this, then you should know before we start that it won't be straightforward. You already know this, brother." Castiel essentially ignored him, and he transferred his attention to Sam. "Lucifer is smart, and he won't be easy to find, but for right now, he doesn't have to be. We get at him however we can, and we try to stay one step ahead. There are things he'll be trying to do, and we need to be working to derail his attempts. We can't just on finding him and let everything else slide. This is a hunt, but our priority can't just be the end. The cases you're used to taking, if you focus just on the spirit you'll lose two, maybe three lives. If we focus just on finding Lucifer, he will end this with a body count in the hundreds of thousands before we've found him. I won't let that happen."

Sam stood, pacing by the fire. "You said…something about me being the Antichrist? Does that mean he-"

Michael shook his head, dismissive. "Don't worry about that. He might come for us, eventually, but I can take care of him if it comes to that."

"You say it like it's simple." Castiel spat the words out, furious. "Don't spare him the details, Michael. Tell Sam how your last fight with our brother ended, hm?"

Michael hesitated, licking his lips, and Dean felt just a little sick at what that had to mean.

This doesn't end well for me, does it?

It ends just fine. However the fight will be…difficult.

In other words, he's gonna tear us a new one before you kill him or trap him or whatever it is you're gonna do.

Essentially, yes.

Right. Really, the thought should've bothered him more than it did. Obviously, he wasn't looking forward to the pain but he was no stranger to it. 30 years on the rack in hell meant there was literally nothing he hadn't had done to him at some point or other. There were things he dreaded more than others, but he knew by excruciating experience he could withstand all of them, if he had to. He wasn't afraid, but he was grateful all over again that Michael hadn't accepted Sam's offer without talking to him first. Whatever his reason might have been.

"What's Cas talkin' about? What didn't you tell me?" Sam was closer, accusing, and he looked like he'd almost been ready to yank Michael up out of his chair, but he was still Dean to Sam, and the discrepancy was still new enough that the shock just barely kept him from it.

Michael held up one hand, holding off the questions. "As I told you before, Sam, Dean will be returned to you whole. I promise you that." He looked at Castiel when he said it, and though Michael didn't seem surprised when Cas looked away, Dean was, just a little. He'd thought a few hours away would have cooled him off a little, but the fury just hadn't lessened. Maybe it would've been the same if their places had been reversed, but all the same…it was still him in here, and other than one apology earlier that afternoon, Cas had hardly acknowledged him at all.

" 'Returned' whole. Meaning he won't be that way the whole time?" If Sam's voice broke just a little, he did his best to hide it.

Michael stood then, took a step closer. "I have to fight him, Sam. Lucifer. The devil. That's something that can't happen without…difficulties. For both of us."

"Oh don't spare him the details." Castiel stepped up to him, right into his space the way only Castiel could, so close he could feel his breath warm and hard on his skin. "I was there, Michael, I was there and I can still remember the blood, the sound when he almost ripped your spine out through your back and I can hear you screaming and you…" He ran out of steam, breathing heavy as he looked away. "You'll put Dean through that, and worse. And even if you fix him, he'll still have to have gone through all of that first."

He looked broken all over again, and the urge to hold him was sharp enough to be an actual pain. Jesus. Just…I can't stand it, just…touch him, ok? Just…something to let him know I'm in here, and I can handle it and…

I can do that.

He could see his own hand reach out, slow, and he itched to control it, to cup the angel's cheeks in his hand and kiss him until he could feel him relax against his chest, feel his heartbeat settle into something more normal and less frightened, his arms coming down to wrap around Dean's waist. It was killing him that he couldn't, but for now, touching him was going to have to be enough. Michael ran his fingers through his dark hair, gentle, settling in against his neck to squeeze gently against warm skin.

Cas jerked back like he'd been burned, eyes flaring angrily in the firelight. "Don't touch me, Michael. Don't."

He should've understood, really. He knew how pissed he'd been when Sam had been possessed, yeah, but this…even if he didn't want Michael here, this was different. He'd been the one to ask Michael to reach out to him, and even knowing it was Michael Cas was responding to, the rejection hurt. A hell of a lot, actually.

I'm sorry, Dean. He's just-

Don't. Don't try to… He longed to punch Michael, at least be able to really scream at him, anything at all other than his ineffective anger. This is all your fault. Don't act like sayin' you're sorry fixes anything.

"Couldn't you…shield him or something? I mean, I know you were trying to-"

No. Tell him no way. Keeping at least some corner of my sanity is worth a little pain, tell him that.

"He doesn't want that, Sam." Michael rubbed the back of his neck, a little nervously. You're very brave, you know. I've always liked that about you.

It's not bravery. I just know how to handle pain. It wasn't really a choice, just…something I had to develop.

You give yourself too little credit, Dean. You could have broken much sooner than you did. You are brave.

"He wants to do this. All of it. But we shouldn't even be worrying about that now, because that battle is months away from where we're at right now." He leaned back against the desk, and Dean flinched just a little more when Cas edged away from them again. "We can start looking for him, yes, but in the meantime I want to take on stopping a few of his plans. Perhaps the biggest of these is the unleashing of Croatoan."

That had Sam's attention. "The virus?"

"The demon. Who will then spread the virus, yes. I want to find him, and kill him first. That act alone will save thousands, if we can get to him before he really gets down to business." Michael settled his hands further against the desk, leaned back a little more comfortably. "His first act is always to shut down the phones so Sam, I want you looking for areas where the wires have gone down. It won't be an easy search but I'm sure you'll be able to figure out some systematic way to go about it, hm?"

Sam nodded, all seriousness. "Yeah. I'll get started now."

"No, you'll sleep now. You'll need your rest, trust me, because we're heading out as soon as we get a lead."

Sam hesitated, finally let his shoulders sag just a little. The poor kid was exhausted, Dean could tell. "Yeah. Ok. I guess I'll…" He bit his lip, held back whatever he'd been about to say and just walked away, disappearing into the hall. "Castiel, a word." With Michael in him like this, his eyesight and his hearing both seemed just a little amplified, and he'd heard the beginnings of rustling feathers that signified Cas was about to make a run for it.

"I have nothing more to say to you, Michael. I'll be here when they wake. In the meantime there are more useful things I can do than sit around here."

Michael whirled around, catching Castiel's wrist in an iron grip before he could get away. Dean growled angrily, had barely started to gather what strength he had left to fight Michael's hold before Michael pushed back on him, hard.

Calm down, I won't hurt him. I'm helping you.

Yeah, well I don't need your help. Just let him go, now, dammit.

I told you, calm down. I'm not hurting him.

Still, it didn't look that way. Castiel tried to jerk away, his eyes widening just a little when he realized there was no way he was breaking Michael's grip. "I said I wanted a word, Castiel, and I meant it. Sit. Down." Cas looked furious, trapped and angry but also just a little frightened, and Dean felt sick seeing it.

If you hurt him, I swear to God-

How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not going to hurt him!

Michael released his wrist slowly, fingers peeling back from his skin one at a time, watching to see if he'd hold his ground. He did, and Michael leaned back against the desk again.

"What is it, Michael? Angry that I told Sam the truth?"

"You hurt him, you know." He said it lightly, conversationally, and Castiel laughed, bitter.

"I didn't hurt him, Michael. You did that, when you took his brother from him."

"His brother is still right here, Castiel, and it's him I was talking about. You were upset, and he wanted to comfort you, and you hurt him, pulling away like that."

Castiel froze, the hard mask dropping lightening fast, his eyes squeezing shut in pain.

Dammit, can't you just let it go? Haven't you tortured him enough already?

Am I wrong? Because I distinctly remember feeling like my chest was cracking open when he pulled away, and I know I certainly wasn'tthat upset about it so unless there's someone else in here with us you haven't told me about, it's pretty obvious that he hurt you.

You know what, smart ass, did you ever stop to think that maybe my relationship with Castiel is none of goddamn business? As a matter of fact, none of my relationships are your goddamn business so why can't you just let him and Sam both deal with this however they hell they want and stop fuckin' poking at what hurts, huh? Better yet, we shouldn't have come back here to begin with, it's cruel, and you-

"I'm sorry, Dean." Castiel's voice cut through his tirade, and Michael looked over to find Castiel looking at him, the apology clear in his eyes. "It's just…I…" He laughed just a little, soft and weary. "It's strange, talking to you like this. For as long as I remember I've been able to talk to my Father without seeing him but talking to you when I can't really see you it's…" He swallowed, slid his hands into the pockets of his trench coat and hunched his shoulders, thinking. "I…wanted you to touch me, because I know that normally, you would have. But things are different now, and I feel…guilty for wanting that from you, when it isn't just you." He licked his lips, his eyes narrowing as he studied the floor. "I hate him. And I love you." His voice softened on that, wrapping warmly around words Dean hadn't yet had the chance to really hear him say. "I've lost my faith, Dean, and I don't…I'm not sure I can ever get it back, now. I was so sure my Father would never do this. Not…not when it was the only solution I didn't want. Was so sure my friend would never betray me that deeply." He twitched just a little at that, his eyes almost cutting toward Michael, though he managed to keep them stubbornly down. He took a breath, his voice strengthening. "I've been cut off from Heaven for awhile, but I'd adjusted to the silence. I still prayed, and I still believed. But now I can't, and I have never felt more alone. And I understand you might hate me for it, but I'm not sure I can do this." He paused, seemed to shrink in on himself just a little more, his voice small and wounded all over again. "I'm sorry I hurt you. It's the last thing I would want."

With that, he was gone.

Michael didn't try to say anything to him, and for that he was grateful. It was a minute before he could gather everything in, pull his emotions under some kind of control. It was harder to do, trapped inside his own body like this. He couldn't reach in his jacket for some whiskey, couldn't throw anything, couldn't pull out the keys and go slide into the Impala and drive until he either decided to come home or found somewhere he felt like stopping. He couldn't even cry.

He cleared his thoughts, mentally shook himself and forced the whole conversation back. So that was helping, huh?

Dean, I-

Do me a favor, will you? Next time you feel like helping, don't.

I didn't think it would go like that. Truly, I didn't.

Honestly, Dean hadn't either. Still, he wouldn't blame Cas, but Michael…him he could blame. Just…just stay the hell out of things that are none of your business.

Michael sighed, reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the Camel box and his lighter.

Bobby doesn't like smoking in the house.

Then I'll go outside.

He hesitated, not wanting to ask Michael for anything. Still, he knew by the way Michael hesitated that he could already tell Dean had a question. He hated not being able to keep a single fucking thought to himself. Just…check in on Sam. Make sure he's sleepin'. He keeps havin' nightmares.

Yes. I will.

Castiel pulled his collar up against the cold, his breath clearly visible in the frigid New England winter air. When he'd left Bobby's he'd had no clear destination in mind, but he'd regretted his words the minute he'd been out of the house. Not only had he managed to hurt Dean once, he was fairly certain he'd done it again, maybe even worse. If he kept this up, he wouldn't have to worry about what Michael was doing to Dean. He'd manage to do plenty of damage himself.

Alone and hating himself for his failings, there'd been only one thing he felt like doing, something he'd always told himself he wouldn't do. Still, he'd stuck by the rules and they'd gotten him nowhere. If he was fallen, adding a few more sins to the tally wouldn't make too much of a difference.

So he settled in on the park bench and waited, making himself unnoticeable with what powers he had, his heart lurching into his throat when the one he was waiting for finally made an appearance, coming around the corner with his hands shoved into his leather jacket, his head low. He looked around, sat down on the low wall himself and pulled a flask from an inside pocket, taking a pretty deep drink.

"Merry Christmas."

He choked a little when Cas spoke, pulling the bottle down and wiping the back of his hand across his lips before he turned to face him. "Startled me, man, I didn't see you."

His green eyes were dull even here so close to a streetlight, and Castiel smiled at him, just a little sad. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged, grinned back. "Nah, it's cool. Merry Christmas, yourself." He held the flask out, questioning. "Want some?"

He cocked his head, a little surprised by the offer.

"Go ahead, I know you need it."

He took it then, let his tongue brush against the lip of the metal, tasting a hint of what he craved just before the whiskey burned across his tongue. He lowered it slow, handed it back and felt his hand burn when their fingers brushed. "Thank you. I do…need it."

"Figured. I mean, why the hell else would you be out here on a park bench in middle-of-nowhere New York on Christmas Eve? Less one of those houses over there is yours and you just wanted some fresh air, and even then I'd say you were probably havin' some kind of family trouble."

Castiel laughed, soft, and he turned just a little on the bench to face him better. "No, you're right, I'm not from around here."

"Well, that makes two of us."

He took another drink, and Castiel took the chance to ask him a question. "What brings you here, hm?"

He hesitated, tapped the flask against his knee. "Cause it's about as far as I can get from Palo Alto." He held out his hand and Castiel took it, felt the warm strength in his grip. "Dean Winchester."

"Castiel…Singer." It was the only name he could come up with on such short notice, but luckily Dean didn't seem phased by it. He let out a sharp breath, watched it fog up in the air. "So…what's in Palo Alto?" Dean just might need to talk about it, and if he didn't…well, he was Dean. He'd find a creative way to change the subject.

He smiled just a little, and the sadness in it was enough to make Castiel's chest ache. "M' brother." So he did want to talk about it. Maybe. "He's going to school there and he's…he's smart, you know, real good kid. It's just…he just wanted to get away from the family. Make his own life, and…and he deserves that, if he wants it."

He trailed off, and Cas picked up for him, his hand tightening on the back of the bench against the urge to pull Dean into his arms. "But you miss him."

"Like you wouldn't believe." He smirked, played it off, but the honest hurt was there, and Dean quickly took another drink, held the flask out to Cas. "Here. I got plenty."

He thanked him quietly, took it from him and took a much smaller drink, silently refilling it with a thought. Not approved use of his powers, certainly, but at this point he was far beyond caring. "You should call him. I'm sure he'd love to hear your voice."

Dean shook his head, let out a sharp breath. "Nah. Sammy, he…he'd just think I was calling to give him a hard time about not being with the family for Christmas."

"You might be surprised." No matter how many times he'd been taught that the past could never be changed, he couldn't help trying. Dean was hurting, and even if that wouldn't have been enough to make him try, he knew Sam was too. Still, he wasn't surprised to see Dean shake his head.

He shifted, faced Cas with an easy smile. He was masking, sure, but he was also clearly at least a little drunk already. "So. What brings you out here?"

"My…" He hesitated, held a few different words in the back of his throat before he settled on the one that came easiest. "Lover."

Dean raised the flask in salute, chuckling softly. "Ah, I knew it. You have that dejected look."

"Do I?" He laughed with him, surprised at how good it felt. Even if Dean didn't know him, he felt better just being with him.

"So…bad breakup? Or just a fight?"

"Neither." He looked away, eyes casting over the trees. It would snow, tonight, and when the spirit that haunted this little New York town every New Year started its work days later, Dean would be cursing that frozen ground for how long it took him to dig up the grave. But he didn't know any of that now. "He's…not himself." As close as he could to the truth, but he still felt like a liar saying it. Dean was Dean, just like he always had been.

"You try tellin' him that?" This Dean hadn't skipped a beat hearing Cas say it was a 'he', and that confirmed just what Dean had told him before. He'd always been open to swinging both ways, when the right guys came along.

"He's…difficult to talk to at the moment." Also true, and also still a lie. He hadn't really wanted this to come up.

"Not to stick up for the guy if he's an ass or anything, but maybe he doesn't know what he's doing wrong, you know? Cause I know I've definitely been a dick before without even realizing just how bad I was actin' so…"

Castiel nodded, looked down at his own hands. "I'm sure he has no idea he's done anything wrong." Because really, he hadn't. Not a thing. And that was what it made all the worse.

Dean had edged just a little closer to him while they were drinking and he elbowed him in the side then, gentle. "Well, what are you sittin' out here for, then? Go talk to him." Castiel could feel Dean's eyes on him and he looked up, mesmerized by soft emerald green. "Nice guy like you, I'm sure he knows how lucky he is." Dean's charm was practically legendary, and though Dean had pursued him, it had been in earnest. He'd never had that kind of casual flirting directed at him before, and he felt his cheeks flush just a little under Dean's gaze. He could understand perfectly why Dean had never had any problems finding someone to come home with him. He was charming, yes, but there was a sincerity to his kindness that made it all the more alluring.

They were close, and he ached to kiss him, but even so he knew he couldn't. This Dean was hurting, missing his brother so much it was a constant weight on his chest and even if Cas managed to get Dean to take him home(which was half of what he'd come here for, whether he'd been willing to admit that to himself or not), it wouldn't be the same. He'd be a stranger in Dean's bed, nothing more than a potentially good lay and that wasn't what he wanted. He took another breath, let himself soak in Dean's presence for just a moment more.

"Thank you for the drink, Dean. And the advice." He smiled for him, let his hand brush Dean's shoulder as he stood up. "I hope you see your brother soon."

"Yeah. Good luck, man."

He forced himself to walk away, slipping easily back through time as soon as he was out of sight. Whatever comfort he'd found sitting next to Dean was already gone. He was in the junkyard alone, the South Dakota fall air feeling positively warm in comparison to where he'd just been. The cars creaked in the wind, and through the window he could see Michael sitting at Bobby's desk, head bent, reading by the light of the fire.

His chest tightened, and before he knew it his wings were out again, flapping against the breeze as he took off.

Once I started writing this one, it flowed really well, which was great, because I had intended for things to go differently, but then they went this way, and I like it better, lol

Hope you guys enjoyed it! ^^