Dean's POV

He woke up to Cas curled against his chest. The clock next to the bed read 7:38 AM. He really didn't want to leave the warm sheets, or Cas, but he needed his coffee. Cas was definitely not a morning person, so he'd probably drink like three glasses before becoming fully awake. He gently scooted away, trying his hardest to not wake the angry mother bear. Cas had already taken the bandages off of the wounds. The cuts had healed unbelievably fast and the only indication that they had been there, were the thin scars. He slowly opened their bedroom door, making sure to be soundless.

The sight before him had him immensely baffled, he stopped dead in his tracks. What the fuck?! There was Sam, sleeping on the bed, wrapped up in Gabriel's arms. Even the archangel seemed to be asleep, although Dean knew that angels don't sleep, ever.

Dean quickly got over it, what was he supposed to do anyway? Sam was not a kid anymore, he could make decisions for himself, however crappy.

The motel had been nice enough to supply them with a coffee machine, a large bag of coffee grounds, and numerous cups. He made the appropriate preparations, then started the machine.

He took out Sam's computer while waiting for his coffee to finish. He was intent on finding the latest victim.

Just as he found the police report, Cas came lumbering out of the bedroom.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Cas came over and sat in Dean's lap.

"Morning, sweetheart," he placed a tender kiss on the man's cheek.

"Good morning, Dean," Cas answered sleepily, "I see that my brother has finally made his move."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "You knew?"

"Yes, or course. Gabriel told me soon after I told him my feelings for you," nodded Cas.

"That I did!" Gabriel semi-yelled from the bed.

The noise was loud enough for Sam to stir, his eyes fluttering open. Gabriel's body was apparently blocking the view of Dean and Cas, because he said, "Hey, mornin' Gabe," leaning forward to kiss him before realizing who else was in the room.

Sam jumped back two feet, flustered.

"Oh, hi. I, um, didn't see you there."

Dean threw his head back, shaking with laughter.

"Dude! What happened last night? Wait! Nevermind, I definitely do not want to know," Dean stopped laughing, internally begging that Gabriel didn't tell him what he and his brother did last night.

"Well, anyways…" Sam said swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, "What are you looking at?"

"The last victim. I figured that we needed an eyewitness to make sure that we're dealing with a rugaru. Hmm, Sam come here and look at this," he paused to wait for Sam, "The police report says that the victim's name is Amy Hudson. She didn't die right away, instead she was taken to the hospital with severe cuts and bruising. It doesn't look like it was in time though, she died at 1:04 AM this morning, from severe blood loss."

"Any family?" Sam asked, his eyes scrolling through the report.

"Um, yeah. It looks like she has a husband and a daughter."

Sam patted Dean on the back, "Well, then, why don't we go pay them a visit."

"Says here that they live on 971 Fur Avenue," he took a minute to type it into the computer, "Fifteen minutes out of town. There's only a few reasons that the rugaru would stop feeding."

"One, it was scared off, but even then, they usually take their kill with them… Or two, it was killed."

"Another hunter, maybe?

"Yeah, maybe."

He closed the laptop, sliding Cas off of his lap, he stood.

Gabriel had taken his leave, leaving the two brothers and Cas to work. Seeing his coffee done, he took the cup in his hand and walked to the bedroom. Gingerly taking a sip of the hot liquid, it burned it's way down his throat. Maybe a little too hot. He set it on top of the TV stand, giving it time to cool before drinking again. Shutting the bedroom door, he took off his faded gray t-shirt, exchanging it for a black one. Pulling down his flannel pajama bottoms, he put on dark blue jeans. Rummaging through his duffel, he picked out a green button down and a durable army-green jacket. Sliding on his boots and 'necklace', he took another sip of coffee. It had cooled dramatically over the past few minutes, enough to allow him to enjoy it.

Coming out of the bedroom, he noticed that Sam had gotten dressed and was waiting for him. Cas had taken a seat and started on his first, of many, cups of coffee.

"We'll be back before you know it, okay babe," he gave Cas a quick kiss before following Sam out the door.

Cas heaved a sigh, "Alright, but you know that I'm healed enough to go with you."

"Not yet. Soon, though. I promise."

Cas just returned his attention to his coffee. Jesus, he's moody in the morning. Dean pulled the door closed, jogging after Sam, who was already standing next to the Impala.

Sam knocked on the green door. It took only a moment before someone came to the door. They both could hear several locks being unlocked. The door was pulled open, revealing a man. He had short, spiky blonde hair that was turning gray, and ice blue eyes. He stood only a little taller than Dean. The man, who Dean assumed was Gerald Hudson, Amy Hudson's husband, was wearing his police uniform, but Dean noticed an unusual button just to the left of the man's badge. He looked around fifty years old.

"Hello, FBI agents Cole and Travis. You must be, Gerald Hudson," Dean answered.

"Yes that's me," Mr. Hudson confirmed.

"We just have a few questions about your wife's death," Sam continued.

Dean could've sworn that he saw Mr. Hudson's eyes light up when they flashed their badges.

"Yes, yes. Please, come on in," Mr. Hudson said, ushering them in.

They entered a small foyer with a half-wall separating them from the stairs. In front of them was a good-sized living room. Off to the side was the dining room, a door next to a china cabinet entered into a spacious master bedroom.

Mr. Hudson lead them into the dining room/kitchen. In the distance, Dean just barely could make out the sound of music. He and Sam both took a seat at the table.

"Is there anything I can get for you? Something to drink, maybe?" Mr. Hudson offered.

"Oh, no thank you. We're good," Dean politely declined.

Sam was about to speak when Mr. Hudson spoke up, "If you are here about the rugaru, I took care of it."

Sam and Dean stared at the man who had just become that much more mysterious.

"You… what?" Sam breathed.

"I burned the son of a bitch, then buried him six feet under in the woods," the man noticed their appalled expressions, "I can show you if you like."

"Yes, that would be helpful," Dean answered.

"Alright, right this way."

Mr. Hudson led the way outside. He took them through a windy path in the woods. Soon, they came to a small clearing and sure enough, there was a patch of earth that looked like it had recently been disturbed.

"If you feel the need to dig up the grave, there are shovels in the garage, back at the house," Mr. Hudson said.

"So...are you a hunter, Mr. Hudson?" Sam asked, turning to him.

Mr. Hudson chuckled sadly, "Please, call me Bucky. And I guess you could say that. I usually just hunt around the area, small jobs when unwanted things come to town. I'm carrying on the legacy. Although, I haven't told anything to my daughter. I don't want her in this life. But, I guess I never thought anything would get to my family. Guess I was wrong…"

"Our condolences about your wife," Dean tried to comfort, "Well, if you need anything else, just call us. Right now we're staying at the Trails End Motel, room 15. We'll be leaving tomorrow morning, but if you need anything, call us at this number," he took out their fake FBI 'business cards' and wrote his actual phone number on the back with a spare pen he found in his pocket.

'Bucky' took it, examining the number, "Will do. Thank you. I'll be here if you need help with anything. Just, don't mention this to my daughter. She's already suspicious enough."

"Don't worry, we'll leave her out of this," Sam said.

Bucky nodded, leaving the clearing. He lead the way back to the front of the house. They said their goodbyes and Bucky insisted on shaking their hands, "You guys the care now."

"You know we will," Dean said getting in the Impala.

The brothers drove off, down the long gravel driveway, to the paved road.

"Why did you have to tell him our room number?" Sam questioned.

"I don't know. Just felt like I could trust the guy. Come on man, fellow hunter loses his wife and you don't think that he's probably gonna need help with something?"

"No, probably not. He seemed pretty well off."

"Whatever, jerk."

"Bitch."

When they got back to the hotel, Cas was in a much better mood. He wasn't clingy or nothing, but wasn't a total bitch either. After a long (harsh) debate with Sam, the jerk finally caved and agreed to go to a waterpark with them. They were in the waterpark capital of the world, were they not? Making a quick stop at a small shop that sold swim trunks, they decided to go to Chula Vista. Sure, there were bigger ones, but that also meant more security and people in general. They got a few side glances from others when they walked through the front doors in swim shorts and t-shirts, it was the first of December after all.

Paying for their all day waterpark passes with fake credit cards, everything was going swimmingly. Following the signs to the indoor waterpark, they padded into the men's locker room. Thankfully, there were only three other guys in there. It was the off-season, so they didn't expect it to be that busy. Sam was the first to rid his shirt, throwing it in one of the lockers. Dean followed suit, then looked at Cas expectantly.

"Dean…my- my scars," Cas looked so afraid to take his shirt off.

He walked up to him, wrapping his arms around him. Cas calmed against him. Sliding his fingertips under the fabric, he gently lifted it over Cas' head without protest.

"You are beautiful. The scars say that you lived through something horrific. They make you strong."

Cas nodded, setting the t-shirt on top of the others.

Hand-in-hand, they followed Sam out of the locker room and into the actual waterpark. He accidentally let out a sigh when the humid air hit his cold body.

They spent the whole day together, the three of them. They went through the lazy river, tried wave boarding, and went down every single slide multiple times.

Of course Sam was the one who had to remind them that he was hungry and Cas agreed.

Leaving for the motel, Sam was forced in the backseat. Dean turned the music up, drowning out Sam's complaining.

Sam made the food run. They had decided on a local place. The line outside was long, but it was only a minute or so away from their motel. The burgers were good, but their fries were even better. Coated it salt and grease, they were perfect.

After eating, Dean and Cas went to their bedroom and turned the TV on. Crawling on top of the bed, Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's waist, resting his head on his chest. Without thinking, Dean ran a hand through the soft black hair. Cas hummed his approval and was asleep within moments.

They were like that for awhile. Dean had forgotten about the TV and focused on sleeping Cas. Since he had become human, Dean had started learning different little things about him. Like, he really hated mornings. Cas usually had four cups of coffee before talking to anyone. He was a really deep sleeper and always liked to sleep in late.

He was a great angel, but now that he was human...Dean felt his heart swell from so much love.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Who the hell is it at this hour?

The knock had awoken Cas and when Dean slid to get out of bed, Cas mumbled his disapproval.

"Where you going?" Cas whined like a child.

"Someone's at the door."

He grabbed his gun on the nightstand, walking into the main room to open the door. Sam was sitting upright, giving him a confused look. He just shrugged and went to open the door. Looking through the peep-hole, he gasped the sight.

"Jesus fucking christ!" he threw the door open.

Leaning against the door frame, was a girl, no older than 14. Her face was caked in blood and bruises. There were cuts and marks everywhere. Swaying on her feet lightly, she managed to get out, "Please. I need help-" before collapsing into his arms.

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