Dean was obligated to follow now. He watched Cas continue to walk after his proclamation. He must have been expecting Dean to follow because he didn't pause. So Dean did, keeping up with his pace and walking side by side with him.

Cas was a mystery wrapped in a box. And Dean couldn't help but be compelled with a desire to unravel it. Maybe it wasn't a good idea...but at this moment, going back to the library was not on his priority list. Besides, where else could he go? Back to a shoddy hotel to sleep off his anger?

Cas led him to a late night bar. One Dean had been to a few times before but not at this time of night. It was usually a routine of his to go hunt, drink and pass out...but at three in the morning...well he may as well have skipped the drinking part.

"I'm clocking in pretty late for a hangover," Dean muttered as Cas fiddled with the lock and then held the door open for him to a dark interior. "Isn't this place closed?"

"It is," Cas replied simply.

Dean walked past him. This place usually had some kind of show going on like a terrible comedian or a bad singer. Dean had seen both types the last five nights he had been in here. Of course, he didn't make Sam tag along for that. He could not hold his liquor.

"Pretty sure this is illegal," said Dean. "Breaking and entering and all that...and stealing?"

Of course, Dean didn't really mind it since Sam and him had broken into the library of every town and city they had been in. And Dean had broken into his fair share of bars for this very reason before too...He just didn't expect Cas to be like that too. Well, maybe he should have. Look how the guy dressed and carried himself.

"How about we play it a little unique and pay for what we drink?" Cas suggested, flipping on a light switch near the door. The dim stage light came on, but that provided enough light for Dean to find a table in the back where they weren't in plain sight. The blinds were drawn...so Dean hoped that someone passing, anyone passing would just guess that whoever was meant to close, simply forgot to turn off that light and didn't investigate.

"What'll it be?" Cas said over the counter.

"Just a whiskey is fine," said Dean.

Cas came back to him with a bottle of Jack and a small glass for him. Dean smiled in appreciation as he reached for it and poured it to the brim, bringing it to his lips and downing it in one gulp. Cas took the seat in front of him.

"So, how did you know my name back there? Never got to ask that. Actually...wanted to ask you a few things before you took off like that earlier," Dean poured himself another glassful.

"I've heard of you," said Cas shortly. " There isn't much that goes hidden in this city...and a pack of hunters coming to the city of demons is news that travels fast."

Just like Dean thought. He had heard of him. "Hunters don't usually work with other hunters unless they are...what you called it, a pack. So erm...sorry for...er...poaching."

"This city needs all of the help it can get...so your presence here is more of a help than it is a burden...and I don't mind you being here," Cas answered.

"Thanks. Yeah...My Dad brought us here because there was such a large infestation here. It's been here for years. Literally, the freaks come out as night. More quiet these days. I guess we're making a difference," Dean stated proudly.

"The Order of Tarana presides over this city. Their presence is dominant over the lesser demon populous," said Cas.

"Oh, right...The one I was chasing earlier," Dean remembered. "He was one of them, right? My brother, Sam, he's researching more about them. Said that Tarana was a big demon they all worshipped and he's dead so they're all here...looking for him, I guess? Maybe they're trying to conduct some unholy resurrection. My experience? Demons tend to crowd around a leader of some sort. I guess the incentive is to just kill them all before they can raise him."

"That's probable, but like I told you before. There are many of them...and one of you," said Cas quietly.

"Gah...I didn't come here to talk about work...," Dean murmured, leaning forward on the table, resting his elbows on the surface and running his hands over his face. "Let's talk about something else."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know," said Dean. "I really wanted to just...not think for a while. My Dad...ugh...it's embarrassing."

Cas waited.

"He's a controlling asshole," said Dean, not surfacing. "He insists on accompanying me everywhere. I'm twenty-five years old...and tonight was the first hunt I had with just Sam and me."

"Why does he insist on coming with you? You seem to be more than capable of handling yourself," said Cas.

"I am," said Dean, rubbing his temples. "I don't know why. Maybe because I'm...as he's said it..reckless. Careless..selfish...Not a team player. Take your pick."

Cas reached across the table and took a hold of the bottle which he took a sip from straight from the top. His gaze on Dean was unwavering as the man surfaced from his own inner turmoil. "Perhaps you shouldn't put too much stake in what your father tells you."

"Easy for you to say," Dean scoffed. "It's my job to take care of my little brother...and tonight, I showed just about everyone how good I am at doing that."

"Like I said, I wouldn't put too much stake in what he tells you...Parents make mistakes too. Some...more dire than others," said Cas slowly, setting the bottle down and passing it towards Dean.

"I guess," said Dean almost uncertainly. "I've been hunting for a long time now...I think it's time for me to go solo. I mean...Look at you. You're solo...You look about my age."

There was a twitch of amusement in Cas's expression that he didn't voice out loud. The smile faded.

"So, I think we're done divulging my life story," said Dean with a smile of his own. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

"What do you want to know?" Cas was a little bit wary, his eyes tightening.

"Well, I guess the most obvious question is, what's with the sword?" Dean asked with a little laugh. "That's a bit...old-fashioned, don't you think?"

"It's an effective weapon, as you've seen," said Cas, taking another swig off the bottle and setting it down.

"Yeah but it's a sword. I can't imagine using a sword...Must suck for long-range," said Dean. "I prefer my pistol for that."

"There are other avenues of attack for long-range," said Cas, looking amused again.

"Mm," said Dean, filling up his glass with the last of the Jack and downing it again in one gulp. "Man...I think I need another."

Cas stared at him again, in that way that made Dean feel like he was being evaluated.

"What?" Dean asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing," Castiel got up and went back to the bar where he retrieved another bottle and came back to him.

"So...is Cas short for something?" Dean asked, sliding the bottle towards himself. Before Castiel could answer, Dean abandoned all restraint and popped the lid off, proceeding to down the contents of the Jack bottle.

This was a common theme for Dean. To drink until he was passed out. He set the bottle down and looked at Cas who looked like he was swaying from side to side. He blinked, and the "illusion" didn't disappear. His face became rather blurred too. Dean was pretty sure his eyes were looking bloodshot and bleary by now.

"It's such a...such a weird name," Dean slurred.

"All right," said Cas, walking over to him...maybe...or maybe falling into the next hemisphere. He felt strong arms wrap around under his arms and pull him off the seat. A small part of him knew he was breathing hard, that Cas was feeling and smelling all of his alcohol breath. Cas wrapped Dean's arm around his neck and proceeded to take on his weight as he headed towards the door. Not before he dug into his jacket and placed two twenties on the counter top.

Dean knew his scent was dominating...he had heard that before...but he almost unconsciously sniffed Cas's jacket collar and that smell of mint was stronger than ever at this vicinity. He also detected a faint signature of cologne.

"You smell gooood," Dean sniffed again and rested his cheek against Cas's neck. It was such a nice smell. Soothing...familiar somehow...just like the rest of Cas.

Cas took on all of his weight as he walked. Dean's feet left the ground. Under normal circumstances, he might have minded. But right about now, he didn't care. Not about much.

"Where are you staying, Dean? I can take you home," Cas said. Dean heard the rumble in his voice as the breath left his lungs...Such a sweet and subtle vibration.

"Mmm? I...What was the question?"

"Where are you staying?" Cas asked again. Okay, maybe he did that just to hear him talk.

"I don't...I don't remember," Dean murmured into Cas's neck. He rested his head there. Chicago was hot on this night. Maybe it was because as Cas had said, it was a city of demons and there was always a thick haze in the atmosphere. But Cas felt so nice and cold...no amount of air conditioning and breeze could match this.

Cas chuckled in answer to his statement and Dean felt his body shake with laughter. He nestled himself closer. Who said you couldn't sleep standing up? It was dark outside when Cas led him out of the bar and left it behind. He felt a small breeze which brought nowhere near as much as comfort as Cas himself was providing.

"Dean," Cas's voice was so soft. "Close your eyes."

"Hmm?" Dean leaned up a few inches and caught Cas inches away, their lips so close.

"Close your eyes," Cas repeated, softer now.

Dean did as he was told.

And it was good for him. Cas checked if he was peeking before he reached a street corner with the light out...there was darkness behind Dean's closed eyes. He could have fallen asleep. But he didn't...just yet. For some reason, he felt like he was flying. He felt like something soft wrapped around him in it's cover. He didn't feel Cas's legs move and yet it still felt like they were moving...no, actually, it felt like they were floating.

He definitely drank a little too much.

At some point, maybe Dean did fall asleep. Just a little. The sound of a door opening was loud in his ears. And he lifted his head up, eyes half-open. Again, it was dark. But no breeze. They were inside somewhere. Cas flipped on the light switch and he was blinded. Dean scowled and drooped his head again on Cas's shoulder.

There was a blur of color, indistinguishable shapes. But it was a loft. There was a large room with wood floors leading to a huge kitchen and an even bigger living room with a large plush rug underneath that had the design of a lion atop it. Between the door and the living room there was a huge statue of an angel with it's wings curled in, a hand over his head. Dean had seen it a few times before but he couldn't exactly recall where. Everything in his vision looked like it had water pouring over it in a steady stream. But he knew he was indoors for sure...these blurry shapes had to be for items in a home. The home was so large. Cas started taking him up some stairs.

And Cas set him down. Dean swayed on his feet and began to fall back. Cas caught him underneath his arms and Dean couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips, still slurred and almost unclear. Cas's grip was surprisingly strong and it kept Dean from falling backwards...on the floor?

"I feel...," Dean attempted to focus on him. "I feel...like I...know you. I feel like...we've met."

"Maybe. In another life," said Cas quietly. "In another time."

"...Maybe...I feel...like I should remember you. But...I can't...I can't think of where."

He managed enough strength to flatten his feet on the floor and tip himself forward into Cas's body. As if meeting his matching magnet, Dean's mouth crushed his. He could feel Cas go rigid, frozen as though he was made of ice. And yet Dean didn't relent, kissing him in an uncoordinated, slippery sort of way. His mind disconnected from his body and he gripped underneath Cas's leather jacket like he was going to rip the the shirt apart with his fingers. Dean felt the sheath of that...sword touch his fingers and wondered if he pulled the jacket off, if it would tear off with it.

Cas pried himself away from Dean, his lips swollen from being suckled and bitten by Dean in their kiss. He took a breath and held Dean away from him, keeping him from leaning in any further to continue their kiss. Intoxicated as Dean might have been, there was no mistaking that Cas was desperately controlling himself.

"You're drunk, Dean."

"No...No..," Dean whimpered, attempting to close in again, despite Cas's tight grip. "No...I want...I want you...Come on."

"You're not in your right mind," Cas nearly growled. "You don't know what you're doing...and I'm not going to take advantage of that. Maybe. When you're sober...but you're very much not right now."

Cas's face was turned away, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with barely contained fire. And still he didn't allow Dean to come any closer. Dean heard him say something. It didn't quite fit...and yet Dean was pretty sure he heard right.

"Not mine."

Cas pushed Dean back. Dean hit something soft and comfortable below with a bounce. A huge, king sized bed with a very plush comforter.

"Cas..?" Dean sighed, almost unconsciously curling his fingers as he faintly reached for him.

Too comfortable. His eyes lingered on Cas for a long moment before heavy lids closed.

John had already taken Sam to the motel. Yet, of course, there was no peace there. John was pacing a line in front of two beds. This was Sam and Dean's motel of choice and lucky Sam still had the key. He laid on his front and hugged the pillow, prepping to sleep. Unlike John, Sam wasn't really concerned where Dean was or if he was gone all night. That wasn't unheard of for Dean Winchester.

Sam rubbed his eyes. "Dad. If you let me sleep now, I can probably get some dreams without any text or pagan symbols floating around in the noggin."

"Where is he?" John ignored him.

"This really isn't the first time he's done this...Dad, if he's not back by three-thirty, you shouldn't expect him to be checking in any time soon," said Sam, yawning at the end of his sentence.

"I have a bad feeling about tonight," said John, stopping directly in the pathway between the two beds. "Something's not right. Tarana Demons out there...Who knows if something happened to him? And he went out in a bad mood...You know what I said."

"Yeah. Demons feed off negative emotions," Sam told him as though he was repeating a mantra that he had heard many times. "But I honestly think he's probably drunk himself to sleep and he's probably lying in a park bench somewhere...We can call him tomorrow."

"Or we can call him now," said John, whipping out his phone from his pocket. He hadn't bothered calling up until now, thinking Dean would come in on his own. Now, if Sam was right, he'd be waking up that troublemaker soon enough.

"Or maybe he's with that guy he met," said Sam, yawning again. "The guy with the sword."

There was a loud thud as John dropped his phone on the hard carpet. Sam opened his wide eyes on John while his Father's face slowly lost color.

"Dad?" Sam gawked at him, struggling to sit up. "What's wrong?"

"What...What guy with a sword? He never mentioned a guy with a sword.You never mentioned a guy with a sword. Who are you talking about? What did he look like? What was his name?" John hovered over Sam with desperation. His fingers were clenched like he was restraining himself.

"I don't know...Dean said he didn't give his name," Sam shrugged, still eying John with concern. "Dad, what's going on? What's the problem?"

Sam watched as his contorted face gradually began to smooth out. John took a deep breath as if to calm himself. And yet Sam didn't miss how his nostrils flared, how his hard green eyes seemed to take on a strange kind of calm that looked like it was only surface level alone. It was like he was suppressing something very unpleasant.

"Nothing," He said, and his voice sounded too high. He sounded more normal on the second go. "You're right. You're right...Dean will show up in the morning."

"Yeah," said Sam, still showing some concern. He sat up and patted John's arm. "It'll be okay. Don't worry about him...He's a big boy. He can take care of himself. I know you really don't believe in him. "He shot John down with a look when John opened his mouth to protest. "You don't. And it hurts him...but tonight...really wasn't his fault, Dad. He's a good hunter. He really doesn't need you babying him all the time. Actually...he and I really make a good partnership. He's a quick thinker...and I think I'm getting a hang of the whole fake FBI without the guilt now."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's about keeping you safe, Sam. It's not about blind luck. You have to understand that, Sam."

"I really don't think Dean surviving this long is because of blind luck...and he does keep me safe, Dad. He always has," Sam insisted.

"Go to sleep, Sammy...Let's just hope he's here in the morning," said John, sitting down on Dean's bed and swinging his legs over. He reached over to flip off the light switch and left them in total darkness.

Faint light began to creep through the blinds the more the moon began to descend into the sky overhead. John waited and waited until Sam's deep breathing was heard and his son was fast asleep. He looked over and saw Sam in his "comfortable" position on his front with his arm hanging off the side of the bed. There was a bit of wetness on his bottom lip that John could spot even through the darkness.

Because of course John Winchester didn't require sleep, and the darkness did not hinder his sight. He got out of bed slowly and picked up his phone off the floor, heading for the door which he closed quietly behind him, dialing Dean's number.

Castiel took a seat in the leather chair beside the bed, watching Dean's snoozing form with his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlocked.

This place, covered in the artifacts that meant something to him but really nothing. Replicas of weapons in Heaven...paintings that depicted the greats wars(and very poorly) that were waged between demon and angel in times past. It was a pretension...all an act.

Nothing mattered except the man who slept soundly in his bed in front of him. Nothing mattered...

Except that the man...was not always a man. He was something more. To any other, he might have once been regarded as a lower being. A demon. But he was a King. And he wore the crown proudly. Looking at the peaceful face, drained of all conflict and misery, Castiel knew that this was not the same being. They looked the same..but it was a different life, a different path.

Of course that was a pretension as well. A great masquerade. This wasn't his life. This wasn't the path he truly walked. This was a lie.

It took Castiel one hundred years to escape Treachery and it was not without consequences. He should have expected to see this when he broke through the surface like the dead rising from the grave. But it didn't stop it from being painful.

I looked in your eyes and I knew you didn't remember me.

Dean's words. So that's what that felt like.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel whispered to Dean's sleeping form. "I didn't want it to be this way...I really didn't...I wish you remembered me...I wish we could be together, wrapped in the bonds of eternity...I want... nothing more...Because I love you, Dean. And I always will. It may be the greatest mistake in the history of us...the tragedy...that I love you so much. But I don't regret it."

Castiel stood up, stepping next to the bed where he could trace where would be the puckered scar on Dean's cheek with a cold finger. Dean instinctively reacted to turn his head to the icy touch. "When you met me. I was weak...I was pathetic. And that didn't change when you sacrificed yourself for me. I succumbed to the lure of darkness...I didn't give a damn what I had to give up to find you. As long as I did. And when I found you...I was still that weak...pitiful celestial just under Dante's thumb. But I'm different now...I promise you. I'm strong. You would actually be proud of me, I think."

"You are the only exception, Dean...The only exception to every rule I have. You wormed your way inside. And you'll always have a place in my heart...So, I guess...," Castiel knelt, placing his hands together on the bed and resting his cheek over his interwoven hands. "I guess I'll just have to build a place for me in yours."

Dean's phone began to ring in his pocket. A loud rock melody. Dean began to stir but did not wake. It came from his pocket which Castiel pulled out and silenced almost immediately on the side with the volume button. He stared at the name that appeared on the screen for less than a blink.

Castiel placed two fingers on Dean's forehead, deepening his sleep into whatever dreamscape he needed to venture into. Sound would be less relevant in waking him up.

Looking back at the screen, Castiel thumbed the green line to answer the call and pressed it to his ear.

"Dean?" The voice on the other end said. It took a moment of pause. "...Dean. I know you're there. Don't say anything, just listen to me for a second. I'm sorry about yelling at you earlier. You don't disappoint me, son. I'm just worried about you. That's all I ever do is worry. But it's nothing against you. I...I'm...I'm just stressed, all right? There's a lot going on...and a lot you don't understand right now. I can't explain it...but I want you to know that I'm sorry for taking it out on you. I'm sorry I...made you upset."

"Nice," said Castiel, speaking right into the speaker so his voice came out loud and with great force. "I might just recommend a fucking Oscar for that...Michael."

John's voice changed in an instant. "Castiel."

Castiel walked the length of the bed. With his free hand he managed to lightly levitate Dean, pull back the covers and place him down flat with the comforter over him. "I told you I'd come for him...and so you think to hide him in a city of demons to shield him? Clever, General...but you should have known better than to try to run from me."

"You selfish Fallen. Where's Dean? What have you done with him?"

"Not harmed, if that's what you're asking. It was never my intent to harm...but as to your intentions...Those are questionable, at best."

"Where is he?!" Michael yelled into the phone. "Tell me where he is, or I will strike you down wherever you are!"

"I'd like to see you try," Castiel challenged, his eyes falling on Dean. "I learned a few tricks down under, General. If you come here, looking for a fight...You will get what's coming to you. They don't call me Retribution for nothing."

Castiel hung up the phone and replaced it in Dean's pocket. His whole body was shaking with rage that he couldn't quite get a grip on. Back in Treachery, Balthazar had tried to help him keep his anger. It took everything to calm himself down, to keep his blood from boiling. It triggered all his worst instincts when he didn't. To kill, to destroy. Every celestial being was created for that purpose. To follow orders and be used as cannon fodder.

His fingers curled into his palms until he broke skin and blood seeped through his knuckles, dripping steadily onto the carpet where it shone red then black as it faded.

He calmed himself by looking at Dean. Watching him sleep...was oddly peaceful for Castiel. He took his seat by the bed and watched him, watched his steady movements to gain more comfort unconsciously. He looked serene...And Castiel had yet to see him look this way before.

Perhaps what he was doing was wrong, interfering. If he walked out right now, there would be no damage. Dean would never pursue him, leave this city to find him. He might be confused that Castiel left without a word, but he might also attribute it to a hunt. He did, after all, believe Castiel was another hunter.

How ironic...and sad...that the former King of Hell was a demon hunter. Killing and destroying his own kind. Some of these demons that Michael had forced him to kill were probably ones that once followed Dean and perhaps it was sheer luck that none of them remembered him.

Either that or Michael had full control of Dean's memory and he just conveniently wiped it each time Dean faulted to his old life for any reason. Seemed like a more plausible outcome.

Walk out. Walk out. He's happy.

Though Fallen were inherently selfish creatures. They were as bad as demons. They didn't care. They took what they wanted. The idea of parting with Dean to let him live his happy human life without him was painful, but as of this moment, he didn't want to be anywhere else but here.

And that was selfish.

The last traces of night began to fade and the morning sun peeked inside over Dean's form, shining him with orange and red rays of light through the window above the bed. And still Castiel did not move, let time pass between them like it was nothing.

And time really was nothing to Castiel. He had spent much time in Dean's presence, knowing him, caring for him...and yet compared to the rest of his life, it was a blink to Castiel. He was billions of years old if you had to be technical. As such, Dean's human life would probably be another blink to him. He would age now...get older.

That didn't deter Castiel from caring for him. He didn't care what form Dean was in...but there was definitely an inevitability that Castiel didn't quite desire to think further on.

Dean stirred a little. Castiel was surprised. It had only been four hours and the man was waking up. He must not have ever let himself sleep long for some reason. His body was more than likely trained by Michael to stay vigilant, so his body seemed to just wake his mind up. Curious.

Dean slowly raised himself to sit, groaning as he touched his head. "Ughhh...my head...What did I do last night?"

Castiel measured what he could of Dean without physically touching the man to ascertain if he had a fever or any type of sickness. His eyes were pretty heavy. His cheeks were slightly red and Castiel had noted before that there was no scar on his cheek. As if that wasn't great evidence that his former life had been erased. Raphael's holy arrow had pierced through Dean's skin long ago and it had left a permanent mark...which was gone now.

It took a moment for Castiel to realize Dean was looking at him with some confusion. He had already drank in his surroundings with unfamiliarity. "Where am I...Did...Did we...? Did we...do...something last night?"

"Define something," said Castiel.

"Did we er...," Dean's cheeks became bright red. "Err..."

"What?" Castiel asked innocently, raising his eyebrows. He couldn't quite help himself. He was too fun to play with.

"Never mind," said Dean. His voice lowered. "I think I'd feel differently if...did..."

He pulled himself out of bed then and Castiel stood up at the same time he did. Dean was noticeably younger looking as well. His physical age was twenty-five just as he had looked when he was a demon, when he stopped aging. But his height had been slightly taller than Castiel's...now his height was taken down a few inches, enough that it amused Castiel when he had to look down to meet Dean's gaze.

"Maybe I should be heading out. Thanks for letting me crash here...I had a weird dream last night that we were...," He looked up at Castiel and flushed even deeper. "Nothing. Never mind."

"Very secretive this morning, aren't we?" Castiel leaned down towards him just as Dean turned his cheek. " Why is that?"

"Do you...Do you mind if I use your shower real quick?" Dean's eyes were on that black tiled bathroom to his right where a clear shower wall was facing him. "Before I er...go?"

"Go ahead," said Castiel, stepping back to let him pass. Dean did so with the air of someone trying to leave as fast as possible. He closed the bathroom door behind him and Castiel walked the length of his bed, tracing the place where Dean had ruffled the sheets.

Temptation. Temptation. Castiel had resisted it last night but only just. It took everything inside of him to resist the ensnares of the hunter. He had impulses now that didn't rest solely on rage and instinct to destroy. It was also overpowering lust that he combated with as well. He felt it almost every passing second in Dean's presence. And if his control wavered even a little, he may have destroyed the bed last night as well as some nearby furniture.

There was a knock on the door and Castiel's head snapped towards it at the bottom of the stairs. No one knew he was here. He didn't bother with a magic barrier and reflecting now, maybe he should have. He glanced at the bathroom door then soundlessly approached his radio next to the bed where he turned the knob until loud classical music played.

Let the hunter think he was more of an oddball than he already did. Castiel slowly reached for the hilt of the sword under his jacket. His pace was deliberately slow as he walked down the stairs. The music was Beethoven's 5th, and it was loud enough that only Dean would hear it should he remain in the shower.

Castiel opened the door.

One glance at Michael was all he got before he instinctively shut the door in his face and turned his back on it. A golden sword cut through the wood like butter, barely an inch away from Castiel's ear. He spun around in time to get knocked off his feet, the door being kicked off it's hinges. Castiel spiraled into the kitchen where he knocked over all the items on the countertops, wings flaring out to balance himself.

Michael stepped inside. No words. He didn't need them. Castiel didn't need them either. He wiped blood off his lower lip with the back of his hand and charged, grappling with very briefly before tossing him into the angelic statue, shattering it.

Michael recovered fast, dusting himself off and twirling his sword in his hand which he proceeded to rush Castiel with. His speed was amazing, even though the sword he wielded was heavy. He swung it like a pro. Castiel matched his speed, leaving himself out of breath soon enough. He weaved out of the way for an incoming slash that would have cleaved his head off but instead cut Castiel's bookshelf in half...with the books included.

All around them, the loft was being destroyed. Wings uncurled and breaking through the various household items as they fought. So much for future friendliness with the neighbors. They'd either guess Castiel was in an abusive relationship or that he was not a morning person.

Castiel's growl was swallowed in the brief reprieve, he swung hard, caught Michael off balance and took a hold of his wrist, knocking the blade out of his hand as he put all of his weight on him, making them both fall to the ground, Michael below him. Michael didn't allow himself to be pummeled for a second. He turned them over, hands interlocking around Castiel's throat. Castiel's wings hardened to an almost metal alloy, slicing through Michael's jacket and cutting through flesh.

Michael grunted in pain, released Castiel as Castiel headbutted him and threw him off where he flipped into the glass coffee table with a resounding crash. Castiel coughed as he pulled himself to his feet, staggering while rubbing his throat where Michael had gripped. His eyes were blazing red as he plucked up the sword from underneath the now fallen bookcase where he had probably lost it.

Castiel winced just slightly when he tried to raise his sword. Some of the glass that had shattered with Michael's fall had pierced him in several places. He pulled out a rather large piece with his fingers and tossed it aside, now being able to maneuver his arm better. He pointed the tip of his sword at Michael's neck.

"How did you find me?" Castiel managed to say between pants.

Michael was breathing hard too. He had to flinch for him when he saw Michael get to his knees, still amidst glass. "Welcome to the exciting world of earth technology. You should have thrown Dean's phone if you didn't want me to find you. I just activated his GPS."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. And he opened his mouth to speak but then he heard the sound of Dean's footsteps upstairs. Both of them looked up.

"He's taking a shower?" Michael hissed. "In your house? Tell me you did not...You did not engage in intercourse with him, did you?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "What's it to you, oh doting father? We have before."

Michael snarled and suppressed whatever he was going to say. "I'm taking him with me. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

"Want to go again?" Castiel retorted. "I can dance all day with you, General. I didn't even break a sweat."

"Shut up," Michael snapped. "Shut up. Shut up. Follow my lead. We're going to do this my way."

He raised a hand and made the gesture of wiping something. In a blink, every item that had broken, fallen off or shattered was slowly pieced together and replaced exactly where it had been before. Michael's eyes fell on the state of the both of them. Rather roughly, he grabbed his shoulder and removed all evidence that they had been fighting. Even Castiel's torn jacket had been repaired, his sword replaced on his back and out of his hand.

"Thank you," said Castiel, looking down at himself. Taking Michael off guard, Castiel grabbed his arm and threw him into the storage closet by the door. he heard a loud crash and bang behind him but quickly shut the door behind Michael and leaned against it.

Just in time too. Dean descended from the steps. He had his clothes on...for the most part. He was still unraveling his t-shirt. Dean slapped it over his shoulder and Castiel was momentarily distracted by a very tempting half-naked hunter in front of him.

"Hey, are you cool with grabbing some coffee? Shower helped...but I really need to wake up," said Dean, rubbing his eye for emphasis as he took the shirt off his shoulder and put it back on.

For which Castiel was very grateful.

"Sure. Let's go...get coffee," said Castiel, one hand lingering on the doorknob where he marked it with his palm. Very briefly, a cracked "Y" like symbol appeared on the knob, not noticeable to anyone who wasn't really looking at it. Retribution's symbol.

Another bang which made Castiel lean against the door. "On second thought. You go ahead...There's a starbucks across the street. Maybe I'll see you there."

"Starbucks? I'm not asking for a cappuccino," said Dean, looking slightly affronted. "No, I just want you to meet my brother. And...maybe my Dad."

The last statement, conveniently punctuated with another bang that actually hurt Castiel's shoulder. He hit back. "Sorry. My closet is overstuffed with storage. Which...reminds me. I need to go take it to public storage, right...now. I'm still in the process of moving in. Might as well get an early start."

Dean's eyes glanced over the door then back at Castiel. "All right...Well...I guess I'll see you later?"

"Count on it," said Castiel, giving him a small smile. Dean returned it and then headed out the door. Castiel leaned off the closet and peeked his head out to address Dean. "Do you know where to go from here?"

"Please...I memorized these street signs the moment I got here," said Dean, touching his temple with his finger before heading into the elevator. He gave Castiel a little wave before disappearing behind the lift doors.

Castiel turned around, removing the binding off the storage closet and opening it. An incensed Michael was waiting for him on the other side, visibly shaking in rage.

"Truce," said Castiel, holding up his hands. "That was for his benefit and you know it. It would have been harder explaining my affiliation with you after he knows me as..."

"His boyfriend," said Michael through his teeth.

"I wouldn't go that far...yet," said Castiel smoothly.

Michael growled. "Truce. You have five minutes to explain why you're here...how you even...got out. And where the hell the others are."

"I'll need more than five minutes," Castiel pointed out.

"Then you better talk quickly,"