Dean Winchester knew he should tell someone about Castiel, about what he had said. Though whenever he even thought about it, it was as if something had cut out his tongue and enabled him to speak. No, this whole angel thing was his. Besides, Dean didn't even really know what to make of the whole ordeal. He'd just have to wait for this mysterious 'next time' Castiel had promised.

The days carried on in a boring and unrememberable blur. Life carried on in the camp like usual; survivors working and training their butts off all day long, only to get a break during meals and the hour of free time reserved during the day. Dean may as well of had his entire day be his free time. Sure, he had a schedule, but if he wasn't skipping his classes and sessions, then usually he could blame his absence on Bobby calling him in for a mission or patrol or whatever task he acquired Dean to do. Sam was a different story. Sam would always abide by his schedule and attend every single training session that was in his agenda unless he was called in to perform a task for Bobby. Dean's little brother was the model refugee, and everyone loved him. Dean on the other hand wasn't exactly what most would call 'likeable.' People tried to avoid him as much as possible, or Dean would try to avoid them. Dean would usually stalk around the camp with his shoulder slumped forward, a scowl on his lips. Sammy would often tell Dean that if looked less intimidating, then maybe people would be more willing to mingle with him. Dean's response was always, 'go to Hell.' After Dean's little visit down there himself, he ceased using that expression. There were only a few people that he didn't mind, and those on that short list included Sam, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Pamela, and on occasion, Ash.

If there was one person Dean couldn't stand, it was Dick Roman. He was practically second in command, and sometimes Dean would be truthfully and honestly terrified that the guy was going to murder Bobby in order to get the throne or whatever crap. Roman was not a very likeable person in all, despite his sly maneuvers and charming smiles. Usually Bobby wouldn't argue with him and let him take charge, even if he was a complete and total (as Dean would like to say) dick. In short, Dean would have not been surprised if Roman ever were to turn his back and kill every last remaining individual on the planet.

"Dean, are you okay?"

Dean looked up and saw that Sam had entered their shared room. Dean was sitting on the bottom bunk of their bed, his head had been in his hands and he figured he must of looked like a real piece of art with a single sock hanging off his left foot. Dean quickly looked up and flashed his little brother his usual smile before pulling back on his other sock. "Yeah, Sammy, I'm okay."

He'd been remembering the time Alistair got him off the hook. For thirty years the bastard would ask him every night after he had been done torturing Dean in every possible way imaginable if Dean wanted to join him in punishing the damned souls in Hell. Dean wouldn't have to endure his own pain any longer, and Alistair would mentor him. Dean would always decline. He said no for thirty years, no matter how tempting the greater demon's offers sounded, Dean would refuse. Then eventually he said yes. It had been a particularly bad day, Alistair crueler than usual. First he had broken every single bone in Dean's body, painfully and slowly so he could savour the Winchester's screams. As he pulled out Dean's guts from his stomach and made him watch, he told Dean in a sweet voice about how Sam had thrown himself into Hell after Dean went under, and how he was suffering much much worse than Dean. Alistair did this thing where he could put any vision he wanted into Dean's mind, where he could plant a thought and make Dean believe it. It was his favorite way of breaking Dean.

He knew all the right ways to inflict pain without killing his victim. Such as when he slipped his knife up into Dean's open stomach, scratching the insides only slightly to give Dean just the right amount of suffering so he couldn't do anything about it except scream. Then after the demon would rip and shred Dean apart in every way imaginable, he would piece him back together again only start back from scratch. Alistair always made his first cut just near Dean's collar, in between his throat and heart. It was enough to make Dean vulnerable, and it always did no matter how many times Alistair performed this act. The day of torture dragged on and on, the demon very creative in his ways. Dean was pretty much just a lump of meat tied to a rack when Alistair leaned into Dean, his lips brushing against Dean's ear. Just remembering his hot breath against his skin always gave Dean the shivers. This time when Alistair made the offer, Dean said yes.

"Dean? Dean are you with me?"

Sam once again pulled Dean out of the haze he had fallen in. "Yeah, yeah I'm with you."

He pulled on his boots, avoiding his brothers stare. "Dean, I'm worried about you. You haven't been acting...you lately."

Dean rolled his eyes, lacing up his boot. "I'm fine, Sam. No need to continue this chick flick moment."

Clearly, Sam wanted to continue the conversation, but eventually decided against it. "Right. So are you actually planning on going to training today?"

Actually, Dean had been planning on heading outside and exercising in his own way away from camp grounds. Though now that Sam mentioned it, a silent way of saying 'you better go to training, Dean', he knew there was no way out of it. "Yeah, of course." Dean fibbed. "Just about to head out."

That instantly lightened Sam's mood. "Great," He beamed at his older brother. "We can train together."

Sam was already to go, and Dean just had to lace up his other boot before they both headed outside into practice grounds. The hallways in the camp were not elaborate, and the way to exit through them to head outside was pretty straight forward. The building's layout in general was fool proof, with only four levels not including the two floors of basement hidden underneath the giant building. The camp building was not all that tall, but rather it was narrow. The campgrounds were long and wide, built in the middle of a forested area. Trees towered over the edges of the camp, soldiers sent out to guard the camp on different shifts every day and night.

Once you were in the camp, you were automatically a 'soldier.' A troop being prepared to fight in the war against the enemy, the demons. You were given a gun and a schedule and taught what you needed to know to survive. It may sound harsh, but it was better than the alternative. The alternative being to scavenge on your own and either die from starvation, dehydration, demons, or other natural causes. The threat of infected civilians used to loom, but as far as Dean knew, Croatoan was extinct for then. After it had been revealed that demons were roaming the planet, determined the wipe out humanity, the disease appeared. It turned people into mindless and selfless zombies, setting their mind to one thing and one thing only; kill. Kill whoever got in their path, kill anything that moved. It didn't matter if it was your lover or your child, if it breathed then it was your job to finish it off.

Thank god no traces of the disease had been found for a year, if Bobby's calculations stood correct.

When the Winchester brothers made their way outside the building, or the block as many liked to call it, they were immediately rushed over to a squad of soldiers. They were all in a wide range of ages, most people over sixty had perished a long time ago, but in the group of refugees there was several kids that hadn't even reached their teens along with a few middle aged but healthy men and women. The majority of survivors were people in their youthful years, when old age and problems hadn't gotten to them yet. It was truly survival of the fittest reigning in the world, though you'd be dead in a minute if you didn't have a bit of brain.

A man named Rufus greeted the brothers then rushed them in to join the soldiers. He greeted Sam enthusiastically, and Dean not quite as warmly. Rufus wasn't in charge of camp like Bobby and Roman are, but does play a role in training soldiers in skills such as combat. Dean doesn't mind him too much, even if the guy did tend to give him the cold shoulder. Bobby liked him, and that was all that mattered to Dean.

They're rushed into the routine, having to run a million laps around the perimeter of the camp before being thrown into an intense workout. Even though Dean had skipped these sessions more times than actually attending them, he knew the routine by heart. It wasn't as much of a challenge as it had been when he first came to camp, but that didn't stop him from complaining to Sam about it half way through it. Sam would just roll his eyes, and Dean couldn't help but think it was just a bit unfair the guy hadn't even broken a sweat yet.

After the training routine, they all are dismissed to go to lunch. Before Dean went to Hell, he never would miss this time of day. After his little trip, he'd lost his appetite. Sam used to get on his case about it, but lately he would just raise a skeptical eyebrow at Dean but not say a word. They guy was concerned for him and Dean knew it. Dean knew that his brother was aching to have a conversation with him and figure out what was going on in his all too screwed up head, but Sam also knew that Dean would do anything to avoid it. Which was entirely true. When Sam hurried off to the cafeteria, Dean goes back up to their cabin on the third floor,

They're called cabins, but they're actually just really really small rooms. It just barely fits one person, much less two. Bobby said the rooms are so compacted because they had to fit so many into the block. They only fit a bunk bed that is fit snuggly into a corner of the room, a dresser and a nightstand with a cheap oil lamp. Across from the bunk bed is a door that leads into an even smaller bathroom. With the toilet, shower, and sink, there's only about a foot or two of space to breath. The toilet rarely flushes, and the shower pretty much never had working water. Honestly, Dean doesn't mind how filled up the room is. Sam tended to complain about how boxed in he felt, but Dean didn't care that there's not so much open space. Sure, it gets crowded having people in there, but the tininess made Dean feel as if he has more possessions than he actually did.

After Dean had shut the door tightly behind him, he flopped down on the bed. That was not an uncommon scene, and in fact Dean found himself spending more and more time doing absolutely nothing other than lying down on the not-so-comfy bed and staring into empty space. It was his way of escaping from reality, but that often lead to much worse places. Though with a blank mind, sometimes Dean found he could even escape Hell. In those times in the empty cabin Dean could be absolutely nothing for awhile until Sam or Bobby or whoever rused him into the real world.

Dean falling asleep during that time was a first. He was quickly brought to a dream, not a memory, but an actual dream. It must have been forever since he had had one of those. In the dream he was on a mission with Sam, Jo, and Garth. They were in one of the millions of abandoned cities, each one of them having a weapon at the ready. They ransacked buildings and rubble, searching for supplies or survivors. They would a bagfull or two of supplies. Only dead bodies were found. The dream reached it's climax when a group of demons attacked. There was one for each of them, and Jo was the first to die. A demon with long dark brown hair and an olive colored tshirt got to her before Dean could save her. Then Garth went down, his eyes rolling into the back of his skull as one of the hellspawn slit his throat with a knife.

Sam was their next target. It was as if the demons were oblivious to Dean completly, their only goal being to watch Dean suffer. The four demons went after Sam, and Dean cried out protests, kicking and slashing at the attackers.

Then suddenly everything stopped.

The dream went into freeze frame, and Dean was plucked out of the scene. After a flash of darkness, he was dropped into a new area. It was the outside of the block, the training grounds of camp. The sun was sinking under the horizon in lush crimson colors, and the camp was empty of soldiers or anyone. Then when he turned around, he saw him sitting on one of the steps of the rickety metal benches.

"Castiel." Dean stated, and the angel stood up.

"Dean Winchester." He nodded, and when he stepped closer Dean reached for his knife only to find it wasn't there. Castiel continued on with his introduction. "I'm sorry our first meeting wasn't quite as friendly as I had hoped. I would hope we could forget about that and 'start fresh', as you humans like to put it.

"I'm dreaming." Dean muttered, looking down at the dirt ground.

Castiel watched him with interest. "Yes, you are. This is the only way I can contact you for now, I am afraid. I did tell you we would be meeting again."

Dean looked up to see the angel. There was something less grand about him in that scene. No shadows hid his features and there was no moonlight to highlight his form. There were no glorious wings sprouting out of his back, and Dean decided that he liked Castiel better like this. He was less intimidating in the light of the camp grounds, even if his piercing blue eyes were still a bit unsettling.

"Walk with me, Dean. We need to continue our conversation." Castiel suggested, though it sounded more like a demand.

Dean just nodded, walking besides Castiel at a slow pace. They strolled quietly around the perimeter of the camp until Dean spoke. "So what do we need to talk about? The end of the world? Demons? Angels?"

His steady gaze was kept at a point in the distance. "This all is a bit hard to explain. Though I do owe you an explanation."

Dean was about to snort until he quickly remembered what happened last time he was rude to the angel. "Yeah, that would be nice."

"Please feel free to ask any questions while I speak, but do not jump to conclusions. I would rather not have a repeat of last time." Castiel stopped, only to continue before Dean could say anything else. "After the demons took over your world, they also took over Heaven. That, is why we could not aid you, Dean."

He flashed him a pointed look, which instantly made Dean feel bad. The angel took a deep breath then started back up. "We were tortured and captured. The demons were even able to turn some of us to sin, in which they created an angel-demon cross. I have no idea what has become of them, but if they are set free on your world then I can ensure we all would be obliterated."

"That's comforting." Dean commented.

"This is not supposed to be 'comforting', Dean, though I will assume that was an expression." Castiel deadpanned.

This caused Dean to laugh. There was something about the angel, how innocent and yet wise he was. Castiel blinked at his reaction, and Dean had to stop himself from slinging an arm around his shoulder. He had no idea why had even thought about doing so, about treating Castiel like he was an old friend. Castiel was not his friend, and as far as Dean knew, he never was. The angel waited for Dean to explain himself, which Dean dismissed with a "Sorry. Continue."

Castiel gave an uneasy nod then picked back up where he had stopped. "Us angels have only just recently broke out of the bonds the demons had on us. There is currently a war waging in Heaven, and some of my kin have even turned to help Hell's army. Though there are still some of us fighting for Heaven. I am neither."

"Then what are you?" Dean asked, kicking a rock that had been in his path. It skidded across the sandy dirt ground until friction slowed it down.

For the first time, Castiel smiled. Just the corners of his lips lifted, and it was only for a moment. "I'm on your side. Humans. There are others like me, too. A few of my brethren have also refused to take sides. It would be idiotic and against everything we know to join the demons, and the angels are not acting rationally."

"So you joined… us?" Dean sounded and looked confused,stopping in his tracks. The angel stopped besides him.

"Yes." Castiel said "As you have previously mentioned, you do need help. I am here to guide you individually."

"Yeah, about that," Dean started to walk again. "Honestly, what's so special about me?"

He expected the same answer, the same 'righteous man' comment, but something else was presented from Castiel.

"I wish I could answer that, Dean. Not even I know the true answer, I do not know if it's fate or God or your bloodline. All I know is what my siblings have whispered in Heaven, and the fact that your soul shines so bright. The brightest I've seen for a human in a long time."

"My… my soul?" Castiel must be wrong. Dean's soul was not bright. It was tortured and broken, it had literally gone through Hell and so much other shit it was an impossibility for it to be as the angel described.

Castiel looked almost uncomfortable, shifting on his feet. "Yes. Even in the torments of Hell, it was shining like a beacon. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought this up. I think I should go now."

He looked as if he was about to flee, until Dean grabbed his arm and the angel tensed. "Nah," Dean said, "I don't think your explanation is complete yet, is it?"

Castiel looked almost relieved when Dean removed his hand. "I presume I can continue, I was just afraid I was making you uncomfortable."

They stood there awkwardly until Dean cleared his throat. "So what was that you were saying in the woods about Lucifer?"

The sun continued to sink under the skyline, dark colors now painting the sky. The last few remaining streams of light were not wasted, one beam was directly on Castiel. This was what made Dean remember for the millionth time that the guy was an angel. The fragment of light spotlighted his dark hair, highlighting the tips. It gave Castiel's face the angelic glow from their first encounter, and just as much grace. His lips were parted slightly as he formed his words, and Dean found himself watching them when the angel spoke again.

"Yes, Lucifer. The demons have been working on freeing him from his cage. They have, as I believe you know, but he can only reign within the boundaries of Hell. But he's dangerously close to rising, and when he does it'll be a full out war." Castiel explained.

"Like it's not already?" Dean commented.

"It'll be worse. But I do not know what Lucifer's intentions are, or why the demons are so set on destroying the human race other than in spite of pure hatred. It seems so… obvious. I feel as if we're all missing something."

Dean's eyes lifted from Castiel's lips and up to his eyes, which were staring back at him intensely. He wanted Castiel to continue with this line of thought, finding himself entranced by his ideas. Yes, this all did seem too obvious. There was always something more. But then again, the majority of the human population was already dead, and what would Hell want with this small of a population. Dean wanted to ask Castiel all of this, as if he knew all the answers, but Castiel was just there to 'guide him' as he had said.

Dean gave a small smile before saying in a friendly tone. "We'll figure it out, Cas."

The angel flinched at the word. "Cas?"

"Yeah, it's a nickname." Dean explained.

Castiel shuffled on his feet, his gaze falling away from Dean's. "Right, I know that."

"What's wrong with it then?"

The angel's eyes lifted back up to Dean. "You removed the 'of God' part of my name."

Without any further explanation or comment, Castiel disappeared once more with the sound of rustling wings, and Dean woke up to the sound of someone pounding on his door. Bobby flung open his door without waiting for Dean to allow him to enter. "Dean? Dean, we're being attacked by demons. There' so many of them, we'll need as much help as we can get."

Author's Note;
I'm already working on the next chapter, so except it in about 1-2 weeks. It all depends on how much time I have to work on it ^-^ Thank you to everyone who has read it so far and I hope you enjoy the fic! Please feel free to leave any comments/suggestions/reviews/etc...