The awkward outweighed how scared Stiles was. At the car, the massive guy introduced himself as Sam, and said the other two were Dean and Castiel. "Lydia and Stiles," Lydia had said.

Sam ushered them into the backseat and when he started to climb in after them, Stiles protested, "You're, like, enormous—no offense—can't you sit in front?"

"Right now it's better if those two do," Sam said. Which didn't really make any sense to Stiles, were they a couple with separation issues or something?, because why else—but then he realized he was actually rambling in his head and he stopped himself.

The drive was silent and fast. There was some sort of weird tension spilling out of the front from Castiel and Dean and into the back of the car. What made Stiles worry more about Dean's driving was the fact that he only had one hand on the wheel. The other was resting on the space between the seats, his fingers barely touching Castiel's navy sleeve.

"So—" Stiles tried, but Sam silenced him with a look.

In town, they pulled into the hotel Stiles had been waiting at with Derek not that long ago. Sam gave him a funny look when they got out of the car. "Don't try to run or anything, okay?" He went to get something out of the trunk.

Stiles shrugged. "Alphas, hunters. Neither sounds like a fun way to die."

Lydia smacked the back of his head as they followed the other two guys to their room. Sam held an open arm out. "Have a seat."

Lydia arranged herself on the edge of one of two beds (two beds, three guys, further enforcing the couple theory) and Stiles did the same—though, not so much of arrange as plop down. They weren't in the car anymore, so he counted the quiet game as over. But just as he was about to open his mouth, the angel-slash-Castiel said, "I might've known you sooner if I'd heard your name." Stiles literally had no idea how to respond to that, but luckily he didn't have to. "Stiles. It's an interesting name. Even less common than—"

"Hey hey hey, what're you talking about, what'd you say? I couldn't quite hear. Oh, don't worry about it, they don't need to know that—" And before he knew it, he'd been babbling on and embarrassing himself. But it was better than having Lydia—and these other two lunatics—know his birth name.

Before Castiel could respond, Dean spun him around and looked at a deep set of claw marks between his neck and shoulder, probably Peter's doing.

"That son of a bitch," Dean growled.

"Dean, breathe," Castiel said, voice immediately changing. "We're here. You're in worse shape than me."

"Time to play doctor," Sam said, mostly to himself. He pulled something out of the bag he'd brought in. …Dental floss? "Will he need stitches?"

"Gauze should do it," Dean said as he pulled Castiel's shirt over his head. He flinched as it peeled over the puncture wounds and Dean mumbled an apology.

Castiel took a seat in a chair by the table as Dean opened a bottle of whisky. He placed an arm behind his shoulder and poured an ample amount onto the wound. Castiel clenched his jaw. Dean pressed some gauze to it and Sam handed him some tape. The three finished up with each other so fast it kind of blew Stiles' mind. Sam was the only one that needed stitches, for a scratch running the length of his forearm.

"Did you guys used to be doctors?" Stiles asked.

"Anything but," Dean said curtly, eyes stuck on Castiel in a freaky-possessive kind of way.

"When you get cut up bad enough often enough, you learn to work quickly and efficiently," Sam said in vague explanation.

Castiel and Dean continued to have a conversation with their eyes for a lengthy minute.

"So," Lydia said. "You won't be hurting anyone in our pack again, right?"

When no one answered, Castiel said, "So long as they refrain from hurting humans."

Stiles figured it would be best not to say anything about kanima-Jackson then. That was over and done with, anyway. In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

"Am I allowed to answer?" he asked somewhat sarcastically.

"You're not a hostage," Sam said.

Stiles didn't bother saying he kind of felt like one as he answered his phone. It was Derek. "What?"

"We got away from the Alpha pack. I'm on my way."

"Okay. We're at the motel that we were—"

"Give me ten minutes."

The call ended. Stiles made a face before shoving the phone back into his jacket pocket. "Derek'll be here in ten minutes."

"Just him?" Dean asked.

"Um…maybe."

Dean stomped out the door, muttering something to Sam, and let it slam behind him.

"Keep him safe," Castiel said shortly after, before vanishing.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Before vanishing.

"What just happened?" Lydia asked.

"He—he just—oh my god, what the hell?"

"When Dean called him an angel, that wasn't a pet name," Sam said simply. "When he flies, he disappears like that."

"Wait—you mean—oh my god, are they actually together? I thought—but then—oh my god, he's an angel."

"Stiles, stop talking," Lydia said.

"No, they're not together. I mean, I don't think…" Sam paused, then shook his head. "No. But yes, Castiel is an angel, for real. Feathery wings, beams of light, warrior of God, angel. And you can thank him, because if he wasn't there, you would still be in the woods right now. Speaking of, why don't you explain why these other werewolves we didn't see want you dead?"


Dean slammed the car door shut behind him and tried to keep calm. Cas was here. He was okay, he was fine. But those stupid fucking werewolves… He wanted to hit something. He wanted to hit everything. He hated not being able to forget, he hated that every little thing had to remind him of something and he just hated

Dean was in the backseat all of a sudden, someone's arms encircling him, pulling him close and he didn't bother to fight it, didn't even want to. Cas' hands were soft and gentle, a warm breeze against his skin. His angel was summer and beautiful and nothing but good intentions and when winter got too close, Dean wanted to throw himself between them, to be autumn, but the leaves always fell and everything froze and nothing good ever stayed for long.

Dean thought he could hear Cas softly humming Hey, Jude, but it was perfectly possible that he was imagining it, too.

"I'm sorry, Cas," he said after a nondescript amount of time.

"I'm sorry, too," Cas said against Dean's hair.

Dean sat up a little bit and pulled Cas' shirt away from his shoulder, fingers grazing over the covered wound. Not as bad, he told himself. God, not near as bad.

"Don't be mad when he arrives," Cas said. "He wanted to protect his people, that's all. I was a threat."

Dean shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. At that moment, a black Camaro tore into the parking lot, leaving a trail of tire marks behind as it pulled into an empty spot. Dean didn't even have to guess who it was.

"If he touches you again, I'll kill him. You or Sam, I swear."

Cas laid a hand briefly on Dean's shoulder. "Stiles is important to him. We have to protect the vessel bloodline."

Dean didn't say it, but he would choose Cas over that kid if it came down to it. In a second.

Derek jumped out of the car, stiffening as Cas and Dean also got out. He turned and glared.

"Stiles is safe," Cas said in a voice far too kind for a monster.

He followed them in and the way his shoulders just barely relaxed when he saw Stiles didn't escape Dean's notice. "Are you okay?"

The kid shrugged.

"They'll help us with the Alpha pack," Lydia interjected.

Dean cast Sam and sideways glance.

"Sam said so," she said. "I explained what's been going on."

"We already have hunters helping us," Derek hissed.

"Look," Sam said. "Not that I'm doubting the Argents' abilities, but—me and brother have more experience.

Derek snorted, obviously dubious.

"You think you're the only thing that goes bump in the night?" Dean said.

Derek glanced at Lydia. "How much did you tell them?"

She gave him a stubborn look that seemed to satisfy him.

"Me and Sam have been in this since we were kids. We lost people to crap much worse than dogs like you."

"They have an angel," Stiles said. "They could probably beat all of our asses until we look worse than road kill."

"And they could do the same to the Alphas." Lydia stood up. "It's what they do. They hunt monsters."

It was Dean's turn to ask Sam how much he'd told the two kids and Sam gave him a look similar to the one Lydia had given Derek.

"Stiles can go home," Lydia said. "His dad'll want him back eventually, and they can keep watch."

"Nothing would touch the boy," Cas promised.

Derek glared at the three of them. "I don't even know you. Why should I trust any of you?"

"Protect your own by yourself if you want," Sam said. "But we're willing to help eliminate the threat."

Derek's jaw clenched and unclenched several times before he grudgingly said, "They have two of ours. We don't know where they're keeping them or if they're even still alive."

Stiles' phone buzzed again and when he saw who it was, he grimaced. "It's Allison's dad."

"Tell him you're fine," Derek instructed. "And tell him—"

Dean held up a hand. "You said this guy's a friend of yours?" Derek eyed him cautiously. "If we're going to help your quaint little wolf pack, I think we should meet him."


"We're getting Baby back after this," Stiles heard Dean say to his brother as they filed out the door.

"Lydia and Stiles, you're coming with me," Derek said, glancing around the lot before climbing into his Camaro.

The hunters followed in their car to the Argent house. Allison and Chris were waiting outside when they arrived.

Stiles noticed it was something of a competition to see who could get out of their car faster—Derek or Dean. The brothers and Chris Argent exchanged a stony look that must be unique to hunters before Mr. Argent extended his hand, introducing himself and his daughter.

"I'm Dean, this is Sam, and Castiel."

"It's good to finally know your name," Chris said in a slightly lighter tone.

"Finally?" Stiles questioned.

"Allison and I saw them at the diner," Chris said. "It was an obscure hour, now it makes sense." He gave Dean a stern look. "But I assume you're not going to try to kill any of Hale's pack again."

"If they haven't killed any humans."

Mr. Argent nodded once. "Good. Come on in."

Allison held the door for everyone and locked it behind them. "Are you okay?" she asked Stiles quietly.

"As okay as I can be," he said. "The guy named Castiel, you would not believe—"

"Allison, double check the back door," her dad said from the living room.

"Sorry," she apologized. "Hold that thought."

Stiles followed Lydia as she disappeared into the living room where everyone was gathered.

"So, how long have you two been in the business for?" Chris asked the group.

"Me and Sam's mom died when I was four," Dean said. "Our dad got into it after, and he raised us like that. Moving around all the time, learning to shoot, what was in the dark."

"That had to be tough. And what about your friend, Castiel?"

"My father is different," Castiel said. "He's not a man."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "He's a werewolf?"

"He's God."

Dean dragged a hand down his face and Sam cringed. "Real subtle, Cas," Dean muttered.

"Excuse me? What the hell do you mean, 'God'?" Chris asked, dumbfounded.

"He's an angel," Sam said, taking over. "Wings and everything, you just can't see them. He's with us though. The three of us, we…we've been through a lot. We've stopped the apocalypse and locked the Devil in Hell, we've killed angels, demons, leviathans. Even time travelled a couple times."

You could actually poke the silence in the room with a stick, it was so solid.

"I'm sorry," Chris said. "What you're saying, it…"

"Makes us sound crazy?" Sam guessed. "We know. Trust me, we know very well. We've actually been crazy once or twice."

"He had Lucifer in his head," Dean said with a fake smile, jerking a thumb towards Sam. "Cas swallowed a few thousand souls, I've been to Hell. Me and Cas, we just got back from Purgatory a couple months ago. Not the brightest place." If Stiles' head kept trying to comprehend what they were saying, he was going to short-circuit his brain. The apocalypse, Satan, Hell, Leviasomething. What the hell? Or, maybe, What the Purgatory? "But you don't need to hear any of that," Dean dismissed. "All we're here to do is some pest control."

Chris put up a hand. "If you're going to involve yourself in my town, and my people, then I think I need to make sure you won't pull anything. Now, I'm not going anywhere tonight, so why don't you have a seat and tell me a story, alright?"

Sam and Dean exchanged one of those weird conversation looks that were slowly starting to drive Stiles insane. Couldn't they just talk?

"Sure," Sam said, breaking eye contact with his brother.

The three hunters sat down in perfect synchronization, making Stiles feel sort of really uncomfortable, and slightly jealous, he recognized somewhere in the back of his mind, that he would never be that in sync with anyone.

As everyone else found seats, the sound of the front door being thrown open was carried into the living room and seconds later the rest of the pack appeared.

"Stiles is okay, right?" Scott said in a rush.

"You're kidding me," Dean said in disbelief.

"It's simpler if they're here," Derek said, too defensively if you asked Stiles, but no one did, of course. "I would've told them everything anyway."

"We're not spewing our life stories to a bunch of teenage werewol—"

"Then you can leave."

"Derek," Mr. Argent said, "this is my house, in case you've forgotten." Dean gave Derek a smug look. "But," Chris continued, "the pack stays here." The smug expression was wiped from Dean's face. "Now, please. What makes you so experienced?" he asked as he took a seat in the recliner opposite the couch.

The rest of the pack arranged themselves on the floor, sensing one (or three) long stories.

"I'm assuming you won't accept the abridged version," Dean guessed.

"I think I candle handle the full-length."

"Alright, then. Our mom didn't just die, she was killed by a demon. It wasn't pretty. She was stuck up on the ceiling, cut open, and the whole place was on fire. I pretty much pulled Sam out of the burning house, and after what we saw…our dad took up hunting. He got real good real fast; he used to be in the marines, that was probably part of it. He told me what was in the dark from the get-go, and I watched Sam while he was gone. I almost died, my dad sold his soul to swap places with me, we found out Sam had demon blood in him, killed the demon that killed our mom, Sam died, I sold my soul to save him and went to Hell. I was down there a while before Cas pulled me out—up until then, I thought angels were a load of shit. While I was in Hell, Sam got played by a demon, Ruby. Turns out, upstairs had some big plans laid out for us. In Hell, I…Cas, why don't you take over," Dean suggested.

Castiel looked away from Dean and to Mr. Argent. "Dean broke the first seal, jump starting the apocalypse. He didn't know, of course. Neither him, nor Sam, had any idea how big their roles were. Dean was meant to be Michael—one of the arch angels'—vessel, and Sam was to be Lucifer's."

"Wait," Stiles said. "When you say Lucifer, you mean, like, Satan, Armageddon, our Dark Lord?"

Castiel frowned at him. "Yes, the Dark…Satan." He turned back to Chris. "He used to be an angel, before he was cast out. There were sixty-six seals that had to break before his cage in Hell could be unlocked. As I was saying, Dean broke the first in Hell—"

"What was the first seal?" Stiles asked.

Castiel looked at him again, not really irked, but not…totally not irked either. It was a weird look. Castiel was weird. "When a righteous man sheds blood in Hell."

"What does that mean?"

Castiel glanced to Dean before he spoke. "He tortured souls."

A menacing growl crept from Derek's throat. "And we're supposed to trust them? This is—"

"Derek," Chris snapped. "Let them finish."

"That's what Hell is," Castiel explained. "The souls there are tortured until they begin torturing themselves. Dean can't be held accountable for breaking, everyone does eventually. And after they torture for so long, they become demons. After the seal was broken, I was sent to bring Dean back to Earth, where Sam had been fulfilling his part of the prophecy. After a time, I…I began to 'have doubts,' as my superiors said. They believed Lucifer and Michael had to fight, just as it was written, but Dean made me see things differently." He smiled to himself. "Team Free Will, he said once or twice. That's who we were. But we got to Sam too late—the angels had taken Dean to keep him away from his brother—and he'd already broke the last seal, thinking he was doing good. He killed Lilith, a powerful demon, and that released Lucifer. From there, all Sam and Dean had to do was say yes to allow Michael and Lucifer to use them as vessels, but they burned the pages of that story. Instead of fighting, Sam said yes to Lucifer and managed to take back control of his body for just long enough to throw himself and Lucifer back into the cage, taking Michael, who had found another body to use other than Dean's, with him." Castiel stopped for a moment, and Dean laid a hand on his shoulder. Castiel gave a miniscule shake of his head.

"Heaven turned into an anarchy after that," Sam continued. "Most of the powerful angels were dead, sides started forming. One angel, Raphael, wanted to restart the apocalypse, and Castiel sided with humanity. Michael and Lucifer fighting would've destroyed the earth. But Cas' side was losing, and…he had to make some desperate decisions. He made a deal with Crowley—he used to a demon, now he's King of Hell. They opened up Purgatory and were going to split the souls, but Cas didn't want anymore power falling into Crowley's hands, so he took them all in himself. Purgatory's where all the monsters go. There's a lot more out there than just werewolves," Sam said. "Vampires, wendigos, shape shifters, skin walkers, ghouls, rugarus, changelings. A different breed of werewolves. The worst is Leviathans. They were wiped out before humans stepped foot here, but Cas swallowed them up, too. The side effects were…not so great. He kind of became God for a while."

"Oh my god!" Stiles exclaimed. "I remember that—you, you were on the news. You went on that killing spree—"

"Side effects," Sam cut him off sharply. "He had no idea that would happen. We got him to return the souls, but the Leviathans stayed. Dick Roman, Roman Industries—Leviathans. They crashed and burned after Dean and Cas killed Dick. But, once again, unseen side effects. Kill him and stand too close, get sent straight to Purgatory. That's where he and Cas went for a year, until they got pulled out."

"How?" Stiles asked.

Sam glanced at Dean and he took over. "We don't know," Dean said. "We don't have anything to go off of."

Chris gave a measured nod. "Do you three have a last name? Or you two. I'm guessing angels don't have last names."

"Winchester," Dean said.

Chris smiled to himself. "I should've known. That son of a bitch."

Sam and Dean swapped looks. "Known what?" they asked in unison.

"Your dad was John Winchester?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "His name was John."

Chris stood up and walked around to lean on the back of the chair, shaking his finger. "I met him once, on a hunt."

"So you know there's more than just werewolves?" Dean questioned.

He glanced at his daughter. "I knew about vampires," he said. "I finished off a pack of werewolves, oh, it must've been well over ten years ago. The rest of my group had left and I was going to take care of the bodies, but there was a girl being attacked in this alley. My God, I can't believe you're his kids. I told it to stop, but then I saw it's face. Fired a couple shots, didn't do anything. It jumped me and its teeth were a hair's width away from my neck when your father showed up. Saved my ass, for sure. I owed him, so I asked if he wanted help finishing out the nest, which he'd told me he was after. We didn't talk much, and he told me to go home, but I got his name."

Stiles glanced over at Allison, whose eyes were burning holes into her dad's skull. It was obvious he knew she was glaring, but he didn't acknowledge it. Keeping the existence of vampires secret from your werewolf hunter daughter wasn't bound to go over well.

Chris straightened up. "Derek, why don't you introduce your pack," and that wasn't a suggestion, and Derek was quite obviously not happy about it. Lydia, thankfully, took over, pointing at and naming each person.

"So," Dean said. "We'll keep watch outside Stiles' house for the night."

"I'll take him home," Derek volunteered, and if he did so a little too quickly, no one seemed to notice.


Stiles could just feel the hunters watching as Derek dropped him off, but he did his best to ignore it. He asked one last question before getting out of the Camaro. "Did you know about other supernatural creatures? Before all this?"

"I'd heard legends," Derek said. "Nothing more. I thought most of them were myths, but it doesn't look like that anymore."

Okay, so it wasn't just one last question. "What about the other werewolves they mentioned? Did you know about them?"

"They're mutts," Derek said. "We don't associate with them."

"It would've been nice to know, all the same," Stiles said.

"I can't fill you in on everything little detail about everything," Derek snapped. "Just get out, the hunters are going to start wondering."

"Yeah, in a minute, but aren't you having a hard time processing the whole freaking angel part in this? 'Cause that can't just be me, I mean—"

"Oh my god, Stiles. Just accept it. Or don't believe it if you don't want to, it doesn't really matter. His job is to protect you right now. But if they don't, if they do something—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll call you," Stiles said. "Because phone plus werewolf trumps angel plus hunter squared." At the dark look Derek gave him, he quickly added, "Not that I'm doubting your wolfy abilities, it's just the numbers alone—"

"Get. Out."

"Okay, okay! Sheesh."


Dean wasn't a fan of the fact that they were going to be helping werewolves, regardless of their humanity or souls or whatever the hell. Especially after what the son of a bitch—Peter, sorry—had done to Cas. Dean didn't give a shit what would happen, he wanted to rip that fucker's head off.

Sam took first watch with Cas (damn persistent angel) while Dean retrieved the Impala. When he came back, Sam was dozing in the front and Cas was sitting in back, head against the window, knees bent, toes against the opposite side door.

Dean knocked on Sam's window, startling him awake, and he gave Dean a sour look.

"Baby's back," he said after his brother rolled down the window. "Ditch this piece of crap. Cas, you go with him and zap your asses back here." The left and reappeared outside the Impala after no more than ten minutes. Cas climbed in the back again and arranged himself like before.

"So," Dean said, hunkering down. "Which angel's got dibs on the kid's bloodline?"

"Do you remember Metatron?"

"The angel that wrote the Leviathan tablet," Sam recognized.

"Stiles is a vessel for Sandalphon, his brother."

"Angels have brothers?" Dean asked.

"Not in the human sense," Cas said. "They were made from…it's a bit difficult to explain. I could try to—"

"You know what, I believe you," Dean said. "I don't need to understand it."

Minutes passed in silence, and Sam eventually told Dean he was going to catch some sleep. "Wake me up if anything happens or when you get tired," he said.

Sam fell asleep fast, and after a half hour or so, Dean went to the back of the Impala, glad when the opening and closing doors didn't wake Sam.

Cas looked up at him with those big blue eyes for several seconds, not speaking.

"Are you gonna move your feet?" Dean eventually asked.

Cas pulled his knees up against his chest, only to stretch them out over Dean's lap once he was inside. Dean didn't mention it.

"So this kid, he's pretty important?"

"Yes," Cas said, staring intently out the window and across the street at the Stilinski house. "Assuming Sandalphon is still alive."

"The God Rock writer brothers are missing?"

Cas nodded. "They haven't been heard from in ages."

Dean didn't bother asking how long ages was.

Cas shrugged out of his jacket, folded it in his lap, and Dean's eyes automatically moved to the junction between shoulder and neck.

"Dean." His voice demanded Dean's eyes on his, and he locked them there. "This is not the boy's fault."

Dean didn't argue it, because he knew that, but it didn't mean he wasn't still pissed. "No, it's his wild dog's fault. You know, I think I prefer actual monster werewolves. They don't do packs often."

Cas gave him a stern look and Dean rolled his eyes. Stupid, stubborn, pissy angel.

But he was his stupid, stubborn, pissy angel, so after a while, they ended up with Dean's arm around Cas, Cas' head against his chest, and both of them with their heads turned facing the Stilinski house. Dean's fingers danced idly through Cas' hair.


Around two a.m., Stiles came outside. Dean hadn't woken Sam up yet—(he let Sam get as much sleep as possible after the Lucifer-in-my-head episode. His brother'd had untreatable insomnia. No, Dean still wasn't over it.)

Stiles knocked on the window and, why bother with stealth anyway? Dean thought sarcastically.

The window tapping had woken Sam up, so Dean opened the door and got a full view of the kid in plaid pants and a ridiculous looking "stud muffin" shirt.

"My dad left like an hour ago. You guys can like, come inside or something."

"You kind of just like, blew our cover," Dean imitated.

Stiles shrugged, unfazed. "Derek said Castiel smelled weird, so you never really had much cover."

Dean felt rather than saw Sam smirk, and was tempted to snap at him to shut up, but he caught Stiles staring at the way he and Cas were arranged like he was just now noticing it. "I've got food," he added, and, okay, Dean was pretty hungry, having not had supper yet, so Sam probably was, too. As for Cas, Dean made a mental note to ask him later if he needed to eat or if he just did because they did.

"Or you can stay out here." Stiles shrugged again.

"Why are you even awake?" Dean asked, sliding his arm off Cas' shoulder. "Don't you have school?"

"Would you be able to sleep if a pack of Alphas were after you?"

Dean made a sound of agreement. "Well, what do you think, Cas? Do you wanna get out of the car?"

"Some more space would be nice," Cas said quietly, and the three of them got out and followed Stiles to the house.

"Dean, we should tell him he's a vessel—"

"Cas, not now," Dean cut him off in a hushed tone. "That'll probably just freak him out more."

"More?"

"You're an angel," Dean pointed out. "That takes some getting used to."

"What are you two whispering about?" Stiles asked over his shoulder.

"Your extremely broody, furry boyfriend."

"Oh my god, he's not my boyfriend."

Dean snorted because, sure, maybe he wasn't, but he was definitely something. "'Course he's not."

"Fine, then. Stop exchanging secrets with your extremely broody, feathered boyfriend."

Dean might've been thrown by the comeback, but he was used to catty remarks about him and Cas by now. Balthazar, Uriel, Meg. What Dean wasn't sure about was if he was that transparent or if they were just that sarcastic. He couldn't remember which came first: the remarks or his feelings. Probably the remarks; Uriel's death was before Dean started thinking about Cas like that. Or was it?

"Yeah, well, feathers could talk wolfy any day." Any day he was all there.

"Let's put the boyfriends away," Sam said as Stiles shut the door after them, taking up the role of mediator.

The sound of a phone ringing came from another room and Stiles said, "So, uh, help yourself to whatever, I guess. Not the alcohol, though—my dad would notice," and left to go get his phone.


"Dean?"

It was a week after they'd been yanked out of Purgatory, and Cas was curled up on the couch, asleep, but still in Dean's sight. Always in Dean's sight.

"Yeah?"

"I, uh…I noticed you haven't been drinking. Not that it's bad, but you used to, like, all the time."

Dean shrugged. "No decent bars in Purgatory, believe it or not. I guess I haven't really thought about it since I've been back."

"I still can't believe it," Sam said. "I just wish we knew what pulled you out."

"It'd be nice," Dean said. "But we don't have anywhere to start. Nobody left a convenient handprint this time. We've got jack. Not even that."

Sam stared at Cas' sleeping form. "Do you think…do you think maybe it was the angels?"

"I thought so at first, maybe. I asked Cas if he could fly up and check, but I guess he's low on mojo. He couldn't do much in Purgatory with his powers, and I guess he still can't."

"But he wings are still working," Sam stated; Cas had zapped them to where he was after they'd been busted out.

"Speaking of wings," Dean said, "I saw his."

"What?"

"Yeah. In the Big P."

"I thought his true form was supposed to burn eyes out. How did you…"

"The rules are different there. Things can't hold back their true from for long. Vampires can't hide their fangs, werewolves are always werewolves. Leviathans—" Dean couldn't say it, hand gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. "After a while, he couldn't hide his wings anymore. I guess I should be glad he didn't just turn into a floating light or something. But man, they were massive. Black, but opalescent—like…I don't even know, it was just awesome. Wait, I've got a feather—"

He went to his bag to find it, where he'd tucked it in Dad's journal.

"Uh, Dean? Am I allowed to look?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Cas explained it. The feather's separate from him now, so anyone can look at it." He handed the black, velvety plume, tall as his hand, to Sam, and his brother twirled it between his fingers after he got past the hesitation.

"Whoa." A rainbow of colors danced along the barbs, entrancing Sam. "Guy's got wings." He passed it back to Dean and Dean placed it back between the two pages.

Cas sat up with a start just as Dean shut the journal, and he was by his side in an instant. "Hey, hey, it's okay," hands squeezing his shoulders gently.

Cas shut his eyes tight and inhaled slowly, fingers clutching at Dean's shirt until he was okay again.

"I showed Sam your feather," Dean said, just for something to say. "He thought it was pretty awesome."

Behind him, Sam smiled in support of the statement.

Cas raised his eyes slowly, blue peeking out from under dark lashes. "Balthazar had beautiful wings."

Dean slid his hands down Cas' arms. "No guilt-tripping yourself right now."

His angel cast his eyes downward again. "He was my brother. He was my brother and I killed him."

"You weren't yourself," Dean assured him. "He forgives you, he wouldn't hold it against you."

"It doesn't change what I did."

Sam mumbled something about food and left the room.


"Dean? You with me?"

Dean shook the memory. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."

Stiles came back into the kitchen, dropping his phone on the counter.

"Who called?" Sam asked.

"My extremely broody, furry, and did I mention annoying? boyfriend. Because I am completely one hundred percent incapable of taking care of myself."

Dean looked the kid over. "It's not like you're ridiculously scrawny. You could learn."

"Yeah, well, Derek doesn't seem to think so. Otherwise I would've started training with the pack a long time ago."

"We could help you out," Sam said. "Teach you how to fight, how to protect yourself."

Stiles' eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "You guys—you'd do that?"

"While we're here," Dean said.

Stiles silently freaked out for several moments, trying to keep still. "That would be awesome. I mean—grade A hunters, teaching me—"

"Tone down the fangirling," Dean warned.

"Right. Right, okay. When do we start? Now?"

Sam quirked a smile. "How about tomorrow," he suggested. "As long as the pack is…okay with it."

Stiles straightened up. "The pack has nothing to do with it. If werewolves won't teach me how to fight, I'll learn from hunters."

Dean grabbed a Coke from the fridge and pointed a finger at Stiles. "You're better of this way. Hunters kill more monsters than monsters hunters."

Stiles leaned back against the counter, frowned at the floor. "They're not all monsters, you know."

Dean exchanged a glance with his brother, and Sam gave a this one's yours gesture.

"Okay, maybe…maybe you're right. Maybe they're not all bad. But most of them are. And if they haven't killed yet, they will. Probably," he added at the glare Stiles gave him.

"Everybody makes mistakes."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Stiles shook his head. "Nothing. I mean. You've killed people. Or things, or whatever. At least, you and Sam have, I don't think angels kill, but—"

"You're wrong," Cas said, and damn it, Dean should've seen that one coming. "Angels aren't what humans have painted them to be. We're warriors, heaven's most dangerous weapon."

"You—you mean—holy shit, are you kidding? Even angels are killers?"

Dean cast Cas a concerned look. If Stiles tipped him over the edge…

"Not all of us are 'killers', we…we were soldiers. Soldiers with one purpose until…"

"Until they weren't," Dean cut in. "If you keep pushing, you can have fun cowering behind dogs for the rest of your life."

"Sorry, jeez. Touchy."

"Okay, children," Sam said. "Stiles, how about you get some rest before morning. We're not going to teach you anything if you haven't slept,"—and Dean had to laugh at that because that was rich, coming from them—"and we'll go back outside to keep watch. Sound good?"

Stiles sighed. "Yeah, fine. But don't feel like you have to go back out. My dad won't be back for at least another hour, probably two."

"I think it'd be best if we didn't chance him walking in on three strangers while his son's upstairs asleep," Sam said.

Stiles shrugged. "Whatever. It's just weird," he continued as he turned to head up. "I don't know if people on a stake out are strictly business or supposed to be…" His voice drifted to the point where they couldn't understand what he was saying.

Dean slapped Cas lightly on the back. "Time to go back out, buddy."

Cas watched the kid until he disappeared from sight. "Maybe we should tell the Argents that he's a vessel—"

"Drop the vessel thing, Cas," Dean said, harsher than he'd intended. "That'll bring too many questions, and questions do nothing but complicate things."