Hey guys :D here's the next chapter for you

This one is dedicated to KahoriSaeko! Thank you so much for your reviews ^_^

BTW: if anyone is interested I've published a short story on Amazon, called Stolen: Because some things can't be returned. The link is on my profile. It's only 77p (99cents I think) And I would really, super appreciate your support on this :D thank you

I also have a Wattpad account with some original stuff too like poetry and a couple of stories if you wanted to check those out too.

Anyway, enjoy ^_^

Dean wasn't in Brookhaven. He had gone to the authors house and flashed a badge and a picture, no luck, although it had been hard getting him to open up; he only had a few hours left on the clock. Then he just drove around, went to all the motels and hotels and bars and restaurants in town. Nothing. Searched for the impala in a side-street or car park. Nada. So Sam ordered a salad at a diner, which was unimaginatively called Maggie's (even though the owner was a man called Ted Mondell, and his wife's name was Kirsty and they didn't have any kids... yeah, he asked, he hated it when there seemed to be no logical reason to naming something),

He sat down in his own booth with a cup of coffee. Staring out the window, thinking. He had a choice now. He could hang around here and try to save the author, or he could head straight over to Prattville to try and find Dean before singer guy's bill came due at midnight tomorrow. By the time he had finished his salad, he had decided that it wasn't worth it. Unless he could find the demon who held his contract, it would only buy the guy a few more days, maybe a week at the most. But the demon was unlikely to hang around.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his face. What was he doing? Why did he follow Dean when he should be concentrating on finding Abbadon? Dean was stubborn at the best of times and a pep talk from him wouldn't change his mind. He was always so convinced. He was never unsure about anything and that frustrated Sam more than he could say. It was like he just ploughed on ahead, never thinking of the consequences and never looking back afterwards, always sure that he was doing the right thing. Whether or not he actually was. He never looked at the big picture, one problem at a time, especially when Sam was involved.

Sam threw down some bills after picking at the salad. He didn't really need to eat after all, the energy of the trials was keeping him sustained. He found a boring, silver civic to hotwire and zoomed out of town. He could be in Prattville in about four and a half hours, and he didn't look back, or spare the author another thought.

XXX

Castiel wandered aimlessly, hands stuffed into the deep pockets of his coat. He mused on Dean, who was in Prattville, he knew; in a motel room at this precise moment in time. He was almost getting used to being able to sense Dean again, despite the slight shift in the way that he could. Imagine the world as a map. And each person on the map was a light bulb of a slightly different colour, unique to them. You can tell each light bulb apart by the colour, those with similar names are more difficult to tell apart, so you have to turn the light bulbs off, one by one until you find the one you want. But Dean's bulb couldn't be turned off, he was always there, like a hum in the back of his mind. He was growing used to the sensation.

He sifted through the light bulbs now, looking for one that was out of place, did not truly belong. He found it, and he turned around to face a log cabin in the English countryside. He saw her through the window. The nephilim. Metatron had forgotten how to be an angel it seemed. It hadn't taken weeks at all. That didn't make it easier. He didn't want to tell Metatron where she was, just in case he did find another angel willing to carve her heart out. The poor girl had been nothing but pleasant to him, she just wanted to be allowed to live. Why would one of the trials of heaven be to kill? It didn't make sense.

Castiel had killed before, certainly, his brothers and sisters, and humans, he had smote demons and razed entire cities. But that didn't mean he didn't remember them. Every single one. He had been the cause of their lightbulbs going out for good, and it didn't get easier. So much potential wasted, for what he had thought was the greater good. But he still clung to the belief that every life mattered. They were all his fathers creations, they were all products of free will, and choices. Even the nephilim. Metatron called her 'abomination', but it wasn't her fault she was conceived by a human and an angel. Sam was an abomination through choice, and no one wanted to carve his heart out... well... it wouldn't close the gates of Heaven if they did.

Castiel sighed and turned away, racked with indecision. He needed to know what effect his mark on Dean's soul was going to be, especially now that he was certain there was an effect. The fact that he knew Dean was sat at the table in his room this exact second was proof of that; and he was reminded again of what Dean would say if he knew what the price of that knowledge would be.

'Kevin'

The prophet jumped, cursed and reached for the salt on the table, before recognising him.

'Castiel, what are you doing here?'

'I was wondering if you'd made any progress on the angel tablet' he said 'it's urgent'

'It's always urgent' the teenager grumbled. He stood up from his spaghetti circles on toast and went over to his desk where he picked up the left hand tablet. 'I was working the demon one this morning' he said. I managed to get a bit more out of it but nothing important. So, do you have a buzzword for me or something? It helps me to pick out certain bits'

'Nephilim, it should be somewhere near the Gates of Heaven trials'

'Okay, I'll take a look'

It wasn't that Castiel didn't trust Metatron. But he thought that gaining some proof that the waitresses death was necessary would at least make him feel more righteous about what was to be done. Double checking the facts never hurt as Sam said. And he had been persuaded into horrific acts before. After all, Metatron had written the tablets a long time ago, and he had written more than just these two, it was possible that he had become ... confused, about which tasks completed which goal. Castiel felt guilty for even suggesting such a thing, but he couldn't help himself. If the girl's death could be avoided then so much the better.

Kevin squinted at the tablet and started shaking. Castiel turned away, noting how Kevin was a lot cleaner now. He seemed to actually have used the shower this week, and the cupboards and fridge even had some fresh foods in them.

'Sorry, angel dude' Kevin said bringing Castiel back to this plane 'no mention of nephilim, at least, nephilim aren't in the trials, not that I can see.'

'You're sure?' Kevin shrugged

'As sure as I can be, this stuff isn't easy you know.' he said, putting the tablet back in it's place and picking up a box of aspirin next to it.

'Thank you' Castiel said, and vanished.

So what do you think? Opinions? All welcome

Please, please, please check out my original stuff guys (mentioned in the AN at the top) it really means a lot to me

Love Tibbins xx