It was explained at some point that, after the fallen angel vs. Impala death match, that Castiel had been alert enough to redial the last number called on Dean's phone- which, coincidently (and luckily) was Sam's phone. Sam had rushed to the rescue, then rushed to the hospital and gave Dean to the emergency room staff.

The Impala had been towed to Sioux Falls, to Bobbie's, and she would be in need of some serious reconstructive car-surgery. Cas was apparently fine other than a severed tendon in his hand that had required quite a few stitches- but Gabriel had assured everyone that it would be fine if they gave it a few weeks.

Sam had taken the time off of work and spent the hours beating Dean at go-fish and listening to his older brother whine that he was far too fine to be stuck in a hospital. He complained about the food, how man cannot survive on Jell-o alone, how they didn't even have HBO, and how all his nurses were old enough to be their grandma. He did not, however, mention the fact that Castiel was nowhere to be seen, Dean was not even sure if the Angel had even been there the first night or if it had just been his imagination. Dean would talk his brother's ear off (the morphine they had him on left him feeling one hundred and ten percent) about anything and everything, except Castiel.

Whatever had attacked them had vanished from the face of the Earth, just like the bear-thing, and Dean knew in his gut that it was because of Castiel. Maybe something to do with what he had painted on the car with his dark, sticky, angel blood or maybe it was just some residual angel mojo thing that was beyond Dean's comprehension. Any way it went down, he knew that it had something to do with the little, dark haired Angel. The thing had saved Dean's life twice now, and not that Dean was the sort of man to often say thank you to monsters and other such beasties, he felt he at least owed the guy a beer at some point.

They let Dean out of the hospital two days after the accident, he was bruised and a little broken, but there was no internal bleeding, so they decided to give his bed to someone closer to death.

Sam's house had been refortified, fresh salt laid down at each window and a carefully drawn sigil on the blue front door. It look suspiciously similar to the same one Dean had seen Castiel paint on the Impala. He hobbled over the threshold with Sam looming too close, just in case Dean decided to let his feet fall out from under him.

"Welcome home, cowboy." Gaberiel popped his head out of the kitchen with a wry grin.

"Hey, short stack." Dean returned the smile, though it was a much lower wattage. He settled into the beaten recliner that he had claimed as his own and batted Sam away. "Knock it off, I'm fine."

"You've got a hemorrhage in one eye, two more cracked ribs and enough bruising that you're more black and blue than any other color.

"Yeah, but my legs are just fine." He folded his hands over his stomach, forcing himself not to wince. "Now go get me a drink." He smiled as his brother sighed and went to the kitchen. "A strong one." He instructed.

"They said no alcohol with the pills they put you on."

"Well they don't know what they're talking about." And his smile turned to a grin as he hear the familiar sound of a metal bottle cap rattling against the counter and Sam returned, pressing a cold beer into his hands.

"Short stack?" He called out after a long pull of amber colored love.

"Yeah?" Gabriel's disembodied voice came from somewhere outside his line of sight.

"Where's Cas?"

"Cassy's discovered hot showers."

For some reason that idea gave Dean a bit of a pause, the cool glass rim of the bottle against his lower lip.

"But it's only a fifty gallon water heater, so he should be resurfacing for air soon." And the little blonde Angel came in the living room with a plate heavily laden with pancakes and syrup and jam, settling down beside Sam, close enough that their knees touched.

Dean wrinkled his nose and took another swig of beer. "Get a room, you two." He was not in a mood to see them snuggling. Knowing about it and watching them do it were two different things.

"You know, last time we got a room you almost got eaten." Gabe pointed out with a forkful of dripping pancake, before showing it into his mouth.

"Whatever." The cold glass felt nice as he rubbed it back and forth between the palms of his hands. Dean wanted to ask about what happened, Sam had been vague on the details and ill informed at best, and he wanted to ask Castiel, not his miniature older brother- but the distant rush of the shower could still be heard from down the hall and Dean had never been particularly patient, that was more Sam's deal.

"What exactly was that thing?"

"Fahhren-anfer." He mumbled through another mouthful.

"Fallen Angel?" Dean raised a brow. "Yeah, I got that much from Cas. I mean, what was it and what happened to it?"

Gabe swallowed loudly. "Fallen Angels were the big guns brought out in hopes of ending the war. Really nasty things that were supposed to tip the scales for the dark side."

"Like… siths?" Dean liked this guy, they spoke the same language.

"Bingo." Gabe cut off another too big bite of food. "Problem is, the big hitters were a bit too big and without Lucifer around to keep them in line they sort of went awol. Mostly it's just general mayhem- they still stick to the whole apocalypse party that hell and heaven are trying to kick off, but when they get a whiff of an Angel down here on earth? They just go nuts."

"They're after Cas." Dean was trying to focus on the main points and not get caught up on the mention on an apocalypse or get distracted by how Sam was suddenly very alert.

"Yeah, they even caught him for a bit." And his gentle, golden eyes hardened for a moment. "Cassy's finally started talking too. He told me he fell right after I did. So the bastards had him for about a year." He glanced over his shoulder, down the hall, towards the sound of the shower turning off and the pipes rattling gently. Gabe's voice dropped to an almost whisper, like he was talking more to himself than the brothers. "They probably would have him still if you didn't find him." Then he was smiling again, white teeth and hints of dimples. "Honestly, the kid should still be up at home. He's not old enough to come down here and play with the big kids." The bathroom door opened and there was a glimpse of something pale and wet going further down the hall. "He's like a scared little bunny." Gabe was chuckling quietly into his pancakes.

"If he's such a little bunny how did he manage to gank two of those things?"

"Ingenuity and knowhow." He said sagely.

Dean took another slow drink. He hadn't really learned anything new, other than Cas was apparently afraid of Earth, which didn't really resonate well with Dean. He had seen the Angel after the car had flipped and there was a nightmare of a demon crawling up over them. Castiel had not looked even remotely afraid. He had looked pissed, perhaps even a little scary. He had actually looked a lot like Dean's dad had back when they used to hunt together.

It was a pregnant sort of silence that they shared, comfortably broken from time to time by Gabriel's fork clinking against his plate.

Dean mulled over his thoughts, feeling a bit fuzzy from the pills the doc had given him and the warm mix of alcohol. He was detached and a bit numb and if suddenly a fight burst through the door Dean would have been completely useless.

When Castiel came down the hall, Dean almost called out in a friendly, drug encouraged, hello, a sort of 'hey, haven't seen you in a while. How've you been?' but it died on his lips.

Now, there is some sort of trigger in men's minds that get pulled hard when they see hot chicks dressed in men's clothing, especially if it's just a shirt, and just long enough to keep it from being pornographic, but short enough to be really interesting.

Castiel had obviously dressed himself, and the clothes were not his. They were Dean's. It was not the same as seeing a disheveled and curvy beauty prancing around in just one of his flannels. And to be honest, Dean had actually given the Angel one of his shirts before their ill-fated beach trip. But in that second the trigger was pulled just the same, something low in his stomach tightening clumsily.

The jeans were a bit too big, hanging low on his narrow waist and showing just a hint of his delicate hips. The grey plaid flannel fit a bit better, but it seemed that buttons were a bit too hard to work with when you have one hand wrapped in gauze like a mummy, so it was hanging open, giving a lovely peek show of pale, arching ribs and fading greenish bruises. The Angel was still struggling with the buttons when he sat down beside his brother, frowning and mumbling to himself. Dean could not make out the words, all he knew was that the Angel needed a bit of a shave as his cheeks were shadowed with just enough dark stubble to make his soft features come off as masculine.

Dean drank, feeling his stomach do a neat little flip, and he looked over at the bookcase, distracting his thoughts with well worn titles and clean, sharp lines. He had no idea what was wrong with him, no clue as to why seeing the young Angel half dressed, skin still a bit pink form his shower, filled Dean's mind with thoughts of dark corners and wandering hands. It was probably the pills and the booze. Sam was right about not mixing them. He set the bottle aside and rubbed at his mouth.

"Hope you don't mind." Gabe took over the job of buttoning up his brother. "He's too tall for my clothes and too short for Sam's- and well, naked wasn't an option we wanted to explore."

In response Dean made a face to accompany his shrug. Clothes were clothes. There was no need to make a big deal.

Apparently Sam had been expecting one, because he was leaning forward, frowning. "Hey, you doin' ok, Dean?"

"I told you, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." He said with some authority, getting up, but to do what Dean could only guess.

"Dean?" Castiel was standing now too, his brother's efforts dashed. He was only half buttoned up, and Gabe had (intentionally or not) not been matching the buttons up with the right holes, leaving the shirt to hang crooked. Apparently he had been so caught up in the activity of dressing that he had not taken notice of the older Winchester before that point. "You came back." His voice was just as low as Dean remembered, but he sounded happy, in a distant, quiet sort of way.

"Sure did." Had there been some doubt?

And Cas smiled at him, just the barest hint in his eyes, not even enough to curl his lips, but it was there, Dean was positive he saw the shadow of it in that intense gaze. Dean risked a smile in return, just a little one, and it felt brittle. He looked away from Cas, picking up his beer again but not taking a drink.

He had lied to Sam, he was not fine. He felt… odd, and he didn't like it. The warmth pooling in his gut had only ever accompanied a set of long legs and firm tits and there was not a single set of boobs in the whole room. It wasn't natural. The warmth started to churn in a very unpleasant way and he started to feel sick.

Sam took the bottle from him, and before Dean could raise a fuss, he was being helped to his feet. Dignity be damned, he leaned into his brother, swaying on legs that felt like undercooked spaghetti. If it hadn't been for the solid wall of warmth that was Sam's chest, Dean would have probably been sprawled out on the floor, or at least back in his chair.

"Come on, the nurse said that you needed to rest."

"I'm not tired, Sammy."

"I know." His brother assured, arm loosely around his waist as he lead him down the hall. "But your eyes are all glazed and you look like death warmed over." He settled Dean down on the futon, yanking off his boots and unceremoniously tossing a blanket over him. "You need to sleep, Dean." His voice had grown soft in the way that parents talk to stubborn children when it's bedtime.

"Fuck you." Sam was only trying to help, and Dean really did need to sleep. It might not kill the butterflies in his stomach, but it would probably work wonders for everything else.

He rolled over, giving Sam a bit of a cold shoulder and he almost felt bad about it, but he felt Sam pat the edge of the bed and the devout fondness was still in his voice.

"Holler if you need anything, jerk."

"Bitch." He said automatically and felt himself smile as he heard the door close.

He woke some time later, sprawled out on his back, one knee crooked slightly and his shirt pushed up to his collar bones. Castiel was leaning over him, eyes narrowed in concentration as he drew careful, small lines over Dean's chest with a black sharpie.

"Can I help you with something?" He had to resist the urge to slap his hands away and roll to safety.

"If you just keep still. I'm almost finished."

"Finished with what?" He could just make out the designs, little symbols cautiously laid out. It sort of tickled, but he managed not to smile, or growl for that matter.

"Enochian sigils. They will keep you hidden from every Angel in creation." The tip of his tongue darted out, pressing against his upper lip.

"…Why?"

" The denarians know your scent now and they will know that you were with me. This will keep you safe."

"How safe?" It sounded like a good idea in practice, but Castiel leaning over him like that, his rough fingertips carefully tracing the curve of his ribs, made the purpose of the tiny dark drawings take a backseat.

"They will not be able to find you-" He leaned back for a moment, admiring his work so far before tracing a finger down Dean's sternum and returning to his drawing. "It will not be much, but it is all I can offer."

"It's uh… not necessary." Dean shifted, and the Angel's fingers pressed down holding him in place.

"It is. Your father made me promise and I have put you in danger."

Dean choked on rough noise and Castiel made more short, curving lines. "My-"

"Your father." He repeated with a calm nod. "When I pulled him from hell it was his condition for helping us. If he was to join our war he made me promise keep an eye on his sons if the worst should happen."

Dean grabbed the hand that was writing on him, pulling the felt tip away from his skin. "What?"

Castiel sighed in a patient manner and tilted his head. "Are all humans this easily confused or is it specific to you?"

"You know my dad?" Dean tried to push himself up on his elbows only to be gently pushed back down.

"Yes. Now please lay still. I don't want to misspell anything." He shifted closer, pinning Dean in place with a hip. "It started with the war-" He began in his low rumbling way. The Angel kept him in place with a firm hand and a disturbing tale of dragging John up from the pits of hell and enlisting his help against the legions of demons that once held him. John was fighting the same war in death that he had since the nursery fire took Mary. He had been pulled from the pit the same night that his sons had been at the Devil's Gate. He had made Castiel save Sam when he got shanked in the back. Dean had never understood how it was that his brother had recovered from the fatal blow, but he had chalked it up to the dark powers that had been latent in Sam for so long- not any divine intervention.

Dean never doubted him.

Not a word of it.

How Castiel spoke of John, of his stubbornness and his vehement devotion to his family, the Angel obviously knew him. And when he told how John had fallen in the fight against the darkness and the devil himself, Dean flinched, but never doubted. By the time Cas leaned back, capping his sharpie and ending his story, Dean's eyes stung and his throat felt a bit tight.

He said nothing and they rested in that heavy silence, Dean looking up at the popcorn ceiling, reigning his emotions back where they belonged while Castiel watched him with his heavy gaze.

"So… he's just as dead as ever, but he's in heaven now?" Dean had never believed in heaven, but he had never believed in Angels either.

"Yes."

"Thanks." It seemed like the best thing to say, but he felt worse than when he woke in the hospital. He slowly sat up, bones protesting and muscles aching and burning. He ran his hands over his face, wincing and sucking in a sharp breath. "Thanks."

Castiel was watching him with an even expression. "You are welcome."

Another silence passed them, this one slightly more comfortable. "So, these things are like the one on the door and the one you bled out on the car?"

"Yes and no. The one in blood was a banishment, the these and the one on the door are more of wards. Gabriel says that the pen is semi permanent, so they should keep you safe for a while I think."

"Do you get some too?" He looked over his shoulder, noting for the first time that the grey flannel was still buttoned crooked and not a single black markered line could be seen on the pale expanses of flesh.

He blinked those intense eyes. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Will they work on you- I mean, being a de-juiced Angel and all?" He was already taking the sharpie from the other man's hands.

"It would probably work…" His words taper off as he watched Dean making quick work of his buttons.

Honestly, Dean didn't know why he did it, but the next thing he knew it seemed that he had cornered the Angel back against the corner of the bed and was carefully mimicking the lines drawn on his own chest.

"You are surprisingly good at this."

"It's not my first rodeo. I've drawn a few wards and seals in my day." It was slow going, taking Dean much longer than it had taken Cas, but by the time he was done they had beautifully matching designs scrawled over their chests.

Eye contact after that suddenly became increasingly awkward. Dean capped the marker, tossing it onto the desk. "Well, there you go."

"Thank you, Dean." He said in his half whisper, still slouched against the corner, shirt hanging wide open.

Dean licked his lips, and looked away. "Don't mention it."

"I should not have involved you in my troubles."

"Dude, you crash landed on my car and exploded a bear. It was badass."

Castiel blinked at him, leaning forward, the muscles in his stomach tightening in an interesting way. "You would not have had to be placed in danger's way if not for me."

"Do you always talk like this?" He caught his fingers in the bottom of his t-shirt, tugging at it needing to do something with his hands.

"Like what?" He tilted his head again, looking positively owlish.

"Like you just stepped off the mothership."

"Mothership?"

Dean chuckled at that. "Come here, Ziggy Stardust." But he was the one that bridged the distance, adjusting the flannel and carefully re-buttoning it, making a point to not think too hard about how nice the Angel smelled.

The bedroom door opened and Sam's tall shadow blocked the hall light momentarily. "Hey, you feeling any better?" The smile he had withered strangely as he took in Dean and the Angel sitting side by side on the bed. "Am I… interrupting?"

"No." Dean said with a startling amount of venom, fingers brushing over the black marks that he had made with such care.

"…Right." Sam handed him a couple pills and a glass of orange juice. "Cas, your brother needs help with lunch."

"Oh… alright." He stood smoothly, all buttoned up, and went to his brother's aid.

"Dean?" Sam closed the door quietly, leaning against it and giving him such a strange expression. "Are you and Cas… are you planning to keep him- like I decided to keep Gabe?"

"He knew dad." He said simply, letting the bottom drop out of his stomach.

Sam sat beside him and listened while Dean stumbled through the story, by the time he was finished his little brother looked like he had been clubbed over the head.

"Gabe's an archangel." Sam said softly.

"What the hell does that mean?" He rubbed at his chest through his t-shirt, still feeling the weight of the Angel's hand against him.

"It means I should have known that something bigger was going on." He lowered his head, hair hiding his face just a little. "Archangels are to normal angels sort of like … like you and me in comparison to average third grade girls."

"He's a blonde midget."

"He's the Archangel Gabriel." He sighed at Dean's 'so what' expression. "The one that sounds the trumpet for judgment day."

"He drinks peppermint schnapps and sings show tunes." Dean pointed out, peeking down the neck of his shirt at the marks there.

"And you can't drink tequila without getting shitfaced." Sam said with some spite. "He's out of grace, but that doesn't take away what he is."

He looked up to see that very specific expression on his brother's face. "This war, whatever it is, has nothing to do with us, Sammy."

"We've got two renegade Angels on our hands and something big and ugly and out of our depth after you. I don't think we have a choice." He took a deep breath. "When you can walk straight you should go to Bobby's, see what he knows. He's expecting you anyways, he's already started getting parts together to fix the Impala."

Dean made a face. It wasn't that he didn't want to go see Bobby, but an apocalypse was outside of his job description.

That simple fact seemed to beyond the universe's range of sympathy and by the end of the week Dean was behind the wheel of a red, rental mustang with Castiel riding shotgun, wide eyed beside him, on their way to South Dakota. Eventually the sharpie would wear off and the denarians would be able to find Dean again- he wanted to keep someone around to do touchups as needed, at least that is what he was telling himself, because the truth behind his current company was a bit more confusing than that. Besides, Sam couldn't just up and leave work to resume hunting and the thought of taking Gabriel along elicited vaguely homicidal daydreams.

"I like this song." Cas said softly as the first strains of Metallica's 'Nothing Else Matters' pounded through the dinky speakers. Sam, in a offering of fraternal solidarity had burned a few CDs so that Dean would have something to listen to on the long drive.

"Damn right you do." And he cranked the volume up higher, smiling to himself. They were making good time, but he was still popping pills every few hours and they would need to stop for the night in a motel.

He had managed to avoid being alone with his thoughts and the Angel with varying levels of success since the afternoon they drew on each other. It wasn't that he didn't like the guy, in fact it was sort of the opposite, and that was what worried him.

They stopped at a roadhouse in Pennsylvania, Dean needed to refuel the car and his own body. "Come on, lunch time." He waited for the Angel to fumble the door open and catch up to him. "Cheese burgers and beers sound ok?" He never would have asked Sam, but Cas was not Sam.

"I don't like to eat."

That made Dean pause. He had just assumed, but really he had never seen the Angel eat. He had watched Gabe stuff his face more than once. It had never dawned on him that the food was for fun and not necessity. "Oh, well. You wanna try one? They're life changing."

"I doubt that." He said calmly. "When I was held captive they fed me enough to keep me alive, but more often than not it caused me to vomit."

"Geez, you've got to learn to be a bit more subtle." He pulled the door open. "Do you need food?"

He shrugged his narrow shoulders and followed Dean into the dim room, golden oldies coming through the familiar clank of cutlery and chatter of voices.

"Does your stomach ever hurt or growl?" Dean was starting to get the picture.

"Frequently." He watched Dean like he was not sure where this line of questioning was meant to lead.

"I'll get you some fries." And he picked a table for them in the corner, sitting down with his back to the wall so he could see the doors. The Angel was frowning slightly, but did not argue.

He ordered for both of them, two burgers a beer for him and a coffee for Cas, figuring that if the Angel really did not like or need food he could just eat everything.

The coffee was a no-go, even with a few packets of sugar, Cas sputtering and making faces, scraping his tongue against his teeth. "That's vile."

"Nectar of the gods." He chuckled, holding the battered ceramic mug in both hands and sipping at it. It actually was fairly awful coffee, but it was better than no coffee.

"God doesn't-"

"I know Cas. It's just a saying." He smiled into his burnt coffee.

The French fries went down much better and apparently the Angel was a catsup fiend, consuming more of the sticky red substance than fries.

"How are those treating you?

"They are not furry; I think that it adds to the experience." He answered, licking catsup from his thumb and index finger.

"…Furry?" He paused with his burger halfway to his mouth.

"Yes, the food I had eaten before, it was often green or gray and furry." He took some of Dean's fries without asking, swirling them through his lake of catsup before sucking them clean again, only to repeat the process. "These are much nicer."

"Fresher?" He offered, losing a bit of his appetite and setting his burger down on the plate, only half eaten.

"How does this compare?" He pointed with a soggy fry to his own untouched burger.

"It's like sex to kissing." He sipped at his beer. "Both nice, but one is definitely better."

"I- I don't care for kissing." He said carefully, finishing off Dean's fries.

Dean frowned at that. Who didn't like kissing? It was- well it was practically un-American. Kissing was one of the simplest pleasures anyone could take out of life. But then Dean remembered the brief story of furry food and his appetite was definitely gone. He did not even want to ask what the Angel's experience with kissing might be, he did not think he would be able to stomach it.

Cas approached the burger with skepticism, nibbling at the bun before taking a brave bite of vegetables and beef and bread, bacon and cheese and all the glorious things that go into making a proper burger. He got two whole chews in before his eyes fluttered closed and he made a sound that was positively indecent for public.

Dean choked on his beer, coughing and averting his gaze.

"I don't ever want to eat anything else." He whispered it as a sacred promise to his food before taking another slow bite. "You're beautiful." His eyes were lidded, dark and dreamy.

"Keep it down, Cas. They'll kick us out." But Dean was smiling, he couldn't help himself. He watched the Angel demolish his burger, occasionally whispering sweet nothings, then surreptitiously moving on to Dean's half eaten burger. He looked almost drugged, slunk low in his chair, eyes at half-mast, pupils slightly dilated, tongue lazily searching the corners of his lips for crumbs. Dean made a point to watch a waitress making her rounds, refilling water glasses as she went. She was too thin, her hair dark hair streaked with silver, pulled back into a loose bun, her makeup on too dark and thick for so early in the day. But she had a good smile and didn't spill the water- and was fundamentally safer to watch than the Angel sitting across from him.

"Another." He requested with his husky voice and thick.

"I think you've had enough." He counted out a handful of bills and tossed them onto the table, standing and helping Cas to his feet.

"Just one more?" He looked wistfully over at the table beside them to the other customers still eating their lunches.

"For dinner maybe." He promised and led him back to the car, smiling as the Angel kept casting hopeful glances back at the roadhouse. Cas fell asleep before they were back on the highway.