Dean dropped the last coin into the slot of the payphone and listened to the line ring as he turned around in the cramped booth to get eyes on his brother again. Sam stood with Jericho next to a wooden cart where an old woman sold fresh produce. Dean watched Sam exchange a paper bill for a sack of small yellow and red mangoes. The younger Winchester used a pocket knife to cut and peel one of the fruit before handing it to Jericho. The woman, or weapon or whatever she was, bit into the mango without hesitation, juice flowing over her chin as her brown eyes lit up with delight.

"Singer. Who is this?"

The brusque greeting didn't bother Dean. He'd called a line Bobby didn't use for business purposes, whether hunting or salvage, and he'd called from an international number. "Bobby, it's Dean. I'm checking in from a payphone 'cause we still aren't getting any bars here."

"Where's 'here'?" Bobby demanded gruffly. "You make it all the way out to those coordinates?"

"Yeah, we did. It's a fucking abbey. A straight up nunnery. And not the fun kind of nuns, either." Dean squeezed his forehead and glanced over at his brother again. Sam had a handkerchief out and was wiping Jericho's face clean with a fond expression. Dean grimaced. Just great. Sam had a disturbing tendency to fall head over fucking heels for any skirt that gave him a crumb of decency and affection, and it was definitely going to get one or both of them killed eventually.

"Well, that sucks for your personal recreation time. What did that angel of yours want?"

Dean didn't bother trying to protest that Cas wasn't his angel. Firstly because no amount of protest would convince anyone otherwise, and secondly because it actually was true. At least partially, anyway. "Apparently Cas stole a weapon," Dean explained. "From Heaven, Bobby. Cas stole a weapon from the fucking armory of Heaven and stashed it at the abbey for us to collect. Something about keeping it safe and out of Heaven's reach to delay Judgement Day or some shit."

"I take it your fine feathered friend isn't there to explain himself, is he?" Bobby asked dryly.

"Of fucking course he isn't, Bobby. That would be too easy."

Dean heard the familiar combination of Bobby sighing and a book being dragged across a table. "What can you tell me about the weapon? What does it do? Is it something we can use?"

"Oh, that's where it gets fun, Bobby. Because the weapon's not an it, they're a she, and she doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on either. She thinks she's just doing Cas a solid by hanging out with us for a while until he can, I don't fucking know, negotiate the terms of our fucking surrender." Dean's voice had gotten steadily louder and gruffer as he spoke, and he startled slightly when a middle-aged woman rapped sharply on the plexiglass to frown disapprovingly at him.

"The weapon is wearing a meat suit?" Bobby asked, sounding confused. "It's a person?"

"Yeah, she's a person," Dean said tiredly. He had a headache hovering behind his eyes, the same one that he'd been carrying around since he'd crawled out of his own grave. "She's a ridiculously adorable redhead that Sam is in very real danger of falling in lust with, so I need to know what sort of firepower she's packing."

"Sam always did have questionable taste in women," Bobby muttered. "Alright. What does this weapon call herself? Maybe we can start there."

"She introduced herself as 'Jericho,'" Dean told him. "Says she was used by Heaven to destroy the city. Sam thinks she quoted something about Sodom and Gamorrah, too."

There was a long pause that made the inside of Dean's mouth dry out and his stomach curdle. "What is it, Bobby? How fucked are we?"

Bobby sighed again, long and slow. "Well, I can't say for certain, boy, but I think you just might have had Heaven's nuclear deterrent dumped in your lap."

Dean needed a moment to absorb that. Then another moment. "What?" he asked when he realized no amount of time was going to prepare him for that revelation.

"I don't know what to tell you, Dean. We're talking about literal fire and brimstone here. The wrath of God poured out on the wicked. Pillars of salt and the whole nine yards."

Dean clutched at his aching forehead again. "God dammit, Cas," he burst out in frustration. "Warn a guy next time." He growled out a sigh of his own. "Any idea how long we have until Heaven comes after us for harboring their entire nuclear arsenal?"

"Can't help you with that, but didn't Cas do something to hide you from Heaven's eyes or some such?"

"Yeah he carved anti-angel wards on our ribcages…" His voice trailed off when he made the connection to Jericho's strange question the day before. "Our bones are glowing. Fuck, Cas!"

"Now what are you nattering about?" Bobby demanded.

"Jericho asked us why our bones were glowing," Dean muttered. "It was the first thing she asked us. She could see the wards carved onto our bones. That's why Cas wants her with us. I'll bet good money Heaven won't be able to track her as long as she's in our near vicinity."

"Cas sounds like he's gonna have a lot of explaining to do when he gets back."

"You fucking think?" Dean snapped. "According to the Mother Superior, Cas dropped Jericho off almost a month ago and hasn't been seen or heard from since. Even Jericho is worried about him. Says he was only supposed to be gone a couple of days."

"Well, can she find him? I mean, she might not be an angel, but surely she knows how to talk to them."

"Yeah, well," Dean muttered. "I'm a little worried someone might eavesdrop on that conversation. From what Anna said, it's not exactly a secure connection."

"Then what's plan, kid? You gonna camp out with the nuns until Cas shows up?"

"Fuck no," Dean said vehemently. "I've already got literal angels judging my life choices. I don't need a bunch of nuns demanding my confession now, too."

"Only priests can take confession," Bobby informed him bluntly. "If you don't intend to stay there, you might as well head up here. You need cash? I can send a Western Union. Have it there by tomorrow."

"Much appreciated. Add it to our tab."

Bobby chuckled gruffly. "Be careful crossing the border, kid. And call me when you get Stateside. Or when Cas shows up."

"Will do, Bobby."

Despite the headache, Dean hung up the phone feeling better. Bobby had always been there when he'd needed him, often more reliable and helpful than Dean's own father had been. Whenever things were going to shit, Dean knew that he and Sam had somewhere safe to crash land. He stepped out of the phone booth, ignoring the annoyed look from the middle-aged woman who had been waiting, and joined his brother.

"Hey. What did Bobby say?" Sam asked with a relaxed expression, still blissfully unaware of the size of the shit pile Cas had buried them in.

"He thinks we shouldn't wait around for Cas to get back and he's sending us some cash for the trip home," Dean replied without taking his gaze off Jericho. She had finished the first mango and was nose-deep in the second one, making happy smacking noises as she devoured the fruit. "Jericho," Dean said sharply to get her attention. He continued once he had it. "You able to tune into angel radio? Maybe get a direct line to wherever the fuck Castiel is right now?"

Jericho paused to listen to his request, a crease forming between her auburn brows. "Angel radio?" she echoed after a minute. "I don't know what that is."

"That's just what we call it," Sam explained, waving one hand lamely. "You know, when all the angels are talking to each other. We met someone before who could hear them."

"I can talk to angels, yes," Jericho said slowly. "I haven't done it from inside a body, though. And Castiel said not to talk to anyone else in the Host."

"You don't need to talk," Dean told her impatiently. "Just see if anyone is talking about Cas. Or you, for that matter. If anyone's noticed you're gone."

Jericho's crease turned into a furrow. "You think something has happened to Castiel." She didn't frame it as a question. "You think he's been hurt."

Sam turned on his own patented expression of pathetic earnestness. "Wait, Dean, do you really?"

Dean shrugged unhappily. "Don't know yet," he said shortly. "Something isn't sitting right. It's not like him to go radio silent this long. Not when it's this important."

Sam could read between the lines, though, and knew what Dean wasn't saying. He stepped away from Jericho and dropped his voice. "What else did Bobby say? Did he know anything about…?"

Dean followed Sam' gaze when his brother trailed off, not finishing the question. Jericho stood where they had left her, hands full of mango peels and her brown eyes pressed tightly shut. "He mentioned a few theories," Dean said dryly. "Like the fact that our new friend here is the celestial equivalent of a fucking atom bomb."

Sam did a double-take before staring wide-eyed at his brother. "An…atom bomb," he repeated slowly.

"Yeah, Sammy. Fire, brimstone, and salted fucking earth. Cas basically stole Heaven's entire nuclear armament and dumped it in our fucking laps. Because our bones glow."

Realization dawned on Sam's face. "The anti-angel wards!"

Dean nodded. "Bobby and I came to the same realization. Cas might be hoping that her being close to us will keep her out of sight, too."

"That actually might work. In theory," Sam said with a thoughtful frown.

"Kinda looking for something more solid than theories here, Sammy. If the wards don't hide her, we're gonna be in for a world of hurt."

"Dean."

He turned toward the sound of his name only to find himself nose to nose with Jericho. She was less than an inch shorter than him, probably the same height as Cas, and she stared at him with a disconcertingly similar expression. "Uh… yes, Jericho? What is it?" Dean asked as calmly as could be reasonably expected while having his personal space so flagrantly violated.

"You have a headache," Jericho said. There was something about the way she seemed to look into him instead of simply at him that reminded him too much of Castiel. He still resisted the urge to step away from her.

"Yes?" Dean replied. "Kinda always do, these days."

"You have a headache because you aren't listening," Jericho told him gravely, and pressed two sticky fingers to his temple before he could stop her. For one breathtakingly agonizing moment his head was so full of light and noise he thought his skull would explode from it. Then everything cut out, leaving a single voice behind. Dean reeled from the shock for a while before he recovered enough to actually listen to what he was hearing.

Dean… Dean… I--I don't know if you can hear me. I tried… ‐-but you couldn't perceive me. This is-- …. waste of time. But if you can…. If you can hear me… help me.

Dean's eyes flew open. "Holy fuck," he gasped hoarsely. "That's Cas! I can hear Cas!" He looked back over at Jericho, who still had her fingers on his temple. "How are you—Am I doing this?"

"Castiel is reaching out to you, but your brain is unable to interpret his angelic voice into concepts you can comprehend," Jericho explained, her expression serious. "All I'm doing is helping you process his words. What is he saying? He isn't speaking to me."

"He's asking for help," Dean said with some struggle. He felt as if he couldn't listen and speak at the same time, as if the simple act of listening to Cas' voice was taking far more brainpower than it should. "He doesn't even know if I can hear him. He's trying… I don't know… It feels like he's trapped. He doesn't know who else to call."

Dean wrenched himself back from Jericho, away from the suffocating presence in his head and the ringing voice in his ears. "What the fuck was that?" he demanded, his voice a dry rasp. "How the fuck was I able to do that? I'm not fucking psychic!"

"No," Jericho agreed. "But you and Castiel are connected. I'm not certain how, but you are. And you could learn to hear him, I think. With practice. And time."

"Time we clearly don't have," Dean snapped. "Cas needs our help. Do you know where he is or not?"

Jericho rubbed her thumb over her fingertips as if realizing for the first time that her hands were still sticky from mango juice. "No," she said again. She looked up and speared Dean with her gaze before he could express his frustration. "But I know who will."