Castiel took an involuntary step away back, barely managing to maintain his balance when his foot caught the edge of the table. "Little bird?" he asked quietly.

"It's Dean. Dean Winchester," the bird said, and Castiel hadn't even known a bird could sound amused until then.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said automatically, mouth running on autopilot.

"Hey, Cas," the dove answered, "sorry I didn't say anything before, but you know, talking bird and all. I wasn't sure how you'd react."

"Of course," Castiel answered mildly, eyes narrowing as he studied the bird - Dean.

"Apparently you'd react like the world's calmest freak. Good to know," Dean said. "Does anything faze you?"

"Not much," Castiel said immediately, "Although..."

"Talking bird, weird, I get it," Dean said, shaking his feathers dismissively, "We've covered that. More importantly, I have the solution to your problem."

Castiel snapped out of it, reminded abruptly of the very real danger he would face when Alastair returned at dusk. "You do?"

"Yeah, ever heard of a bezoar?"

"A stone from the stomach of a goat that can cure all poisons," Castiel answered at once. "But that is a legend. They don't really exist."

Dean snorted - a very disturbing noise coming from a bird - and said, "Yeah, well back where I come from, we say the same thing about angels. It seems you're both real. Come on, angel face, there's not much time."

Dean flew out through the still open door and into the darkening woods. Castiel hurried after him, following the light of the setting sun as it flashed on Dean's beating wings. They had only been walking for fifteen minutes when Dean stopped.

"Wait here, Cas," Dean instructed and then he flew into a seemingly solid line of nearby bushes. Castiel was only alone for a moment or two before Dean popped back through. "Coast is clear. Come on in," Dean called before swooping back through the foliage. When Castiel cautiously approached and pushed back the hedges, he found himself standing at the entrance to a small cave. It was maybe ten feet deep and no more than three wide, but he saw at once what Dean wanted him to have.

"It's beautiful," Castiel observed, pushing inside to kneel next to the small, glowing blue stone.

"It's the color of your eyes," Dean answered distractedly, hopping toward the door as he spoke. "Just drop it into that slop Alastair has brewing in his kitchen and it'll render anything nasty in there useless."

Castiel looked at it doubtfully. "Really? I cannot believe we've never heard of them actually existing."

"You're going to have to trust me on this one. Most people around here think they're the stuff of legends and fairy tales too," Dean said, flying back outside and forcing Castiel to follow if he wished to continue the conversation.

"How do you know about them?" Castiel asked.

"I'm in the business of legends and fairy tales," Dean answered distractedly. "And we need to hurry, the demon will be back soon.

Castiel checked the sun and hurried to obey. Dean was right, the light was fading fast.

"Now just drop throw the stone in the stew and you're good to go," Dean said as they arrived back in the demon's house. Castiel obediently dropped the bezoar into the concoction. "Just in time too," Dean said, "sun should be down in about twenty minutes."

"Yes," Castiel agreed, setting himself to righting the wreckage of the kitchen. Under an overturned bowl, Castiel found the single white feather Dean had given him for the potion and he slipped it into the pocket of his shirt for safekeeping. A gift freely given was a rare treasure, and Cas did not intend to let it go to waste. "Thank you, Dean," Castiel said, meaning the feather and the help and everything else.

Dean flapped his wings dismissively. "It was nothing. Should have spoken up earlier and saved you the whole morning."

Castiel cocked his head to the side in unconscious imitation of the bird's own questioning posture. "The secret of your enchantment is your own. I do not begrudge you withholding it from me," he said.

"Now I really feel like a jerk," Dean muttered. "Listen it's not..." Dean cut off abruptly, the reason why quickly evident to Castiel as a heavy tread made its way up the front walkway. Dean flew out the window without another word.

Alastair entered and surveyed his tidy kitchen with suspicion and asked, "Were you successful?"

"Yes. The soup should be quite harmless now," Castiel answered.

Alastair's eyebrows rose in a mockery of surprise. "Very well then." He crossed the room to the soup and ladled out a generous portion before turning back to Castiel. "Prove it," he said, and handed the bowl to Castiel.

Castiel looked down into the bowl and back up at Alastair. "I thought I would only be required to test the food if I was unsuccessful," he said.

"If you're confident, prove it to me. And you best eat up, because that's your dinner for tonight." Alastair grinned maliciously, "Unless you'd rather not risk it."

Castiel, as an angel, didn't need to eat, of course, but it was sometimes…pleasant to do so - comforting even. And a passing check of Alastair's face suggested that turning down the food would be a very bad idea.

Castiel glanced out the window through which Dean had recently departed. He didn't see the bird, but Castiel wasn't really looking for him, just pondering Dean and the value of his word. It all came down to how much he trusted Dean. And it was probably crazy to trust a bird - even an enchanted one, perhaps especially an enchanted one - but Castiel did, bone deep in the place where reason didn't matter. He took a big spoonful of the stew and swallowed before he could change his mind. It was much better than it smelled.

Castiel was still alive and well five minutes after his first bite, and he dug into his meal with gusto. All the cooking and gathering and chasing after talking white doves had left him with a healthy, if unnecessary, appetite.

Alastair watched him with interest and mild anticipation the whole time, but ate nothing himself. When Castiel was finished, Alastair dismissed him to his bedroom. "Sleep well, little Princeling. Tomorrow will be another busy day for you."

Castiel made his way back up the tower steps to his room, tired in body but not in mind as he thought of the days revelations. He wasn't surprised when he opened the door to his room and found Dean perched on the bed.

"Hello, Dean."

If Castiel hadn't know it impossible he'd swear that the bird was smiling at him. "Hey, Cas," he answered. "I just wanted to make sure everything went okay."

"Alastair made me eat the stew myself to prove the effectiveness of my remedy, but thanks to you all is well. So thank you again."

Dean shuffled across the bed sheets and flew up to the table. Castiel sat on the bed he'd vacated and waited. His feathered friend seemed agitated.

'Why'd you do it?" Dean finally blurted.

"Do what?" Castiel asked, honestly confused. "Eat the stew?"

"No, why did you help me?" he asked. "Last night, why'd you help with my wings? If I found a dirty bird in my room I'd have pitched him out the window."

"I doubt that," Castiel said, "But to answer your question - because you needed it." Castiel hesitated before adding, "and because I really needed a friend."

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

"I miss my brothers," Cas admitted, dropping his gaze to the hands in his lap. "I have never been away from them for so long."

"Yeah," Dean said again, sadly this time, "me too."

Castiel's head snapped back up. "You have brothers?" he asked eagerly.

"Just one," Dean said, "Sammy. He's younger than me. He's the reason I'm here."

"Oh?" Cas asked, wondering if Alastair was in the habit of tricking people into selling out their siblings.

As if he'd read his mind Dean said, "No, not like your douche brothers." Dean caught himself, "No offence."

Cas raised his eyebrow in amusement. "None taken."

"You know what? Screw that. Offence. Selling out your little brother is a real dick move. You're supposed to protect your brother, not sell him out to save yourself." Dean spoke with considerable passion for such a small body.

"Is that what happened to you? You were protecting Sammy?" Cas asked, deflating Dean's anger with the question.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Sammy is... Sammy is special somehow. I don't really understand it myself but this bastard has been after him practically since he was a baby. The last couple of years he's really been hounding us: we've barely managed to stay ahead of him."

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the table and instinctively Cas reached out with one wing to offer comfort. Dean allowed it for a few minutes before shaking the wing off and continuing his story. "About a month ago, we weren't fast enough. Bastard cornered us in this shit hole little village about a day's flight south of here. He was flinging spells and vials of stuff at us left and right. Sammy managed to get away..." Dean trailed off.

"But you did not," Cas concluded.

"Lucky shot," Dean said, and Cas could hear the shrug his bird shoulders couldn't make in his voice. "There was some green light and suddenly the world looks a lot bigger and I'm sprouting wings. Alastair decided to keep me, hoping Sammy will attempt a rescue. Like Sam would be that stupid."

"Couldn't you fly away?" Castiel asked.

"I tried, some sort of enchantment. Can't fly more than a mile any direction before the winds pick up and I'm blown out of the sky. Nearly broke a wing the first time I tried it."

"I see," Cas said.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. Then he fixed Cas with a very serious bird stare. "Here's the thing, Cas. Sam Iis/I stupid enough to attempt a rescue. I gotta get out of here before that happens."

"Of course," Cas agreed at once. "Then we must get you out of here."

Dean shook his head. "We're both getting out of here, Cas, I promise."

Again, Castiel had no reason to trust Dean - whom he hadn't even know was human a few hours ago, but he nodded anyway. "I believe you will Dean Winchester."

Dean fluffed up his feathers the same way Cas did when he was both proud and embarrassed. "Yeah? Good. That's good."

Cas turned away to give Dean time to collect himself and began preparing for bed. "Tell me, Dean, how is it that you knew about the bezoar? How exactly are you in the business of legends and fairy tales?"

Dean let out a sigh like a soft coo and fluttered up to the headboard as Cas made himself comfortable on the bed. "Found the bezoar a few days ago, just poking around for anything that might be useful. The other stuff, you might call it the family business," he answered. "Sam and I - we're hunters, we protect other humans from the stuff most of them don't even believe in."

"Stuff like what?" Castiel asked curiously.

"Oh, you know, weird shit, like demons and witches and ghosts."

"And Angels?" Cas asked with amusement.

Dean looked away, "Yeah. Can't say I believed in those until a real live one helped me out."

Castiel looked up at Dean's perch and blinked at him. "Why not?"

"My Mom believed in angels," Dean said by way of answering.

"And you decided to rebel by not believing?" Cas guessed.

"No," Dean said quietly, "She died when I was four. Demon," he explained. "Sammy was just a baby." And Dean quietly told him the story of the fire that had changed his life forever, inadvertently setting him on the path that eventually led him here - held captive by a demon with no one but an angel he'd never believed in for a friend.

"I'm so sorry for you loss," Castiel said.

Dean's wings rippled. "It was a long time ago," he said.

"That does not make it any less of a tragedy," Cas said, reaching up with a hand to stroke a comforting finger down Dean's back.

Dean didn't answer for a long time, but he held still and allowed the comfort of Cas's hand on him. Eventually he spoke again, "That was a hell of a bedtime story."

Castiel frowned and dropped his hand back down to his lap. "I do not require a bed time story, Dean."

"But I can't leave you with that one," Dean argued.

Cas huffed in amusement, shifting around until he was laying comfortably on his back. "Fine, tell me something happy then. Something about Sammy."

Dean fluttered down to the bed near Castiel's pillow. "So many things to choose from," he said with pleasure in his voice, "There's the incident with the bad haircut, the time he laughed so hard he peed himself in public, the other incident with the bad haircut, the time he bought the creepiest, ugliest painting ever created to impress some chick..."

Cas felt his lips twitch in a smile, though his eyelids were growing heavy. "Perhaps something less embarrassing for your brother?" he suggested.

"Now where's the fun in that?" Dean protested. "I know the perfect story," he declared. "Did I ever tell you that Sam's a gigantor? No? Cause he's freakishly huge..."

Cas drifted off to the sound of Dean's voice, falling into dreams where he and Dean flew side by side over the ocean, searching for a giant puppy with long floppy ears who answered to the name of Sam.