Chapter 17: Problems On All Fronts

Three days into the hunt, and John was at his wit's end. Not only had they discovered that it was indeed not a werewolf, but they where no closer to figuring it out. Another murder had happened last night, and John was lost on it. Castiel was doing his best to figure it out, but in John's opinion, he was a bit smug when they cleared the werewolf theory.

What the Hell was this thing? He couldn't figure it out, and Castiel was no help, pouring over books and talking about spells that required the heart. He rolled his eyes as Castiel returned from the police station, a small bag in his hands. He dropped it in front of John, walked into the bathroom to change.

"What the hell is this?" He asked, picking up the bag.

"That was found by the body of the lasted victim." He heard shouted from the bathroom. "It's dog hair, and was covering the body. I think we might be dealing with a skin walker."

"Skin walkers don't just take the heart." John argued, they usually ate the whole thing. Like a starving dogs would attack a corpse, or they changed their victims.

"That's the part that's confusing me." Castiel admitted, walking out of the bathroom in a pair of jeans, pulling a t-shirt over his head. John catching a glimpse of some kind of sigil carved into his chest, and a tattoo of enochian lettering. As well as an Anti-possession tattoo over his heart. "Unless of course, it was a witch before it was bitten. Then it could just be looking for a cure. There is some lore about the healing abilities of the human heart. Added with the fact that it's probably getting information from Hell."

"Why would Hell be giving information on curing a skin walker. Wouldn't that just help the witch?" John tried to argue. "Cause more chaos that way." Castiel shook his head at that.

"They would loose a soul." Castiel stated simply. "They value the soul more then they enjoy the chaos. As a rule, any monster, that is to say vampires, werewolves, skinwalkers, and others like that, go to Purgatory. Witches sell their souls to Demon's for their powers." Castiel stated, sitting down at the table to look over everything. "If a witch gets bitten by a skinwalker, Hell doesn't collect on the deal. Yes, a witch can live for a very long time, most of which is spent taking orders and giving information to Demons, but they will die at some point." He reasoned, picking up a file. "But doing so while infected, Hell looses that deal."

"And how would you know the inner workings of Hell so well?" John asked suspiciously.

"Because I make it my business to know." Castiel stated defensively. "Know your enemy better then they know themselves, and all that." He explained.

"You take that very seriously then, don't you?" John mumbled under his breath. Recalling all the books of Demonology he'd seen Castiel reading.

"Takes one to know one." Castiel responded, studying the pictures of the crime scene. John looking up at that, Dean obviously rubbing off on the guy. That was one of his favorites when he was a child. Though John had never heard that phrase uttered in his direction.

"Are you sassing me, boy?" John asked, his authoritative father voice coming out.

"I am not a child. So please refrain from addressing me as so." Was Castiel's only response. Never turning away from the pictures.

"I will call you whatever I damn well please." John argued. "I may have been dead for ten years, but I'm still older then you by a long shot." He bit out, what ever happened to respecting your elders?

Castiel just stared at him blankly, as if he was the one who was acting like a child. Like he was just humoring him. Before turning back to his papers and keeping his mouth shut. John had the distinct feeling that he'd just lost whatever it was they where doing. He'd already taken this shit for three days and didn't know how much longer he would last before he put a bullet through the guys head on pure frustration.

He looked down at the paperwork, just wanting something to do. His mood wasn't going to improve until this case was over. He'd hoped that he could at least figure this guy out a bit, but all he got where more questions. He was to smart for his own good, horrible with people, but great with kids, and very stiff. Even in the way he stood and talked. John assumed it had to do with the training that he'd been through his entire life. He was hard on his kids, he knew, but he couldn't imagine giving his kids up to someplace like the one Castiel had said he was raised in. The guy acted like he'd never had fun a day in his life.

John had even attempted to get the guy to go and have a drink with him. Thinking that if he could get the guy drunk, he could get more out of him. It was one of the world's greatest truth serums. But he'd just looked at John as if he'd grown a second head, and told him that they where on a case. Apparently, unless he was with Dean or Sam, it was very hard to get the guy to loosen up.

"So, how do you know the Purgatory bit?" John asked, trying for easy conversation.

"Because I've been there with you son." Castiel answered simply. John remembered Sam mentioning something about Dean in Purgatory. John had just thought that was some weird way of saying he had taken a vacation, or some other kind of self-discovery bullshit. He guessed it was actually real.

"Sam had mentioned that. But he didn't mention you." John said, hoping to get some more information.

"We where both standing near the Leviathan when it died. We where both pulled in. Sam was, of course, very concerned about Dean. But we where both there for a year, doing our best to survive." Castiel told him. "And when Dean got out, he got out alone. Sam probably focused on that."

"How do you get out of something like that?" John asked, interest piqued.

"There was a portal, for humans only. Purgatory was made for monsters, not people." Castiel explained.

"Then why did he get out alone?" He asked, looking at Castiel. "And how did you get out?"

"The same way he did, it just moved once he went through. He tried to get me out with him, but we where overrun by Leviathan's and I stayed back to give him a clear path." He said, repeating the words Dean had told him to, unbeknownst to John.

John's respect for Castiel shooting up a few points after that. He felt he had to, the guy had basically sacrificed himself so Dean could get to safety. Which reminded him that he still owed the guy for the Molotov cocktail thing as well. He wasn't going to deny that the guy had guts, and was definitely loyal. John still couldn't place why he was having trouble liking the guy. Maybe Sam was right, and he just didn't know him well enough yet.

Dean sat in his room holding his head, all the lights where off, and the music was not playing. His headache had gone from gnomes picking at his skill in search of diamonds, to full on Paul Bunyan with a chainsaw to chop his trees level. Any light was just way to bright, and any noise was far too loud. He felt like he had when he was infected with vampire blood.

A knock at his door spiked through his brain, sending a fresh shot of pain in his head. He groaned as a way of answering, his brother entering. Sam mercifully left the lights off as he walked in. Dean swearing he was stomping across the floor.

"What?" He asked, his voice probably not as welcoming as it should be. But he was in pain damn it.

"You okay?" Sam asked, Dean wincing as he sat down in the chair that Castiel usually sat in.

"Does it look like I'm freaking okay?" Dean asked, pulling his hand away from his head to bark his question at his brother. But the loss of pressure just seemed to make the pain worse, and he pressed his hand to it again.

Sam chuckled, getting up and getting him a cup of water and some aspirin, suggesting that maybe Dean should have taken it easier on the booze last night as he walked out. Dean rolling his eyes, he hadn't touched the stuff. When he returned, he handed them to Dean who just glared at them. Then shook his head, looking back down at the floor.

"Come on, Dean." Sam pleaded. "They'll help you." He tried to convince, offering them to Dean again.

"Don't you think I've tried that already." Dean yelled, knocking the pills and water out of his hand. Hand going back to his head, grasping it, face scrunched in pain. What was wrong with him?

"Well, then what do you want me to do Dean?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice quiet, but sounding like it was coming from under several feet of water. He knew his brother was in pain. He knew why, so he wasn't going to cause any more of it.

"Nothing." Dean shouted, gritting his teeth. "There is nothing you can do, Sam." He said, leaning back in his bed. He had no idea what had triggered the headaches again, but he was not happy that they had come back.

"Is it the blade? Do you need something else?" Sam asked, he did not want to know what was going on, but he wanted to help his brother. "I don't know where the blade is, but I can help if you would just tell me how." Sam pleaded.

"I don't know, Sam." Dean bit out, looking to his brother. His eyes going wide in surprise as he got up and moved away from Sam.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam asked, his eyes going black and a smile spreading on his face. "Oh, I see." The Demon said, stepping closer. "You need a new kill don't you." Sam's face said, pulling out a large knife and walking towards Dean.

Dean backed up in fear. The damn Demon was in his brother, what was he supposed to do. His hands went for the salt he kept on top of his dresser, throwing a handful of it at Sam. The Demon didn't stop however. Walking towards him, knife out in front, poised to stab him. He grabbed the first thing he could reach, hurling it at the demon and running out of the room.

He ran to the gun room, and picked up a sawed-off. Putting two shells in the barrel, he grabbed another handful. Putting them in his pocket, he cocked the gun and walked out of the room. The rocksalt would stop his brother from being killed, but it would hurt the Demon, and hopefully eject it out of him. He stalked down the halls, moving as silently as he could.

"Dean." He heard from around the corner. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?" The Demon sing-songed threw the halls. "I'm here to help, Dean. If you would just let me." It said, dragging a hand over the wall as it walked down the hall.

Dean waited, gun aimed for about where the shoulder would be when it came around. He controlled his breathing, counting his breaths until the Demon came into view. He pulled the trigger and fired. The Demon staggering back from the blow, yelling in pain before moving forward, dodging the next shot Dean aimed at him. He had to reload, and the Demon took the opportunity to grab the gun and slam his hand against the wall, making him let it go. The Demon threw the gun away, and held him against the wall.

"Dean." It shouted at him, holding his face steady. "Dean, it's me, it's Sam." It kept telling him, holding his face steady. "It's me, Dean. Snap out of it." It shouted at him, Dean having a hard time breathing, but trying to fight the Demon off. Yelling at it to get out of his brother. He felt a sharp pain in his cheek as a slap hit across his face.

He started to regain his breath, and he saw that the eyes had turned back to Sam's eyes. He came back to himself, seeing the gun down the hall and the blood on his shirt. He had done that, he'd shot his brother. But he was a Demon, wasn't he? He started panting, he couldn't catch his breath. He hadn't done that, he couldn't have. He sank down to the floor, tears filling his eyes. He was so lost.

As it turned out. Tracking down a witch slash skinwalker was not the easiest thing in the world. John assumed it would be the most suspicious person, especially if he mentioned witchcraft in the vicinity of them. But that strategy was a bust, considering they where in a very small town. Most of the inhabitants of which, happened to be of the old and Christian variety. Therefore, anywhere he went, mentioning magic, he was met with glares and hostility.

Rubbing his hands down his face, he looked over at his partner. Castiel didn't seemed fazed at all that the witch wasn't easy to find. But rather seemed to think this as a challenge. He looked at every person with the same scrutiny as he had the first time John had met him. Like he was looking into their very soul.

Something, John noticed, the locals didn't seem to appreciate. Of course they wouldn't. The one thing small town people hated was outsiders, observing to closely, and sticking their nose where it doesn't belong. Afraid they would find out all their dirty secrets and smudge up the peace of their lovely little town.

John had noticed a few things about Castiel while they had been working on the hunt however. Some of which he liked, others he thought where a bit suspicious.

For one, he had noticed that Castiel was impossibly neat, and clean. He kept everything exceptionally organized, and everything had it's proper place. He would go so far as to say he was worse then Sam in that aspect. Sam's neatness as a child causing the most friction between him and Dean.

Two, he didn't really eat much. He'd ate maybe two meals a day, if he was exerting himself. But otherwise, the guy barely ate anything, and he stuck to healthy. Only eating the unhealthy when he had no other choice. John often choosing fast food places, just to piss him off.

Three, the guy had the patience of a saint. He was virtually unflappable. Aside from a few defensive words spoken here and there, he was mostly calm. Every exchange with a person focused on the topic, and if he was insulted, he didn't let it faze him. John wondered if he could keep his cool so well when faced with Demons.

Four, for someone who barely ate, and was smaller then he was, Castiel was incredibly strong. John shuttered to think what kind of strength training he had gone through in order to move half the crap that he had without a problem. Castiel was adept at finding hidden passages, and moving the infringing items out of the way. Items John couldn't budge when he tried to move them or put them back. Figuring this out when they had come across a cave with a boulder at the entrance. They had found an altar, but no idea as to who it belonged to.

Five, the guy had the most erratic sleeping pattern John had ever seen. Only sleeping for three or four hours a night. Only going to bed when he seemed to believe he was expected to. John had yet to see the guy rub his eyes, or even yawn. Which made him seem even less human then before. There where times John swore the guy wasn't even breathing, and he stood so still it was like he was a statue.

Everything about the guy seemed to scream soldier. While at the same time saying 'I am an awkward, shy nerd, intellectual with a personal space issue'. John noticing that he wouldn't come within two feet of him, or anyone else for that matter. Always moving to the side and giving the people a wide berth unless they where really packed in. John had asked him about that, but the only reply he'd received was that tilt of the head and a frank 'People take their personal space very seriously.' He had no idea what that meant, but he assumed that Castiel just didn't like people in his personal bubble.

The one thing he was worried about was how the guy fought. He'd seen him in spars with Dean, but that was just glimpses in controlled environments. He had no idea what the guy was like in the field, where the situations where more dire. How would that awkward, shy guy handle a monster in his face, tearing at his flesh. 'Probably with the same stoic face he always had on'. John thought, rolling his eyes.

"Think I've got something." Castiel said from his bed. Old news papers and town records spread across it's surface. John never thought he could see so many papers spread out like that in such a neat way.

"What?" John asked, getting up and walking over to look at the papers.

"Gary Hayflat." Castiel answered simply, handing him a couple news paper clippings. "A few years ago he was just a regular convenience store clerk. Bad job, the owner known to have a temper and under pay his employees, while making them work constant overtime. But last year, he died of a heart attack, Gary taking over the business. Since then, he's won several competitions, and he has managed to start up another business, auto body repair. He'd opened up a new shop right next to the store, despite being out bid by someone in New York who was looking to open up another jewelry store here. That guy also falling ill and dying before the deal was closed." He told John, getting up and shuffling some papers.

"That could just be a run of good luck." John argued, in his experience, witches where usually women. Looking to gain whatever social rise they could.

"I knew you would say that." Castiel stated, grabbing another folder, and handing it to John. "Two weeks ago, he was checked into the hospital because of a dog bite he received while driving home from a business deal in Wyoming. Stopped at a rest area at night to rest and when coming out of the bathroom, the next morning, was bitten by a dog that came out of the field behind it. He didn't think much of it, so he waited until he got back home to go to the doctor and have it looked at." He finished with a satisfied air.

"When did you have the time to look all of this up?" John asked, looking over everything. It had taken him a couple of days just to convince people that he was here to look into murders. The inhabitants of the town so un-trusting, it took several times to get anything close to an answer that even had a shred of truth to it.

"While you where interviewing witnesses, I walked over to the library. Abigail was very helpful when I told her I was interested in some of the towns history, and it's inhabitants achievements." Castiel told him. "She was also forthcoming with quite a bit of information. She told me I reminded her of her late husband. Though I have no idea why." He finished with a confused expression. As if he didn't understand the relevance in that, or why she took the time to tell him.

John thought that was kick in the pants. He had been spending all day, everyday they'd had been here. Hunting down witnesses and trying to get some kind of detail out of them. While Castiel had simply gone to the library and struck up a conversation with the old lady who took care of it. Getting the information with no trouble. All because the old biddy had thought he was handsome. He wondered if his boys had the same kind of luck.

Dean sat next to Sam, first-aid kit open at his side. He picked out every piece of rock salt he could find with a pair of tweezers. Guilt running through him, making his hands shake more then usual. Doing a great job, in his opinion, not breaking down and crying. He grabbed the alcohol, and poured a bit on a clothe before applying it to Sam's wounds. Hearing a gasp escape his brother's lips, as it made contact with his skin.

"Sorry." Dean said, for probably the hundredth time in the past hour. Sam shrugging each of them off, like Dean had not just shot him full of salt.

"I know you didn't mean it." Sam said, putting his hand up on the opposite arm to hold the clothe steady while Dean got the sewing needle, and some dental floss.

"I should have known it was an hallucination." Dean admonished himself. "I should have seen through the shit my mind was making up and stopped myself."

"Dean, you can't help that." Sam said, breathing through his teeth as Dean started sewing up the worst of the wound. Most of them could just be bandaged, but there where a couple that went a bit deep. "I know it was an accident. I just want you to tell me what was going on."

"I don't know Sam. One minute, my head hurts and we're talking. The next, you have black eyes, and everything you say is dripping with the sarcasm Demons are so fond of." Dean said, cutting the string, and pouring some alcohol over it. Sam letting out a small hiss at the burn.

"Not just that Dean, everything." Sam said, moving the clothe so Dean could get to the rest of his wound. "I mean, your mad at Dad, your isolating yourself, and if anyone suggest anything that might help, you fly off the handle. I mean, the only one who your talking to is Cas and I get that, I really do. What's going on between you two, it's new, you need to get used to it. But your shutting everything else out. What's going on?"

"I don't know, Sam." Dean said, pulling bandages out and covering them up. "It's just, when I'm with you guys, there's this fear that I'm going to loose it and hurt you. I shot you damn it. If I stay away, there's less chance of that happening." He confessed.

"But you haven't had any major issues in the past week. Not until Cas and Dad left." Sam pointed out.

"I don't know, Sam." Dean really getting angry that it was the only answer he could give. "I have no idea why it started again. Maybe I'm just not busy enough, I mean...When Dad's here, there are the cars, and we work on them all day. When we finish, Cas is there, you know when I finish working for the day, he comes in and gives me a message."

"Whoa, Dean, I don't need the details." Sam started, raising his hands to stave Dean off from going into to much detail.

"It's not like that, you perv." Dean said, then smiled a bit remembering the first one he gave him one. "No, it's just my shoulders hurt and he rubs them for me. It actually helps with the headaches." He admitted, wondering if that was why his migraine was so bad, he hadn't had anybody to rub it away. The tension in his neck and shoulders pulling on his head as it builds up.

"Do you want me to...?" Sam started, looking at Dean as if he was hoping the answer was no.

"No, man. Fuck no, that's just too weird." Dean said quickly. "I'm just saying, I think it's just that there's a bit of distraction. When I have something to do, when my mind is focused on something, I'm not having as many problems. You know, like when someone has A.D.D., you give them several things to do at once, because that way their mind stays sharp, and they're not bored." He explained.

"Okay." Sam said, nodding his head as if he was thinking of something. "Then lets get you a distraction. Let's go out and work on some cars. Get you some puzzle books or something." He suggested, standing up and walking to the door. "Sitting here and doing nothing isn't good for you."

"Okay, you sure your going to be good, working on the cars?" Dean asked, getting up and following him.

"Yeah, I will, and if I'm not." Sam said, turning to face his brother. "You'll teach me."

Hope you liked.