Dean woke with a set of honey gold eyes looking into his own, and he was the first to blink, clumsily rubbing sleep from his eyes and sitting up. There was some awful noise ringing in his ears and when he finally stopped rubbing and looked around the room he found its source. Gabe was sitting on the edge of the futon, singing cheerfully.

"Here comes the sun, and I say it's all right, little darling." He was smiling too cheerfully and bouncing slightly in time to the rhythm. "The smiles returning to the faces, little darling. It seems like years since-"

"No." Dean growled, effectively cutting off the strange musical morning interlude.

"You don't like the Beatles?" He raised one eyebrow quizzically. The Angel was in different clothes from the night before, kakis and what looked suspiciously like one of Sam's flannels. "Because I could sing 'Oh What a Beautiful Morning', if you like show tunes better."

"The Beatles are over rated- but mostly you just sound like a dying cat." Dean ran his hands over his face, hiding a smile at the slightly grumpy look he was getting from the short Angel. "What's for breakfast and how's your brother doin'?" His mind was a bit sluggish first thing in the morning, but he knew enough to remember that it was a week day and Sam would probably be at work, so he skipped to the second and third most important questions he had.

"Breakfast was chocolate chip pancakes and strawberry milk. Breakfast was also about six hours ago. Lunch is peanut butter and honey sandwiches, yours is in the fridge." He drew his knees up on the bed and looked quite comfortable, despite the fact that Dean, just in boxers and an undershirt and really not ok with dudes in his bed, was edging away from him and drawing the blankets up into his lap. "Cassy's awake and watching Sesame Street. I figured that PBS would be the best sort of crash course to human behavior, since he's never been to Earth before." And that shit eating grin was right back on his face. "Though, he might be a bit heartbroken when he finds out that Cookie Monster isn't real. He's taken a bit of a liking to Muppets."

"Sam always liked that old man who would change his sweater and shoes every god damn time he came in the house." Dean rubbed his mouth, debating if his stomach was ready for a peanut and honey sandwich. "Always singing about loving your neighbor and shit like that."

"He talks about you all the time- Sam, not Mister Rogers." Gabe chuckled softly. "And I got to say, after last night, and now seeing you in your full morning splendor, I'm not disappointed."

"Just what the hell's that supposed to mean?" It was too early for whatever was happening, and Dean didn't like it.

"That the man lives up to the legend." Gabe bounded off the bed, standing and looking down at Dean with the same self satisfied expression plastered over his face. "You want a beer with your sandwich or milk, cowboy?"

Dean just made a face. He liked beer most of the time, but on an empty stomach right after waking up was a bit much. What he needed was a coffee. "I'll figure it out on my own."

"Pfft, I wasn't offering to get one for you. I was just going to say that we don't have either, so don't get your hopes up."

"Yeah… thanks for that." Dean frowned after the strange little man, watching him go and making sure he was gone before rolling out of bed with a groan and grabbed a semi clean pair of pants and shirt from his duffle bag, heading into the bathroom for a shower.

His reflection was a bit disappointing, aside from needing a bit of a shave, he had a purplish bruise spreading out from his left temple where the seven careful stitches from the night before stood out painfully. His eyes weren't much better, head injuries always promised the nastiest sort of raccoon eyes the next day- and these were some of the worst Dean had ever had. The pale green of his eyes stood out like bits of glass in the dark, thumbprint like smudges around his sockets.

He looked like hell.

He felt like hell.

He stripped down and got in the shower, being careful of the road rash on the back of his left hand and wrist. He hadn't noticed it the night before and now it throbbed, angry and red under the hot water. He cleaned quickly and got dressed, wincing at the pain in his ribs. Today felt like it was going to be very long.

Dean stole a vicodin from Sam's stash and padded into the kitchen, opening the fridge and casting about for the promised sandwich, all his movements haltingly careful and pained, compensating for the splintered ribs.

There was no sandwich to speak of.

"Hey, what gives?"

Gabe, sitting on the couch beside his brother, basking in the warm glow of children's public broadcasting, looked over. " 'Sup, cowboy?"

"Stop calling me that." He frowned, closing the fridge. "Where's my sandwich?"

"Oh, I ate it. You were taking too long."

Dean took a slow breath through his nose let it out in a soft growl. There was a tupperware that looked like it held something with potatoes and cheese so perhaps all was not lost. "You know, I'd never really met an Angel before, and I left you here with Sammy before you learned to speak." He took a fork from the dishwasher and came into the living room, lowering himself gingerly to the recliner. "So with you as my only example, I'm beginning to think Angels might just be dicks."

Gabe winked at him, but otherwise did not validate the insult with a response.

Dean ate his cold potatoes and they weren't half bad. Sesame Street seemed to have ended, to be replaced with Clifford the Big Red Dog, and really, it was awful. Couldn't they watch reality TV or the History channel or something less… annoying? He was about to grab up the remote and look for something different, but then he caught sight of Castiel.

Since coming out of the shower, Dean hadn't so much as looked at the quiet Angel, but now, so close, it was hard not to. Someone had cleaned him up a bit more, dressed him in what Dean easily recognized as his Gun's N'roses 'appetite for destruction' t-shirt that had gone missing two years back and blue jeans that were far too long in the leg (so most likely stolen from Sam). He was hunkered forward, elbows on his knees and bright eyes fixated on the flashing colors dancing over the screen. The expression on his face was one of wonder and amazement, like he was witness to something far more life changingly beautiful than a dim witted bull dog learning a lesson about sharing.

In the warm afternoon sunlight, and head trauma aside, those eyes fixated on the television were still the most amazing blue that Dean had ever seen. It was unnatural. No human had eyes that blue, he was sure of it. Well, Castiel was not human, so perhaps it stood to reason that he would not look altogether human. But still.

"Put your eyes back in, cowboy." Gabe's voice was stern, but there was a hint of amusement laced in there somewhere.

Dean blinked, realizing very quickly that he had been staring and turned slightly to glower at the little Angel. "Seriously, enough with the 'cowboy'."

"I asked Sam once, if he had always wanted to teach. He said no. When he was a little kid he had wanted to be a farmer."

This was not exactly news to Dean, (it happened when they were passing through Illinois when they were kids and Sam saw all those fields stretching on for miles and he knew that those men did not run from coast to coast chasing the sun, but stayed in one place- probably for their whole lives- and Sam saw an out from their nomadic lifestyle) but it also was completely non sequitur so Dean frowned and waited impatiently for the little man to finish.

"I asked if his big brother wanted to be a farmer too and he laughed and told me you wanted to be Batman, but barring that, you would have been a cowboy." His eyes were dancing. "Would you rather I call you Batman?"

Dean felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he bit down a smile.

"Because I can call you Batman if you like."

It made Dean chuckle, and that hurt his ribs, but it was worth it. Why couldn't he find a chick willing to call him Batman? He would marry a girl like that. It was a shame that the offer was from a short little dude that wasn't even human. "Just Dean."

"You got it, Dean-o."

They shared a comfortable silence, Dean finishing off the potatoes and the Angels watching cartoon dogs learning vital life lessons.

"So, when's he going to learn to talk without breaking the sound barrier?" Dean nodded to Castiel who did not so much as blink.

"I picked it up a few days after I fell, English isn't exactly complicated." Gabe stretched, pulling a Snickers bar out form who knows where and tearing open the wrapper with his teeth. "Cassy, just fell last night. You got to give him a few days to get onboard."

Dean tossed his empty Tupperware onto the coffee table and folded his hands over his stomach. "I don't think he fell last night."

"No?" Gabe asked around a mouthful of chocolate goodness.

"No. He wasn't a shooting star from heaven, I think he was running away from someone. Slammed into a few trees and they knocked his wings out from under him or something." Dean watched the man he was talking about and it was like the Angel was deaf. There was no flicker of recognition, no inclination that he even knew they were in the room with him. "His hands were tied and he was being chased."

"Chased?" Gabe's eyes were suddenly focused, the candy held limp, forgotten.

"Yeah… I mean, I told Sam about it last night. That bear thing."

Gabe frowned. "The bear that just vanished after slapping you around?"

"Hey, I don't know why- I just know what I saw." But Dean was frowning now too. He would swear on a stack of motel bibles if need be, he could still remember the rotten reek of the thing's breath as it bore down on him, he knew what he saw. Still, a creature like that, with its big meaty paws, would be hard pressed to ziptie someone's hands together. Something was not meshing quite right. "Someone caught him and he escaped." At the very least, Dean was sure of that much.

"Well…" Gabe frowned, a little crease forming between his eyebrows. "We can ask him about it when he starts talking… whenever that is." And he stood to his full, diminutive height, affectionately ruffling a hand through his brother's hair. "I'm going to pick Sammy up from school." And he tilted his brother's head up to him, making eye contact and making sure that he had the other man's attention. "Don't let Dean take the t.v. away from you. And don't let him get all handsy again, he's too young for you."

Dean scowled, bearing his teeth just a bit. He was not in the least bit interested in the Angel, sterling blue eyes or not. However, before he could lay into Gabe about the insinuation of any impropriety towards the younger Angel, the older brother started talking again.

"And you-" he directed all his golden warmth at Dean and it was almost suffocating. "If there is anything after my brother, keep him safe. He's only got a few drops of Grace left, not even enough to fend off a determined kitten." It was said jokingly, but there was an intensity to his expression and an unwarranted trust in his tone. And then he was grinning again and grabbing up a set of car keys from the table. "And I know he's pretty, but keep your hands to yourself this time, cowboy."

Dean was left alone with the dark haired Angel with just the sound of public broadcasting to keep them company. It did not take long for Dean to spot the controller on the couch beside said Angel and snatch it up. It was sort of cute to watch the dawning expression of confusion on the creature's face when Clifford vanished to be replaced with Sigourney Weaver being accosted by an android. Dean fucking loved Alien. He had seen the movie possibly over a hundred times. Motels across the states that could not boast better than basic cable still loved midnight runs of classic horror flicks almost as much as Dean did. He was so caught up in watching her mane of hair bouncing about that he almost missed the plaintive expression on the Angel's face.

Almost.

Those bright eyes of his had gone wide and he turned in his seat to look at Dean, his mouth working soundlessly, only letting out soft puffs of air.

"Hey- you gunna talk again?" Dean was already leaning away as much as his chair would allow, his hands coming up to preemptively cover his ears. Not that it would help much at this close of a range.

"You- he said not to let you…" and he choked off, coughing softly and clearing his throat. It was not the booming voice like the night before, no glass rattled, no eardrums bled, but his voice was low and rough and it sounded like he had been gargling with broken glass.

It did something funny to Dean. He had not thought about what the Angel's voice would sound like when he finally found it- but the graveled sound did not match the soft and confused face he wore.

"The t.v., Gabriel said not to let you."

Dean just blinked vacantly. There were words being said, and they were directed at him, but he would be damned if he could make any sense of them. All he could hear was the rumble of the thing's voice, the sound settling somewhere in his chest and maybe a bit lower. Dean was consumed with the almost overwhelming want to rest his head against the thing's ribcage and feel the rumblings against his cheek.

"Put the dog show back." The words were coming easier to him, though he still spoke in a broken whisper, almost as if he were afraid to try anything more.

Dean was still struggling to bring his brain up to speed and respond to the things being said to him.

The Angel looked annoyed. It was a slight expression, just a narrowing of his eyes and a downward curve of his lips.

"Oh- right." The words finally clicked, it was like a switch had been thrown and Dean could move and think again. He changed the channel and they were able to catch the thrilling conclusion of Clifford the Big Red Dog. Well, Castiel did, Dean found that the bright colors and high voices could not hold his attention and he kept drifting his gaze back to the Angel. It was still perched on the edge of the couch, leaning into the show, face shining with wonder. His narrow back was arched forward, the barest impression of wings spilling from his shoulders to lie at unnatural angles over the back of the couch. Dean had to screw his eyes up a bit to be sure, but the two feathery limbs still looked fairly damaged. He wanted to touch them again, to feel out the injury, but he remembered how mad Gabe had been and how upset Castiel had looked. Even as Dean watched, the shadow cast by the dark feathers twitched erratically, spasming and resettling in unpleasant ways.

Some people cultivated an air of apathy and indifference, Dean was not one of those. He thought of himself as a bit of a white knight, always there to help, even when no one asked. It was his calling. It's what his dad left for him. Saving people.

Despite the Angel was enraptured by his show, he was still in pain. Knowing what he was looking for, Dean could see it, the way his breaths were hitched and shallow, the way he kept his shoulders tense and high. Dean pulled himself to his feet and made his way to the bathroom. He dug out a vicodin for the Angel and paused a moment assessing his own pain. Honestly, he could not remember whether or not he had taken a pill of his own that morning, so he shook out two more and swallowed them down then went back out to the couch, holding out the remaining oblong little pill.

"Here, it'll help with the pain." Honestly, Dean had no proof that it would, Angels might metabolize completely different than humans. But Gabe had eaten Dean's lunch and possibly breakfast, so hopefully opiates were just as easy on them as peanutbutter or pink cake.

Castiel blinked those bright eyes of his, slowly raising his gaze to the offered pill, then higher to Dean's face.

"You eat it. It'll make you feel better." Dean shook the pill in what he hoped was a tantalizing manner. When he got no response he pretended to put it in his own mouth and made an exaggerated swallowing sound, then held it out again.

Slowly, Castiel parted his lips, the lower one still split and a bit red. It was an invitation the likes of which Dean had not had in quite some time.

So, naturally he got shifty eyes, suddenly unsure about his close proximity or what he was about to do. "Don't chew. It'll taste like ass." He carefully pushed the pill past the Angel's lips, the pad of his thumb brushing against the raw bit of skin and causing the other man to wince slightly. "Sorry." Dean's own voice was a bit rough for some reason and it surprised him. "Just swallow it."

The Angel tried, for whatever that was worth, his adam's apple bobbing and his throat clicking dryly. He opened his mouth again, sticking his tongue out slightly with the pill still stuck to the tip and crossing his eyes, trying to look at the offending painkiller.

It made Dean chuckle, even if it did hurt his chest a bit to do so. He had no idea that angels could be so… cute. He wanted to really zoom in on the adorable side of the situation, because it felt like a bit of a safer place to settle his thoughts than on his own actions or the pleasant feeling churning in his gut. "Here." He staggered into the kitchen, and came back with a glass of water. "Drink this."

And the Angel did, without question or hesitation, but carefully took the offered glass between his hands and sipped at the water. It took a few tries and a messy spill down his chin and shirt, but the pill was swallowed. He stuck his little pink tongue out again, checking to make sure he had really been successful.

Dean nodded and sat back down in the recliner, glancing sideways at the long wings sprawled out over the back of the couch. The Angel was still looking at him, mouth open and tongue still pressed to his lower lip. Dean had had a little smile, but it died a swift death. "Yeah, I see that, dude." He bit at the inside of his cheek. "You can put it away now."

Castiel closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth and Dean looked away, something about the intense soul gazing going on was getting to be a bit much.

"I still hurt." It was not a whine. The Angel sounded almost betrayed, his low voice raking down Dean's spine in a way that was not wholly unpleasant.

"You gotta wait for it to kick in." He advised, watching as some new kids show was flashing over the screen, all bright colors and singing.

"Hey." He started without any end in mind.

Castiel looked over at him, blinking owlishly.

"Other than the pain, how you feelin'?" He asked lamely, wanting to fill the sudden silence that he brought into being.

"Tired." He answered simply.

And Dean nodded, smooth as ever.

"And… broken." He struggled with that last word, one eyebrow rising ever so slightly; as if unsure that was the one he wanted.

Dean nodded again in a way he hopped was encouraging. Broken sounded about right. He was not sure what 'grace' was, but Gabe had mentioned it twice now and it sounded important and forcibly gone at this point. "Is someone going to come looking for you?"

"Why?"

Dean frowned, trying to think of the best way to explain his suspicions based off the state he found Gabe in. How do you tell a man that you suspect that they were tied up in a basement for a while by people who had the intention of harvesting parts of you, without somehow triggering a post traumatic stress disorder or a panic attack? If Castiel did not understand what Dean was talking about, maybe it was best to just drop it for the time being.

"The people who caught me?" He half turned on the couch, facing Dean and giving him all his attention, effectively ignoring the television. "They are dead."

"You really do learn to talk fast, don't you?"

And he was blinking again, tilting his head just so. "I learned when I fell a year ago. Is that uncommon?"

That stopped Dean. A year? He had found Gabe, presumably a week after he fell, and that had been maybe fourteen months ago. That would mean that the second Angel had fallen very shortly after his older brother. It also meant that the poor thing had been on earth, in questionable circumstances for a whole year. "Wait, dead?"

"Very dead." He affirmed, and he was watching Dean strangely, like he was trying to memorize his features.

"What about that thing that was after you last night?" It was a bit difficult to focus on the facts when he was being analyzed at such close range, but it was better to keep talking than to let himself get dragged into a staring match that he had no chance of winning.

"The denarian?"

"Sure?" Is that what it was called? He would have to ask Sam about it later.

"I destroyed it."

Dean raised both eyebrows at that and the movement hurt the stitches on his forehead. The Angel had been unconscious in the backseat of the Impala when the denarian had attacked. But somewhere in the back of Dean's mind he could remember a flash of white that might not have been pain and someone calling his name. Could it have been the Angel? There had not been anyone else there. "You- you 'destroyed' it?" It was still a difficult idea to digest.

He was answered with a simple, curt nod.

"But you…" Dean took a slow breath, wincing at the stab in his ribs. "Did you- do you know me?" It was clumsily worded, he knew, and he was glad that Sam was not here to correct his grammar or whatever. Besides, poorly constructed thoughts seemed to be a thing for him in regards to the Angel.

"Yes." If the strange line of questioning phased the creature it did not show.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but his thoughts got away from him.

"Your father spoke of you often."

And if Dean had not known what to say before it was nothing but a minor hiccup in comparison to the screeching halt of every gear in his brain.

"He's very proud of his sons."

Finally, Dean was able to close his mouth, maybe blink a few times. Something felt broken, something other than his ribs and it was something that he and the Angel now had in common. John Winchester was dead. Very, very dead. Dean pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes, taking solace in the dull ache of his bruises and scrapes, those beautiful, mundane pains that he was accustomed to. It was familiar, it made sense. He took another deliberate breath.

"You know my dad- does that mean he went," he swallowed thickly, "to heaven?"

There was no response and when he dropped his hands and glanced over he saw that the Angel was asleep, collapsed forward, arms wrapped tightly around his torso, hugging himself as he breathed deep breaths that tensed and sagged the shadow of his wings on each inhale and exhale. Dean blinked in surprise and reached over, hand feeling the side of the thing's neck to make sure that he still had a pulse. He was fine, just very thoroughly asleep. The drugs must have hit him hard.

Dean growled, digging his hands through his hair, and that hurt too.

Everything hurt.

Even his thoughts hurt now. Part of him wished that he had never decided to drive out and visit Sam. But it was a very small part a part that was easily pushed aside.

Dean carefully pushed the Angel over; laying him down with the hopes it would keep him from suddenly falling off the couch and crashing into the coffee table. He carefully took hold of the restlessly shifting wings and settled them down, bending them gently against the Angel's back. They were so soft. He should not have done it, as soon as he started, Dean knew he should stop, but he could not help himself.

He was still petting them when Gabe and Sam came back, which on its own would not have been so bad, but Dean's own vicodin had kicked in, leaving him feeling detached and unable to make wise choices. He had settled himself on the floor beside the couch, face pressed into the thick mess of feathers where they tapered to short downy fluff at the base and vanished in a dark blur into the faded t-shirt fabric. He was taking yawning lungfuls of air, feeling the feathers tickle his nose. It was a good smell, like fall leaves and wood smoke and cinnamon and other comforting, pleasant things.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was distant in the pleasant opium haze. "The fuck?" And strong arms were around Dean, pulling him to his feet and hauling him to the kitchen. Sam looked him over, a frown pinching his features. "Are you on some new allergy medication or something?"

Dean felt his eyes drifting peacefully closed. "No, just some pain killers."

"How many?" There was worry there in the general bitchyness of Sam and it made Dean grin all sloppy and unhinged. He loved Sam too.

"I don't remember, but, dude, I feel awesome."

"Yeah?" And there was a bit of a disbelieving chuckle in that one word. "You look amazing." He sat Dean down at the table, leaning close. "Don't let Gabe catch you doing that."

"He's so fucking soft, Sammy."

And that was enough to make Sam finally laugh. "Oh, when you come down, I am totally rubbing this in."

Gabe came in from the garage, arms full of bagged groceries. "Ice cream is melting, sasquatch. A little help?" he pushed the bags into Sam's arms and went back out to get more.

Dean felt an unbidden smile forming. He had got the Angel to talk, and there had been something important said, even if what it was seemed lost in a medicated fog. But Dean would get to show off the neat new trick to Sammy. He loved showing off to his little brother. But that would be later, for now he rested his head against the cool wood of the table, which sucked in comparison to the wings he had been drifting to sleep on previously, but it was still nice. The clatter of cupboards and rustle of bags was strangely lulling and he was asleep before the groceries were all put away.