A/N: A special thank you to guest reviewer Cindy for her super sweet review! Thank you Cindy :) Also, thanks to suburbantimewaster for continuing to review. And thank you to all who are reading this and have favorited/followed this story. You guys rock! Enjoy!

Chapter Eight

Crowley was always babbling in his ear. It was getting annoying. At some point in the near future, he would kill him.

Right now Crowley was trying to convince him that calling an angel was a bad idea.

But Dean had made up his mind. He knew Sam was looking for him. He needed to see if they had requested the help of angels.

Also… last Dean knew, Castiel's stolen grace was killing him. Even though he kept telling himself he didn't care at this point whether Cas was dead or not, he knew that he really did care. More than he should.

Besides, he needed to know what happened to Metatron.

"Dean, the angel will tell everyone you were here." Crowley insisted.

"I'll just kill it."

"And then they'll definitely know you were here."

"Doesn't matter. I'll be long gone before anything happens."

"I don't even know if a demon can call an angel."

Dean smiled at that. "Well, I'm no ordinary demon."

That shut Crowley up.

Dean paced around where he remembered knocking Sam out before leaving to take on Metatron alone. He had felt slightly guilty about it at the time, but knew it had to be done. He tilted his head up to face the sky.

"Alright, if anyone's listening up there… This is Dean Winchester. I need some answers." There was silence as the wind blew and the crickets chirped. Crowley opened his mouth to say something, but with a flick of his hand, Dean was able to mute him as he had seen Cain do before. It was a handy trick. He should have done it a lot sooner.

"Hey!" he finally yelled. "I'm praying to you! Aren't you supposed to get your feathery ass down here and help me out?"

"What angel adheres to the prayers of a demon?" a voice behind him demanded. Dean grinned, and turned around.

"Well, apparently you do." He looked the angel up and down. "…Hannah."

She stiffened, and the look on her face twisted. "I shouldn't be here, but I know Castiel would have come if he could. I'm just doing this as a favor."

Dean's gaze didn't stray from hers once. He didn't even give any sort of reaction to Castiel's name. Still, he couldn't help asking, "That stolen grace put him down yet?"

Hannah's eyes narrowed and she tilted her head. "No. But that won't be a problem much longer."

Dean was all ears. "Why not?"

"Metatron will help him. Metatron will help all of us."

This was news Dean did not want to hear. "Metatron? That douche is still kicking?"

"For now. The angels aren't happy with him. But if he can fix Heaven, we'll let him go."

"Let him… go?"

She nodded. "As payment for his services."

Dean scowled. What were these idiots thinking? Then again… this could be an opportunity for him to catch his killer, and exact his revenge. This didn't sound so bad after all. "And Sam?" he asked.

"What about your brother?"

"That's what I'm asking you."

Hannah's eyes flickered over to Crowley, who had grumpily gone to sit on the curb in silence. "He's still looking for you."

Dean nodded. "Of course he is." He glanced back at Crowley. "Someday… someday I'll have to pay him a visit."

Hannah watched Dean warily. "Is that it?"

"Not quite." Dean snapped his fingers, and a ring of holy fire sprung up around the angel. Her eyes widened as she looked desperately around her, disbelief coloring her face. She looked back up at Dean.

"You can't."

"Oh, I can, sister."

"I am not your sister."

Dean took a menacing step towards her, drawing out the first blade with a sadistic smile. "All you angels take things too literally. Try this one for size: You. Are. Dead."

He was going to make it quick. After all, Hannah had asked Cas to kill him. Dean was just returning the favor.

But just as he was about to deliver the killing blow, he heard someone yell from behind him. "Dean!"

No. Crap no.

He didn't even turn to face Castiel, who he knew was running straight for him. Cas couldn't see him. Not now. Not ever.

Forgetting Hannah, Dean whisked himself far, far away.

The moment Dean disappeared, Castiel heard an angry voice coming from the curb. "You lost him, you moron!"

Castiel knew he had little power left, but he forced the flames surrounding Hannah out. Then he turned to Crowley. "Where did he go?"

"Like I know?! He goes wherever the hell he wants to go, there's no rhyme or reason to it!"

Castiel could tell that Crowley was upset. He turned back to Hannah, who had joined his side. "I am sorry, Castiel. I knew you didn't have the strength to come down here and answer Dean's prayer, so I decided to do it for you."

Castiel shook his head. "I couldn't even hear it. But I was made aware that Dean's prayer was being heard by others, and I—" There was a sudden tightening in his gut, and his chest began to burn. He doubled over, clenching his teeth against the pain.

He felt Hannah's hands on his shoulders, trying to hold him upright. She was saying something, but Castiel couldn't make it out through the pain ripping through his body. He cried out, falling. The world was spinning. He was losing control.

The flutter of wings was the last thing he heard before he blacked out.

Candi skidded to a halt in the driveway and jumped out of the car. She was cutting it close. Aunt Maggie wasn't going to be happy.

Sure enough, once she walked through the door, Maggie was there, waiting. "Five minutes later and you would've cost me my job," she said, grabbing her purse.

"Sorry," Candi grumbled.

"It's alright, honey. Now, I've got to work late tonight, so—"

"Do you, though?" Candi asked.

Maggie paused on her way out the door, and turned to face Candi. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Candi knew Aunt Maggie was running late, but she couldn't keep ignoring the growing problem. "There's no more money left in the tin."

Maggie's face crumpled, and she started to back out the door. "Sweetheart, we'll talk about this later."

But Candi wanted to talk about this now. It had to be done. "You're buying alcohol again, aren't you?" she asked quietly.

Maggie wouldn't look at Candi. "Honey, please, I've got to go…"

"You've relapsed, and that's where all the money's gone. You said you were done the stuff."

"I am, Candi."

"Then where's the money? How come, even though you're working extra hours, there's no extra income to pay the bills?"

Maggie was silent for a moment, then she hefted her purse over her shoulder. "I'll talk to you in the morning about this, Candi," she said softly. Then she was out the door.

Candi stood there for a moment, listening as the car started and pulled away. She went into her room. Emptied her jar of savings onto the bed, counting every penny. Sixty-seven dollars and eighteen cents. It wasn't enough to get her anywhere.

Something hot pooled in the pit of her stomach, and she soon realized it was anger. It grew until, in a sudden outburst of rage, she screamed, picking up the glass jar and throwing it at the door. It shattered, and left a mark on the wood. She grabbed her pillow and pressed her face against it, the heat of anger cooling into the cold of hopelessness and loss.

She missed her dad.

The sobs racked through her body, her tears wetting the pillow and getting mascara everywhere. She didn't care. She just wanted her dad back. She wanted a different life.

She cried until her sobs turned into hiccups. Finally, she stood, stepped over the broken glass, and went into the kitchen to get a drink of water. Her throat felt sticky from all the crying. The water cleared her head, and she stared out the window into the blackness for a few moments, thinking.

She needed to get out of the house. She needed to get away.

Grabbing her ipod, she rushed out the door, putting her headphones in and turning it on. She found her favorite song, Keep Breathing by Ingrid Michaelson, and pressed play.

The acoustics began, and she took off running into the night.

She ran into town, which was pretty empty. Most everything closed at nine or ten, and it was currently 10:15. There were a few leftover tourists, exhausted from a long day of activities, and a few party goers heading to the bars, but otherwise it was quiet. "All I can do is keep breathing," Ingrid Michaelson's voice coaxed. That's all Candi would do. Focus on breathing. Getting through this.

She turned onto Seventh Street, which had old cobblestone. She loved the cobblestone streets here. She felt transported to another time, another place. Perhaps she was in England, when they still had horse drawn carriages and girls dressed up in pretty gowns and danced at fancy balls.

But then she remembered that not all of them were rich and fancy. Some of them had to live on the streets, or had no prospects because they were too poor to fetch a proper husband.

That would be me, Candi thought.

The chorus swelled, and Candi put on a burst of speed. "All that I know is I'm breathing. All I can do is keep breathing. All we can do is—"

She collided heavily against a body that appeared out of nowhere. Before she could fall to the ground, she was caught. "Woah there!" The man helped her up, and she pulled her headphones out of her ears, turning to apologize.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't even see you…" She trailed off, taking in the man in front of her. The first thing she noticed was what he was wearing. He was completely decked out in a white sailor uniform, complete with the hat. Jen always said she'd take down anyone who wore this kind of getup. Hard.

The next thing she noticed were his eyes. They glinted with mischief, and were a color she'd rarely ever seen. They were a light golden color, like honey. His mouth was quirked into a crooked smile.

Candi blinked several times. "Uh… yeah… I didn't mean…"

The amusement grew on his face as he watched her struggle through her apology. Suddenly, he stuck out his hand, interrupting her mid-sentence. "The name's Gabe. Your apology is accepted."

Candi hesitated, then took his hand. It was warm and firm. "I'm… Candi."

He nodded, a pleased smirk stretching his face. His hand dropped from hers.

"I'm the new lighthouse keeper," he continued, pointing. Candi turned, and stared at the old lighthouse that was just visible from the road.

"I didn't know we had a lighthouse keeper," she said, turning back to him.

"Well, you do now."

Candi had always been taught never to talk to strangers. It was an important lesson for her to learn, her dad always said, especially with the tourists coming in and out every summer. This wasn't any different. Actually, it was supposed to be even more of a danger because it was dark out, and so late. Candi was well aware that, apart from the drunk guy who had just stumbled out of a bar, there was no one else on the street with them. She began to back away.

"Well, uh… have a good night!" She put her headphones back in, giving him a little wave before turning and taking off running again.

When she got home, she remembered that she had shards of glass to pick up in her room. However, when she opened the door, there was no glass to be found.

In fact… the glass jar was sitting where she normally kept it on the dresser, fully intact, the money replaced. She frowned, and looked to the door for the telltale signs of impact from the jar. But there were none. The door was clear of any marks, chips, dents, or scratches. She shook her head, wondering if she was going insane.

She pulled on a tshirt and some shorts, and snuggled under her covers.

She didn't think much about the stranger she had run into, but she dreamed of a sea made of honey and monstrous lighthouses that night.