"I want an internet device."

Sam looked up from his computer in confusion. "Uh… sorry, what?"

Castiel shifted his bare feet against the couch cushion, giving Sam an unwavering stare from his designated spot on the far left side of the couch. "I don't trust you or your brother. But if I have access to the whole of humanity…" He moved his jaw, tense, and Sam got the idea he was trying to figure out a way to say 'I might change my mind' without admitting he was willing to change his mind. "I won't trust any of the mails or bloggings you show me, but… if I had my own device, to do my own searches, I would… potentially… have some confidence in the validity of what I'm reading."

Dean snorted, not looking up from his book. "Dude, do you have any idea how exp—"

"What kind of device would you like?" Sam turned toward him and leaned back a bit, resting his arm on the back of the sofa. "Do you want a laptop like I have? Or something more like a tablet?"

"Sam!"

"What is a tablet?"

Sam answered the question without acknowledging Dean's outburst. "It's basically just the screen part of a laptop, and instead of pressing buttons, you touch the screen." He extended his finger, moving it near his own screen.

Castiel tilted his head to the side. "I would prefer that."

"Cool." Sam opened his mouth to continue.

"Sam, we barely had enough money for the tattoo that we didn't even finish and are still paying off right now. How the heck are we buying a tablet?" Dean held up one hand, holding his book open with the other.

Sam looked over with a small smile. "It's important, Dean."

Dean opened and closed his mouth but gave up on the idea of arguing after mere seconds. "Fine. Whatever. I'll figure something out."

"You c—" Castiel ground to a half, jaw snapping shut and eyes averting.

Sam arched a brow, waiting a second before prodding. "You…?"

Castiel shook his head, glaring at nothing.

"Okay." Sam pressed his lips together and offered a nod, realizing he wasn't going to get anywhere with that, and he turned a helpless look to Dean. 'What choice do we have?' he silently asked, indicating Castiel with his eyes.

Dean rolled his own eyes and made a facial expression that said he understood their position—understood if they didn't give Castiel some kind of link to the outside world, nothing would ever change—but he was annoyed by it.

"Would you trust us to show you how to operate the tablet at least?" Sam paused but quickly realized he might need to elaborate. "You don't know what apps and files are. You can figure it out yourself—it's totally fine if you do—but we could make it a little easier by showing you the basics." He shrugged, staying nonconfrontational. "It's up to you."

Blue eyes traveled down, to the side, back up to Sam's face, over to Dean's where they narrowed a bit, and then back to Sam's. "I will accept instruction and take it into consideration."

"Okay." Sam offered a tempered smile, not wanting to seem too pleased with the trust he had been given. "Do you want to come with us and pick one out yourself? Or do you want us to just pick one and bring it to you?"

Castiel scowled. "There needs to be a 'picking' of one?"

Sam shrugged again. "I mean, they all do the same thing, but there are different sizes and colors and…" He trailed off, rolling his hand slightly.

Squinting, Castiel stared at them for a long, long time. He was clearly calculating, intense thoughts flashing through his eyes. "You can select one."

Sam was surprised, but he kept it hidden, and he hoped Dean did the same. This is a test. He nodded simply. "We'll make it happen."

"So you say." Castiel shifted on the couch, pushing himself against the arm a little harder. He seemed to do that a lot, and Sam had yet to figure out why. "I'm hungry."

Snorting, Dean leaned back and tried to return to his book. "What am I, your maid?"

Castiel glared. "Just a few months ago, you were forcing food down my throat."

"I swear, children are so ungrateful." Dean sighed theatrically and pushed himself to his feet, tossing his book on the recliner. "Never a 'thank you' for the meals and the laundry and the roof over their head." He cracked his back and neck, shuffling toward the hall. "It's just more, more, more. Give me food, give me a tablet, take me to Disney World…"

Growling, Castiel turned in his seat, watching Dean disappear into the hall. "I have no desire to go to a different world, and I never will, unless you consider Heaven a different world." He lowered his voice, grumbling to himself because Dean had just ignored him and left. "Even if I did, what would I want with a so-called Disney world? I've never even heard of a Disney."

Sam smirked, fighting the urge to roll his eyes because he knew it would only lead to questions, and that might lead to misunderstandings or maybe even an argument. And Sam didn't want that, because it seemed like maybe… possibly… potentially… without jinxing it by speaking it into the universe… with some knocking on wood… maybe a little incense and a hex bag or two… Castiel was starting to trust them. Like some of that rage was simmering out and taking the despair with it, and maybe Castiel was being left with something more open. Still passionate and proud, still wary and watchful, still discouraged and daunted, but… open. Open to a shift in perspective, or a moment of vulnerability, or… something.

"Why did you just knock on the end table?"

Sam offered a faint smile, glancing toward Castiel's end of the couch. "I was just reading an email from another hunter, and he's taking on a pretty big job." It wasn't technically a lie; he had been in the middle of doing that when Castiel first spoke. "He said he thinks it's going to go well, and knocking on wood sort of… it's just supposed to ward off bad luck. Like, 'Today is going to be amazing, knock on wood.' And it wards off any chance of it not being an amazing day. It's not real; it's just cultural, but…" He shrugged, unable to get that faint lift from the corner of his mouth.

"…" Castiel shifted, settling into a more comfortable position. "Humans are excessively strange."

Sam just kept smiling and looked back at his computer. "Yeah, I guess we kinda are."

"So, this will enable me to look up information on anything I want?" Castiel asked, peering down at the smooth, glass-like surface he had just been given a thorough explanation of. "Even things you don't want me to see?"

Sam gave a brief smile, still holding the tablet where Castiel could reach. "Even if we wanted to put a filter on, we wouldn't, because you would just be twenty times angrier when you figured it out. That wouldn't be a very good strategy, would it?"

Frowning, Castiel traced his finger over the screen, watching the movement it caused. "So, if I want to find out about the Riffian War—" because that was something he had seen with his own eyes, "—I can look it up. And it will provide all available information."

Sam sucked air through his teeth, uncertain. "Depending how long ago it was, there might not be much. But if humanity has it, it's pretty much going to be there."

"You fought the Riffian War in the early 1900s," Castiel retorted dryly, giving Sam a less-than-impressed look. "It's hardly ancient history, even to a human."

"Oh." Sam pursed his lips, curious. "Well, I've never heard of it, but if it's that recent, there should be plenty of information for you to find." He pressed the side button to make the screen go dark, but his unbothered demeanor was irritating.

Castiel glared. "You've never heard of the war humanity fought less than a hundred years ago." There was clear disbelief in his voice.

Dean butted in and lifted his beer, responding from where he lingered at the end of the long, library table. "If it was early 1900s, we had bigger things on our mind." He took a swig. "Everyone was focused on World War I—at least in this country."

Castiel stopped. He blinked. "What?"

"World War I," Dean repeated, smacking his lips and then looking at the bottle like he was unhappy with it. He set it down and crossed his arms. "Back then it was known as the War to End All Wars, so it was a pretty big deal."

Mouth moving disjointedly, Castiel tried to make sense of what he was hearing. "You… you fought two wars in the early 1900s?"

"Dude, we probably fought twenty."

"Dean!"

Castiel stared. Twenty? He tried to breathe, chest tightening. "But—but how did you—we didn't hear anything about—"

"What?" Dean laughed, spreading his arms. "Did you think you were humanity's saviors? That we wouldn't be here if it weren't for you and your buddies rescuing us every hundred years or so? There's wars going on right now, buddy."

"Dean!" Sam shouted louder that time, more insistent. "How about we don't make inflammatory statements like that at this exact moment?"

Castiel stared, frozen, trying to process. They're worse. They're worse than I thought. But they still subverted his expectations. How could they be capable of kindness and gentleness he had thought impossible, and yet be worse than the image that made him think such things were impossible in the first place?

"Castiel?"

"You said 'back then' it was the war to end all wars." Castiel's brain stuttered, throwing pieces of information together. "Back then as in… it's not anymore?" He took a half step back—wait, don't retreat, they can't know they have the upper hand—and immediately reclaimed it.

Sam spoke carefully, and even Dean, who had been so flippant before, seemed a bit sobered. "It was followed by World War II a few decades later, which… took significantly more lives."

Castiel just barely managed to get out was a choked, furious, "How?"

Sam and Dean clearly didn't understand the question.

"How can you walk around, knowing what you've done—"

"Why do you always do this?" Dean grabbed the side of his head, as if Castiel were giving him a physical headache. "Why do you always do this?"

"Dean—"

"No, I'm getting tired of this crap! Everything humanity does becomes 'you this' and 'you that.'" Dean stepped forward, gesturing between himself and Sam. "We didn't do anything. We weren't even alive during World War II."

Castiel snarled. "It doesn't matter. It shows what you're capable of—what's at your core."

"You think so, huh?" Dean moved closer, drawing up to his full height, and Castiel hated the two inches of difference between them. "Because that's exactly what causes all the braindead violence you find so beneath you." He started ticking off fingers. "All Jews are bad, let's kill'em. Gay people are gross, let's kill'em. That city over there? It sucks, so let's kill'em. Skin color? Religion? Nationality? Just erase who people are as people and replace it with some blanket definition so you don't have to stress out your brain with any critical thinking, eh, Cas?"

Castiel growled, pushing into Dean's space. "Animals have instincts, and you can change their fur and location on the globe, but a dog will always be a dog."

"And an angel will always be an angel."

Castiel tensed.

"Just like every other monster I've hunted. They'll fight you no matter what, kill you if you give them the chance, and do anything to anyone if it's in the interest of other angels. Mindless and bloodthirsty, all behaving the same, all wired with the same instincts just because they're angels." Dean's voice started getting louder again, swelling from the sudden drop it had taken just a moment earlier, purposeful steps forcing Castiel to back up as the rampage continued. "And here I am, the idiotic human, thinking maybe life just screwed you over. Maybe if you get some perspective—have a little share and care time—you'll call off the colonoscopy you've been performing with your head!"

Castiel's back hit the bookcase, his heart hammering.

"Me and my dumb animal brain thinking if someone just gave you a chance to be something better, you'd do it." Dean's hand flew forward, grabbing a fistful of the Stanford hoodie Castiel had yet to return, and if he noticed the flinch, it didn't show. "But you're right, Cas. A dog will always be a dog, and everybody knows you can't teach an old dog new tricks."

…don't understand what's happening I'm scared I'm angry I should fight him I should run maybe I'm wrong maybe he's wrong am I scared I can't be scared I'm angry I need to…

"So, let's stop pretending. Let's head to the market, strap you down, and give you the ending you've been insisting is coming from day one."

Castiel bared his teeth, the threat triggering a response. "You're welcome to try—"

"Enough!" Sam pushed them apart. "Both of you, stop."

"Why, Sam?" Dean backed up physically to appease his brother, but he wasn't backing down metaphorically in the slightest. "You've been against this whole thing since I opened my stupid mouth to bid on him!"

Castiel looked at Sam, confused. They had been in on it together. They played off each other; that was the whole point of the banter and the friendliness between them.

"I said it was a bad idea." Sam sounded exasperated, but not necessarily with Castiel or Dean. "I never said I was against it."

"Yeah? 'Cause you're the one who said if he wants to fight to the death, we should let him." Dean indicated the angel with a sweeping gesture. "So let him. He fought, I'm tired of it—let death commence."

Sam uttered a soft exhale mimicking a sigh. "You need to calm down. We have both taken turns saying how pointless this is and saying we need to try and help him anyway."

"Sam, grab his hand or something. He's freaking out." Castiel reached up to rub his sternum. It was starting to hurt. "Hey. I'm the one who couldn't let them put you down when I didn't even know you, and you think I'd let them hurt you now?"

"Yeah, and when we said this was pointless, we were being the voice of reason!"

"Let's just focus on getting him off the floor, okay?" Castiel wanted to back up, but he had long ago hit the wall. "Here. I'll grab a blanket." He curled his fingers through Sam's hoodie, his other palm against the wooden shelf by his hips. "Have you ever watched a movie?"

I'm sorry. But he couldn't say that.

"Dean, he just found out a species he thought fought once every hundred years actually fights all the time and never stops! Just—"

"I'd like to go back to my room."

Sam and Dean both stopped. Castiel didn't know if they were looking at him because he was staring at the floor, but they did stop.

"I need time to think." Several seconds passed in silence, and then Castiel breathed the adverb he had used with them just once before. "Please."

One. Two. Three.

"Yeah, uh… of course." Sam moved in Castiel's peripherals disjointedly, like he couldn't decide what to do with himself. "Let's just…" He gestured down the hall, took a step, turned to Dean and held out his hand for the key, looked at Castiel, looked back at Dean when the key hit his palm, and then walked past the angel with a somewhat stunned expression.

Castiel followed him, stealing a glance at Dean but not quite able to make eye contact. He scratched at the red fabric over his stomach, twisting and pulling the cloth.

"It's a hoodie from when I was in college."

Sam opened the door and pushed it in, giving Castiel a wary look as he extended the hand still holding the unresponsive device. Castiel looked at it for several moments.

"I want to think. Not research."

Sam seemed to understand, and he put his other hand on the tablet and pulled it closer with a soft, "Okay."

Castiel went into the room and straight to his bed, sitting down as the door closed and the lock slid into place. He put his hands in his lap and stared down at his feet. Now what?

Dean took a deep breath and slowly let it out, reaching out to grab the doorknob. Of course, he had done that three times already, and the door was still closed, Castiel's dinner growing colder in his hand. You're an idiot. You're not even worried about him being just inside the door to attack. That's not why you won't go in. You stupid son of a—

Grabbing the door, he barged in with a, "Dinnertime, Cas," and immediately stopped when he found Castiel staring at him from his seat on the bed. I swear, Sam said he sat down on the bed right before Sam closed the door. "Have you like… not moved?"

Castiel didn't respond at first, and as his eyes shifted, Dean realized the angel hadn't been looking at him. He had just been staring in the direction of the door to the room, somewhat vacant, and was only just now meeting Dean's eyes.

"Earth to Cas, come in, Cas," Dean tried, slowly arching a brow.

"I am still thinking."

Dean nodded, opening his mouth to say 'right' but changing his mind halfway through. "You, uh… you got any questions?"

"An abundance." He kept his hands in his lap, fingers interlaced and feet flat on the floor.

Dean pressed his lips together and nodded, waiting for a beat. "Okay… are you gonna… ask any of them?"

Castiel glanced down, thoughtful, and then looked back up at Dean with a slight headshake. "You'll see it as instigation. It won't be productive."

"Try me." Dean walked a little closer and sat the chicken nuggets on the nightstand.

Castiel looked at the food for a moment shifting his gaze up to Dean's face, where he spent some time staring, and then his lips slowly parted. "Everything has instincts. Including, as you said, angels. We all have default settings we are spawned with." He inhaled, tongue flicking over his upper lip. "Considering that… if humans are essentially good, how do you rationalize the periods of widespread, readily embraced evil?"

Don't give me an easy one to start or anything. Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "I mean, you're kinda getting ahead of yourself. You should start with the question, 'Are humans essentially good?'"

Castiel squinted. "All humans think they are good at their core."

"Heh." Dean shook his head, eyes rolling upward. "There you go making assumptions again." He opened his mouth, stopped, glanced over his shoulder, and looked back with a sigh. "Don't tell Sam, okay?"

Confusion blossomed on Castiel's features.

"Sam believes everyone is born with something good inside them—except himself, which sucks, but he really thinks he's a freak. Like he's somehow more bad or more wrong than everyone else." Dean spread his hands and shrugged. "I don't. Don't get me wrong, I hate myself, too. I know what a walking, talking hot mess I am. I just don't think it makes me unique."

Castiel was still confused, but he was sliding toward something like intrigue.

"Maybe it's the hunting, maybe it was raising Sam, but…" Dean exhaled and shrugged, "…I realized one day that you don't have to teach people how to be bad; it comes naturally. You get these little, moldable, tiny humans, and from day one, you have to teach them not to hit, not to scream, not to steal candy and lie when they're caught."

Castiel frowned slightly, thousands of calculations flashing through his eyes.

"But to me, that makes doing the right thing even more impressive. If it were easy to… I don't know, forgive someone who doesn't deserve it or give away your last dollar even though you'll die without it… it wouldn't be as big of a deal, would it?"

Still pondering, Castiel let his eyes fall back to the floor, scanning the boards like there were answers written on them. "But, according to you, you hunt monsters to protect other humans. Why protect an inherently flawed and deviant being?"

"Just because someone is flawed, it doesn't mean they shouldn't be saved. It just means they might not deserve it. And yanno, if I can save someone who doesn't deserve it, then—" He stopped, throat tightening. "Then maybe… someone out there would be…" His voice faded, eyes burning as he realized what corner he had just backed himself into.

"Someone would be willing to save you," Castiel said simply.

Crap. "Who knows?" Dean held his hands up in a dismissive gesture. "My point is… you gotta decide for yourself if you think humans are good at their core before you start figuring out anything else." He smirked, trying to shift his own discomfort back on Castiel with a snarky, "Either way, you have to face the fact you were wrong."

Blue eyes immediately sharpened, but they lacked the usual loathing. "How is that?"

"Well, either you were wrong about humans being inherently bad, or you were right about that but wrong about our ability to do better anyway." Dean took a breath and, at the risk of moving back into personal territory, spoke. "You want honesty, right? You don't want me to pretend I'm something I'm not." He waited for a nod. "I didn't save you for you. I saved you for me. I saw someone trying to hurt someone else—someone who was outnumbered and had no chance of winning—and I hated how it felt. Did I feel that way because I believed what was happening to you was wrong? Sure. Is it morally good to want to protect and help people who need it? Yeah."

Castiel seemed to be taking the information and processing it, but he also seemed overwhelmed. Still, he didn't fight back. He just kept trying to digest what was hitting his ears, expression falling somewhere between confusion and caution.

"Does Sam do the right thing for other people, or because he hopes it can offer him some kind of redemption? If it is for his own redemption, is that selfish? Or is that a desire to do or be something better?" Dean spread his arms. "I don't know, and I don't want to know. I don't want to go through my life trying to figure out my intentions, or your intentions, or anyone else's intentions. Everything's a mess, and it never stops being a mess. I stopped trying to clean up the mess a long, long time ago, and now I just…" he looked at the ceiling with a sigh, shaking his head as he looked back down, "…try to make the best of the mess."

Castiel stared for several seconds and slowly dipped his chin, murmuring an echo. "Try to make the best of the mess."

Dean shrugged, not really having anything else to add.

"I want my tablet." Castiel considered the floorboards, and then he looked up at Dean. "I need to gather more information."

"Uh… sure. I'll get it for you." Dean pointed in the general direction of the nightstand. "Make sure you eat, though." He started toward the door, feeling an intense uncertainty deep in his gut. Man, I really hope we're doing this right.

Castiel chewed on the inside of his cheek, skimming the headlines and articles from his most recent search, which happened to be his 932nd. He had spent hours learning about the Riffian War, World War I, and World War II, and that had been informative. He recognized the terms 'Nazis' and 'Jews' from something Dean had said in one of their first arguments, and it gave him some context for what the hunter had been saying then, but it didn't give him the understanding he was looking for now.

He searched for anything related to recent conversations or events. He learned about donating blood, which led to information about the donation of organs and the injuries or illnesses that required it. He looked up the civil war Dean had referenced, which Castiel had initially assumed was ancient history, possibly a war he had been left in Heaven during. But now he knew they had constant and ongoing conflicts, and he was concerned it had been more recent. Sadly, he found it had been.

Periodically, Dean or Sam would bring him food, but Castiel never acknowledged them.

He looked up waterboarding, and it was strange to read conversations between humans both justifying and condemning it. Reading accounts of those who had witnessed or endured it crawled under his skin and made his insides twist. Learning about physical violence used on captives made him want to look up spanking to see if Dean had lied about what it actually was, but his resolve failed him every time.

He looked up Stanford, hoodies, and Stanford hoodies. It should have made him angry to learn such an identifiably human article had been on his person, but… well, it was in the corner of his room with his dirty boxers and t-shirt at that exact moment because he refused to give it back. Not that Sam had tried to reclaim it, but if he had, Castiel would have refused.

He looked up food banks. He looked up suicide and depression. He looked up pets. Seeing how emotional people got about the tiny creatures they owned confused him, and it also made him angry, but there were some other feelings underneath that he didn't fully understand. Videos about losing beloved pets prompted a memory of a M*A*S*H* episode, which led to him trying to find out if the show was based in reality, and of course, it was. Using the concept of war as a backdrop for humor had seemed grim in general, but to know it had been an actual event…

Days went by like that—if the meals were an indicator of time passing, that is—and then Castiel decided to look outside what he knew. Most of what he knew was negative, and Sam and Dean seemed to believe that helped to taint his view of humanity, so he was going to give their arguments a chance. He started a new set of searches, leading him to the 932nd one he was currently on.

Homelessness Reduced in America by 30 Percent

The Bush administration's "radical and liberal" national campaign against chronic homelessness has been…

Number of New Cancer Cases Drops in U.S. For the First Time

Cancer researchers have been waiting for this day for a long time.

Foreclosure Angel Buys Back Home for Stranger

While the misfortunes of others lured hundreds of bargain hunters to the Texas foreclosure auction, one Dallas woman bought a stranger's foreclosed home, and gave it back to her. Rockwall resident Marilyn Mock didn't even know where the house was, but after talking to the sobbing owner in the hallway, decided to help.

Historic Obama Election Inspires People of All Races and Backgrounds with America's Promise

No matter your politics this year, the unfolding of the candidacy of Barack Obama and the eventual historic electoral sweep…

But he still didn't understand. He still had questions.

Reducing homelessness seemed benevolent, but couldn't they completely eliminate it or at least reduce it more than thirty percent if they just did more? Wasn't it a sign of their selfishness that some of them had so much while others had none at all? Electing the first black president and celebrating the achievement sounded good, but wasn't it their prejudice and hatred that made such a feat historic in the first place? Was the origin of every human accomplishment a problem created by humanity in the first place? If so, did that take away the value of the accomplishment?

"I stopped trying to clean up the mess a long, long time ago."

But Castiel couldn't do that. He had to make sense of the mess. How was he supposed to know who or what to believe if he didn't? If it wasn't consistent, he couldn't predict what humans would do, and if he couldn't predict what humans would do, he couldn't plan for his interactions with them.

Divide and conquer. I can't predict what every human will do, but I have more intimate information about the brothers. It won't take long to learn how to interact with them, and once I can do that, I'll start worrying about other humans.

And… why exactly was he going to learn how to interact with the Winchesters?

Well, I—I haven't figured out how to escape yet. And obviously, if I'm going to be around them in the meantime, I have to learn to live with them. And… perhaps… well, it's possible that, once I'm out… well, they could potentially be a valuable resource. Once I remove the sigils, I'll be more powerful than them, and I'll be able to force their cooperation. I won't stay here with them, of course. Even if I wanted to, they would never have me here as anything but a prisoner. And I don't want to stay, obviously, but they could still be useful to me.

Castiel cleared his throat and shifted on the mattress, locking his tablet for the first time since he entered the room days earlier. He set it on the nightstand and laid back, melting into the mattress. Maybe I should just focus on sleeping for a while.

"He's been in there for days." Dean crossed his arms, trying to decide whether he was worried. "Every time I bring him food, he barely looks up from that dumb screen."

Sam chuckled as he clacked away on his laptop, but there was a nervousness to it. "It's the best chance he has to see humanity for what it is. He has all the information in the world at his fingertips."

"Yeah," Dean snorted. "He's got every horrific nightmare that's going on in the world right now on display a foot away from his eyes. He freaked out when he learned we have wars more than once a century. What are pedophiles and serial killers going to do to him?"

"Well… hopefully, he's also seeing all the amazing things that go along with that." Sam shrugged. "Every hurricane brings looters and volunteer rescue workers… and you have to weigh who represents humanity more."

Tilting his head back, Dean groaned. "He already said angels all think and act the same. How's he gonna handle the complexities of stuff like morals and emotions and—" he waved a hand nondescriptly, "the whole, 'if you do it in this situation, it's the right thing, but in that situation, it's the wrong thing.'"

"We'll just have to… ease him into it." Sam shrugged again, but he didn't look dismissive. He just looked helpless and out of ideas, his finger tapping idly on the touchpad.

"How are we gonna ease him into anything when he refuses to listen to us?" Dean pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. "How do we explain things when he's just gonna fact check every word that comes out of our mouths on the same device that gave him the confusing stuff in the first place? And he hasn't said a single word since I took him his tablet, so it doesn't seem like 'talking' is on his list of things to get done."

Sam opened his mouth, struggling a bit before offering, "We'll take it one step at a time…?"

Dean sighed. "Awesome. Good to have a plan." He rubbed his forehead and then ran his hand over his head and down the back of his neck. "I guess it's a good sign he hasn't attacked me. I realized last time I took him food that you left him unrestrained, and we got into that argument, what, five days ago? That's at least fifteen times I went in the room and didn't get killed by an angel hiding behind the door."

Sam froze. "Wait, what?" He looked over at Dean. "I didn't restrain him?"

"No?" Dean blinked. "Wait, you mean that wasn't on purpose?"

Sam held his hands up. "Why would I do that on purpose?!"

Dean held his hands up higher. "I don't know!" He gestured nondescriptly. "I thought it was some kind of trust exercise or psychological hoo ha!"

Sam opened his mouth but said nothing, buffering for a few seconds, and then his face shifted. He put his elbow on the table, brow creasing as his fingers tapped the wood. "You said he hasn't attacked?"

Dean stopped, too, hands frozen mid-gesture. "No… he hasn't." He slowly lowered his arms, thoughtful. "There's no way he hasn't noticed."

"And if I left him unchained without realizing it…" Sam tilted his head, moving his right hand slightly. "If I had commented on it, he would have assumed it was a trap of some kind, but I didn't, because I didn't even realize I did it. Meaning he would have even less reason not to act on the freedom. But he didn't."

"…is he tricking us?"

They stared at each other for several seconds.

"Huh." Sam pursed his lips. "Do you think…?"

Dean didn't have an answer. He wasn't sure how Castiel could look at more negative evidence than ever and somehow come to the conclusion he had been wrong about the redeemability of the human race. But… maybe he was? Maybe he had heard what Dean was saying when he talked about human nature and the many things it could mean.

And all Dean could offer in response to that was an echo. "Huh."

Sam stopped halfway through biting down on his sandwich, feeling around for his phone with one hand while his mouth finished the mission.

"Your mac is getting cold." Dean stood across from Castiel, leaning on his side of the kitchen counter and shoving pepperoni into his mouth.

Castiel said nothing, finger sliding across his tablet screen as he scrolled through an article. He had, at least, come out of his room to do his scrolling, and he had uttered a sentence or two somewhere along the way.

Sam smiled to himself and looked at his phone, that smile vanishing when he didn't recognize the number. He held up a finger for silence and answered with a simple, "Hello?" that revealed absolutely nothing on his thoughts about the potential conversation.

"This Sam Winchester?" a gruff, male voice shot back.

Sam lifted a brow, remaining flat. "Well, that certainly is a question."

"Cut the crap, boy. I'm looking for Sam and Dean Winchester. Either gimme an answer or hang up."

Wetting his lips, he made brief eye contact with Dean and decided to proceed carefully. "This is Sam."

"Good. I got a call from Bobby Singer two days ago." The man still hadn't introduced himself. "Said hello and told me about the latest car he worked on."

Sam tensed.

"You know what that means, right?"

Of course he did—Bobby didn't call to chat about his week—and that meant if this call really happened, it was bad. Sam stood and looked at Dean again, trying to silently relay the seriousness of the conversation his brother couldn't hear.

"Spent yesterday and today calling every six hours. Nothing."

Sam pointed toward the exit and mouthed the word 'now,' trying to remember where he left his laptop. "Did he call you from the scrapyard?"

Dean's eyes widened, the word 'scrapyard' triggering him like a sleeper agent, and he moved to grab Castiel. "Come on. We gotta get you locked up."

"Yeah. It was one of his landlines, and I'm thinking he did that on purpose."

Castiel slid from the barstool and out of reach before Dean could grab him, an unreadable expression on his face.

Sam nodded, torn between the call and the kitchen. "Maybe, but we won't know until we get there. We're leaving now." He snapped his fingers at Castiel and pointed to the hall, giving him the look John used to give them when he was in a similar on-the-phone-time-to-go position.

"Cas!" Dean whispered harshly when the angel pulled away again.

Sam moved toward them. "Do I get to know your name?" He reached for an arm.

"I am thinking," Castiel snarled, slapping the hand away.

"Rufus Turner."

"I've never heard of you," was Sam's flat response as he gave Dean a look that told him to wait before fighting any more.

"Sounds about right. See you soon." And the line went dead.

Shoving his phone in his pocket, Sam tried to explain quickly. "Castiel, someone in our family needs us, so we need to lock you up and go. There's nothing to think abou—"

"I am coming with you." Castiel's sentence overlapped the end of Sam's.

Dean immediately shot back with, "Not a chance, Cas. We need to be a hundred percent on this. We can't be watching your every move at the same time."

"I understand that." Castiel looked down at the Led Zeppelin shirt Dean had included in his meager wardrobe. "I need to change my shirt first."

"You are not coming with us," Dean argued. "We—"

"It seems this is a matter of urgency. We should not waste time with frivolous arguments." Castiel stared Dean down for a beat, stared Sam down for another, and then strode from the room.

Dean watched him leave, extending his hand and moving his mouth without sound.

"He's right. We don't have time." Sam moved toward the hall, fairly certain his laptop was in the library at the end by the crow's nest. "We took him with us once, and the fact is, with all those sigils, he's just a really strong guy. If we have to lock him in the trunk, so be it, but we gotta go."

Dean sputtered for a moment but eventually groaned in defeat and hurried to follow Sam into the hall. "You need anything not already in your bag?" he asked, going in the opposite direction, toward their rooms.

"Just my phone charger. Thanks." Sam flashed a smile and then rushed down the hall. He swallowed away the tightness in his throat, pretending his heart wasn't thudding in his ribcage. It's fine. He's fine. They would call once they were on the road, and if Bobby continually didn't pick up, they would just work the case, and they would find him and save him. Or maybe he would pick up and tell them this Rufus guy was insane or trying to trap them. We're not losing Bobby. It's fine. Everything's fine.

And all Sam could think as he threw his laptop bag over his shoulder was that taking a dangerous and confrontational angel on a hunting trip where he, the level-headed mediator, was going to be emotionally on edge the entire time was possibly the worst decision they had ever made. And considering the size and inimitability of their portfolio… that was really saying something.

Author's Note: BOB-BY BOB-BY BOB-BY BOB-BY BOB-BY BOB-BY BOB-BY BOB-
It's time for Bobby. Also, learned a new word today: inimitability. I looked for synonyms for uniqueness, and it took me a moment to realize how to pronounce it because I didn't realize it was supposed to be, like, imitate. Don't judge.
Also, I think Castiel has finally gotten over the last, big hurdle in his resistance to the boys. Not the last hurdle, but the last BIG one. We're gonna start to see some real progress now... and then I'm going to destroy him, and there's nothing any of you can do about it. (‿)
Please give me positive affirmation as a lot of stuff in my life sucks right now and I thrive on praise!