The dream picked up where it had left off the night before – the man standing before Dean with the angry gray green eyes. The man laid on hand his chest as Dean drunkenly swayed and went to turn away.

"Don't turn from me!"

The command was terrifying and he found himself obeying before his inebriated mind could catch up with why.

"Keep your eyes on me and don't you dare look away."

Finally he understood why the sight of Castiel reaching into himself seemed so familiar and horrific. The man was wrist deep as a white heat was spilling forth and he fell to his knees. Despite everything in Dean screaming for him to run he went to him then, grabbing him by the elbows and slurring questions into his ears. Suddenly the eyes were on his once more, now blinding in their luminescence.

"Prove me wrong, Dean Winchester."

Dean didn't see the hand slam into his own chest, missed the man splinter and disappear as his head was thrown back in a glass shattering howl. There was warmth, a burning and a feeling of peace that ran so deep Dean could do nothing but succumb to it as darkness suddenly crowded his vision and he woke to sunlight filtering through the covered window of his borrowed room.

Castiel woke two hours after Dean left, wide awake and yet exhausted. Spending a few minutes staring at the ceiling as he listened to the chorus of Angels in his head, he grudgingly rose and collected his clothes for a shower. After yesterday, the priest was none too keen on a repeat affair. It didn't take long for him to be in the shower with the water running down his frame in comforting rivulets. He tested the silken skin of the raised hand print on his shoulder, his body involuntarily shivering as the buzz returned. After a few minutes he decided he would investigate further at a later time, removed his hand and finished the shower.

In the kitchen he found that he had spent 45 minutes under the water, something he had never done before and frowned. How did time slip from his so swiftly? He rummaged for a cup only to find the one Dean had used the morning before. Along the entire cup was words scribed in Enochian – the lost language of the Angels. Then, in the center on the front in big red letters were the words, "It means 'to mate with the mouth of a goat'" while the back had in slightly smaller red letters, "It's funnier in Enochian." He had never seen the cup before although he had a feeling he was the only one in the church that would genuinely find the joke on it funny. Using it and nursing his morning coffee, he waited a few minutes before wandering to the water garden in the back of the church – the serene sound of trickling water perfect for his stretching routine.

When Dean finally got around to pulling on the trench coat he stumbled out of his room to find Castiel's door ajar, his room abandoned. The winged man tried to quell the fear of abandonment as he made his way to the kitchen. He had never been more relieved to see ready-made coffee – the one sure fire sign of the priest. Rationalizing where the priest could be, he grabbed a plain white cup, filled it and wandered the church.

There was a slight tugging on his subconscious, like an urge or a hunch that Dean followed blindly. When he walked out of the back door of the building he dropped his coffee and choked on the mouthful he had only just gotten. There, in the grass in front of him, was Castiel doing some kind of hardcore yoga shit with his face snuggled up between his thighs. When the priest was alerted of his position he smiled apologetically and slowly detangled from himself.

"Hello Dean."

"Dude, were you just – did I just – don't you 'Hello' me! Where did you learn that?!"

Still uncoiling, the priest replied with an almost bored tone, as though it was perfectly normal and he had no inkling as to why Dean would be so flabbergasted.

"At one point in my life I found yoga to be a rather enjoyable hobby. I got in a mountain bike accident on a case, had to get an X-ray of my spine due to the severity of the injuries and they discovered that I have a birth defect. Apparently my bones do not lock as they should, so they cautioned me against 'extreme stretching' and even yoga because I run the risk of possibly paralyzing myself for life. I stopped for a long while and even now I only do it when I feel the need to relax."

"That's…"

"I do not expect you to understand or sympathize with my lifestyle then or now."

"Right…"

Castiel went through his wind down stretched before paying attention to Dean again. He didn't know why the felt the need to defend himself, perhaps the way the winged man had looked at him or the way he seemed genuinely surprised by the position he was in. Dismissing the thought, he turned to Dean at last.

"Shall we discuss the case?"

"The genie, right?"

"The Djinn, yes."

"You keep correcting me."

"Most genie stories suggest a bottle or an inanimate object with which the creature resides - that is not the case with Djinn."

"So what are we looking for then?"

"They customarily appear as a human with tattoos or scarification."

"Well, that narrows it down."

"Considering that we speak of rural Ohio, it honestly does."

"Alright, then how do we kill the fucker?"

"You must drive a blade made of silver coated in lamb's blood into a vital organ."

"That's straightforward."

"It is, actually."

Dean gave him an exasperated look, one he had become quite acquainted with over the last business week. Again, Castiel explained himself.

"There are a fair number of supernatural creatures that are extremely complicated when it comes to killing them. Take Dragons for example-"

"Whoa, wait, back up – Dragons?"

Castiel almost laughed at the look of disbelief on Dean's face as he watched his wings squirm awkwardly under the coat.

"Yes, Dean, they do exist albeit differently from most fiction."

"You mean fire breathing, scaly dragons, right?"

"Yes."

"Wow…so what's it take to kill them?"

"A sword forged with the blood of Dragons."

"Uh-huh."

"There are only five or six in existence, most of which are lost."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, such as Saint George's Sword, the Sword of Brunswick and Excalibur to name a few."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"I assure you, they are all facts."

"Next you'll tell me fairies exist."

"Well-"

"You know what? No."

"But-"

"No."

Castiel couldn't help himself as he began to laugh. The appalled look on Dean's face only fueled the fire, throwing the priest into hysterics.

"This totally isn't funny, Dude!"

"I apologize; I realize this must be –"

Laughter bubbled up again as he caught another glimpse of Dean's face.

"-very traumatic for you."

"Shut up!"

Dean's tone sent him into another fit before he was able to reign it in once and for all. A few deep breaths later he gently rubbed his sore cheeks before patting Dean's shoulder and walking back into the church.

The touch on his shoulder reminded him of the new scar on Castiel's. His body sagged with guilt, his eyes dropping to the grass at his feet only to make him remember the forgotten mug that lay there. Swiftly grabbing it, he stumbled after Castiel.

"Um…H-hey, Cass?"

"Yes Dean?"

"How's the…how's your shoulder?"

Cass turned to him, his blue irises boring into his as if he was peering into his soul. He searched his companion's face for even the slightest hint of pain but only found concern.

"I am fine, Dean."

"You sure? That looked –"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah…okay."

"You do not believe me."

"I…Look, let's just focus on the mission."

Again Castiel's eyes seemed to be searching for something, leaving Dean to turn his head to avoid his careful stare.

"Very well; I will take our mugs and deposit them into the sink, please change into something more…formal - I will meet you in the Impala."

"What? Are you saying this isn't good enough for a case?"

Dean gestured at his band shirt and jeans, only then realizing how awkward it looked under the trench coat as he handed over the mug he had been holding loosely in his left hand. He could swear he saw a smirk on the smug Priest's face, but it was gone before he looked back.

"It may come off as a little…inappropriate, yes."