When Dean and Castiel returned to Purgatory, Dean couldn't help but notice the way the angel held himself as they crossed the threshold. Those that passed by paused to watch his progress, their expressions revealing what Dean already knew. There was absolutely nothing sad or sorrowful about Castiel now. There was only purpose. Dean couldn't deny that this more confident, determined Castiel only reminded him how much he missed the angel he knew. Recalling that he couldn't let his own emotions break him, he pushed the feelings aside and focused on the task at hand.

Cas led them across the main floor, past the billiards tables, slot machines, and a walled-off pit whose purpose escaped Dean until he heard the familiar growls of hell hounds. A pair of demons were down in the pit, one mopping at the black stains on the floor while the other threw bits of meat into the cages. The largest cage, inscribed with the word Growley across the top, was so well-kept it looked like a penthouse had been dropped in the middle of a slum. The demon lobbed the meat into the entrance at a safe distance. When it was snatched up amid throaty growls, Dean couldn't repress a shudder.

Cas strode past the pit without concern; Dean gave it a wide berth, and he didn't care who saw him do it. Once they cleared the area he exhaled, shook his head at the concept of hell hound pit fights, and followed Cas.

"Where's the auction?" Dean asked after they had left the main floor to descend a flight of stairs.

"Downstairs," Castiel answered. "Some of the rooms down here are protected by spells. Angels, demons and monsters can enter but we can't use our powers. Others are warded against them. I've had occasion to use those types of rooms."

There was something in Cas's voice that drew a little grunt from Dean. "Occasion, huh?" he drawled. "Getting paid under the table?"

Cas sent him a brief glance. "Not exactly," he replied, pushing open a door and stepping into a room. It looked like the lobby of a posh hotel. "I had an...arrangement with someone about two years ago. She-"

"She?" Dean interrupted, unable to keep from smiling.

"Yes, she," Cas confirmed. "She was on the run. I gave her a place to hide for little bit. I felt sorry for her I suppose. She was all alone."

"But not at night," Dean guessed, and grinned as Cas quickly looked away. "Well? Who was she?"

Cas turned down the corner. "Meg."

This drew Dean up short. "Meg? As in Lucifer's biggest fan? The one who possessed Sammy? The one who set hell hounds on us the day Ellen and Jo were-" he cut himself off, unwilling to dwell on that particular memory.

"Yes," the angel answered. "Things were different then, Dean. I didn't expect her to apologize for who she was, and she was just fine keeping things physical between us. I was fine with it, too."

Dean was scowling as he resumed walking. "Where is she now?"

"Dead," Cas told him. "Crowley had demons watching for Lucifer's followers. I went to visit her one night, and they had left her there. She was torn to pieces."

Dean fell silent. He never had any soft spots for Meg, but even he wouldn't have wished for Crowley's goons to tear her apart. "So," he said, running his hand down the length of his face. "What about the auction? How did you know Balthazar was hosting it?"

"Today is Wednesday. He always hosts auctions."

"And it's in one of those spelled rooms?"

"Yes."

"Good." Dean nodded and smiled. "Can't have Balthazar zapping out of there once we've got him cornered."

"The holy fire won't work," Cas informed him, turning another corner. "The artifacts he will be auctioning off are powerful weapons; all of them are bound by a spell that prevents their use, including the holy oil. We'll have to wait until he leaves."

Dean frowned. Figures. "So what, we're just going to watch?" he asked, unable to keep the exasperation from his tone.

Cas glanced over at Dean, his expression stern. "Yes. We still need Gabriel's horn. This is the best way to see if he has it."

Dean considered his reasoning and nodded. "Sounds good. Let's do it."

A single demon stood guard outside the double doors at the end of the hall. At seeing him Cas held out a hand. "Wait here," he instructed.

Dean sent him a puzzled look. "What are you going to do? Wait, you're not going to start smiting are you?" he asked, frowning. "We need to keep a low profile here."

Castiel, who had started to walk away, spoke over his shoulder. "The auction requires participants to buy their way in. The only valuable object we have is the holy oil, and we can't risk losing it." Something flashed across his face, and he gave a small smile that did not reach his eyes. "That, and I have a better means to get us inside."

Dean opened his mouth to ask what that could be when his brain processed the insinuation. He pondered this revelation for a moment, then, for lack of a better reaction, gave a nod.

"Right. Go get 'im, tiger."

Castiel answered with another little smile before he turned away. Dean stepped behind a column, out of the demon's line of sight but still able to watch what happened next.

There was nothing unusual about the way Cas approached the demon. But the longer he stood there, the more nervous the demon became. He kept looking past Cas, fidgeted in place. And then, without warning, he took hold of the angel by the shoulders and pulled him forward. As Dean stared, fascinated, a little freaked out and strangely envious, his brows lifted.

Damn. Cas was really going at it. If clothes started to come off he'd have to bail, fast.

Castiel had pushed the demon against the wall, kept him in place with a hand at his shoulder. The demon gripped Cas's face tightly between his hands. The noisy kiss went on for another moment before Cas drew back and pressed his palm to the demon's brow. The demon had a delirious look on his face as yellow energy coursed through him. When he finally slid to the floor Dean stepped out of hiding.

He threw his arms out in a helpless gesture. "What the hell, man? Did you smite him?"

"No." Cas picked up the demon by the back of the collar and dragged him toward a side door. Dean couldn't help but notice how messy his hair looked, or how calm he seemed after that crazy make out session. "He's one of my regular clients. He enjoys near-death experiences."

Dean blinked. "So what you just did is basically the demon version of asphyxiation?"

Cas shoved the demon into the room, closed the door. "Yes. We should hurry. The auction will not last much longer."

Grateful that their primary objective shifted his attention from what he had just seen, Dean nodded his agreement. Cas opened the door and led them inside.

The auctioneer was rattling off prices as they entered. He gestured at the seated audience with a gavel, acknowledging the raised hands as bids were called out. Glass cases of all shapes and sizes were lined up on the stage, lot numbers taped to their exteriors. A few demons were collecting items that had already been sold. All kinds of symbols had been painted on the wall like graffiti. Watching it all, a relaxed smile on his face, drink in hand and woman on his lap, was Balthazar. Dean recalled their first meeting with Gabriel and the Castiel from 2014 and wondered if all fallen angels rocked the wine,women and song life.

Castiel ducked into a section of the room that had been blocked off by velvet ropes. Stacked chairs had been pushed against the wall. Cas chose two, set them down and took a seat. He motioned for Dean to sit beside him. "Balthazar usually saves the rarest items for last," he reported as Dean sat down. "That's our best chance to see the horn."

"Got it," Dean answered with a nod. He set the holy oil on the floor between them. He leaned back, placed his hands on his knees. After watching the auctioneer go back and forth between several bids he shook his head. "Never could keep up with this stuff," he grumbled. "You recognize anything up there?"

Cas peered at the stage, his eyes narrowing in the all-too-familiar squint that indicated thoughtfulness. "None are heavenly," he reported in a low murmur. "The ones available for sale now are related to human history." He pointed at a case on the end. "That is the original design for the Roman Coliseum. That over there is Galileo's telescope. The large piece in the back is a rudder recovered from the RMS Titanic. And that is Hans Christian Anderson's original draft for The Little Mermaid."

"Awesome," Dean muttered, his tone heavy with sarcasm. This stuff was more Sam's thing. He shifted in place, drummed his fingers on his knees. Reminded himself to be patient.

More pieces were carted off the stage as they were sold. Castiel was completely riveted by the happenings and made for poor conversation. Dean divided his attention between each new item presented and Balthazar. He had turned his head to whisper something to the woman, who giggled behind at her hand at whatever he said. Balthazar's hand slid across her thigh; she playfully batted it away. Dean rolled his eyes. Angels sure were a horny lot for all that they were junkless.

Time passed. Dean knew he was nodding off in the chair, for he'd wake with a start every time the auctioneer raised his voice. He leaned forward, covered his face with his hands. At feeling something nudge against his shoulder he looked up. Cas stood beside him, a pair of beers in hand.

Dean blinked in confusion. "Where did you get those?" he asked, accepting the bottle.

Cas sat back down, twisted the cap off. "There's an open bar in the next room." He held out the beer. At recognizing the gesture Dean touched his bottle to Cas's, nodded when the angel gave him a small smile.

"Tell me something, Cas," Dean said after they shared the first drink. "Are you really okay with the whole ending the world thing? Especially since we're going after Michael."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you've spent all this time missing him," he continued. "Say we ship Michael back up the stairway to Heaven, what then? Gabriel blows the horn and that's it?"

Cas took another sip. He was quiet for some moments, his eyes absently fixed on the stage. "Sam asked me the same thing at Bobby's," he admitted at last. "He feared there wouldn't be enough time for me to reconcile with Dean."

There was something in Cas's tone that got Dean's attention. "You think he won't forgive you for playing soul tag for Crowley?"

Cas bowed his head. His fingers moved, absently, along the side of the bottle. "It's more than that."

"More?"

The angel met his eyes. "After Michael banished Lucifer from Sam's mind, all that remained of Sam was a broken, battered shell. His mind had been fractured. I understand it took Gabriel weeks to piece him back together. I-" He broke off and looked away.

Dean let the silence linger for a moment. "You what?"

Castiel sighed heavily. His hand stole to his left wrist, fingers slipping beneath his coat sleeve to touch something beneath. "Gabriel is an archangel, far more powerful than I am. Even had we the time to restore Dean, I don't think I'm strong enough. If I had to choose between losing Dean to Michael forever and being left with an empty shell, I'd rather accept him as dead."

He lapsed into another silence then. Dean's gaze drifted to the stage. "Let me get this straight," he began, hearing the edge in his voice and not caring. "You're saying that you won't even try to free him?"

Cas glanced back at him. Pain shadowed his eyes. "Dean..."

"I get it. I do," he assured him curtly. "Easier to just turn your back than face the truth. Never stop to think that maybe I'm- he's- counting on you."

The swift correction was not lost on Castiel. For a moment he studied him, the look in his eyes indicating he had seen straight into Dean's heart- as usual. At seeing this he quickly averted his gaze, his hands tightening on the bottle.

"Dean," he murmured. "Did something happen between you and your Castiel?"

Dean stared at the floor. What hadn't happened was more like it. Unwillingly, he thought back to those strained conversations during the hunt for Purgatory, the heartache, the pain, the disbelief of each one; the heated discussion in the parking lot of the mental hospital where Sam fought not just for his sanity, but his life, and how much it hurt to see Cas ready to flee. Not even the selfless decision to take in Sam's pain had been enough to reassure Dean that all was forgiven between them. And now, the last memory he had of Cas was his calling out to him after he had disappeared. Abandoned him.

Again.

His throat tightened. He could feel his eyes starting to burn.

Dammit.

At feeling a tentative hand rest upon his Dean started, looked up.

Cas gazed at him, a world of understanding in his eyes. When he squeezed his hand, very gently, Dean's heartbeat increased. He could feel warmth coloring his face, his neck. For one, wild moment, he swore he saw Cas leaning toward him. Felt the need to mirror the action and-

The auctioneer's sudden announcement that they were beginning the next half of the auction shattered the moment. When Cas broke eye contact first Dean exhaled, tried not to think about what almost just happened, or why.

"Good," Cas was saying. He pointed at the stage. "The human artifacts have been sold. We should see the heavenly relics now."

"About time," Dean groused. As he drank down the last of his beer, he glimpsed Cas watching him in his peripheral, the sadness in his eyes.

New items were carried to the stage. Balthazar poked the woman in the side, causing her to laugh as she rose to her feet. When she turned and leaned over to kiss him goodbye he squeezed her bottom. After she had gone, taking the empty wine glasses with her, Balthazar rose to address the audience. He rambled on about the rarity of the next collection, his hope that everyone went home with something, blah blah blah. Dean rolled his eyes. If not for the man leaning over to whisper to Balthazar, he was sure the angel would have just kept talking.

The crowd applauded as Balthazar flashed a winning smile and swept a bow. As his enthusiastic gaze roamed the room he looked right where Dean and Castiel sat and winked. He then took his leave just as the auctioneer introduced the first piece.

Dean barely had time to register that Balthazar had spotted them when Cas lightly touched his sleeve. "Dean," he murmured, and pointed.

He looked to the audience and frowned. "Son of a bitch," he muttered at recognizing one of Raphael's lackeys. "What the hell is he here for?" He paused, then sent him a swift look. "Does Balthazar even know Michael's here?"

"I can't be certain." Cas's brow furrowed as his hand went to his brow. "Balthazar just summoned me. He wants to meet in my dressing room."

"Wait, we can't leave yet," Dean protested. "We gotta get the horn."

"He wants to speak to me after the auction. I will look for it among the items he has for sale, and secure it if I can."

"How? We don't have anything to spend."

"I have gifts clients have given me," Cas explained. "I can use those. But it's not safe for you to stay. If the angel sees you and reports you to Raphael-"

"Yeah, I know," Dean said, scowling. "All right. What do I do then?"

Cas stood, gestured for him to follow. After Dean snatched up the oil he trailed after him to the doors. "I'll send you to my room in advance of my meeting. It will give you time to use the holy oil."

"All right. Hey, Cas," he said just as the angel went to touch his brow. Their eyes met, held. After a moment Dean gripped Cas's shoulder. Cas reacted with a small intake of breath, as if this had been the first and not the hundredth time they had touched. Oddly enough, Dean felt his pulse racing at the contact. Getting a hold of his senses, he gave a firm nod.

"Be careful."

The smile that touched his face was small but warm. "I will," he promised, and pressed his fingers to Dean's brow. The last thing he saw was Cas's eyes, softened with some memory, before the room melted away.

Alone now, Castiel turned his attention to the auction. He watched the auctioneer, easily able to keep up with the fluctuating bids but soon found his mind drifting to his and Dean's discussion. Every time he tried to focus on the auction (a piece of Moses's staff was being wheeled off) in anticipation of seeing Gabriel's horn, the stage and the audience would gradually become replaced with the darkened car lot outside Bobby's. At first they were ghost-like images, there and gone again, every time the auctioneer announced another bid. Soon enough, however, Castiel could not help but fall into the memory. He laid his hand over his left wrist, closed his eyes and went back, back...

Three years ago...

The joint trip to Chicago and the distribution factory had been a success. Now that the fear of the Croatoan virus's spread had been taken care of, everyone turned their thoughts to the eventual encounter with Lucifer. Castiel, like Dean, was not sanguine about Sam volunteering himself in order for their plan to work. He had no allusions about the kind of threat his big brother presented, and while he believed in Sam's strength (he had learned not to doubt the brothers anymore) he still could not help but worry.

Dean was of the same mind. He let his feelings be known with every glance, every heavy sigh, but had stepped back. In doing so, he had withdrawn into himself. They all felt the change in Dean since their return from Chicago two days earlier. He had taken to sleeping in the Impala, alone, leaving Bobby and Sam worrying over him, while Cas, unable to sleep, stood by the window facing the yard. Once, he had seen Dean venture into the car lot; when he returned some time later, a crowbar in one hand and beer in another, Cas despaired at seeing Dean's reddened, tear-stained face. He had nearly gone out to him, decided against it out of respect for his privacy.

Sam had taken over the planning from here on out, even though it had been Dean who had deduced Lucifer was in Detroit. Cas noticed the shadows in his eyes as they discussed the trip. Wished that there was something he could do or say to bring Dean back to them.

That night, Sam had suggested they marathon some of the old movies he and Dean used to watch as kids. He had given Dean a pointed look as he spoke, but his brother demonstrated no interest.

"Knock yourselves out," he said flatly. He strode for the refrigerator to help himself to some beer. "Come wake me up when it's time to go." With that he left, shutting the kitchen door heavily behind him.

Bobby crossed his arms and shook his head. "This is getting out of hand," he announced. "Someone needs to talk some sense into that boy."

"Yeah." Sam looked to Cas, who sat at the kitchen table, his hands on his knees. "You wanna give it a shot?"

Cas gazed at the floor for a moment. "We shouldn't pry," he decided, though with little conviction. "This is difficult for him."

"It's difficult for all of us," Bobby pointed out sharply. "Dean's not the only one worried. He needs to get his head out of his ass and see that."

"He will express resentment or anger at our attempts. I think we should let him be."

Bobby stared at Cas for a moment, shook his head. "No wonder he likes you," he stated. "You're both idjits."

"Hey, Bobby? Can you give us a minute?" Sam requested. Bobby cast a quick glance at Cas, shook his head again, and took his leave. When they were alone Sam sat across from Cas, folded his hands on the table. He spent a moment gathering his thoughts, exhaled.

"I don't know what you expect from me," Cas said without preamble. "He's your brother, you've known him longer."

"That's true," Sam conceded quietly. "But you've had luck before. I'm not saying go out there and beat him down again-"

"It will be more difficult to engage in a physical fight with him now since I am not at full power," Cas interrupted matter-of-factly.

Sam managed a tiny laugh at that. "Well, we can't always hit Dean when we want to get a point across. Try to talk to him, Cas. For all of us, but mostly for him. I don't know what's between you two, but he's been different lately. Happier. And he's opened up to you. If there's anyone here he'll listen to, it's you."

Castiel absorbed this in silence. He studied Sam's face, saw how he had pushed aside whatever fears or hesitations he might have experienced for Dean's sake. Found himself once again in awe of the strength inside Sam Winchester.

"All right," Cas agreed. He rose to his feet. "I will try."

Sam smiled, reached out to grab Cas's hand as he rounded the table. "Thanks a lot."

Cas nodded to his words, squeezed his hand and ventured out of the kitchen.

It had cooled off as the sun set. Cas acknowledged the chill passing across his hands, the back of his neck, along the contours of his face. With every step that took him closer to the Impala, he wondered what it was he would say, could say. He recalled their conversation shortly before leaving for Chicago; then, Cas hadn't hesitated in letting Dean know exactly what he thought about his considering himself unimportant. It was different now. Cas wasn't sure of the reason why. Something inside him knew it was.

Dean was not sitting inside the car as Cas expected. Instead he was reclining on the hood, arms behind his head, gaze turned heavenward. Cas approached the car slowly, trying to gauge Dean's mood, the invisible boundaries he had called up. It was at this moment he realized just how much he missed being close to him, the freedom to touch his hand, share a smile, to hold onto him as they slept. Or, to be more precise, as Dean held onto him. Regardless, the absence of that warmth cut through him quite suddenly, leaving him speechless.

After a moment Dean's eyes went to him. Blank-faced, he stared at Cas in silence, as if debating on telling him to go away or not. But then a crack appeared in his face, very slight, and he slid off the car, took the three steps separating he and Cas and had him in his arms.

"Dammit, Cas," he murmured into his ear. His arms tightened around him. "What took you so long?"

The powerful emotions Cas had associated with his relationship with Dean Winchester rose up inside him. First there was delight, wonder, dedication, loyalty, admiration, quickly followed by worry, fear, unease, sorrow, helplessness. For an instant he wished he was once again at full power, if only to stop the feelings from overwhelming him. Knew that if he was, he'd never be able to appreciate what this man truly meant to him.

What he truly meant to Dean.

As this realization settled over him, Castiel completed the embrace, and knew that this time, he wasn't just mirroring Dean's reaction. He did it because he understood.

They stayed like that for a long time. There was no heated, desperate passion in their embrace. There was only tenderness, comfort. Eventually Dean drew back to clap both hands on Cas's shoulders. He looked like he was fighting off tears, but he still managed a small smile.

"Come on," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He started back for the house, his arm about Cas's shoulders. "It's time you watched something other than bad porn with me."