As soon as Castiel re-entered the loft, Balthazar was pulling a white shirt on over jeans, standing at the top of the stairs where there was a small rail where he stood, looking down on the door.

"Well...Check out the mortality on the King," said Balthazar. "Looks good on him."

Castiel didn't miss the bite in his tone. "You didn't have to frighten him."

"Did I frighten him? Well. I didn't think he was so delicate, Castiel," said Balthazar. "But by the look on his face, I can see he's very taken with you already. Sorry about that. When I saw him, all I could think was that all he needed then was a bouquet and a suit. Did you see his face?"

"I did," said Castiel stoically.

"Don't get angry, Castiel," Balthazar replied passively. "He's mortal. Like me. I'm merely pointing out how...interesting that is. Very different from what I remember. Very...weak. Fragile. I hope you're being careful during intimacy."

Castiel glared daggers at him. "That's none of your concern."

"Don't get touchy with me," said Balthazar, walking down the stairs and keeping his gaze trained on Castiel the entire time. "If you want to play footsie with the born-again human, that's on you. I, however...believe there are more pressing issues. Such as...Tarana."

It was easy to miss but Castiel saw his eyes flash towards a painting behind Castiel. A battle with a great horned beast and several angels clad in silver armor flanking him and holding him down with chains. The size comparison was daunting. Tarana was several times larger than the four angels around him. He had scaly green skin like a lizard's and enormous arms and legs. His jaw protruded, his lips bared showing two rows of razor teeth. It was a very old painting and the artist was unknown. The artist was pretty modest, rather than signing the painting, he had simply labeled the right hand corner with the signature "TARANA" in all capital, cursive letters.

"I'm not concerned with Tarana," said Castiel, not even bothering to look at the painting.

"Right. You're only concerned about one thing," said Balthazar, heading into the kitchen to again, attempt to pull out his stash of alcohol. This time, Castiel didn't even bother trying to stop him. If Balthazar wanted to be intoxicated all hours of the day, that was on him. What was the point in showering and waking up?

"Balthazar. I know you don't hold me in high regard after everything that's happened," Castiel sighed.

Balthazar glared at him stonily. He didn't deny it.

"But you have to understand that...this is a safe location. I know it may not feel that way. But this is a busy city. If I took you anywhere else, secluded or perhaps out of the way, we'd be easily detected by anyone passing by with remote supernatural sense," Castiel explained quietly. "It's a city. Bustling with life and activity. We're harder to detect here."

"Don't lie to me, Castiel," Balthazar snapped. "You came here. You brought me along...because he's here."

"Dean requires my protection as well," Castiel replied.

"Does he," Balthazar raised an eyebrow. "He's a demon hunter, Castiel. Under the protection of the strongest Archangel alive. I think he can take care of himself just fine."

"Not against everything," Castiel insisted but then his voice chilled. "And Michael is powerful but he's cut himself off from the host. He's masquerading as this...John Winchester. That charade...may not last forever if Heaven finds out of this ruse. There will be blood in that scenario, and you know it."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Castiel. I already know," said Balthazar bitterly. "You know it's only a matter of time before he figures out what you are. He's not who he once was, Castiel. That demon is dead. And he has been for a long time now."

"I didn't ask for your input," Castiel retorted rather icily.

Balthazar chuckled as he swept past him, heading towards the couch where he laid himself down, closing his eyes, the bottle resting on his belly.

"Why don't you go get ready for whatever it is you're planning tonight?" Balthazar asked in a knowing voice. "Don't mind me."

"I want you to stay in tonight," said Castiel, turning to him. "Michael and I may be on civil terms...and that's sufficient protection in the city with two of us...but that doesn't mean that there is not danger out there."

Balthazar opened one eye, raised his head slowly to meet Castiel's gaze. "I can handle it. I won't be here when you get back."

"Where will you be?" Castiel said through his teeth, barely managing to make it sound like a question.

"Out," said Balthazar smoothly, laying back down.

Sam was still yawning when John dragged him to the sewer pothole. This is where it was happening. Where all those people were disappearing and then being found dead underneath. All bodies were accounted for during the day time and it was a universal fact that the freaks came out at night. Demons weren't known for playing during the day.

John had them dressed as construction workers...even though there wasn't construction going on in this area. Still, it was one of many disguises that they had inside their trunks. This one could have been better. He much preferred a suit than wearing sweaty, used construction uniforms.

"You had two cups of coffee and you're yawning," said John irritably while Sam smothered his yawn rather poorly in his arm.

"I'm sorry," said Sam. "Coffee is a good method of waking up but Dean usually puts me in the shower under cold water."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," said John, kneeling down next to the sewer entrance and staring at it. Didn't look mystical or supernatural but with the way John was staring at it, it might have been.

"I hate this uniform," Sam complained openly.

"Get used to it," said John. "This way we don't get questioned for being close to this thing."

"I don't even know why we're here so early. I thought we were going tonight?" Sam questioned.

"We are coming back tonight...if possible. But the early bird gets the worm," said John with a small side smile for him. "Plus this would be the only time to see what's going on down under without getting swarmed."

"You don't even know if there's a swarm down there. Maybe everyone who was found really just walked the wrong way and fell in," Sam suggested though he knew he was wrong. He was only saying this largely in part because of his fatigue. Maybe another cup of coffee was in store.

"That's not likely," John replied absently, trying to pry the sewer lid off with just his fingertips.

"I think you might need a drill," said Sam. "You know, Dad. Just because it's day outside doesn't mean it's not dark down there. All the demons you're trying to avoid are probably down there...waiting for us."

"All the better,"

Should have known he'd say that. Dean and him weren't so different. Except Dean was a little more open and dangerous about his recklessness, John was always up for a challenge in the heat of the moment. It was definitely not a trait that Sam inherited. He wasn't a coward, but he knew when was a good time to walk away if the opportunity was there. Neither John nor Dean did, apparently. It was kind of funny how often they clashed over something they shared. Perhaps that was the poetry in it, that John was always fighting himself in Dean whenever they went at it.

Or something like that. He wasn't a psych major.

"Got it," said John, pulling the lid free and pushing it aside. He gave Sam a glance. "Ready for this?"

"About as ready as I'm going to be," said Sam reluctantly. Then John hopped down even though there was a very visible ladder on his side. But he didn't climb it...Sam did however, descending into the darkness and slowly pulling the lid over so that it covered most of the hole they had made, but there was still a faint stream of light so that he could see where he was landing.

Ankle deep in sewage. Nice.

As soon as hopped down next to John, the latter was already stripping himself of his disguise and tossing it aside. Well, there went that disguise. He was back in his brown jacket and jeans ensemble. Sam reluctantly joined him. Any other day, he might have let the construction worker uniform take the brunt of the dirty damage rather than his own clothes...but considering it was hi-lighter yellow, orange and green, that just would have made the two of them a beacon for sleeping demons.

Sam pulled out a dollar-store brand flashlight and shined it on the right direction where only a long stretch of tunnel and sewage was welcoming them.

"Well we came, we saw and that's about that," said Sam, and he actually made to turn around before John's hand clamped a handful of his red and white plaid shirt and pulled him back.

"Calm down, Sam. I won't let anything happen to you," John assured him. And it actually was comforting to hear that because it was universally true. Reckless as John and Dean might have been, in a firefight, it was John he might have preferred. Not that Dean wouldn't defend or have his back, just that he liked to draw the attention to him while his allies ran off. John at least staved them off so they could all get out alive.

It was why John called Dean a martyr sometimes. Not always a good thing.

"I don't wanna be in the sewer," Sam whined. "Dean's not in the sewer."

"Dean chose not to be in the sewer because he's selfish," John snapped, annoyed. "I wouldn't always try to follow your brother's example. He's definitely not setting the best bar for you."

"I'm over twenty, dad. Kind of late to be talking about bad influences," said Sam as they began to walk with John in the lead and Sam staying behind him but off his back so he could guide his path with the flashlight.

"I know, but your brother...You know...He does this. These reckless things. Just to make me angry," said John, shaking his head disapprovingly. "And I hate it...but I guess maybe it is my fault, in a way. I spend a long time trying to control him. Trying to control both of you. It's only natural that one of you would try to break free."

"You're saying it like we're prisoners," said Sam with a small chuckle. "We're free to leave any time we want, Dad, right? I mean Dean can leave too if he wants."

Sam couldn't spot John's face but he seemed to hesitate just a little.

"I know Dean is older now...and so are you...but I don't know if it's right to send him on hunts by himself. I honestly think that he isn't safe in his own hands, if that makes any sense. I mean he may do a little better with you with him," said John, glancing at Sam. "At least you could provide some measure of a conscience for him."

"Dad...you can't keep him locked up forever," Sam told him, sighing. "He's like a caged bird right now. He wants to be free."

John's mouth tightened, but he seemed to suppress some kind of inner struggle. "Let's not talk about this now. It's hardly the time. We should keep going...focus on our direction."

"I see sewage and more sewage and I feel like I'll never wear socks on a hunt with you ever again," Sam sloshed a little loudly in the water for emphasis.

"Wait," John put a hand over Sam's chest to stop him. "Shine your light in the water."

Sam did so, shining the light where John pointed at. He was surprised John could spot it without being up close and personal but there it was. The murky brown water had taken a slightly darker, more maroon tint. Sam was almost afraid to shine the light upward, but he knew he had to do it eventually.

But he did. And he saw the body. He didn't know why it freaked him out. Sam had seen tons of bodies, had salted and burnt quite a few demons that resembled humans. But maybe it was the fact that it was a girl that looked no older than thirteen or fourteen. She had been here so long, instead of being simply pale, her skin had taken a ashy gray tone, her lips fading into the same color with her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide as though she had not died peacefully...and that was probably true. Her throat had been slit open, trailing blood down a fleecy white dress that she had probably been put in like a sacrifice.

"You know, is it bad I was actually hoping for a monstrous demon that just bled a lot?" Sam asked, covering his nose. Now that he saw her for his own eyes, Sam could tell she was the source of the pungent smell, sewage aside. There had been something else...well, here was "something else".

"Come on," said John grimly, starting to walk again. "This means we're close."

"This means we should go back," Sam grumbled under his breath.

They walked for another hour or two with Sam wondering vaguely where Dean was. If he was gloating about not being in the sewer with them. He knew he would be. Yet he didn't feel that jealous about it. It was better than having these two argue and have the demons come to them rather than catch them off guard. Because that was what would surely happen. Dean and John could not be in any vicinity of each other without succumbing to some kind of pointless argument.

The tunnel was so dark and ominious now that having a flashlight really didn't help. Especially when the cheap quality of it had it starting to flicker. Really.

But John pressed on despite everything. Kept muttering to himself about being close. It was like he sensed that fact. Sam felt like they were going to hit a dead end soon enough, or another tunnel altogether. But..

They weren't.

It kept going.

But the water was starting to turn into concrete, or something solid, Sam couldn't tell. And they were at a standstill. Again, John placed a hand over Sam's chest to stop him. And this time, there was some light, this time coming from the ground in a faint orangey sort of way. He caught John's silhouette as he stepped forward, crouching a little like the ceiling had gone low. Steps descending downward were clearly visible into a large empty cavern...or so it seemed. A minute later, Sam realized that the mass of black on the floor below was not just the color of the floor, but it was demons, all of them gathered in mass, blotting out any view of the ground floor. They must have been wearing long robes of black with their hoods drawn because he couldn't see any faces, but he could see them moving with slight twitches and movement.

Their focus was upon an altar directly in the middle where the source of the orange light was. It was a rocky pillar about four feet tall with a glowing white ball in the middle that looked the size of a bowling ball, smeared with red that was visible even to Sam, twenty feet above them.

"What is that?" Sam whispered to John as the two of them knelt at the head of the stairs where the darkness was prevalent enough to cover them.

"I don't know," John answered. "Nothing good."

"You think?" Sam hissed sarcastically. "God...there's so many of them."

As they watched, something rose from the white orb, a symbol in yellow-gold. A long cross with an x through it. The same symbol that Dean had pointed out to him the night before. Tarana symbol. It was the Tarana demons that he had only read about so far. The bullets laced with the poison Stigma had no effect on them according to Dean. That made the gun under Sam's shirt and inside John's jacket completely useless.

Not that he had enough bullets to take them all out anyway.

"It's an activation site," said John after a long moment.

"How can you be so sure?"

John pointed at it, pointed high at the symbol. The top point in the "cross" part of the symbol and the bottom point were both glowing a deeper color gold then the other points, blinking.

"This is an activation site. The thing in the middle...It must require blood sacrifice in order to activate fully. They're using these points to create a resonant power center."

"And once all points are active?"

"I don't know. But we need to get out of here," said John, grabbing hold of Sam's shirt yet again. "We need to find out the other activation sites are before they do. Well...They probably already know. Come on."

John pulled him, wrenching him away from the sight of demon masses. He expected the way back to be barricaded, to have someone who wasn't so intently joining the demon swarm. But he led him back the way they came, taking another hour or two as he did. Sam lost track of Sam. Maybe it was horror and shock. He had never seen a mass of demons that size before. And what exactly were they activating? Was it possible, it was like in the book he had been reading in the library? That they were trying to raise the demon Tarana from the depths?

Why? Why here of all places?

Thank God they found the ladder which Sam couldn't climb any faster. John climbed up after him and yet Sam was looking at something else. It was Dean, parked on the street next to the sewer entrance. He was leaning on the hood of the Dodge Charger that he had damaged previously, and it was still damaged. Somehow it looked so much worse in the sunlight.

Dean's clothing sure was different too. He never saw his big brother without denim or some kind of cover on his t-shirts. Maybe because he thought it made himself look bigger and he wanted to come off intimidating. Or he wanted to look like he was actually bigger than Sam(when he wasn't. In height or width). Now he simply wore a black t-shirt and jeans, looking like a mechanic who had been working in the sun all day.

All thoughts about the mission were gone as he approached it, lightly placing his hands over the hood. He looked at Dean, speaking in a strangled voice. "I thought you...were going to fix it."

"I will fix it. I'm planning on fixing it tonight. But I thought you two needed a ride back to the motel,"

"Thoughtful," said John, though it sounded more like a grunt. He didn't even bother waiting for Dean or Sam as he climbed into the passenger seat.

"He seems to be in a great mood," Dean commented to Sam. And yet he was still smiling, usually something like that from John sparked an argument in a heartbeat. It almost seemed impossible, but maybe he was learning to control his temper after all.

"We found something," said Sam. "Looks like Dad was right. There are demons below. They're trying to conduct some kind of activation ritual or something."

"Sounds like a ton of fun," said Dean sarcastically as he climbed into the driver side seat. Immediately, he scrunched up his nose. "You two smell terrible...and it's like...double the stench here."

"Yeah, well...We weren't walking through sewage for fun," said Sam sarcastically.

"Could have fooled me," said Dean cheerfully, starting up the engine and taking off. Soon after being on the main road, they were already attracting stares from pedestrians on the street and in neighboring cars. Dean seemed relatively okay with that, not looking back.

He drove them back to the motel room in peace. That was so different than Sam was used to but Dean was uncharacteristically cheerful, giddy almost. He had never seen Dean like that unless you bought him a whole apple pie. Not even one slice could inspire that much joy.

"Why do you...?" But Sam wasn't going to ask this in front of Dad. Whatever it was, probably had something to do with tonight. Whatever he was planning. Sam wasn't going to butt in on that, not with John around, paying very close and obvious attention.

"We're going to research tonight. Just hitting the books, okay? I'm going to try to find a map of the pipe system so we can see where they hit next," John explained to him.

"Oh Thank God. No return trip to the sewers," said Sam in a genuinely relieved tone.

"Not tonight," said John with a hint of a smile.

They were silent for the rest of the trip with Dean occasionally humming under his breath to the tune of the rock song playing. He dropped them off at the motel room and drove off without another word. Judging by how...enamored he was this morning, Sam could guess who he was heading off to see. Hopefully not with the Dodge in that state.

It was an uneventful morning and an uneventful noon. True to his word, Balthazar had left early and threw Castiel a cold look before leaving. Castiel sighed. It was not something that could be helped, Balthazar's situation. He wished there was something he could do for him, but restoring his old power was next to impossible. Angelic Grace was the fuel of all angels, Fallen or Celestial. Without it, one may have been dead. And he knew Balthazar would have wished that upon himself had he the chance, and had Castiel not stopped him over three times already. The Link wasn't in place just because he had to keep Balthazar's overwhelming memories to deteriorate his mind, it was there to keep an eye on him from great distances. So nothing like that could happen again.

The only way now to make Balthazar normal was the fool's way. He could kill him, resurrect him and have him sired to him as a demon...and yet despite the obvious appeal of having companionship, he wasn't going to condemn his old Commander to that sort of life. Balthazar would never willingly agree to it, no matter how much he wanted his immortality back. Not to mention, Castiel had no idea how the effect would be since this curse was unique. It had to be. It came from someone so full of hate and vengeance, that Castiel wouldn't doubt there was rules and restrictions.

So far though, Balthazar's suicide attempts aside, he could detect no misgivings with those affected. Dean and Sam's memory was suppressed because of Michael. He wondered how long that suppression could last. Probably a while given it was Michael who cast such a spell. You expect the best from the best.

Castiel's distractions remained. He hated thinking too much. It gave him too much time. He should have been looking forward to time with Dean tonight. Every moment with him was precious now that time was so limited. Dean would live a mortal and eventually, he would die as one. Whereas Castiel would never die unless killed. He would remain, frozen in this state for all eternity. It was a daunting prospect to consider.

But thinking back, Castiel never really gave much thought to their future anyway. He never expected a forever with Dean even while he was a demon. The situation was always too dire and urgent for him to make sense of his thoughts. All he basically knew was that Dean as a demon frustrated him, frequently. When he first met him, it was because he could never make sense of his thoughts and intentions. Later on, it would simply because Dean was a martyr. Because his thoughts didn't make sense. He came off selfish and egotistical to everyone else, and yet most of his actions were selfless and for the sake of another.

As Lucifer pointed out, that was him, so long ago.

His eyes went from down the balcony he was looking at to the sky. And perhaps that was the mistake. He was simply doing the gesture for more reflection but his gaze caught on something orange flashing and shooting towards the skies.

Humans. So ignorant of what they didn't believe in. Of course they couldn't see it. That meant no one could see it except perhaps Michael himself and possibly Balthazar since, despite being human, he didn't stop believing in the supernatural occurrences over the world. Maybe Dean and Sam too since they were demon hunters...and that energy was definitely demonic. That was some kind of activation site, he knew.

His eyes flashed down and he knew he wouldn't find him there but he looked at the empty coffee parlor down the street where the seats were all empty and vacant. Dean wouldn't be there. Dean could be anywhere...and yet he knew what these Tarana demons were after...Perhaps they were getting bolder. He'd be fixing that soon enough.

Castiel headed back inside, pulled his jacket off the couch and slipped it on over his white tank top. It was too hot to be wearing this, but it was the best method of hiding the sword imbued with lightning element on his back. And he never went anywhere without that.

He may have used super speed to leave. Dean was hard to sense as a human, his power signature was significantly lower than a supernatural being so he blended in well among others of his species. But there was a flicker of something. He felt it sometimes in close proximity with Balthazar. A small piece of what had been before. Probably a ghost imprint of their former species. Dean still had that piece. Castiel was in tune with enough that he could locate him faster than another supernatural being could. Not even Michael, could probably locate Dean this fast.

And he found him, as he dashed down the street, not bothering to remain inconspicuous. Dean was perfectly safe, inside of a place with large, clear windows that read "Carl's Body Shop". Inside was the vehicle he had seen before around them. The dark blue car that looked like it had been wrecked from the front. Dean was walking around on the inside, fingers roaming through the various piles of magazines as though he was looking for one to interest him.

Perfectly safe.

Now, he could go back.

Except of course, Dean spotted him. Before Castiel could turn, he heard a knock from the inside against the window as Dean waved at him.

Smiling slightly, despite himself, Castiel gave a short wave before Dean gestured him inside. Castiel went in, the bell ringing and some employees at the front greeting him. When they spotted him approaching Dean rather than them, they probably assumed he was part of his entourage or family. That deflected the "Can I help you?" questions easy enough.

"Hey, I was hoping to have my car fixed before...tonight," said Dean, gesturing at the interior window where the Dodge was visible. " But it looks like you caught me. Sorry about that. Trust me, its seen better days."

"I can imagine," said Castiel in turn.

"What are you doing out here, Cas? You got a car here?" Dean asked.

That question amused Castiel. "No. I was concerned. One of my...sources..detected high demonic activity a moment ago. I was merely checking on your condition. You were there, after all, when I killed one of the Tarana demons."

"Me? No, I'm fine...My dad and brother were checking the sewers earlier...found something weird...I didn't really pay attention," Dean shrugged it off.

Sewers. Why didn't Castiel think of that? Of course it was the sewer. That's where they had holed themselves. He had to keep a mental note of breaching whatever camp they had down under and destroying it.

Dean had unconsciously...or consciously moved closer to Castiel at his words, deciding whatever movement he was doing was bold enough. He was close enough that Castiel briefly felt the heat of his skin through the thin t-shirt.

Dean was looking at him...and Castiel's eyes shifted downward, away from him. He remembered touching Dean. He remembered the feel of this heat, so much more of it, everywhere. Angels by nature no matter what kind were cold. Only in his chest where his tainted Grace was kept was where Castiel was warm. Dean still felt hot to him, but it wasn't like it was before.

How often he would steal kisses from with this closeness. He could remember it. He could remember the taste.

He looked up at Dean, saw him tilt his head, curious. "You know. Sometimes I look at you...and it looks like you're far away."

"I'm...Sorry," Castiel ran a hand through his hair, and backed a step away from Dean, lining his fingertips together and pressing it to his mouth with a frown.

"Oh, it's okay," said Dean awkwardly, shuffling his feet a little. "I'm sorry too. It's just that...I don't know. I know I'm acting weird around you. But I feel like...ha...It's kind of crazy...but I feel like we've met before. I feel like I should remember you."

He had said that when he was drunk the night before. But of course, he didn't remember that. Dean must have meant it, to say it again when he was sober.

"It probably sounds crazy...I'm positive I've never met you before," Dean said with an awkward chuckle as he stepped closer to Castiel yet again, gravitating, always gravitating. "I mean...how could I forget a face like this?"

"It doesn't sound crazy," said Castiel quietly, watching Dean. "I feel the same...You...remind me of someone."

"Oh?" There was no mistaking that disappointment in Dean's voice. "Really? Like...someone you like?"

"Like someone I knew."

The past tense made Dean frown. "Knew? What happened to him...or...her?"

Castiel's lower lip trembled just a bit, for the first time. So much for having control, for being the perfect embodiment of it. For keeping his emotions and his impulses in check. He was Retribution. The part of Dominion that mete out punishment. He thought he had gotten strong, but he was still weak. He was still a slave to emotions that would have torn a human's mind apart.

Because Dean Winchester broke him, in more ways than one.

And he wasn't here.

He shut off all the pain from that when he let Dante influence his mind, suppress Compassion and make him a useless puppet following his orders and claiming to still have a mind of his own. And now he could feel that pain more than he ever could before. The loss of Dean. The inevitability. How it shattered him.

"He's gone," His voice sounded broken, even to him.

"Gone..?" Dean echoed in barely a whisper. "Gone as in...Like he's...dead?"

"No, he's not dead. He's gone. Not in a place I can reach," Castiel clarified. "There's just...this emptiness where he used to be."

"I'm sorry," Dean murmured, looking away.

Castiel turned his back on him, faced the window where he watched the various men and women pass by in rush and haste, trying to make it to their destination. Oblivious. Concerned only with their own very small problems that held no candle to his own. Maybe he shouldn't have thought of them that way, and perhaps it was simply jealousy. To live and go on and not deal with problems like this on a mass scale like the realm being taken over by an evil fragment of Dominion.

He didn't want to think about Dante. Dante was the cause of all this.

"There's just so much I wanted to tell him before he..left. I never even got the chance to say goodbye," said Castiel, covering his mouth with his hand.

"What would you have told him? I mean..I'm sure there's not much you could say without him knowing it already. A catch like you...c'mon," Dean's voice was forced calm, as if he was suppressing some sort of inner pain. Castiel's obvious affection for this dead or "gone" guy was sparking his envy.

"I would have told him...that he's more than a memory to me," said Castiel, continuing to stare out the window for a long moment before turning back to Dean.

Dean's cheek was glistening as he turned away, shielding himself from Castiel's gaze. But not before Castiel saw the single tear course down his cheek.

"S-sorry," said Dean, frantically wiping away the tear just another one prickled his eye and followed the same trail. "I-I-I don't know what this is. I must be getting pink eye."

But Castiel had already crossed over to stand before him at a proximity too close. Dean fumbled in front of him, using his shirt to wipe his face, his eyes already turning red.

Castiel raised his hand, almost hesitantly before he cupped Dean's cheek. Dean was looking at him with barely concealed emotion. Pain and despair. It was so different than what Castiel was used to when the demon hid his feelings behind a smile and an elaborate ruse. He had never seen such vulnerability in Dean before.

It was not altogether bad.

And yet the tears in his eyes were not pain in response to Castiel seemingly caring for someone else. This was Dean. The last remnant of the Dean that Castiel knew and loved. The same part that made him easier to locate in a vast city. The demon part. It was small..just an echo within a string of false human memories that Michael had fabricated around him like a protective shell.

This tear was the only symbol that that demon existed.

He wiped it away with his thumb, holding Dean's gaze for a long moment.

"I'm sorry I'm not him," Dean whispered very softly, only for Castiel.

"You're...," Castiel blew out hard and closed his eyes for a moment, dropping his hand where Dean felt a slightly tingling sensation where he had touched. "Dean...Listen to me...I...I need to tell you something-"

"No, I understand," said Dean, stepping back. "I like you, Cas. I really do. Normally, I'd get all flustered about things moving too fast. But I think you're...interesting. You're a nice guy. But I'm no one's rebound."

"Hm," Castiel responded, keeping his face relatively neutral now. "My...rebound? What's that?"

"Rebound. The person you quickly jump on after a bad breakup. Sounds like you had a bad one," Dean sniffed, wiping his cheek one more time. "And I'm not that guy that left you..or whatever."

"Clearly," Castiel replied.

"Maybe when you're over him," said Dean, patting Castiel's shoulder in a rather awkward manner. "Maybe we can...get together on that...date or whatever we had planned tonight."

That was amusing to Castiel. His lips twitched. Hard to get over someone when they were right in front of you.

"Maybe when I'm over him," Castiel repeated blandly. "I don't have to be over him, Dean, because he's-"

He broke off, his senses peaking at a sharp presence right behind him. It wasn't subtle, it didn't creep or steady grow as one might have expected. It was simply there. He turned, slow.

Demon. Tarana. The same kind that he had slain the night before except with a few differences. Dark brown hair. But there was one noticeable difference between him and the other. He wore long robes like a monk with a rope tying it together at the waist and everything. His eyes were disturbing, orange and bloodshot. His smile was wide and demented, giving a show of rotten and yellow teeth.

Dean followed his gaze, looked back and couldn't help but stare. Castiel knew what was catching his attention. The fact that no one, no one but seemingly them was looking at this freak of nature. Everyone behind him was walking on as usual. The people at the front didn't even look up from their counter.

"Why is no one...?" Dean asked.

"It's half spirit. They can be invisible to anyone they want," said Castiel, automatically wrapping his fingers around Dean's upper arm and beginning to pull the human behind him. But the demon's eyes swiveled over both of them, mad, deranged. Something had happened to him.

This effect on him must have been the result of that power Castiel could see earlier from his balcony.

And then he spoke, but his mouth made no movement. It was a terrible voice, human curled with demon. It was a voice that spoke directly into their minds.

"I have come for you, my liege."

His hands flattened on the glass and they could see four inch fingernails of the yellow variety as he tapped the glass menacingly.

"What the-?!" Dean's fingers immediately went to his temple. "I heard him...I heard him...in my head."

"Stay back, Dean," Castiel warned. "He's not stable. Something's not right with him."

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean agreed. "What do we d-"

He never got to finish. The sound of glass breaking was loud in Castiel's ears and he wasn't given a second to react before it charged, throwing Castiel aside as though he were as light as a feather, sending him crashing into the side wall where he landed into the wooden coffee table, splitting it in two.

"No! Dean!" Castiel cried out.

The demon leaped onto Dean the next second, his vicious claws swiping once across his face leaving trails of blood down his face. Dean's scream washed over Castiel like physical pain while the demon straddled him, ground his knee into Dean's body where there was a loud crack, the unmistakable sound of bone breaking. He punched him, blood shooting from the demon's knuckles as he pounded on Dean three times, his fist turning the face below him a mass of red and bruised tissue. Dean cried out, just as Castiel pulled his sword free from his back and shot a lightning spell from the tip of the blade. Red lightning struck the demon once, sending a spasm of shock through him as electricity curled around him, instantly killing every nerve in his body from head to toe.

"You're out of line, demon," said Castiel. Shadows gathered around him, taking the shape behind him of what would be two enormous black wings. Once, not too long ago, they bled as if physically punctured multiple times. But now, they did not, simply arced over his body in clear threat. He did not pull the wings completely into the physical realm. It was merely a warning that he could and would kill him.

The demon's eyes swiveled over Castiel, widening in fear before he pulled himself off a very bruised and battered Dean. Castiel lunged, slashing where the demon had been, but he leaped over Castiel, landed behind him. He proceeded to jump through the window and take off at top speed. Castiel did not even look at him for longer than necessary.

He ascertained Dean's condition first. He managed to take in all of his injuries, his eyes darkening as he used some power to allow his vision to see through clothing. Dean had five cuts across his cheek where the demon swiped, his neck would probably bruise from the back from being jerked from side to side when the demon punched him. There was also a severe contusion in his brain that was likely caused from impact and trauma. His hip has broken, the right leg it was connected to completely lying flat. His face was contorted in pain, his eyes closed and it was quite a wonder if he saw what Castiel had done. He'd like to have thought he had done it fast. The lightning spell, the threat as wings pulled from him.

His eyes fell on the gathered humans. When the Tarana demon broke through the glass, he must have allowed his physical side to manifest for them. They saw everything. Including Castiel's wingy display. He could only hope that that wasn't the same case for Dean. He carefully avoided Dean's gaze as he raised a hand towards them, curled his fingers into a hook almost lazily.

Silently, he planted the suggestion into their minds. Someone threw a cinderblock here. Someone threw a cinderblock into this place. They have a grudge against your service. There's nothing to see here. In about five minutes, you're going to wake up as though from a dream and return to your day.

And he left them there in a trance, his eyes falling on Dean as he knelt beside him, pulled Dean towards his lap. Dean grunted in protest, his eyes closing up tight.

"St-Stop...My...hip...I think he...broke it," Dean mumbled faintly.

Castiel could not heal him with tarnished Grace like he had. It could have possibly made the wounds he had worse and had an unpleasant permanent effect.

Dean's cheek was already starting to swell, and his eyes were remaining closed until Castiel touched him, a hand on his forehead. No, he could not heal him. But he could numb the pain.

Dean sighed. His eyes opened and fell on Castiel.

"Angel," Dean breathed. A faint twitch as he smiled up at him.

Castiel did not return his smile. He slid his hands underneath Dean's lower back and under his legs, careful not to bend the right leg too much. As he rose, Dean's head rolled back and he lost consciousness. He debated taking him straight to the hospital, and the debate fell. That would enrage Michael, who could heal him instantly without waiting for weeks on end.

No, he had to take him home. And it was only fortunate that it was not a long walk from here to there.

"It's all right, Dean," Castiel whispered. "I'm going to keep you safe. I'm going to take care of you, all right? I promise. You're going to be just fine."