In the morning, Cas went through his daily routine, trying not to think. Put in his contacts, got dressed, painted his wings. Tried not to think about—he cut himself off before he could think the name, squeezing his eyes shut.

The guard escorted him to the castle.

When he arrived at the Roadhouse that evening, he would simply tell Meg that he refused to see the man. It was that simple. If he ignored the problem, his life could return to normal. Dean would be proud of that last thought, if he knew.

He certainly wasn't avoiding Dean because of any lingering sentimentality. There was nothing emotional behind this decision at all. He just couldn't meet with Dean because Dean's presence threatened to destroy everything he'd worked for in the past fifteen years. Dean had the ability to compromise his identity. That was all.

He marched up the steps to the throne room, hoping breakfast was still being served. He hadn't the stomach to eat anything earlier, but Michael, the King's chief military advisor, caught him before he could open the double doors. Castiel's eyes widened- Michael never spoke to him, if he could avoid it. Castiel was beneath him.

"Castiel, the King wished to see you up in his chambers."

"Oh." The door to the throne room opened and Cas caught a glimpse of a platter of fruit. He looked at it longingly. "I'll head straight there."

For some reason, the King had immediately taken a liking to Castiel. Cas didn't understand why; he wasn't well behaved like Raphael, he wasn't loyal like Michael, nor was he funny like Uriel.

A servant announced his arrival, and Castiel found the King out on his balcony.

"Come sit with me," the King commanded, looking out at the City. He gestured to the plate of food on the table next to him, "And help yourself."

Cas did as he was told, looking out at the view. All of Eden lay before them. Castiel had seen the city like this at night, when he could fly without fear. It was beautiful then, but it was an entirely different sort of beautiful during the day. Serene, holy.

"How was your night?" the King asked, finally looking over at Castiel.

"It was…average, I suppose," the angel answered, his head tilting in confusion, "my King."

"I told you, you don't have to call me that here."

Castiel nodded with a shy smile.

"If I ask you something, do you promise to tell me the truth?"

"Of course," Castiel said, immediately tensing.

"Do you think I have an alcohol problem?" the King asked suddenly.

Castiel's eyebrows shot up. The King most certainly did have an alcohol problem, but how was he supposed to answer? Was this some sort of test? "Why…why would you think that?" Cas asked innocently.

"Something the Queen said last night," the King frowned. "You don't have to spare my feelings, Castiel."

"Then…yes, you do…on occasion, tend to consume too much alcohol."

The King smiled at Cas. "See? That's why I like you—you tell me the truth. Not like Lucifer or Gabriel used to—those two could be a little too truthful at times. You do it without malice. You just tell things how they are."

"I would like to add that, while you do spend many nights roaring drunk," Castiel's lips twitched up into a smile, "I don't believe it takes away from your standing as a good King, Chuck."

It was true. There were problems with the country, to be sure. The royal court needed an attitude adjustment. The capital city was corrupt and needed a vigilante to keep it sound. There were issues. But Chuck was a kind, loving King, and that was something.

"Thanks," Chuck snorted, "Becky's a wise Queen, isn't she?" he asked a little dreamily.

Cas smiled to himself. She was something.

"She is."

"Weird, though," Chuck laughed again.

"She can be eccentric at times," Cas agreed with a smile.

"But she's smarter than most people give her credit for. She has ideas…they're unique, and sometimes wildly inaccurate, but some of them are so crazy they might just be possible. She told me a really interesting theory of hers last night."

Chuck looked up, glancing behind them at the servant standing near the door. With a flick of the King's hand, the servant closed the door and left the two men alone on the balcony.

"Stand up," Chuck ordered, his voice losing its friendliness.

Warning bells started going off in Castiel's head, and his mind instinctually sprung into action. He tensed, trying to read Chuck's body language and scanning the scene around him.

There were two ways of escape from where he stood—back through the door and off the edge of the balcony. The door wasn't possible—he'd have to fight through the entire palace. Flying away wasn't ideal either, though, as his wings didn't fly well with the white paint covering them. They would get him far enough, though. Then he could hide, flee Eden.

He was always ready with an escape plan—a sort of 'abandon Eden and flee' emergency protocol for if he'd ever been found out. He could be gone by tonight.

It might not even be the worse thing to happen to him. He'd be free, free from the courts and free from his self-imposed prison as defender of the city. He realized part of him actually wanted this, this confrontation.

He stood, ready to fight. He loved the King, the man was like a father to him, but he would fight to defend himself, and the King was short and human. He would be easy to overpower.

"Let me see your wings."

Cas shut his eyes with a sigh. Chuck knew, then.

Castiel shifted his weight and materialized his wings, hoping Chuck might react well to the news. At least well enough to give him a chance to run. It was unlikely, given Chuck's tendency to 'freak out,' as Meg called it, but there was a chance.

Chuck examined them for a moment, humming thoughtfully. Castiel couldn't see his expression.

"May I?"

Before Cas could ask what he meant, Chuck was poking at one of the wings. Cas jumped with a slight squeak.

"Wow, that's clever. That's really clever. What is that, Castiel, paint?"

For a moment, he considered denying it. "Yes. Sort of."

"Incredible," the King breathed. He hadn't called any guards yet. That was a good sign, right? Cas turned to look at Chuck cautiously. "You'd never even be able to tell unless you were looking for it."

"You're…not angry?"

"I'm livid," Chuck nodded up at him, "I told Becky that if she was right, she could redecorate our entire room. Do you have any idea what that means, Castiel?"

"Um."

"It's not good. But about you spending every night for the last fifteen years fighting crime in my city? I'm not angry."

Castiel felt his mouth fall open.

"I'm surprised as hell," Chuck rubbed his eyes, "but I'm not angry. Maybe proud, even."

"You're…what?"

The other side of Castiel's mind—the cold, calculating hunter—shrugged, just as lost as the rest of him.

"Castiel. I love my people, you know that. I do all I can to help them. But I can't fix everything, and all you've ever done is help clean up my mess. I should be thanking you."

Cas blinked at him. "You're welcome?" he replied stupidly.

"Haven't you ever wondered why the city force hasn't been as hard on you as it could have been? Why, whenever Michael brought you up in meetings as a problem, I dismissed the issue?"

"I never really…"

"You have blue eyes in all the stories," Chuck frowned. "Like, they're supposed to be really blue."

"I wear contacts."

"Oh. Wait…you wear contacts at night, or you're wearing them right now?"

"I'm wearing them right now."

"Really?" Chuck asked, peering up at Castiel. "huh. They're convincing. Well…anyways, keep up the good work. Uh, good luck." The King patted Castiel on the arm awkwardly.

"You won't tell anyone?"

"Apart from Becky? I won't tell anyone. Now get out of here, kid."

.

Dean Winchester glanced up and down the hallway before stepping out of a supply closet he'd been hiding in. Blending seamlessly in with the crowd, he tried to look like he belonged. After all, he was breaking some serious rules here. Get locked up in prison for the rest of his life rules.

And that in itself was nothing new, but he wasn't used to committing crimes in the country's capital, in the capital's palace. That was a little much, even for his standards.

But this was something he had to do.

He caught a glimpse of massive white wings and his heart stopped beating. He never imagined they'd be so…innocent looking. According to the stories, angels were supposed to be fierce warriors. Not the humanoid equivalent of fluffy rabbits.

The winged creature turned, and Dean felt a stab of disappointment. They were attached to an older, balding man with a nasty sneer.

He wandered the halls, and saw two more sets of wings along the way. The first belonged to a beautiful red-haired girl with huge, wide eyes. In any other situation, Dean would've started flirting in a heartbeat.

The second gave him pause. It was a younger man, very stern and rigid, with neat black hair. His eyes met Dean's and the angel gave him a small, almost flirtatious smile. Dean hesitated and took an uncertain step closer to the angel, but someone else approached him first, calling him "Michael." Dean abruptly turned on his heel and kept looking. He almost considered asking someone for directions, posing as a servant or something.

When Dean found his angel, he knew it.

The man was sitting in a windowsill, wings tucked behind him and chin resting on his knees. His wings looked a little stiffer than the other angels', but hey, maybe they just matched his personality. He was always a bit uptight as a kid.

The angel had a thick book in his hands, which he seemed completely engrossed with, and a small smile on his lips.

He was decked out in the latest fashion, complete with flashy jewelry, makeup, and lace. His once wild hair was now neatly combed. He looked completely different, but Dean was sure that inside, he was still the same creature.

After all, Dean had seen him in the same position a thousand times before.

"Cas," Dean breathed. He didn't even realize he'd said it out loud until the angel's head snapped up.

The eyes were the wrong color, but they flashed with recognition nonetheless. That, and…anger?

Shit.

The book slammed shut, and the angel rose to his feet in a movement so fast Dean's eyes couldn't follow it. The air crackled with static and his wings seemed to take up more space than before. Dean was rooted to the spot, staring at the angel with wide eyes.

Was it too late to go look for the pretty, red-headed angel?

Castiel had enough presence of mind to look around, make sure no one was around to see, before he marched over and slammed Dean into the wall, his forearm braced against the human's throat. The impact knocked all of the air of the human's lungs.

"You," Cas growled. Dean was gasping for breath and kind of freaking out under the angel's wrath, but that didn't keep him from noticing that voice. It must've dropped like, three octaves since they'd last spoken. "Why are you. here?"

"Come on, Cas. You don't write, you don't visit, what was I supposed to do?" Dean asked with a laugh, trying to shove away the fist that was now twisted in his shirt.

The angel smelled clean...sort of a synthetic smell. Pleasant, but kind of...fake.

"If I don't visit," the angel mocked, narrowing his brown—which definitely wasn't right—eyes at Dean, "that's because you said you never wanted to see me again. You made that quite clear, Dean."

"Cas," Dean choked out, because Castiel's hand was definitely cutting off his air supply. The angel seemed to notice and let go of Dean. Okay. Cas didn't want him dead, at least. That much was more than he deserved. "You know how I get when I'm angry—and I'd been drinking then, too."

"Do not try to explain your words away, you ass. You had chances to apologize. You had fifteen years to apologize. In that time, I have moved on," Dean cringed, "and you are no longer a part of my life. I would like to keep it that way." Cas turned to walk away.

"Dammit. Cas, wait," Dean called. The angel froze, but he didn't turn back to look at Dean. He just waited. "I am actually here for a reason. Besides seeing your pretty face," he chucked humorlessly. He angel let out a deep breath. "I get that you don't want to talk to me, I don't blame you, but I'm here to warn you."

Castiel turned back to Dean, expression blank. "About?"

"You have to get out of Eden, Cas. It's not going to be safe here soon."

"What?"

"Come with me. We can leave the city together- I'll take you back to Lawrence until this all blows over, Cas-"

"Don't call me that," Castiel corrected automatically. "And what are you talking about?"

"Lucifer is coming," Dean said, taking a few steps closer to the angel. Castiel narrowed his eyes. "He's going to take on Eden, and then he's going to try to take the rest of Earth. He'll be stopped before he gets that far, but Eden will fall."

Castiel's expression didn't change, he just looked at Dean with those dead brown eyes. "You're not serious, are you? Why should I believe anything you have to say to me, Dean? The last time we spoke, you swore at me, told me you hated me, that you never wanted to see me again. I trusted you, I cared about you. And you hurt me. You ruined my home for me. Now you're trying to take away this home as well," the angel drew closer, so his face was only inches from Dean's, "I won't let you," he growled.

"Cas-"

"Even if you're right, I would rather stay in Eden while it falls- experience torture at Lucifer's hands- than to leave with you."

"Wow," Dean nodded, putting his hands in his pockets and taking a step backwards, "I was right, then. This place did change you. Am I not good enough for you anymore?"

"I never said that."

"But why should you trust me, right? I'm nobody. I don't have any titles or money, so clearly I don't know what I'm talking about. Nevermind that I'm your best friend and we've known each other since we were toddlers. What happened to all those promises, huh? Don't they mean anything? Congrats, Cas, you're officially a mindless asshole, just like every other dick with wings in this fucking palace. Tell me something, huh? How long did it take you to do your hair this morning?"

"Dean."

"Look at you, man! You're wearing freaking eye liner! Life used to mean something to you, now you sit around all day on comfy cushions in a costume discussing the weather! How is that normal?!"

"Do not presume to know anything about me," Cas said, expression still blank. His eyes flicked to something behind Dean. Dean turned to see a young angel turn into the hall, freezing when he saw Dean and Castiel. "Samandriel, if you aren't busy, would you please escort this man out of the palace?"

"Of course, Castiel," Samandriel said, approaching Dean and wondering what the human could have possibly done to anger Castiel. The guy was all gentleness and soft smiles.

The human didn't argue, just glared at Castiel before turning and storming away angrily.

.

"Dean," Cas began, approaching the huddled figure. They were in the middle of a small grove, a place sacred to them and them alone. It was their refuge, their escape from the real world. "What are you doing out here this late? Everyone's worried—your mother is in a panic, your father—"

"Three days, huh?"

Castiel stilled. "Who told you?"

"Sam let it slip. Did everyone know but me, then?" Dean turned to look up at Cas. He couldn't be sure in the dim lighting, but it almost looked like the boy had been crying.

With a sigh, Cas sat beside him. "I just found out this morning. You know I don't want to go, Dean."

"Then don't."

"I can't just refuse—"

"Why not?" Dean whined.

"Because he's the King. And he wants me to take my father's place and I don't have a choice."

Dean leaned heavily against Castiel's shoulder, hiccupping.

"You've been drinking," Cas observed.

"No fucking shit."

"Come with me," Cas said suddenly.

"What?" Dean asked, pushing himself off Castiel's shoulder and blinking at the angel.

"Come with me to Eden, Dean," Cas repeated, getting excited now. "We could stay together, and you could live with me—"

"Don't be stupid, Cas. No way."

"Dean."

Dean refused to look at him.

"Dean, I do everything you ask. I always come when you call. And I am your closest friend. Still, despite your lack of faith in me and now your insults, I still want you by my side. All I ask is this one thing."

"You want me to come to Eden with you? Doing what? Being your little mistress, Cas? There's no room for me in that life. You know that's how those stupid court people work, right? They don't do anything except sleep, eat, gossip, and fuck. That's where you're going, and that's where you want me to go, too? Oh, and what am I supposed to do, just abandon my family? Don't be an idiot, Cas."

"I was trying to offer a solution, Dean." Castiel's voice hardened.

"Yeah, well don't," Dean spat, standing up. "Because there's already a solution, you're just too much of a coward to see it. Say no. Stay here. Don't leave me," the last sentence was quiet and broken.

"If I do that," Castiel stood up too, "my mother would have nothing. She's under the King's protection now, but if I turn down his offer, We. Will. Have. Nothing. Do you understand that, Dean? Your parents are lucky to both have solid incomes, a good home. We don't have that. My grandmother is ill. Our house isn't our house. My mother has no marketable skills, neither do I, for that matter, and then I have three younger cousins to care for on top of that. I won't condemn my entire family to misery just so that I can be happy, Dean."

"Fine," Dean said. "But if you go, that's fucking it. Because going there, with those people, that's going to turn you into something you're not, Cas. You're going to turn into a monster. You're going to get fat and greedy and heartless, and I'm not gonna associate with someone like that. So don't try to contact me. Don't write to me or send me messages. If you come and visit, don't try to see me. I don't want to have anything to do with any bloodsucking, angelic nobles."

.

Castiel cringed at the memory. Yes, he'd been harsh to Dean earlier that day, but he'd been justified in doing so, right?

Even so, he'd behaved foolishly. For the first time in fifteen years, Castiel had lost control, all because Dean showed up from out of nowhere and caught him off-guard. If anyone had seen him, if Samandriel had showed up even a minute sooner, had seen him in his wrath...

"So, Clarence, are you going to tell me who pretty boy was yesterday?" Meg asked, sipping innocently at her drink.

"I don't know who you're talking about," Cas replied, not looking her way.

"I think she's talking about the guy that made you get up and flee the place like a little kid caught with his parent's alcohol," Ash supplied.

Everyone turned to give Ash a look.

"Just me?" he asked.

Jo laughed, turning back to Cas. "But really, Angel, I've never seen you look so terrified. And I've seen you in some pretty messed up situations."

"He was nobody," Cas said flatly. "Why don't you all just mind your own business?"

"Because your business is our business, blue eyes," Meg said in her annoyingly calm manner. "Just tell me this: is this guy going to cause a problem?"

"No," Cas shook his head, "I don't think he'll even recognize me."

"Oh, so he's someone who knows you?" Meg perked up.

Cas cursed internally. "I…yes. But if you ask him any questions, you're fired, Meg."

"You would never fire me," she smiled sweetly, "you're too sweet on me, Clarence. But don't worry, I'll give you your privacy. And you have to talk to him tonight, you know. His thing seemed pretty serious."

"What did he say?"

"First of all, he's a hunter," Meg rolled her eyes. Hunters were members of a fairly secret organization—they fought to protect Earth from harmful supernatural forces, including demons. Jo, Ellen, and Ash were all retired hunters, though they—including Cas and Meg—worked with the organization often. "So after you left, it took Jo and Ellen ten minutes to convince him I'm a friendly. But he said something about Lucifer and a rebellion and Eden. Oh yeah, and something about everyone in the city falling to demon control."

"Send him upstairs when he shows up," Cas sighed.

He'd known the second Dean mentioned Lucifer that he was going to have to hear Dean out. So much for ignoring the problem and letting it fade back out of his life.

Cas spent a few minutes rearranging the furniture in the office. He moved the desk to the corner and angled it, setting a chair across from it, but a good distance away. He opened the blinds so the light from the street flooded in, but then he blew out the two oil lamps in the room.

Satisfied, he sat back and surveyed his work. The room was light enough to see, but the corner with the desk was plunged into darkness.

Cas hopped over the desk and settled into the seat, shaking out his wings and bringing them to the physical plane. For good measure, he pulled a black mask out of his pocket and put it on. It covered the top half of his face, revealing only his eyes and lips. He wasn't going to let Dean ruin what he had here, Lucifer or no Lucifer.

Then he waited.

.

It wasn't long before a knock came at the door. Meg peered in, snorting when she saw the rearranged furniture. "That's a sweet set up you're rocking there, Angel. Dean Winchester's here."

"Send him in."

Castiel tried lowering his voice further to disguise it. He briefly considered using an accent, but decided that might be overkill.

Dean came in a second later, eyes widening when he saw Castiel's wings taking up half the room. Castiel was trying to appear intimidating, despite the bundle of nerves knotting up his stomach.

The hunter, Cas was surprised to note, looked exhausted. More so than he had when they'd met that morning. He looked worn and haggard, and though he did a good job hiding it, Dean was still Castiel's oldest friend. There wasn't much the human could hide from him.

The angel felt another twinge of guilt at his callous treatment of Dean that morning.

Dean let out a low whistle and took the seat across from the desk. "So is this how you do things? Not very intimate, is it?"

"My entire operation depends on secrecy and mystery. It would be counter-effective to show you my face."

"Kinky," the hunter smirked. His green eyes were drawn to the wings again. "Why black? I thought angel's wings were supposed to be white."

"It's rumored that Lucifer's wings are red as blood," Cas murmured. " They way an angel's wings manifest is seemingly random—size, shape, color. This is just how my wings decided they want to look," he shrugged, then realized Dean couldn't see the gesture.

The hunter smiled.

"Is something humorous?"

"Nah, for a second you just reminded me of—never mind," Dean said, expression darkening, "It's nothing."

Castiel realized something. "Do you think it's wise to show up to a meeting with one of the most dangerous individuals in Eden drunk?"

"Wise? Porbably not. But I'm only a little drunk, and I've had a really tough day, okay? Give a guy a break."

Cas raised an eyebrow, fairly certain he knew why Dean had a tough day. And it made him feel guilty for lashing out that morning. He frowned and cleared his throat. "Mr. Winchester, I was under the impression that you had information—"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I don't know how much Meg told you, and I don't know how much you already know about Hell's politics, but I guess I'll just start from the beginning, yeah? So we've known Lucifer was in Hell for a while, right? He's been there since the king banished him. But we all thought he was just…I don't know, sulking. Yeah, well, turns out he was gathering an army. A damn big one, too. Right now, all of hell is divided into two factions: Lucifer's side, and King Crowley's side. But a few days ago, Crowley was forced into hiding. Now, Crowley's a dick, but he's a dick that minds his own business, so we let him be.

"And now Lucifer's taking his disappearance as an opportunity to move on his real goal: Earth. He started marching his army in this direction two days ago, and all signs point at him coming straight for Eden."

Cas was free to admire Dean while the human spoke. He'd always been aesthetically pleasing, but he really had aged well. He was beautiful and passionate…and Cas should really be focusing more on what he was saying.

"He wants to kill the King," Cas guessed.

"Among other things."

"How do you know all of this?"

"I was stationed at the border. Several of our runners all came in with the same information."

"How long until Lucifer arrives?"

"A week. Maybe longer. He was on the other side of Hell, last I heard, and he's taking his sweet time getting with it."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't know, whatever you can do. According to the stories, you kinda run this town, dude. Plus, we have to get the King out of Eden before Lucifer hits, that much is obvious, but I don't have the proof or credentials to even get an audience."

"I do. I'll need to talk to Michael, too," Cas said, thinking out loud, "he's the Commander in Chief of the entire army, and Lucifer's twin brother. You'll have to come with, of course."

"Wait, like, now?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. Castiel stepped out of the shadows—praying to whoever was listening that Dean wouldn't recognize him—and smirked down at the hunter.

"I'd say this is an issue that requires a sense of urgency, wouldn't you?"

"Fair enough," Dean shrugged, "Lead the way, angel boy."

Castiel put his wings away, heading down into the Roadhouse.

"So do you have a name, or what?" Dean asked from behind him.

"I do, but I'm not telling you what it is."

Dean laughed. "Secrecy. Right."

.

To her credit, Meg didn't even blink when she saw Castiel's mask. "Is there a problem, Clarence?"

"Clarence? Really? Your name is Clarence?" Dean cringed.

"No," Castiel frowned, "That's just what Meg decided to call me."

"He found it annoying at first, then it just stuck," Meg shrugged.

"Got it. Can I choose a name for you too, then? You look kind of like a…Jimmy. Cool if I call you Jimmy?"

Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean, tilting his head curiously, and for a brief second, he thought he saw recognition flash across Dean's face, quickly followed by something—what was it? Regret? Disappoinment? Irritation, maybe? The expression, whatever it was, was quickly replaced by the customary smirk.

"Meg, cancel the rest of tonight's meetings. Give everyone my apologies, but something much more important has come up."

"I'm sure it has," she smirked, giving Dean a dirty wink.

Fortunately, the mask hid Castiel's blush.

"Come on," he grumbled to Dean, leading the way into the basement.