Author's/Underhill's Note: Okay, chapter, er, 15? So, not as long as I wanted, but I wanted to put something up before I passed out tonight. Also: thank you reviewers! You make me so happy! Also also: disclaimers. Oh so many disclaimers. Like, I don't have any rights to Supernatural, only the original plot in this fic. So, uh... what else? I am so tired... Sooooo tired. I should probably go to bed. Right? Right. Okay. Night guys!

Chapter 15

Feb 12, 8 AM, Montana

"Yes."

"There's a good boy," it says. The demon's face melts away, its body melts away, and all that is left is…

"Cas," Dean breathes out, almost a sob. "God, Cas, I missed you."

Cas smiles and touches Dean's cheek gently.

"Dean."

And it is Cas, down to the last detail, ridiculous trench coat, goofy hair, and that stiff angle of his neck that makes him look perpetually uncomfortable in his own skin. Dean sobs with relief, because it's Cas, it's Cas, it's Cas.

Castiel leans his face down to Dean's lips, breathes against them. Then:

"You don't have to worry, by the way," the Voice says.

Dean groans. He hates this. He hates all of this.

"Worry about your dumbass self?" he snarks, trying not to visibly shake. "Apparently not, if you don't even know where you are. How does a person lose themselves, anyway?" He slides out from under Cas's body and towards the Voice.

"Shut your pie hole," it says. "After what I pulled off, it's a goddamn miracle I'm still on the same goddamn planet. Thought I was gonna get blasted somewhere new there for a second. But! I'm talking about the angels."

"Ugh. What about them? You…them… ugh."

"Don't try and wrap your pretty, dumb head around it, Dean. I'm talking about how the other angels can't get in your noggin, Bela's either, not that they're really itching to. It's you that's important, after all."

"Don't remind me."

"You know," the Voice says, thoughtful, "I'm surprised. I would've thought you'd split by now, pulling the whole protective older brother thing not wanting to 'endanger' her." I'm impressed."

Dean scowls. "Shut your fucking mouth."

The faint outlines of hands come up in a placating manner. "I'm not messing with you," the voice says. "I'm serious. It's about time you quit that self-sacrificing crap."

"Hilarious." He pauses before sharing, "Bela said the same thing."

"Wise woman. I might like to meet her someday."

Dean snarls. "You stay the hell away from her, you got me? You come anywhere near her - - "

"Ah, and there's the overly aggressive Winchester I know! Good to see you're still in there! Because I need the Dean Winchester who can…"

"Dean."

It's Cas, Cas back by the slab, and he's calling Dean, and Dean, Dean's scared because Cas has a look in his eyes that isn't bright and lo - - caring and he's centered his attention on Dean and…

"Oh son of a, dammit, Dean! Can you not concentrate for five minutes?!"

Dean snaps back to the Voice, and is it just him or did its hands suddenly gain more definition? Like they're almost solid now.

"Huh?"

"Good, now I need you to look something up. Better yet, get the girl to do it, I bet she's smarter."

"Hey!"

"Have her search news stories for all current events concerning met - - "

"Dean."

Dean turns back to Cas. He starts walking back. There's no escaping. There's no getting out. He lies back down on the table.

"Now where were we?"

Dean opens his eyes, mouth half open on a scream that's stuck in the back of his throat. Jesus. He rolls into a sitting position and fists his hands to his temples. Just a dream. Fuck, it's just a dream, he isn't there anymore, it wasn't his fault, anyone would have done the same… That's what Bela tells him when he wakes up in the middle of the night from nightmares. He turns his head to her sleeping form, her hair a mess, and her feet where her pillow should be; somehow in the middle of the night she'd gotten turned around, and her fingers are curled around his ankles. When he wiggles his feet she frowns.

"Stop that. I'm sleeping." She burrows her head further into the covers.

"It's 8 AM, Bels. Rise and shine!"

Bela moans and wraps her arms around his legs.

"Not moving."

"Are you suuure?" he sing songs. "I've got a pair of scissors that says otherwise."

She stills. "What."

"You know, I bet you could do with a haircut." Dean tries to shift towards the edge of the bed but Bela's arms have tightened. "Wait here a minute while I get them."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I would."

She sighs and rolls away from him. "Okay," she relents. "On one condition."

"Name it."

"You have to go get breakfast."

Dean smiles and tickles her. Bela shrieks and falls off the bed.

"Good, you're up! Now we can go out for breakfast! I'm thinking pancakes."

Feb 12, 11 AM, the Impala

Sometime in the early morning, Sam had pulled over to the side of the road to sleep. Exhaustion had caught up with him, and he knows that even in Hell, Dean would find a way to kill him if he ruined his car.

He sighs as he glances at his watch. Nearly lunch. Ugh. He pulls his phone from his pants pocket and checks for missed calls. There's one message.

"Sam, it's Castiel. Please call me when you get this."

Sam smiles. In the month and a half that Cas has been at Bobby's, the angel has become remarkably adept at phone etiquette. He still hasn't gotten the hang of the art of casual conversation down ("Small talk?") but he no longer leaves ridiculous messages on Sam's machine.

Without sitting up he dials Cas's number. "Sam," the angel answers.

"Cas." Silence. "You wanted to talk to me?" he prompts.

"Yes, indeed. I have a case for you." At this, Sam does sit up.

"A case? Where?" he asks.

"Connecticut."

"Wait, isn't Rufus in Pennsylvania right now? Can't you get him to take care of it? I'm kind of…" Okay, so he's not in the middle of anything, but God, can't two cases ever be a few hours from each other instead of a few states? He sighs. "Okay. What's the case?"

They hadn't ended up going to O'Hara's last night. Bela had put her foot down when Dean suggested another drink. "I'm not holding your head above a toilet, Winchester." So now they've got to either wait til noon for the bar to open or sneak in now while it's still morning. Well, still morning but AFTER pancakes.

It doesn't take long for them to end up at an IHOP. Bela makes a face the whole time as she picks at her short stack, and Dean laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his coffee.

By 11 AM they're outside O'Hara's, Bela kneeling at the backdoor with a set of lock picks. This, of course, is after they'd argued over who got to do the initial breaking and entering. ("Rock beats scissors, Dean, suck it up.") When the door clicks open, Dean mutters, "I could've done it faster." Bela punches him in the shin and Dean yelps. Goddamnit. That's gonna leave a bruise."

Bela smiles sweetly up at him and holds her hand up. Dean pulls her to her feet and slowly swings the door in. They move quietly, in tandem, used to each other's movements after the four years they spent with each other on the run in Hell.

It's dark. Really dark. Dean resists pulling out a flashlight though; he recognizes now that how he and Sam had hunted in the past? Stupid. They'd been, as Bela put it, "reckless, infantile morons." Although he would have put it in kinder terms, like, "slightly less careful than we probably should have been brothers." Y'know. Something nice.

They've made no noise. No creaks in the floor, no footsteps, no loud breathing. But within two minutes, Dean hears a 'click.'

There's a gun aimed at his back.

He hears another. One at Bela's back.

"Well, well, well," a grizzled voice says. "Look at what we have here. Intruders."

There's laughter. Dean is immediately reminded of a day a long time ago in a bar now burned to the ground. Dean stands stock still though, because it's not just his life on the line here, and not Sam's.

"Bela," Dean says. The gun digs further into his back.

"Yes, darling?" she responds, voice cool.

"Is there a gun to your back too?"

"Shut up," the grizzled voice says again.

"I do believe there is," Bela says, ignoring the voice. "Not very welcoming to guests, are they?"

"Nope, not really," Dean says back.

A moment's silence. "You two have got to be some kind of idiot, dontcha?"

"I prefer 'cocky'," Dean says.

"Really? I like 'bold'."

"Oh, not bad, I change my answer to hers."

"Shut up!" another voice says. Dean darts his eyes to the side, and sees Bela in the corner of his eyes - - she's rolling her eyes.

"Dennis, pat him down. Carli, you pat down the girl."

Both Dean and Bela stiffen. They don't like other people touching them. They don't fight though when the pair starts shuffling through their personal effects.

"Gun," Dennis calls out, pulling Dean's gun from the back of his pants.

"One here, too," Carli says, taking a small pistol from Bela. The woman ejects the clips and curses. "Silver bullets, boss."

"Hunters," the man says derisively, and steps out of the gloom. "Turn on the lights." The room is suddenly flooded with light and reveals their surroundings. Ordinary bar. Pretty clean, but still a dive. Shuttered windows, heavy doors, a pool table in the corner near a jukebox. And around them, about ten men and women all armed and wearing various looks of anger and wariness on their faces.

"Fuck," Dean mutters. We are so screwed.