After dinner they went out to the garage, because Bobby said he hated the smell of burning laburnum and didn't want it in his house. They set up the bronze bowl on a rolling table just like the one Bobby and Dean had used the first time they did this spell, and Dean tried not to be unsettled. This time there weren't sigils and protective signs all over the walls, anyway.

Sam leaned against the car that Bobby was fixing as Dean put the spell ingredients in the bowl with Bobby hovering over his shoulder like a master chef teaching a new recipe. Cas didn't seem to be very interested in the whole thing, wandering around the perimeter of the open space and running his fingers over things idly and apparently at random.

The only word of the spell that Dean had a firm grasp on the meaning of was Castiel, but he knew from experience that didn't matter; he said the words and dropped the lit match into the bowl. The contents flared up like fireworks—and on the other side of the garage, Cas let out a strangled sound and staggered, catching himself at the last second on one of the heavy storage shelves.

All three of them lunged to catch him and stopped in the middle when they realized he wasn't going all the way down. Sam made it to Cas's side first and put a hand under his elbow as Cas straightened, blinking like he was shaking off a punch. "You OK?" Sam asked.

Cas turned his head to look at Dean, ignoring Sam completely, and said, "What spell was that?"

"Summoning," Dean said.

Cas made an impatient face and opened his mouth again, but before he could speak Bobby said, "Same one we used the first time we called you—the very first time. Figured we know it works."

Cas said something that made Dean think maybe Castiel had been lying that time when he said Enochian didn't have any swear words, and then, "This is very bad."

"Define bad," Bobby said.

Cas shook off Sam's hand and said, "The spell tried to call me. I'm just angel enough for that."

"So?" Dean asked. "Does that mean it didn't try to call other-you?"

"In a manner of speaking," Cas said, and for once there was no hint at all of a smile on his face. "If Castiel were present on this plane, it would have called him instead. It's only because he's unreachable that it went for me." He paused for a second, as if to let that sink in. "It wanted the angel Castiel. I'm the closest thing there is."

"Present on this plane?" Dean asked. From the looks on Bobby and Sam's faces, they'd caught on already, and he felt very slow. "What other plane could he be on? He can't go to Heaven, he better not be trying for Hell, what else is there?"

"Heaven or Hell, the spell would have reached him. I'm pretty sure it would even reach him in Purgatory, but that's irrelevant, no one's been able to go there in millennia," Cas said. His shoulders squared up, but his eyes stuttered away from Dean's.

"OK, so, what?" Dean demanded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Where is he?"

Cas took a deep breath and looked up again. He sounded so serious Dean could almost see the trenchcoat. "Dean, Castiel is dead," he said.

"What," Dean said, flatly not a question.

Sam winced and said, "Cas, are you sure? He couldn't just be in, I don't know, the angelic equivalent of a lead-lined cof—uh, cell somewhere?"

"Only Heaven has the resources for that," Cas said, like the words were being forced out. "Heaven doesn't like him. If they had him in that kind of position...they'd just kill him."

"But you're here," Dean burst out. "If Cas is dead why didn't you go poof?" He just barely stopped himself from miming poof with his hands.

"I'm an independent outgrowth now," Cas said, like that was supposed to mean something. "The existence or nonexistence of my precursor is—" He cut himself off, took a deep breath, and said, "That's not how it works, OK?"

Dean knew there was a nasty edge in his voice when he spoke but he couldn't stop it. "Well that's frickin' convenient for you, isn't it? No reason for us to look for the guy who can take you home if he's dead." The back of his mind wondered, horrified, when sending Cas back to the future to die had even turned into a possibility; Dean ignored it. He took a step in Cas's direction and watched the man tense up, like he was bracing for a hit.

Which didn't stop him from snapping, "Yeah, because it's my goal in life to watch the world end again."

"At least you'll have time for some more hot showers," Dean quoted viciously.

"Dean," Sam said.

Dean ignored that too. "I'll bet it's great," he sneered. "You can just stay here and get wasted."

Cas looked to the side and Dean felt a stab of sickening triumph that faded instantly when Cas began to speak, for all that the man's voice was suddenly calm and conversational. "When the angels left, they sent someone to ask me if I would go with them, did you know that? Even they wouldn't just leave me here when it was clear Lucifer had won. And I turned them down." He turned his eyes back to Dean and Dean almost flinched. "My power, my Grace, it was ripped from me. I knew it was going to happen, and I told them to fuck themselves anyway. Because you needed me." Dean tried to come up with something to say, but Cas just kept talking. "And I wasn't enough. I know I'm not enough, Dean, you don't have to tell me that. He wouldn't be enough either, but at least he'd be more, so if I could get Castiel back for you I would. But I can't, so I'm sorry, but I'm all that's left now."

Dean just stared at him, still speechless, until Sam said in a strange voice, "Now."

They all turned to look at him. Dean felt the eye contact with Cas break like it was a physical thing. Sam went on, "You're from the future."

"Uh, yeah," Cas said, and then, in a completely different tone, "Yes, I am. Yes, of course."

"Of course what?" Bobby asked, sounding irritated. Dean had honestly almost forgotten he was there.

"Is there any way to check?" Sam asked.

"Check what?" Bobby asked, a little sharper this time.

Cas shrugged. "With me to use as an anchor, maybe. I'm not sure it'll work, but it can't hurt to try."

Bobby rolled his eyes and said loudly, "No one is trying anything until someone answers my damn question."

Sam turned to the older man and said, "The spell—it just occurred to me that the reason the spell didn't call Castiel is because he's in the future. It's just magic, it can't go through time." He sounded so excited that Dean almost managed to be hopeful.

Of course it wasn't as easy as that. Nothing ever was, up to and including shooting Lucifer with the gun that was supposed to kill anything and having him get back up. Not that Dean was bitter. Not like two good people had died to get him that shot.

"Fuck," he muttered. He was sitting on the edge of the back porch, sipping a beer (Grolsch, and Bobby had shown no shame at all over having bought it) and trying not to let anything freeze off, because December evenings in South Fricking Dakota were fricking chilly and Dean wouldn't have been outside at all except that Sam kept giving him sympathetic looks every time he went near the research extravaganza that had taken over Bobby's living room.

Dean was aware that his reaction to the news of Cas's, Castiel's, probable death had been a little over the top, but he was just fucking sick of losing people. There was no reason for Sam to keep looking at him like someone had run over his puppy. He sighed and watched his breath form into mist.

As if thinking about him had summoned him, the door behind Dean creaked as Sam pushed his way out onto the porch. Except when Dean turned his head a little, it wasn't Sam; it was Cas, who settled down beside Dean cross-legged, a beer of his own dangling from his fingers. "I'll grant that your beer will stay cold, but this seems a little extreme," Cas said.

"Sam's pissing me off," Dean said. "You're the one out here in sandals."

Cas shrugged, a weirdly liquid movement, and said, "I like my sandals. Besides, I don't—"

"—get sick, yeah, you said that," Dean said, and scrubbed his free hand over his face. "Don't you get cold? Or is that another angel thing?"

Cas tipped his head to the side, looking out over the scrap yard. The early winter twilight was long over, but enough light filtered from the yard lights on the other side of the house for Dean to see his expression. Not to read it, though; Dean didn't recognize the look at all. "We've all had to learn to ignore physical discomfort," Cas said.

"Yeah, that's great, but there's no reason to be uncomfortable when you don't have to," Dean said. "I mean, I'm out here, but at least I put gloves on." They were the Goodwill dollar specials Dean used to keep his hands warm pumping gas.

"I don't have gloves," Cas said, sounding a little amused, and took a sip of his beer.

"You could have borrowed a pair," Dean said, sounding a little more annoyed than he meant to be.

Cas ducked his head, smiling. "What?" Dean asked.

"Nothing," Cas said, and that was bull, but before Dean could call him on it he went on, "The night before we summoned Raphael."

"Uh, yeah, what about it?" Dean said, startled.

"After we left the den of iniquity, what happened?" Cas said 'den of iniquity' like it was a quote.

"You mean you don't remember?" Dean asked. He was maybe a little insulted by that.

"I remember, but I'm curious," said Cas. He was still holding his beer bottle loosely, like he'd be fidgeting with it if he was the kind of guy who fidgeted.

"We stopped at a Chinese place," Dean said hesitantly. "I got take out. Went back to the place I was sleeping, made Cas eat some stuff, caught a couple hours sleep. In the morning we summoned an archangel and Cas called him a little bitch."

"Interesting," Cas said, and put his beer to his lips. He tilted his head back and drained the bottle. Dean didn't realize he was staring at Cas's neck until he lowered the bottle, turned his head, and said "Interesting" again.

Dean just looked at him. Two could play the staredown game.

Cas grinned and stood. "Back to the salt mines," he said, ambling to the door without looking back.

Dean watched him, bewildered, until the door closed behind him.