DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

Dean Winchester sat on his mount and watched the sun breach the horizon. He heard a familiar screech and smiled, lifting his arm. The hawk settled on its perch and regarded Dean with an almost embarrassed expression. Dean laughed.

"Good morning ... let's go find our angel, shall we?"

Castiel peered over the rock-strewn ground at the small camp below. The Bishop's guards milled about. Castiel decided it would be prudent to be absent from this location soon, so he began a slow backward crawl – until he ran into something that most definitely was not a rock. Looking up in shock, Castiel found himself staring at a guard. He turned to run but the man clamped vise-like hands on his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. Keeping a hard grip on one arm, the guard dragged Castiel down into the camp where his hands were tied behind his back.

Lucifer walked out of his tent, regarding the wiry thief. "Ah ... Castiel ... quite a ways from the sewers, little angel." With cold smile, Lucifer jerked Castiel forward until he was staring directly into the blue-eyes wide with fear. "Where. Is. Winchester?"

"Winchester? Oh ... yes, him. Large man? Black horse?" Castiel stalled. He appeared to consider the matter. "He was headed South, last I saw of him and that horrid beast."

One of the guards near Lucifer snickered. "Then we ride North."

Castiel regarded the man with disdain. "It is not polite to assume someone is a liar when you've only just met."

Lucifer's ice blue eyes flashed. "Yet you knew we would ... no, we ride South."

They turned for their horses as Castiel regarded the sky with a bewildered gaze. "I told the truth, Lord! How can I learn whatever lesson this world is supposed to teach me when You keep confusing me?"

Dean rode calmly over the hills following Castiel's tracks. The hawk glided overhead, riding the thermals and keeping watch. As they drew abreast of several huts, the hawk fluttered back to Dean's arm. Dean felt something was out of place and looked among the cluster of dwellings for any sign. He couldn't see anything.

"I don't like this," Dean murmured to the hawk.

Castiel had been chained and gagged and he now sat behind Lucifer on his horse. Twisting with his natural flexibility, Castiel was able to ease his arms over his head and work the gag off. Lucifer turned, shoving a gloved hand into Castiel's mouth which he promptly bit. Lucifer snarled in pain.

Dean heard the sound and immediately launched the hawk into the air while bringing his crossbow to bear. The guards, without the element of surprise, were slow to recover and their shots were wide. Dean grunted as one of the quarrels thunked into his saddle bag. He mentally hoped the journal was undamaged.

Dean's crossbow could hold two quarrels and he fired them both with deadly accuracy. Castiel, who'd been thrown off Lucifer's horse, looked around frantically for a weapon of some sort to help. A large rock was the best that he could manage so he threw it at one of the remaining guards aiming at Dean's unprotected back. The guard cried out and the arm holding the crossbow jerked upward as it released its missile. A screech of pain echoed across the valley and Dean looked up, stricken. The quarrel hit the hawk with a sickening thud.

"NO!" Dean roared.

His attention diverted, Dean did not avoid the other guard's shot and he let out a low cry of pain as the round took him hard in the chest knocking him back in the saddle. He looked up to see the hawk plummeting to the ground with a mournful cry. Dean moaned softly, as if the hawk's pain was his.

"Nononono ..."

Castiel pulled his gag free and stared at the falling bird. It was a sad sight indeed, but the expression of grief on Dean's face had him wondering exactly what the bird meant to him. A familiar perhaps? Dean did not strike Castiel as a man who practiced dark arts. He cried out as another rider charged Dean but the man called Winchester was not to be taken down so easily. As Castiel stared in disbelief, Dean jerked the quarrel from his body and slammed it into the side of the man as he rode past. The horse took his rider only a few strides away before the body fell from the saddle.

Turning, Dean drew his sword, and his expression was murderous. Lucifer had drawn his sword, but when he saw Dean's eyes he considered better of his life and rode away, ignoring even Castiel. Dean did not give chase. Instead, he rode toward the hawk, which lay limp on the ground. Castiel followed on foot.

Dismounting from Impala a few feet away, Dean walked slowly forward. He stabbed his sword into the ground and knelt beside the injured raptor, murmuring softly to it.

"Easy ... easy ... it'll be alright ... dammit, Sam ...no ... please," Dean whispered.

Castiel watched from Impala's side with some confusion. He knew the hawk was treasured, but Dean was acting as though it was the most precious being in the world.

Dean looked up and studied the surrounding hills. He looked back toward Impala and felt a warm burst of gratitude to see his angel-thief standing there.

"Cas ... get me a cloth from the saddle bag!" Dean called hoarsely.

Castiel moved quickly and ran to Dean's side, handing him a worn shirt. Dean blinked at it, but then thanked Castiel and turned to the bird.

"Don't be afraid ... you'll be fine ... you're going to be just fine," Dean said softly to the hawk. Castiel frowned again in confusion at the endearments. Dean wrapped the hawk in the shirt and gently lifted it from the ground, cradling it tenderly to him. Turning to Castiel, he said, "Here, take him."

Castiel nearly fell over backing quickly away. "Me, Dean?!"

Dean followed Castiel with a desperate look on his face. "Cas, you're all I have ... please!"

"But ... but the poor thing is done for -"

Dean grabbed the front of Castiel's tunic and growled, "Don't say that! Don't ever say that!" He grunted in pain and pressed the hawk into Castiel's unwilling hands. "Follow the road ... you'll come to a ruined castle. An old monk lives there ... he goes by Imperius but he was once a smithy named Robert Singer. Give him the hawk ... he'll know what to do."

Castiel's fear that Dean was not altogether sane was growing. He shook his head. "Dean, I don't think -"

"Get on my horse now, Cas or I'll put you on him myself!" Dean hissed, his green eyes flashing cold and hard.

Castiel mounted Impala reluctantly. "You're the only one who can ride him! He'll throw me before we've gone a hundred paces!"

Dean ignored the protests and handed Castiel the bundled hawk. "Careful with him, Cas." Dean looked up and met the blue eyes that he was so drawn toward. "If you don't get him there, Castiel ... I will hunt you until I don't have a breath in my body. I promise you that."

Castiel swallowed hard, muttering, "Hardly an incentive to get me to do as you wish, Dean." He looked down at the hawk that chirped in pain and fear. His gaze softened. "There, there ... I won't let go of you ... you're safe."

Dean blinked, his eyes starting with tears. He swatted Impala's rump.

"Go on, Cas ... " Dean gasped. He swayed on his feet as he watched the horse and rider disappear down the road.

Castiel rode with just enough skill not to be unhorsed by Impala's strong gallop. He cradled the hawk next to him. As the sun drifted lower in the sky, the temperature dropped and Castiel pulled up his hood. Impala crested a ridge and there, just beyond the next ridge stood the ruins of a castle.

"You see? There it is ... we'll be there soon," Castiel said to the hawk. He gently ran his finger over the bird's head and was rewarded with a savage bite. Sucking on his now bleeding finger, Castiel frowned at the bird. "I am not surprised you are an ingrate, you feathered beast – your master certainly doesn't know the meaning of the word. Well, I've had enough of both of you ... let this Imperius or Robert or whomever deal with you now ... I am done."

As Impala drew up to the castle, Castiel called out, "Hello! Hello?!" He sighed. "For pity's sake – hello!"

"Hello! Hello! Who is making all the ruckus down there?" A rough voice shouted down.

Castiel looked up and an older man wearing a monk's robes and a beard looked down at him. Castiel thought that he might be drunk. Nevertheless, he had to do as Dean had directed him.

"I was told to bring you this bird," Castiel yelled. "It's been wounded."

The man squinted down. "Good shot! Bring it in, we'll put it over the fire!"

Castiel recoiled in horror. "We can't eat this bird!"

"Why not ... wait ... is it Lent again, already?" The man slurred.

"No! It belongs to a man named Winchester!"

The man straightened and his eyes grew wide. "Mother of God ... bring him in! Bring him in!"

"Lord, humans are strange creatures ... as I am one of them, I should know. This one ... very odd." Castiel muttered. The gate at the bridge rose slowly as the monk turned the wheel.

Castiel dismounted and carefully picked his way through the rocks to the monk. "Here, here ... bring him this way. Up here ..." Castiel followed the monk to a rickety bridge. He halted when the monk threw out an arm. "Careful ... walk on the left side only."

The monk led Castiel into the castle proper. He pointed at a blanket in front of the fire. Castiel followed his direction and gently lay the hawk down. The monk knelt beside the bird and murmured at it. He looked back at Castiel.

"Leave us now," He said.

Castiel balked. "Can I help?"

"Idiot ... go out!" The monk snarled.

Rolling his eyes, Castiel stalked out the door.

The monk once called Robert Singer looked down at the injured beast. "Don't be afraid, Sam ... Dean was right ... I know what to do ..." He thought that the hawk almost looked grateful. "We have to wait a little longer, boy. Just a little longer."

Castiel watched from his perch as the monk came out of the keep and locked the door behind himself. He was muttering about different herbs and plants he would need for something. Castiel watched as he walked down the hill a ways and then he leapt down easily. Turning to the lock, he studied it for a moment and then withdrew his dagger, slipping the thin point into the keyhold. "A dubious skill, Lord, but one that does come in handy." He shivered as a wolf's howl echoed across the hills. He couldn't have said why, but the call sounded almost – familiar.

With a click, the lock sprang open and Castiel was able to open the door. Creeping inside, he walked to where he had laid the bird down by the fire. He stopped cold. In its place lay the young man that had haunted Castiel's nights of late.

"Sam?"

Suddenly, inexplicably afraid, Castiel turned to go – he'd barely made it to the door when Sam spoke behind him.

"Dean ... is he ...?" Sam's voice was full of pain and fear.

Castiel sighed with one hand on the handle. Head bowed, he answered. "He's fine ... Dean is fine."

Sam fell back with a gasp. Castiel looked back. "There was a great battle ... he – Dean fought like a lion." Sam smiled faintly. "The hawk ... the hawk was struck ..."

Castiel's voice faded as he saw the quarrel protruding from Sam's chest. Sam gave Castiel a wry grin.

"Yeah ... I know."

Castiel looked down at the man lying pale beneath the skins. "Are you flesh or are you spirit?"

Sam regarded Castiel for a moment before he looked at the ceiling. "I'm more pain than either, Castiel. And Dean ... Dean is all sorrow and grief."

Castiel's heart tightened at the mention of Dean and the realization of the burden he carried. He backed toward the door only to run into the monk, who held the lock in his hand. He grunted and pushed Castiel out of the room. "And this time, stay out."

Castiel did not protest and leaned back against the door sucking in air as though he would never breathe again. He looked helpless at the sky and felt a harsh tug as a mournful wolf cry split the air. "Dean ..."

Robert knelt over Sam with his poultice. The young man looked back at him with fevered eyes, but there was trust at least in the gold-flecked gaze. He sighed and spread the concoction around the entry wound. Sam hissed in pain.

"Sorry, Sam ... I have to get it out," the monk whispered.

"I know, Bobby ... it's ok ..." Sam said softly.

The older man blinked down at him. "You haven't called me that in years ..."

"Yeah, well ... been a little preoccupied lately." Sam said. He winced as he heard the wolf howling outside. "Dean ... he'll never forgive himself for this."

"Neither will I, boy. Now ... get ready ..."

Sam inhaled deeply as Bobby took hold of the quarrel. Bobby started to cover Sam's eyes, but the young man pushed his hand away. Bobby looked down and realized he was no longer the lanky boy that asked questions about everything. He was a man in his own right. He gave a light grin.

"Idiot."

He pulled the quarrel free from Sam's chest. Sam's scream of pain split the air.

Castiel sat outside in the chill air, listening to the wolf call out. He knew it was Dean as surely as he knew now that the hawk was Sam. Worst of all, he knew he had wandered right into the middle of a twisted web spun by a man warped by darkness – the Bishop of Aquila. A man who had taken Castiel's life and shattered it. What was left sat hugging himself, trying not to feel the boy's pain nor the agony in the heart of a wolf. He sobbed helplessly to God as Sam's scream tore through him. He heard the echoing howl of the wolf.

In Aquila, the Bishop tossed and turned in his bed of silk. He gripped his chest in pain where he felt as though he had been pierced through. His entire body was wracked with phantom pain and he wondered what hell had befallen the boy he was bound with. His hands clawed at the air as thunder rumbled through the skies outside and the agony seemed to multiply in intensity with each passing moment. When Bobby tore the bolt free from Sam's body, the Bishop sat up with a horrified cry.

The door to his private chamber opened and one of the clerics bowed. "Apologies, your grace but Cezar is here."

A hulking shadow filled the doorway and the stench of death wafted through the room to press against the Bishop's nose. The man shoved back a hood made from wolfskin and smiled. His eyes appeared almost yellow in the candlelight.