A/N: Something a little different. A little Jane/Castiel interaction. Don't own Supernatural, but apparently there's a no return policy on the flu.

He fills the rolling cart with the tools of a trade forced upon him. The lessons he mastered in Hell are coming back to him in horrific clarity. It's obvious in the way his face changes, the way his eyes narrow and look off into a past I can't see, as he touches each new instrument of torture. All the stories he refuses to talk about, all the memories he pretends don't still keep him up at night, all the barriers he has put between who he is now and what he became then, are crumbling. Dean is being crushed by Hell, right in front of me.

I have not moved since sitting down on a rickety, abandoned table a half an hour ago. He noticed every fidget and tick for a while, so I decided to stay very still. I haven't even gone for my phone yet to text Sam. I was afraid he'd try to stop me. My thought was to be as small a distraction to him as possible, but I'm beginning to feel that my stillness is unnecessary. He is so immersed in this task the angels have set before him that I'm not convinced he is even still aware of my presence. Castiel no longer registers for him, either. But Alistair. He is conscious of Alistair.

The demon behind the door is not quiet. I learned the two times I've met him before that he likes the sound of his own voice, no matter the incarnation. Vile, needling, persuasive, he uses his words as the first weapon from his bag of torturous tricks. He doesn't seem to know yet who will be sent in to him, but that doesn't seem to matter. Every generic taunt that makes its way to our hearing has an effect on Dean. His spine is ramrod straight, to the point that his back must be in pain. His actions become farther and farther removed from his usual cocky self-assurance, the nonchalance of a lifetime of action. He now has this elegance, this studied practice to every movement. His training is taking over.

"He will be fine, Jane." I am still shocked that angels can lie. I guess I should be grateful that I can still be shocked at all, given the life I lead.

"No. He won't." Lies won't help here.

"He is a very strong man."

"Yes, he is. The strongest I know."

"He will do what needs to be done. Dean understands that the information Alistair can give us is of paramount importance. There is no guilt to be had here."

"That's a pretty way of looking at it, Castiel. Does it make you feel better? Because if you knew Dean at all, you'd know that it's total crap. He won't feel guilty for getting the information, or for what happens to that son of a bitch demon in there."

"Then why will -"

"He'll agonize over who he has to be to get that information. He'll beat himself up for showing that side in front of me. He'll feel guilty for doing something he swore he'd never do again."

"The purpose behind this is just. Dean is the kind of man who values purpose," the angel tries to convince me. Or himself.

"You're right. But this isn't his purpose; it's yours. Look, Castiel. He's more than a man motivated by purpose. He's more than a strong man. He's a good man. And what you've asked him to do… it'll break a part of him. It will shred an already torn piece of him that he hasn't allowed to heal. This will haunt him."

"I don't understand why. How can he not see that this will benefit everyone? It is the role Heaven has given him. It is the Will of God. I realize this is difficult for him, and I wish we did not have to compel him to do this, but - "

"There's no more point to this debate than arguing about angels dancing on the head of a pin! Who cares how many can fit? You don't get it, and I can't make you understand. You saw what he did in Hell, Castiel. I saw what Hell did to him. Dean should not be going in there. Leave me alone. Please."

Dean stills his hands. He must have everything the way he wants it, now. My time is up. I have to try to get in touch with Sam.

"Jane. Will you not forgive him for this?" Castiel asks.

"That isn't the point! There is nothing for me to forgive. He has to forgive himself."

"Will you forgive me? Will Dean?" There is confusion on his face. I still don't get how this frighteningly powerful being can be so unsure of himself. I don't know whether he cares or he's just trying to be certain he understands the situation.

"Does it matter?" Before he can answer, his expression changes and he reaches out for my arm.

"What are you doing? What is that?" He must have been studying me very closely, damn it. I never get caught; I was taught too well. I believed he was lost in thought. Before I can complete the text, Castiel has snatched the phone from behind my back. I hope the GPS signal is strong.

"Don't crush it or anything," I sigh. "I'll need it back."

"You were trying to contact Sam?"

"Yes." Why lie? It wouldn't get my phone back.

"Sam was left behind for a reason."

"I know that. What I don't know is why. I'm just trying to keep Dean out of that room."

"I know."

"Hey, Cas?"

His eyebrows raise at the use of Dean's nickname for him. I don't often use it with the angel directly. "Yes, Jay?"

"That's just weird. Don't call me that, okay? Only my boys call me that." He confuses me again with his attempt to connect. I just can't figure out his game.

"All right. What do you want to ask?"

"You left Sammy behind."

"And?"

"And why am I here? Why did Uriel allow me to come here with Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean says, having become aware of us again. "Why was Jane brought here?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps because she was holding on to you when we left."

"No, I don't think so. I think that's bullshit," Dean replies, his back still turned to us. I want him to turn around. And I don't want him to turn around. I need to see his face, but I am so frightened of what I will see.

"Dean-"

"Why was she brought here, Cas?" he yells. His patience is gone.

"I don't know. Jane wasn't part of the plan."

"Well, that's just great. You bring me here to keep your angel-soldiers from being killed, but you put my girl in danger to do it. Is she leverage? Hold her hostage to be sure I do as I'm told? Hmm, Cas? 'Cause I'm just trying to understand what's really going on here. Get a handle on who we're dealing with. You know, before I leave her in here with you while I go play with the demon!"

He has stepped right up to the angel, their eyes locked, Dean so close they are nearly touching. My man is seething, whether at the danger I'm in or at the situation as a whole doesn't matter. I see his face. He is ready for battle, his demeanor bearing no resemblance to the man he was just an hour ago. He's focused, he's pissed, he's ready for a fight.

And, God help me, but I think he's excited.

Dean, and Sam, too, to be honest, can get really pumped before a fight. Like the scene in The Outsiders when Ponyboy and the rest of the Greasers hoot, holler, and do flips on their way to the rumble. Well, kind of. They get hyped, preparing themselves for the total release, physical and mental, that a good fight provides. For my boys, the scraped knuckles, swollen eyes, bruised ribs - they're all worth it. For the relief the fight brings, it's worth it.

The only thing that rivals a fight for Dean is sex, and for Sam, well, I'm not going there. The violence that is a constant thread in their lives became a necessary outlet for them. Especially Dean, I think. When the pressure of this life gets too much, he's been known to ruin some random guys night. I accept it. Bar brawls are just a fact of life with him. He makes sure to hold back, though, to make sure he doesn't kill anybody. Dean looks very strong, but he's still much stronger than he looks.

This feeling I'm getting from him now, however, is different from the anticipation of release. Different from the rush he gets in a fight. This is gleeful. He's anxious, now, to get into that room. He's still protective, still fighting against the order, but he's ready to get started.

I think I'm getting a glimpse of what he's kept hidden. And I'm scared for him.

"You watch her," he commands.

"Yes," is Castiel's only reply. What more needs to be said?

One rough hand behind my neck pulls me toward him. The kiss is hard and fast and possessive. No terms of endearment, just the kiss, reminding us both that I'm his.

Turning his back, he grasps the cart full of pain and memories best left unexamined, he passes through the door.