It's been a while since I wrote for this fandom, so if the characterization seems wonky, that is why. Hopefully not, though :)

Chapter IV

Suspicions Abound

"Who… What are you?!"

A protest, a defense, an explanation instantly formed in Dean's mind, only to quiet into the silence of the room and the startled gazes of three humans.

No. No, he couldn't come clean. Not here, not now.

Sam and Bobby didn't yet have knowledge that angels existed, and the concept that one of the angels fell to Earth and got reborn as a human would sound too unbelievable to them at this point. All they would hear from his story most likely would end up summed into 'he's not real Dean'. And, honestly, Dean didn't have enough power to defend himself in the worst-case scenario without hurting them.

So, no, telling them his true identity wasn't an option right now.

Time for some improvisation then.

What was he?

"Kind of a big deal, thanks for noticing," a joke rolled off Dean's tongue before he could catch himself. Unsurprisingly, it fell flat, his smirk faded, and he threw his arms up. "Oh, c'mon! Seriously?" he asked incredulously. "How many times do I have to prove that I'm me?" He didn't even need to fake the desperation in his voice—he was desperate enough for them to believe him at this moment.

A little bit of tension left Sam's shoulders. He cleared his throat and glanced at Pamela. "What exactly did you feel?"

The psychic narrowed her eyes at Dean who spread his arms to the side in a clear 'come at me' pose. A minute ticked by as she stared at him, searching.

Bobby's patience ran out first. "Well?" he urged.

Pamela shook her head, brow furrowed in confusion. "Just before I lost the connection, I felt the burst of power from Dean," she spoke slowly, lifting her head to gaze at Dean again, still suspicious. "The same kind I felt from that Castiel."

Dean snorted. "That's ridiculous," he said with finality. If it was just the brief feeling of his grace touching her powers, this shouldn't be hard to misdirect. He pointed at his shoulder and the palm mark burned into his flesh. "Maybe, you know, it has something to do with this thing? The thing that Castiel left?"

Sam and Bobby shared a look, both considering it.

Pamela seemed to be shaken by what he thought was the truth too. She hesitated before asking, "Can I come closer and check?"

Once again, Dean spread his arms to the side as an invite with a snappy, "Go ahead." It was a bit risky—because Pamela certainly was the best damn psychic in the state—but it also meant the fastest and the best way to be cleared of any suspicion.

Pamela approached carefully, still wary. Reaching out, she cupped Dean's face with her hands, staring straight into his eyes.

Dean tucked his grace closer to his soul, making sure that not a single drop of it leaked out.

After an excruciatingly long moment, she heaved a soft sigh, her shoulders relaxing.

"Hey, you wanna do an even closer inspection?" Dean said, lips tilting into a flirty grin. "I'd be up to it."

Pamela withdrew her hands and slapped him playfully over his shoulder. "He's fine," she declared to the other two in the room. Her gaze still held some of the wariness, but the majority of it disappeared by now. "It must have been power fluctuations between the mark and its owner."

"Ya know who that owner is exactly?" Bobby asked.

Pamela leaned against the table with her arms crossed. "I don't. I couldn't take a good look, but what I did see was…" Her brow furrowed. "Well, it's more of a feeling rather than a sight, but whatever that is, it's… immense."

"Immense?" Sam echoed. "What does it mean?"

"It's a powerful creature, that's for sure, but I don't know what it is," Pamela replied with a shrug.

Sam blew the air out of his lungs. "So, we're pretty much back at square one."

"I'm sorry, boys, for not being much of a help."

Bobby also sighed, took off his ball cap, brushed his hand through his hair, and put it back on. "Can you, boys, wait for me in the car?" he told the brothers. "I'll have a quick talk with Pamela and be right there too."

"Sure, Bobby," Sam was quick to agree. He offered a small hand wave and a brief smile as goodbye to Pamela and clapped his older brother over his shoulder. "Come on, Dean."

Throwing his jacket on, Dean winked at Pamela and instantly got a grin back. It was all good now. She wasn't wary anymore, it seemed, so he could leave with a calm mind.

"Dude, she was so into me," Dean stated the moment the door of the house closed behind them. "She reaaaaaly wanted to get her hands on me. No matter what."

Sam barked out a short laugh as he walked around the Impala to reach the passenger side. "She'd eat you alive."

"Hey, I just got out of jail. I'm ready," Dean retorted with confidence. "Right, Baby?" he asked, stroking his car's roof. "You're the only one who always has my back."

Sam gave him the most deadpan stare. "Seriously, Dean?"

"What?" Dean blinked innocently before cooing over the Impala further, "Don't mind him, sweetheart, he's just jealous of us."

Sam rolled his eyes, the edges of his mouth twitching into a fond curve. "Should I give you two some quality time alone?"

"Don't be jealous, bitch."

"Don't make out with your car in front of me, jerk."

After Bobby came back from his talk with Pamela, the trio decided to go back to Pontiac to clean up the demons first. Finding out what kind of creature Castiel was and what exactly he wanted from Dean was important, but they were still hunters and had their duty.

But before they moved back to the hotel to hatch a plan, they agreed to make a stop at the diner. Or more precisely: Dean whined the other two's ears off how much he wanted to eat pie right now until they gave in.

Dean grinned like an idiot all the way to Pontiac after that. Who could fault him? While he wasn't fully human anymore due to the sliver of grace fluttering inside his ribcage, he wasn't fully an angel either. And until this was the case, he wanted to enjoy everything human life could offer to its full extent.

Besides, he just spent forty years in Hell—he deserved to spoil himself a little.

As they approached the diner, Dean's new senses picked on several disgusting, slimy presences in the vicinity. His brow furrowed. Demons were nearby and were getting closer. When he maneuvered Baby into the diner's parking lot right after Bobby's car, he already knew that this place was exactly where all these demons congregated; he could sense a total of six of them.

This was a dangerous situation. Extremely dangerous. Dean didn't worry about himself, he had enough power now to not die at the very least. The same couldn't be said about Sam or Bobby though. He also couldn't think of a good reason why he would know that demons took over the diner, but he wasn't about to let his loved ones simply walk into a potential ambush.

"You know, on another thought, take-outs sound good enough," Dean said as they all climbed out of their cars. He immediately walked off to the diner with a cheery, "I volunteer to buy them, you two can wait here!" and a grin over his shoulder, not even waiting for the other two's inputs.

Sam just blinked in confusion, sharing a glance with equally confused Bobby. "Buy me a pie too!" he yelled and got a thumb-up as a signal that he heard it. He leaned against the Impala, arms crossed, and stared after his brother until he disappeared inside the diner. "You think Dean's acting weird?"

Bobby fixed his ball cap before leaning against his car's roof. For a moment he kept his eyes on the diner door. "Nah," he said eventually. "Dean's been through a lot. Anyone would have their heads messed up by something like that. Give him time."

Sam couldn't argue with logic. But… Forty years in Hell changed his brother. They were subtle things, not that important in the grand scheme of things, but they existed and Sam would lie to himself if he said those small, hardly significant changes didn't bother him.

"Did Pamela say anything?"

Bobby scowled at him. "She's sure Dean's human," he replied. "Ya got any reason to suspect she's wrong?"

"I—" Sam rubbed a hand across his face, then brushed his hair back. "I don't know. I guess not."

"Sam, if your instincts tell you—"

A high-pitched, whining sound pierced their eardrums a split second before an explosion tore through the diner's windows and door. Shards of glass and debris of window blinds blasted into the air like deadly confetti followed by a blinding flash that turned the world white for a heartbeat.

On instinct, Sam and Bobby threw themselves down on the ground, covering their heads for protection.

When no other sound came, Sam peeked from behind his arm and stared at the destroyed diner in stunned horror.

No fire could be seen through shattered windows and broken blinds. No smoke rising. No screams or shouts or wails of terrors and pain. Only deadly silence.

And his brother was still inside.

For a moment, Sam's heart seemed to freeze. And then it restarted, reaching a frightening speed in an instant, threatening to erupt from his chest. His hands started to tremble and he bolted from his spot with an alarmed, "Dean!"

He burst inside, pausing at the entrance to sweep the area with his eyes. A few overturned tables, but nothing seemed broken, except everything made out of glass. Not a normal explosion, then.

Glass crunched loudly under his boots as Sam walked inside, carefully looking around. "Dean?!" he called. His heart jumped into his throat when he noticed a man's body lying on his stomach in the middle of the diner. He didn't relax even after realizing that the body wore unfamiliar clothes. Not his brother, so where was he?

Cracking shards announced Bobby coming from behind. "Can you see him?" he asked, tone heavy and subdued.

Sam shook his head, crouching next to the body to check its vitals but found none. He flipped the body over and immediately jerked away from it.

The eye sockets were empty, charred black from inside and out to the point where even blood vessels got burned shut. Eyeballs were completely gone, their liquefied remains caked on the man's cheek.

Sam put a hand on his mouth as nausea rocketed his insides.

"Balls!" Bobby swore, looking over Sam's shoulder at the body. "Dean?! Can you hear me, boy?!" he hollered, scanning the diner.

From their position, they could see other bodies strewn around. A few had their faces directed toward them, empty charred eye sockets staring wretchedly at them.

A soft cough came from somewhere, and the hunters pricked their ears. Sam slid his hand under the jacket and squeezed the handle of the demon-killing knife.

"I'm…" another cough, "…here."

Both men moved across the diner in the direction of the weak, hoarse voice.

Sam was the first one to spy Dean, slumped against the wall in the corner, half hidden by the toppled-over table. "Dean!" He rushed forward, pushed the table away, and crouched next to his brother, frantic eyes examining his body to make sure he was okay.

Blood trailed down Dean's face from his closed eyes.

Sam sucked in a breath. "Are you alright, Dean?" he asked, grabbing his brother's hand that the latter extended to his general direction.

"Peachy…" Dean muttered under his breath. He let Sam haul him up, leaning against him for support. Hissing, he dared to open his eyes into narrow slits. "Vision's a bit blurry, though." He winced when the daylight hit his retinas, shutting his eyes again instantly after that.

Sam let air rush out of his lungs and it came out as a relieved laughter. "Be happy that you still have your eyes, man."

"What happened?" Bobby inquired, grabbing Dean from the other side to help him walk.

"These people here," Dean waved his hand around, indicating the corpses around the diner, "were demons. All of them. The ones we were looking for."

Sam carefully sidestepped one of the bodies, maneuvering Dean around it.

Bobby nervously looked around for the last time before the three of them left the diner. "So, how did they end up… dead?"

"They ambushed me the moment I stepped over the threshold, started asking questions."

Sam frowned. "What kind of questions?" he asked, motioning Bobby to take all Dean's weight while he opened the Impala's passenger door.

"About how or why I was pulled out of Hell."

They lowered Dean into the seat and he sunk into it with a tired sigh, throwing his arm across his injured eyes.

"Doesn't answer the question of how they ended up dead," Bobby pointed out. "Or why their eyes burned out of their skulls."

"Castiel killed them."

A beat of silence. Sam and Bobby shared a bewildered glance. Dean said it with such ease and assurance as if it wasn't shocking at all, but something to be expected. They didn't know how to feel about this news, dropped on them like a bomb.

In the distance, the wail of approaching sirens cut through the air, and they hurried to flee the scene.

Sam and Bobby left him alone on their way back to the hotel, but Dean knew it wouldn't last long. And he was right. The moment he plopped on the bed, they grew impatient.

"You said Castiel did all that?" Sam asked, taking a seat on the couch.

"Yeah." Dean groaned at the ache in his eyes, regardless of his grace already healing the injuries and taking off the sharpest pain. "Can I get a wet towel, please?"

Bobby was ahead and brought him the towel just as he was asking for it. "Here," he said, guiding Dean's hand to it. When the latter draped a cold, wet towel over his eyes and sighed in satisfaction, he asked, "Did ya see it?"

"No."

It was the truth. Dean didn't see Castiel, the state of his eyes notwithstanding. The angel had been careful to not show his true form directly to him, though it seemed that even the light of the smiting caused damage to his sight.

Despite this body being the true vessel of the archangel, it wasn't spared of the inherent fragility of human forms. It was a paradox that such delicate and mortal shells could serve as vessels for forces far beyond their nature, possessing an extraordinary capacity to contain and channel the immense powers of the divine and the infernal. Like a glass jar able to contain a storm.

Throughout eons of existence, Dean never thought about how it was possible. Such juxtaposition of weakness and strength, fragility and sturdiness, made the human body a unique and enigmatic creation.

How fascinating. Be it human physical bodies or their souls.

Bobby interrupted his musings with a question, "How do ya know that it was Castiel who killed the demons then?"

"Who else could it be?" Dean replied, sounding nonchalant about the fact. "I figured that if Castiel went through such troubles to pull me out of Hell, he's probably invested in me staying alive. For whatever reason."

Bobby frowned, before shrugging. "Seems logical."

"Why are you so sure?" Sam chimed in. "We don't even know what kind of creature it is."

"That's exactly why," Dean said. When no one spoke, he elaborated, "Have you ever seen someone else dealing with demons this way?" Silence. Of course, they didn't. The corner of his lips twitched up. "So, that's why."

Sam stayed silent, fingers drumming on his knee. "Okay. Make sense, I guess," he agreed after a moment. "That aside, you said demons ambushed you and started asking questions?"

Dean let out a quiet hum of agreement instead of speaking.

"It means demons know diddly-squat about what's happening."

"Sure looks like that," Bobby agreed. "It'd also mean it really wasn't the demon that pulled your brother out of Hell." A look at Dean lying motionlessly on the bed made his brow crease. "How're ya doing, kid?"

It took a moment for Dean to muster enough energy to answer. "My eyes are killing me." Not entirely true anymore, because his grace worked wonders in soothing the damage, he simply started to feel sleepy.

Sam stared at his brother, searching his face for any sign of distress. Finding none, he hesitated, but still suggested, "Maybe we should take you to the hospital, check your eyes."

"Nah." Dean waved his hand in a dismissive motion. "Just let me take a nap, and I'll be as good as new."

"Dean—"

"Sam."

The weariness in his big brother's voice was all that was needed for Sam to shut up. He observed Dean getting more comfortable for sleep and dozing off almost immediately.

Sam stood up and began pacing the room, restlessly rubbing his forehead. He occasionally glanced at the sleeping form in the bed before continuing to wear a hole in the floor.

Finally, Bobby sighed in surrender. "We should let Dean rest," he said quietly. "Let's talk outside."

Sam nodded absent-mindedly, obviously stewing over thoughts running rampant inside his head. They left the room and settled down in an empty lounge area, around the corner.

Bobby opened his mouth to ask what had gotten into Sam, but the boy beat him to it.

"We need to summon that damn thing, Bobby."

Bobby gawked at him. "You can't be serious."

"I can, and I am." Sam looked and sounded adamant.

"We still don't know what it is. It's obviously something we had never dealt with before," Bobby argued. "It could be anything. I know we've already crossed the demon out of the list, but maybe it's the one we'd never heard of before. Not like Hell is short on demons. It could even be an angel like Dean said."

"The problem is Dean!" Sam shot up from his seat with a shout, starting to pace again.

"Meaning?"

"Something is off, I just… can't figure out what exactly," Sam spoke as he paced back and forth. "I'm worried about that mark this thing—this Castiel—left on Dean. Pamela said she felt power fluctuations between the mark and the owner, right? What if—" he cut himself off and stopped, worrying his lower lip.

"What if Castiel somehow controls Dean through that?" Bobby finished for him.

"That's not—" the denial died in Sam's throat. He knitted his brow. "I don't think he's being controlled, more like… influenced by it? Dean's too relaxed even though some unknown creature is stalking him. And also, do you remember what Dean said at Pamela's?" He paused, fixing the other man with a hard stare. "'Just a peek at it could burn your eyes out of your skull.'"

Bobby dragged a hand down his face. "And demons truly did get their eyes burned out of their skulls…"

"And that's why we have to face that thing head-on."

Bobby shook his head. "This is a bad idea."

"I know, but we have to do something."

"What about Dean? Are ya gonna tell him what we're planning to do?"

Sam glanced in the direction where his room was. "No. Dean's sleeping, so we may return before he even wakes up."

"Or not return at all…" Bobby muttered, standing from his seat. Sam shot him a bitch face, and he lifted his arms in a mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to get your panties in a twist."

"Dean Winchester."

Pain sliced through his skull and Dean's hands shot up to cover his ears even before he was fully awake. It wasn't as painful as it was back in the gas station—still too human and not enough angel to withstand an angel's true voice—but it still hurt.

Dean's head snapped up when he heard a sharp crack. His eyes widened seeing multiple cracks across the mirror on the ceiling. Any moment, it would shatter and rain shards all over the room.

"We need—"

"Shut up, Castiel!"

The painful, high-pitched sound ceased instantly.

Dean blinked. Lifting his hands off his ears just a tiny bit, he tested if it was truly safe. The only thing he could hear was white noise from the TV.

Huh. Castiel did shut up. Thankfully.

"Jeez," Dean muttered under his breath, checking his palms. At least, no blood vessels popped in his ears this time. "You wanna talk, buddy? Find a way without blowing my eardrums off."

He could feel the ethereal presence of the angel slowly rise and disappear. About time Castiel jumped into his vessel and showed up for the talk.

Glancing up at the mirror, Dean decided that it would hold for a good while and he didn't have to worry. Sam and Bobby didn't seem to be around, probably a way to get some beer while he slept. Dean massaged his ear for the last time, then stood up from the bed to turn off the TV. He picked Sam's laptop from the coffee table and made himself comfortable on the couch.

The absence of those two gave a great opportunity for Dean to start searching for a trace of another piece of his grace. He didn't want to miss it.

As he scoured the Internet, he looked for very precise signs, something only he could recognize. Normal people would ignore them and hunters would deem them not supernatural enough. He specifically designed it to work this way when he threw those pieces down to Earth.

After an hour, neither Sam nor Bobby returned, and Dean started to get worried. He reached for his flip phone to make a call to his brother, but before he could do that something in the constant stream of angelic chatter caught his attention: Castiel was saying that humans were calling for him through summoning and asked for further orders.

Dean snorted. Summon an angel. Were they tired of their own eyeballs and eardrums? Why would someone do that and who would be stupid enough to even try to summon an ang—

Dean's thoughts came to an abrupt halt when the answer hit him like a ton of bricks.

Sam and Bobby.

Jumping to his feet with his phone in hand, Dean pressed to call Sam and began pacing back and forth around the room as he listened to insistent beeping. "Come on, Sam, pick up." He cursed when the call soon got sent straight to the auto answer. He dropped it and redialed Bobby's number. "Pick up, pick up, pick up." Unfortunately, it didn't yield any results either.

On the third try, Sam finally answered.

"Hey, Dean."

"What the hell are you two doing?!"

"What do you mean? We couldn't sleep, so we went for some beer and burgers."

Dean groaned, rubbing at his eyes in sheer frustration. Why did they think summoning a being that killed multiple demons with ease was a good idea? A being they knew absolutely nothing about? Not only were they doing something so dangerous, but also hiding it from him.

"Don't lie to me, Sam. I know you're doing something stupid."

"We're not doing anything. Why'd you even think so?"

"Because why else would you leave without me, knowing that someone—something—is after me?"

"Dean, that's not—" There was a short silence on the other end after that. When Sam spoke again, his tone carried an obvious urgency, "Did something happen?"

Dean paused and glanced up at the cracked mirror. No need to worry his little brother over nothing, so he cleared his throat and said, "No. Nothing happened."

He proceeded to walk across the room again, but then there was a soft fluttering sound, and Dean almost bumped into a man who suddenly blocked his track. He froze and his mind went blank for a split second as he gawked at that unfamiliar face a few inches from his own.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean jumped with a startled, "Son of a—" His phone slipped out from his grasp when he threw his arms up backing away from the stranger. He fumbled to catch it, only resulting in him accidentally snapping it shut, ending the call.

Dean could only hope now that Sam wouldn't misunderstand the situation.

A/N

Thanks for reading! And hope to hear your thoughts in the comments ^^