(Using Jedi mind tricks) You will ignore any spelling and grammatical errors...

Subconscious Inclinations.

Early morning, before either of the boys woke, always stirred a contemplative mood in Castiel. He always did like thinking things over in the dawn sun, it made everything seem... withstandable. With the start of a new Earthly day Castiel was reminded that there was a whole lot out there in this world that his Father made, it was much bigger than his problems. Sometimes it was easy to get sidetracked, to be short-sighted.

When he was here with the Winchesters, they were the whole world.

For an Angel, such focus, such personal involvement, could be disorienting, claustrophobic in a way.

Castiel glanced over at Dean, sleeping with one flimsy sheet tangled over him and his hand resting on his chest, his face so passive. He never looked so calm when he was awake.

Castiel's eyes meandered over to Sam, laying on his stomach, facing away from he and Dean, sleeping diagonally in the bed he was nearly too tall for, one arm hanging off the mattress, knuckles tickling the cheap carpet.

Castiel felt a tweak of affection in his chest which he knew all too well was dangerous, being that he was a warrior of Heaven, but which he had long since resigned to. Especially on mornings like this. Seeing the brothers in such a vulnerable state, he felt that deep pull of duty to watch over them. He felt protective. He had never been so secretly pleased to be considered someone's Guardian Angel.

There was a time, only a few years ago, he would have balked at the idea. He may even have felt the need to punish such an accusation. But now, in the early dawn light, in a motel room in the middle of nowhere, Castiel was glad for his role, however demeaning to his true purpose, in these young men's lives.

His eyes went back to Sam, sensing that the younger man would soon stir.

Sam usually woke first these days, and Cas enjoyed the comfortably platonic, stress-free interactions of their shared morning. He had always liked Sam, abomination or not. He had a good soul, you could see that easily. He'd hid it under a bushel for awhile, but Castiel never doubted him; he never thought Sam's soul was forever blackened or destroyed.

They had developed an easy kind of comradery, devoid of all of the tension, and stress, and weight of unsaid things that hung between he and Dean. Their relationship was thankfully simple.

In the wake of the past few days' developments with Dean, Castiel was glad when Sam departed for his morning run, leaving Castiel alone to think. Or at least, mostly alone. Dean was still unconscious on his bed, muttering occasionally from what Castiel imagined was some fitful dream. He had them often.

How Castiel wished to know what that dream was.

Spending every morning being able to feel by the raise of the hairs on the back of his neck that his charge was dreaming, and not taking the second-nature liberty of looking into his mind, out of respect for Dean, was making Castiel very anxious.

Most angels did not concern themselves with boundaries of respect when it came to humans, especially their charge. The mortals were an open book. That was how it was supposed to be. In Heaven's eyes there were to be no boundaries between Angel and charge, whether the human disliked the invasion of privacy or not. No angel would stop his curiosity, or to put it more diplomatically, his inclination, because the human had asked them not to.

But Castiel wasn't the average angel. That much was obvious - now more than ever.

He didn't just lust for Dean, he pined for him. Worse in the eyes of his brethren, he respected him.

But he desired in the worst way to see the unhidden psyche of this man that so baffled and excited him. It was only natural for someone of Castiel's kind to want that, to want to watch, it was something they all did. Second nature. He wanted to see for himself what Dean dreamt. And more than anything, he wanted to be sure that he didn't suffer through nightmares.

Castiel gave a heavy sigh, glancing over at the man who's brow was now slightly furrowed in sleep. Castiel had never spent so much time with any one human.

In some ways it was unrelentingly frustrating.

He was starting to wish he had heeded his own warnings about Dean, and about going too far. He'd warned himself he would only be tempted to want more. He was right.

He had touched the righteous man's skin, intimately, with borrowed fingertips and it was all he could do to keep from touching him again. He'd opened up to something deep and feral inside himself and now he was worried there would come an inevitable surge, as if it would flood him and take him over.

Touching Dean, seeing his eyes fall closed, feeling the warm buzz inside the man and feeling it transfer through Castiel's hands... He was easily addicted. Now every time he looked at Dean there was a physically desirous context to the way he saw the man's body. To touch him had been a fantasy come to life for Castiel, one he didn't dare admit to before then.

He wished only that the moment had held the same significance for Dean.

As far as Castiel could tell, the touch was purely utilitarian for him. Not so much romantic as a human might say, but an unspectacular near-necessity.

In a way, Castiel was disappointed, even if he was also relieved. He loathed to destroy the relationship he had with Dean, so knowing that his moment of physical affection hadn't ruined everything was a relief. But he was sad about it too. That brief contact had meant so much to him.

If Angels dreamt, that would be the moment Castiel dreamt of until the end of time. Dean's skin, warm, his body so relaxed, so trusting, his mind so content. All because of Castiel himself.

He felt changed. And pathetic, that Dean was so unaffected.

He supposed, physical touch was nothing new to the Hunter. He was a human man, touch was part of his everyday life. Anything Castiel made him feel Dean was sure to have felt before. Not like Castiel.

Dean muttered something in his sleep, and Castiel's eyes shot over to him, seeing his head bob to the other side in unrest. Castiel watched carefully as one of Dean's hands clenched in the sheets, and something stirred in the Angel at that sight. First something protective, and then something deeper and darker Castiel didn't dare identify

He turned away, giving Dean the privacy he so desired, and praying that the man's dreams weren't of Hell, but of something better.

. . . . .

The creature surrounded him, was everywhere he turned, was impossibly fast. It had him cornered. Somehow, he knew Sam wouldn't be there to save him. He knew he was no match for this creature. It knew every move before he made it, knew every instinct before his slow human body could act on it. It was all around him in a silvery mist of something black and powerful.

He turned this way and that to get away from it, to find an opening and run - the creature was strong, too strong. Stronger than him. And it scared him.

But everywhere he turned it was already there, the almost iridescent black swirl of hard lines and soft edges.

And an electric streak of blue.

Dean's terror gave way to resignation - he couldn't outrun the creature. He couldn't escape it. So why fight a futile battle? He stood still, feeling the creature continue to circle around him a few moments more, as if to prove the point, before the silvery-black mass of mist settled before him.

Now he would face it. Now he would face this creature like a man. He didn't have any choice.

The black mist, shining in some impossible, almost beautiful way, began to condense before his eyes, making some solid form, a shape he couldn't yet recognize. The blackness split down the middle, parting to expose a silhouette beneath - something that was too bright to look at. The blackness formed at the creature's flanks, stretching out massively, majestically.

Wings.

He knew it burned, he knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help looking at the creature, trying to peer through the light to the thing underneath. His breath caught in his chest as the light began to recede.

And there, standing like it was poised for battle, was an Angel of the Lord.

Its skin still glowed white, so pale, so ivory and Heavenly that it stung his eyes to look at him. The Angel's hair was dark and wild, his eyelashes, black and mesmerizing in how pretty they were against his pale skin. His cheekbones were high and his face handsome. His lips were wide, faintly pink and set into a strong, impassive line. And his eyes, so blue...

Dean knew this creature. He knew it. But he couldn't remember...

He tried desperately to make it click into place. The Angel was so close, so dangerous, he could feel the power radiating from it in daunting waves, and while Dean was intelligently wary, he was somehow now, unafraid.

He looked at the Angel's impossibly white dress shirt, a few top buttons unbuttoned, and he saw the dip at the base of the Angel's neck.

He could almost remember...

The Angel seemed to revel in Dean's confused examination. It stared, like a challenge, and never faltered. Dean couldn't look away.

He remembered.

"Castiel..."

Dean awoke with a gasp, sitting up fast enough to make himself dizzy. His clothes were damp and his face hot. His eyes shot immediately to the couch, where he already knew Castiel was sitting. The Angel was obviously tense. The way his head was tilted, as if he was tempted to look back over his shoulder at Dean, Dean could tell he'd heard. He could tell Castiel wanted to look, but spared him the discomfort.

"Was it a nightmare?" Castiel asked, his voice straining to sound disinterested.

"No," Dean answered honestly. "No. It wasn't."

There was a slight chill in the air that made Sam almost rethink the thin T-shirt he wore with his sweatpants, but he didn't bother to turn back. He cracked his neck and stretched, slipping his earbuds in and turning up the volume on the MP3 player. But he only got so far as two blocks before halting less than gracefully.

Across the street, outside the diner, she was there.

Diner girl, he smiled to himself. She was fussing with the lock on the diner's door, her purse slipping off of her shoulder, her tongue sticking out as she clumsily fought with it. Sam was jogging over to her before he realized where his legs were taking him.

"Hey," he greeted, pulling the earbuds out.

She whipped around, surprised, "Oh!"

"Sorry, sorry," Sam apologized immediately, "I didn't mean to sneak up on you-"

She smiled, seeing it was him, and his stomach clenched a little. "Sorry, it's fine. I just - this damn thing has been rusted for ages and they just won't fix it," she brandished the key at the worse-for-wear lock. "It's like pick-axing into Fort Knox to get into work every morning."

He laughed a little at her expense and the once again very colorful wording before stepping in, holding out his hand. "May I?"

"Please."

She handed over the key and Sam worked it into the lock, using his manly-man strength to twist the thing and open the door.

"My hero," she jibed, obviously slighted that she wasn't able to do it herself. Sam laughed and she couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Ow! Shhhhhhoot-" she let out suddenly.

"What, what? You ok?" Sam came close to her, probably more concerned than he should be.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I got my ring caught." She brought her hand up, looking distressed at the bent fixture on the ring. It was a large, black ovular cameo with a gold band and fixture. The cameo seemed familiar to Sam, but he couldn't quite pin it down.

"Dang, I bent it," she brushed her fingertip over the bent pieces of fixture poking up.

"It's an easy fix," Sam noted, taking her hand in his and scrutinizing the ring, "if you want me to bend it back, I think I can."

He looked up from the ring to see her staring at him, a slight pink to her cheeks. That's when he realized he'd taken her hand in both of his. He would've said something, but his voice seemed to entirely leave him.

"Sure. Thanks," she said a little quietly. She smiled down at her shoes as she slipped her hand from his. "Come on in, I'll put on coffee."

Sam followed her in, a small smile on his lips.

Dean's overwhelmingly vivid dream had him behaving very docilely. He was trapped in his thoughts. Even at breakfast, he munched his toast silently, staring down into his plate with furrowed brow. When Castiel informed him purposely blandly and without making eye contact that he could ensure Dean slept peacefully if Dean would allow, Dean didn't respond nearly as waspishly as Castiel expected. He simply declined the offer, politely.

Cas knew better than to push the issue, and Dean was thankful for that. And for the offer itself. It warmed Dean that Cas would expend his Heaven-given energy just to put him to sleep. In Cas' weird way, it was sweet. When Dean's cheeks started to feel warm and he suspected himself of a girlish blush he was glad his brother wasn't there to notice it.

Sam had gone out early and not yet returned, but Dean wasn't worried. Sam could handle himself. Besides, he and Cas had their itinerary for the day.

And wasn't that just strange - he and Cas, a Hunting team...

It was especially strange in how easy of a transition it was, from working with Sam to working with Cas.

Sam had relayed all the information he'd learned from Diner Girl the night before, and Dean had decided that the next best move was to interrogate the first victim - Randy Gunning.

"He was the first one hit. Might hold some significance," Dean had said. Sam agreed and offered to continue checking out the diner, to no one's surprise.

Now Dean and Castiel were standing outside Gunning's residence, neither entirely comfortable with how much they were winging-it on this case. Randy lived in the apartment above the Garage that first his father and now he owned. They made their way through the shop and up the stairs and Dean knocked on the door, clearly not in the mood to wait.

There was a clumsy ruckus behind the door before it swung open and there was a blinding flash.

Dean covered his eyes, shaking his head.

"Perfect!" Randy Gunning announced. From what little Dean could see he was a disheveled little man, and very pleased with himself as he pulled the newest picture from his old polaroid camera. He was rocking a definite Doc Emmett Brown vibe - thin, balding, what hair was left was a reddish brown and sticking up everywhere, and he had a face full of scruff that looked like he'd simply forgotten to shave for a few days. His eyes were wide and glassy, brimming with eccentricity and excitement.

Dean was immediately not in the mood to deal with it. He pulled his badge out of his jacket and displayed it for the man.

Another blinding flash had Dean wincing and disoriented. "What the-"

"That first candid is gonna be great," Randy stated excitedly, said photo clutched between his teeth as his hands were busy trying to pull free the newest photo. "So, you're a Fed, huh? I always liked Agent Mulder. Man, he was awesome."

"Randy Gunning?" Dean demanded gruffly.

"You bet."

"We'd like to talk to you about-"

"Oh sure, sure! Come on in!"

The man turned and disappeared into the apartment. Cas and Dean exchanged a wary glance, before heading in after him.

Upon entering the apartment Dean had to stop and let out a whistle, his eyes wide. The walls, the ceiling, every surface Randy could get to had been covered with polaroids.

"Like what you've done with the place," Dean commented sarcastically. "Very Beautiful Mind..."

"I hardly see what's aesthetic about this," Cas noted dryly, wandering over to inspect some of the pictures more closely.

Randy popped up from behind what Dean could only assume was a breakfast bar beneath the mass of photos.

"These are all my work. I love to photograph, you know - candids mostly. Very 'in the moment'." He stood up straight, taking stock of his place, "Great, isn't it?"

"Yeah..." Dean answered, ready to move this along. "Listen, Randy-"

"Call me Randy."

"...Um, ok. Well Randy, when did you first start feeling like you didn't want to be a mechanic anymore, and wanted to snap all these pictures all over town instead? What made you come to the decision?"

"Oh... I don't know. I just remember I got this wonderful feeling of... screw it! This desire filled me up you know, this need to celebrate my life, do what I want. Drink, and be merry! It's been groovy."

"Right," Dean maneuvered around the cluttered apartment, inspecting the photos. "Did anything out of the ordinary happen before you made your career change?"

"Mmmmm," Randy squinted, looking up at the ceiling and thinking hard. "Nope!" he decided, with a smile.

"Of course not," Dean muttered, moving over towards Cas, seeing he was bent down inspecting something very closely.

Dean bent down beside him to get a better look, completely ignoring the way their shoulders brushed ever so lightly. Not the time... Scotch-taped to the Randy's old TV was an entire collection of snapshots of The Grapevine. Dean pulled one of the pictures off of the TV tilting towards Cas who gave him a knowing look.

"So Randy," Dean started, he and Cas standing up in tandem and turning around just in time for another debilitating flash.

"Thanks," Dean growled, shaking his head.

"No, thank you," Randy said honestly. "You two have great chemistry. Very charged."

Cas' jaw clenched and Dean's eyes went wide.

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly continuing, "Mr. Gunning-"

"Randy."

"Randy, did you happen to go to the Grapevine the day you had your... groovy epiphany?"

"Oh yeah. Go there every day. Great eggs benedict."

"So I hear."

Another flash.

"Agh - damn it!" Dean covered his eyes. Cas seemed unaffected by the flashes per se, but extremely uncomfortable with the picture-taking nonetheless.

Dean's jaw was tight as he was losing patience. But he tried to barrel through the interrogation, "You ever notice anything-"

Flash.

"Ok that's it," Dean snatched the camera from Randy, who looked rather distraught about being without it. "Listen up bud, I want to know everything you know about the Grapevine and about the day you started going all Cheech Marin or I swear to God I will punt this thing out the window." He brandished the camera so there would be no confusion or doubt.

Randy stared at him, completely surprised. "Geez, fine... Been going to that diner all my life. It's always been there."

"Anything strange happen there? Anything unusual about the people that own it?"

"No. Just normal folk. Nothing strange happens there that I can think of."

"What about the day you changed your mind about being a mechanic?"

"Mmm...No. Went in. Had breakfast. Same as always. Can I have my camera back now? It'll kill me if you break it."

And Dean could tell by the disheveled man's expression that it was the truth. Disappointed in the lack of intel they'd just received he handed the man his camera.

"Look," Randy started, hanging the camera around his neck and sorting through his newest photos, "I'm real sorry you didn't find out what you were lookin' for." He came forward and placed a polaroid in Dean's breast pocket. He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I like you," he said plainly, with a smile. "You're a nice guy. Kinda snarky. Kick-ass in your way. Wouldn't wanna piss you off! But you're a big softy underneath," he smiled conspiratorially, poking at Dean's chest.

Dean recoiled from the claim, partly to save face, and partly because of the embarrassment of knowing that Randy could not, in his current state, lie. "Yeah, thanks Randy," he said sarcastically, extracting himself from the man's hold and heading for the door.

Dean had escaped out into the hallway before Cas could follow. Randy caught Cas by the arm, holding out another polaroid, motioning for Cas to take it. Cas sighed, slumping, and quickly snatched up the picture, turning it over in disinterest before really taking in the image. When he did bother to look at it, everything stopped.

He brought the picture close, so he could examine it in detail.

It turned out to be the capture of a very intimate and telling image - he and Dean standing face to face, looking into each other's eyes, mid-conversation. Randy was right, the chemistry was undeniable.

Randy held up another photo, waving it at Cas with a wink. Castiel took it and Randy clapped him twice on the back; then he winked again, this time bigger, and his grin is downright ridiculous. Castiel tilted his head at the strange man.

Dean called from the safety of the hallway, "Cas! Come on!"

Castiel gave Randy an almost-smile out of courtesy, and retreated to the the hallway, storing the two photos, one of which he hadn't even gotten to look at yet, in his pocket.

The drive through town was slow, and not even the sound of Dean talking on the phone could distract Castiel from the feeling of those photos weighing down his pocket, their presence undeniable and driving him mad. He didn't dare look at them with Dean right there. He found himself touching the pocket often, as if to be sure the photos hadn't been lost.

As Dean talked to Sam, he couldn't help but be distracted. In his desperation to get the Hell out of there before punching Randy, he'd almost forgotten that the guy had slipped a picture into his pocket. Now it was all he could do to keep from pulling it out and looking - but he didn't. He wasn't sure why, but he held off. He wanted to be alone.

"Dean, are you there? Hellooo?" Sam's annoyed voice snapped him back to reality.

Despite the case and his brother's apparent inability to hold a five minute conversation, Sam was strutting down the street, silly grin on his face, hair flopping with every step. He shook his head when he heard Dean clear his throat loudly, awkwardly.

Probably started staring at Cas and forgot he was even talking to me...

"Yeah, uh, anyway," Dean restarted, gruffly, compensating for his musings by giving his voice as much presence as he could muster. "Gunning had a whole collection of pictures of The Grapevine. I think that's where we need to start focusing."

"The diner? I just came from there."

"You notice anything?"

"The eggs are kinda runny...?"

"Sam," Dean warned.

"No, Dean. I didn't notice anything." That wasn't entirely true... he'd noticed the Hell out of the waitress.

"Well that's three of them now that ate at the same place right before they went all hippy-dippy."

"Hippy-dippy?" Sam mocked.

"Yes. All, free-love, and rolling in the grass, and 'let's just do whatever we want, who cares about the bills...' If you were actually working this case instead of working the Diner Girl you might've caught something."

"Dean, I didn't miss anything. And screw you very much for implying-"

"I'm not implying. I'm straight-out saying. You're distracted-"

"And you're not!" Oh crap. Didn't mean to say that. Shouldn't have said that.

There was a static-y silence between them. Sam was standing still on the sidewalk, waiting for Dean's response, feeling like he'd just poked a bear.

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded, his voice low and challenging.

"Nothing. Just... look, I'm doing my job," Sam tried to cover.

Dean gave a frustrated sigh. "This place is looking more and more like ground zero. We're gonna check it out again. That's it."

"But-"

"Be there in fifteen." Dean hung up.

Sam sighed, stowing his phone back in his pocket and turning around to walk back to the diner. He hoped he didn't piss Dean off to the point that he'd still be fuming when they met up. He hoped Dean didn't take his frustration out on Cas. And most of all, Sam hoped the waitress didn't think he was creepy for showing up again.

Sam ended up at the Diner's door the same time as Dean and Cas, and thanked his lucky stars that while Dean was in a sour mood, it didn't seem directly or maliciously aimed at Sam himself. Nor was it aimed at Cas. Dean was simply... in a mood.

Like working with a fourteen year old girl... Sam thought, leading the way. He took a seat at the same booth where he'd had his first conversation with Diner Girl. It was his familiar little nook.

She noticed him and quirked an eyebrow, he shrugged.

"Hey," she smiled warmly at him, coming over to the table depositing three glasses of water. "Back so soon?"

"Yeah, I've got a fast metabolism."

She laughed and the two locked eyes. Castiel shifted uncomfortably, getting that look that screamed I'd rather be invisible... Dean simply watched his brother fawn over the girl. She was cute, he'd give him that. But then Sammy always did attract some top-shelf lookers. Dean would never give him that credit out loud, but it was true. Diner Girl was no exception. She was sweet, and smooth, and curvy and had that all-american smile and those sparkling brown eyes. She was just Sam's type. A nice girl. A deviation from the evil thing that was Ruby - thank God. Those two had made quite a dynamic duo, Dean thought bitterly. But if Dean was being honest, Sam needed a good girl. Because at heart, he was a good boy.

Dean's subconscious wanted to joke about what kind of girl that meant he himself would want, but before he could smirk and think of himself as a bad boy flanked by a leather-wearing, harley-riding, bad girl, his heart fluttered at the thought of a super-powerful, handsome creature with blue eyes caught eternally, hopelessly between good boy and bad boy.

He shifted uncomfortably almost in tandem with Castiel.

Seeming to realize they'd forgotten themselves, Sam and the waitress snapped out of it.

"Um, what can I get for you?"

"Nothing," Sam smiled.

"I do not require sustenance," Cas stated. Sam winced a little at the odd statement and looked at the waitress, who simply gave a bemused nod.

"Coffee. Black," Dean demanded.

The waitress scratched down the order with the pencil that was in her hair before smiling at the three and heading back to the bar.

When she was out of earshot Castiel looked at Dean sincerely and asked, "Is that wise, with your heart-"

Dean coughed loudly, choking on his water. Sam looked at him curiously, slowly processing what Cas had said, and then looking at him with concern added to the confusion. "What's wrong with your heart?" Sam asked warily.

Cas stared at Dean disapprovingly as the man choked on nothing.

"Nothing," Dean dismissed. He shot Cas a look that should have said Shut Up, but Cas never was good at reading faces.

Cas simply shook his head in obvious disappointment at Dean's self-destructive behavior. "You drink far too much coffee, Dean. Perhaps the next time you have an erratic heartbeat you will need revival, and I will not be around," he chided quietly, looking into his own water glass with feigned disinterest.

Dean's eyes met Sam's and Sam quirked his head at him as if to ask what was going on. Dean merely looked away. And that was the biggest give-away that there was more to it. But Sam didn't ask, despite his curiosity.

It was a tense lunch overall. Dean could spot nothing supernatural about the place, and neither could Cas. Which Dean was irritated to point out, left them back at square one. He got up from the table huffing and disappeared into the bathroom.

Dean looked at himself in the mirror briefly as he rinsed his hands, then something hit him. He'd been so wrapped up in the case, he'd forgotten about Randy Gunning. He dried his hands hastily on his pants and fished the photo out of his pocket.

If a picture was worth a thousand words, Dean shuddered to think what story this picture told - the image was of Castiel looking directly into the camera, head tilted, expression both irritated and forgiving (the expression of a superior being putting up with human ridiculousness, Dean imagined). Due to the flash, Castiel's eyes were glowing so impossibly blue. The light reflecting off his pale skin making him glow Heavenly-white. And though it was breathtaking, it was not the part of the picture that had Dean's heart in his throat. The image clearly displayed, plain as day, Dean standing at the Angel's side, staring at him as if he were the only thing in the world. Dean stared at Castiel with such longing, such adoration, such uninterrupted focus...

Dean had never imagined this was what it looked like from the outside when he got stuck gazing at Cas. Now it was knocking the wind out of him. The look on his own face... The breadth of the space between them was so small...

It was obvious. Painfully so. It was obvious what that expression was, what that chemistry meant.

I've never seen myself look like that... I don't even know who that guy is.

Sure you do. That's the guy Cas sees when he's staring back.

Dean didn't have a response for that. There was no argument or sarcastic witticism that could cover what he was feeling. He placed the photo gently back into his breast pocket, hand smoothing over the fabric, feeling where the polaroid was resting against his chest.

He sighed heavily, more confused than ever.

Sam seemed to notice a shift in Dean's mood when he got back to the table, even if Castiel didn't. Dean wasn't angry anymore, no longer brimming with frustration. Still deeply entrenched in some kind of feeling, some turmoil. But he wasn't upset. He was... contemplative.

"Alright," Dean started, only pretending to sound like his regular self, which was more than obvious to Sam who was kind enough not to mention it. "Cas and I are going to go see if we can't talk to more of the victims."

"Ok, great idea. Yeah. I'll uh, I'll just stay behind to keep an eye on the diner." Wow. That wasn't obvious... Oh shut up.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You just want to get more face-time with Diner Girl."

"I'll get the job done," Sam added forcefully.

"Yeah, yeah. Get more than her number Romeo." Dean mussed his brother's hair teasingly as he walked by, Cas in tow, and Sam hurried to fix it, cursing Dean under his breath. That made Dean laugh.

With Dean and Cas safely gone, Sam headed over to the bar, taking up a stool at the end of the counter where he'd noticed the waitress spent most of her time. She smiled as he sat next to where she was refilling a sugar jar.

"Interesting lunch date," she joked.

Sam laughed a little. To any normal girl Dean must have seemed grumpy and demanding, and Castiel must seem... downright autistic. But to Sam's surprise, the waitress didn't seem too put off by them. "Don't judge them based on this one meeting," Sam implored. "They're not a rough as they seem."

"Oh, I don't know, I guess you're right. They were pretty cute," she baited.

"They're not as cute as they seem either."

She laughed at a bait well-played. "Ok, let me guess," she turned to him and put her fingers to her temple in a mock psychic pose. "The hyper-masculine heartthrob is your brother. And the stiff one with the blue eyes if his friend. Right?"

"That transparent, huh?"

"A little," she smiled at him and he laughed. "But, I'm good at reading people."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It's a skill. And those two, totally want each other." Sam pulled a grimace and the waitress laughed.

"What can you read about me?" Sam asked, stuck halfway between being truly curious and just wanting to flirt with her.

"Hmm..." she squinted at him, leaning her elbows on the counter and resting her chin on her hands. "You're smart. Maybe a little too smart for whatever career you're in right now. You've got lots of extra brain energy to burn off."

Sam looked impressed. He was also flattered by the assessment, "Gee, thanks."

"You're single."

"Can't deny it."

"And you have been for awhile."

Sam cocked his head at her.

"Takes one to know one," she explained. He nodded.

The cook rang the bell for an order up and she gave Sam one last smile before going back off to work.

Smooth... he approved of his own charm.

Now focus on the case.

Dean and Castiel were walking down the street toward the car, Dean trying in vein not to sneak looks at Castiel again and again. When they passed the local courthouse, Castiel's gaze seemed to fix on it, which afforded Dean the opportunity to really look at the Angel. He'd known for some time what the fluttering in his heart meant, but it had been an enlightening experience to see the affection written all over his own face. Undeniable. Now when he looked at Cas, there was no separating what he saw, from what he knew he felt.

It was strange, not to be able to deny it, even to himself. He was kind of thankful that Cas seemed oblivious, as always, of his scrutiny and his mind at work.

The Angel simply examined the Courthouse, which doubled as the Town Hall, with sharp focus. It was a small, unimpressive building - it had no need to be opulent or imposing in such a small town. But it did possess one element of aesthetic importance - large, white, corinthian columns on either side of the door. Castiel had neglected to notice them before, but now he did.

And that was when the Angel of Thursday, had his Doctor House moment.

He stopped dead in his tracks, quirking his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as he focused very hard, remembering...

Having been staring at him shamelessly, Dean immediately noticed that spark in Castiel's eyes, the wheels turning as he pieced together something important. The suddenness of Castiel's epiphany had Dean a little worried "Cas?" he couldn't help but ask, knowing he probably shouldn't interrupt his thought process. "Cas, what is it?"

After a long moment of staring at nothing, Castiel's eyes flashed up to Dean's, nearly knocking the breath out of the man.

"I remember where I've seen the Ivy." Dean's eyebrows raised as he waited for Cas to continue. "I know what we're dealing with."

Sam had excused himself from the diner silently when the waitress was busy dealing with customers. Now he was skulking around the building, knowing how insane and creepy he would look if caught, and praying that he wouldn't be. He checked over his shoulder as he circled around the building, peering into every nook and cranny for evidence of witchcraft or anything paranormal.

He hurried around the corner to the back of the diner, his eyes going wide when he was met with the sight of Ivy, having busted up through the pavement and climbed the wall of the diner. Just like Dean described at the victims' houses. Only this was twice as much - the base of the building was covered in the overgrown plant, winding and blooming in its tangled, green riot. It would be aesthetically pretty, if it wasn't in this case, significant of foulplay.

Sam sighed heavily, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He'd really been hoping the diner's involvement was a coincidence. Now that it clearly wasn't, he couldn't help but be a little heartbroken.

He held his phone up to his ear, his voice came out tired and dejected (a fact that he would adamantly deny later). He spoke before Dean got the chance, "Hey man, I think maybe the diner is ground zero after all."

Another long one, I know. Covering some ground.

Thanks for reading, and especially for the reviews! They are very much appreciated, I promise. They help keep the creative sparks a-lighting.