Dean - Seven Weeks

XX

Seven weeks. Seven damn weeks as he hit the base of his hand against the steering wheel. Sam glanced over, face still all pinched up as the stress kept coming. Last lead was another bust with the grim information that she had been bleeding last anyone saw her there.

That near miss in Oregon, that feeling that maybe they had gotten closer to cornering her all puffed up in smoke as she melted into the horizon. If only they had told Bobby sooner instead of just being a chance phone call. If only they hadn't been a couple of states away. Then Bobby, after of course his ranting about how they were all idjits, told them about the number she had pulled. Wonky symbols in some creep's back, stab wounds, broken bones, leaving the guy half dead in the desert. Some babble about the perv seeing wings and glowly angel bits.

He didn't even know she could still do that, wouldn't admit to being disturbed by whatever the hell she had done.

Sun harsh against the black of the road as they rolled through meadow land. A rest area was promised and he took it – needing to just get out, to breathe in something that wasn't Baby or Sam stank. He was out, trying not to look as desperate as he felt. The more the days passed, the more screwed they seemed to be.

Disquieting thoughts that he may have to stop actively trying to hunt her down or he could lose Sammy too.

"Dude." Sam's voice was hesitant as Dean laced his fingers against the back of his head, staring up into the sky as the late afternoon sun heated his skin to just under scalding. "Dean, man, we'll think of a way."

"How, Sam?"

Listless he kicked the rear tire, debating if he had to take a piss or not.

It wasn't like she hadn't paid attention apparently. Something he should have been more keen on when she took to hustling like a second skin. The things she left were the things that could be traced – phones, stolen cards. A little note in his wallet and in their emergency cash fund that they had on hand that had read simply, 'I apologize for the theft'.

Who the hell says that?

"I think we should try another locating spell," Sam was saying closer now and Dean jammed his hands into his front pockets to keep them still. "Maybe make it more angel centric."

"Yeah."

There were only two other cars out here, much further down from them and he contemplated calling in help. Good old Guck hadn't said not to, hadn't stated implicitly that they couldn't tell anyone. Just that they were the only ones that knew where she was, that she had been sprung. Dean would bet she was all marked up with sigils, a chance that she had carved in even more and he shuddered, kicking the tire again.

A family down the ways with two laughing children were using one of the old beat up tables for a quick lunch. Something fond, remembering how him and Sam and dad had done just that years ago before Sammy knew all about things that roamed in the dark.

"Gonna take a leak."

Sam nodded, his face still worried and mouth tight as he rummaged in the trunk for something.

It was almost dark due to his eyes adjusting to the limited light of the bathroom. Some genius of this county appeared to have gone with natural light during the day despite facing the windows to the north. Mark one up for safety, Dean thought as he got his bladder under control.

He should be going back out to Sam but he couldn't as he pulled her note from his wallet. Folds all worn and becoming delicate as he stared at it all over again. The script was almost as fragile looking, like Mike had tried to remember how to write in English at all.

The damage that I have done to you will never be repaired between us. Try not to get eaten. Michael

Followed by those funny little shapes of their language. Dean tried to push back the bubbling, hysterical protestation that beings of celestial light didn't need no written language. They hadn't found a translation yet. Sometimes he found Sam up with some old book, stooped over in a dinky chair at two in the morning trying to find an answer with eyes half closed. Like figuring that out would solve the immediate crisis.

It was a terrible goodbye note he decided for the hundredth time.

Sam was leaning up against the car, idly eating some bag of chips he had gotten from one of the overpriced machines here. The ones they kept behind iron bars in case people got incensed in the middle of the night over munchies not being dispensed correctly. Or overly pushing getting cash needed for said munchies.

"So?" Sam asked, glancing over as he trotted back out.

"Got nothing. Probably time to page the cavalry."

"Cas?" his brother asked and Dean nodded. "Think that's okay?"

"Dunno. What I do know is that we can just be vague. Like real vague cause right now all we got is chasing our tail across three states."

A beat of silence and Dean knew what else his brother was thinking. A terrible thought and Dean wanted to trust their friend to not do something if he found out exactly who it was they were trailing. All the more reason really to keep from saying her name at all.

"Do it," Sam said finally and then smirked as Dean pulled his face into something he doubted was flattering. "You know he shows up for you."

"Fine." Dean sighed, pressing his hands together as though that helped with the whole praying shindig that he still wasn't comfortable with. "Cas, who art fluttering around somewhere we really need help. Like, it's a borderline emergency –"

"It is an emergency," Sam growled, whatever patience his brother had had almost leeched away.

"Fine, Cas, it is an emergency," Dean amended, not looking over. "We need some guidance. Amen."

A flutter and there stood the holy tax accountant, complete with crooked tie and molested hair. Those sharp eyes were looking around with slightly squinty eyes as if expecting a war to fall from thin air on them.

"Dean. Sam. Where is this emergency?"

And damn if he didn't sound a little peeved in his Cas angel way; all low voice guaranteeing a bitch out if someone wasn't getting stabbed in the next three seconds.

"Do you have a way to located an angel?" Sam asked as Dean shifted on his feet, kicking loose little bits of crumbly pavement with his boot. "Like something we could use when we don't exactly have anything of said angel and this angel is really, really warded."

"Like Fort Knox mated with the Swiss Bank type of lock down," Dean said and saw his friend's face wrinkle ever so slightly.

"Which of my brothers is in trouble? Perhaps I have a better way." Cas was looking between them now, somehow more relaxed yet more tense.

Yeah, Dean didn't see Cas being down with tracking the archangel he had called assbutt right before lighting her on fire in her then meat suit. The fact he had also lit Adam on fire he pushed away, trying to keep hold of the fact that baby bro was currently flouncing around heaven in all his snarky glory.

"We, uh, we don't think we can tell you."

Dean decided that the look of hurt that passed over the angel's face was his imagination. Those eyes that were bluer than the whole damn sky studied them for what seemed like an eternity. Sam and his over grown man mass was noisily crinkling his chip bag like they needed some sort of musical interlude.

"I may have a way. I will contact you when I have what it requires."

"Thanks, Cas," and damn he can't help the relief that maybe they might have some way of getting a lowdown on her. "Hey, one sec."

A look from his brother but he was already opening the driver's door, sliding into Baby with the door creak still sounding. Finding an old gas receipt and a non-dried up pen he scratched out the symbols she had left. Those little squiggly shapes that felt pressed into his mind like he had been born with them firmly in place.

"So what does that mass of whatever mean?" he said, handing over the slip as Cas had moved closer to see what he had. "We're in need of an angel to human translator here."

"Of course –" something stopped in the angel, like a fine wire had snapped and Dean figured it was bad. Maybe it was an angelic suicide note and he figured if that was the case then Guck would be back any time to start the smiting.

"Cas?" Sam ventured since Dean couldn't get himself to make a sound. There were these little sharp ticks in him, something fearful and ugly that was just all him.

"Who are you looking for?" the angel asked again, bordering closer to a command this time.

"I – we –" he sputtered as Sam was of no help, big eyes looking all mournful. Classic little brother 'not my fault' pose. "I mean I don't think we're supposed to spill."

The words stumbled and scattered stupidly as those eyes were back on him, cold and trying to see into his mind. He was sure of it and his loose lips were about to sink his ship though to just know what that was. What she had told him because apparently English just wouldn't do.

"It's part of a very old song of heaven," Cas finally offered, his low rumbling voice almost hesitant and that just wasn't right. That wasn't something he wanted from his friend who had gotten his mojo back. "Something I have not heard sung since Lucifer's fall. Originally, it was directed at God."

"Originally?" Sam was right there then, looking over at the paper all worried and geeky at the same time as Dean was starting to get it. He may be a little slow at times but she had been directing whatever that was to him instead of Daddy.

"It is hard to give a good translation into your language, it misses many of the nuances."

"Just spit it out, Cas," Dean got out. "I'm on pins and needles here."

He tried for a shit eating grin and failed miserably, feeling like everything was being ripped apart by very fine fingers.

"Roughly, perhaps, it would be something close to 'My essence sings only of you, you are my beginning and my end through which all else flows'."

It was a sucker punch, that's what it was when all the air just flew out of him. That stupid, stubborn, pain in the ass that she was had left one final little thing and he tried to hate her. Tried not to think of her trusting him to fix her, to watch her. How she always stayed close to him even when livid and screaming, pissed at everything in existence and trying to blame him.

That one haunting him, the one that sang in his dreams and pulled on a cord that was tied up between them, the one that dragged him along whether or not Sam followed.

He didn't know whether to scream or laugh, only that he would have preferred a suicide note in some ways. Not that it would have better, just less of, well, this.

"I will call when I am ready," Cas said and he jumped because he had totally forgotten he had an audience out here. All he got though were sounds of wing beats before Sammy came into view, crouching down to get his hulking frame more on eye level.

"We'll find her," his brother said, face locked in a stunned deer expression. "I know it."

"Yeah, yeah, okay there Sam," he got out his voice some kind of strange cracking sound to his ears as he shook his head at his brother. "Just, just get in the car."

Sam didn't press any further, just got up and came around to the passenger side as Dean shut his own door. Stupid archangel. Stupid angels in general, not letting him in on the big things, the crap that was her mind and just expecting him to know. That one night he had turned her down because she had been drinking and that apparently was enough proof for whatever passed for angelic mental space.

Michael, you stubborn jackass, he thought as he backed them out to go find someplace to stay as they waited on Cas.

XX

The room was too small.

At least it was something he could focus on because it felt like they were in a box at eight o'clock at night waiting for bad news. It didn't smell of mold and was clean, at least as clean as these places got but it didn't help the caged up animal feeling. Nor did the wallpaper which was made up of alternating shades of blue strips. Even faded made him think of bars. In fact everything was overly blue, from the deep ocean that was the carpet to the powder blue of the comforters that swam against the few white spots of molding and lamps.

He made himself not think how bright she would look in a place like this in her red clothes and dark hair.

"Did, did you know?" His brother took a shallow breath, hands flexing. "I mean that it was like this?"

Sam was slouched on the end of one of the beds staring at their phones on the table as if trying to will them into sounding off. His fingers drummed on his leg with a lack of energy that Dean wished he had instead of the bubbling, consuming need to move. He made himself stop pacing, dragged a hand through his hair before shaking his head.

"Hell, Sammy, you know her. Half the time when she spoke it was insults."

"She was hurting," Sam snapped, as if defending her and somehow Dean felt smaller than he had in so long. "You two are so alike. I just thought…"

His brother's voice trailed off, eyes unfocused on the wall and Dean couldn't bring himself to say even now what had happened. The part he had screwed up without knowing because she was all pride and no words. Precious seconds that had changed everything and that strange mix of accusation and pity Sam kept giving him.

Everything that was in him vibrated and he wanted to break something.

"Dude," Sam said, that weird tone that had always accompanied his 'aha' moments that Dean usually appreciated during a case and at no other time. "You bought her a dress."

"I buy all her clothes. It's not like it's some weirdo thing here. I mean, I had to buy her a bra at the start and didn't see you throwing rose petals."

Sam smirked, something more relaxed even in his slouched state with his overly long hair all frizzy. "You saw a red dress, thought of her, brought it back and made sure it fit. It's like her most prized possession."

"She was bitching all the time about having to lay on her stomach and how moving hurt," he said feeling lame even as he tried for the exact opposite. "Thought it would get her off my back, you know, make her shut up for a little bit."

He was not thinking of her in that dress, the way she had looked at him as he had helped her into it that first time. That she may have worn it for someone else now.

"You bought her a dress hoping it would make her like you better?"

At least something in the universe took mercy on him as his phone went off just as Sam's eyebrows were shooting up.

"Cas? Man, tell me it's good news."

"I have what is required. Where are you?"

"Uh, Day's Motel just west from the rest area you last saw us. Room Twelve."

A shifting sound of air disturbed and he was staring at his friend who always arrived way too close and he could hear Sam snort as he put away his phone. A bag hung from the angel's left hand, loosely swaying in his fingers. Dean reached for it but his relief was shattered when Cas took a step back.

"Cas?" Now Sam was wary, like they were in some trap about to spring.

"You will tell me who we are looking for or I will not help you." Something burned in those eyes that spoke of being trusted and damn, Dean felt worse because it wasn't exactly that.

A look from Sam, he shifted but what choice did they have before she got herself kidnapped, or hurt or worse, Guck found her? The last thing he needed was God all angry and up in their shit.

"You have to promise not to tell, that you won't hurt her," Dean said as he felt the angel's full focus on him. "Swear it Cas, that you won't hurt her."

"I have no want to hurt any of my brothers," the angel intoned, his whole body so still it looked like someone had planted a wax sculpture in the middle of their room. "You have my word that no harm will come to her by my hand."

"Michael," Sam finally said, so soft it was almost lost but Cas heard. His head whipped around like Sam had spoken the secret of the whole freakin' universe. "It's Michael we're trying to find."

"My brother is free from hell? How?"

"You aren't going to like it," Dean started and seeing that face harden as Cas stepped right into his face again.

"I dislike many things, Dean."

"Remember Chuck?"

"The prophet? Of course. He has been missing and presumed dead since the derailing of the apocalypse. What of him."

"He uh –", Dean couldn't find a good way to get the insanity of the truth out. "He's God, Cas."

There was some strange complexity to his friend's face – a pull of the corner of his mouth, an eye twitch and then Cas was sitting on the other bed like someone had attempted to cold cock him. Just out and out paralyzed him as everything sagged a little.

"I died beside my Father in His kitchen," the angel finally said and Dean would have loved to point out they thought the whole thing was just that absurd. If the whole dying part hadn't been included. "He brought Michael to you?"

"To Dean," Sam of course jumped in to clarify, like it was so totally, solely his fault. "She's mostly human, I guess. Whatever he did to her. And then she ran off and we haven't been able to find her."

"How long ago?"

"Seven weeks, about."

"You lost Father's first son," Cas began, slowly looking between them, his face getting a furious stony sheen to it and not what Dean had hoped to see. "The Sword of Heaven who is powerless seven weeks ago and you did not call me immediately?"

"Can we maybe have the bitch session later, man?" Dean said, once again all figety under that glare. "Maybe find her first."

"We will talk about this later," the angel promised, getting up to put his bag on the table.

At least his friend had come prepared – bowls, some weird funky plants that smelled like death if the old coot had a smell and what he was fairly sure looked suspiciously like a feather. A large black feather that was close to translucent, as if it couldn't decide firmly on existing or not. Sam made a face at him and he put it down, clearing his throat.

Those sorts of questions were probably inappropriate.

Cas unfolded a large dark cloth with intricate marking in white all over its surface, smoothing it across the table's limited surface area before placing the bowl in the center. A candle was lit before the angel held out his hand towards him, no sign of patience.

"What?"

"Give me your hand," the angel demanded, a knife suddenly appearing in the left.

"Uh, what are you planning here, Cas? Look, I know you're pissed –"

"You are her lineage, her true vessel and obviously attached to her. It will greatly increase my ability to track her."

"Oh," he managed, handing over his left and trying not to wince at the draw of the cold blade against his palm. Or comment on the lack of healing after his blood was dripped into the bowl.

Why hadn't they thought of this? Outside of him not realizing that he was that important to something.

Dean held his breath as the angel recited some sort of incantation, some old gobbly language better off forgotten as a match was lit. It felt as though if he breathed everything would be ruined and she would be wiped out forever as Cas dropped it in the bowl. A lick of flame burst up then died back down, the ingredients already burnt to ash from the pressure of the spell.

"Montana."

"How the hell –" Dean cut himself off from the stormy look spreading across Sam's face towards him. "Okay, whatever. That's a big state, Cas. Got anything to go on besides that?"

"Western part," Cas intoned, still staring into the bowl and Dean wondered what he was seeing as Sam started to bring up a map on his phone. "I believe by a large body of water but it is hard to get a true location."

"Okay, okay," Sam was saying, almost excited and Dean had a phone thrust into his hands. "Look, Flathead lake."

There indeed was a large body of water in western Montana so at least they knew Cas just wasn't getting high and hallucinating from sniffing too many ancient herbs. A small town on the shore caught his attention and he managed to bring it up.

"Polson, maybe," he said showing Sam who nodded.

"Dean, we got to have a fast way to get there. It will take almost a day to drive that and she could be long gone all over again."

Glancing towards the door he knew Baby was probably safe here for a few hours, hopefully. Maybe they'd come back to a neat surprise of a stupid demon having fallen into her trunk. Not that he wanted to go flying but Cas was staring at him now, to make a decision.

As if he would decide any other way.

"Let's go collect her ass," he said as a hand landed on his shoulder and the world swayed out.

XX

"This shouldn't be so damn hard."

He rubbed his head as it was just pass nine, well ten given the time zone they had started in and they were no closer to finding any lead of her. Stupid little tourist town, how hard could it be to find one measly person. Or angel. Whatever.

"Okay, well look, she may not be in Polson proper at any rate." Sam was waving his phone like some messed up light stick in the gloomy parking lot of their most current failure.

"Or she may be here and just no one remembers her."

"Dean, you've seen her. Everybody remembers her."

He scuffed his boot on the pavement trying not to think about that. Not that it helped or kept back the nightmare images of her bleeding out somewhere, dying slowly thinking no one gave a damn.

"At any rate," Sam pushed on, showing the screen that glared up and assaulted his eyes even on low," there's a bed and breakfast joint a few miles up. Close to the lake. Several others too if that's not right."

Before he could even contemplate that there was a hand on him and they were back on angel airlines as he squeezed his eyes shut. At the rate they were going he wasn't going to be able to poop for a year.

When he managed to get his body to back away from the idea of retching he got his eyes open and was fairly certain that this place was too upscale. Maybe they did bargain deals here or something but he didn't know if she could afford this. It had been weeks and even with the few grand she had taken she still had to buy all her supplies. Maybe hustling had been kind to her, or at least hadn't mostly ended with drunken brawls.

They had to check and he walked towards the front. Or what appeared to be the front door as Sam and Cas loitered around in the small parking lot. He glanced back and yep, they all looked like either a creepy cult or a group of serial murderers. Awesome.

Of course, being what this place was the door was locked, the big glass windows looking in on a rather large sitting area with high ceilings and a stone fireplace that took up one whole wall by itself. Everything far more comfortable than he was accustomed to as he rang the bell, a series of musical chimes. Fumbling with his phone he wondered what was so wrong with a good old fashioned doorbell ring before a muffled sound of movement.

"Yes?" A man, tall and scrawny with greying hair stared back at him through the glass door as Dean held his phone up.

"Have you seen her? It's important. She's disappeared and I want to know she's not in trouble."

There was a squint, a tell that this guy in his dorky sweater vest had indeed seen her but wasn't ready to fess up to it. Something like hope punched right through him as the man looked him up and down.

"I don't know. I can check with our guests as it's not too late. Do you have a name?"

"Dean. Dean Winchester."

He was alone at the door, probably being watched by a camera he couldn't see in the darkness since most of these places had those as he stared at the photo on his phone. It was the only one he had of her, taken back when they had worked a case and stopped by the beach a little more than a month after the Lamia. The first time Michael had been out in her now favorite red dress wearing a simultaneous smile and scowl. She was on a deck actually holding an ice cream cone; lines of melting goo across her fingers as the ocean shone like ice behind her in the winter sun.

"Why?"

She was there in slacks and crimson blouse, hair loose as she stared at him through the door. Her expression inscrutable and even if he had hundred years he doubted he would ever know what she was thinking in those seconds.

"We were worried."

"You mean Sam was worried."

"Would you stop?" he hissed, becoming aware she may not have heard that but she stiffened at least getting the gist of it. He got his tone a little less pissed. "All of us are worried."

"All?"

"Yeah, um, Cas is here. They're pretending to be vagrants out in the lot."

"Ah," and there was a sorrow in her eyes, something stricken and old. "You told little Castiel. Has he come to mock me or exact revenge?"

"Dude, just no!" Her face tightened and he forced back the feeling of wanting to punch something. "Please, will you just talk to me. Or us. Just for a little bit. This door thing isn't helping."

Because it really wasn't.

She tilted her head and then turned, nodding to someone that was standing out of his line of sight. Probably Norman Bates who had gone off to find her. Then she pushed the door open and he quickly side stepped, catching that she said she had her key as she let it click behind her.

"Say what you want to say."

And the words just died in him. Just curled up and withered away to nothing as her face was up, blank and offering nothing of what her final note had left behind. All these weeks of looking for her and he was failing a foot from home, the last crucial seconds before she turned around and locked him out forever. So many things, all the anger and resentment and the way was just so infuriatingly Michael and that he hadn't known.

How was he supposed to know what they were supposed to be doing if she didn't tell him?

Instead, because his mouth wouldn't move he just pulled her to him and everything went out of her as she pushed her face against his shoulder. It was the calmest he had ever felt her, fingers all wound into the back of his shirt and he still didn't know where to start.

"You were still really loaded," he tried, feeling her stiffen and he managed to keep her from wiggling away just yet. "That's why. The whole maybe not consensual all the way thingy."

There were many moments in his life where he felt supremely stupid but this one was closest to the top.

"You don't have to come with us, with me," he continued as they stood on display on this porch, her hair falling through his fingers like fine strands of silk. "I just need to know where you are."

"And if I come with you?" her voice muffled as she had yet to raise her head.

"I don't – I'm not a mind reader. I can't promise we can work shit out but it helps to know what you want."

She was pulling away and he relaxed his arms, her head tipped down so he couldn't see her face and once again he was full of unhelpful info that that had been the wrong thing to say. Words of indignation were gone though when he saw her pose, something like defeat, like she had already broken.

"You do not understand," her voice so soft the words where hard to hear above the chatty crickets.

"Tell me. What, you want to be close, wear me, have sexy fun times, eat me in the non-fun way? What the hell is it that you want?"

"To be inside you."

Dean let out a breath, running a hand over his hair trying to get his bearings because that was an angel thing. Not something he wanted to dwell on with this particular angel. He managed a cocky grin looking at her still bowed head. "Gotta say that's a hard thing with our current status here, Mikey."

"I want to be curled around your soul," she soldiered on, seeming to ignore him desperately wanting to ignore all of this. "I want to be united with your very essence as one and dwell against it forever."

"I can't."

Those words, those sudden words where just there and he couldn't get them back, couldn't stop them from dropping away because it was the truth. A nod, her turning back towards the door and he was mentally kicking himself that after all of this she was just going to leave all over again. Be gone forever and screw everything that wasn't right.

"I mean, Jesus Mike, you're going to give me tits talking about this shit," he said, trying to form words that wouldn't sink this more.

"You would be more comfortable with extra padding," she supplied helpfully, the smirk clearly heard even if he couldn't really see her face.

"Of course you learn snark out of the gate. Look," he wiped a hand down his face trying to focus. "I can't give you that, I can't promise something like that. It doesn't mean that I don't want you around even if you are a highly frustrating, angry, violent, uh, creature."

"I feel well cared for."

"Mikey," he said quietly and she finally looked up at him, those eyes so clear and full of something that he saw in mirrors ever day staring back out of him. That grief he didn't unlock because he had to be functional to get Sam going and save people. He had to be at some kind of satisfactory operational level or there wasn't a today.

"You do not owe me, Dean."

"I know that's not – Christ you make this hard."

"I cannot read minds right now to save you from your inherent awkwardness."

"And so, so frustrating," he mumbled feeling a flush as she smiled something edging away from despondent. "I can't flip a switch and say okay, it's all good or just, shit you know what? You've got little human primates and a brother here that care about you and if you want even a measure of what you preach that would be enough for right now."

And then she was just there all up in space, staring at him before somehow shouldering in closer and he just let it happen because he wanted. That strange driving force that had pushed him in his search for her, that need to have her here that stubbornly refused to back off as she rocked onto the balls of her feet and kissed him.

It was so tentative, almost innocent and he had a moment to wonder if this was a first for her before he felt her explode through him, that angel all wrapped in flesh and chains. For one brief moment he felt her fire flood his veins, his lungs, everything so close to saying yes even if it wasn't asked. That if she had done this before there wouldn't be a world because there would have been no other answer.

Damn, he was like some lovelorn teenager out here all weak in the knees from something so stupid.

"That is acceptable," she whispered, her voice a little broken note like she too was surprised it had felt that way, head on his shoulder. Somehow she held on harder, tighter before he felt a nod, a small sound he thought might be 'okay' before she pulled back looking at him. "I would like to collect my things."

"Sure, yeah," he said bouncing on his feet because he was elated and terrified she was about to go climb out a window. A slight smile pulled at her mouth as she slipped out of his arms and produced a key.

"Just a moment."

She was gone from his view as the door clicked shut while he fought the urge to hold it open. Follow her up and make sure she came back. That wasn't how it worked and he knew it. He could no more force her to do something now then when she had been an archangel, all brilliant and glorious and he glanced out at the lot. Cas and Sam had moved up a bit and appeared to be in the process of not watching while diligently staring his way.

He sighed and rolled his shoulders.

Five minutes, going on ten and he worried when she was just there, pushing the door open and saying something to, he guessed the owner. Tentatively, bag in her left, she went to his side looking up at him.

"So how the hell did you end up at this place?"

"Vampire nest in Bigfork and then I came here to be by the lake."

"Have a fetish for lakes?"

"I remember when it was being carved," her voice carried softly as he swore he could see Sam smiling in the night that was barely held back by one dedicated security light.

He wanted to tell her that something like her, no matter her crimes or what she was now didn't belong with him. With what he had done, the things that still marked him as barely good as her hand slide around his upper arm. The heat of her palm against him and he couldn't look over.

"One day, I want to be able to show you everything," she said, her voice still low as they started walking since he needed movement, damn it. "Especially since I believe your idea of exceptional is a 'men drink free night'."

"Sweet talker," he muttered, thankful for the night that hid the heat flash in his face. Not like he needed more for Sammy to rail on about as blackmail fodder as they drew into the parking lot and the two amigos where standing there antsy and way too nosy.

"Sam. Castiel," she greeted before looking fully at her little brother. "Take us home."