Castiel was so stiff. Like hugging a thick, human-sized chunk of rebar. His body shuttered gut churning and twisting into itself. The angel was stern against his embrace, his body radiating heat.

Castiel swallowed, confused and drawing all the blanks. After everything, the very first thing he had expected was for the human to attack him. To defend himself as he was a hunter of the supernatural, not hug him. Not so— openly. His trench coat folded, creasing and pressing against Dean. He took a step back, watching Dean's hesitancy. But he kept his arms wrapped around him, keeping him close like he was the last thing on earth. Dean's eyes were thin slits, head pressed to the left side of his chest. He was desperate, but he didn't know why.

Dean broke the silent beat, and sniffed, "Hey, Cas." a relieved smile quirked the corner of his lip. His bloodied knuckles finally relaxed.

"You—" Castiel had nothing. Eyes reading every thought that sparked into the hunter's mind:

Sadness.

Anger.

Relief.

"Yeah," Dean replied, voice soft.

Like Cas wasn't at all a little suspicious? How angel radio went silent as he embraced him. Suspicion began to arise in his blue, icy eyes.

Castiel hesitated, the feeling now leaving his chest. His head cocked to the side, "How?"

Dean stifled a chuckle, "It's… a long story." Looking the angel up and down, taking him in once more. "I'm just glad to see you. Again." His vigorous blinking ceased, and his head leaned back, staring at the still ceiling. Just a few more seconds and Cas is bound to find out. Dean told himself. Castiel, at this stage, his rank in heaven, was conjoined to the hip with all the feathery assholes. Still believing that Chuck hadn't stepped out yet, that Lucifer and Michael were plotting their imminent return. So, he needed to be careful. Like always, now the cat was out of the bag— all he had to do was the hard part. Explaining it to the angel. "Cas, I'm not…" his mouth moved, but no words came out.

He could feel Castiel's searching eyes, the quiet hum in the back of his head that singled the angel's piercing presence. He was listening with all his attention. To his physical and mental expressions.

"Heaven doesn't know about you," he observed bluntly. "Not this you." All of his emotions were stripped away, hidden with no feeling. Unsettling was the short stick in Dean's perspective. But he kept his feet planted to the ground. Strong, confident. Shielding the probing doubt infiltrating his mind as they spoke. They were holding eye contact for what felt to be a millennium.

"Yeah," Dean agreed in a whisper, pacing back and forth. His hand reached to the bridge of his nose, rubbing it.

"You met Zachariah," Castiel interrogated.

Dean's pacing paused, eyes half baffled, "Well, shit. Yeah, how?" they were just throwing that word back and forth with every sentence it felt like.

"Your aura. It's tainted by him. You made a deal." the angel continued to probe. "What?"

The hunter sighed deeply. "Do you want to know?"

"Yes." No doubt, the angel was irked to know.

"Alright, but turn off Heaven's comms," he ordered, shifting his weight. Risking anything for heaven to hear between the two would be vital. If any of his information about the future got out— it would be hell on earth. And he seriously didn't want to be another angelic playtoy.

"You mean Angel Radio? I can't do that."

"Then I can't tell you. Doesn't mean you can look into my mind either, because that will file back to Heaven no matter what." Dean grumbled in frustration.

"That isn't true." Castiel took a step, his trenchcoat swishing fluidly. "What I do doesn't cooperate directly to Heaven, it is only what I send that gets intercepted."

The hunter glared at the angel, before folding his arms. "Fine." He submitted. "I'm not from this time, I'm from ten years from now. So, 2018. I've already met you, and know just as much as a damn angel bout' Heaven and Hell. Zachariah had made a deal with me to send me back in time. To correct the timeline from the beginning. Before the Apocalypse had spun off Lucifer was let out of his cage. And in return, I have a second chance to change…everything I did wrong." His hand reached to his inside pocket, gripping the smooth hilt of Cas' angel blade; presenting it in its full glory.

Fear shone through Castiel's vessel as soon as the angelic metal set within stabbing range of his body. His nose flared, and his blade slipped down from the inside of his sleeve. His neck craned backward, chin raising to the sky.

"It's yours." The blade spun with grace and accuracy. The nose pointed to the ground, nonthreatening. A carved C was at the base, just centimeters from the hilt. It was something the two had done together, a long, long time ago. At one point, when they both obtained angel blades after killing a rogue angel, taking its blade. He'd used it forever on their conquest to stop Michael, and with that, was able to use the angel blade tip to carve the initial. The only way to damage a form of angelic metal. "The only thing I had left of you, was to remind me of you." He stifled a chuckle, "And half protection. Get chicks that like sharp things."

Castiel's wariness faded, "What is your plan then?" A hint of curiosity lanced the angel's tone.

A grin poked Dean's eyes, the blade dancing in his palm. The weapon was perfectly balanced. "Plan?" His gaze snapped to the angel, "Dean Winchester never has a plan." he sheathed the blade back into the hidden confinements of his jacket pocket. "Only that I've been tasked to save the fucking world."


"We need a plan." Dean huffed.

"We don't know anything about angels, Dean. I mean, these aren't just some high-level demons making a joke— this could be a real win for us! A possibility that the good guys are out there," Sam explained, no doubt excited about the whole matter. First thing: Pamela got her eyes burned out by just peeking at the thing, and now his brother said he might've met one? The icing on the cake being with just a single touch Castiel knocked Bobby out cold for seven hours.

"And how long has it been now?" Sam asked.

"Like, four hours. I had to drive his ass home. Like a damn sack of potatoes." Dean nudged Bobby's limp foot hanging halfway on the sofa.

"Dean,"

"Just checking."

"So you're saying Castiel did it?"

"Two fingers and he was out like a light."

It took all of Dean's strength not to laugh at the sight. The amusement was more prominent the second time around. "Or it could be a problem." he testified.

"Dean," Sam attempted again, to convince his brother's mind.

Bobby, on the other hand, had a better idea, "You idjits gunna keep arguing religion, or are you goin' to come over here and listen?"

Both of the brothers glanced at each other, before sighing. Dean prowled behind Sam and rested his shoulder against a concrete stack of books. He continued, "I got stacks of lore— Biblical, pre-Biblical. Some of it's in damn cuneiform. It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit."

"What else?" Dean demanded. Once again, he already knew the answer to that question but decided it would be safe to act dumb. To act like he didn't just spill everything he knew up to his last breath to Castiel.

"What else, what?" Bobby raised an eyebrow, looking up with a sharp glare. He didn't know what the hell was going on inside the hunter's head, but it was near concerning. Dean was working in a sly pattern. Act like he knows something one moment, and then is scared to look in the eyes the other. Something wasn't adding up, and it was getting out of hand. Bobby could tell the way by just how Sam glanced at him that he too had his suspicions.

"What else could do it?" Dean droned, averting his brother's burning gaze.

"Airlift your ass out of the hot box? Little no nothin'." Bobby grumbled, slamming the leather-bound book the size of Dean's head closed with a Thud.

Dean's shoulders relaxed against his sides, huffing in the open for everyone to hear. Sam turned to him, "Okay, look. I know you're not all choirboy about this stuff, but this is becoming less and less about faith and more and more about proof."

Faith? Faith? Dean had faith. He had faith in Cas, and even he couldn't protect him. He had to watch his friends (who were now all hauntingly alive) around him. So yeah, his faith was lacking. Because there was a God. And quite frankly, was an asshole. He was surrounded by people who would soon meet their ends. "Proof my ass." Dean huffed back, prowling away.

At about noon, the team had moved out, heading downtown to a nearby garage where Bobby had kept his various hunting items in store. Closed up and tucked away so no demons could get their stalky fingers on them.

"You know," Dean tried to spark up a tiny conversation, just to ease the suspicions (and half for his own sake), "I've been wondering. About Ruby."

He could practically feel the eye-roll radiating off of Bobby, stuffing his tan duffle bag into the back of Bobby's rinky-dink Chevy. "Dunno." He pressed down the devil's trunk, "She's been awfully quiet for some time now— not like I didn't notice Sam's sneaking out though."

"Have any ideas on what she's doing?"

"No clue," Bobby huffed, while the familiar hum of Dean's Impala cruised by with Sam in the front. He hovered over the open side door, "Keep the engine runnin',"

"Why? What's going on?" Sam's brows furrowed, one hand limply on the steering wheel.

"I got a friend one state over— Olivia Lowry. Been trying to reach her for three days on Dean's angel thing. It's not like her to ignore my calls. I've tried with some others in the area, and they said nothin'." He sighed.

Dean prowled behind the hunter, "Scoot," he ordered, opening the driver's side while shoving his brother to the passengers.

"Follow me, got it?" Bobby tapped the side of the car.

"Yeah, yeah." Sam nodded, tilting to Dean. He didn't know what he was looking at, but swore something in his brother's jacket—

"Lawry? Isn't she a hunter?" he asked briskly, hands grazing over the wheel.

"Yeah," Sam blinked, eyes tracing up to Bobby's car coasting ahead.


It took no time at all to reach Olivia's place, only to find her dead body the same as before. Her stockpiles of salt, guns, silver, and a whole bunch of exercising necessities were available. Dean was practically neutral the entire visit; minus the occasional hints of disgust or unsettlement. Just enough to throw off Sam and Bobby. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered: Would it be worth it to just tell them? He had no plan. He had no end goal, only to somehow achieve the impossible. Why Zachariah had believed he could accomplish this feat was still baffling, maybe even a little humbling.

Bobby had split the boys up, searching around the clock for any live hunters in the vicinity, only to find none. All were killed in the same brutal manner. Sliced, torn open, and dead. Jed was on the floor, blood splattered like his body had been dragged through the glass. Or human-sized sandpaper belly down.

"What the hell is going on," Sam groaned, easing the car into a small gas station to refuel. They'd just got off the phone with Bobby. All their allies were ganked, painted in red by his words. All Dean could remember was the faint memory of those damn ghost twins. And Meg.

Fucking Meg. He didn't realize he was partially scowling until Sam patted his shoulder. "I'm gonna take a leak, stay in the car will ya?"

Dean simply nodded, easing back into the chair. The quiet was maybe even a little peaceful now. He'd just said hi to Castiel after what felt to be years, his brother was back as well as a bonus with Bobby. He had all the chances to be happy.

But something, of course, was holding down those very warm, needed thoughts. His mission still wasn't over. It was barely even begging, and with all of the weight now on his shoulders… he needed to file down who he could trust. It wasn't like the old days, one where he had Rowena, or Crowley and Charlie to back his ass up. Yes, Cas was there— but he was busy. Not like they weren't already joined to the hip— but it changed things. If only there was a way to bring everyone together—

Just one day at a time. He reassured himself, clutching the angel blade's hilt.

His momentary silence and his calmness were interrupted by a flash of color. "Shit!" Dean skyrocketed out of the car, sprinting over to the restroom inside the store. With Sam's sudden pounding ricocheting off his ears.

He saw the outline of a familiar face. He would've been lying, but if he didn't turn around, Dean would've thought it was Michael. But no, it was Henriksen.

The vengeful spirits.

Sam's eyes were wide, bleeding from the nose while his brother made the calculated move. Jousting behind the spirit with the angel blade, materializing in a bright flash of holy light. Dean was only panting because he was woken up from a good doze, but his eyes snapped to Sam. Who was eyeing the blade with amazement.

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of the hunter's face, before groaning, "Shit."