A/Ns: I apologize for the lengthy delay in getting you this next installment. As warned, I have indeed slowed way down in writing as I struggle with some tough times. I've definitely had a bit of a battle when it came to writing these next few chapters, so thanks for baring with me.

Reviews: Thank you for your continued support last chapter and even more so your support for me and my current state of mental and emotional heatlh. Seriously, so many of you spoke up and reassured me that no matter how long it took for me to get this story out, you would be waiting for it. I really appreciate that. I hate to wait for story updates myself and I hate to make you guys wait for them as the author. But I really appreciate your understanding of my schedule and my not-always-stable state of being that effects my ability to write. So thank you, thank you, thank you.

Quality Warning: Okay, this is just getting redundant at this point, let's not even talk about it. It's not where I want it to be, but we'll get back there eventually. Soon? Dear Chuck, I hope soon.

Chapter Warnings: Jess is wonderful but ever the bittersweet reminder of another time, Sam is on the verge of a constant panic attack, Cas has good news (once he's done messing up more interviews) and Dean's watching a Jaws marathon while his angel talks with...herself? Himself? Themselves? Ugh. Whatever.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 24

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jess picked up on the second ring, the line connecting practically mid-sentence at a speed that Sam knew meant she was doing at least two other things at the same time. "If you're calling about the Brady coffee date, it hasn't happened yet."

The pause down the line wasn't intentional on Sam's part. Honestly, it took him a moment to register the words, in part because he hadn't been expecting them, or the energetic rapid fire of them.

"I…chickened out," Jess added in the silence between them, trailing off awkwardly.

Mostly, though, he hadn't been prepared for her first words to so closely echo his dream. The silence stretched, his mind too stunned to form words as panicked thoughts started flying. That had just been a dream, hadn't it? The part with Azazel, maybe, had felt too real, but even if the demon had somehow been dreamwalking through Sam's mind, Jess should have only been a constract.

God, that had to have just been a dream.

As he sensed the tension on the call growing in the seconds ticking by, Sam forced an answer out without thinking, relying on a numb brain, and only played further into the dream. "You still should."

"It could be terrible, Sam," Jess answered, a little too quickly and a little self-deprecating, trying to get back to the energetic start of the conversation that had already train-wrecked so spectacularly. Sam knew he was the one who'd thrown it off (still was), but he couldn't think through the miasma of fear clogging his brain. "Brady's a mess. I'm a mess! And you may want to go Disney, fairy-tale, everyone-gets-a-happy-ending on me, but that's not how real life works! Real life is terrifying and miserable and – okay, it's not miserable all the time, but sometimes it is – and that's just not how relationships work!"

Sam heard her take in a deep breath on the other end, and knew what he should say. What he would normally say. He'd laugh. He'd tell her to take a breath. One day at a time and it was just coffee with a friend. But he couldn't form the words, still seeing Jess sitting on their bed in their Palo Alto apartment, with glowing green eyes. At least she wasn't on the ceiling or bleeding.

"Sam?" Her worried voice broke through his mounting panic attack and the young hunter's grip tightened on the phone. "What's wrong?"

The act of physically shaking himself out of it worked well enough that Sam was able to close his eyes and at least let go of the phone before he broke the damn thing in half. He hadn't meant to scare her. He really needed to stop calling her, doing this to her. These conversations did nothing but drag back memories she was trying valiantly to leave behind.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Everything's okay. I'm sorry. I- I gotta go."

He should never have called her in the first place, but he never seemed able to help it. Couldn't help but bring her back into this when he shouldn't. And now… now he couldn't help but expect Azazel to show his face at any moment, just like in the dream. A dream where he and Jess talked about a coffee date and he ached for how much he missed having her in his life. A dream that had ended with Azazel and a jar of blood.

Shit, the last time the demon had shown himself for that purpose, Sam had been alone in the car just like this. Why? Why hadn't they warded the car against demons? Why had he let Dean and Cas leave? Why hadn't he gone with them?

His fingers began to ache around the phone, his joints protesting the ever tightening grip. He should have hung up already.

"Don't do that, Sam. Don't shut me out." Jess's voice was soft down the line. Gentle, and scared, but still so caring and Sam didn't know what he'd done to deserve having her, even as a friend. The pause lingered, and Sam thought about hanging up. He should hang up. He knew he should hang up, but he couldn't. "If this is about Brady-"

"No," the young man answered immediately, shaking his head adamantly and using the physical movement once more to kick himself into action. "No, it's not about- it's not about that. I promise, Jess. It's…something else. I shouldn't have called."

"Yes, you should've. I'm glad that you did." That answer, never given the same way, never sounding rote or obligatory, always came immediately. Sam loved her all the more for it, though he wished it wasn't true. Letting her go once and for all would be so much easier if she pushed him away. "So talk to me."

Sam leaned his head back against the seat, slouching down as he closed his eyes and bit back the sigh. She needed to let him go just as much, damnit.

"I…had a dream." He could hear the tension in her lack of response immediately, and he understood. He could almost see her fingers tighten on the phone, so similar to his own, and the way she would worry her bottom lip.

"About me?"

He picked his head off the seat, eyes widening at the tremble in her voice, despite her braving the words. He should have seen that coming and put a stop to it before it started. "No. I mean, yes, you were in it, but it wasn't about- it wasn't like that. You're safe, Jess. I promise. I'll keep you safe."

He didn't know that and couldn't promise that, but he swore, right then and there (and not for the first, nor the last time) that he would figure out how to keep his promise.

"I know, Sam." It killed her that it was at the expense of his own happiness – their happiness together – and maybe even his life. But Jess also knew it was a lot more complicated than that. "Are you safe?"

Sam hesitated. He didn't want to hesitate, but he knew the second he didn't answer that it was too late to lie. He missed the days when he never considered lying to Jess about anything but his past. "…I don't know. I'm… I'm scared. I'm so damn scared I'm going to do something I can't take back. I'm no good, Jess. What if I- what if I'm-"

She took in a shaky breath but stopped him before he could stumble further down the dark and dangerous rabbit hole. "I know I don't know everything that's going on, but I do know you, Sam, and you are good. You're one of the most honest, caring, loving people I know. And no demon or monster or sinister plot will change that. Will change you, Sam."

Tears slipped free and Sam wiped them away with the back of his hand. "I love you," he whispered, and he knew he shouldn't say it. Knew he needed to let her go, stop calling her, stop loving her. Even this new, distant love they were adjusting to, diminished from what it once was by time and space and tragedy. Even that, he needed to let go of, or risk dragging her down with him. But Sam Winchester was a practical man, so he knew it wasn't something he could stop doing in a hundred years, either.

"I know."

Sam smiled at the response, a light chuckle on his lips as she Han Soloed him with a smile in her voice that said she knew it "I gotta go."

"Please be safe."

The young hunter let out a long, shaky breath but nodded in the quiet of the car. "I'll try. Jess, I-"

"You don't need to say it, Sam; I'm not mad. I love you, too."

Sam ended the call with a hesitant thumb, slowly lowering the phone back to his lap as he stared at the black screen. He closed his eyes against the thoughts circling his brain, refusing to think them to the best of his ability, and refusing to let what did slip through overwhelm him. He would figure this out. Dean and he would figure it out, like they always did.

"Hello, Sam."

The words came from the backseat and Sam was spun around, back to the dash, gun drawn tight to his chest and aimed at the new passenger before he registered the wingbeats or the gravely, female voice. He almost pulled the damn trigger, too, expecting yellow eyes and practically putting them there himself in his panic. But it was only Castiel staring back at him, completely unmoving, as blue eyes went from his face down to the gun and back. Realization hit like a tidal wave, the adrenaline left Sam like the receding water before one, and the hunter all but collapsed in the front seat, shaking.

"Shit," he breathed out, immediately disarming the weapon and engaging the safety. His heart was hammering a mile a minute and his hands were definitely trembling. At least this time he knew it was the adrenaline crash. "Shit, Cas. Don't do that to me."

"Are you alright?" The angel was still staring unblinkingly at him as Sam struggled to stow the gun. The last thing they needed right now was a case of friendly fire.

"Yeah. Yeah, you just…surprised me." Scared the shit out of him, was more accurate. Sam's heart finally started to calm from the almost painful thrumming against his ribcage as he worked on calm, even breaths. Realizing the angel was supposed to be with his brother, he straightened, eyes darting to the sheriff's building and back to Cas. "What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

Castiel's eyes didn't quite stay on his, and Sam wondered if he was reading Angela's face correctly for the sheepishness he saw there. "Dean exiled me to the car."

Sam's eyebrows went up and yep, he was definitely reading that look right as it got worse.

"Apparently, using air quotes during an interview with a sheriff, particularly when telling you are an 'FBI agent'" -and here Castiel did, indeed, raise her hands to repeat her apparent misstep inside- "is not appropriate human behavior." Her gravely tone was haughty with indignation and Sam let out a relieved little laugh. The angel watched him with a small frown. "Is everything alright, Sam? You seem to be preoccupied."

The hunter didn't answer right away, resettling against the seat to stare through the windshield for a moment as he battled with his choices (and maybe, still, the adrenaline crash and twitchy trigger finger). It was possible Castiel could help. It was also possible she'd find Sam's low-burn desire for demon blood and cowardice too weak and inhuman to be worth heavenly assistance. Sam closed his eyes against the poisonous thoughts that filled him. Dean spoke better of the angel, and Dean didn't speak well about very many people at all.

Besides, Sam's own interactions with Castiel so far suggested that his insidious inner voice had nothing backing it but self-doubt and loathing.

"Dean says that you can visit people in their dreams." Sam angled himself to bring Castiel into his vision, shoulder against the Impala's seat. "That you – or at least the you from his time – would do it if you needed to talk but couldn't be there in person."

"Yes. All angels can dream walk in the minds of humans."

"…What about demons?"

Castiel's head tilted to the side, and Sam thought maybe he was starting to read the angel a little better because he recognized the confusion in that steady, unchanging blue gaze.

"Demons do not dream."

"No, I mean, can demons dream walk?" Sam held his breath as Cas seemed to mull over the question. He avoided meeting the angel's gaze completely, worried it would give away exactly what had deterred his sleep last night.

"If one was strong enough," Castiel answered slowly. "The older or more powerful of them could, yes."

Sam released his breath, forcing it to be slow and silent. They didn't know how powerful Azazel was. At least, Sam didn't. He had no frame of reference for demonic strength, and Dean hadn't mentioned it past the yellow-eyed bastard's leading role for the apocalypse. The younger Winchester swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. Only a fraction of him had hoped last night's dream might have been something born of his own vicious imagination and wasn't the demon himself. Now he wish he hadn't asked, because he was suddenly aware of just how powerful a demon he had mucking about in his head.

"Why do you ask?" Castiel met his gaze through the rear view mirror when Sam tried to look away, aiming for the windshield but unable to avoid those piercing blue eyes and the realization there. "Sam, has a demon visited you?"

"Azazel." The name was out before Sam could think twice about it, though he had to clear his throat after the word practically choked him. "H-He was in my head last night."

Hadn't Max Miller said he'd spoken to a yellow-eyed man in his dreams? A man who told him to get stronger, to practice his powers. To kill his parents with them. Suddenly, it was much harder to breath in the small space of the car.

"Did he harm you?"

Sam glanced Castiel's way, breaking their connection through the mirror in favor of a physical one. He couldn't help but be surprised at the definite concern in the angel's voice. Concern for him.

"Could he have?" the hunter parried, unfamiliar with the physics of demonic dream walking. The question might have come out calm, but Sam was feeling anything but. If Azazel could hurt him, that meant he could hurt others. Worse, if pain transferred in a dream, would drinking demon blood?

The angel broke the intense staring contest as she looked out the window towards the Sheriff's office and Sam wondered if she was going to run off to tell Dean. "His reach would be limited, but the human mind is very powerful and incredibly delicate. If he wanted to hurt you, he could have."

It hurt to swallow and Sam had to force his throat through it. "He threatened me. Wanted me to drink more demon blood."

Castiel's frown sharpened, eyes darting back and forth as she thought. "Consuming demon blood in a dream would have no effect on your body."

Sam's deflated with the relief, though he knew they were hardly out of the woods. Hell, they were still deep in the woods, and the woods might as well be on fire at this point.

And they hadn't even started the Apocalypse yet. How on earth was he going to do this?

"I don't think he's planning on keeping it just in my head."

If Castiel noticed the way his words were as dry as his throat and shaking almost as badly as his hands, the angel didn't say anything of it. "This is very worrisome, Sam."

The hunter couldn't help the sardonic laugh that ripped out of him, leaving a strip of sore, burning slick down the back of his throat. He felt sick. The taste in the back of your mouth you got when you realized you'd caught a cold and knew it was going to be a bad one. "You're telling me."

It was obvious from the quirk of Castiel's head that she didn't understand (yes, she had, indeed, just told him…), but she didn't dwell on it either. They had more important things to focus on. "Perhaps we could hide you from him."

Sam sat upright at that, turning fully around in surprise. "You could do that?"

It's not that it hadn't occurred to him, it was that Sam didn't know of anything that could keep his dreams safe. He knew there were spells and such out there that could hide him and Dean physically, though he didn't know any of them yet, but how was he supposed to protect his mind?

"Yes," the angel answered, so matter-of-factly that Sam simultaneously felt ashamed for his pessimism (but seriously, how could he have known?) and kind of wanted to shake her for not leading with that when this conversation started. "Blocking your mind will be significantly trickier than disguising your physical presence, but both are quite possible."

Sam let out his tenth – hell, maybe his hundredth – breath since the angel had popped into the car and scared the crap out of him.

"This is very a serious matter," Castiel tacked on unnecessarily, though given the look in her eye she felt it was very necessary to say. "Your health and safety are paramount, Sam. I will not return to Heaven until we have ensured the demon cannot get to you again."

Leagues of tension left the young man like the air from a balloon and he slouched against the seat, staring at the angel with awe and relief and a gratefulness he couldn't begin to put into words. Not to mention exhaustion. "Thank you, Castiel."

There was a moment of silence between them, the type that seemed to carry a physical weight, before Castiel almost hesitantly asked, "You were afraid I would say no?"

Worried he'd insulted Castiel – he had been worried the angel would be more judgmental or disgusted than sympathetic – Sam hurried to explain, "I was afraid there would be nothing you could do. Nothing I could do. And…" he hesitated himself, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he stalled. "I thought…maybe you'd- I didn't want to admit how much I want it. But I do."

His voice had grown quiet at the end, ashamed and also horrified of his own weakness. A weakness he was now very certain Azazel was not done exploiting. Worse, Sam knew it was not a battle he would win. He would fight – he would go down fighting with everything he had – but it wasn't going to end the way he wanted it too, and it terrified him how surely he knew that.

"Your craving is not a choice, Sam. It is an addiction, and not one you are at fault for suffering." Castiel's voice was so firm and confident, carrying the weight of Heaven behind it even if the angel wasn't acting as a Warrior or speaking for God in this moment. It was so comforting Sam hadn't even realized how badly he'd needed to hear someone who wasn't his brother – who wasn't biased by love and family and obligation – say it. "The fact that you are struggling, that you are fighting against it, is proof enough to me that you don't truly want it."

Sam had to look away, biting back the tears again. He was usually the one to tell Dean that bottling that stuff up wasn't healthy but, darn it, he didn't exactly want to break down in front of an angel, especially one as stoic as Castiel. He settled back against the seat, closing his eyes as he worked his throat against the burning lump there.

"Thanks, Cas."

The angel gave a nod as serious as her gaze, but when he opened his eyes, Sam was pretty sure he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. "You are welcome, Sam."

Then Dean was striding out of the front doors of the building and back towards the Impala with the information they needed for the case. They were back on the hunt and since Cas didn't feel the need to bring up their conversation again in front of Dean, Sam decided not to say anything either. For now, at least.

-o-o-o-

The FBI shtick, while certainly riskier and paired with greater consequences, did tend to get them more information. The sheriff had eventually given up the details that hadn't been in the report. Their primary suspect was in an altercation several months before her death (which had been ruled a suicide). The case had never gone to trial, the charges dropped due to a lack of evidence, but the police report, concerning the alleged sexual assault of one Nicole Alders, had some pretty damn convincing evidence in there. Sam, ever the lawyer in brain and heart if not degree, could see no other conclusion than a cover up. That left the Winchesters with a sour taste in their mouths and a pretty firm hunch the Sheriff was more involved than he'd let on, considering he was the driving force in burying the case.

Unfortunately for them, Nicole Alder had been cremated and all her possessions returned to her grandmother. Sam quickly recalled the urn resting on the fireplace mantle, a delicate gold necklace with a single heart pendant hanging around its neck, from their previous visit. He'd asked the older woman about it, considering it seemed just the thing a ghost would attach to in order to hang around and exact revenge on the men who had attempted to assault her and gotten off scott-free.

Dean still wasn't convinced her suicide wasn't another cover up of foul play, considering the skeevy vibe the entire Sheriff's office had given him.

However, seeing as Marian Alder was not a fan of theirs and was guaranteed to call the cops if they showed their faces at her Victorian style home again, they were going to have to wait until the old broad went to her weekly Bridge game the next afternoon (it had been hand written in her calendar tacked to the fridge when Dean went to use the restroom and snooped instead). Maybe if they were lucky, Nicole wouldn't strike again so soon. Not to mention, she was out of targets, the three assailants described in the police report matching the victims closely enough to be conclusive, in Dean's opinion. And if her death hadn't been a suicide and others were involved, the Winchester had no idea who, so they had no potential victims to protect. They're best bet was robbing the old lady's house and burning whatever the hell Nicole was still attached to. Hopefully it would be as simple as that necklace she'd worn every day of her life since her fourteenth birthday.

With any luck (not that the Winchesters were ever used to having any), they'd lay her to rest once and for all and be back at Bobby's in time for dinner.

Of course, all of that meant one more night hanging around the dull little town that didn't even have a decent bar scene. Not that Dean was jonesing for a drink. Maybe another night, when Sam wasn't as jumpy as a tweaker on six straight energy drinks and Cas wasn't…well, female. Dean might finally be getting his body on the same page as his head, but he didn't think adding alcohol to that just-barely-getting-there situation was a stellar idea.

So, instead, he plopped down on the cheap mattress, his body bouncing on the thin yet somehow still rock-hard springs. Remote in hand, he decided to find himself some quality television to spend the next hour not thinking about.

Of course, that would be a lot easier if Cas wasn't standing in front of the TV, milling about like she didn't know what to do with herself.

"You make a better door than window, Cas," Dean said with a hint of amusement. Cas frowned at him as Sam grabbed something out of his bag and headed past her for the bathroom. Dean gestured to the bed with the remote. "Come on, sit. We'll get a head start on that pop culture education of yours."

Cas awkwardly perched on the edge of the mattress, clearly new at this, body mostly turned towards the TV but eyes locked on Dean. The hunter just shook his head and flipped the television on. He started channel surfing, Cas's attention finally pulled away from him by the rapidly changing moving pictures, until Dean found something mindlessly satisfying. He settled on Jaws, perking up a bit at the old classic that was apparently part of a marathon. Maybe not as mind-numbing as he'd been going for, but you just didn't pass up the classics.

"This is a good one," he said aloud, Cas turning her head back to lock that blue gaze on his as he launched into a basic plot synopsis for the angel. He'd just finished identifying the main characters as the last one – Quint – showed up on screen, when Sam came out of the bathroom in his workout gear.

Dean, halfway to telling Cas it was gonna be hard for her to watch the movie if she was busy watching Dean and not the television, stopped mid-sentence when he spotted what his brother was wearing. The older Winchester raised his eyebrows. "Going somewhere, Forrest?"

Sam rolled his eyes but answered exactly how his brother was expecting anyway. "For a run."

Which only got him Dean's raised eyebrows looking pointedly at the clock. "At eleven at night?"

The brunette ignored his brother and headed for the door, snagging his iPod and headphones on the way. Aggravated and just about done with being kept out of whatever loop his brother was playing in – a loop apparently bad enough to call for midnight runs instead of, oh, say, sleeping – Dean sat up on the bed.

"Okay, that's it. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing, Dean." Sam strapped his iPod to his arm with one of those stupid looking armbands and plugged his earbuds in. "I've just got energy to burn."

"Bullshit." Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed, done pulling punches. "You mean you don't want to go to sleep."

At Sam's fierce glare his direction, Dean knew he'd hit the nail on the head. Not that he'd had any doubts. He knew this kid better than any other person on the planet.

"Damn it, Sam, will you just tell me what this is about?" He stood from the bed, tossing the remote onto the comforter. In his periphery, he saw Cas stand as well. "You too freaked out to sleep, but not too freaked out to go put yourself out, alone, in the middle of nowhere without even a weapon on hand?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, do we have a weapon that can stop a demon?" Sam shot back, bitchiness turned all the way up at his brother trying to control his life. First Azazel, now Dean. Sam refused to be kept hidden from the world just because it was trying to kill him. And yeah, maybe that was stupid, but damnit, he needed out. He couldn't stop living because of fear. He wouldn't, even if he couldn't stop himself from jumping at every damn corner. That was why he needed to run. To pound pavement and feel the air burn in his lungs because he wasn't gonna get that anytime soon hunting down a demon they couldn't find but sure as hell could find them.

Dean ground his teeth in response, because no, they didn't have anything Sam could arm himself against Azazel. At least not yet.

"I will watch over you while you go on your…run."

Both brothers turned at Castiel's grave voice, her look as serious as ever as she glanced between the two and they just stared right back. Her intense gaze settled on Sam. "If it is okay with you, I will monitor you while you run. I can be at your side in an instant should something happen."

She directed that last bit at Dean, and Sam turned his own challenging gaze to his brother, as if to say 'there you go.' Dean pulled quite the bitchface of his own, but answered by grabbing the remote off the bed and plopping back on top of the mattress.

"Fine," he conceded, clearly not happy about it. "Cas can hang with me, but I'm telling you her education is gonna be severely hampered if she's busy watching you do your best impression of Usain Bolt."

It was Dean's way of agreeing while still being a total jerk about the whole thing, but Sam would take it.

"I don't even know who that is, Dean," he bit back, though his tone was one that said 'suck it'. He grabbed a jacket and threw it on as he opened the door. "Cas, don't listen to anything he has to say. The only stuff you'll learn from Dean's choice of shows is how to pick up chicks. Poorly, too."

The older Winchester let out a loud harrumph from the bed, turning scandalized eyes on his little brother. "Nonsense, Sam. She's a lady. We're gonna find a good soap opera and then she's gonna learn the glory that all soaps teach us: how to slap a dude."

Sam shook his head, knowing they had a hell of a lot more to talk about than this, but appreciating his brother letting him have it, and his need to get out, all the same. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Cas's voice as she got the final say on the non-argument she probably didn't realize they were having.

"I thought we were learning how to be killed by man-eating sharks."

-o-o-o-

They didn't even make it ten minutes further into the movie before Cas was doing more Dean-watching than she was TV-watching. Specifically, some Dean-Chest-Watching. The hunter finally rolled his eyes and gave the angel a pointed look where she sat on the edge of the mattress, looking entirely out of place in her fed getup and completely rigid posture.

"Definitely hard to watch man-eating sharks if you're busy watching me, Cas," were the first words out of his mouth, and Dean managed to clamp down on his tongue before he could let out the second set (a quip about the only exception being that he himself was a legendary woman-eater…Well, you get it). Apparently, his brain was not quite on the right page yet either and that was definitely not something one said in the company of angels. Or most females. Or most female angels.

While Cas probably wouldn't get the joke (either side of it, and it was a pretty good one, if Dean did say so himself) the devil lady currently playing host the angel would. And Dean really didn't want to be any more of a creep or a dick to Angela than he already had been by nature of…well, nature.

"Apologies," Castiel eventually said, raising her eyes up to Dean's face.

The hunter narrowed his eyes in return. Seriously, what was up with everyone around him acting all weird today? Cas shifted on the bed, hands restless in her lap, before she dropped her gaze and Dean couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at that. That was what Cas did when he was embarrassed or ashamed. What the hell was shameful about staring at Dean's chest? Creepy? Absolutely. Annoying? Sure. But shameful?

"I was hoping to seek conference," the angel confessed, much to Dean's confusion because…what?

"Conference?"

Castiel let out a breath of air that very well could have been a sigh, only Dean was pretty sure Cas hadn't figured those out naturally yet. "The brother that I conferred with in Heaven. He told me things that were very… disturbing."

Which was back-in-the-day Cas speak for 'freaked him the hell out.' Dean frowned, realizing that Cas was getting real here and this was probably about what had been bothering her all day. So he muted the TV and sat up, pushing back against the headboard. It still didn't sit well with Dean that Cas was intent to follow through with the insane plan to recruit angels to their side. Dean knew how wrong that could go and he'd been waiting for that shoe to drop for weeks now.

"What things?"

Cas met his gaze, and he could see anguish in that otherwise stoic ocean. "He has seen proof of Naomi's tamperings."

The hunter couldn't help the way his hands curled into fists against the thin comforter, but he kept his breathing even with years of mastering rogue emotions. Given the little oddities throughout the day in Cas's behavior and the look in her usually neutral face, Dean could well figure that proof had come in a Castiel-shaped box wrapped with a big, ugly bow.

God, he wanted that bitch as dead as she'd been in his time.

"I'm sorry, Cas." He could see the devastation in the slight slump of his friend's shoulders, and certainly in her eyes. She hadn't wanted to believe him, which was fair. What he'd had to tell royally sucked for the angel. He woulda wished it wasn't true, too, if he had that luxury.

Cas turned her gaze away, focusing back on the silent images flickering one after the other on the television screen. Dean knew she didn't give a crap about what she was watching, but he knew how a distraction made things easier in moments like these. "It was hard to hear. I… I felt an urgent need to leave Heaven. To…escape…to somewhere safe."

Safer than what was supposed to be her home.

Dean nodded. It wasn't the first time he'd heard the angel having something like a panic attack, though the Castiel of this time probably wouldn't be familiar with them. Still, it turned out with things like that, angels were a lot more like humans than they thought (or ever seemed willing to admit). So he did what he would do for any human; he offered an encouraging, sympathetic smile. "I get it. I really do, man. I'm glad you came looking for us."

Cas was staring again, but at least this time it was directed at Dean's face. The hunter fidgeted as the silence turned from companionable and acceptable to just plain awkward. "So…uh…did you wanna…talk?"

The head tilt suggested no, but Dean cleared his throat and tried again. "You said you were looking for, uh, conference?"

Cas straightened (the angelic version of "Oh") and seemed to realized what Dean meant. Her face might have barely moved, but Dean narrowed his eyes at the sudden impression of sheepishness he got. He knew Cas too well.

"Not with you," the angel offered in explanation, and perhaps a slight apology in her gravely tone, though not one that anyone else on the planet had any hope of picking up. Again, Dean knew this guy too damn well. Er…girl.

"Not with me?" Dean balked, half insulted (cuz, rude) and half confused, because there wasn't exactly anyone else there to talk to. Maybe Cas meant Sam, but then why help him go off for a friggin' midnight run when he should be sleeping like a normal person who tells their brother the truth about shit going down. "Then who the hell else-"

Dean's words were cut off by that blue gaze dropping to his chest again, and oh. Oh. Dean blinked in realization, glancing down at his sternum and the sliver angel apparently sitting pretty just behind it. Cas could do that…with…himself? Herself? Uh, themselves? Ugh, whatever.

"You can do that?" Dean sat up straighter, something between a frog caught in his throat and a flutter in his chest playing tug of war with his body. "You can…talk to him?"

"It will not be a conversation as you would think of it," Cas answered back, "but yes, I should be able to commune with my grace in a manner of speaking."

The hunter sat, blinking stupidly at the angel. About a dozen and a half thoughts went through his head (the first five discarded under the category 'grow up, Dean' (oddly said in Sam's tone of voice), the next five thrown out for 'get your head out of the gutter, Dean' (Jo's voice), the two after that were a stuttering mess Dean couldn't identify (but were accompanied with an 'Aww, that's so sweet. Gay as a leprechaun in a thong in the middle of a pride parade. But really sweet'. Charlie's voice. Definitely Charlie on that one) and the last were pretty much just a series of Cas himself thanking Dean for his understanding and patience about a dozen times throughout their friendship, and only like one of which the human had friggin' earned. So, yeah, ending on that note meant he sucked up his manliness, tucked away his sarcasm, told Charlie to maybe just cool it with the imagery (because, uh, what the hell and also eww) and moved the hell over on the bed to make room for his friend in need). The shuffle across the comforter was a little awkward, and Dean cleared his throat when Castiel didn't move despite it. Eventually, with an epic eye roll, he had to pat the warm dip in the mattress he had previously filled for his friend to get the hint. "Okay, uh, come on over and… commune, or whatever."

Once the invitation was painstakingly clear, Castiel didn't hesitate. She stood from the end of the bed, crossed the distance around the mattress, and resettled beside Dean. Like the angel she was, Cas didn't know well enough to settled on the bed beside him, instead sitting stiffly and awkwardly half-turned towards the hunter with her legs off the side and feet planted firmly on the ground.

Dean didn't bother telling her otherwise, because her hand was spread across his chest in about the same breath she'd sat down, and the hunter was busy breathing through the sudden warmth fluttering through his pecs. He hadn't forgotten the flip-flopping feel of that grace in his sternum reuniting with its original source, but he'd sort of let himself forget just how damn good it felt. Like cotton candy at a county fair or the spin-o-cycle you'd ride right afterward.

Or, you know, really good sex.

Another clearing of his throat later and Dean forced that – and any follow up thought of the same line – so far from his mind they probably landed somewhere in Timbuktu. He glanced at the angel, hoping Cas hadn't heard any of that (though they were working on that whole privacy-of-mind thing). But Cas had closed her eyes and Dean was suddenly distracted – taken, though he'd never use a term so chick-flicky – by the look of peace that stole over her features. Her breathing deepened, her body stilled but not in that stiff, unnatural way. Dean was suddenly aware of how oddly intimate – and therefore very, very awkward – the moment had just become.

"I am making you uncomfortable."

Dean blinked at the suddenly blue eyes open and locked on his, though that hand was still flush to his t-shirt clad chest and he got the impression Cas really didn't want to remove it.

"Uh…" He gave an awkward cough but told all that interior panic to shut up. This was Cas, and all he – she – wanted was some comfort. Uh, conference. Dean decided it was probably for the best if he spent the next however-long-Cas-was-communing looking anywhere else, though. "No, man, it's- uh…it's cool. Do what you gotta do."

The hunter straight up yelped when Cas went and, like friggin' lightning, slid her hand up under his shirt to resettle in the exact same place, now flush to flesh.

"What the hell!" he wiggled underneath her cold fingers and the angel froze, bright blue eyes locked, all wide and innocent on his (and that was not friggin fair. No way Devil Lady wasn't in there telling his innocent angel to friggin' feel him up).

"This is worse?" she intoned, and damnit, she really did sound confused. Cas wasn't that good of an actor, which made all of this so much worse.

"You thought it would be better?" Dean countered, incredulous, as he switched between staring pointedly at the arm buried under his t-shirt and the angel.

"Skin contact allows for a much clearer connection," Cas explained, like the answer was obvious and Dean was the one causing problems here.

Dean couldn't help the deadpan glare if he tried, and he absolutely did not try. He collapsed back against the pillows, muttering, "Of course it does."

The angel seemed hesitant for a minute, and Dean could tell she was considering pulling away. So he grumbled that it was fine, just do whatever it was she needed to do in order to 'seek conference' and he'd go back to watching Jaws II. Although Cas could tell her human charge was not entirely pleased with this despite his words, she really could benefit from communing with the grace inside his chest. So, cautiously, she settled back onto the bed beside the hunter and closed her eyes, welcoming the entanglement of her power with the dormant sliver deep inside her charge's chest.

"You tell Angela she better shut her pie hole about this," Dean grumbled again after a moment of tense silent.

"Angel is currently sleeping."

Green eyes slid her way and Castiel could tell he was trying to decide whether or not to believe her. Finally, Dean seemed to relax a fraction more, and Cas filed the interaction away for later inspection. Apparently, what her human host thought of Dean mattered to him, which Castiel did not understand. It was unlikely that he and Angela Garrett would ever speak face-to-face, and there was no one but Castiel with whom she could share her thoughts or judgements, as the angel suspected was Dean's true fear.

Perhaps that was what the human found worrying, then.

"You have nothing to be concerned about," Castiel concluded, and Dean raised an eyebrow her way, not following the conversation. "She likes you. As do I."

Bright red colored Dean's cheeks almost immediately, and he looked away like something Castiel had said was not something he had wanted to hear. Humans were confusing as ever.

"Uh. Yeah, thanks." Dean cleared his throat again and was it dusty in here or something? Maybe he should try a glass of water. "That's- yeah. Uh. You too- or, uh, me too. I guess. You know."

Castiel did not know, given that none of that had been a full sentence or particularly informative. But she accepted it all the same, the awkward intent obvious enough. And as Dean turned his attention back to the television set with laser-like focus, Castiel closed her eyes and once more sought out her matching existence in the man's chest.

-o-o-o-

Dean couldn't help himself. Between the fact that Jaws II was just not that good of a movie (definitely not a classic like the first one and lacking the ridiculousness of the third) and the warmth blossoming in his chest in a current loop of happy little pulse-explosions, he couldn't ignore the angel sitting next to him like he had planned to. He kept sneaking glances at her when he was pretty sure she wasn't paying attention. Which was the entire time, actually, and the more confident he got about that, the longer he would stare.

Angela was a beautiful woman, no doubt about it, but what Dean realized the longer he watched her was the more of Cas that he could see in her features. It could have been her distant relation to Jimmy that saw such similarities, but something niggled in the back of his mind (and the front of his chest) telling him that wasn't what he was seeing. Soon enough it became something of a game, a challenge, really, to spot the angel he knew in the human's features.

It was more entertaining than the movie, was what he told himself, anyway.

There was a lightness to her skin, dark and red-toned as it was, that struck familiarity in the hunter. Nothing supernatural, though Dean had the distinct impression that it was the grace filling her human vessel that gave off that impression. A calm confidence that spoke of no doubts and no insecurities, something that simply seemed inhuman in a way (and which Dean knew not to be true, but which angels seemed so damn good at suppressing). There was a squareness to her jaw Dean was pretty sure didn't belong to Angela. It spoke of discipline and military and obedience, which he didn't figure was part of the Devil Lady's normal demeanor.

Not that he knew how a square jaw could possibly be a demeanor. The damn thing should have been genetics, but nope. Dean was pretty sure without Cas around, the angles of those cheekbones and that jaw would be way softer.

Friggin' angels, man.

He tried to think of differences he'd seen in Sam, both with Gadreel and Lucifer. He didn't like to think about the latter, but it was probably the most obvious change in his brother to go off of. Gadreel had been stiff, and Dean had written off the changes in his brother mostly as the angel unfamiliar with humanity and with what was possibly a bigger stick up his ass than even Cas had ever had. Looking back on it now, though, Dean wondered if the way Gadreel had ground his brother's jaw hadn't been a symptom of the angel himself, as he was fairly certain Cas was doing for Angela now. Lucifer possessing Cas had actually been similar, with the angel seeming far harder around the edges than normal.

It was an interesting realization that was utterly and completely ended when the hotel room door handle jiggled a millisecond before Sam swung the damn thing open with no further warning.

Dean was up and off and across the bed all in one go. He ended up going from laying to rolling to standing with far too much momentum in the small space between the second bed and the wall that separated the main room from the bathroom. He managed not to tumble over completely as one foot took half the thin comforter with him and he had to catch himself flat-palmed on the wall with a loud smack. All of which he covered completely and totally smoothly with a single hand on his hip and an award winning smile for the rest of the room that spoke of absolutely nothing wrong with this situation in the slightest.

Cas, still half-perched on the bed with her hand outstretched over a now empty space, just blinked up at him, a little stunned and clearly confused. Sam, on the other hand, stood in the doorway with a look on his face that said 'What the hell?' to the max.

"Uh…." The younger Winchester's eyes went from his panting, disheveled brother oddly groping the motel wall and standing in a space about six inches wide with half the bed coverings dragged off, to the angel with her outstretched arm. A look of, perhaps not understanding but certainly amusement, crossed his face as hazel eyes resettled on his big brother. "Why are you breathing like you just ran a marathon?"

Dean balked, pulling his head back and letting go of the wall to stand normally. "You're one to talk."

Sam, who was actually breathing pretty acceptably for having just gone on an hour run, said as much with a bitchface (a little bit of #8, "Did you seriously just say that?" but mostly #12).

"Dude, I was running." The younger hunter glanced between the two again and some more of that little-brother-evil-glee lit his face. "What were you two doing?"

"Shut your mouth right now," Dean growled as he stalked around the bed, practically tripping over the comforter again as he navigated the small space. "We were watching TV."

"Uh-huh." Sam shut the door behind him, pulling his headphones off from around his neck and wrapping them around his iPod.

"Tell him, Cas," Dean demanded, gesturing towards the still confused angel who had at least lowered her arm by that point.

Castiel switched between Dean and Sam, who started peeling off his sneakers but was regarding the angel with some mix of enjoyment and encouragement.

"Dean was watching television," she began and the hunter in question gestured towards her with both arms like she had proved his point. Unfortunately for him, she was not done telling. "I was conferencing with the grace in his chest."

"Traitor!" Dean hissed, much to the worriment of Castiel, who could not quite tell what she had betrayed. But the hunter didn't seem all that mad, throwing himself down onto the end bed as Sam purposefully sent a look his way that he flat out ignored. He grabbed the remote and jacked the volume to the TV way up. Lucky for him, Sam was way more interested in conversing about the technicalities of grace communing than the liquid-gold teasing material this mess absolutely was (especially as Cas held back nothing when it came to how much better skin-on-skin contact was for the process).

("Oh? It is, is it? How much skin contact, exactly?" That stupidly high pitch voice had been pointed right in his direction and Dean answered it with a single raised finger.)

He was sure he'd be hearing plenty about this in the future. Winchester's weren't exactly known for letting golden opportunities slide. In which case, Dean would promptly remind the kid of that time he tried to kiss Stacie Harrison at his eighth grade dance and ended up with a face full of punch. That'd teach him.

In the meantime, if Cas needed anymore conferencing, she could do it with her friggin' eyeballs and about thirty-nine and a half feet between them.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/Ns: While I've been struggling with this story, I've allowed the muse to wander a bit and get out some of the other stuff that's been distracting her. So keep an eye out over the next couple weeks for some new stories. They'll all be relatively short or oneshots, but I'm trying to line some of them up to sprinkle in when this story encounters a lengthy delay.

Up Next: We wrap this piddly little case up (and Cas finally shows that yes, having an angel on a hunt is actually handy) and finally, finally, finally land ourselves in actual-season-two-land. Thank the lord!