Author's Note: Sorry this took so long, darlings. Hope it was worth the wait.

The first year is the hardest.

Dean has to learn to shrug off things like school, schedules, possessions, friends, home, normalcy, family…

In the beginning, Sam is with them. John brings back greasy takeout in the evenings after they've sat around all day watching cartoons on a small box tv while Dean practices cleaning and taking apart guns. He doesn't tell them where he goes, just repeats over and over, if he's not back by evening to call Bobby. Not to answer the door. Not to answer the phone unless it rings once first.. but it never rings at all.

Mostly, it's just boring. Dean imagined it… differently. Instead of learning to hunt, he pretty much spent the day guarding his little brother, who seemed out of touch with their surroundings most of the time. The small room begins to feel claustrophobic since they're not supposed to leave. They'd traded in a house and rooms of their own for a dingy, cramped motelroom. All they have in the world can fit in a duffel bag each. Dean crammed a few extra toys and books for Sam in his and though it took up space, hid the fairytale book with the feather in it at the bottom of his.

Dean's the one who takes Sam to get his cast off, holding his good hand in case he's nervous. It doesn't seem to matter though; Sam just stares at the shoes the entire time as the doctor saws it off. Dean tries to make it as easy on him as possible but after a month, it became more than apparent that it wasn't going to work. He wouldn't eat, he barely talked and when he did, it was always tearful questions about when they were going home. After the Harvelles relocated again, Sam went to stay with Ellen and Jo. His father had told him it was temporary. Safer. For the best.

Ellen said the road is no place for a boy and tried to talk John into letting Dean stay as well. Both he and his dad flatly refuse. After that, they come stay with them about once a month for a few days and he spends every possible minute of it with Sam, who doesn't really understand. Keeps asking when their mom's coming back. Even when he's been told over and over... she's not. But then how does a four year old understand something like that? It's still hard even for Dean to understand. When he's shaken awake in the morning, for a split second he forgets where he is and expects to smell bacon and hear her singing. But that's never going to happen again.

Instead it's up at 5 o'clock and he has to run. Just run. That's how they start. His dad tells him he needs to learn to run for endurance, long stretches of time.. because something could be right behind him waiting for him to slow enough to catch. If all else fails and he loses his weapon, he has to be able to run for his life. So the first day he does… until he throws up. The next day's slightly better. He only gags and hurts from the previous day but manages not to lose it. Within a week he's running a little longer, a little further.

During the day, when they're not driving to chase rumors of possessions, they're shooting. Every. Day. Hours and hours, he practices until his arm aches, his fingers blister and he can barely see the target anymore. His dad's patience is non-existent. Dean's getting pretty good at finding that quiet calm and hitting closer to the target while his dad barks at his side. It's good to practice with distraction, he guesses.

At night, he watches crappy tv while his dad drinks until he can sleep. Or passes out. He calls Sam sometimes on those nights and asks him about his new school, any new friends he's made and lets him rattle on about anything and everything. It's like talking to a piece of his old life. That's good, he grits his teeth and reminds himself. He wants those things for Sam. School, friends, breakfast at a kitchen table. Sam usually doesn't cry on the phone anymore and that makes him feel a little better. But not much.

He thinks of Cas every night. Where he might be. What might have happened between them if his life had never taken this screwed up turn. Dean had just gotten comfortable with the new feelings he had towards the angel before everything turned to shit. Rationally he knew it wouldn't have really gone anywhere. If nothing else, Cas was a freaking angel. It was ridiculous even thinking that thought, let alone to imagining they would have ended up happy together somehow. Still, Dean spends long hours fantasizing how it might have been different. If they'd had time together. Time to learn about each other in this new way to add to all the other parts he already knew and then it hurt all over again. He remembered Cas had looked different the last few times he'd seen him. Slight changes. No cuff. Face somehow more defined. Everything had been fucked up at the time so he hadn't had time to notice but now he wonders if maybe he'd.. well he didn't know what happened after an angel wasn't a fledgling anymore but something was going on. What changed? Was he allowed to interact with humanity now? Had he found someone else to interact with? Was he fighting more? What was he fighting? Demons? Why hadn't Dean asked him a hundred different things the last time he'd seen him?

And it was so lonely. With only his dad who half the time didn't seem to even be there, mentally or otherwise. Every once in a while, Dean imagines he hears a rustle of feathers.. then he feels pathetic and throws himself that much more into shooting. Running. Knife throwing. Anything his dad will focus on him long enough to teach. Even so, sometimes he curls onto his side and pretends Cas is sitting at the edge of the bed watching him.

When they finally get to hunting, John starts him out with ghosts. Salt n' Burns. Easy he says.. but the first one that pops out and reaches into his chest gives him nightmares for weeks. He can still feel his heart being squeezed seconds before he fights his way gasping back to consciousness.

Five or six more and they're onto vampires. The learning curve is steep and terrifying. But his dad tells him he can do it.. so he does. Already wounding it, John had circled around to drive the vamp Dean's way and when it came toward him with row upon row of glistening sharp teeth.. he aimed for its head. The machete got stuck in its neck twice but he got the job done and his father seemed proud.

He turns seventeen on the road, driving through Oklahoma most of the day. He's sure his dad probably forgot but that night he wordlessly hands him a new knife when they stop. Then he walks out the door and leaves Dean alone in the motel room. Not like he expected a cake or anything but it would have been nice for him to stay at least. The longer it gets from that day with his mom, the less he can see of his father. He was hard and stern before but now it's as if every soft part of John Winchester died with his wife. Lately it's all "go for the weakspot" and "aim for the head" and "open your goddamn eyes!"

Dean tries to get into the late night zombie movie playing on one of the four channels but eventually turns it off. He takes out the fairytale book and opens it to see the feather, just as he'd left it. He hasn't been able to look at it since taking it from his bedroom to pack so many months ago. Staring at it for a long time, Dean imagines saying his name, as he always does, before carefully placing it back and stashing the book back in his duffel.

As time passes, it gets easier. Less things scare him. The blood under his fingernails doesn't make him shake because soon he'll shower it away and move on. Their rigid training routines pay off too. Gradually he loses his baby fat with the other softer parts inside him. He can run 30 minutes straight without getting too winded now and usually hit the 12oz can at 50ft with a hand gun. While they drive, John quizzes him on monsters, most of which he can barely believe are real, and their weaknesses. When they get a lead, they track it down. Always they head for the signs of possible demonic possessions first. Usually it's an overly-religious parent condemning their wayward child as an agent of Satan.. but they catch their first bonafide demon almost a year later to the day.

It paces in a tight circle, bound by the chalk pentagram drawn on the floor. It was called a Devil's Trap. Bobby found it researching, along with an Anti-Possession symbol, and this was their first chance to test it out.

"You see it, Dean?" His dad says with eyes bright, more animated than he's seen him in a long time.

The dank cellar reeks of sulfur, but still the matronly woman in front of them sniffles quietly and wrings her weathered hands. She looks like someone's grandma with glasses that have those little strings that connect so you can wear them around your neck. She pleads off and on to be let go as John just curls his lip in disgust.

"They use us as a disguise. Like a goddamn meat suit!" He flings the flask of holy water at it so it writhes, turning back growling with solid black eyes.

John hands Dean the flask, watching it with something close to a smile. An ugly one.

"Go on."

Dean wants to ask if he can wait in the car but he knows his dad won't let him. And he'd just angry and he'd still have to do it. Fuck, he's not weak. He can do this. It's one of the things that destroy people. Ruin lives. Filthy, ugly bastard-

He flicks his wrist but he's too far away and the water falls short. It laughs a sweet old lady laugh and makes kissy noises at him.

Dean steps closer and clenches his jaw when he does it again. This time the Holy Water splashes its chin and neck, which smokes and sizzles.

"I'll eat your pretty green-eyes first, sweetmeat!" It hisses so spittle flies out while its eyes bug out.

John begins yelling questions at it. Saying the names they never say, over and over again. Dean watches and waits for his dad to nod.. then the screams begin again. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his flesh crawls but he doesn't hesitate anymore.

After a half hour of its flesh bubbling and stinking up the small space, it screams in anger that, "Lilith is dead!"

His dad lifts his hand to stop Dean and they both wait.

"How?"

"I don't know," it pants. "I just know she's gone. I don't know anything about... about them," it says, clearly afraid to even say their names out loud.

John nods. He pulls a canister of salt out of his bag next and hands it to Dean as he takes back the flask.

In the end, it takes over two hours for his dad to be satisfied that it doesn't have anything else to give them.. but Dean was pretty sure that was obvious after the first hour. They spend another half hour reciting Latin at it until the body is purged and the demon is exorcised.

Its last hateful growls are to Dean. "I hope Alastair skins you before he opens you up."

He slowly shuffles forward towards her, imagining she might pop up and try to bite him. When his dad turns around after gathering their supplies and sees him crouched down checking her pulse he says, "She's dead, Dean. Let's get outta here."

Dean stumbles up the cellar stairs and out the back door of the cute corner house that used to belong to a nice neighborly widow. While his dad walks steadily ahead a ways, he turns quickly and vomits in a bush... over some little pink flowers that she probably pruned and cared for and covered with sheets in the winter to keep from dying.

Heaving, Dean spits and makes himself move. One foot in front of the other until he's in the car so his dad can drive them home. Home to a shitty motel room. He looks over at his dad driving, who's zoned out staring ahead. There won't be some heart to heart over this. It's too close to the thing that drives them.. that ruined them.

John drops him off and drives away without another word. Dean mechanically showers, then just lays in bed. For hours. Until the sun goes down and then comes back up again. He won't be able to sleep for days without hearing those screams. The ones he'd caused.

It's worse for the next few weeks. John drinks more and they haven't talked or hunted since. When his eighteenth birthday comes, Dean waits for him to pass out into a fitful sleep before taking one of the fake IDs his dad got him that he hasn't needed to use yet.

He walks along the road until he finds the Sports Bar they'd passed coming back. Sitting down in a booth, Dean breathes out shallowly. A few more sucks of air and he lets the happy noise of half-drunk college kids surround him and it's.. nice. A little less lonely. Here he can pretend he's just a normal kid. About to go off to college. Family. Hopes. Dreams. Dean watches an energetic blonde in a sports sweatshirt cheer at the tv and grab a guy to kiss enthusiastically.

He orders fries and a beer. After squinting at his ID, they bring it to him. Dean sips it until he feels less numb. After two more, the warmth in his stomach is pleasant and he forces himself to stop imagining previous birthdays. His mom making a cake with candles and family dinner where he'd get to pick wherever he wanted to go. And Cas taking him flying…

Shaking his head, Dean notices a group of girls giggling and doing shots together in a circle. One keeps looking at him. Brown hair up in a high ponytail on her head, denim shorts and a shirt with some team on it but cut so it's a scoop neck. Her friend pushes her forward, laughing in her ear and she walks towards him.

Maybe..

He was so tired of nothing but ugliness and horror. Day in, Day out. Blood and guts, fire and smoke and death until its gets in the creases of his palms. Behind his eyes. And now some sweet looking thing is blushing and telling him her name is Ashley. Ashley.. that's kinda funny. Just like what his father once told him was a good normal name, instead of Charlie or Cas.

"Hi Ashley." He smiles and takes another long swallow of his beer. "I'm Dean."

For half an hour, everything doesn't hurt. She's soft and sweet and buzzed enough not to realize it's his first time. She's warm.. not warm like Him but Dean slides down metal plates over any of those thoughts when they pop up. When she giggles, it's a good noise. Something that chases away a few of the more horrific ones he has on repeat between his ears. He can't really fault her for not smelling like strong honey or staring up at him with brown eyes instead of blue.

It's fumbling and rushed, a lot of it kinda of a blur. After the wave of good feelings is over, Dean wants to leave immediately. He stays anyway because it seems wrong to just take off. She sleepily tries talking about her classes and asks when he'll be back to the bar. As soon as she falls asleep, he throws on his jeans and scoops up the rest of his clothes to pad quietly out her small apartment.

On the walk back to the motel, he tries to shake off the guilt and regret that starts creeping in. He keeps imagining he hears the rush of feathers and he knows it's just his own mind fucking with him.

The alcohol made his mouth dry and head spin. Dean sinks onto his bed and rolls into a ball, trying to not throw up by will alone. Clutching his temples, he focuses not on the memory of the girl he'd just lost his virginity to but the first time he kissed Him.

"Cas."

Castiel watches him when he leaves his home with his father. When he spends his first night in a small motel a state away. When he hugs a crying Sam and gives him back to a woman.

He tries to stop but not very hard. It becomes a daily ritual, like visiting Her.

He watches Dean shoot in an empty field and fall on his butt when his father shoves him. He gets to his feet and glares while his father yells something, pointing wildly at the fence with its makeshift targets. Then Dean just nods and starts again. Castiel frowns and makes himself leave.

It always hurts to watch him. He should let him go. If Dean had left the feather then he'd have no choice and maybe it would have been easier. When Castiel had given it to him, he'd imbued it with just a brush of his Grace to preserve it and as a result he seemed to know where Dean was; or at least where the feather was. He hadn't meant for that.. but now he counted the hours until he could go find him again.

Several months later, Castiel's face is stoic as he pushes in the blade. From an inch away, he watches her eyes flash and face seize in shock. He stands over the small body of a child. What had been a little girl. Once. Painful black and crimson slashes pulse all over his body but he barely feels them. She hadn't been either of the two he wanted most.. but he still felt a complicated mix of satisfaction and loathing all at once when he looked at her now. He hardly sees the blonde hair or soft face.. they're overlaid with the ashes of the thing that rode her. Destroyed her. Like it destroyed countless others until this moment when Castiel ended it. His jaw ticks with how hard he's grinding it.

He doesn't know how long he's been staring when he hears a voice from behind him. "That one of 'em?"

Gabriel. Always Gabriel. The only one he'd let get a glimpse of how much the young human boy he'd befriended had affected him.

Castiel nods, still looking down.

"Look, we eighty-sixed the few stragglers but we should book it in case more show up."

The ground is littered with the bodies of close to a dozen humans. Most had empty burned out sockets that had previously housed cruel black eyes, others large holes in their vessels where an Angel Blade had done the job.

"Cassie?! Gabe!" Balthazar yells with an annoyed what's-the-hold-up kind of a look.

After a moment, Gabriel purses his lips and walks back towards his brother. "Give him another a minute."

Castiel watches him and his father enter a house where a demon had been possessing an elderly human woman. Outside, he paces and waits.. it takes too long. Hours. It's dangerous to try and hold a demon so long. What if they're over-powered? He almost reveals himself but finally relief rushes through him when Dean emerges, looking pale and years older. Castiel flinches when he slumps over and heaves.

That night he follows to his motelroom and stands outside his window as he sleeps. He was so close. And alone. He wanted to go to him with such intensity that his whole body ached with it. He imagined slipping in while his father was out just to lay next to him. Offer some sort of comfort, if only while he slept. For one moment he considers it.

But his reflexes were getting better. His father had been rigorously training him and even in his exhausted state..

Instead he spends the night staring at his hunched shoulders and the striped shadows over his face.

Castiel watches him go into a brightly lit place where humans gathered to drink alcohol and yell loudly together. At least he would be with others for his birthday. He watches Dean drink from too many bottles, smile and touch a female with familiarity that gives him a sharp pain behind his sternum. When he follows her out to a car, Castiel flies aimlessly until he's sitting on the sill of Dean's old bedroom window. He broke the latch to open it. The house was locked up tight now. Dark and empty… he felt a kinship with it. It had been forgotten, left to its own devices but expected to go on standing there as if it had never been filled with joy of its inhabitants.

After a while, he hears Dean's voice in prayer. Saying his name. And it hurts worse knowing this was the first time he'd do it and it was after he'd given himself to another. Castiel bends his legs to encircle them with his arms. He watches the sun rise and sink several times until Gabriel comes and finds him.

Castiel doesn't visit him every day now. Not even every week. But he still goes. He holds off as long as he thinks he can before he caves and has to.. just see him.

Dean had new muscles now. His arms and chest seemed harder. Firm. His cheeks were almost always covered in light hair, not soft and smooth like he remembered them. He imagines touching one of them with a fingertip, then gets angry at himself and leaves.

He always felt the worst after seeing him. Like reopening a wound every time. His brother's notice and often try to get him to follow when they traveled throughout the human world. Since he'd matured, he was allowed to but he always declined. He wanted nothing from humans. Uriel tells him to stop sulking in this stupid manner and sends him on patrols. Castiel began to throw himself into their conflicts, training with Uriel even harder. He took a new vicious pleasure in ridding the earth of every demon he could find.

Gabriel tries to get him into whatever prank he's playing on some "deserving" mortal but he just shakes his head and looks away.

Eventually, Balthazar throws up his hands one day when they're alone and yells, "Jesus Wept, are you ever going to snap out of this?"

Castiel frowns back at him.

"He was a human. Just one. There are literally millions just like him, Cassie! Every shape and size and flavor you could imagine. They are there for your pleasure. And you look at them. Admire them. Enjoy their many lovely qualities but you don't fall in love with them!"

Castiel lowers his eyes and just wishes he would go away. "Do you even know how fleeting their lives are?" Balthazar snaps. "Like that he would be gone, buried and bones before you knew it."

"Please leave me."

"Oh I'll leave, my dear brother, but you're coming with me."

"I don't want-"

"You don't know what you want." He comes over and braces a hand on his shoulder. "Why not just for a short while.. forget all this doom and gloom? Come try a little decadence and debauchery." Castiel looks up at him wearily.

"At least it'll be better than this, right?" He pats his brother's cheek too hard and grabs him by the arm to haul him up. "Oh and leave the jewelry at home," he says pointing to his gold cuff.

Balthazar takes him to a large villa somewhere in Rome. He stands stonily in a corner, surveying the room full of happily talking humans. It's confining being in such a small space. Crowded. It makes him uneasy. He rolls his shoulders to keep his wings tight to his back. They would pass through any solid objects they encountered on this plane but it was still an unpleasant sensation. The skin on his arm itches where it's now bare. It's the first time he's taken it off since Gabriel gave it to him. He knew it didn't mean much to Balthazar who seemed to mock most of their "Heavenly Purpose" these days and all its trappings but despite everything, he'd been proud of it.

He follows his brother into a room with humans writhing and rubbing against each other intimately to loud thumping music. Balthazar is suddenly surrounded by a small group of people that seem to know him. He laughs at something a female says in his ear before turning and introducing Castiel as his cousin visiting from out of town. When a young man with tight jeans and blonde hair smiles and comes up to kiss him on the cheek, Castiel jerks back.

He just laughs. "Don't worry, Baby. I won't bite. At least not until we get to know each other better."

Castiel pinches his brow but feels a hand push him forward between his shoulder blades until he bumps into the smiling newcomer. When he turns back, bewildered, Balthazar is leaning against a wall stroking a dark-skinned girl's cheek while another man that looks suspiciously like her twin runs a hand through his hair.

"Yeah he's gonna be outta commission for a while. Come with me. I want to show you something," he grins and takes Castiel's hand to lead him upstairs. Reluctantly, he goes.

Once they're outside a doorway, he tugs his hand so Castiel walks past him into a room with the only light coming from an open balcony window. He steps towards it and looks out over the city. When a hand snakes around his stomach, Castiel whirls only to be pushed back with lips pressing hard against his. A tongue seeks entrance but his mouth stays closed tight to the intruder. As he pulls back quickly, the stranger holds him by the wrist so he's still close.

"Balthy said you're trying to get over someone. Maaaybe I could help?" he says, cheerily.

"Thank you.." Castiel begins, flustered. "But I don't think.."

"Don't think. Doesn't that just lead to feelings and pain and all that. C'mon.. you might enjoy me." He kisses him again. When Castiel pulls back, he sees his eyes are green. Not the right shade. Not His. But still green. Balthazar must have known.

Sighing, Castiel closes his eyes. When lips touch his again, he pushes back against them. The man, who still hasn't told him his name but he doesn't want to really know it, makes a happy noise. "There you are."

He goes willingly when he's pulled back onto a bed and lets his pant be undone. Castiel gets an unwanted memory of Dean's shaky fingers pulling at the tied cord.

"Whoa, you're warm."

Dean had said that too.. Dean smirking and licking his oil off a thumb. Dean's eyes rolling back when he'd touched him there. Dean calling his name in harsh little gasps.

Castiel sits up.

"What's wrong, now?"

"I…" He stares at his hands and resolutely closes off the all thoughts of Dean. "I don't know what to do."

He chuckles and strokes a finger over his lips. "Here.. I'll show you."

"Why do you always gotta leave?" Sam frowns at him with his arms crossed.

Dean ruffles his hair and tries to smile when his stomach feels sour.

"Hey, don't be like that. I'll be back before you know it and you'll be beating my ass at.." He'd already forgotten the new videogame Sam showed him.

"Aliens vs Predator."

"Right.. that."

Sam looks unimpressed and wasn't budging.

"C'mon, Sammy. Give me a hug already before I have to go."

Sam looks off but walks forward so he can be pulled into a tight embrace.

Pulling away he says, "I want to hear how that Math final goes when I get back, kay?"

"Yeah, okay." He says small before turning away to walk back into the house.

Dean sighs watching him over Jo's shoulder as he says his goodbyes to her.

"You need anything?" Ellen asks as she gives her hug.

"Nah, I'm good. I'm meetin' back up with Dad in a few days."

"Tell that hardass to come visit us sometime. Visit his-"

"Yeah. I will, " Dean cuts her off, knowing it won't do any good. His dad was so single-minded.. obsessed these days. Sammy probably shouldn't see him like that anyway.

Driving away, he waves to Ellen and Jo, seeing Sam peek out the window of an upper room. His room.

It was trippy coming back here for a few days at a time every few weeks (or usually month). Sam was a dose of happy normalcy that didn't jive with his life anymore. It made him slightly uncomfortable but he wouldn't give it up for anything.

He was due to meet back up with his dad in Nebraska but he still had time. Maybe he'd stop for a bit on the way out of town. As time went on, he'd found the booze didn't taste so bad if you threw it back quick. When he was younger, he'd waited till his dad passed out then stole the remains. Now even though he didn't make a big deal of drinking in front of his dad, he bought his own liquor. After a long hunt, paired with a quick roll between the sheets with some willing body.. it took the edge off. For a while.

Dean pulls the Impala into the parking lot of a hole in the wall bar lit up for happy hour. He listens to the engine tick and looks at his phone. His dad hadn't called. Lately he'd been having him hunt alone whenever it seemed an easy case. He made excuses to take hunts closer to Ellen's so he could visit Sam a couple times a month when possible.

Sitting down on a stool at the bar, Dean orders a whiskey straight up. Hunching his shoulders, he sips at it and feels some of the tension leaving his neck. He'd never imagined his life would be this.. staring at a wall of bottles only to go back alone to a pay-as-you-stay motel at 22.

He still thinks of Cas every once in a while. Says his name out loud. Spitefully, he pretends it's to make him not forget him because he never answers. Maybe he was praying to someone that wasn't even alive anymore. He wouldn't know. It seemed like a weird dream the farther he got from those days. That place. That life.

Surveying the room, he makes eye contact with a slender guy in khakis and a striped polo. He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows at Dean, who passes him over to look up at the tv. This happened from time to time.

The first time had been at a small bar just like this. Some overly-flirty guy in his mid-twenties had bought him a drink and asked his name. John was more than a state away and after two more drinks he worked up the courage to say yes when he'd asked if Dean wanted to get outta there. Nervous and a little drunk, Dean went with him. After a few intense couple of minutes making out in a backseat, the guy told him he couldn't wait to be rode hard and faced away so his ass was over Dean's lap. Dean just stared at him with his mouth open. After a quick and awkward conversation, they'd both realized that it wasn't going to work.

After that, he found that his build, callused hands, gruff exterior all seemed to attract a certain type of guy. Lean, fresh-faced, tight shirts and skinny jeans.. "bottoms" he'd found out from one of them. Time and again, he'd been approached as some domineering aggressive figure or once it was a hulky linebacker type that said he was pretty. When someone called him Daddy it freaked him out so bad he just stopped trying. He didn't know much of what he'd wanted from Cas but that hadn't been it.

A blonde waitress smiles at him as she walks by. Now that was easier. He understood that and liked to think he was good at it.

The next day he has time to check out a possible possession before the nine hour drive in his dad's direction. Intel from Bobby had it in the guise of a priest making demon deals with his flock. It was actually one of the smarter set ups he'd seen, to prey on the lost souls most seeking guidance.. help. But his help came with a price.

Dean had it bound in a chair, but it was the chalk on the floor that kept it in place. When he's about halfway through chanting the words that would banish it, something heavy whacks him in the back of the head. His vision swims for a second as he drops to his knees. An alterboy with black eyes comes into view going for the circle, the padre hissing at him to hurry. Dean managed to trip the boy and hold him down with all his weight and a knee on his chest. The next half hour was a panicked struggle as he frantically tried to remember the words by memory while fighting to keep it still. Finally, it growled and spat and violently left its host in a stream of black smoke. Shakily getting to his feet, Dean turns back to the priest's body that was slumped and empty in his binds now. That was too close.

As he shuffles out the backroom towards the front of the church, he sees two more small bodies, alterboys, with gaping holes in their middles. Frowning down at them, he bends to look closer but then there's a noise out in the church office to his left. Quietly backtracking, Dean walks slowly along the wall until he finds a door with a push-bar and an EXIT sign above it.

Castiel paces as he watches Dean slouch behind the wheel of a long black car. He waits to make sure he drives off and is safe in transit once again.

He doesn't check up on Dean often anymore. This had been a random chance. If he hadn't chosen today.. Dean would be dead. Dead. Gone. Humans were so unbelievably fragile. He remembers Balthazar snapping to illustrate the length of their lives.

When he'd seen the demons waiting just out of sight to corner Dean while he was preoccupied, he didn't think. Just moved to attack, quick, before they could reach him. While he fought them in close quarters, one had slipped away. He rushed to the doorway just as Dean exorcised the two remaining demons. He'd never been so glad to hear those vile screeches they make than at that moment.

He flies until he finds his brother outside a junkyard in Nevada.

"Hi Castiel!" he says cheerily, pulling some red candy on a stick out of his mouth. "Watch this!"

"Gabri-"

"Shh, one minute."

Castiel grits his teeth and turns to see a bald stocky man with tattoos on his arms running like his life depended on it. He fell mid-stride to the ground and as he shook in the dirt, his pants darkened to a black and it crept up the rest of his body like a wave. "Nooooooo… owwwl!" His voice chokes off from a cry into a howl. When he falls forward, it's on paws and his head sways with new half floppy ears.

"Pit Bull. Whatdya think?"

When he just stares at the panting dog, Gabriel says, "Yeah you're right. Needs the finishing touch." He snaps his fingers and a heavy chain appears tight around the beast's neck.

"Why?" Castiel raises an eyebrow at it.

"He was making extra dough on dog fights. The bloody kind. Real nasty piece of work. Now he'll know how it feels to walk a mile in their paws."

Gabriel rolls his eyes at his brother when he doesn't laugh. "Nevermind. Aaanyway, what lit a fire under your flight feathers?"

"Do you know of a way to banish or kill demons besides exorcism or our blades?"

"Yeah.. the old smiter's touch." Gabriel waggles his fingers.

"No. Another way? Perhaps a.. a weapon? Or.." He knows he's talking too fast and Gabriel will notice but his mind is racing.

"A weapon. Hmm.. well there was a knife."

"A knife?" Castiel repeats eagerly.

"Yeah, it was in Virgil's keeping but it was lost during a battle a few hundred years ago. It fell into demonic hands since then."

"Do you have any idea where to find it?"

Tilting his head coyly, Gabriel asks, "Maybe. And why would you be asking again?"

"Do you know or not?" Castiel voice is serious and steady.

"You've got to let 'em go, Bro. One day he's not going to be lucky and that'll be the end of him. Hunters don't exactly got a long shelf life. Especially ones with personal vendettas.. Which come to think of it is most of them." He makes a huh noise.

Castiel grips him by the shoulders to get him to focus on him again and lets some of the anxiety and weariness into his voice. "Please, Brother."

After a moment of an intense staring, Gabriel sighs and says, "Her names Ruby. She's been AWOL a long time but I might have a few friends in low places. You want a wing-man?"

It only takes three days of bloodshed and interrogating a few lower rung black-eyed demons before they're standing over a dead blonde human. The demon inside was killed with the knife it possessed.

"Eureka, it works!' Gabriel flips it in the air and catches it nimbly by the handle. "Next stop, your hunky heartthrob of a hunter?"

"No.. I can't- I won't appear to him after so long but.." Castiel frowns at the bloody blade. "All of this was for nothing if I have no way to give it to him."

"We can't just tie a bow on it and say 'From Santa.. Have fun killing demons' ?"

"Serious suggestions would be appreciated right now."

"Okay okay.. I might have something.."

Castiel watches out of sight as Dean grips Gabriel by the neck with a bloody stake in his hand. Appearing as his Trickster persona, he had led Dean on a fake chase for several days involving human legends turned real. Gabriel had his fun along the way but it was all about this moment when the hunter was prepared to take him out.

"Wait wait!" Gabriel puts out his palms in surrender. "What if I gave you something in exchange for staying that beefy hand of yours?"

Dean glares for a second in distrust but asks, "What are you talking about?"

"You're a hunter, right Buttercup? Would a knife that kills demons be of any interest to you?"

"There's no such thing. You can't kill demons." Castiel hears him say but Dean's eyes are bright with interest.

"You sure 'bout that, Ken Doll?"

"Call me that again and it won't matter."

"Would you prefer Barbie?"

He raises the wood higher in threat.

"Okay okay.." Gabriel waves a hand out to his side and a knife appears between them. Dean quickly twisted his wrist, disarming him so he drops it into his waiting palm. Eying it skeptically, he asks, "This? This is supposed to kill a demon?"

"Guaranteed or your money back. So we good? Even Steven?"

"Yep." Dean grips the wood in his hand and rams it into Gabriel's chest. Castiel winces for him. "We're good." He slumps to the ground. Gabriel will be annoyed later but the important thing is that Dean takes the knife with him.

As soon as he's gone, Castiel walks up to stand over the unmoving body of his brother. "Thank you."

Coughing violently, Gabriel groans and pulls out the wood to throw aside. "Man, your boy is a mean little shit. Just look at this." He gestures crankily to the closing wound and bloody shirt.

Castiel smiles before he can stop himself. He can't remember the last time he did and it feels good. "You'll survive."

Dean slowly walks up to the 3 story house he hasn't been near in seven years. Looking around, he searches the shadows for movement as he approaches the steps. Waiting. Sulfur hangs in the air and stings his nostrils. He kicks once, twice until the front door lock busts and it swings inwards.

Stepping inside, it's dark except for where moonlight shines in from the slats in dusty blinds and the open doorway. Knife clutched at his side, Dean leaves the door wide and follows the wall, yanking on the cords to lift the blinds up and allow more light in. As much as possible.

The furnishing are all layered in dust and it smells musty. Everything is familiar yet somehow foreign now, clashing with an old memory. The couch his dad had told him about demons on. The chair he'd been tied against while a knife carved into him. Most of the happy memories faded so the ugly ones could take over. They were much more real and present everywhere he looked.

Once he canvasses the whole first floor, Dean climbs the stairs quietly. He makes a quick inspection of the second floor but they seem to be drawing it out. Even so, he stops and listens for a long minute before heading up.

Third floor and he's staring at a door with long scratches made from a knife. He traces them with one finger. His knife. The same one that had made his back something to wince and turn from. There's a bloody thumbprint at eye level and he wonders fleetingly if it was his, his mother's or maybe an angel's. The knob had never been fixed since they were leaving anyway so it pushes in easily.

In the light let in from the window, Dean can see everything just as he left it. One of the doors is ajar and the latch hangs from it askew. Dean bypasses dusty bookshelves, an ancient Nintendo and boxes of comics to open the window fully.

This at least was not tarnished by bad memories. He could focus on the last time Cas took him out of it if he tries, but there are too many happy ones of looking up and seeing him standing in the frame. Kissing Cas on the wall just next to it. Sitting on the bench and waiting to see if that would have been one of the nights he'd visit.

"Nice night to walk down memory lane?"

Dean clenches his jaw before smirking as he turns. Three men, one large the other two deceptively small, stand stock still. Staring at him. They're black-eyed in one blink to the next.

"And what would that be like without you guys, huh?"

"Why now?" The burley one asks, smug enough by their numbers to waste time talking.

"Let's just say I'm trying to get someone's attention."

It licks its lips while the other two shift restlessly at its sides.

"Well you've got it." They rush forward just as Dean says, "Didn't say yours, Ugly."

It feels quicker than it is. A trick of the fight. With adrenaline rushing and blood pounding in his ears, he takes one of the lackeys out right away, pulling it close to shove the knife under its ribs. Just like always, there's a few flashes of unnatural light that burns behind its skin. With a burst of sulfur, he lets it go to slump on the floor. Suddenly, Dean's arms are forced behind his back by the other smaller one. He drops the knife as captain black-eyes laughs and punches him across the face.

"Anytime now," Dean thinks, loudly.

It punches him again before grabbing Dean by the ears to bring him close. "Mmm, I wonder what you taste like.." A wet tongue licks the length of his face.

"Piss and Vinegar," Dean grunts as he headbutts it. Immediately throwing his head back, he knocks the one holding him and he's released to fall to his knees. He rolls, picking up his knife and stabs lackey#2 in his side.

Hey he might actually get out of this alr-

Thick fingers wrap around the sides of his face, twisting his neck to an uncomfortable angle. Before he even think about arching his arm backwards, he's jerked just a hair further to the side.

"Drop it."

Clenching his jaw, he tries to weigh possible scenarios for the next 10 seconds.

"Now or twist your head like a bottle cap." The demon says from behind him.

Dean lets it go and it clanks to the floor. It's close but he knows he probably won't have another chance to get it. He'd bargained and lost. Stupid and reckless.. he'd come all this way just to die here in his bedroom after all. He should be scared but mostly he's just pissed.

It leans down to growl into his ear. "I was going to take you to Alastair.. but he has all the fun. Goodbye, Baby Hunter."

Dean grabs it's wrists for one last ditch effort that he knows won't matter when he hears it howl above him. When the fingers slacken, he falls forward. Quickly flipping so he's on his back he pushes back with his palms to scuttle backwards away and pick up the knife. He stops moving as he sees the shocked face illuminated above him, bright light burning out its eye sockets.

Even as he blinks at the intensity of flashes, Dean's heartbeat picks up. As he sits up on his elbows, the demon's body collapses to the side.

Lips twitching into a smirk, Dean starts as his bare feet, up his dark brown leather pants that hug his thighs a little tighter, over the black cord lacing and similar black sleeveless shirt but stretched tight over his broader chest. His gaze touches the wide gold arm cuff with inlaid symbols encircling his bicep. Finally, Dean raises his eyes to his locked jaw, wild wind-blown hair and crazy blue eyes, currently glaring down at him.

"Hiya, Cas."