Dean was stressed. Sam could see it in his eyes, the frantic motions, the clipped responses. Still, everything happened too quickly as the younger brother watched Dean pack, trying to glean some kind of clue as to what was happening. He shot unanswered questions Dean's way which, largely went ignored.

By the time they'd hot wired a car and were on the road, Sam had come to one conclusion: Cas was in trouble.

Sam sped down each dark street, watching his brother's knee bounce from the corner of his eye. He could hear it, too. The rhythmic drumming of his older brother's nervous tick against the middle console. And, he knew just how telling it was that there was no music. Only drums, the engine and silence.

"Dean," Sam tried again. "What exactly are we getting ourselves into. Is it the demons?"

Dean rubbed his fingers hard across his lips, his jaw tight. "Yeah," he said, finally. "Yeah, I think so." He leaned forward, gripping the dash, pushing his hands against it.

"He's gonna get himself killed, Sammy. You know he's been doing this for days?"

Sam pursed his lips, keeping his eyes on the road. "Doing what, Dean? I don't really know what's going on, here," he said, not bothering to hide his annoyed tone.

Dean rubbed at his face. "Well, that makes two of us," he said. "All I know is that the demons that killed James's aunt and uncle were here looking for Cas. And, the idiot decided it was a good idea to take them on alone. He's been. . . " his voice cracked. "He's been strolling the streets for weeks, looking for them behind our backs"

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "Yeah, but Demons, Dean. Cas could finish them with his eyes closed. They should be running from him."

Dean shook his head, lips pursed. "No." he said. "It's something more. I could see it in his face. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I know Cas. There's a reason he kept this from us, Sam." Dean's knee was bouncing again, his shoulders tense. "They can hurt him," his brother said, nodding tightly. "I know it."

Dean's fists were balled now, and Sam knew his brother well enough to know when it was time to take a different tack. Dean was clearly out of his mind with rage. But, only someone who knew him as well as Sam would be able to see through it to the truth; Dean was worried.

"Turn here," Dean suddenly barked, pointing.

Sam careened around the corner, praying there weren't any patrol cars in the neighborhood when he heard the tires screech.

"Left."

Sam followed his brother's directions blindly, barely tapping on the brakes through stop signs, keyed up by Dean's demeanor.

And Sam couldn't help but feel the anxiety creep down inside his own skin as he realized how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. He knew his brother's worries. Knew Dean's fears about what they were driving toward:

Ashy wingprints and a bloody trench coat.

Sam shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of the image. He'd watched Cas die before. Dean had, too. It was always painful to lose someone they cared about. The weight of grief was threaded through the both of them by this point. Still, you could never prepare yourself for the dark reality of loss. Not even when a part of you might know it was coming.

Stop,Sam thought, willing himself not to get caught up in Dean's worries. Dean had a tendency to overreact, especially when it came to Cas.

"Here," Dean said finally, already opening the door before Sam had even parked their stolen car behind the dark shadow of the impala. And, in a moment, Sam was chasing his brother across the yard.

This is familiar, Sam thought, almost pausing as he took in the surroundings. Of course. The crime scene. They were at James's house.

He pulled his gun out, training it on the house, Dean doing the same as they reached the door. Sam watched his brother pull at the door handle. Locked.

Dean glanced back at his younger brother, giving him the unspoken signal. Sam nodded, tightening his grip on his weapon, ready to provide backup. In a flash, Dean kicked at the door, wood splintering around the handle.

Then, the light.

It started small. Far away. Growing faster, brighter, stretching through the windows and across the lawn, exploding past them in waves, loud and powerful enough to knock the brothers off their feet; First Dean, then Sam, tumbling to the grass in the impact.

Then, nothing.

"Cas!" Dean was the first to his feet, racing inside with Sam on his tail, bursting through the door: "Cas!"

Sam followed his older brothers's frantic yelling, a few steps behind. Ashy wingprints and a bloody trench coat, Sam thought again, pushing the image aside more forcefully when, suddenly, the older hunter fell silent.

He had to nudge Dean to the side a bit to see past where his brother was blocking the way.

There was blood. A lot of it. But no ash. No trench coat. And, no angel.

Sam braved a glance at Dean, his older brother's jaw tight, the mask of anger slipping, his gun lowering slowly.

Finally, quietly Dean looked at the floor: "Damn it, Cas."