*AUTHOR'S NOTE: If I owned Supernatural, I would be getting more reviews. If I owned Dante, I'd be getting tribute*

*I called this chapter "Plot Happens" when I was writing it. Because believe it or not, I actually am planning on going somewhere with the story. :D*

For Dean, it was a "commotion" that awoke him, but the rest of us ordinary folks might call it something more along the lines of, an-almost-inaudible-rustle-of-leaves-as-footsteps-approached-the-cave. Dean was a hunter, after all, and had been trained to sleep lightly since he was a wee little thing tottering about. This being so, Dean's eyes flew open the moment his brain registered the noise, and he was immediately on the alert, his knife clenched in his fist. Turning his head, he could see that Castiel, whose back was facing him and blocking any view of the attacker, had already assumed a defensive position. He crept forward to the cave entrance to assist in the incoming fight.

"A-Bai-elond?" he asked experimentally, just behind Castiel. His view of the attacker was still obstructed.

"A-Bai-elond carth Mathor-gnahn?" the intruder mumbled quietly to himself. Roughly translated, this means, "Was I just called a dolphin?"

Castiel turned slightly, allowing Dean to see the source of the footsteps: an ancient, yet powerfully built man. He had a long, grizzled, salt-and pepper beard, with hair to match, piercing, deep-set eyes, and a commanding presence. He was wearing a scratchy robe at the time, but he looked like he would be more at home in full body armor. Bloodstains included.

I think Middle Earth is the other way, pal, Dean thought, but he didn't say it aloud, first and foremost because he didn't do nerd movies, but also because Castiel had taken a small step backwards and was eying the man warily. No one spoke. So, eyes flitting from the stranger to his friend, Dean raised the knife to waist level uncertainly, before allowing it to drop numbly from his fingers as Castiel's head swiveled, sending him a look that clearly said Drop it. It clattered loudly on the cave floor, but neither Castiel nor the mysterious elder seemed to pay it any heed. They were too busy sizing each other up, seeming to silently spar with the intensity of their respective gazes. Not understanding what was going on, and feeling annoyed by it, Dean was just about to demand some answers when Castiel spoke.

"Cato," he said, respect and wariness evident in his voice.

"Castiel," the old man replied. There was something about the timbre or tonality of his voice which reminded Dean strongly, achingly of John Winchester. He fought the urge to straighten up and await orders. In his own emotional turmoil, he missed the undercurrent of hatred that ran through the word, although Castiel immediately picked up on it. The angel thought it no matter; as far as he knew, everyone hated him.

The man, Cato, turned from Castiel and aimed the full force of his attention on Dean.

"Step into the light," he ordered. Castiel shook his head minutely, but Dean's feet seemed to step forward of their own accord. Keen eyes immediately seemed to detach themselves from Dean, instead focusing on the forest floor a few feet to his left. Dean felt as if released from a spell.

"Who the hell are you?" he blurted, immediately regretting it. For those eyes, basilisk eyes, turned right back to him, and fixed him with a look so scathing… Dean felt like blubbering an apology, much as used to when his father reprimanded him for being childish. The feeling was uncanny. He rebelled against it.

"Answer me!"

The man seemed to grow taller as he spoke. "I am Cato of Utica, and guardian of these shores," he said shortly. "Now answer me. Your shadow tells me that you are alive, human. Souls cast no shadow, and a living man has only entered my shores once. What is your business here?"

Dean's mouth worked, but no words came out in response. It wasn't often that Dean was so completely cowed, but there was something about Cato which inspired in Dean an image of a man hacking down people like weeds on the battlefield. It was, in a word, chilling.

"Our only business here is to liberate ourselves," Castiel said, saving him. "We seek only to obtain our freedom by returning to Earth. Surely one who knows the value of freedom as you do would lead us to where we need to go."

Dean wondered how Castiel knew the guy.

"Freedom?" Cato cried, lip curling. Something had obviously snapped, for gone was the cold air of extreme self-control; it had been replaced with a roiling wave of rage. "Yes, I know the value of freedom more than anyone, angel. I died for it, but even in death, I am shackled! I know the worth of freedom, the freedom to clasp my loved one, my Marcia, to by breast_" his eyes darted to Dean for a moment, almost as if whatever torment he was experiencing was somehow his fault, as well, "_to so much as behold her shining, chaste eyes, to see her lips move as she calls for me! But lo! My enslaver," he spat, "knows I value freedom."

Dean surmised that Cato had a long time to ruminate over these matters, whatever they were. His speech sounded almost prepared. As he advanced towards Castiel, forcing the shorter man to look up to maintain eye contact, Dean even thought he could capture a glimmer of twisted satisfaction in his face.

"But to think, if even I had the power, that I would bring an angel away from this prison_ my jailor, my prison guard… that is a sore mistake."

Spittle was flying directly onto Castiel's face as these last words were spoken, but the angel seemed unfazed. "I know not what you are saying," he said coldly. Do you have a death wish? Dean thought. The electricity in the air was so palpable he wondered why he couldn't hear thunder.

The thunder came. "THE ANGELS LIFTED ME FROM LIMBO! I WAS TAKEN AWAY FROM HER!" the wrinkled man shouted, before quieting down into a hysterical whisper. "It wasn't so bad at first. I had a job. I had a job… but then they left, and sealed the place in. It all… it all fell apart, and I would have swum that cursed ocean to get back to her, and I couldn't, because there's no way out!"

"The angels are dead," Castiel said quietly.

Cato wasn't listening. "Then there's you," he said, poison dripping from his tone. "You came and swallowed the whole mess up. I watched you kill angels…"

Castiel flinched.

"…and I was glad. I fed my hatred into you. I fought to get free, and for the first time there was hope, before you tossed it all back without a backwards glance!"

Castiel's fists were clenched, his breathing shallow and rapid. Dean, seeing that he wasn't being watched, quietly crouched down and picked up the knife he had dropped.

"You should have come to right your wrongs," Cato breathed, "You should have come to liberate me."

Dean had made up his mind_ however powerful this Cato character may be, he was a threat. He had a striking resemblance to a dog with rabies, and dogs with rabies were put down.

Dean lunged at him, knife in hand, but Cato's muscular arm shot out and twisted it from his grasp, without the man so much as turning his head in Dean's direction. Cato's eyes remained where they were, peering with disgust at the slumped angel before him

Castiel seemed to be fighting an internal battle. His eyes were turned to the ground, but after a moment he squared his shoulders and looked up again at Cato, face stony, eyes flint.

"I will suffer and pay for my crimes, Cato, guardian of the shores of Purgatory. However, I do not pretend to have any knowledge of the affairs of Purgatory you have alluded to. Do not presume to cast blame on the ignorant."

'"How ignorant can an angel be?" Cato said, but he could see he wasn't lying, so he backed off, releasing Dean's arm as he did so. Dean flexed it gingerly, and decided not to interfere again in the conversation.

Now that he was done with his outburst, Cato seemed drained. Centuries of survival in a hostile environment might have had no effect on him physically, he being a soul, but unbeknownst to him, it had worn him emotionally. He began his story in a hollow tone. "I was Lifted, appointed to my current position in Purgatory to act as Guardian and Guide to newly arrived human souls arriving on the shores. Monsters were kept here as well, predator becoming prey during the afterlife. Angels kept them under control, from attacking the human souls as they endeavored to purify themselves. They were only seen at all during the night hours. 'Nor is there anything to block the ascent except the shades of night: they of themselves suffice to sap the will of the most fervent.' And the Leviathan," he croaked, "were sealed, locked away in the ocean surrounding Purgatory by God Himself. For this reason, not even the Boatman dared touch the waters; he flew over them, new souls alight on his great back."

Dean wondered a little at this description, before remembering that Castiel's true Form was huge. What did he say? Size of the Chrysler Building?

"I do not understand why, but one day the Boatman stopped coming. The other angels on the island disappeared as well, and I can only assume that the same happened everywhere else. Chaos followed their departure. The monsters, with no one to stop them, overran my island, the rest of Purgatory and…" the tough man shuddered, "ate up most of the human souls. Some of them dared swim the sea to escape. Others climbed the Cliff to the next Levels. I tried to dive back into Limbo, but before I could, all the exits were sealed. There was… no way out. Monsters rule now, continuing the same 'kill or be killed' pattern they've been operating with for centuries. But it was later… immeasurably later… when everything was swallowed up. Then, even the Leviathan were yanked out of the ocean waters and into you…"

"I do not understand. This is not what I was told about Purgatory," Castiel said. IT was a statement of fact, but it brought the resentment and anger flooding back.'

"And just what were you told, angel?"

"Purgatory was sealed by God. Humans continued to die in sin, but no longer desired to tread the path of repentance in the afterlife. The monsters were too dangerous to be left with open doors to Heaven and Earth, so God sealed Purgatory, and angels mourned Man's lack of faith," Castiel said thoughtfully.

"And you just ate that up, didn't you?" Cato said bitterly. "What I say is God ditched, and the angels followed suit."

Castiel looked stung. Dean was getting a headache. To him, this was all God-crap, archaic mumbo-jumbo with no pertinence to their situation. He was thoroughly sick of the subject of the sloppy deity. He revised his earlier resolution to not butt into the conversation again.

"'Scuse me," he said, tactlessly and rather awkwardly, "But we've all been screwed by God. So are you gonna help us or not? Way I see it, no one's gonna get out of this place until we get our asses moving."

Dean tried not to be creeped out by the look the Cato gave him. It was that same interested, amused Ilikeyou face that powerful beings were always giving him. It never failed to make Dean feel like the "mudmonkey" the angels claimed he was.

"As I said, the exits are sealed. If there even is a way out, it would be the opening leading from the Mount to Paradise… God Himself made that opening; I don't think even the angels could have sealed it up, unless He really is the one who orchestrated this."

"Great. How do we get there?"

Cato blinked, surprised. "You ascend. There are innumerable monsters between here and there, of course, and who knows which rules of ascension are even still in effect? It's suicide."

Dean and Castiel shared a look.

"'Been there, done that,'" Castiel quoted. Dean grinned.

"That cliff you were talking about… can you lead us to it?"

"That was my job," Cato replied curtly. He turned to Castiel, giving him a skeptical look. "That was really all you were told about what happened here." It wasn't phrased as a question, but he was asking all the same.

"I have been told," Castiel said, glancing briefly at Dean, "that angels are a corrupt species."

Cato's reply sounded much like an old-fashioned way of saying 'damn straight'. "And if you make it out… would you open a door for me from the outside? So I can see my Marcia again?" Cato was very visibly wavering.

Castiel's eyes blazed with surety. "I will spend the rest of my existence," he said, "trying to right my wrongs. If there is a way to help, I will."

"Fair enough," Cato said, before turning and leading them through the underbrush.

It was some time before they reached their destination (two days, in fact). This wasn't due simply to the fact that they had to fight eight monsters on the way there; a good deal of the delay was because they first had to go backwards to the edge of the island to pluck reeds to place around their waists, and to wash themselves of what Cato called "Earth-stench" before proceeding to the Cliff. Cato would have made a lousy tour guide, quiet as he was those two days, but he did tell Dean how he found them. Apparently, the moment they arrived, Dick Roman had fallen in his own true Form, screaming into the ocean, where he was again bound. Cato witnessed this, and immediately searched for other new additions to his island, succeeding in sensing the undeniable presence of an angel. Dean slept a little easier after hearing this. Knowing that a bloodthirsty Leviathan wasn't going to come and kill you any second was surprisingly comforting. Cato also spoke a little about Marcia, but Dean never did understand why the man loved her so much. She seemed part of rather a bad lot of women.

Finally they reached the yellowy cliff face, bleeding from the latest monster attack, but whole, and profoundly grateful to have reached their destination.

"I must leave you here," Cato then said, exercising his vocal cords for the first time in hours. "For some reason, I still lack the power to ascend this cliff. Means there are probably other rules still in effect. I'd rather you didn't die; if you do, there is no hope at all."

When Cato's footsteps had faded away into the sinister background noise of the forest, Dean spoke. Something had been eating at him for a few days, and he didn't feel like it was right to voice it while Cato was with them.

"You'll spend the rest of your existence trying to right your wrongs?" he said, looking ahead resolutely and willing his voice not to crack.

"Every moment."

Dean dared a look at Castiel then, and saw that his eyes were glimmering. He looked away again. Swallowed.

"I don't know, Cas," he choked out. Sucking in a breath, he turned back to the angel and tried to muster a smile.

"But I guess… I guess that's good enough for me."

Meanwhile, Sam was attempting the impossible