It's the strange extended twilight of Purgatory when Dean and Cas stumble upon a sign of civilization. Or a cottage, anyways.
The white wash is flaking off the walls where they aren't covered in creeping plants, and the leaded windows are dark. Dean and Cas circle the exterior - there are no signs of activity.
"Well, it's not made of gingerbread," Dean says when they're standing by the front door again. "Wha'd'ya say?" He turns to Cas.
The angel just regards him seriously, and silently. Dean is reminded of how Castiel was when they first met, and he lets himself be grateful that landing in Purgatory has helped to bring that old Cas back to the surface.
"I sure wouldn't mind spending the night indoors," Dean adds.
Cas turns his stare on the cottage, as if he can see through to it's soul as he does with Dean. Slowly, he nods.
Dean nods more firmly in assent. "Alright, then." He pushes the door open.
The front room of the cottage is bare, with a stone hearth against one wall, and a door to the back. The half-light that comes through the windows is further dimmed by a thick layer of dust, but it's enough for Dean to see that whoever was there last left a pile of kindling by the fireplace.
"Sweet," Dean mutters. He considers how far his standards of what warrants a proclamation of "sweet" have fallen, walks across the room to the hearth, and starts building the fire. Castiel slowly makes his way around the room, examining the walls as if they had secrets.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Cas step into the back room. He takes his flint out of his pocket. And hears Cas's voice, urgent.
"Dean, we need to get out of here now."
And yes, Dean knows to trust Castiel's judgement by now; has to, otherwise he wouldn't have survived this long. But he's tired, and he was going to spend the night under a roof, and maybe he's annoyed.
"What is it, Cas?"
No answer.
Dean gets to his feet, sees Cas standing stock-still in the doorway to the back. He joins him. In the back is a comfortable-looking bedroom, with a brass bed, a vanity, and...
A glass display case, filled with dismembered wings of every shape and colour, all of them huge, large enough to be-
"Cas, is that- ?"
The next moment, Dean is back in the cave where he and Cas spent the previous night. The one that's still covered in warding sigils, and that he and Cas had spent all day walking away from.
"I'm sorry," says Cas, and Dean turns to find him slumped against the cave wall, blood trickling out of his nose and mouth.
Dean takes him by the arm, and helps ease Cas to the ground. "Dude, there's a reason why you don't fly me around here," he says, more worried than upset.
"I know," Cas says weakly, drained from the flight. "We needed to get somewhere safe."
"Yeah, of course." Dean thinks back to the bedroom, the display case. He shudders, and sits down next to the angel.
"Cas… were those-"
"When a bee uses it's stinger, it's entire abdomen is ripped from it's body," Cas interrupts, in that light, distracted tone of his, and for once Dean can't blame the guy for wanting to change the subject. "And it falls to the earth and dies. But it would be dead before it hit the ground, so it wouldn't remember that part."
Cas fixes his eyes on Dean, and he's either struggling to focus, or struggling to keep from focusing. It's so different from what Dean's used to. He doesn't have the vocabulary to deal with Cas like this.
But Cas is looking to him, saying, "I don't remember. I don't understand."
He's not the old Cas anymore. But he's not someone different, either.
"God made me, and I'm His, not-"
"Hey," Dean interrupts, because Cas' voice is creeping higher, and he's starting to tremble. Dean doesn't know what to say next.
But Cas is looking to him. In a way, Dean realizes, that's not entirely unfamiliar.
He places a hand on Cas' shoulder. "You've got me, okay?"
It's the only thing that Dean knows how to say.