The crop came down harshly across the Mocker's back. Not really enough to cause damage, but enough to hurt, to let the Mocker know it was there. Some would question such methods being used on one of these creatures, but luckily – or perhaps not – the only eyes to witness it were those of the man wielding the whip. He struck down again, this time on the shoulder and right where the wings began to separate from the body, drawing a sharp hiss from the creature. Instinctively it folded its wings in, and they began to shimmer in and out of perception as the creature tried to hide them, but another crack of the whip was his sharp reprimand.

"Keep them open," barked the man, the 'Caretaker', as the Mockers called him. Usually such optimistic and loving creatures, born from a perverse mix of demon passion and angelic grace, looked at the man with the love and adoration a child looks at its parent with, for after all the Caretaker was responsible for the care of his charges. He fed them well, kept them healthy with many opportunities to fly or play with each other in the large compound, and cleaned their wings and helped them when they got injured during rough play. The creature kneeling in front of the Caretaker was the oldest by far of any Mockers – it looked to be about thirty years old, at least in physique. Mockers grew fast. In reality it was much, much older. Not that any of the humans would ever get to know that.

The Mocker ducked its head, hoping to shove away another blow, bright blue eyes falling closed and dark hair falling forward to hide its face. The Caretaker knelt down in front of the creature and took a hold of his chin – it had taken on the human appearance of a male, but that didn't stop the Caretaker seeing the thing as just that; a thing. Bright blue met dark brown and held, one trying to freeze the other, force the other to look away.

This Mocker wasn't like the rest. Aside from the fact that he was perhaps the only one left to be so mature and still not owned, he also didn't really share the same attitude as the others. They were always willing to serve, to do anything as long as it meant they were fed and cared for, but he didn't. Not really. In fact, he didn't seem to see the world as tit for tat; in this Mocker's eyes the world could go to Hell – again – for all he cared. Apathy radiated from every pore of the creature. It wasn't malevolent, but neither was it kind and considerate.

There were only a select group of people that Castiel had ever shown feeling for, and those people had lived out their human lives long ago.

"This buyer's pretty much the only shot you got left, you hear me? It's this or nothing." Castiel resisted the urge to snarl – his upper lip twitched slightly in an aborted movement – it was an empty threat. Even if no one bought him, Castiel would never be dealt away with. Natalie's will had made sure of that. Instead he blinked, gave a slow, deliberate nod, and almost smirked when the Caretaker huffed and pulled away, correcting his position every so often with a tap of his crop.

If one knew much or anything about Castiel, rather than what he let others perceive of him, one might ask what in God's holy name is an Angel of the Lord doing kneeling in front of a man and allowing himself to be bought, sold and treated like a pet.

Everyone knew that the Angels had fallen and been forced out of their hosts during the Apocalypse, but Castiel had been harboring an empty vessel – there was no soul inside of him to reclaim its body. Half-way to fallen anyway, the Angel had remained. He helped Dean and Sam Winchester when the world was thrust into snow and ice and demons. He was the advisor when Humanity had elected the Winchesters to be their new leaders, united as Hunters and Brothers and Friends with ties far past the normal supernatural.

A paradox in itself, since they were the ones who caused all that mess.

But Castiel had stayed near Dean and Sam, protecting them and the last dredges of humanity as the race in itself recovered from the Ice Age. He'd remained as sometimes the only protector of the Earth and those that inhabited it.

Castiel had, almost singlehandedly, kept humanity from extinction.

Sam had been the one to go first. There was nothing Castiel could have done about it; Sam was ready to go, he didn't want to accept Castiel's help. And no one should live forever. Dean made it another four years without his brother before age and old hunting wounds and the cry of his soul for his brother overcame him and he followed on.

When Dean died, the Angel was broken. Dean had gone somewhere that, now, for once, the Angel could not follow. He'd watched as his brothers would smite whole cities, whole continents, for the sins against God. He'd witnessed when the Apocalypse came in the form of an eruption, and he'd done nothing, hadn't shed a single tear.

But when Dean Winchester gave his final breath, the Angel had cried.

They say that the tears of an Angel are pure sorrow, shaking the foundations of the Earth itself, as nothing so pure should ever feel pain. But Castiel had fallen enough that he felt it, the throbbing ache of a lost loved one deep in his chest and frankly the Angel had never recovered from it. He moved like a ghost between the centuries, watched Sam's children die, watched Bobby die, watched all those he'd come to call friends be taken by Reapers and led into the next life. Castiel had borne witness to the bringing of ice, and then its shifting and moving on. He'd watched as humanity was born anew.

All the while feeling nothing.

There were no Angels left, and the only way an Angel can die is through another Angel. Castiel couldn't even cross the boundaries to Heaven to see if Dean was there – or maybe even into Hell. He was truly and utterly alone, and so…

He'd created the Mockers. Not created so much as aided in their conception. As the Angels fell they became human, and that meant that meant they had urges. The natural instinct of every species is to procreate and pass on their genetic material. The first had been between an Angel named Ezekiel and a human called Maria, and that had been the first Mocker.

Castiel was alerted, of course, because now the Angels had to respect him. He was the only one of them left. He'd cared for the egg, nurtured it until it had hatched and taught it everything about humanity – how beautiful humans could be. When he'd discovered the necessity for blood, Castiel had taught the fledgling to only take from a consenting human – Angels could only inhabit a vessel that had agreed to it, and so Castiel had passed on that inborn knowledge to the child – Aiden.

Castiel raised Aiden for a while, before he became aware that there were others like the child. Castiel left Ezekiel, Maria and their son, traveling the world to find the other fledglings that would be born from human and Angel or Angel and Demon mating.

There were exactly sixty-six of them, and Castiel found them all, taught them all the right way of living, the right way to do things.

When the parents of those fledglings asked him why, he would just watch them, head tilted on one side just a little. The expression would have been one of an innocent child had it not been for the deep pain reflecting in his eyes, in the way his lips quirked up just a little, for just a second, and then fell again and the Angel would look away, disappearing with a flutter of his wings.

What it really came down to, was that Castiel was not needed here anymore – he was the only thing left that caused trouble in this facility. He needed to be on the road again; something was pulling him Westward and he had nothing else to do but follow it.

The door opened and Castiel assumed his knelt position again, which he had let go lax while lost in the painful, fluid sands of time. He'd lost the ability to bend time, go back to when Dean was alive; otherwise he would have, and made sure he was gone before Heaven's gate shut. There, at least, he wasn't allowed to feel anything at all. It was better than pain and loneliness. Footsteps echoed, the sound of heavily booted feet on linoleum flooring and then Castiel felt body heat next to him. His wings fluttered uneasily but he kept them open and visible. Another thing that people found unique about the Angel – his wings were solid black with a tiny flicker of silver around the edges, whereas usually the feathers towards the tips were coated bronze or red, sometimes blues and greens and various other hues. They tended to tie in with the color of the Mockers' eyes, but there was no blue to mirror the deep, bright ice of Castiel's eyes, which he kept trained on the floor as the potential buyer stepped more closely to him.

Castiel didn't want to be bought, not really – he would have rather been allowed to go on his merry way, but even though Mockers were known about nowadays, one that was not escorted was enough to make people uneasy, and so he had to have a human companion to stay with. Not that it really mattered to him one way or another; let the world do what it may to him. The only people in his life that had meant anything to him personally had gone; had died of old age many years ago.

"Here he is." The gruff Caretaker's voice snapped Castiel out of yet another sink into the past, making him straighten his back just a little, letting his wings fall to the ground to rest next to him, bent so the joints came forward and rested against his thighs and shins, the upper part of the join fully covering his bare back. Castiel had long forgone Jimmy's original attire for something more freeing. He often just wore jeans and a t-shirt with slits cut into the back for his wings, which had solidified much more since he'd fallen. Odd, since falling in itself meant no longer being an Angel, but Castiel had retained them and they'd solidified, so now he either had to cloak them or let them show.

Mockers could make theirs fold into their bodies. Castiel's were too large for that.

The man's footsteps came closer and Castiel closed his eyes, pressing his lips together. A deep breath took the buyer's scent into his lungs – he smelled of the outside, the ever-present chill of their thawing world, but with something woodsy and musky underneath as well, as though he had been traveling for a while and through vast forests and was on the open road a lot. It heartened Castiel a little, to know that humanity had not become lazy and sedentary again.

The buyer blew out a short breath and Castiel raised his eyes to meet those of the man.

He froze.

It was impossible. It couldn't be…

Indeed, there were a few differences. His skin was paler than his, with fewer freckles across the bridge of his nose, and his blonde-brown hair was too long and fell across his eyes, but those were the same deep, bright green, darker around the edges than in the middle, flecks of gold and shale in the iris never the same place as when he last blinked. Hidden behind the fringe of hair, it made Castiel frustrated that he couldn't see them more clearly; made him want to push that stupid hair out of the man's eyes to see them. The man's build wasn't as obvious as his – he looked like Castiel imagined he might have when he was still in high-school – lean, without so much muscle as when he had thrown himself into the Hunting business once and for all. His mouth was different, lips chapped and pale and thinner than his had been, but…

His soul. That was…Dean.

It had to be Dean.

He's come back for me. That was all Castiel could think of, despite the fact that it was impossible – despite the fact that Heaven was shut, and so was Hell, and Castiel shouldn't even be able to see a person's soul, since he hadn't since The Second Fall, and the fact that he was seeing this one meant he had either finally snapped, or it was true and Dean was…back.

It was impossible.

Castiel bit his lip, keeping back the name just in time, because even if this man wasn't Dean, he looked enough like him and his soul shone brightly enough that Castiel almost felt like the past centuries had been a dream. One horrible, too-long dream.

The Angel's wings rustled slightly as he shifted them, ducking his head back down as he had been taught to 'display' himself – sickening, if he were to be honest – but the man shook his head, Castiel saw him frown a little out of the corner of his eye. "Why is he kneeling?" he asked, soft-spoken and sounding a little angry. "Why are you kneeling?"

A direct question. That was a new one, and Castiel couldn't hold back his smile. Trust Dean to challenge everything. "It's what we're meant to do," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders, his hands moving from where he had clasped them behind his back, to rub over his thighs. His palms were starting to sweat. He pushed up from his knees, perched on the balls of his feet so that he could better see the man whose soul shone so bright and familiar. "I don't understand it either."

The soul flared brightly as the man smiled, reaching up to shove his long fringe out of his face, and jerked his head up. "Come on, no sense you talkin' to my stomach." Castiel blinked at him and rose, his wings shifting to accommodate his change of balance as they flared out briefly and then settled to a more comfortable position, relaxed behind him. "What's your name?"

"Castiel," the Angel replied, blinking again when the Dean-lookalike nodded, pursing his lips slightly in thought as he looked the creature up and down.

"You don't look like other Mockers," he said thoughtfully, and Castiel smiled. "Don't act like them either."

"I don't think a few minutes in my company is any bearing on how I actually act," Castiel replied coolly, shrugging once more and digging his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans as he had learned to do from watching humanity. "I am here to, for lack of a better term, sell myself to you."

The man laughed, eyes widening at the comment as though taken by surprise that Castiel might have a sense of humor, and the Angel smiled softly. His laughter sounded like Dean's, and for one single moment Castiel hoped beyond belief for two different things at once – he hoped to be bought by this man, to stay by his side until he, too, died, and at the same time he wished for the exact opposite, because it felt like his very heart was aching, seeing this person who looked and laughed so much like Dean. It was insane. Incredible. Impossible.

And he wanted.

"Can you hunt?" the man asked after he had recovered from his laughter, flashing white teeth in his smile.

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Just 'yes'?"

"Would you like a list?" Castiel asked, cocking his head to one side.

The man shook his head, snorting in amusement. "Nah, man, I believe you. You have that look about you," he replied with a slight smile and Castiel merely nodded, averting his eyes. It hurt to keep looking at the brightness of the man's soul.

"I'll take him." The words snapped Castiel's eyes back to the man, who had turned around to look at the Caretaker, still hovering in the doorway to watch the proceedings. The Caretaker raised a brow and muttered something under his breath, and then shrugged and slinked away, no doubt to get the paperwork for the transfer of ownership.

Dean-lookalike snorted. "He's just a basket of roses, isn't he?"

"He's delightful," Castiel dead-panned, which caused the man to laugh again.

"Well, come on then, places to go, people to see and all that," he said, gesturing for Castiel to walk ahead of him.

"What is your name?" Castiel asked as he walked with the man out of the room, down the corridors to the main office where he would be signed away to this new life. The place seemed so bleak and grey with the stranger's soul shining, blinding him.

He had almost expected the man's name to be Dean, or Sam, or something so equally painful that he would be unable to bear it, but that was not the case. "Daniel," the man replied, smiling a little, and Castiel nodded. Daniel.

Daniel, he could do.

"Castiel!"

Signing over the Angel's ownership had been a breeze – almost as though the facility was eager to get rid of him, and Castiel could only think with a small, tight smile that it wouldn't take any stretch of the imagination for it to be so. He wasn't loved by the Caretaker in charge of this facility, it was no secret by any means – because he didn't duck his head and blindly obey, he didn't jump when the Caretaker said 'jump', he was not bound to serve humanity through a dependency on their blood – he lived and he served simply because he could, because he wanted to, and the humans didn't like that. They didn't like something that they couldn't explain.

If only he could explain it.

The Angel turned, wings fanning out in instinctive welcome – he recognized the voice of the young fledgling, the most recent to be born to the breeding grounds. She was young and willowy even by a Mocker's standards – barely sixteen months old but already walking and talking as an adult and most likely destined to be a child's playmate – usually female Mockers were sold into that route.

"Olivia," he murmured, kneeling down to catch the young female as she ran straight into his arms, her long blonde hair ruffling against his stubbled jaw as she buried her face in his neck, her golden-honey-fringed wings flapping erratically in distress. He shot an apologetic look to Daniel, who was watching the proceeding with a neutral expression, and shushed the fledgling gently, rubbing a hand through her hair until she calmed. "Olivia, sweetheart, what's the matter? Where is your mother?"

"Grace said you were leaving," the young female hiccupped, her words barely audible against the skin of Castiel's neck, and the Angel sighed, closing his eyes. He had been here a long time, a constant presence for almost six generations of Mockers. He'd imagine leaving here, to them, would be like saying goodbye to their ancestor, their leader. "Where are you going?"

Castiel sighed again, pressing his face into her hair and inhaling the scent of lilies and rain coming off her small body – Olivia was so lovely and kind and gentle. She would make a good companion for a young human child when the time came. He would miss her and her Dam and Sire, along with her sister Grace. He had known them well. All of them.

"Somewhere else," is all he said in reply, fingers curling around her little body as tightly as he dared as he gently pulled her away from him, his large black wings still wrapped tight around her and soothing down the small, downy feathers fluffing up along her wings in her distress. Wisps of her hair had fallen forward and he brushed them back behind her ear with a small, sad smile. "You see this man?" he asked, changing the subject and tilting his head a little towards where Daniel was standing – the man's face hadn't changed, but his familiar soul shone so brightly Castiel found it hard to look at directly. Olivia stared right through him. "He's a special man, and he needs my help. That's what we do, isn't it, sweetheart? We help people?"

The little girl sniffed, biting hard into her lower lip and wiping at her cheeks. "Yeah," she mumbled, not sounding happy about it, but at least she wasn't clinging so tightly anymore, and Castiel chuckled, placing a small kiss to her forehead and murmuring a blessing that, for all he knew, meant nothing anymore, into her skin, before he stood.

"Don't worry, young one," he said to her, resting his hand on her head for one more long moment before letting go and withdrawing his wings so they no longer had any more contact between them. "Go find your mother, Olivia. I'm sure she's worried, looking for you."

The little girl sniffed again, taking a deep breath, and for a moment Castiel was proud of her, for being so brave. Under any other circumstances he might have stayed and taken care of her and the rest of the Mockers here, but things had changed. He could feel the pull now, so strong and magnetic, back towards this man, this shining soul that he had long given up on ever seeing again. He swallowed and watched her turn and patter back towards the pens, watched her leave until Daniel coughed slightly, breaking the silence, and he turned icy eyes back towards the man.

So Goddamn familiar. It would take a long time before Castiel could look at him without desperately wanting to touch him, to adore him, to fall down on his knees in worship to the human soul he had devoted his entire existence to. Instead, he was saving people, hunting things…right back in the business.

Would Dean's soul be disappointed in him? Would he ever find out?

Daniel's dark green eyes were watching him appraisingly, his neutral expression falling for one of clear interest, like he had discovered a shiny new weapon or some animal that no one had ever seen before. He licked his lips, eyes tracking down Castiel's thin body and back up to his eyes, soul pulsing brightly in his body enough that Castiel had to duck his head and shield his eyes. Dean was so bright, more than Castiel ever remembered him being – was it his memory that had dulled, or the entire world around that bright, shining beacon of light and hope? Cheesy as he knew it sounded, and he knew Dean would have made fun of him for saying it, he knew he would follow that light as long as it was burning, now that he had found it again.

But Daniel's careful scrutiny made him uncomfortable, and he cleared his throat. "Did you have a Hunt in mind?" he asked instead of all the other things he wanted to say; do you remember, are you who I think you are, what do you see when you look at me – Dean? Dean? Dean?...

The Hunter's eyes cleared, and he smiled a little, nodding his head. "Yep. Got a pack of rugaru westward, in Kansas. Gonna need more firepower than just what I can carry," he said, demeanor changing completely back to what Castiel had seen in the viewing room when he had been sold to this man, as Daniel shouldered his bag and turned on his heel to exit the facility – exit what had been Castiel's life for more years than he would care to count (care to, but did, every minute, every second since his Hunter had breathed his last breath).

Their breaths misted in the cool air and Castiel shivered, closing his eyes. The world was still frigid, but it was still here, spinning on happily, and he had to be content with that, for now.

He followed Daniel down the long pathway that led from the facility's reception to the grassy knoll that served as hitching posts for the horse-drawn wagons and the rare steam-powered engines one might see occasionally nowadays in the richer parts of the world, wordlessly falling into step behind the man as they approached a large wagon, big enough for three men to sleep comfortably side-by-side, a box on wheels with a large canvas roof, and two horses were attached to the front, grazing lazily on the sparse grass – a strawberry roan gelding and a black mare. The animals looked up at their master's approach, ears forward and alert, nostrils flaring. Steam was rising gently off their backs and Castiel had to wonder just how far Dean – Daniel – had traveled to get to this facility for 'more firepower'.

And that didn't make sense either – rugaru were generally solitary creatures, only coming together to mate or in their human years before the hunger for human flesh would overtake them. That there would be two, let alone a whole pack was unusual to Castiel. But it had been a long time since he had ventured out into the land of the living – perhaps he had lost touch with the instincts and habits of desperate supernatural creatures.

He was jarred out of his thoughts by a clatter inside of the cart, and immediately he reached forward to pull Daniel back, one wing flaring out defensively as he fought to put himself between the man who held such a precious soul inside of him and the perceived danger.

"Woah, Castiel, what the Hell?" Daniel demanded, at the same time a metal cooking pot fell out of the back of the wagon, followed by the stumbling form of a woman, cursing as she lost the inevitable fight with gravity.

"Ow!" she hissed, landing in a heap on the icy ground. "Son of a -."

"You okay?" Daniel called over Castiel's wing, and the Angel felt the warm flush of Daniel's hand pushing at his wing, crushing the feathers against his skin as he forced it to fold and stepped around Castiel, hurrying to the fallen women and helping her up.

"Damn it," she hissed, brushing her long hair out of her face – almost the same color as Daniel's, but darker and bleached with highlights from the sun in places, and tied up loosely with a knot at the back so that long strands of fringe fell in front of her face. "Bruised my ass but nothing hurt worse than my pride," she replied with a grin, picking up the fallen pot and tossing Daniel a wing. Castiel felt his feathers bristling in response to that look and he had no idea why.

Well, he had some idea why, but it was a ridiculous idea and so he did his best to ignore it.

"This it?" she asked instead, turning eyes that were a mix of blue and green and hazel onto Castiel with a nod of her head, and Daniel nodded, turning so that he could see the both of them.

"Yep, Castiel, meet Sarah. She's, ah…we Hunt together."

Castiel swallowed, accepting that with a small nod, and chose to ignore the small amount of pain he felt at that knowledge – though they may have been related, he did not see enough similarity in them to know for sure, and even before him Dean had made no secret of loving women. It would make sense to him for Daniel and his female companion to be sleeping together, and he had no claim on Daniel as a man – his soul clearly didn't recognize Castiel and, well…well, that was irrelevant. It didn't matter. Castiel would still follow Dean. He had to. There was nothing else for him to do.

The Angel bowed his head in greeting to the woman, but said nothing else. She raised an eyebrow. "Chatty one, this one," she said with a small laugh, hoisting herself back into the wagon, pan in tow. "Well, let's go, those rugaru aren't gonna light themselves on fire."

Castiel's mouth twisted when Daniel laughed – his voice was too high, just that little bit too wrong for Castiel's liking, but that made it easier. If he closed his eyes and didn't breathe and tried not to think about the rhythm of his Hunter's heart he could pretend, almost, that this was just another man he needed to help – that this wasn't everything, a second chance he never asked for and never thought he would receive.

Silently, climbing into the back of the wagon and wrapping his wings tight around himself for warmth, he sent a silent Thank you prayer up to Heaven, knowing it would probably never penetrate the Gates and beyond to be heard, but he sent it anyway. Because sometimes even Angels had to blindly believe.

Mockers needed sleep – Daniel and Sarah knew this, had studied the things extensively before committing to buying one, and even before that one of their contacts had been very savvy on the creatures, owning one of the largest breeding grounds in the North Americas. Why, instead of going to that one, they chose one in the south of Florida, they couldn't say. Well, Sarah couldn't say. Daniel had a feeling – a pull. He needed to choose from that stock. Maybe they bred better Hunters down there, he didn't know, he didn't care.

He just knew that as soon as he had seen that black-winged Mocker kneeling on the floor, icy eyes drilling holes into the ground, he knew that this was the one they needed on their Hunt. How, he had no fucking idea, but he put it down to the thing's attitude – he had never seen a Mocker that gave so little care about his life. While the Hunter in him said it was a good idea to have something that was brave and wouldn't back down from a fight, another part of him wondered why, what must have happened to the usually so-bright and loving and downright submissivecreatures to put that chip of ice in his eye and the twist to his mouth that spoke of pain and sorrow.

They had been driving for a couple of hours when Sarah joined him on the front of the wagon, holding her hands out silently to take the reins so that Daniel could climb into the back and rest. He cast his eyes over to her, appraising her out of the corner of his eye, and sighed. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Knew that look anywhere – that tight-lipped frown and slight furrowing between her eyebrows. He knew that look.

At his question, her frown deepened. "The Mocker," she said, flicking the whip lightly at the gelding's flank as he had begun to veer off the road, tempted by the sparse grass on either side. "He's…not what I was expecting."

Understatement of the century. Daniel nodded in agreement, sighing heavily enough that his breath misted in front of him, torn away by the light, steady breeze. "Yeah, definitely not how they were described," he noted.

"Even down to his wings," Sarah continued, almost as if she hadn't heard Daniel, clearly lost in thought. "They're so solid, like they're being forced to be there, you know? Like they shouldn't but they are and it's fucking with them and they're the wrong color and -."

Daniel cleared his throat, taking the reins from her pointedly. "I think you need some more sleep," he said emphatically, raising an eyebrow as though daring her to argue, and she huffed, arching an eyebrow and folding one leg over the other, arms following suit in a decidedly petulant 'No'.

"Can't sleep," she muttered when he merely fixed her with a look. "That thing keeps looking at me."

"Looking at you?" Daniel repeated, at once on the defensive – he had never known a Mocker to be violent or untrustworthy in his studies and travels, but it had been clearly established that this creature was not like other Mockers. He didn't want Sarah feeling uncomfortable, because even though he knew she was a badass on her day off, this thing was a fucking supernatural and she probably wouldn't stand a chance if it turned on her. On either of them. "Like how?"

"Just…" She shrugged, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself and staring pointedly out ahead of them. "Like I was something weird he was studying, or something he couldn't figure out. I don't know how to explain it."

He pressed his lips together, turning to look over his shoulder where there was a small gap between the two folds of canvas, shielding the innards of the wagon from most of the cold and the ever-present breeze. The creature wasn't looking their way, but merely staring straight ahead at the opposite wall, his head bouncing occasionally with the jerky movements of the wagon, wings wrapped tight around himself and so dark that he seemed to merely blend into the shadows within, only the unnatural blue of his eyes visible at times as the wagon trundled on.

"Has he slept at all?" Daniel asked instead of anything else, fixing the flaps back to close the wagon into darkness and turning his attention back to the road – not that there was anything worth paying attention to. Even when the gelding veered off track, his girl was there to keep him in line. Honestly most nights he thought he could just let her walk and he'd get where he needed to be. There wasn't another soul on the road and Daniel doubted he would find one until at least the next town, and God knows how long it would take to get there. They thinned out the further West people went.

"I…don't think he needs to," came Sarah's hesitating reply, and Daniel frowned. No, Mockers definitely slept, of that he was certain. Slept and -. "And he hasn't even looked towards the blood cooler we got for him." Another pause. "Maybe he's just not tired. Or hungry."

Daniel gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement, clicking at the horses to keep the pace up. "Just…if you get any more weird vibes, you let me know. Can't be too careful," he said, and he heard her sigh in agreement. They fell into companionable silence again, the soft thud of hooves against hard Earth and the creaking of the wagon the only sounds to accompany them as they traveled on.

Castiel had not been outside of Florida for a very long time – not since the first generation of Mocker sanctuaries had been established and Natalie Grant had died. Castiel had not known the man very well, but they had mutual friends – or had had mutual friends. All of them were dead now, unfortunately, gone to wherever it was souls were meant to go now with the Gates of Heaven shut and Hell taking no new souls.

The Angel sighed, shifting his wings so they fell more loosely around him – the facility had been open-air for the most part and therefore freezing cold, and the comparative warmth of the wagon meant that the tight grip of his wings was largely unnecessary, even in his sparse clothing. He dug his toes into thick furs that he felt lining the bottom of the wagon, curling them tight to his feet, and sighed again. The road had always been tedious and slow to him, more-so without the speed of an engine, but it would have to do. He hadn't had the heart to fly much when he had no real destination, and even though the rumble of the wagon was a far cry from the low growl of a much more beloved machine, he found comfort in the semi-recognizable state of affairs – two Hunters in the front seat, an Angel in the back.

"Just like old times," he whispered to no one in particular, too softly to be heard by the humans whispering outside. How greatly he longed for the soothing purr of a car, the loud blare of old rock music through speakers too loud to be comfortable to human ears, an enthusiastic voice's off-key singing. His very Grace felt like it was aching, shattering apart, and this time when he clung his wings to his sides it was more for comfort than warmth.

All of them were gone now – it had been that way for a long time and would continue to be that way, he suspected, for years to come. Even though Castiel had largely fallen, he still did not age and probably never would. Even without Heaven and Hell there was enough magic left in the Earth to maintain his immortality. If only the Winchesters had had the forethought to melt an Angel-killing blade into its demon-bane twin, so that he might be gone as well.

But if he had been gone, the Mockers would likely no longer exist. He had a purpose, however small and meaningless it might seem.

But now…now, everything had changed by some weird trick of fate. How had it even happened, Castiel couldn't guess and would probably never know. Sure, Heaven didn't have a guard like Hell did, but they didn't need one. Souls weren't meant to want to leave, and even if they could most of them had no idea how to – Heaven was like an ever-changing maze and it took a special kind of determination to want to break free of that kind of idyllic bliss.

Thinking that, Castiel's mouth twisted in a grim kind of smile. Trust Dean to be the one to do that, to want to royally mess up the system they had up there once and for all.

Dean. Dean was back here, with Castiel, sitting just in the front seat and guiding the horses. It was Dean, and how badly Castiel ached to wrap his wings around the Hunter, feel the harsh cling of Dean's fingernails into his back, shiver at the harsh pant of breath Dean always gave right before a hug, right before he wrapped himself in it so tight that there was no way he was breaking free until he had to breathe again.

Dean was sitting in the front of the wagon, wearing someone's body – either that or he had been reborn – with a woman that Castiel did not know. Her soul did not pulse with familiarity like Dean's did, and so Castiel had to assume the older Winchester had come back alone. One soul, maybe, but surely two could not escape from Heaven without garnering some suspicion? Castiel would have felt that – he had not fallen so far, hewould have felt a break in Heaven's seal.

The Angel was jarred from his thoughts by a sudden lurch in the wagon's steady movements, and raised his head, tilting it to one side to better hear the Hunters – Daniel and Sarah, he would have to remember them as they are and not as they remind him of being – calling the horses to a halt. Curious, he pushed himself upright and towards the opening at the back of the wagon, crawling out onto the small step as the wagon came to a gradual halt.

"We're stopping?" he asked by way of introduction when he saw Daniel and Sarah climbing down from the seat, Sarah heading forward to unhitch the horses, and Castiel looked around. They had pulled off of the road, to one side, and the wagon was now seated amongst a gathering of old, rusted-out cars, and in the center of the group of cars was what appeared to have once been a gas station or rest stop. Now it was little more than a gutted shelter, but it was a roof and most likely where the three of them would sleep tonight.

The graveyard of cars brought back memories for Castiel, and so he tried not to look at them for too long.

"The road ahead's better to travel by daylight," Daniel said by way of explanation, tossing a smile to Castiel as he shouldered his pack, tossing it down by the front wheel of the wagon and helped Sarah unhitch the horses. "If you can set up our packs in the shelter, Cas, that'd be great."

The Angel pressed his lips together, trying his best to ignore the twinge of something that the name 'Cas' brought back to him. His fingers curled into fists tight enough to hurt his palms, and his feathers shifted restlessly. But he said nothing.

"Of course," he murmured too softly to be heard, returning to the wagon and opening the flaps up to let enough light in to peer inside. It turned out the furs that he had been warming his feet in rolled up from the floor of the wagon and within them was bedding and clothing enough for at least two nights of rest. He didn't think Daniel and Sarah intended to stay here that long, but he had to admire the innovative packing idea, as he rolled up the furs into two large rolls and carried them under his arms into the shelter.

The building was, unfortunately, even more dilapidated up-close than the sorrowful silhouette it had presented itself as, and once inside Castiel could see the full extent of the damage done to it – the roof had collapsed in on itself, and one half of the floor was completely flooded and damp had seeped into the walls. Castiel didn't even want to think about what kind of harmful mold could have grown there over the years, but it was enough to make him turn on his heel and walk right back outside with the packs.

Sarah saw him first, and frowned. "What's up?" she asked, as she was finished planting a stake in the solid ground with a grunt of effort, tying the horses to it with feed bags attached to their noses for them to eat, happily munching away. Castiel sighed, setting the packs back down in the back of the wagon.

"The innards of that building are not suitable for any living thing for five minutes, let alone a night," he informed them plainly, crossing his arms over his chest and resting his weight against the wagon. "You'd be better off sleeping in here. I can keep watch."

Daniel frowned, brows drawing together and lips turned down at the corners as he looked Castiel over, then his eyes flashed to the shelter, and back to the Angel. Castiel couldn't hold his gaze for long, and at the same time wanted to hold it forever. Those eyes were so damn familiar. "Alright," Daniel said after a long moment, with a one-shouldered shrug that had Castiel looking away. "But you need to sleep too. There's plenty of room for the three of us."

Castiel stifled a small smile when Daniel's – Dean's – soul pulsed with worry and concern; he could almost hear Dean's voice again, now, whispering softly to him in the nighttime when the Angel's own damning helplessness would get to be too much; It's okay, Cas. You can't be everywhere at once. You can't save everyone.

And while it was true – the wagon could comfortably sleep three of them – Castiel's eyes darted to Sarah, who was still busy unhooking most of the unnecessary harnesses from the horses so that they would be able to rest comfortably in the night, and the Angel swallowed. "I…" He didn't want to encroach on Daniel and Sarah – yes, they had bought him and that meant close quarters and a constant traveling companion, but humans often didn't grasp the enormity of what a third person could mean to their intimate lives. If Daniel and Sarah were together – and it ached in his Grace to think of Dean embracing anyone but him – then it was not Castiel's place to get in the way of that.

And if they were, he certainly didn't want to see it. Couldn't stand the thought of seeing them kiss or hug or hold each other while his Grace would burn with jealousy and ire and that damned helplessness again. It had been a while since Castiel had felt so stuck, and he hated it.

He shifted his wings, and instead of saying anything like that, he hid his true feelings; "I don't believe you would be comfortable with me," he said, which was a truth in of itself – he had been able to smell the tenseness and anxiety rolling off of Sarah when they had shared close quarters on the journey, and however his feelings may be messed up he didn't want to cause a human such emotional distress when it was avoidable by simply removing himself from the situation. He hadn't fought for that. "And I will not require sleep tonight." Another truth, but he had to hide that part too, because he was not a Mocker, and Mockers required sleep. If Daniel and Sarah discovered his true nature, he didn't know how they would react and he loathed the feeling of not knowing.

Daniel's eyes followed his gaze. Sarah had finally stopped untacking the horses and was rejoining them with a tired huff and a toss of her hair, and Daniel smiled at her, reaching out to hook an arm around her shoulders and pull her close to his body. How badly Castiel wanted to look away, then, biting his lip and dipping his eyes down so that he wouldn't have to see, because it hurt.

Dean was his. But Daniel was obviously hers.

It was so unfair.

"C'mon, Cas, join us. You'll freeze out here."

There it was again – that damned moniker that had once felt like home and love and safety to the Angel. Unbidden his fingers curled again by his sides and he hung his head; now, knowing that Dean could not be his, at least not as they were now, it made him lose the small hope he had clung to before – "Don't call me that," he growled, bit out too harshly, more harshly than he'd meant to. It took the Hunters by surprise, he could tell when he raised his eyes to them again, saw the barely reined in trepidation and the slight tensing of Daniel's shoulders. "Just…don't," he murmured again, softer this time, repentant, and turned away. "I will keep watch."

He spread his wings out, more for show than anything else, effectively finalizing the conversation, and used them to propel him upwards as he jumped onto one of the stacks of cars – the things too familiar that creaked under his weight as though greeting him from a long journey. How far were they from Bobby's old junkyard, anyway? Was this it, and did he simply not recognize it anymore?

From his vantage point he could see for a long while, and was confident he would be able to keep guard over his Hunters' sleep as they rested.

"Just like old times," he muttered to himself, letting his wings fall on either side of him, and settled down to watch the stars and try not to think too hard about anything in particular.