Castiel sat on the edge of his bed with his eyes squeezed shut, hands tensing over the scratchy, orange blanket.

He opened his eyes, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. Slowly, he got to his knees and set his elbows on the bed, clasping his hands together and resting his forehead on them.

The man cleared his throat and began, "Um. I-I don't know if this'll get to you, and I'm not completely sure that I want it to, as it is slightly embarrassing, but...it's been two months since I've seen you that night, when I-um- with the demons. You raced off and I'm...I'm worried about you, Deanna. Please tell me you're okay.

"The dreams are still happening. More of you. We're in a forest and I'm scared for you. But you aren't there. Deanna, I don't know where these visions are coming from, they're so graphic...I know things about you- erm, your vessel-that you've never told me. Her birthday is January 24, 1979, her favorite song is Ramble On by Led Zeppelin, she has an Impala...I'm afraid- I'm afraid I might be going crazy.

Just- be okay."

He opened his eyes again, not lifting his head from where it rested. A sigh, and then he rose, taking his jacket from the chair where it hung and walking out the door.

Deanna stood next to the man named Harold O'Niell as the elevator rose. She could smell his overpowering cologne and feel his intrusive gaze gliding over her body. Feeling the First Blade's silhouette pressed against her side, she leaned forward and pressed the emergency stop button. The elevator shuddered and stopped as she leaned against the railing on the wall, picking at her nails.

Mr. 'O Niell looked from the glowing red button to Deanna. "What the hell was that?"

Her eyes moved up to look at him and she rested her elbows on the bar behind her. "Harold. I hate to break it to you, but you're gonna die today."

He leaned towards the panel of numbers, shaking his blonde head. "I'm not gonna be late to work for this psychic bullcrap."

She wagged her finger, throwing him into the back wall of the cubical. "Ah, ah, ah. Let's not make this hard."

Deanna pushed herself off the wooden wall and stepped over his amber colored briefcase, pulling the jawbone out of her coat. Keeping the businessman pinned down, she put her hands behind her back and began to pace the floor.

"Mr. 'O Niell. I believe ten years ago, you met a man. 'Bout yay high-" (she gestured to the middle of her neck) "-fancy suit, pompous English accent?"

Pausing, she glanced to him. He was still wheezing, struggling to recover from getting all the air knocked out of him.

She turned on her heel to face him and crouched down to his level. "That day, you and that man made a deal. Your soul for all this. The fame and fortune of being the CEO of a big company. And now is when that comes to bite you right in your hairy-"

Castiel's voice filled the room. "Um. I-I don't know if this'll get to you..."

So the spell had worked. Castiel mentioned her name, she heard it. He was...praying? Having dreams of Purgatory. He was worried about her safety.

"Oh, Cas," she breathed. Blinking, she noticed the man formally at her mercy was up and punching the buttons on the panel frantically. Rolling her eyes, she stood and stabbed him in the back.

Her eyes flicked to black as she watched the crimson patch on Harold's (probably expensive) suit jacket grow. The demon leaned next to his ear and whispered, "See ya in Hell," before pulling the Blade out of his back and watching him collapse.

Her eyes flicked back to their normal emerald color as her lips curled into a smirk. The sound of the man rasping and coughing up blood filled the small elevator and it began rising again. She could feel the Mark on her forearm become red and irritated. The last thing she heard was the ding of the elevator before snapping her fingers and vanishing.

But she didn't end up at the bunker, as intended. She looked at the shadowy concrete room and, hearing screams of agony around her, knew Crowley had diverted her travel to land her in his throne room.

"What," she shouted, turning to face him. "Could it possibly be now?"

"Take a guess."

So he knew about the spell then.

"I'm not speaking to him, am I?"

"I told you you were to have no contact with him."

"How am I contacting him?"

"He's contacting you!"

"He doesn't know."

The king sighed, stepping closer to her. "I saved your angel once. A very generous deed, as you had blatantly gone against our little deal. And now all I ask is you limit your contact and do my bidding and you can't even do that! It's like I have no authority anymore. My own manslaughter-ess doesn't do her job, the torture dungeons are falling apart..."

Crowley watched her stare off into space. He huffed. "DO YOUR BLOODY JOB OR I'LL KILL THE BOY MYSELF!"

She shook her head. "Piss off."

Deanna took off and landed at her original destination, supporting herself on a chair back in the bunker's library. She was still gripping the bloody blade, and it was dripping onto the wood floor.

She watched the droplets splatter as her hand began to shake, power surging through her arm and allowed the blade to clatter to the floor. Her hand shook more furiously when she fell to her knees on the floor next to the blade, breathing quickly.

Happy thoughts, Deanna, come on, she thought to herself. Come on, think of Sammy. Sammy and his stupid rabbit food and kale, whatever the hell that is, and Men of Letters legacy, that kid makes you proud, come on Dee, you can do this.

Her forearm still burned bright red.

Okay, okay, Cas, think of Cas, think of what you had, think of how much you love him, you love him so much

And then he fell and you couldn't save him. He's gone, and it's your fault.

Her eyes flicked black again as she rose, picking up the First Blade again and vanishing.