A/N: Shorter chapter. Sorry.

Three

Brooke hadn't spoken to Bobby, or Sam and Dean, or Castiel in weeks. She'd gone off after her last interaction with Castiel to do some solo Hunting. She had never felt better, or so unemotional. Her researching and tracking skills were on point; her hand-to-hand combat was better than it had ever been; she didn't have nightmares when she slept. The only thing that disturbed was the strangeness of the monsters she had Hunted—strange in that she had never seen their likeness before. Bobby had warned her to be extra careful the last time she'd seen him and she was starting to understand why.

Her cellphone rang. She glanced at the number, then brought it to her ear. "Castiel."

"Brooke… Hello."

She squinted. "You never say hello. It's just, Brooke, where are you?"

"I… know. But I said hello this time."

"Um… hello," Brooke said, and then told him where she was, pulling off the two-lane highway and into the dirt.

He appeared in the passenger seat. "I need you to come with me," he said.

"Right. Let's go." She placed a hand on his shoulder.

He stared at her for a moment. "The effects of muting your emotions are still there, I see," he mused.

"Yes," she said. "Are we going?"

"We're going to see Dean, so I need you to—

"Not say anything suspicious about your plans to absorb half the souls in Purgatory? Right." She nodded. "Got it."

Castiel's mind was working, and he seemed like he was about to say something, but he thought better of it. Brooke blinked and they were standing in a motel room.

Dean, who had been facing the other way, turned around and saw them. He glared at Castiel. "Are you kidding me?" he snapped. "I have been on red alert about Sam, and you come for some stupid horn?"

Brooke hand was still on Castiel's shoulder, and she could feel him sinking into himself, pulling back from Dean's harsh tone. Brooke had never known Castiel to shrink from anything or anyone, let alone Dean Winchester. Dean had always yelled at and berated Cass, but the angel could go toe-to-toe with him. But, apparently, not this time.

And that was when Brooke realized that she was here as… moral support. Castiel's guilt at lying to the Winchesters was laying heavily on him.

"You asked me to be here, and I came," Castiel said to Dean.

"I've been asking you to be here for days, you dick!"

A part of Castiel shattered at the insult.

Brooke, still mostly emotionless, felt the Grace in her blood flare up. Emotionless or not, she and Castiel were bonded, physically and mentally, and, with the ice over her heart as it was, she did not have the patience for Dean. She took a threatening step toward him, throwing one hand up in front of Castiel as if to protect him from the Winchester.

Dean stared at her. "And where the hell have you been?" he demanded. "I thought you were Hunting with me and Sam now!"

"You wanted me with you, you woulda called me," Brooke said, her voice low.

Dean looked like he wanted to say something, but Castiel had moved behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and the Grace in her blood calmed.

"I didn't come about Sam," Castiel began, "because I have nothing to offer about Sam."

"Well, that's great," Dean replied, "because for all we know, he's just gift wrap for Lucifer."

"No, he's…" Castiel shook his head, and then eyed Dean's empty glass. He turned and picked up the bottle behind him on the table and poured more alcohol into Dean's glass. "He's not Lucifer."

"And how do you know that?" Dean asked.

"If Lucifer escaped the cage, we'd feel it."

Brooke stood silently, her arms folded over her chest, keeping her eyes mostly on Dean, lest he decide he wanted to go toe-to-toe with Castiel again.

"What is wrong with him?" Dean asked, staring at Castiel.

"I don't know, Dean. I'm sorry." As the angel lied directly to his face, Brooke could feel more of his resolve slipping.

Keep it together, Castiel, she said to him, silently.

"What happened to you, Cass?" Dean said, quietly, shaking his head. "You used to be human, or at least like one."

Castiel shook his head, turning away, unable to look at Dean any longer. "I'm at war," he said, trying to explain without truly explaining. He leaned on the table. Brooke placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him her strength. Silently, he acknowledged the gesture, then said to Dean, "Certain… regrettable things are now required of me."

"And Gabriel's Horn of Truth? That's a real thing?" Dean asked.

Castiel turned, suddenly, and was all business. "You've seen it?"

"I think it's in town. Something's forcing people—

Castiel vanished.

"Oh, well…" Dean said, bringing the glass up to his lips. "You're welcome!" He glanced at Brooke, who was still there. "Where'd he go?"

Brooke shook her head at him to indicate that she didn't know.

A second later, Castiel reappeared, behind Dean. "It isn't the Horn of Truth," Castiel said, as Dean choked on his drink.

"What are you talking about? You were gone for, like, two seconds. Where did you look?"

Castiel stared at him. "Everywhere," he said.

Dean blinked. "Right. Well, nice seein' ya, anyway." He gave Castiel a fake smile and turned away, his shoulders hunched.

Brooke forced herself not to sigh dramatically in his general direction.

Castiel stared at his back. "Dean," he began, his voice gentle.

"What?" Dean snapped.

"About your brother, I—I don't know what's wrong with him, but I do want to help. I'll make inquiries." Castiel walked over to Brooke and gripped her shoulder, teleporting them back to her car.

He sat in the passenger seat silently, his head bowed.

"Castiel," Brooke said.

He closed his eyes, then squeezed them shut harder and rubbed them with the heels of his hands. It was a very human thing to do.

Brooke stared at him. "Why do I feel like I've become more of an angel than you, recently?" she mused. "You've gotten bad at hiding your emotions."

He glanced at her, but said nothing.

"You're doing your best, aren't you?" she asked, trying to cheer him up a little.

"What if my best isn't good enough?" he muttered.

Brooke stared at the roof of her car for a moment. "Then tell them what you're planning."

"I can't," Castiel whispered.

"Then you still feel like this is the best option?"

He looked at her, his face betraying days of restlessness. "It's the only option," he said.

"Right." She turned in the seat to better face him. "Then you gotta keep going. You gotta be the cold, unfeeling bastard who saved my life and then dropped me off at Bobby's without a backward glance."

Castiel was nodding, slowly. "Yes," he agreed. Then he looked up at her again. "I worry about muting your emotions like this. You're acting… like Sam."

"You mean the Sam you brought back soulless?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "That's how you gotta be, Castiel. You can't afford to feel right now. You've got bigger problems. And you should probably get out of my car before you draw Raphael down on both of us."

Castiel stared at her sadly, then steeled his heart. He gripped her shoulder for a moment, and she could feel him replenish that icy, muted feeling in her mind. He was gone the next second.

###

Brooke watched with clenched teeth as Castiel shoved his arm through Sam's chest, past his physical body, to go looking for his soul. The soul that she and Castiel both knew was not there. Sam's muffled screams filled her ears. She glanced up and away from him, though she kept her body facing his. Even with muffled emotions, it was awful to watch, and it made her glad that she could tell that much. It made her glad that her own soul was inside her body, where it belonged.

The belt fell from Sam's mouth as Castiel finally drew his arm out of his chest. Sam was sweating profusely, his face and neck shiny in the dim light.

"Did you find anything?" Dean asked.

"No," Castiel said, taking the belt from Sam.

Dean stared at him. "So that's good news?"

"I'm afraid not. Physically, he's perfectly healthy."

"Then what?"

"It's his soul," Castiel said, glancing at Dean. "It's gone." His blue eyes flicked to Brooke for just a moment, then away again.

They had to play this game carefully.

###

Brooke stood beside Castiel, quietly, in Samuel Campbell's private office.

Samuel turned in his chair, surprised to see them standing there, then he smiled at them. "So this is Castiel?" he asked.

The angel nodded silently.

Samuel turned his eyes to Brooke. He studied the tattoo on her left forearm. "And you must be Brooke," he said, and the way he said her name indicated that he was about a half-step from calling her Angel Whore.

She smiled brightly at him. "Yes sir," she said, resisting the urge to punch him in the face. The ice around her emotions didn't seem to work well with anger.

Calm, Castiel warned, silently.

Samuel's gaze traveled back to Castiel. "You're scrawnier than I pictured."

"This is a vessel," Castiel explained. "My true form is approximately the size of your Chrysler Building."

Brooke glanced at him with only her eyes, and a small smile pulled up one corner of her mouth. Don't worry, she said. You're big enough.

Castiel's head turned about an inch in her direction. If you're referring to the size of my—

"All right, all right, quit bragging," Dean said from the other side of Samuel's desk. He turned to Samuel. "So, you were dead, and?"

"And pow," Samuel began. "I was on Elton Ridge. Don't know how, don't know why. I got nothing to hide, guys."

"Well, you mind if Cass, here, double-checks?" Dean asked.

Castiel rolled up his sleeve to shove his fist into Samuel's chest, pretending to look for a soul.