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).

As dawn slowly broke over the horizon, Singer sat at the base of the keep near the bridge and watched the man in black ride slowly up the rocky trail leading to the castle. It had been two years since he last laid eyes on the man and the expression on his face was no more welcoming today than it had been then. Then, Dean was cursing him to every hell he ever knew for betraying them to the Bishop. Singer had actually wept when he learned of the curse laid on the brothers – Dean was living his hell. So was Singer – a monk without a church and trapped in the knowledge that he had left two innocents defenseless against evil. These memories flared fresh and painful as the elder Winchester approached eyes narrow and focused on the monk.

Impala, Dean's trusted steed, seemed to regard Singer with wariness as well. Bobby shook his head ruefully. The stallion had carried both brothers when they fled Aquila. Singer had been present when Dean's father had given the yearling to the boy. It had been one of the few times Bobby had seen joy in Dean's eyes. He'd taken to caring for the beast immediately and as a result, the damn horse answered to no one but him.

Singer sighed, thinking about the boys' father. John Winchester had been a distracted parent at best but he truly loved his sons. He'd tried to raise them with all the knowledge he'd spent his life gathering – Sam had inherited his father's curiosity and drive to know along with a sweet spirit that often left others to consider him weak - but Sam Winchester was far from weak. His older brother had seen to that - Sam was schooled in as many forms of fighting as Dean. Before the curse, he'd rarely used them but the skills were there for him to call upon.

Dean had more of his mother in him – fiercely loyal and capable of an all-encompassing love of such depth it often left the young man easily wounded by those around him. Singer knew his own betrayal had all but crushed Dean, unintentional though it was. And he knew that Sammy's fate weighed heavily on Dean's heart - he was not one to share any burden. It was now time to remedy that. When Impala came to a stop, Dean regarded the man for a moment before speaking. The hawk perched calmly on his arm where it always did.

"I thought you might have been dead, old man," Dean growled. "There were certainly enough times I wanted to kill you myself but ... I'm grateful. For this."

Dean raised his arm and watched the hawk flutter its wings in irritation – but at least it was able to move. Dean smiled down at the bird. Singer pushed himself upright, wincing as joints complained. Dean turned back to him.

"No, boy, it is I who should be grateful," Singer began. "I have the chance to redeem my fool self and to save you and Samuel. God has told me how the curse may be broken."

Dean stared at Singer for a long moment before he spoke. "I won't be betrayed by you again, old man, I warn you."

The monk smiled, ignoring for the moment that Dean insisted on calling him 'old man'. "In three days, the Bishop will hear the confession of the clergy in the cathedral in Aquila. All you have to do, Dean, is confront him – both of you as brothers, in the flesh, and the curse will be broken!" The look of joy on the monk's face caused a bitter taste to settle in Dean's mouth. "Both of you will be free!"

Dean's face remained impassive as he regarded the monk. The man who had betrayed the Winchester brothers and left them helpless before a curse that had shattered their lives. "Impossible."

"As long as there is a day and a night, no – but in three days in Aquila there will be a day without a night and a night without a day."

Dean looked down at the hawk and when his eyes met Singer's again, they were blazing with barely controlled anger. "Go back to the bottle, Bobby."

Singer's face turned red with fury. "Idiot! You think I'm drunk?! I swear, God has shown me ... He has forgiven me!"

"Forgiven you? No … He hasn't forgiven you … He's made you mad!" Dean looked down at the old man with growing pity mixed with despair. His hope, however brief, had still flared over the man's words. Now, listening to what could be construed as nothing less than insanity, hope died again. "I don't sleep any more that I don't dream about Sammy's eyes the first time he changed – he was terrified out of his mind. I can't even remember what a night sky looks like, Bobby! And how pale is Sam nowadays? He hasn't seen the sun in two years … hasn't read a book other than our father's journal … hasn't had a conversation with another living person beyond the last few days with you and Cas! So don't spout your demented ramblings about redemption at me!" Bobby looked up into the hazel-green eyes and saw the death of his chance at redemption. Worse, he saw the death of whatever precious bit of hope Dean had left. He stumbled back, too stunned at Dean's rejection to speak.

Castiel had been hovering behind a partially fallen wall while the two spoke. He could hear the unbridled joy in Bobby's voice and the desolation in Dean's. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to hold that handsome face in his hands and assure Dean it would be alright in the end. He wanted to beg him not to give up hope ... he wanted to show Dean that he was worth saving ... worth loving. Castiel swallowed hard and darted out from behind the wall.

"Um ... sir! Sir!" Castiel shouted as he raced to follow Dean. He pressed his hand on Bobby's arm as he ran by, urging him to wait.

Dean looked down into the damnably blue eyes of his thief companion. What he saw reflected there startled him but he smiled anyway. The brilliant smile that broke across Castiel's face made Dean's heart pound harder in his chest.

"How's the arm, captain?" Castiel asked casually, grasping at thin conversation straws.

Dean looked down at his arm, then at Castiel and sighed. "Cas ... I'm in your debt."

"Me? No, no ... not at all," Castiel replied modestly. He blushed at Dean's intense gaze and hoped his body didn't betray the very unchristian thoughts he suddenly had. "Um ... Sam ... he wanted me to deliver a message – he wanted you to know he still has hope. He still has faith in you."

I know, Lord … I promised no more lying. But he won't even open his heart to the possibility if I can't persuade him otherwise. Castiel offered a quick prayer. Besides, I'm sure Sam thinks that.

Dean blinked rapidly. He looked down at the hawk and then at Castiel. "You're free to go."

"I know that, sir." Castiel replied with a smile.

"Do what you want," Dean smirked.

"Yes sir," Castiel grinned. He glanced down the road and then back at Dean. "Will you and … I hate calling him just 'hawk'. If he were a woman I would say 'Ladyhawke' … "

Dean chuckled. "My brother is certainly as sensitive as a lady, but I think even he might protest such a name. You already know our curse … 'Sam' will do."

Castiel smiled and lowered his eyes. When his blue eyes slid up to Dean's again, the elder Winchester found it suddenly hard to breathe. He cleared his throat roughly and glared at the hawk as it pecked his hand.

"And, yes, Cas ... we're going to Aquila," Dean said softly.

"As it turns out, I seem to headed in that general direction myself ..." Castiel offered, looking out along the road.

Dean blinked, he could not explain the sudden lightness in his chest at those words. "Really?" Dean looked at the hawk and then turned back to Castiel, his features carefully schooled. "Then go grab your gear, Cas – I'm leaving."

Castiel burst into a smile that Dean found himself wanting to see more often. He ran off to the castle to gather his belongings. Dean looked down at the hawk. It regarded him with impassive amber eyes.

"Don't look at me like that, Sammy. He's … he's just a pest and thief ... oh stop it," The hawk had gone back to irritably nipping at his gloved hand with its sharp beak. "Do it again and I will start calling you 'Ladyhawke." The hawk flapped its wings and Dean could have sworn it glared at him. He began guiding Impala down the incline heading for the main road. He continued to murmur to the hawk. "Besides, Sammy … he deserves … he – well he certainly doesn't deserve me. No one does."

"Singer!" Castiel called as he darted by the monk. "I'm leaving with the captain ... follow us!"

As the unlikely pair traveled along toward Aquila, Castiel breached the topic of the curse again. "Dean ... if Singer is right ... and you could break the curse – appear before the Bishop as brothers ..."

Dean reigned in Impala and glared down at Castiel. "Cas, I don't want to hear another word about it – I'm done! Don't mention it to me and you had best not mention it to Sam, do you understand me?"

Castiel nodded and fell silent. Dean regretted his anger but he was done with spells and chants and amulets that did not work. He knew only one way to end this pain ... killing the man that had trapped Sam in a half-life and hidden him from the sun. Dean would kill the Bishop and that would be an end to it. He would have vengeance.

Thunder rolled through the air as Castiel rode Impala while Dean walked alongside with the hawk carefully perched on his arm. The bird was restless with the impending storm. Castiel looked up.

"It's going to be a big one, Dean ... we're going to get soaked."

Dean glanced up and nodded. "You're right ... here, take him and find shelter. The sun is going down soon."

Castiel frowned. "How can you tell?" The dark clouds concealed the sun.

"After this many sunsets, trust me, Cas – I know." Dean said softly. He handed the hawk over to Castiel carefully. "Take care of Sam ... tell him – well, he knows."

Castiel looked down at Dean from the saddle. "I'll tell him anyway, Dean."

Dean nodded and looked up into the fierce blue eyes. They stayed transfixed for a moment and then Dean wrenched his gaze away. "Go on ... get under cover before the storm breaks."

Castiel reluctantly rode away and Dean watched them disappear into the wood. He sighed. His heart thrilled every time Castiel said his name. He found himself wondering just how it would feel to pull that lithe body into his arms. Dean could not help but drink in every detail of the hapless thief from whatever angle he could - atop Impala or walking the ground just behind Castiel's leg as he sat on the horse. The dark hair, the gem-blue eyes ... and that mouth. Dean absently dragged his tongue along his bottom lip when he thought about kissing Castiel's mouth. He thought he saw his own attraction mirrored in the cerulean gaze but he couldn't be sure and he wouldn't make an advance without certainty. Dean knew all too well how serious a mistake that could be.

His life had been something of a curse even before the Bishop's revenge. It was considered an affront to God to covet the attentions of another man. Not even Dean's father had suspected his son's unnatural bent – Sam knew. Singer knew because he had been Dean's confessor. Neither of them had judged him and had, in fact, helped him hide his assignations. To be discovered would most likely mean Dean's death. Still, that added a hint of danger to the trysts which Dean thrived on. Sam had warned him more than once to be careful, but in the end it was the desire of a man Dean would never have suspected that had brought them low. Dean's lip curled into a snarl as he thought about facing the Bishop and exposing his base and evil ways. It would bring Dean great pleasure to destroy the man before he killed him. His thoughts ran back to Castiel and Dean leaned heavily on a nearby tree as he regarded the path his companion had taken.

Cas … why did God bring you to me now? Dean thought miserably.

A familiar heaviness passed through Dean's frame and he groaned as the change began. Running deeper into the wood, Dean began pulling his clothes off. He'd learned early that the change was easier if he was in motion. The magic of the curse built within him until he felt as though he would burst into a thousand pieces. Dean felt his mind sliding away no matter how hard he struggled to keep hold of it ... it was harder and harder to form human thoughts. The wolf was taking over and Dean was slipping into the haze of instinct and sensation. As the sun eased below the horizon, hidden by the storm, Dean Winchester vanished between one stride and the next. A black wolf with luminous green eyes continued on into the woods at a run.