Dean found it difficult to talk to his brother. Before he could even reach for the phone it had been snatched up by Gabriel and his smug expression. The blonde Angel was leaning a hip against the counter, twirling the cord of the landline phone around his fingers and biting his lower lip as he spoke huskily into the receiver. "And then what would you do?"

There came a distant but exasperated chuckle down the line, and Sam was saying something that made the Angel break out in a grin. "Naughty boy. When I get home you're gunna' pay for that." He took notice of Dean making faces in the doorway and the shorter man winked in what could best be described as a saucy manner. "Did you wanna talk to your better half? He's shootin' me one of those looks that screams of murder, dark piers and five bags of cement." He paused to smile affectionately at the phone, as Sam said something a few hundred miles away. "Yeah, I'll be home soon… Love you too." He finally held the phone out to Dean, shaking it tantalizingly.

The hunter snatched the phone from the offering hands, and was bothered by how warm it was. Dean held it loosely to the side of his head, waiting for Gabriel to snatch up a bag of gummy bears and mosey out of the room.

"Love you too?" He stifled a laugh. "Are you two getting serious, Sammy?"

"Hey, Dean." His brother volunteered as to evade to the question.

"So will it be a summer wedding?"

"We're not-"

"Because I always thought you'd make a lovely June bride." Dean pressed on, not letting his little brother argue. "And you two can have a baby right off, in the spring."

"Ha ha." Sam said slowly, in a way that did not actually hold any amusement.

"Do I get to walk you down the aisle, Samantha?"

"You're not even invited." And Dean could finally hear the smile in his brother's voice. "We can't count on you to not get drunk and touch the other guests inappropriately."

"Aw, come on, dude. That was one time."

"She was old enough to be our grandmother, Dean," Sam was laughing at the memory.

"That didn't stop her." Dean was trying to keep the smile out of his voice and was failing miserably. "She was one fine-ass cougar."

"They're not called cougars when they get that old, Dean. She was more of a… a snow leopard."

"What can I say? I like a lady with experience." Which was almost accurate, but the truth behind that night and the wedding that they crashed was simple: she had been WAY too old for him. It had only been the tequila shots at the open bar and then the champagne fountain that had put the idea in his mind that Edith had been a good plan. Sam had never quite let him live that one down.

Dean finally broke and laughed along with his brother, though honestly, Sam thought it was much funnier than it actually was.

While waiting for his brother to calm down enough to speak he fished a beer from the fridge, popping the cap off with the aid of the counter edge. Dean took a swig and shook his head.

"Come on, man. You pulled me away from something important. What did you need?" He started, not particularly wanting to cut the conversation short, but his arms were feeling strangely empty, and he knew that the fix for that was out in the junk yard waiting for him - slender, warm and smelling like everything Dean had ever craved.

"Yeah." Sam cleared his voice of the last few chuckles. "Gabe told me to look into some things before he left."

"Things?" Dean raised a brow, pulling a chair out from the table and sitting in it backwards, resting his arms on the high wooden back.

"Angelic lore mostly, and the war."

"Dude, your Angel boyfriend made you research Angel stuff. Shouldn't he be sort of an expert?"

Sam sighed and he sounded a lot more tired than he had a few moments ago. "There're things that he can't talk to me about, Dean, and then there are things he just doesn't know about. He says that he's been out of contact with his brothers for too long and he's out of the loop."

"He can't just call them up and ask how the war's going?" He tapped his ring against the neck of the bottle.

"They don't seem to like him too much, as far as I can tell." And for some reason, Sam sounded sad about that.

Dean could hear the Angel in question arguing indistinctly with Bobby on the other side of the house – something about eating him out of house and home. "Gee, I wonder why? He's so loveable."

The younger brother sighed again. "Anyways- I think I found someone who might know what's going on."

"And?"

"And he's in Montana."

Dean took another, slower drink. "You want me to go check it out." He didn't ask, but let out a sigh. "Where in Montana?"

"Absarokee, it's-"

"West of Columbus, just down rout 78. I know where it is." He stretched, mentally calculating how long it would take him to drive there. "What?" He asked when he heard his brother chuckling.

"How do you not know what Myspace is, but you know how to get to Absarokee?"

"Computer stuff is your gig, Sammy." He stood and tossed back the rest of his beer. "Geography is mine."

"But they've got a population of like… only a thousand people." There was the soft click of computer keys as if Sam needed to verify his own facts. "It's not even on most maps."

"Whatever." He chucked the empty bottle into the recycle bin beside the door and glanced at the clock on the stove. "I can get there by tomorrow morning. Who am I looking for?"

This was just his nature. Dean didn't actually need to know why Sammy was sending him on a ten hour drive over two state lines. What he was supposed to be looking for when he got there was of very little importance. Sam could have told him that there was a tribe of blood thirsty lawn gnomes or a unicorn sighting. Dean would have laughed at him, but he would have gone just the same, because his brother asked him to, and that was reason enough.

He let Bobby know what was going on and went down to the basement to pack his duffle. He didn't need much; it wouldn't be a long trip. With any luck he would be able to make it to Montana and back before tomorrow night. He was double checking his guns and getting ready to go when he suddenly remembered that he had left Cas waiting for him outside. After a moment's hesitation and planning, Dean dug into the depths of his duffle, until his fingers found what they were after.

The windows of the Impala had fogged slightly, and Dean could just barely make out the image of the Angel draped over the back seat, looking at perfect peace with the whole of the universe. His lanky, denim clad legs were crooked up with his feet pressed to the driver's side door and they came spilling awkwardly out when Dean opened the door.

He slapped at the scuffed tennis shoes that had once belonged to Sam and were infinitely too big on the Angel who wore them with careless abandon. "Scoot over," Dean directed, grinning when Cas pulled his legs back into the car and made room for him.

"You came back." He said with a gentle expression, drawing his knees up to his chest, looking small but content.

"Always." He closed the door behind him, still smiling because it was not often that he found himself in the backseat of his baby. He had made quite a few good memories back here; even if they were a little overshadowed by the fact that there were still a few dark smears of Angel blood staining the seats from the night they'd first met.

"Sam's sending me to Montana." He started off with a smile that had been known to get panties off in under a minute, but (for a change) that wasn't Dean's intent. "I should be back late tomorrow night. I won't be gone long."

The peaceful expression waivered. "You mean we will be back late tomorrow, right?"

"Come here." Dean evaded.

"I am here, Dean." Cas tilted his head slightly, confused as to how the other man could miss such an obvious fact.

"Closer." He urged and felt a little jolt of emotion that could have easily be mistaken for desire when he was immediately obeyed. There was just something profoundly alluring at the thought of having someone following his orders without question. He could think of quite a few good uses for such an ability, but as such thoughts were far from productive, he swallowed a slightly rough chuckle and pressed onward. "I've been thinking that I know how your friend found us."

"Friend?" Their knees were touching now. It was nice and distracting.

"The dude your brother blew up." Dean carried on despite the Angel's vehement denial of any sort of friendship. "And I don't want to leave you here without the proper safety precautions."

"I don't want you to leave me here."

But his mind had been made up before leaving the basement. Cas wasn't coming with him to Montana. "It's not up for discussion. I'll only be gone a day and you'll be better off here, in a warded house, where your brother and Bobby can keep an eye on you, than you would be with just me, in a car, in the middle of no-man's land." He caught hold of Cas' shirt and gently tugged it up, exposing a tantalizing spread of pale skin. "Your scribbles are a bit faded - I bet that's how he found you."

Cas blinked at Dean, then looked down at his own smudged torso. "It has been a number of days since the sigils were reinforced."

"And quite a few showers, if I remember correctly." Dean smiled reassuringly and pulled out the sharpie that he had dug from the very depths of his duffle. There was nothing wrong with the fact that he kept a mental log of how frequently the Angel bathed. He tried to remind himself of that fact. There was probably even a place where things like that were perfectly normal.

"With everything else going on since we arrived-" Cas' words waivered while he watched with a profoundly fascinated expression, as Dean helped him out of his shirt. "It had slipped my mind."

"Well, I'm fixing it now." It was a decent parting gift, Dean thought - plus, he didn't even have to go to the store for it. Dean was lousy at shopping for present anyways.

The symbols were laid out with distinct precision, and Dean found he had a new appreciation for tattoo artists. They must have to do some ink in fairly interesting places, and he didn't understand how they could stay focused with so much warm flesh willingly waiting beneath their hands. It was all he could do to keep his attention on his work, and not just push the man down into the leather seats and pick back up from where they'd left off.

It was not helped by the fact that somehow Dean ended up with a lapful of Angel, who watched his every movement with the sort of intensity normally reserved for defusing bombs.

"I'm coming with you," the Angel said, simply, quietly, not really demanding but not asking either.

"This isn't a democracy. We're not voting on it." Dean let his thumb gently press down between the last two ribs on Cas' left, feeling the strong arch of bone beneath his fingers. "Besides, there ain't no place safer than Bobby's."

"But if you leave, who will protect you?"

He snorted softly. "I've been protecting my own damn self since long before you came along, Cas. Thank you very much." Then as an afterthought, in an attempt to soften the fact that he was still leaving in a few minutes, he leaned forward and gently kissed the Angel's collar bone. His skin was soft and left an almost sweet taste on Dean's lips. Like coriander and cloves. "I'll be fine."

Mildly surprised eyes blinked down at him, or more specifically, at his mouth. The Angel's cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink and he averted his gaze. Dean took this as a rousing bout of encouragement and presented another kiss, this one grazing a pale shoulder, pausing when he felt Cas' hand come up to roughly tangle in his hair, fingernails biting into Dean's scalp. Four more kisses fell, one after another, until he reached the rough underside of the Angel's jaw and Dean quietly decided that he needed to teach Cas to shave at some point in the near future.

"You are attempting to distract me." A second hand slid warmly around the back of Dean's neck. "I need to go with you. I promised to keep you safe." He arched slightly and made a truly intriguing sound, low in his chest when yet another kiss found the edge of his ear.

The hunter growled in response. It wasn't deliberate; he just couldn't help himself. And when Cas shuddered against him, Dean was in no way responsible for the fact that he bit the Angel. It was nothing more than a scrape of teeth along the soft curve of his ear, but just like that, Cas was curling against him, trembling, making desperate sounds in the back of his throat. All thoughts of the reinforcement of Enochian sigils were momentarily dropped, along with the sharpie as Dean's hands found something far better to hold onto.

"I can handle the big, scary monsters all on my own." Which did not mean that he was not desperately enamored with the idea that Cas didn't want him to leave. Dean bit down again, and he was not nearly as gentle the second time.

Cas was whimpering - his breaths staggered. He released his grip on Dean's hair in favor of wrapping his bare arms around the man in a clumsy embrace. "But these are not normal monsters, Dean." For some unknown reason, he was still struggling to keep up their conversation. "These are former Angels." He shifted, his boney ass digging into Dean's thighs. "You are not equipped to deal with Angels on your own."

"I don't know," he grinned in a way that was typically prohibited from being used outside of dim bars or foreign bedrooms. "I think I've been handling the Angels in my life fairly well so far."

It was like Cas had some bizarre, other worldly restraint, and despite the fact that he was keening softly, he managed to pull away. "Dean, if I hadn't been with you, you would have died." Cas had developed a deep frown, the sort that promised to leave permanent traces if not dealt with in a timely manner. "Angels have powers far beyond your comprehension. We can level cities, move mountains, turn people to pillars of salt."

"Cas-"

"If I was still in possession of my Grace I could do anything to you- from throwing your forward through time to witness your own death, to ripping out your soul, and there would not be a single thing that you could do to stop me. And, Dean," he made a wounded sound deep in his throat, soft and almost inaudible. "I was never a powerful Angel. Those who followed Lucifer down below have always been stronger than me. And despite your impressive credentials, you're still only human."

A battered sigh slipped out and Dean wanted to shout, or throttle the man perched on his lap. The Angel was taking a perfectly inappropriate sort of goodbye, and turning it into a real downer. "I'll be fine, Cas." He wasn't sure how many times he had said those words since getting in this position, but he knew it was too many. "It's not me they're interested in."

Cas made that hurt noise again - a little louder this time; his blue eyes wide and lamenting something that he could not seem to put words to other than: "I don't want you to go without me."

"You're safer here." Dean forced out, stubbornly clinging to his argument even though he could feel his resolve weakening.

"I am going with you." He leaned forward - his chest pressing against Dean's, as he reclaimed the marker from where it had been dropped beneath the seat. "And it would be best for you to finish this before we leave. It should help to keep us hidden."

The sharpie was pressed into his hand and he grumbled as he took it back, pulling the cap off with his teeth and spitting it down beside his feet. Dean shifted his long legs, rocking Cas back so that he bumped against the wrong side of the driver's seat, eliciting a surprised puff of air. "Fine." Dean forced between clenched teeth. "But you keep that pretty mouth of yours shut until I finish." Just because he had lost didn't mean that he had to be graceful about it.

Cas looked like he wanted to say something, but clicked his mouth closed, his lips pressing into a tight line. He watched the hunter work as if he could never tire of it, his eyes glinting like wet obsidian, following Dean's careful movements over his body. Cas settled into place - pale, bare arms stretching out behind him, hooking over the headrest of the front seats. He kept quiet- just like he had been told to do.

The Angel was splayed out like a sacrificial offering, and his iron-clad will was the only thing keeping Dean from indulging. His hands didn't even tremble while he worked. It was impressive.

Dean denied his worries the chance to torment him. He was just going to run a little twenty-four hour errand for Sam; it was not likely to turn into a blitz. Cas might be safe… hell, Dean might be safe too. Everything could come up fucking roses. Stranger things had happened.

The last careful line was laid, slipping down in a delicate twist over the end of the Angel's sternum. "You have exquisite penmanship." Were the first words to rumble out of Cas, like close thunder in the confines of the car. He looked as though he'd wanted to say that for a while, but of course – Dean had told him to keep quiet, and Cas was nothing if not compliant.

And Dean was unsure how to reply to that. "I try?" The sharpie was idly twirled between his fingers, and he glanced at the fogged white windows. Dean still had a lap full of half-dressed Angel, and suddenly felt very unsure as to the proper course of action.

But, he had ideas.

Plenty of ideas.

Some of them even filthy enough that he almost embarrassed himself.

But now didn't really seem like the right time or place to start. The whole ins and outs (no pun intended) of sex with another man were not exactly a mystery, however it would still be new to him. He had no practical experience in this field. That made the prospect a little scary, but not a normal 'life (or sometimes, in Dean's case – Death) is trying to kill me' scary. It was more in the same way that roller coasters were scary. There was the promise of thrilling turns and drops and there was almost a definite guarantee that there would be screaming- and despite all that, everyone would probably make it out in one piece with a grin in place and a case of the giggles. He was pretty sure that sex with a man (or more specifically, Cas) would be a lot like that.

He had wonderfully bad intentions, ones that would take many hours - if not the better part of a whole night - to bring to a glorious culmination. That realization alone made a warm fizzing feeling build in his gut, like pop rocks and coke. Horrifying and exciting- but mostly the first one.

Dean looked at Cas - how he was slouched with his bared hips tilted towards him, and his pale, marked chest, tight with his arms crooked back behind his shoulders. He was finally looking away from Dean, admiring his own skin and the careful, black lines drawn there.

Despite any other leaps in logic that Dean could make about the Angel, the creature obviously embodied pure innocence of unspeakable magnitudes, and very likely a virgin. That was not a condition that Dean felt comfortable taking lightly.

If and when it finally did happen, it wouldn't be quick and dirty as per any normal courses of backseat of the Impala hanky-panky. It would be slow and careful and perhaps even something worthy of the epic sin that deflowering an Angel was sure to incur.

Everything spinning through his torrid thoughts aside, they didn't have time for what Dean wanted to do. He needed to get on the road soon if he was going to make it to Absarokee before dawn.

He rested his empty hand on Cas' leg, drawing the man's attention in a level and weighty gaze. "If you're really coming, we should get going. We're burning daylight."

"But you need your markings reinforced as well, Dean. If they can find you they will be able to find me."

"Ah, but they aren't looking for me." He tried to not run his thumbnail along the inseam of the Angel's pants but found himself relatively unsuccessful in that particular endeavor.

"Yes," he slid forward on Dean's lap, and the friction of it was a new and exciting feeling that dragged an embarrassing noise from the hunter. If Cas noticed he made no mention and simply pilfered the little black marker that had never ceased its idle twirling between Dean's rough fingers. "They are looking for you, Dean. They have been for some time- even before I fell- and it's been difficult to keep them away."

Dean felt a hitch in his breath - a subtle but very important hiccup in his steady thoughts. "Why would they be looking for me?"

"I am not permitted to speak of it." He said cautiously as Dean gawked at him.

"Well isn't that fucking convenient?" Dean muttered.

"I will not argue with you any longer about this. It is your turn to be quiet while I work." His knees were butting up against the upholstery on either side of Dean's hips and they were close enough now that the air shared between them felt too thin. "Now, take your shirt off."

Possibly the best part of doing Sam's leg work was that, during the exodus from Bobby's, Dean was able to drop Gabriel off at the airport. The little Angel had the audacity to try and call shotgun, and seemed far from happy when he found himself sitting in the backseat with a heavy backpack of books to take home to Sam, and his little brother cruising in the front. Dean lingered in the white zone that was strictly for the loading and unloading of passengers only. And, god, Dean was glad to be unloading the odd little man.

"Hey, Deano, you'll give your brother a call when you find out something, right?" He was halfway out the door; hand on the back of Cas' seat. There was a look on his face: one that spoke volumes. He wanted to know about whatever they were going to Montana to find for him, but he also wanted to know about Castiel. He was still waiting for Dean to dig deep enough to find out why the quiet Angel was on the lamb.

Dean managed a little wink. "Sure, shortstack. I'll give Sammy a call when I know what's up."

They shared a grin that completely bypassed the man sitting between them. Gabriel closed his door, but paused again to press his face to Cas' window and blow many kisses to his very startled looking younger brother.

Laughter bubbled out of Dean and he pulled away, leaving the blonde waving enthusiastically at the bumper of the car that Bobby had leant them for the drive. It was a quiet reminder of just how much Dean needed to finish fixing the Impala. He hated bucket seats; his legs didn't fit quite right, and the damn thing had a manual transmission. Not that there was normally something wrong with driving a stick-shift, but on long stretches of highway with very few turns and even fewer reasons to change speed it made his right hand feel useless where it idled on the gearshift.

They drove through the badlands, with nothing to see but miles of fields and an occasional ranch house to break the monotony. They spoke of unimportant things - mostly Dean explaining combustion engines (again), passing on important knowledge concerning classic rock bands, or tales of him and Sam when they were kids.

Every so often he even earned a sound that he came to realize was the Angel's equivalent of a laugh. It was a coarse noise, like a startled gasp, but when Dean glanced over, he saw the shadow of a smile on the man beside him.

It instantly became something like a grail to Dean. He had a new goal, a quest if you will – something far more entertaining than playing twenty-questions (because Dean didn't need to think too long to realize what a disaster that would be). With the help of a few bizarre retellings of his more embarrassing misadventures, he earned eight more laughs before six o'clock. There was no real rhyme or reason to it all as far as he could tell - perhaps Cas just had a strange sense of humor, and he laughed at some of the more off beat comments. But those odd little chuckles made Dean's blood hum, and the effort was well worth it.

It came down to the story of when Dean was sixteen and he got waylaid in a motel in northern Texas with Sam, who had a broken ankle. John left them there, unattended, for three weeks and the two brothers got up what Sam had always called 'serious shenanigans'.

Cas was giving one of his awkwardly painful sounding chuckles when Dean got to the part where the young Winchesters got kicked out of a movie theater showing 'Die Hard With a Vengeance', for having a popcorn fight, and Dean had to help Sam limp away.

"I can imagine it perfectly." One of his long fingered hands found Dean's, where it rested absentmindedly on the gearshift, the feather light touch trailing upwards in a way that almost tickled. "You two escaping, covered in food."

Dean twisted his wrist, catching the Angel's hand in his own to keep it from tracing over some of the faded scars that danced up his forearm. "Sam was so mad about missing the end of the movie he made me sneak him back in that night, but the damn manager recognized us and tossed us again." He kept their hands together, twining their fingers carefully and he'd be lying if he said he'd kept his eyes on the road the whole time.

"You two should have been more covert in your efforts." There was a warmth spreading over his face as he looked down to where their bodies were connected. It was possible that he had never held hands with anyone before, but it was obvious that he was enjoying the sensation.

"We got kicked out of the same movie for the rest of the week. We kept hobbling Sammy to different theaters around town and seeing how quick we could get kicked out." Dean knew he was grinning again.

"But why?"

That sort of question elicited a shrug. "Because it made Sam happy." Did there need to be any deeper reason?

Cas grew quiet and when Dean glanced over he was struck by the tender expression breaking over the other man.

"What?" He fumbled over the singular word.

"I wish that my own brothers were as compassionate as you are with Samuel."

"I'm sure that Angels fucking bleed compassion." He gave Cas' hand a gentle squeeze. "Seems like it would sort of come with the job description."

"Some can be quite kind, when they have a need to be." He shifted in his seat, turning slightly to watch the landscape slide past like a well-oiled mural. "Gabriel used to be very gentle." He lightly squeezed back, their fingers sliding together warmly.

Not for the first time, Dean was unsure what to say in response to such a statement, so he raised Cas' hand to his lips and grazed a kiss over the man's knuckles, before settling their hands onto his lap, and wondering how to tell him that he thought that Cas was compassionate.

The Angel fell asleep somewhere around the state line and stayed that way until they pulled into an all-night truck stop sometime after full dark. Dean managed to wake the Angel with sweet promises of burgers. They stumbled into the fluorescently lit hole in the wall and ate in relative silence, two bacon burgers for one, and a pig in a poke for the other- Dean drinking both their cups of coffee.

"How much further is it to this place we are going?" Cas looked up from his catsup covered fingers, looking like they had been dipped in blood that was too red and too thick.

"A handful of hours. You gunna' make it?" He tipped the sugar shaker over his second mug, adding gratuitous amounts of the white stuff, knowing that he was going to need the burst of caffeine and sweetness before the night was done.

"Are we able to kiss while you drive?" Cas asked with one of his most innocent expressions, and Dean only almost dropped the sugar.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "But in the middle of the night, in the pitch black… we probably shouldn't risk it." He stirred his coffee and avoided eye contact because he was certain if he saw the Angel's face he would start laughing, or grinning, or something else that screamed of guilt. Though he was honestly not sure what he was guilty of.

"Well, I will find something else to occupy my time."

Dean wanted to offer a few suggestions, but wisely drank his coffee instead.

As it went, Cas managed to stay awake for a few hours, and this time it was his turn to tell stories of his childhood (or whatever one would call angelic adolescence). His cadence needed work, the subtle nuance of a punch line was completely lost to him, and he didn't seem understand where a proper story should start or stop… but he did his best. Mostly, Dean just liked to hear him talking.

The stories were more or less completely lost to Dean, but he listened and replied with approving noises where he thought necessary. They were peculiar tales to be sure, feeling almost biblical in nature and Dean didn't know if he was supposed to laugh or feel worried.

"Cas." He interrupted.

"-and his … yes, Dean?" His eyes fluttered as he focused in on something far closer than his memories.

"How old are you?"

That question gave him pause, and he seemed to really be considering the question before answering. "I do not know how to count it in human years."

"Were you born, or however that works," he wiggled his fingers over the steering wheel, "before the Regan era?"

"Regan?" The Angel shifted in the darkness. "I don't understand that reference."

"Are you older than me?" Dean tried to clarify.

"I was created long before humanity. I am considerably older than you." And how anyone could make such an outrageous statement in such a damnably calm way was beyond understanding.

"No shit?" was all Dean managed to choke out.

"I don't…" but he sounded more confused than anything else and shook his head with a quiet sigh. "As I was saying- his sword was lost in battle." Cas picked up where he had been interrupted, retelling what was possibly a very heroic tale of a brother named Balthazar fighting alongside him during a war that had taken place long before Dean was even so much as a glint in his great grandfather's eye.

The words washed over Dean, their meaning unimportant, while he struggled to figure out if this made Castiel a cougar - or as Sam had put it - a snow leopard, or maybe something else altogether. It was a difficult concept to even wrap his mind around, but in the end it all equaled out to the Angel being unfathomably too old for Dean.

It didn't upset him like he knew it should.

It just made him grin.

Every now and then his life was just weird and wonderful.

Surprisingly enough, it was Sunday morning in Absarokee. Not that it would be any different day in any other part of the United States, but the days of the week rarely meant much to Dean. The only reason he could even figure out that they had driven though their Saturday night, was that the single church in Absarokee, which was surrounded by cars and patrons dressed in their nicest and cleanest clothes.

Dean gently shook Cas awake, despairing to have to rouse him from his cute, drooling slouch against the window. "Hey, Cas, fancy going to church?"

Those beautiful eyes lit up in an instant. "I would enjoy that very much." He caught sight of the small white building down the street; its spire and cross shining brightly in the morning light. "I have never had an opportunity to enter an earthly chapel."

"Great. Go. Pray, sing- do whatever. I'll go talk to what's his face and be back before the closing halleluiah." Churches were hallowed ground and Dean knew that the Angel would be safe. It was such a flawless plan. He could go talk to the dude for Sam, and not have to worry about making excuses for his off kilter companion, whilst also having the peace of mind that his Angel was somewhere out of harm's way.

Cas frowned slightly, but church bells had started to ring, and apparently that was sign enough that he should go. He nuzzled a soft kiss into Dean's cheek and pulled himself from the car, hurrying down the sidewalk with an excited bounce to his step.

The man Dean was looking for was an old hunter named Kaleb Elias. Not knowing his exact location, Dean stopped in a little diner he had passed on his way into town. There were only two cars in the parking lot; a pair of heretics who didn't need the salvation of a sermon, so much as they needed a greasy breakfast. These were more of Dean's kind of people. They would be able to point him in the right direction.

As it turned out the occupants were an old man who had as many teeth as he had fingers, settled at a table in the corner with a tall cup of strong coffee, and a waitress that was too young to be working legally in this state. She looked bored where she lingered behind the bar, flipping through a magazine and popping her gum quietly. But when the intrusive bell on the door jingled to announce a new customer, she glanced over, immediately taking up a look of interest.

"Mornin'." She smiled though an unwarranted blush. This would be easier than he thought.

"Good morning, yourself." He slid up to the bar and gave her a well-rehearsed smile.

He talked with her. He joked and grinned and told her all about how the town looked so different to him, how he hadn't been though here since his dad took him up to visit his old army pal, Kaleb. But sadly, he couldn't remember how to get to the old man's place.

It was the biggest lie Dean had told in days. He had no idea if his father had known this man, and if he did, it was almost certain that they were not old pals of any kind. There wasn't anyone that seemed capable of remaining friends with John Winchester after knowing him for more than a few months, and Dean really hoped that there was no bad blood to be had. He didn't need to be on the man's bad side before they even met.

Katie (her laminated name tag said) was more than happy to give him directions up to Mr. Elias' house, and Dean was more than happy to take a piece of apple pie to go and leave her a tip bigger than the bill.

Sometimes life was easy on him, sometimes things just worked out like they were supposed to. Not often, but every once in a while a plan came together.

Today felt like one of those rare days.

He drove the eight miles down an unpaved dirt road and came to a rambling, clay tiled ranch house that looked like it had migrated up from Arizona or New Mexico. It was almost a picture perfect scene. It wasn't until Dean cut the engine and opened the car door, that he realized that something was amiss.

If the rust colored smears of old blood on the lintel of the front door was not evidence enough, the deathly silence of nature was a definite bad omen. There were no birds, bees, wind, not even a fucking frog. Nothing at all stirred in the crisp morning air, other than his own cautious breaths and the soft rattle of the engine dying down. This was, most emphatically, not going to be one of those magically easy days.