Three years ago...

The following morning saw the group packing the Impala and Bobby's van for the trip to Detroit. Dean had spent the night in a real bed and was the better for it, physically, mentally and emotionally. Castiel, too; not only had he missed feeling that warm body close to his, he missed being able to watch Dean sleep. Yes, Dean made it no secret how 'creepy' it was but, sometimes, when Cas was awake, his hand gentle atop Dean's, the other had stirred long enough to smile his appreciation. Of course, it'd usually be followed by a gruff order to go back to sleep. Cas didn't mind. Anything was better than seeing him withdraw into himself. Not when they all needed to be focused on what lay ahead.

They headed out around eight AM, after the required stop for breakfast. Cas rode with the brothers while Bobby tagged along behind. The angel spent his time watching the scenery go by as he nibbled at his breakfast sandwich. Dean fussed about his food, muttering when crumbs got onto his lap or when his coffee spilled. Sam, exasperated, finally told him to concentrate on the road. When Dean glowered at his brother Sam gave as good as he got. Dean relented, but not without a surly look. Sam cracked a small, triumphant smile.

As for Castiel, he enjoyed watching their interaction. His father had given him countless brothers and sisters, but he couldn't think of any he was as close with. He wasn't even sure he could term what he felt for his older brothers love. There was respect, yes, as well as a little bit of fear. The only one Cas knew he truly loved was his father. Even knowing He had abandoned them, he still loved Him. He likened it to Dean and Sam's relationship with their own father. Castiel had learned of John Winchester through Carver Edlund's books, and while there were things he did that drew more than a few questions, he felt they still loved him, too.

Cas looked to Dean then, a powerful feeling not unlike what he experienced last night overcoming him. Could he call what he felt for him love, too? And did he feel the same? There were still so many things about the concept- the human understanding of it- he didn't understand. He also wasn't sure how to explain what it was that he felt.

Dean smacked Sam's hand away from the radio. "House rules, Sammy," he reminded him with a small smile.

Sam gave him an exasperated look. "We've listened to this tape so much it's warped."

"No it isn't," Dean defended. He turned up the volume, his head tilted as he listened. After a moment he made a face. "What the hell are you talking about? It's fine."

"Actually it's not," Cas put in. "The sound drags in places, and the music falls out of key."

Dean glowered at Cas's reflection in the rear view mirror. "Nobody asked you, Mr. Know-It-All," he griped. At Sam's resulting chuckle Dean sharply ejected the tape and tossed it into the box. "Okay, fine. So it's bad. Hey!" he cried when Sam began searching for a radio station.

"All those tapes are warped. It won't kill you to listen to the radio for once."

"Oh come on, they're not all bad. Hey, Cas, back me up, man- you listened to a lot of them. They're fine."

Cas considered the request. "It's true. Most are warped," he reported, much to Dean's dismay. The angel then scooted forward to root through the disorganized collection until coming across a tape. "Here," he said, offering it to Dean. "This one is fine."

A wide grin broke across Dean's face, and he sent Sam a look his younger brother made a face at before popping in the tape. "Oh damn," Dean exclaimed as the opening riff of the first song played. "Been a long time since I heard this. Good choice, Cas," he complimented with a smile. As Cas returned it he glimpsed Sam's in his peripheral.

They had listened to the tape twice over by the time Dean pulled into a gas station. He put the car in gear and looked over at Sam. "Lunchtime," he announced with a grin and gesture toward the attached mini-mart.

Sam shook his head. He closed the book he had been reading, set it on the seat. "No thanks."

"That's what you said at breakfast too. Dude, you can't tell me you're not hungry," Dean said, a slight frown on his face.

Sam shrugged. "Well, I'm not," he insisted. "It's okay."

"No, it's not okay," Dean countered. "Come on, get something. I don't care if it's a bag of chips."

Cas could see Sam was getting annoyed. He also identified unease in his face. "I said no," he repeated sternly. He was outside in one swift motion, the power behind the way he slammed the door closed shaking the car.

Dean draped his arm along the back of the seat. "I don't like this, Cas," he murmured, his fist clenching.

Cas watched Sam approach the gas pump. "He's preparing himself to ingest the demon blood, Dean," he said softly. He met Dean's curious gaze. "You recall his eating habits weren't the same then."

"That was when he was jonesing for it," Dean pointed out sharply. "Why should it make any difference now?"

Cas wasn't sure what jonesing meant, resolved to ask about it later. "It's possible the thought of eating regularly might make him ill."

This sobered Dean, and he sighed. After a moment he shook his head. "I hate seeing him like this."

"I don't like it, either. But we agreed to stand with him."

Dean sighed heavily. "Yeah," he murmured. He was quiet for some moments more, then pushed open the door. "Well, I'm going to get something to eat. You coming?"

"Yes," Cas answered at once, and exited the car. As he trailed after Dean he noticed Bobby had approached Sam, a look of fatherly concern in his eyes. The two began to converse in hushed whispers; when Bobby touched Sam's shoulder the latter managed a small smile.

Dean entered the mini-mart first and made for the freezer section across the way. Cas, not feeling very hungry either (he supposed he was also affected by unease) wandered off to explore the shelves. As he passed displays of candy, jerky and mixed nuts, he spotted a kiosk loaded with cassette tapes. Two young girls were browsing the selection, smiling and giggling as they read some of the artist names aloud. They were soon hurried out by an impatient parent's call. The girls left so swiftly the tapes they had been looking at clattered to the floor. Castiel leaned over to pick them up, his head tilting at the artist titles. They weren't like the ones in Dean's collection.

"Cas? Hey, Cas, you ready?" Dean called. He stood by the check out counter, an unwrapped sub in one hand. Curious, Cas replaced one and took the other, then made his way for the counter. He met Dean's gaze as he set it down.

Dean lifted a brow at seeing it. "Soft rock? Really?" Before Cas could come up with an explanation Dean only shrugged and drew the tape closer to his small pile of purchases. After he paid he looped the plastic bag around his wrist, took another bite of his sandwich as he gestured for Cas to follow.

An hour later they were back on the road. The brothers had lapsed into silence as Sam resumed reading his book. Castiel opened the tape, and was now reading through the lyrics. As time passed, and he started to memorize the words to one song in particular, he became increasingly aware of the way his pulse fluctuated, the strange, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he looked at Dean. He wanted to listen to the tape to see if the melody was as moving as the words. Yet even he could identify lingering tension between Dean and Sam, so he refrained from asking.

By the time night fell Cas was equal parts weary and restless. They hadn't stopped since the gas station; it seemed Dean was determined to reach Detroit as soon as possible. Left with little else to do, Cas stretched out on the backseat and closed his eyes. It wasn't long before he became dimly aware of Sam and Dean's low but emotional discussion. He peered at them from partially-lidded eyes.

"You can't ask me to do this," Dean was saying. He had looked sharply at his brother, reluctance in his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Dean, you have to," Sam told him. Though he spoke softly, there was firmness in his tone.

Dean fell silent for a few moments. "So what am I supposed to do?" he asked. Cas heard the hurt, the pain, beneath the sarcasm.

"You go find Lisa-" Dean had turned away to mutter to himself as Sam spoke- "You pray to God she's dumb enough to take you in. You have barbeques, go to football games. You go live some normal, apple pie life, Dean." When he didn't respond for some moments Sam indicated the backseat. "And if she tells you to get lost, there's Cas."

"Cas?"

"Yes, Cas."

Dean smirked. "Barbeques with an angel- yeah, that'll go over real well."

"Look, Dean," Sam said, turning to face him. "You can say whatever you want but I know there's a lot more going on here. I don't know when it happened and I don't care- I just need you to promise me you'll put all this behind you, no matter what you do."

A heavy silence fell. Castiel watched Sam's face, could see him almost holding his breath on the hope that Dean would agree. When he looked back to Dean, there was no hope in his eyes. He looked more torn than before, but after a long time, he finally conceded. Sam bowed his head, turned away to gaze out of the window. Cas heard Dean mumble, 'Dammit,' under his breath but he said nothing more. The angel lowered his gaze, sighed and wished there was something he could do.

Some time later he realized the car no longer moved. Glancing up, he saw the row of gas pumps outside the window. As he sat up he spotted Dean behind the wheel, solemn, silent. Sam was nowhere to be seen.

At seeing Castiel's reflection in the rear view mirror Dean gave a small but bitter smile. "Guess it's just gonna be me and you then, Cas," he stated gruffly. "When you decide to go crazy hippie on me, let me know. Wouldn't want to shock the neighbors at the local barbeque."

Castiel understood Dean was referencing the future Zachariah had shown him. "The demon blood will raise Sam's chance of success, Dean."

"Yeah, thanks for the reminder," Dean snapped. He turned to send Cas a scowl. "Like I already didn't feel like hell as it is."

Cas's voice softened. "I'm sorry."

Dean briefly turned away. "Sorry. Sure," he muttered. He covered his eyes with his hand, let out a deep sigh. "Be honest with me, man: do you really think this will work?"

"Our choices are few."

"That's not what I asked." His tone was sharp, but there was also a tremor in his voice.

Cas paused to consider his answer. His first instinct was to list the odds against the plan succeeding. But the longer he studied Dean's face, the more he understood. It wasn't the truth he was looking for. He wanted Cas's reassurance.

"Sam is strong," he offered quietly. "Strong in ways that we may have overlooked in the past, including you. He'll be stronger because he has your support."

Dean swallowed, gave a short nod. "And you, Cas?" he asked, looking over at him.

At first Cas believed he was referencing Sam, recalled the conversation the brothers had while believing the angel had been asleep. "I am here for you, Dean," he said simply. "Whatever you need me for."

Dean's eyes flashed with emotion, but he said nothing. Instead he simply gazed at Cas thoughtfully, as if trying to solve some inner problem. Cas furrowed his brow. Perhaps he needed something more. Ah! Of course. However, just as Cas wanted to ask if he'd listen to the tape, Dean's next words stunned him.

"Yeah. But what happens when you get your mojo back?"

Before Castiel could respond Dean pushed the door open and strode off. He stared after him, left with only questions over what he had said wrong.

"Oh dear. I can always tell when you're thinking about your favorite howler monkey."

Castiel blinked, took a moment to register he was attending the auction, then glanced over to find Balthazar leaning against the wall. The smile he sent him was small, pitying. "No one else makes you look so pathetically sad."

Cas rose to his feet to face his brother. "Why are you here, Balthazar?"

"I'd ask you the same thing, but I think I already know. No, no," he said, lifting a hand to stall Cas's response. "We'll save that unpleasant discussion for later. I'm here to ask you about him," he said, gesturing toward Raphael's minion.

"You are auctioning heavenly relics. I expect our brothers to show some interest," Castiel answered. "A lot of them shouldn't be handled by humans."

"Fortunately for all of us none of them come with instructions," Balthazar told him with a smooth smile. "Well, ones that humans can understand. But angels? We're a different story."

Castiel looked past him as another relic was carried off stage. "Are you worried he's here to take them back?"

"If he was, he'd be bidding on all of them. He's here for something else that's heavenly, I think. And my instinct is telling me to make a discreet exit."

Castiel acknowledged Balthazar's concern with a small nod. "It's true. They're not here for the relics."

Though he seemed to have been expecting this to be true, Balthazar's smile was strained. "Well then," he commented. "Looks like we both better see to our fortunes."

"Balthazar-" Cas began, but his brother had vanished. Alone now, he debated on the wisdom in staying; in the end he chose to return to the dressing room, and Dean. As he took his leave he glimpsed Raphael's minion watching him. Their eyes met briefly before the other angel sent him a scornful look and resumed watching the auction. Cas had barely cleared the doors just as the auctioneer announced the next artifact.

Dean was a creature of action. Leave the planning and researching to the others; turn him loose to do what he did best, then let him drink on his success later.

This was at the forefront of his mind as he prowled Castiel's dressing room. He had already set the trap- he didn't need to be exceptionally creative with its placement, for none of the angels ever seemed to know they were trapped until it was too late- so now he was left with nothing to do but wait. He thought about taking a nap on the couch, found he was too wired to even lie down. Sitting didn't work for him either. So now he was left with exploring the room in order to pass the time. As Dean took in the array of clothes hanging in Cas's closet, he was as shocked as he was curious over the kind of clients he had. Never mind what he probably had to do to get some of the pricey things just sitting on a nearby table. Dean poked through the collection of watches, jewels, money clips- wait, was that a set of keys for a Ferrari?- and shook his head. Castiel was sitting on a small fortune; Dean might have had five bucks in his pocket.

As he stepped away from the table his toe caught on the edge of a box underneath it. He nearly toppled over because of it, and swore loudly as he regained his balance. He glowered at the offending box, went to shove it further under the table when he spotted a familiar brown book inside. Dropping to a knee, Dean took up the book, his smile rueful as he flipped through it. John Winchester's journal was as much a record of his thoughts as it was a how-to for the novice hunter. As he glanced at some of the pages he gave a little grunt.

Remember when you used to just hunt down wendigos and vamps?

After a moment he shrugged and sat on the floor. It never hurt to refresh his memory. Besides, what else was he going to do? But as Dean opened it to the middle a collection of papers slipped free from the back. Business cards were tucked among the papers- his heart caught in his throat at seeing Bobby's FBI 'number'- plus some receipts and old mail. Dean gathered them into a little pile by his knee, pausing when he saw an envelope with Cas's name on it. In his handwriting.

Suddenly he thought of Marty McFly sticking that oh-so-important letter into Doc's jacket before he went back to 1985, and Dean's reservations about reading it vanished. It'd be nice to know what the hell his evil twin thought about...well, everything. Dean unfolded the letter, noted it had been written on torn pages of loose-leaf paper and started to read. After he finished the first sentence he had to take a moment to gather his composure before he continued:

Cas,

First off I'm not really good at these things. But if I don't get this out now that's it. I won't get another chance.

(The line had been scribbled out several times. Dean couldn't read it.)

I've gotta be honest: being with you makes me happy as hell. I mean, I'm freaking thrilled. You're hilarious, you know that? You're always making me laugh.

You make me worry too. Pestilence, zapping yourself and the angels to wherever. Disappearing without telling me where you're going. I hate that. I never know if it's gonna be the last time.

(Dean could relate to that. He had been carrying the feeling with him ever since he first got to Purgatory. There was another scribbled line here, just as illegible as the other one.)

You also snore. You always steal the covers. You manage to use all the hot water no matter where we stay. You like to eat my food. Then you look at me and it's like I can't breathe. No one, I mean no one, makes me feel like that.

(The reference to Cas's bedroom habits made him shift in place, and Dean was glad he was alone. Still, he couldn't deny the emotion in his evil twin's words, or the sudden ache they made in his own heart. It was true. No one else but Cas ever made him feel like this.)

What I'm trying to say is I need you, Cas.

I need you.

This thing we've got, I've never had it before. Don't even have a name for it. And I'm scared as hell of losing it. I don't want you to go away.

We're staring at a dark tunnel and Michael and Lucifer are waiting for us at the end. If there's any way for me to make sure we all get out of this, I'm gonna take it. No matter what it is. There's a chance I gotta face life without my brother. Sorry, but I can't face it without you too.

Dean

The letter slipped from his hands. Dean drew in a shaking breath as he absorbed the implications of what his evil twin said. More importantly, what he meant. Despite the promise he had made to Sam, to Cas, the other Dean had still been looking for a way to spare them. Well, he had succeeded. And at one hell of a price.

Dean's next dilemma was whether or not he should show it to Cas. It'd help him understand at least; it had been his evil twin's intent for him to read it. But as Dean's gaze lingered on the emphasis under the word 'need', and his throat tightened, he knew showing it to Cas now would upset him, or worse, piss him off. After folding it he tucked it into the envelope, set it back inside the box and sighed. Dammit. Life really was easier when it was just about hunting monsters.

The rush of wings alerted him. Dean stood just in time to find Castiel standing by the doorway. The angel spared him any explanation as to what he was doing with his next words.

"Balthazar will be here any moment. Is it ready?"

Grateful for the much-needed shift in focus, Dean nodded. "Let's do this."

Castiel approached the cluttered table, grabbed a gold Zippo Dean hadn't noticed before and tossed it to him. "Light it as soon as he arrives. We need to get that horn, and we're running out of time."