Unsung Melody - toomanyships-sendhelp (ValarMorghulis508) (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Burger grease was different than motor grease. Dean still wasn't sure which he preferred. He thought he’d never completely have the black scrubbed out from under his fingernails. At least whatever was spat back at him from the hot plate came off after a wipe down or a shower. He was even starting to get used to it.

Dean slid the edge of the spatula under the thick, meaty patties before bringing them over to the plates and positioning each carefully on the centre of their opened bun. He followed it up with a thick slice of cheese, bacon, thick cut pickles and his trademark secret sauce before adding a few salad details. After carefully placing the other half of the bun on top, he took a half second to admire another signature burger surrounded by crispy fries before it head out to a hungry stomach.

“Order up!” Ding.

Nancy approached the bench, stuffing her order pad and pen back into the pocket of her apron. Dean eyed her curiously as he returned to the grill to check the remaining patties and prep the buns for the next order.

She eyed off the writing on the slip between the two plates, and crinkled her nose, clearly from confusion as her eyes bounced between the plates and the order slip.
“Something the matter?”

She looked up from the slip, her slowly building frustration melting away altogether as soon as she’d seen Dean.

“Nothing just -” She sighed exaggeratedly, lifting her shoulders in with her breath and lowering them on the exhale but the smile never left her face, “- Elizabeth’s writing is awful as always.”

As if summoned by the name aloud, Elizabeth came up next to her at the counter, placing a new docket on the hanger and resting her back along the bench. Even with her back to him, Dean knew the sly grin she’d undoubtedly be wearing. He turned back to the burgers, poking them gently with the tip of the spatula and decided they’d need another minute or so.

“It says ‘table 29’ but yeah, I can see how you'd think that could be a 19. Or a 69.” She winked crudely, based off of Nancy’s reaction. Dean huffed a small laugh. “Naughty girl, the tables only go to 32.” Dean heard the endearing teasing well over the sizzle of the fat dripping out onto the grill.

“The only 69’ers in my bar are equal parts rum, schnapps, co*ke and entirely Garth’s department.” Elizabeth turned to face the bench and gave Dean a victorious smirk and quick raise of her eyebrows. “If you ladies would like something outside the bar, that's none of my business.” He turned his attention entirely to the two girls, one caught with her jaw dropped and the other still suggestively looking Dean up and down, and gave them both a toothy grin. “Just wear a condom.”

Nancy had become accustomed to Dean’s humour by now. Dean should have felt bad for near corrupting the poor, innocent kid. She’d been working there for the better part of a year and between Dean and Elizabeth's shameless flirting, she’d grown a bit of a shell against the vulgar comments. Hell, she even threw one out every now and then, leaving Dean and Liz both stunned.

Elizabeth was a fiery brunette from Louisiana who he’d originally hired as a favour to Benny. When Dean first got the place all set to go, he insisted that he bring her on to help him get Deano’s Bar and Grill off the ground and he didn't regret the decision for a second.

“Aw, don't you want to bareback, baby?” That damn southern drawl rolled off Elizabeth's tongue just as well as it had off of Benny’s. When she spoke, the words dripped off her lips and her invitations sounded every bit as crude as it was intended.

“Thanks for the offer, Liz, but you know I’m waiting till I get married.” He winked and turned back to the hot grill and the patties that were just about done. Dean slid the spatula under another batch of lightly dripping burgers, arranging them on each bun and layering them according to the dockets, some in barely legible writing.

He’d had Liz working with him since the beginning and they had a comfortable, if not crude, rapport with each other. Dean could tell she was keen on him but didn't have the heart to tell her she was off limits on account of having a thing with her Vampire great grandfather. That was far too complicated and you don't mess with family.

Liz had barely made it three steps before Ash chimed in.

“If you aren't going to cut yourself a slice of that, would you at least let another man have a try?”

“Be my guest.” Dean smiled, fully picturing how a scenario between the two of them would go down. “But don't come crying to me when the hair is a deal breaker.”

“Everyone should have a mullet! Business up front -” He lowered another basket of fries into the deep fryer before returning to Dean and flicking his golden brown locks over his shoulder. “Party in the back!” Dean laughed and lightly pegged the kitchen towel at him that had been hanging over his shoulder.

Ash was a good friend of Dean’s from back in the day. He may have been an apprentice cook but the kid was a genius. Given his history at M.I.T, he was only really working with Dean as a way to pay the bills and flirt with the locals. He could clearly be doing anything in the world but he chose to stay in his small hometown. Partly due to a ‘big fish in a small pond’ complex. Largely in order to help Dean track down info on cases when they came up.

It was nearing the end of the dinner shift and the dockets had started to slow. Oskar, the new kid, had been doing well to keep on top of the washing up, though he was too shy to have any input on the foul banter of his other employees.

The congested noise of the fryers, the spatulas against the grill and the white noise of chatter from the patrons were all starting to die down. It was now that Dean was typically able to put his iPod on the dock and play some of his classic rock as he and Ash started cleaning.

With another order down, Dean pulled his phone from his pocket only to find it had died. Super. The damn thing ate through battery like there was no tomorrow.

It looks like it was a radio night again.

Ash never brought his music in. Said Dean would never appreciate it as much as he did. He never paid too much attention to the music anyway, so he allowed Dean to play what he wanted.

Dean wiped the excess grease from his fingers and flicked the dock over to a preset radio station. There were maybe one or two stations that played half decent music in Lebanon.

The tail end of Journey’s Wheel In the Sky had started to fade when the radio jockeys voice interrupted the last few bars of drums and electric guitar.
“- And that was another of Journey’s hits from their ‘77 album Infinity. Stick around for more classic rock right after this quick news break!”

Ash and Dean didn't speak much when it was just the two of them in the kitchen. They knew each other so well that they worked around one another with such fluidity, it's like the other wasn't even there at all. If the orders started to slow, Ash would start in on some of the dishes that had piled up on the benches behind them. They both had that headspace at work that knew how and when to get things done. It was like some kind of autopilot. At least that's how it was for Dean.

Luckily, it had just hit a new hour when he’d turned the radio on. It was an unspoken habit between them to keep an ear out for the news. They’d be listening in for when something really sounded like them.

Tonight, one incident in particular sounded right up their alley.

“- has been missing for three days now. Her car, phone and wallet were all left at their luxury home in Beverly Hills.”

Ash turned the volume up a little, recognising the report. Dean co*cked his head as he cleaned.
“No note was left and there seem to be no signs of a struggle, nor were any suitcases missing. Her husband has placed a million dollar reward for any information on his wife's whereabouts stating that no questions will be asked for her safe return. More in the morning news.”

This wasn't the first time someone with money had gone missing. It wasn't even the second. It had been a case slowly building over the last thirty years. Five people missing, either male or female. All from money, none left a note, no blood, no suspicious signs, at least from what hunters had gathered.

The first two were somewhat ignored in hunter circles. It wasn't till a third and a fourth popped up that it really started to make a case. They connected dots and more clues came to light. Bobby had been on the case since the first. He knew there was something shady even from the first one. He was smart like that.

It definitely sounded like another one.

“What do you think, Ash? One of ours?”

Dean kept his attention on wiping down the grills as Ash ran dishes and pans through the industrial dishwasher. He could practically hear Ash thinking.
“I’ll track her police file once I’m done here.” Neither of them ever had time to hunt down cases during the day. They'd be too busy working. It was only when they’d catch the hourly news on the radio or on the small TV in the bar that they’d ever really hear about anything. If there was still nothing, Ash could track just about anything online. “I’ll see if she bought one too.”

There wasn't much left to do in the kitchen. Especially with Ash going over the basics with Oskar. It was part of the gig that his employees all knew what Dean did. He could never really hang up his sawed-off and turn civilian. He’d given it a go once but it didn't take, to say the least.

Soon enough, the end of the night came and Ash had shown Oskar just about everything there was to know for a first night. He picked it up pretty quickly too.

He popped out of the kitchen when it was just about time to go and checked that Garth was alright. He snuck a look at his watch and saw it was now almost two. Most of the locals had cleared out and Meg had started her shift a couple of hours ago. She kept the place running more or less overnight. Dean had found it worth his while to keep the place open 24/7, more for hunters than anything else.

Dean didn't particularly trust Meg, which is why he invested in security cameras but the woman was a night owl. He wasn't sure what it was about her but something in her eyes and the way she spoke all too softly chilled him to the bone. He probably wouldn't have hired her but no one else applied when he listed the shift hours through the night till the ass-crack of dawn. Apparently, Meg slept through the day.

She still managed to pass the ‘run down’ that all new blood had to pass before working here. Holy water in a glass for the interview. Salt at the base of the booth where they sat and silverware to eat the complimentary meal he made for them. Dean wasn't entirely sure she wasn’t still a vampire or maybe something else but he’d learned that not all of hell's co*ckroaches are evil. Maybe she was one of the good ones, even if she set off all his spider senses.

Dean had now sent everyone home. Garth had closed out the till and restarted it for the new day, Ash and Oskar having left the kitchen sparkling leaving Meg who was already sweet talking some tattooed biker for some extra tips. He’d seen her do this almost every shift with any number of men or women who’d stopped in on their way through town. She’d flick back her long black hair, sweet talk them with that thick-like-honey voice and bat her eyelashes till they’d empty their wallets at her and leave.

He took a moment to quickly check around the bar before he headed up the stairs behind it. Even though Deano's Bar and Grill had been open a few years now, part of it still seemed like a dream he'd wake up from and get back to his life hunting monsters with Sam.

Dean tossed Meg the keys, saying he’d be back mid-morning and told her to behave, as he always did. She replied, as always with a resounding,
“Later, ho nugget”. She probably wasn't the best but she kept the place running well into the morning. She definitely wasn't the worst.

He took the stairs behind the bar two at a time till he made it to the single studio apartment he called his home.

That wasn't technically true. The whole bar was his home. It had taken a long time but it had been almost four years since he opened up shop. This place had earned the title of Home, even if he didn't completely feel it yet. It was always hard to label something as ‘home’ when your first one burned to the ground, making you live on the road for 30 odd years.

It wasn't all bad. Seeing as he built this whole place from the ground up, everything was more or less to his liking. Though obviously if he had more money he would have spent it on ridiculous things like a giant aquarium and hidden passageways to God knows where. His dream house would always be something to put the Bat Cave to shame but what he did pull together wasn't half bad. He used whatever money he happened to have after building Deano's. He did run a little short but finalised some of the details once Deano’s opened and he officially had the income to finish it off.

It had a decent sized kitchen, though he wasn't sure why. Most, if not all of his meals were had downstairs. It sat mostly empty and unused. More for necessity and convenience if he had ‘company’ but most would grab a coffee from his instant pod machine thing and be out the door. The small oven/stove gathered more dust than food spills but he did use it occasionally when he needed the peace and quiet from the restaurant.

Further on past the kitchen and the small bannister at the end of the tiles was the dining/living room that housed a small flat screen TV on a cabinet against the back wall. Again, hardly used. Dean wasn't big on TV shows and whatever he did catch would be on the hanging TV by the bar. It seemed important when he bought it. Perhaps because Bobby had one and he’d grown used to the option. Behind the lounge and the dining table sat a tall, wooden seven shelved bookshelf.

Only a few of the shelves at eye level could really be called full. The bottom shelves were mostly empty. Dean could appreciate a good book but found he didn't have the time. When he was a kid it was easier but once he started working with Bobby, his free time shrunk like crazy. Since opening Deano's, he barely had time to sleep. It was how he needed it to be.

Everything he owned had its story. He wouldn't have kept it if it didn't. He only had his own room until he was four. Everything after that could easily be called ‘minimalist living’. If it didn't fit in his car, he couldn't keep it. Plain and simple. Dean learned the value of material objects after that. He could never understand people that filled their houses with bits and pieces that were only there for decoration. It may have led to his place looking a little bare but everything here was had its purpose.

The open planned living last made it easier for him to collapse on the bed, almost falling asleep as soon as he hit the pillows. No doors to fumble open when tired or drunk. Nothing to maneuver around and he could navigate entirely in the dark. Mostly in the dark.

A thin sliver of light did pour through the cracks in the curtains, painting a soft line of moonlight across his sheets. Once he closed the door behind him, it was right hand out, feel past the bathroom and laundry closet doors, then a step to the right and his bed was directly in front of him. He had to step big enough to miss the chest at the end of the bed but he’d had it down to an art now. He’d toe off his steel caps, drop his jeans and all but dive into the bed wearing not much more than his boxer briefs and a shirt. After blindly fumbling down the side of his bed, he grabbed at the charger for his phone and plugged it in before collapsing.

Dean had trained his body well enough to know when it needed sleep and to feed it appropriately. It didn't stop the nightmares, but it gave him a head start on the sleep so when he woke it wasn't that bad. As long as he got his four hours, he’d run smooth enough through the next day.

It didn't seem to matter though how busy Deano’s got or how tired he’d get, enough so that he could collapse on his bed as soon as he’d turn in. It didn't even matter that this was his third year turning a profit, he still had that empty feeling in his gut that he'd had for longer than he could remember.

If he was busy enough he could often push it out of his head, not think about it and how no matter what he filled it with, something seemed to be missing. Deano’s was a dream come true. The locals had brought their visiting families and the families had raved about Dean’s burgers to anyone who would listen. It didn't matter that he was in a relatively quiet corner in Lebanon, Kansas, Deano’s was quickly the talk of the town and then some.

Business was thriving and anyone passing through the state seemed determined to try his famous burgers. Hell, the swell of pride from having some of the best burgers in the country wasn't enough to fill the empty place in his gut.

Before he could fade off into much-needed sleep, the light from his phone lit up the room.

Dean reached out blindly beside him to grab it from where he'd tossed it on the side table. It had lit up now that it had some juice in it. Squinting, he unlocked it to read a message from Ash that had come through some time after he'd left.

She fits the profile. She bought an Angel too.

He turned it back off and let it fall in his hand to the mattress. Dean was tired, but he was excited. He hadn't been this close to one of the victims before. The others had been far too long ago or Bobby had told him to leave it. That was when he lived with him. He was on his own now. He had been for years. There was no one to stop him from tracking down the son of a bitch who was killing off the poor bastards who were stupid enough to buy themselves an Angel slave.

Dean smiled and closed his eyes. In the morning, he’d have work to do.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

The harsh beeping of his alarm should have been loud enough to pull him from his sleep. Truth was, it would have too. If he was sleeping. Dean was out like a light when he got home, sure. He’d slept maybe three or four hours before he was ripped awake by his nightmares again. It wasn't every night he woke up. Just a solid nine times out of ten. Then the residual guilt, helplessness and anger would keep niggling at him till dawn, refusing to let him sleep.

Dean lay on his back, slightly propped up on the headboard behind him with his arms crossed over his chest. He’d lay like this as the sun rose and threatened to peek through the thick, blue curtains on the window to his right.

Dean had gotten off easy this time, only being torn from his nightmares panting heavily with a thick sweat forming on his brow. He didn't even wake up screaming. Bonus.

It had been years since he even bothered to try and fall back asleep afterwards. Even if he could, he’d wake up in a worse state than he fell asleep in and figured it wasn't worth the effort or the second round of Hell that lay under closed eyelids. He was far better off waiting for dawn to come around, getting on with his day and making it through to the next night. Rinse and repeat.

He would have loved to even read during the moments till dawn. To be sucked into the pages of some fantasy or sci-fi. Anything would have been preferred to the silence. He’d tried. He’d reread the same paragraph over and over without any of the words actually sinking in.

He knew better than to try that too

Dean did it anyway sometimes. When the quiet of twilight weighed too heavily on him. He usually resorted to planning out the coming day. Repeating to himself who was starting their shifts at what times. What prep needed doing.

Today was Tuesday. On Tuesday's and Friday's the meat deliveries came in and needed to be cut and prepped. Dean could have it delivered that way, but the monotony of butterflying a chicken breast or mincing top quality meat for his patties was an easy enough task to lose himself in. He’d know each cut before he made it. He knew the measurements of spices to add the patties by heart. Dean could probably do it in his sleep. It was a shame he couldn't. Would have spared a bit of time for himself during the day.

Though today, he’d have another job as well.

Thanks to Ash and his quick research last night, Dean had himself a case. Not just a vamp nest or a shifter, but a case that's been in bouncing between hunters for three decades. It's not like he was particularly close to Beverley Hills, but he’d driven further for less.

Dean stretched out, giving his back a few satisfying clicks as he reached for his alarm clock on the bedside table, flicking it off. He probably didn't need it. He could set an alarm on his phone that wasn't half as obnoxious but every motel in America had a similar make or model to the one beside him. He’d grown to find the repeated shrill beeping familiar and grounding. Especially after a rough night.

Dean pulled himself to the edge of the bed and let his feet rest lazily on the floor. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair before pushing himself up and dragging himself to the bathroom.

As he swung open the door, he turned on bright, yellow light of the heat lamps. Dean blinked a few times, allowing himself to adjust. As soon as he could get in the shower, everything would be easier.

Dean pushed open the glass door to his, admittedly, slightly extravagant shower and turned the faucet to where he'd memorised the perfect temperature. Stepping back out as he waited for the water to warm, he pulled his tee over his head, landing it in the basket by the vanity. He thumbed at the edges of his boxer briefs till they fell to the soft rug on the floor below him. He briefly tensed against the chill in the air before moving into the steamed warmth of his shower.

This was the perfect time. Right when the sun was just high enough in the sky that it pushed through the ultramarine of his curtains which bounced through the glass of the shower and spread around the bathroom like watercolour. If he was anything like his brother, he could have waxed poetic about it looking like the insides of a glacier or something (or at least what he’d seen of them on tv).

He wasn't sure why it calmed him. He could have had the roughest night, tearing shreds into his blankets and waking with a throat hoarse from screaming. If he caught the few minutes that this blue poured into the shower, it was like a weight was lifted. If only for a moment. Dean typically went back to feeling like sh*t afterwards but the moment was nice. Hot water beating onto his face or back mixed with that blue was perfect. Even if it didn't last enough to remember what it felt like for the rest of the day.

Once the moment had passed he'd exhaled a breath he didn't remember holding. Dean, having scrubbed most of the filth off his skin, turned the water off but didn't leave the shower. It'd get cold soon. The steam of the shower wouldn't last forever and the water on his skin would get exposed to the winter air, even through the heat of the lamps above him. He ran a hand over his face, getting the worst of the water away from his eyes before running his forearm over the glass that separated him from the bedroom.

Not sure what he was expecting to see, he didn't know what he felt when he saw the bed in the empty state he’d left it in. Disappointed, maybe? He was far too tired to try and bring anyone up last night. They’d usually be gone before he showered anyway, but something still sat strangely in his chest. Should there be someone there?

It used to be Cassie. That had ended after what seemed like a lifetime ago. He was maybe twenty and she was a hell of a woman. Not half bad in the bedroom either. Dean had made the mistake of lying about where he went. All the weekends away and ducking out mid-week, only to come back days later. He eventually worked up the heart to tell her what he did and she shot him down. Spectacularly. She called him a liar. Among other things. He almost swore off any chance at a relationship after that.

But then there was Lisa. She got caught right in the thick of it so she knew without a doubt what Dean did and she was (almost) proud of him. They’d given it a hell of a go before the initial hero effect wore away into worry and she made him choose between her and hunting. They tried to compromise. He cut way back. Only went out when it was important and no one else could get to it. Though that meant he’d end up spending more time at Bobby’s or helping the hunters that passed through the Salvage. Either way, he couldn't give her what she needed so it was better for the both of them that he left.

He couldn't have that life. He couldn't settle down and put the hunting behind him. Not in the way Sam had.

Dean could barely sleep as it was knowing there was Angels, Demons, Vampires, Shifters, Werewolves and every kind of ugly that seemed Hellbent on ruining it for the rest of the world. Knowing that it was out there and not doing anything about it? Dean couldn't do it. Though he’d tried.

After drying off, he dressed into a pair of jeans less caked in flour and oil than yesterday's and slipped on another plain black shirt. They seemed to make up most of his wardrobe. A black tee or a dark Henley. He wasn't a fussy dresser. Whatever fit would do him just fine. If he wasn't working, he may even chuck on a flannel overshirt. As if there was a time when he didn't work and he wasn't sleeping.

He scooped up the few clothes from beside his bed and dumped them in the washer/dryer between his bed and the bathroom door. Dean grabbed the few loose items from the bottom of the washing basket and chucked them in too. Flicking the machine on, he poured in a little powder and left it to its own devices.

Desperately needing his morning fix and deciding on something a little stronger than pod coffee from his machine, he closed the door behind him and made his way down the stairs to the bar.

There wasn't a soul in sight. Except for Meg, but he still wasn't sold that she even had one. It was that time of morning that was too early for a big breakfast (in Dean's eyes anyway) and far too late to still be out drinking. Meg was polishing a glass and chewing a piece of gum as she watched whatever was on the TV above her. Approaching, and hoping for the best, Dean asked,
“Coffee?”

Without taking her eyes from the screen, she smiled and shook her head. Dean sighed and maneuvered behind her to the coffee machine that was probably used more by him than for his customers. He scooped some of the grounds into the base and tamped it firmly before sticking back into the machine and flicking it on for a double shot and setting a mug beneath the spout. Still not fully awake without his morning buzz, he leant back against the side of the bench to see what Meg was so focused on.

It was some run of the mill news bulletin that was in the middle of an interview. He halfheartedly glanced up and caught the end of a question asked by some standard reporter for whatever channel was on. When it turned to the interviewee, Dean pushed himself slightly off the bench to get a better look. He seemed vaguely familiar. Attractive, that's for damn sure. He was all dark, tousled hair and impossible cheekbones. There was something in his eyes. All too familiar but completely alien all at once.

With the click of the coffee machine, finally, Dean’s morning coffee was almost ready to go. He topped up the double shot of coffee with a couple of fingers of whiskey. Not pretty, but it got the job done.

Dean turned back and rest against the bench again next to Meg who was still polishing the same glass.
“Who’s he?”

Meg scoffed and didn't even turn to acknowledge the question, just kept the towel in her hands running around the rim of the tumbler in her hand.
“You’re telling me you don't know who Michael is? You're a little more short bus than I originally thought, boss.”

Michael? The Archangel?

Dean had heard of Raphael whinging about him a few times but he’d never seen his face. Raphael was keeping the seat warm in Heaven while God was out. He made a big song and dance about his hatred of humanity and how, if he didn't have specific orders not to erase humanity off the face of the earth… well, things would be a little different.

“What does he want? Trouble in paradise?” He took a sip of his, what could loosely be called a ‘morning beverage’.

Meg finally pushed off the bench and put the tumbler in a row with the others. Dean made a quick note of the time displayed at the bottom of the tv screen. It was maybe a half hour before Elizabeth would be in. Meaning Meg was leaving. Thank God. Small doses and far between was the only way to deal with her. She untied the apron from around her back and balled it in her fists. She knelt to load it into her bag she kept beneath the register and looked up at him like he was a toddler.
“What do you mean?”

“I mean no one interviews the Archangels so why does Captain Cheekbones finally get some screen time?” Meg stood, bag in one hand and rummaging through the bottom of it with the other, letting that snake of a grin cross her face again. That never meant anything good. She let out a laugh in disbelief.
“Really?”

Chucking back the rest of his coffee and gritting his teeth at its burn on the way down, he less than gently dropped the mug back to the bench beside him. He silently debated making another to fix this irritating start to the morning. He bit out,
“Yes. Meg. Really.”

The smile only grew, baring her white teeth.
“Sorry, shifts over. See you tonight, boss.”

Whatever. It's not like Dean cared about all the Angel/Demon politics floating around. It was hard enough to gank the bastards when they weren't all over the news. Back when he was a kid, it was a little foggy but he vaguely remembered when Angels and Demons had their big ‘coming out’ party and announced, what they called, their Treaty.

A (mostly) peaceful agreement between Heaven, Earth and Hell in exchange for legalised slave trades. If they had the right money, a human could buy a hell-beastie and order him around to his heart's content. If they had the right money, they could buy an angel. They were a hell of a lot rarer. Not only because of the price but because Angels were such good little soldiers, almost none of them did anything to warrant the slave treatment. If it was bad enough, people would want them anyway.

That didn't stop everyone who had owned one from going missing. It's like they didn't get the ‘guaranteed death’ memo that came with purchase.

Dean thought the whole thing was idiotic. Just let him go back to ganking them and putting them in the ground where they belong. It was harder with civilian involvement and people trying to defend their ‘pets even if they were snacking on people on the side’.

Granted, if this whole Treaty crap wasn't around, he wouldn't have met Benny.

Bobby had been fairly neutral on the whole ‘slave-owning’ thing. Said if it was humans then he’d probably give a damn but it's only filth from hell or its descendants. May as well make keep them out of trouble and them useful.

Before Bobby bought him, Dean would have killed Benny on sight just for being what he was. All fangers are monsters and all monsters need ganking. But he helped Bobby. Not just by being there for him after the death of his wife, he picked up his slack around the Salvage Yard.

He was obligated to, sure. He was still Bobby's ‘property’. He had the Mark so he’d be obedient. But he didn't have to be so good to him. He’d heard all sorts of stories about slaves giving the bare minimum. Doing their duties but giving a hell of a lot of lip in the process. That was another reason Dean thought the whole system was stupid. You couldn't whip the asshole out of them. There wasn't a ‘rehab’ for being a soulless killer.

Even if Benny was technically Bobby's ‘slave’ (Dean hated that word), he was still a damn attractive vampire and the southern drawl may or may not have made his knees a little weak. Especially when he was begging and pleading at the hands of Dean, or even better, being the one calling the shots. They’d messed around a few times when Bobby was on a hunt.

He was a great bear of a man who knew how to get Dean’s motors running outside of the mechanical work. Dean had been more than sorry to say goodbye to him when he left but they were never anything serious. Just a more often than not better-than-decent-f*ck when Dean needed it.

Dean snapped his head up to hear the sound of Elizabeth putting her bag in the small space Meg’s had been in only moments ago. It seemed like moments. He’d lost himself thinking about the past again. Damn it.

“Morning, Liz”. Dean rinsed his mug under the boiling water from the coffee machine. He put a clean one under the spout, packed the arm with fresh grounds but only pressed for a single shot. He knew how Liz took her coffee and made it for her most mornings as she came in. He was typically still downing his own when she got here. Today was no exception, even if it was technically his second.

Oh.

“Right, yeah. Must have slipped my mind. When's he in?” Dean lowered the milk wand into the milk and turned the steam on full. It hissed to life, frothing the milk and letting out that quiet rumbling that complimented the whirring of the coffee machine beautifully. It was his equivalent to birds chirping and traffic and all that pedestrian morning bullsh*t. This combination of noises meant the beginning of another shift. The beginning of another day.

Elizabeth checked the small, leather watch on her wrist.
“Shouldn't be too far behind.” She stepped closer to Dean. “You know..” He kept his eyes on the jug, determined not to burn the milk. “..If you're having such awful nights, you should have someone to sing you to sleep after them nightmares of yours.”

It wasn't her fault. She’d overheard a conversation between him and Bobby a while ago when one of his nightmares seemed a little off, even compared to usual. He checked in, just in case anything supernatural was going on but as usual, it was just his imagination.

“Liz, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were flirting with me.” He turned the steam off at the knob and removed the jug. He gave the arm a quick wipe over with the damp cloth by its side and fetched the coffee cup before pouring the milk in. Once it was made to her usual likings, Dean handed the coffee to Liz as a request to stop her from getting him to finally give in to temptation.

“So you don't want someone to warm your bed at night?” Liz took the coffee but placed it immediately on the bench beside them. She turned, stepping in front of him, forcing him to back up against the counter. “Someone to wear you out enough so you can sleep all the way through?” On reflection, he and Liz hadn't been alone in the restaurant in a long, long, time. There was always customers or other staff. God knows she wouldn't be making this much of a move in front of Garth or Ash.

He couldn't do this. He promised Benny. It's not that he wasn't tempted. Sweet Gods of Pie, he was tempted but he couldn't. He promised.

Liz ran a hand up the outside of Dean's thigh causing his breath to catch in his throat. He turned away, swallowing thickly as Liz pressed further into him. She nudged her thigh against his, seeking permission to slip between his legs where things would undoubtedly get out of hand. He parted his lips and ran his tongue across them. When had his mouth gotten so dry?

“Want and need are two different things.” Dean looked down to her. Elizabeth's eyes were as icy blue as Benny's, but her pupils had dilated and threatened to drown out any colour in them. She looked up at him through her thick eyelashes and caught her lip between her teeth.

She was a vision of seduction. All Dean had to do was say the word, Hell, a sharp nod of the head would have been enough for her to get the point and she’d be on him like a cat on a mouse. It took everything in him to stay perfectly still. To not give Liz everything but a written confirmation that he wanted her just as much but, no. He’d made a promise.

“Only two different sides of the same coin.” That damn southern drawl. It’d be the death of him. She didn't use it as fiendishly as Benny did and he didn't want to give her the chance. Just as she crept her fingers from the outer seams of Dean's jeans to the inside, threatening to reach the button at the top, she was forced back by the sound of a clearing throat.

Dean looked past Liz and saw Oskar with a somewhat amused look on his face. He stepped out from under her, trying desperately not to catch her eye on the way past.

“Oskar! Good to see you, man.” Dean wasn't lying. He didn't know too much about the new kid. He had that spark about him. Something that made him more than the average type that applied for a kitchen hand position in a Bar and Grill. Dean couldn't put his finger on it. He thought Garth and Ash were the only people that had the spark until he met Liz. Then Nancy had it too. It wasn't experience in a restaurant or even with customer service. He didn't know what it was. Something that made them shine a little brighter, perhaps.

He wasn't particularly striking. Not the way Benny was. Oskar was tall and well built, sure, but he had a subtle dorkiness about him. Maybe it was his blonde curls or his soft eyes.

Dean, not having had the opportunity to talk to him since the interview, walked right up to him and shook his hand. The fact that he happened to be almost on the opposite end of the bar to Liz was just a lucky coincidence. Really.
“You’ve had a couple of shifts now. How are you liking the place?”

Oskar smiled, darting his eyes between Dean and Liz.
“It’s good. Keen to get on the coffee machine though.” Dean smiled and looked back to the machine briefly before turning back to Oskar.

“We don't get a whole lot of coffee orders. A few in the morning, maybe. It's mostly beers, spirits or, in the morning, juices. Liz tells me I’m sh*t at making coffee and Garth doesn't start till after lunch.”

With a knowing grin, Oskar nodded a couple of times, though only gently.
“If I may? I may be able to help that.” He moved past him and back behind the bar, excusing himself past Liz who was now watching him.

Her job today was to get him used to the front of house, just in case. Dean liked everyone to be useful everywhere. It seemed a waste to have staff stuck in one area when they could float in between. Sure, everyone had their strengths, but it made covering shifts a hell of a lot easier.

Oskar opened the top of the hopper and took in a deep smell of the beans waiting to be ground. Dean hadn't ever paid too much attention to the type. He didn't know all that much about coffee other than it did him good in the morning. He didn't know bean types or roasting or flavours or whatever. Garth knew a bit more but he didn't seem to have an issue with the brand Dean bought.

“Ah. You’ve got Robusta beans.”

“Who, now?”
“Robusta. Contains higher caffeine but that makes it more bitter as well. They're cheaper pre-roasted, so that's probably why you got them.” He corrected himself as if he’d just offended Dean's honour or something. “It's not a bad thing. I love Robusta. But most people who drown out coffee with milk and sugar prefer Arabica beans. They’re a little gentler.”

Dean stood there, arms by his sides and probably more than a little gobsmacked. Why didn't the kid say he was a coffee pro in his interview? He would have hired him on the spot and chucked him out the front instead of kicking him out the back to train with Ash as a certified Dish Pig.

Suddenly lacking the ability to form any reasonable sentence, Dean just smiled and let him continue.
“Arabica beans are a little more expensive but if you get them green I'd be happy to roast them for you.”

Liz broke the silence where Dean stood, still confused and a little amazed.
“Roast them. Yourself?”

Oskar leant back against the counter. The one Dean had been on next to the machine, not five minutes before.
“Yeah. Learned how to do it when I was living out of Ecuador.”
Liz smiled. She’d stopped paying attention to Dean altogether and was now honing in on Oskar. Good. It'd be easier if she had someone else in her sights.

“You’ve been to Ecuador?” Dean could hear the disbelief in her voice but only barely. It was becoming more and more drowned out and replaced with something like fascination. Oskar shrugged as if it was nothing and continued, relishing in the attention of the gorgeous brunette inching closer and closer to him.
“Been all over. I’m dying to head to Asia but that's just a dream, you know?”

Dean turned and head to the kitchen, knowing the direction the conversation had turned. He knew Liz wouldn't let him slack off. Though apparently, he didn't need too much teaching. He applied for kitchen hand so that's what he said he could do. ‘Roasting his own Arabica beans’ wasn't on his resume but it probably contributed to the spark Dean saw in him.

Pushing past the heavy wooden doors, Dean entered the kitchen and head straight for the fridge to where the fruit, veggies and meat would have been delivered in the night. He found the packing slip stuck to the refrigerator door with a magnet. In the area where Meg would have signed her name to accept the delivery, he saw a giant dick with a smiley face.

He chuckled softly. The delivery boy must have given her lip. Most of the new delivery boys did. They assumed a poor defenceless girl couldn't possibly keep a place running like this by herself in the middle of the night. They didn't know her like Dean did. Meg didn't take sh*t from anyone. Creepiness and pain-in-the-ass vibes aside, he did admire that about her.

With the two new lovers flirting shamelessly out in the bar, Dean grabbed the first box of chuck steak and took it out to the stainless steel bench, dumping it gracelessly and with a loud thud.

With any luck, Ash may be in soon. Ash tended to set his own hours but was typically in around the same time every day. Dean figured it was one of the perks of being a right-hand man and found he didn't mind in the slightest. Not if sh*t actually got done when it was supposed to.

Having caught the tail end of Michael’s interview thing morning, with not much idea what they were talking about, Dean made a mental note to ask Ash. It could have been related to the disappearances. He didn't get nearly as much research done as he would have liked between last night and this morning.

Time was, he would have stayed up reading and Googling all through the night. Occasionally, he’d feel guilty about not putting more effort into the search but with Ash easily a thousand times better on his PC than Dean was, he wasn't too bothered to let him do the heavy lifting now and then.

Grabbing a knife from the back of the bench, Dean lost himself in the monotony of food prep while he waited for Ash to come in with some new information. Maybe, without bothering Bobby or even Sammy, they could finally crack the decades' old case.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

By the time night rolled around again Dean had found he’d completely forgotten his exchange with Meg this morning. And the interview. And oddly enough, the case. It was probably the monotony of a Tuesday that had gotten to him. All the prep in the morning didn't leave too much time for free thinking. Thankfully.

He’d only remembered when she’d come back in to start the graveyard shift again and she’d had that damn sideways smirk all over her face again. She had something over him. It wasn't anything big and Dean told himself he didn't give a sh*t about Michael and Raphael and Angel politics but it could have been relevant to the case. That and the guy looked so damn familiar.

Something in his stern and superior look and the way he spoke to the reporter as if she was nothing. Some flea that had crawled up from a pit and had the nerve to ask the lion how it felt to be King. It wasn't that he was all out rude to her. Or specifically said anything to upset her. Just something in his voice. Something about him that knew he was better.

When Meg had come to the kitchen after presumably dumping her bag, as usual, she folded her forearms on the bench and rested her head across them.
“Dean, Dean, Dean. You got some ‘splainin’ to do.”

At least she wasn't on him about this morning. Yet. Dean sighed.
“What did I do this time, Meg?”

“Want to explain why all everyone's talking about is Lizzy and the new boy?” Dean didn't bother to face her. He finished putting away the excess prep that could be used overnight and wiped down the spare bench that wouldn't be.
“Because y'all are a bunch of gossips?”

Meg gave a small laugh and stood straight, slowly creeping from one side of the bar to the other, towards the wooden doors, and trailing her fingertips across the dark wood as she moved.
“Apparently they spent half the morning attached at the hip - ”

“Because she’s teaching him how to work in front of house.”
“And they’ve been talking up a storm about a romantic getaway to Thailand and Vietnam.” Dean took a deep breath. He didn't want to put up with Meg right now. He really didn't.
“I don't know? The kid likes to travel. Sue him.”

Meg had made her way into the kitchen when Dean's focus was on his cleaning. He turned and she was standing directly in front of him. For the second time today, and in no was as remotely pleasant as the first, he was backed against a bench. He rolled his head back and grunted in annoyance.
“You seem to be the regular Cupid. Aren't ya, Deano?”

“What do you want, Meg?” She smiled. Not so much a smile as her lips twisting eerily upwards into a grin.
“Give me a raise.”

Dean's eyebrows shot up. Today had more than its fair share of surprises.
“What?”

“I do good work here, boss.” Meg took a step away, resting her back against the door of the fridge and crossed her arms. She knew full well Dean needed to get in there to check everything off for the night. He couldn't do that with a pain in the ass standing all smug in front of it.

“I deal with your sh*tty hours. I put the local rats in their place when they start talking trash. Maybe I want to take a little vacation myself and need to start putting pennies in my piggy bank.”

Dean opened his mouth, ready to offer a damn raise if it got her out of his kitchen before another idea hit him. If he had his usual ‘three fingers’ before dealing with her, he wouldn't have even thought of it. Crossing his own arms, he grinned at his own brilliance.
“Tell me why they were interviewing Michael and it's all yours.”

Meg’s face didn't falter. If anything she was impressed by the exchange and began to offer the information up willingly.

A thought occurred to Dean that ruined any high he’d had for thinking up his little trade. Meg knew he’d want to know about Michael and figured she'd get something out of the equation if she acted before Dean figured it out himself. He still could. He could head upstairs and Google the archangel right now but something in him knew it was better, or safer, to let her take the win.

If he did, maybe she’d get co*cky and maybe he’d be one up on her next time. It was almost a game they played with each other. Either way, he’d made the offer. He couldn't back out now, even if he wanted to.

“Michael’s in charge now.” She answered in almost a sing-song tone. “Raphael got his wings clipped seeing as he’d rather see humanity on a spike instead of playing nice with the other kids. Apparently, Michael - ” She spoke in a higher, softer tone and pressed her palms together, as if praying to on high, “ - Loves humans. As they are his father's creation and wants to see them treated as they deserve to be treated.” She dropped her hands and her delicate tone melted away along with any softness in her face. “He wants to wipe Angels from the Treaty. Apparently they're too good to be on it.”

Dean curled his brow and shifted on his feet. That would very much be relevant to the case. Anyone who had bought an Angel had vanished from the face of the earth. Probably killed to hide something, knowing Angels. The winged bastards loved their secrets. If they were pulling out, maybe a few too many Angel tongues were wagging.

A whole string of ‘maybe’s’ started popping up in Dean’s head. He co*cked his head and opened his mouth to ask more but Meg cut him off before he began.

Meg stood back and gave a suggestive raise of her eyebrows before leaving the kitchen and Dean behind her.

Admittedly he was curious. What possible information did she have on… well, anything? She wasn't a hunter, but she knew the sort that came through here. Even though most people knew what went bump in the night, didn't mean they all went out hunting it.

It was still dangerous and zero pay and a guaranteed early grave. If there was any exciting info, Bobby should have called Dean as soon as it hit the wire.

Though he hadn’t told him about Michael. Maybe it was time to give Bobby a call. He hadn't spoken to him in almost a week.

Being a Tuesday, the bar was pretty much dead by the time Ash had left. Dean gave him an early mark, seeing as there was nothing better to do, which he now regretted as he could have asked him. If it was important enough, Ash would have stormed in this morning blaring it from a megaphone so clearly, nothing too interesting had come up.

Without Ash having to go through each cleaning checklist step by step, then walking Oskar through each step in those steps, he was back to his usual pace. If he got all his sh*t done, he could leave as early as he liked and Dean would still pay him for the full time. Ash was a good guy and worked hard. If anyone deserved a raise, it was him.

Dean went through the fridge one more time, now that Meg wasn't in the way, just to check on the overnight stock before heading back out to the bar. Garth was still happily making some fruity concoctions for one of the regulars. Most of the hunters that passed through were a 50/50 chance of ordering bourbon or whiskey, as is. Sure, the odd one got a beer or four but that didn't quite hit the mark the way spirits did. Dean knew the deal. He knew what it was like out there. He'd take a good whiskey over an umbrella co*cktail any day.

It was a little earlier than usual, but he wanted to call Bobby before he’d be out for the night. He typically turned in as late as Dean. Once he was done in the Salvage and left Benny out there through the night to finish off whatever he could, Bobby head back inside in search of any cases to alert nearby hunters. Night hour was the hunter's waking hour.

He gave Garth his usual pat on the shoulder as he passed, flung the spare keys to Meg, ‘Later, ho nugget’, and made his way up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Dean closed the door behind him and toed off his shoes. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialled Bobby and sat at the edge of his couch, resting his feet up on the coffee table. A few rings later, the phone line gave a distinctive click and before Bobby could answer, Dean cut him off.

“You got something you need to tell me?” After a brief silence, Dean almost melted at the sound of the voice. Even through a phone line as old as Bobby himself, that southern drawl still sounded like a damn kittens purr.

“Well it's not your birthday, I’ve got something special saved for that.” Nope. He was not going down that road tonight. Not after a morning of fighting off his granddaughter. It was too weird and Benny was far too dangerous.

“Benny, put Bobby on.”
“What kind of manners is that?” Benny enunciated each sentence. “Hello, Dean. Nice to hear from you. Your turn.”

This could be a good thing. The rare times he did get to speak to Benny, his nightmares usually had their one in ten disappearing act and were replaced by some highly preferable dreams. It was only after speaking to him though. A few sentences of that voice, thick like honey and he remembered everything. The curl of his bicep, the strength in his hands, the trimmed stubble of his jawline as he’d -
“Whaddya want, idjit. It's late.”

Dean cleared his throat, hoping to God Bobby didn't pick up on anything. Benny had barely said four sentences to him and Dean was already a mess. Asshole.

“You heard anything about Raphael and Michael lately?”

Bobby paused.

“Well, yeah. The asshats swapped seats. Raphael stepped out and Michael's taken over as Gods secretary.”

“And you didn't think that was worth mentioning?”

“Not especially. You found out on your own, didn'tcha?”

Dean ran a hand down his face. The aggravation from Benny melt away into an entirely new type of frustration.

“Well yeah, I did. But that was the news?” He stood and made his way to the tiled kitchen, stopping at the fridge and pulling it open with perhaps more force than necessary.

“Who else do you think was going to post it? Cosmo? Were you more interested in ‘who they were wearing?’” Bobby's tone had curled into his smartass upwards inflection. Like everything he said was so obvious. Dean pulled a beer from the main shelf, not like there was much else in there, and head back to the couch, kicking the door shut behind him.

“As if the news is going to post what matters though. You and I both know you've got eyes and ears on the inside. What's the real story and why didn't you tell me?” He wedged the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he cracked the beer open and sat back down in his seat. He picked up the phone with the other hand and brought it to his other ear, taking a big swig as he waited for Bobby's reply.

“You’ve got the basics, what more do you want, boy?”

“I want to know if there's something I’ve got to be worried about. Sammy -”

“Sam's already in this. You know full well that fancy degree of his puts him face first in all the Archangel treaty bullsh*t.”

Dean bit his tongue and took another sip. It was true. He’d always worry about Sammy. Especially now that he was in the thick of it and having the Winchester name to boot. His family wasn't exactly ‘popular’ amongst Angels and Demons. Sam had spent the last seven years in Stanford getting that law degree he’d always talked about. Dad had forbidden it. Said you can't do good if you're sitting behind a desk. That you need to be in the thick of it to make a difference. Sam sure showed him.

When Dad died, Sam gave it a decent shot. He’d waited a whole three years till he ran off and to find his own middle ground. He specialised in religious law and combined it with civil rights or some sh*t. He was one of the first to take a stand and fight the Treaty. As much as he could. He’d defend the few humans that were wrongfully put ‘on the market’ and the co*ckroach or two that he swore up and down weren't all bad. Dean would have argued but he’d learned a thing or two since meeting Benny.

Last he heard, Sammy was starting on his Masters. The kid was going places. Even if Dean didn't particularly like them.

“I know Bobby. He probably knows more than us -”

“Speak for yourself, idjit.”

“Only because you aren't telling me!” Dean had moved upright in his seat before he’d even realised. He didn't care about Angels. They only put a pretty face on the real issue and tried to keep everything swept under the rug with their damn slave trading.

Dean thought the whole thing was barbaric. There was a reason humans wrote it off 200-something years ago. The only reason they brought it back was as a form of ‘rehabilitation’. Like taking away free will would make them appreciate it more. It was stupid. He was more than happy to keep the whole ‘slave’ thing out of sight and out of mind but if they were going to start popping up on the news it was going to make it a hell of a lot more difficult.

Having placed his beer on the coffee table when he moved forward, he dropped his head into his hand. He knew where this was going. He wasn't going to have this conversation again.

“Bobby, you need to tell me when sh*t like this pops up.”

He paused again before answering.

“Why? You seem to be finding out well enough on your own.”

“Bobby..”

“I mean it, son. You don't need to be dragged into the thick of it. You’ll only obsess over it and go down the same road your Daddy went down. He was determined to gank the whole lot of ‘em. You remember that, don't you?” Dean bit his tongue before bringing the bottle back to his lips and downing the rest of it.

“Yeah, ‘course you do. Sam’s all up in it so someone will notice if he vanishes or gets himself into sh*t. You, on the other hand, have carved out your own little Batcave halfway between nowhere and no one cares.”
“And who told me to do that, Bobby?”

They'd had this conversation more than once. Dean had found out far too late that when Bobby suggested he open Deano’s in the first place, he was trying to get Dean out of the game. Again. Bobby had told him to stick with Lisa, aiming for the same result.

Dean huffed bitterly at how well that had gone down. Turned out this was attempt number two. Get him too distracted to give a damn and he'd forget what was out there. Not bloody likely.

Not appreciating the silence, Dean spoke again.

“You said 'thick of it'. What’s gone sideways?” Bobby sighed loudly into the phone and followed by, what sounded like, him pouring a heavy glass of what was probably whiskey.

“Raphael was lining too many angels up for adoption. He was threatening anyone who so much as looked at him funny to be sent down here to clean toilets and pick up dog sh*t for us mere mortals. Michael thinks he got a little too up himself. Didn't we all.”

He stopped only to take an audible gulp of the drink he'd poured.

“Michael wants out. Said Angels are too good or pure or some sh*t to have their status taken down that many pegs. The last order given to them by God before he vanished was to watch humanity. Not... Whatever sh*tstorm Raphael and the rest of them cooked up.”

Still needing the feel of something in his system, especially if Bobby was intentionally keeping him out of the loop, Dean head back to the kitchen and didn't bother leaving. He pinned the phone between his ear and his shoulder, then grabbed a tumbler from a cupboard at eye level and the whiskey he never bothered to put away. He rested back against the counter and poured a couple of fingers in the bottom.

“So what, it's just 36 flavours of co*ckroach on the lease now?” He set the bottle down and picked up the glass, holding it to his lip a moment before tossing back the lot.

“Almost. There are a few Angels they agreed to disagree on. Figured it'd set a bad example if they let them off the hook so once those few Angels go that's it. I’d imagine they're lowering the price too. Stocktake clearance and all that. The rest of them are good little soldiers. Wouldn't have a disagreeable bone in them. They're wired that way. Only a few have broken ranks on account of the Apocalypse a few years back and that's it. Don't really know why they agreed to be in on it in the first place.”

Dean poured another and nursed this one a little slower.

“The apocalypse? I thought the Angels were the ones that shut it down?”

“That's how it's written.” Dean waited patiently through Bobby's various grunts and groans as he presumably looked for the text he'd have stashed away somewhere. His house was like a giant library, only every book was on the paranormal, supernatural, gods, deities and anything else they'd ever hunt down or heard about. Bobby was central when it came to otherworldly info.

“Here we go.” Dean heard the rustle of pages and drank through another round of waiting. “Says in their official statement; Although it was destined that Michael and Lucifer were to reign in the end of days, it came as a collective agreement that such a prophecy should not be fulfilled without their father present. Therefore the apocalypse is to be postponed until His return. End of the world reads like a damn business proposal if you ask me.”

“So some Angels wanted it to go ahead?”

“Some. Details are vague. The general gist is that it didn't happen purely out of the kindness of the archangels hearts. At least It won’t till ‘Dad’ gets home.”
“Right.” Dean picked up that bottle and weighed it in his hand for a moment. Screw it. He poured himself another before twisting the lid back on the bottle and putting it home on the counter. He'd like to say he wouldn't touch it again tonight but he usually lost that game. He gave himself the benefit of the doubt and at least relocated himself to bed and sat on the edge, bracing for the whatever repercussions could come from his next comment.
“See. That wasn't so hard was it?”

“Shut up, ya idjit.”
“No really, what possible harm could have come from just telling me that? I see it as a win. If they want to hop back on their clouds and start playing their harps again, what's the point of getting in their way?”

“Son, five people have bought an angel since this all started. They're all missing. Angels too. For whatever reason, The high and mighties have pushed it all under the rug. Not like it'd be front page news. Contracts between the seller and the buyer are all very hush-hush, but we did manage to track them down eventually. Not a surprise, when you think about it. They’ve only had Daddy's orders for the last few eons, you think they take lightly to getting shoved in some ‘mud monkeys’ care for the rest of their lives?”

“Well, it's five fewer Angels to worry about. There's been nothing on the buyers? No eyewitnesses? No strange occurrences in the area?” Dean chucked back the last of his whiskey and placed the glass none too gently on the bedside table. It was really starting to hit him and he'd need sleep before he crossed that line from ‘pleasantly tipsy’ to ‘Remembering why he had the drink in the first place’.

“Yeah checked all that and nothing. If Michaels as all-loving as he says he is, what's to stop him keeping an eye on those last Angels? Whoever picks ‘em up on the newly discounted rate is going to have to watch out for the wrath of heaven if one hair is misplaced on their holier than thou heads. Yeah, they're in exile and whatever. Doesn't mean they want ‘em dead. It’s a rehab program, not a death sentence.”

“You think I’m going to track down the buyers and keep an eye on them?”
“Aren't you?”

Truth was, it sounded like a good, easy job. He’d dealt with Angels before and they were some of the biggest bags of dicks he’d ever met. The first one he’d met in person, Uriel, got in the way of one of his cases. Said he needed the demon he’d tracked down for interrogating. Didn't say what for. Asshole ran off with the demon and left Dean halfway through a hunt with his blood boiling. He’d heard through Bobby that he was taken out somewhere along the way. That only pissed him off more that he didn't have the pleasure himself.

The second, Anna, she was pretty sweet. He’d come across her when news came in of a woman hearing ‘angels’ came in so he went to check it out. Must have been five years ago. Turned out she was an Angel without her grace. They’d gotten to know each other pretty well as he protected her from the other Angels hunting her down. Including Uriel. The Dick. When she got her mojo back she turned her wings and fluttered off to parts unknown. So much for the ‘giving’ route. He’d learned pretty quick that Angels were all around douchebags.

If doing a little recon meant keeping a couple of millionaire asshats alive... Sure, it wasn't the hardest job but he’d be keeping people safe.
“Shouldn't I?”

Bobby groaned loudly into the phone.
“You’ll get yourself killed. If they see you, they’ll figure you as a threat and smite you on sight.”

Dean smiled and lay back against his pillows, all but settling in for the night. He brought his feet up and crossed them at the end of the bed, now reasonably confident about where this conversation was headed.

“If they see me.” The irritation was clear in Bobby's voice and Dean appreciated the sentiment. He did. But he was damn good at his job. Damned if he was going to let a feathered dick ruin his streak.

“Dean…”
“I know. Buyers know what they're getting into. Just because they're assholes for buying an Angel in the first place, doesn't mean they deserve to go missing. Or probably dead? Come on, Bobby. Saving people. Hunting things. Let me have this one. Whaddya say?”

Bobby sighed.

“Fine. But you run everything by me and if I'm not 100% that you're not going get your ass handed to you, so help me I’ll get Benny to check your Impala when you're next here.”

Dean pushed himself upright and coughed on the air that had come in the wrong way.

“You wouldn't dare!”
“Try me, boy. I’m not having you end up like your Daddy.”

He lay back down. It was a low blow. But it got the point across.

“Yeah, whatever.” The whiskey was well into doing its job and he could already feel the air around him getting a little bit lighter. “Let me know when someone buys the last ones. I’ll help track ‘em down.”

“Sure thing. Night, idjit.”
“Night, Bobby.”

------------------------------------------------

Morning rolled in, as did the ritual monotonous beeping of his alarm clock. Not like it mattered. He was almost always awake by the time it had started yelling at him.

Dean had a regular night. He’d woken up before the sun again with hands fisted in his sheets and a hoarse throat. It was only fair. He got off easy the night before so he was due for a rough one. The nightmares dissipated as quickly as they’d come. He didn't know what was going on in them most of the time. He was just left with the empty feeling that never seemed to leave him alone. Turns out talking to Benny last night didn't help any.

Every now and then he’d pick up bits and pieces but could never get them to fit together. Some nights he’d dream of chains. Thick, heavy chains with those big hooks at the end. Other nights it was fire and the smell of burning flesh would stick with him till the sun came up. More than once it had been Sammy. He’d yell at him and shake him till he woke up but he never did. Dean woke first. Every time.

Last night was a new one. Most of it had long faded by the time the alarm went off. That morning siren to bring in a new day. The one thing that stuck with him was a rage deep in the pit of his belly. The ties around his wrists and ankles had felt all too real and he could still taste the gag in his mouth. It wasn't a ball gag like some of his more adventurous hookups had asked him to wear. It was a simple piece of fabric tied around the back of his head and sat lightly across his tongue. Dean could still feel the way he’d tensed and pulled against the restraints.

The part that stuck out most of all was the anger. A furious red seeping in at the corner of his eyes and his blood boiling under his skin. Dean had never felt so dark and consumed with a seething hatred before. When he’d woke he could still feel it in his racing heart and it felt like forever before it calmed down to a semi-normal pace.

Dean had woken with his muscles tensed and ready to hit something but he didn't know what. He didn't have anything to hit. He was just… Angry. So utterly angry and it ate away at him more than the other nightmares had. So far, anyway.

So he prepared for another day. He popped his back as stretched out to smash the button on the side of the alarm. He ran his hands through his hair as he forced himself to get into the bathroom. He squinted at the heat lamps and he stripped down for a shower. That was the best way to get through mornings. One foot in front of the other one.

Before he knew it, he was under the water. The heat worked wonders for the muscles along his back and his down his arms. He must have really gotten into it last night. Dean allowed himself a little longer than usual, hoping the tension would run with the water and soap down the drain. He pressed his hands flat against the charcoal tile under the shower head and let the water run through his hair and down his back.

He kept his eyes closed, willing the residual fire in his belly to go out. Then he opened them, more out of instinct than anything else. Almost as regular as his alarm, the sun hit his window just right and the bathroom was flooded with that deep blue.

Dean drank it in like a tall glass of water, one that immediately cooled the fire in his veins and he even smiled gently as he exhaled. He still felt the residual tingling around his wrists and at the order of his mouth but he figured they’d pass soon enough. The stink in his nostrils from the burning nightmares always took a few hours to sink away. Dean figured this too, would pass.

The blue faded, sucking the colour from the bathroom to leave only the charcoal of the tile in front of him. Dean figured he wasn't going to get much more out of being in here, so he turned the taps off and shook the excess water from his hair. He opened the glass door and grabbed a towel, immediately wrapping it around his waist before grabbing another one to run through his hair and over his chest.

The cold of winter was really starting to settle in. Autumn had apparently taken an early mark. Dean couldn't remember it being this cold, this early last year.

Leaving the lingering warmth of the bathroom, Dean grabbed his extra jeans from the washer/dryer and threw them onto the bed. He really wasn't in a mood to get dressed any slower than necessary, being as chilly as it was. Though he still found himself walking automatically to the television.

He put it on sometimes but he was typically downstairs by the time anything important came on that was worth watching. For instance, yesterday's ‘Michael Interview’. He swung the TV to face his bed rather than the lounge and flicked it on, leaving it on whatever channel he usually had on in the bar. He tossed the remote lazily onto the bed and resumed his morning ritual.

He’d barely made it to his dresser to grab some clean boxer briefs before his attentions were drawn back at the familiar sound of the archangel's voice. Jackpot. He swivelled, trying to fish clothes out of his drawers and watch the screen at the same time.

“Thank you for joining us, Michael. We understand your time is very important. We just have a few follow up questions off the back of your announcement yesterday to pull Heaven and its Angels out of the Treaty that was written over thirty years ago. Can you give us any more information regarding your decision?”

The reporter sat opposite Michael looking so very human. Michael was in a human vessel, sure, but the way he sat, the way he looked at her, everything about him screamed power. She was sweet enough. Short blonde hair, plain features and a red scarf that hung heavily around her neck. She was.. well, average? An average human. But Michael...

He wasn't even sure if it was Michael or the vessel he’d chosen. True, Archangels needed to choose a meat suit from some sacred bloodline or whatever. That was common knowledge. So was it the vessel that radiated strength or was it the glowing asshole wearing the suit that made them seem so ethereal?

Dean hadn't seen an archangel in years so he didn't really have anything to compare it to. He vaguely remembered what Raphael looked like. He hadn't seen him since they ‘came out’ when he was a kid. Lucifer wasn't in the picture and no one knew the whereabouts of Gabriel. Maybe they had the same effect. Maybe one day he’d find out.

When he spoke, his voice was a touch too low and so very gentle. Dean wondered if the vessel sounded like that too.

“Of course. All the Angels time is infinite. True we have other matters to attend to but when our withdrawal goes ahead, we’ll have nothing but time.” Michael smiled gently and for a moment, Dean wasn't entirely sure if he was acting all loveable for the cameras or if he was actually less of a dick than the other Angels.

“We’ve spoken to the Ambassadors for Earth and Hell and have come to a mutual agreement. Angels simply aren't profitable. There is little interest to buy as most customers have a level of faith that can't justify holding an Angel. We’ve forbidden any member from Hell from purchasing as they are mostly aware of their power and how to ‘hack it’ if you will.”

And there was the douchery. Treating the whole thing like a business. Dean hated the whole idea but at least he recognised there were people being traded too. Even if it wasn't talked about. True, he didn't particularly give a rats ass what happened to the monsters. Most of them deserved it. Even if Benny was a one-off, he still didn't like the idea. If Benny was one of the good ones, how many others were just like him?

“We’ll be removing ourselves entirely from the equation and returning to the duty our Father gave us. We will continue to watch the Earth and take no part in its affairs.”

The reporter sat cross-legged and looked up from the small notebook in her hands, offering an end to Michael's statement.
“- Once you’ve sold the remaining Angels?”

Michael smiled once more. He was damn good at faking sincerity, Dean would give him that.
“Yes. The last Angels were marked for slavery as a punishment, like the rest. Though the only sin an Angel can truly commit is accepting the corruptibility of free will. Angels are born to follow orders. We’re soldiers. If an Angel deviates from their path, chaos will ensue. The only fitting form of punishment is to strip them of any and all freedom they have the illusion of holding.

“They couldn't be contained in Heaven's dungeons. There, they’d only scheme and end up in the same place they began. We won't kill them. It’d send a message to the other Angels, yes, but we’ve lost enough of our brothers and sisters over the years.”

Dean had worked himself into his jeans, a shirt and was pulling socks over his feet as he watched. He knew Angels had died. Had they really lost that many? Given how many demons and shifters and whatever Dean had killed himself, alone, surely they'd be kicking up more of a stink about how many they've lost.

“There weren't many Angels to begin with that had committed such an act against our father so we never truly brought anything to the Treaty. It was only due to the actions of the few who tried to keep the scheduled Apocalypse on track that we started having Angels to list. Once we withdraw, we won't interfere with the affairs of Earth or Hell unless directly instructed to by God.”

Dean chuckled and muttered under his breath.
“Yeah, right.”

Having been well distracted from his less-than-pleasant wake-up, and partly wanting to stay upstairs for the rest of the interview, Dean moved to the kitchen to chuck a full strength pod of coffee into the machine and left it to run. He returned to the edge of the bed and sat, watching and waiting for any information he could use to track Angels, track their buyers, hell just any information now that he had a half decent job. There's only so many salt and burns one man can do before he goes crazy.

The reporter was now speaking directly to the camera with a phone number at the bottom of the screen. Without thinking, he added the number into his phone and saved it. He didn't catch what it was for. Maybe it was for buying the Angels. Maybe it was for more information. Either way, couldn't hurt to have the number.

“.. For more information, dial the number on your screen. As a thank you and to help Heaven move on a little faster, we’ve been given photos of the few Angels still in the market in the hopes we can persuade someone to take one of these divine beings home.”

Jesus, were they really going to infomercial Angels?

“Michael assures us that names aren't important but we are at liberty to disclose the images to our viewers.”

Dean had his camera on his phone ready to snap photos of the remaining Angels. If they didn't want to give names, fine. He’d have their faces. Dean had tracked a hell of a lot more with a hell of a lot less.

The first photo popped up. Dean snapped a picture. He looked strong, even in the photo that was clearly their version of a line-up picture. He stood alone against a white background. He wasn't bad looking. Short dark hair, dull blue eyes, chiselled jaw. He wore a red shirt under a black jacket with a white inner lining.

Clothing could be important. Most Angels kept whatever their vessel was wearing unless their ‘owner’ wanted them dressed otherwise. This first Angel looked a little confused. They couldn't disclose their crime, but Dean wondered if this guy was even guilty of anything. If he was, he probably didn't think he was, or know why.

Dean typically had a good read on someone as soon as he first saw them. It's how he knew what he was tracking, with the help of the ‘Winchester Wikipedia’, his Dad's Journal which was a detailed account of everything that went bump in the night and then some. He’d memorised it backwards, just about. That and having Bobby sitting on the largest stack of supernatural information in the Northern Hemisphere. There wasn't much Dean didn't know when it came to hunting. It was just another reason why he was so good at his job. His not-a-day job.

The second image came up relatively quickly. A woman. Relatively pretty. Blue eyes again. Huh... Maybe 'blue eyes' was a thing with Angels. His dad had written that Angel grace was a sort of blueish colour. Maybe the vessels all had their eyes changed to blue when an angel was in them. He couldn't remember what colour Anna and Uriel's had been. He wasn't in the business of staring longingly into any Angel's eyes. Michaels had been somewhere between green and brown so maybe he was thinking too much into it. Trying to make links where there wasn't any.

She was plain enough. Reddy brown hair to her shoulders. She stood with more conviction than the first guy. Dean smiled thinking that she knew full well why she was there and, if she was bought, she wouldn't take anything lying down. She reminded him of Meg, a little. Though less creepy. He snapped another photo and noted her clothing. A simple black shirt with a grey suit jacket and collar and jeans. He wasn't the best with women's fashions but she dressed simply enough. Though the business aspect of her clothing made him question if it was the vessel's choice or the Angels.

He’d finished adding whatever notes he could onto the photo when the third image popped up and Dean's heart practically skipped a beat. His breath quivered and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. The third image could easily be labelled as ‘tax accountant’. We wore a suit with a striped blue tie and a big tan trenchcoat but that's not what caught his attention.

His eyes were piercing. Dean could have sworn he was looking right through the screen and actually inside of Dean but it was just a photo. He barely caught a picture on his phone in time before the reporter took it off the screen and resumed talking to Michael, talking about God knows what. He couldn't find it in him to care anymore.

Dean looked down to his phone and the photo of a photo from a screen that was anything but perfect quality. It was still like this Angel was looking directly at him. Something in his eyes. His bluer than blue eyes and the softness in his expression made him.. different?

Dean could read his features like a book. This Angel was broken. Dean didn't know what he must have done to get himself on the market but he could tell it had almost killed him. There wasn't a mark on him, but his wounds were right there in his eyes.

Angels were dicks. It was practically rule number one. Right next to ‘No Kutcher References’ and ‘No Dogs in the Car’. They were complete assholes. They did whatever they pleased to serve an absent father and twisted whatever orders he did leave for their own benefit. Even if he’d only really spoken with two, he’d heard enough accounts to get a pretty good idea of the trending theme.

But this Angel. This one Angel that had gotten himself in the market for whatever reason, he was different. Though for the life of him, Dean couldn't put his finger on why.

By now, he was well and truly late to meet Meg downstairs. He slid his phone back into his pocket, trying his best to put the Angel from his mind and made his way to the door. He shoved his feet into the boots caked with flour and grease, tied the laces and head straight downstairs.

He’d got halfway downstairs before pausing and remembering the coffee he'd started making. He groaned and half turned to head back up and get it. He stopped again. Screw it. His dirty shoes were already on. He could just make another downstairs anyway.

Dean turned back and took the remaining few stairs to see Meg leaning against the register, bag in her arm and apron bunched in her hand. Standing on the other side was a hunter Dean had seen a few times before. He’d made a habit of trying to remember most of the hunters that passed through. You know, just in case.

He was clearly frustrated and Meg was ignoring him entirely. All her attentions were on Dean as soon as he made it down the stairs.
“You're late.”

Dean glanced back at the clock that hung on the wall. He was late. Meg was supposed to leave, well three minutes ago. It's not like he was that late. Definitely later than he thought. He turned back to her and caught Oskar coming from putting his things out the back. Turns out he was more comfortable keeping his belongings in the kitchen.

That was fair. Dean didn't mind where his staff put their things, so long as they remembered where it was. Oskar had a smile creeping up the side of his face as Meg sighed dramatically.

Even having caught the news, he still should have made it down with a good ten minutes before Meg had to pack up. He must have paid more attention to the interview than he thought.

He flashed her a toothy grin, the kind that usually got him off the hook with Liz. There was next to no chance of it having the same effect with Meg, but it was worth a shot.
“I’m here now.”

“Save it.” She gestured behind her with a small tilt of her head. “p*rnstache wants a coffee and an open breakfast.” She smiled at him with that creepy smirk that ran across her mouth like a snake. It never mattered how she smiled. Her eyes never moved. “I told him I clocked out four minutes ago. Your problem now.”

She didn't wait for a response. Meg walked out the other end of the bar and tossed Dean the keys before she left. It wasn't a morning unless Meg got some comment in. Being late, if only even by a few minutes, was still fuel to the fire.

Dean made a quick apology to ‘p*rnstache’, a hunter named Creedy who wasn't the sharpest tack in the box but he got his job done. Oskar had already started in on his coffee. After Dean gave him free rein of the coffee machine yesterday, he had decided that yeah, the kid knew his stuff. After he practically pulled the machine apart and gave it a more-than-thorough clean and rinse, he’d emptied, cleaned, and filled the hopper with the beans he brought green yesterday, which were now a deep, rich brown.

Yesterday, Dean had given him a couple of notes out of the till and sent him straight for the local General Store. The town store was a hell of a lot more general than the title implied. You could pretty much buy anything under the sun there. If they didn't have it, they were more than happy to track it down for you and bring it in.

The owner, a Scottish woman named Rowena, also happened to be one of the strongest witches Dean had ever seen. She was more than helpful when it came to picking up supplies for warding or basic spells or whatever. Rowena was typically sweet if you were on her good side. Needless to say, you didn't want to get on the bad side of the strongest witch this side of the world.

Oskar had come back with a bag of green Arabica beans. Dean thought he’d bring a hell of a lot more than one bag. Turns out the kid wanted to make sure it was ok with the boss before he invested too much money in the change. Just in case he didn't like it. Dean didn't really give a sh*t if he, himself, preferred the taste. He’d probably drown it out with whiskey anyway. If his customers preferred it, it was good enough for him. Dean met him out the back while Liz had taken care of the front of house and Oskar showed him what he’d learnt. He’d asked Dean for a large pan, a metal colander, and two oven trays.

Not knowing squat about coffee, he let the kid do what he needed while Dean took care of the few simple orders that Liz brought back to him. The kitchen was more than big enough for the two of them. He’d never had ‘space’ or his own kitchen. The only kitchen he ever knew was Bobby's. He and Sam had lived off of microwaved meals and junk food from road stops when they were out with their dad. It was so good to have even Bobby's dying stove to whip up some eggs in the morning or to grill his first patties. The more he cooked the better he got and the higher the praise was from Bobby or Sam after a new cooking experiment. Dean learned pretty quickly that he had a way with food as well as cars. That was partially what had inspired him to open Deano’s Bar and Grill.

It was at the top of the list when he decided to build that he had a decent sized kitchen. Sure, all the equipment wasn't exactly ‘top of the line’, but it did more than well enough and his customers were happy. He figured that was enough. Now that he was turning profits well enough, he may invest in some upgrades.

Dean scrambled eggs and fried up bacon while Oskar gently stirred the beans in the pan sitting on a hot stove next to him. Dean liked to learn so half his attention was on the little green beans turning yellow, then golden, then light brown. He tore himself away every now and then to get more ingredients or to serve the plate onto the bar. Dean had come back just as the beans were losing that golden colour and turning into a deeper brown when Oskar took them off the heat entirely and poured them into the metal colander sitting on top of one of the oven trays.

Watching him was soothing. It was like watching his own methodical prep work but from an outsider's perspective. He’d make light conversation every now and then when he wasn't looking too busy. Oskar wasn't interested in showing off so he was more than happy to explain the process or trade bits about himself for info about Dean. Yeah, he definitely made the right decision with this kid.

The smell was something else entirely. After the initial grassy smell had cooked off when they'd turned yellow, they started smelling sweeter. It had the coffee undertone, obviously, but the almost sugary smell blended in started smelling all the more tempting. The orders had faded a little, being that middle time between breakfast and lunch, and Dean was more than ready to try some of these freshly roasted beans.

Once Oskar was happy with their temperature and all the, what he called ‘chaff’, had been removed, he poured them out onto the extra pan and spread them a little with the tip of the curved spatula he’d been using. He moved the tray off to the side where he was sure Dean wouldn't be inconvenienced by it. Oskar smiled brightly at Dean and set the kitchen towel from his shoulder down on the counter.

“All done. Should be ready to go tonight or tomorrow morning.”

Wait. No, no no. He wanted that coffee now.
“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. The beans need to ‘off-gas’ for a solid four hours. Though overnight is best. After that, they're ready to grind and make into tasty, tasty coffee.” He turned away and started gathering the equipment he'd used, taking it to the sink and started washing it and Dean had felt more than a little deflated.

He left to make another coffee, knowing it'd probably be his last of the bitter beans. Tomorrow's coffee would be better.

If he’d remembered that this morning, he wouldn't have bothered with the pod that was still sitting in a mug upstairs for him. Though truth be told, he was more than a little happy he’d gotten distracted enough to forget about it. Probably not too happy by what distracted him.

Now, Oskar had finished putting the coffee machine bits and pieces back together and let the hopper grind the first batch of the new beans. Even when they were only in the grinder they smelled better than the other beans had. Both he and Creedy sat anxiously waiting for their morning coffee.

Dean was probably more excited. He’d never had any fancy home-roasted beans before. Just whatever gas stations poured out of their filthy percolator filters. He’d taken a great step up in using the machine he’d bought for his customers. This would hopefully be another step up if Oskars word was anything to go by.

Dean watched as he flicked the thing on the side of the hopper once, then twice before tamping the grounds gently. He locked the arm back in the coffee machine and set a cup under each of the two spouts. After pressing the button, he let the machine go and fetched the milk from the fridge underneath.

Dean was never big on the milky, frothy, fancy coffees. He was a long black/espresso kind of guy. He turned to Creedy, now sitting on a stool at the bar, awaiting his breakfast and coffee, and asked what he wanted. He shrugged, clearly not knowing all that much about coffee himself.
“Surprise me, kid. You seem to know what you're doing. Just nothing too fancy.”

Oskar poured a few splashes of milk in the stainless steel jug, just as Dean had done countless times before only he seemed a hell of a lot more confident, and moved it up to the steamer. He turned it to full and the whirring began as he frothed the milk, single-handedly as he put the lid back on the milk and returned it to the fridge.

“Aren't you going to fix me my breakfast?” Creedy asked with the frustration clear in his voice.
“You're not getting anything till I get my coffee. I’ll cook you the best breakfast you've ever had, but trust me, you don't want me cooking without that -” he pointed firmly at the coffee as it finished pouring into the cup, “- in my system.”

Oskar handed a cup as it was to Dean before tapping the milk jug lightly on the counter, then pouring the milk into the other, finishing it off with a fancy pattern drawn in white and brown. He set it gently on a saucer and placed it in front of Creedy, then looked immediately back to Dean for approval.

Dean knew how the kid felt. By the time he'd started officially working at Bobby's, he’d helped his Dad fix up the Impala so many times he knew her backwards. He still did. Dean could pick out a dying alternator by the sound the engine made coming up the driveway. Bobby had told him when he was young that he had a knack for it and, with praise being a foreign concept to him, he clung to it like gold. So when Bobby told him his burgers were some of the best he’d ever had, Dean tried making new meals at every given opportunity. He thrived off of making Bobby and Sammy happy and the praise that came with each improvement.

He took one sip of the still hot coffee and felt as the taste danced around his tongue. It was definitely sweeter. He could almost taste that sugary smell that had haunted him in the kitchen for half the day yesterday. This was... It was amazing! That was it. Oskar would be permanently stapled to the coffee machine from here on out.

He’d have most of the patrons in town favouring this over some of the other cafes. When he was still getting to know the town, He’d tried coffee from more than one of the cafes, gas stations, you name it. He still preferred theirs but never had it in him to make it all the way over there before he’d have to start cooking. This was better than those by a long shot.

“Well, son of a bitch. That is a damn fine cup of coffee.”

Oskar lit up. The kid knew he could make coffee otherwise he wouldn't have been so confident with Dean letting him shop for and roast the new beans. Dean gave him a hearty slap across the shoulder and turned to Creedy, seeing what he thought.

The last couple of times, he’d left coffee off his order entirely after Dean had made the first one. That didn't surprise him. His coffee was garbage and no one of the competent staff was typically in yet when Creedy came in for breakfast. Seeing the new kid must have encouraged him to give him a second go. He clearly wasn't regretting it.

He looked into his cup after the first mouthful and nodded slowly.
“Not bad, kid.” He looked up to Dean. “Does this mean I get my breakfast now?”

Dean ran his tongue across his teeth, savouring every burst of flavour the new beans gave his coffee. He downed the rest of it, gritting his teeth as it burned a little too hot on the way down.
“Shut up, it's coming.” He head out toward the kitchen, yelling behind him. “Scrambled or fried?”
“Fried!”

He pushed through the heavy doors and pulled out his phone to set up on the dock he had out the back. The swinging doors were thick enough that he could have his music in here and the customers could have their music out there. This time of the morning it was relatively quiet anyway. Most patrons/hunters wanted to eat, grab whatever information they needed and head out on their way.

Dean flicked the dock on and unlocked his phone with the intention of going straight to a Led Zeppelin album but was stopped. He froze in place when he saw the picture of the blue-eyed Angel. He must have forgotten to close the app after he took the photo. Dean held the phone in both hands when the idea struck.

It was perfect. He needed to track the Angels and protect the buyers. He knew more about Angels than any other of the buyers out there - without a doubt. Granted he didn't know the first thing about how to actually go about it. Dean guessed he’d have to make a few calls by the end of the day.

He smiled gently at the photo before closing the app and opening his music like he originally planned. He swiped through to Ramble On and set it firmly in the dock before heading to the fridge to grab the bits and pieces he’d need for a fried open breakfast. Bacon, sausage, hash browns, mushrooms, eggs and toast.

What better way to keep an eye on the feathered bastards than to buy one himself.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

A little more time had passed than he’d liked. He’d thought about buying the Angel since he’d seen the photo lingering on his phone. Maybe he’d looked at it a few more times during his shift whenever he caught a break.

Dean didn't really know why. It's not like he needed to memorise what he’d look like if he was going to ‘own’ him. He still didn't like the idea of ‘owning’ anyone, Hell beastie, Angel of the Lord or otherwise. Yeah, the vast majority were dicks. Most of them probably deserved whatever fate they got but it still felt wrong. There was a reason Lincoln and Co. wrote slavery off a hundred and something years ago. Granted, they probably thought more about human rights. The spectrum had changed a little since then.

He was a little proud of his plan. It'd be a hell of alot easier to watch out for the other buyers if there was one less Angel to worry about. Though Angels didn't have the Mark of Cain like the monsters did.

The Mark was a deep red brand on their forearms that marked them as slaves. If they misbehaved, didn't follow through with an order, or just be an asshole in general, it shot a wave of burning pain throughout their nervous system. If a human wore it then yeah, sh*t would hit the fan about ethics, but no one cared if it was a vamp, a shifter, whatever. As long as they had a house pet that behaved, they overlooked it.

Humans were a bit more of a grey area. Most didn't know that humans were even on the market. The groups that would have formed against it would have put PETA to shame. It was pretty much common knowledge about demons and all that. They may have even started teaching it in schools. Dean didn't know. He barely paid attention when he was there, himself.

Keeping a human was a much bigger secret amongst hunters and the ones that could afford a human. Most of the humans had been sold to high ranking demons, Crossroad or otherwise that wanted help with paperwork (for the most part). People were a little tougher to keep in line. It had taken years of fine tuning. Test trials between beatings, shock collars and whatever else the government could come up with. Last Dean had heard, humans had a chip planted somewhere in their brains that did pretty much the same thing as the Mark.

As for Angels, Dean wasn't really sure. There wasn't a whole lot of accounts to go off but the one or two that had been documented by hunters listed them as ‘naturally submissive’. Something about being created to follow God's’ orders and it already being in their programming. It started that way, anyway.

Bobby had said they didn't take too well to someone other than their Father giving the orders. That was understandable. Must have driven the bought ones crazy if they felt the need to make themselves disappear along with their handlers. For whatever reason. The more Dean thought on it, the more it sounded like keeping an eye on one himself was a good idea.

Bobby would probably flip his sh*t. Go off on him saying it's dangerous and whatnot. Surely deep down he'd want to learn as well. Hell, even Sam may want to learn more. He’d probably spoken to more Angels than Dean’s ever met in his life but they're all ‘God-abiding’ citizens. He’d probably get his fangirl hat on if he could actually speak to the type of Angel he’d be defending.

Dean had every intention of calling Bobby that night and laying it out. He knew the response he’d get and he’d thought of a pretty solid way to counter every issue Bobby would have for him.

They're dangerous! No problem. Dean’s faced worse and he knows what signs to look out for. More than a civilian would, anyway.

Could you even afford one? Another non-problem. With how well Dean kept to his budgeting when building Deano’s, he had money saved separately in case it went in the sh*tter. That mixed with the way the bar has taken off and the ‘stocktake clearance’ Heaven’s going to undoubtedly have, money shouldn't be an issue.

What about when you sleep and it slits your throat? True, he couldn't have eyes on him all the time but Dean hardly slept anyway. Between his guard being up 100% of the time and the nightmares, he barely slept as it was. He could probably even make it through the first couple nights without any.

We don't even know the extent of their Grace. What if they have some hypnosis crap?

That was true. He could brainwash Dean and convince him to kill himself or something but this was all minor details. Dean had, surprisingly, never been this sure of anything in his life. He knew this was a good idea and he’d be saving some poor sap in the process. He’d be learning more about Angels. They could get all sorts of information from him. This had to be a win, win?

When he finally got a hold of Bobby after his shift, he was greeted by a string of rushed sentences all poured into one. He couldn't have gotten a word out if he tried.
“Dean, good your free. We got a case in your backyard. Handful of bodies turned up outside of Colorado Springs. All of them were found mauled. Sound familiar?”

Dean had just made his way upstairs after a particularly busy night. He’d prepared the argument in his head and knew, almost to a T, what Bobby was going to say. What he didn't figure was that Bobby would give him a case. Dean sighed as he pulled his jacket back on. He didn't even get it all the way off.
“Wendigo?”

He took the keys back off the hanger and chucked them in his pocket. He’d barely made it in the door. Dean hadn't even taken his shoes off yet. Colorado Springs was more or less his backyard. Just over a 5 hour drive. Less if he pushed it. The cops weren't really out that way this time of night so he should be right to get there before dawn.
“Sounds it, but you should ask around before whipping out your flamethrower.”

Dean turned on his heel and locked the door behind him, making his way down the stairs he’d only just climbed.
“Wasn't born yesterday, Bobby. Text me the details if you can figure out how and I’ll deal with it when I get there.”

“Shut up, ya idjit.”

With a click, the phone line died. Dean smiled as he tucked it back into his pocket, but somewhat aggravated he’d now have to wait to talk to Bobby till after the case.

Dean could have spoken to him now. He could have chucked in a ‘by the way, I’m going to buy one of the kamikaze Angels and keep it as a pet’ but he knew Bobby was way more likely to agree with it if he wasn't stressing about a Wendigo eating Dean at the same time.

Truth was, he didn't need Bobby’s permission. He was a grown ass man but the old coot was the closest thing to a father he’d ever had. Bobby probably found this case as an apology for last night. To let Dean feel like he was still useful.

It would be a lot easier if Bobby just agreed to Dean's plan. At least this gave him a reason to call as soon as he wrapped up the case.

He passed Meg in the bar for another time tonight, not missing the side eye she gave him as he head straight for the till.
“That was quick.” She continued in a teasing singsong, “Couldn't stay away from little ol’ me?”

Dean couldn't be bothered replying. He had to get on the road, sort out the damn wendigo and get back to Bobby to discuss more pressing matters.

“Got a case in Colorado.” All his employees knew what he did. If they didn't know already like Liz and Ash had, he made sure to educate them once they'd started. With the Treaty as common knowledge, everyone knew what was out there. Whether the general public believed it or not was another matter. Either way, he wasn't going to leave the people he’d grown to care for without any defenses. They knew how to look after their own and Dean rested a little easier knowing they’d be a little safer.

That's why Meg didn't bat an eye when he said he’d be taking off. There wasn't anyone at their end of the bar so she even pressed him, as she was known to do every now and then. Her eyes widened and sparkled.
“Oooh, is it bloody?”

Dean opened the till and grabbed a few hundred from down the side. Cases were a hell of alot easier if you didn't have to try and run credit card scams at the same time. Without facing her at all, he closed the till and moved to the other side of the bar.
“Wendigo.” He hoped to make it out the door before -
“Need company?”

He paused and sighed heavily. It wasn't the first time she'd asked and it wouldn't be the last. As much as she was a pain in the ass, she did get off on learning about all this sh*t. Meg would pop quiz the newbies and find out if they knew anything she didn't. She would have made a damn good hunter if Dean didn't generally forbid it amongst employees. He’s not having another death on his conscience.

“Meg, I’ve done more cases than you’ve had tips. I don't need you.”

“But, do you want me?” She gave another of her wry smiles. The kind that crept across her face making her mouth look bigger than it was. It only added to how off putting she seemed. If Dean could look past it to the large chestnut eyes, her humour, her confidence, she could pass as attractive. Just not to Dean and not in this lifetime.

The creep factor outshone anything positive about her. But she did want to learn. Dean felt safer knowing his staff were safer. There was a good chance she’d slow him down and Dean needed to get back to talk to Bobby about this Angel crap. Then again, his hunts had been pretty damn lonely since moving to Kansas.

“Garth?”
“The little furball has been begging me to swap a shift with him. I think the fact that I know more about the hunters than he does is starting to hurt his poor little feelings. Can't take a little girl knowing more about the ‘family business’ than him.” She turned to look back at him, then back at Dean. “Not like he cares about the hours. Or the overtime. Kid practically lives here.”

Fine. Whatever. Dean called out past Meg.
“Garth!”

He turned immediately away from the blonde who was, surprisingly, keeping her interest.
“You good with covering Meg’s shift tonight?”

Garth's smile spoke in volumes. His whole face beamed and he nodded furiously. Dean curled his lip upwards. Guess Meg wasn't wrong about that at least.

Dean rubbed his forehead with his free hand. He hadn't had to think about babysitting anyone on a hunt in years. She dove under the counter and rummaged for her things. “Grab your sh*t. We’ll stop at yours on the way out of town, get you a change of clothing -”

“No need.” From some hiding spot down with her bag she pulled out a small duffel. One that was barely the size of a rolled sleeping bag and hung it over her shoulder. Dean eyed the bag quizzically. When did.. What? What was in there? No chance in hell did she know about this case, let alone that she’d convince Dean into letting her tag along. He hung his mouth open, deciding which question to ask first before Meg answered for him. “What? Doesn't hurt to be prepared. That's rule numero uno isn't it?”

Well, yeah. But still.

“Ok. We’ll still need to get you a couple of basics.” He kept his voice down, guiding her out of the bar and across the darkened gravel carpark towards Baby. A sickening feeling quickly arose in his gut. Meg would be in his Impala. His Baby. He’d need to set a whole bunch of new ground rules. Was it too late to send her back inside?

They passed the few patrons cars that reflected the neon lights from above Deano's and head to the darkness round back.

There she was.

They caught Baby in all her beauty, reflecting nothing but the full moon above them which painted her in a pale blue light. She was always a vision. Dean's true home. He felt a pang of guilt by allowing Meg to ride shotgun.

As they closed in on her, Dean fumbled for the keys in his pocket, aiming straight for the trunk to chuck Meg's bag in. He parted his lips, about to give the rundown of rules that he hadn't had to give to anyone in God knows how long when Meg, again, spoke first.

“She’s a thing of beauty, boss.” She ran her hand up the side panel towards the passenger door as Dean paused with a key still in the latch. “327 engine? Four Barrel carburetor?”

Dean just stared at her. Meg knew for years what kind of car Dean drove but had never made a single comment on her before now. Not many people did. He stuttered, tripping over the words to reply.

“Uh, yeah. She’d had a few tumbles as you can probably imagine but I rebuilt her every time.” There was no hiding the pride in his voice. Baby was his everything. She was with him when he had nothing. When Dad died. When Sammy left him. Baby was his one constant. She’d always be with him and Dean took good care of her as thanks.

He pushed the trunk open and gestured for Meg to drop her bag inside. Before he left on any case, he always checked Baby’s trunk. Meg brought the bag from over her shoulder and dumped it in the back, not really looking where it landed. Clearly there wasn't anything too fragile in it.

It landed next to Dean's duffel. The one that lived in his trunk that was always stocked with a few days worth of clothes and the bare essentials. Underneath was the navy suit he kept freshly cleaned and pressed after each hunt. He had it all pretty much covered. Though it was nothing on Baby’s other trunk.

Once their bags were in the back, Dean propped open the false bottom with a shotgun from the underside. He caught Meg’s eyes widen in his peripheral and allowed himself a small smile that he half hoped she didn't notice. Which she didn't. She was clearly too interested in Baby’s real trunk. He checked the other essentials. Rock salt, Holy water, silver bullets. He was more interested in what was behind most of it and sat rarely used. His flare gun.

He used to have a flamethrower. A homemade tinker job that wasn't really effective on the infield. Dean came a hair too close a few wendigo hunts back. Failed one time too many when trying to light the initial spark. He’d learnt that a flare gun does the same job, only a far easier. Point and shoot. Nothing to complicate it.

“Nice stash. I bet that makes all the girls all hot and dewey.” Dean cringed. If one thing was for sure, he’d never let any of the one nighters he’d met anywhere near Baby, let alone her trunk. Liz and Nancy knew he had his supplies but their hideaway never came up in conversation. Meg was the first to even get this far since, probably Benny. And that was a whole other story.

“I wouldn't know. They haven't seen it. Only reason you are is so you know what a hunter's arsenal should look like.”

Maybe having Meg in the hunters circle wouldn't be such a bad thing. This could be a trial run. If she messes up, holds him back or, well, gets killed.. then he’d try to keep her out best as he could. Especially if she died. Which he wouldn't allow.

Meg reached in, leaning provocatively over the side of Baby’s rear and gently dragged her finger along a knife with markings etched into the blade. Dean ignored it, best as he could. She was playing one of her games. She always was.

He checked his ammo box for his ivory gripped Colt, his shotguns and made sure there was more than extra flares ready to load. Everything seemed to be loaded and ready to go. Good. He wouldn't have to make any more stops on the way there. Depending how the case went he may need to make a stop on the way back.

He stood up, narrowly avoiding hitting his head. Dean had done that more times than he’d care to admit. Whatever game Meg was playing he didn't have time for it. Not when they could be on the road. He moved the shotgun out from propping up the false bottom, causing Meg to pull her hand back. Dean closed the trunk, hard enough for the old latch to click but not so hard that he’d do her damage, then gestured with a small nod to get Meg in the passenger's seat. They needed to get moving.

Baby's doors creaked as they each opened and pulled closed behind them. Dean buckled up, switched on the ignition and pulled out, wasting no time to get to the highway. It wasn't far. Dean had chosen the piece of land he did for a few reasons. One of which being that he was so close to the main road. Made it easier for hunters to find the place and made it easier for him to tear out on a hunt when he needed to. It wasn't that Lebanon was a huge town but her streets could be a bit of a maze if you were in a hurry.

At least Meg had the decency to start off quiet. Dean thought she’d be a regular chatty Kathy from start to finish. She at least waited till they hit the highway before trying to start up a conversation.
“So all hunters have such goodies in their toy boxes?”

The monotony of the drive was something he both loved and dreaded. Countless hours alone with nothing but his music and the occasional passing streetlight to keep him company. But it was lonely. It got him into that headspace where his thoughts tended to cave in on themselves.

He’d wind up thinking about Dad and Bobby and Benny and Sam and everything just started to crumble. It gave him another reason to turn down hunts on the other side of the country. Not like there wasn't enough hunters hanging around that someone else couldn't take the gig.

Hunts in his own backyard were easier. They took the edge off and he still felt like he was in the game. He could tell himself he was until the cows came home but truth of the matter was he could barely call himself a hunter. Hell, he could barely call himself ‘Bobby’.

True, he did provide information. He knew more about Vamps, Wendigos.. Hell, if fairies came up he knew how to get rid of those bastards too. Truth was, he was a glorified wikipedia. He had all the knowledge with a lifetime of first hand experience. That's about all he had to offer; a burger, a beer, some info on how to gank a beast before patting them on the rear and sending them on their way. He was… God, he was a mom.

So this was a test and it all came down to Meg. Based on how well she handles herself in the night hours at the bar, her vast, vast knowledge on all things supernatural and the way nothing at all affected her, she had all the makings in her to be a damn good hunter.

Dean was getting on. No lie about that. He was pushing 40, he’d all but hung up his guns for good except for a few small fry’s and some salt and burns. Maybe he could teach the ‘next generation’. He would feel better knowing how they held their own in the field. He could sing songs about the old days he turned blue in the face but fact of the matter is, knowledge isn't worth a damn till you can make something of it.

Meg had passed the written, as far as Dean could tell. Let's see how well she went with the rest.

--------------------------------------

Dean cursed as he landed on the dirt below him. Maybe he was getting too old for this sh*t. The damn Wendigo got the jump on him, tossing his flare gun to the other end of the shaft. Well done, Dean. He groaned as he pushed himself up on his elbows, quickly scanning the room for Meg.

She was right behind him when they broke in. Dean kicked the worn wooden door almost clean off the hinges once he heard the Wendigo with the kid he had freshly strung up. He thought Meg could have been untying him from rope coming from the ceiling, or at least cutting him down. Nope, not over there either. Where the hell had she gone?

Meg was doing surprisingly well for a first case. Dean was all sorts of ready to babysit her and take charge of all the talking. Given she had the social grace of a thumbtack, there was no possible way she could convincingly pull off ‘sympathy’. He’d have thought so anyway. Turns out she was actually rather sweet to the families whose kids had gone missing. She bat her eyes and the whole nine, just the way he’d seen her do for extra tips at the bar. Dean was a little impressed.

Then there was the sheriff. Dean thought for sure she’d have to take a backseat to Dean but she barely let him get a word in. It was all ‘higher authority’ and ‘federal investigation’ and she even put the poor guy in his place. Told him to get back to rescuing cats from trees and leave the big jobs to ‘mommy and daddy’. Dean didn't even have the chance to catch her on her little provocation before she grabbed the case files they wanted and stormed out the door. The sheriff didn't follow, just let them have the room down the hall uninterrupted as they sorted through the evidence. Tad harsh, but effective.

Seeing as she was on top of everything else, Dean thought she wouldn't miss a chance to actually be in the action and get a chance to fight. That was all she’d talked about on the drive over. Couldn't wait to put her skills into action or something, though she worded it much more slimy than that. Dean had cut her off a few times. Didn't want her getting all co*cky and over confident but she assured him she knew how to handle herself. Maybe a Wendigo shouldn't have been her first case.

It was dark. Too dark for Dean to make out too much. All he had was the full moon coming in from the windows but they were heavily boarded up and the light only came through in broken beams. The old cabin had been long abandoned. It may have even belonged to the Wendigo before they changed. Either way, it was theirs now.

The smell of fresh and old blood mixed together into a sickly, rotting metallic smell. Any furniture was either smashed or used as a post to tie their meals to. Clearly no one had been this far up the mountain in years. The cabin was a few huffs and puffs from being blown in. He was surprised it didn't cave in entirely when he kicked the door down.

Still on the ground, Dean scrambled to his feet with a sudden worry pooling in his gun. Where the hell was Meg? She was right there! He hadn't heard any screams. Maybe the Wendigo hadn't seen her? Unlikely. They were smart. It’d know for sure that Dean came with backup. As soon as they'd entered, it wasn't anywhere to be seen. It wasn't till they crept down the stairs to the basem*nt that they saw its little hideyhole.

It was attached to an old mine. It must have been how it was grabbing kids from every end of the forest without being seen. They barely made it a few steps onto the rail track before it came at them through the darkness. Meg had been right next to him. So where was she now?

The Wendigo approached Dean. It moved slowly, calculating Deans every move. It had thrown him back with a considerable amount of force. Wendigo's always hit hard. He was surprised it wasn't on Dean as soon as he hit the ground. Dean pushed himself up just as the towering beast got within arms reach and Dean was pressed hard against a pillar behind him. After all the crap he’d been through, a Wendigo was going to take him out?

It's grey and wrinkled face leant back into a deep and throaty roar, before its voice was caught in its throat. The sound stopped and turned from something predatory to a howl of pain. Confused, Dean looked down to its chest and saw a bright orange in its gut that easily ate away it the skin and melted the flesh around it. Bracing himself on the pillar, Dean kicked its chest, causing it to stumble backwards and double over in pain, screaming all the while.

It's flesh burnt up fast. Like it was made of that quick burn paper sh*t they put in cigarettes. When it was nothing but a glowing, smokey heap on the dirty floor, he finally looked behind it and followed the bootcut jeans up to Meg who was standing with one arm on her hip and the other holding the flare gun. She was looking very satisfied with herself. Dean on the other hand, was more than a little upset.

“What the hell happened? I thought you bailed?”

Meg grinned and replied in a cool tone.
“Yeah, not so much.” She kicked at the smouldering remains with the tip of her boot, as if to make sure I wasn't going to magically reappear. Meg scoffed, her single victory already going to her head. “Saved your ass, ho nugget. Gonna thank me?”

Dean pushed himself away from the wooden post and stepped cautiously around the remains. He held his hand out, hoping Meg would hand the flare gun back over without too much of a fight.
“Where were you?”

Meg rolled her eyes. She grabbed the flare gun by the barrel and handed it to Dean, hilt first. Dean's brow shot up. At least she knew proper firearms etiquette.
“I was here. You looked like you were doing fine, I just waited till the perfect opportunity. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Dean took the gun and holstered it loosely in the back if his pants. All things considered, he was reasonably impressed with her. She handled the victims and the locals authorities well enough. She wasn't dead so that was another fairly redeeming aspect. Maybe ‘watching your mentor get knocked down in order to take a clear shot’ wasn't a perfect idea but for a first run, not bad.

Meg looked at him with her signature smirk that read as all sorts of creepy. Though for once, he saw something underneath. Even in the dark of the abandoned mine with nothing to light it up but the lingering embers of the Wendigo carcass, he saw something he'd recognised all too much. It hit him a little too close to home, so he offered what she needed up rather freely.
“You uh… You did a good job. Working the witnesses, getting the info. You did good.”

If he wasn't looking a little too close to comfort, he would have missed the way her eyes widened, if only for a second. It was then he saw a little bit of himself in her. Maybe they weren't so different. Maybe they both came off as a little hard to protect themselves from getting hurt again. God knows Dean was sick of being left, in one way or another. In the end, everyone left. The only thing that really got him through it was alcohol, sarcasm and the family he’d made for himself in a little corner of Lebanon, Kansas.

Before he could fully appreciate the moment, Meg cut him off.
“Do I get a gold star?”

Dean chuckled before walking past her and moving back up to the cabin.
“If you’re lucky, we’ll stop for ice cream on the way back.”

Meg was younger than Dean. Younger than Sam, but just barely, he figured. Though she reminded him of Sam over the last couple of days. They slid into a fairly easy rhythm, played off each other's queues when acting the parts and she did get her first kill. Mix all that with how much of a royal pain in the ass she was…

She was kind of like the little sister he never wanted. In a horrible and annoying, bratty sort of way.

He maybe had a bit of a parental complex when it came to his work family. They were all reasonably younger than Dean. Nancy and Oskar especially. Liz was already family, as complicated as that was, she was still family. Garth and Ash, having been a little older than the rest, still fell under the same category. They all did. They'd earned their place. Which was why Dean would protect them at any cost.

Though after seeing how well Meg went, a sudden idea struck him as he neared the Impala. Plus side of hunting a Wendigo, you didn't have to worry about burying a corpse.

As the idea hit him, he paused in front of the drivers door and ran it over and over in his head. It'd be dangerous. It'd be risky but they’d be better off in the long run. As much as he didn't want to put them in danger, it was kind of the only way to learn.

Once Meg met him on the other side of the car, she stood for a moment waiting for Dean to unlock it. Dean. Stared off into the surrounding woods, trying to mentally weigh the bad from the good and if it was worth mentioning to Meg before they got back to Lebanon. When he finally looked at her, she returned the stare with an eyebrow raised, waiting to be let in.

Before he opened the door, he figured he’d better run it past her at least, even though he knew full well what her answer would be.
“I’ve got an idea.”

Instead of jumping for the bait, she replied monotonously, still wanting to get back in the car and head home.
“What do you want, a cupcake?”

He lightly pat the roof of the car, smiling sarcastically at Meg before letting them in. Dean climbed into the impala and started her up, closing the door behind him. As Meg followed suit, he figured they may as well have the discussion before they get back. No point talking around everyone else, apart from Ash. That could turn into a nightmare. He flicked on the headlights and head back down the path to the main road.

“How would you feel about this becoming a regular thing?”

Deam manoeuvred over a few bumps on the way back to the main road. If he didn't have any attachment to Baby, a four wheeled drive seemed a reasonable choice for a hunter. Baby could take anything Dean threw at her. It was another reason he loved her.
“If you wanted to get in my pants, Dean, all you had to do was ask.”

“I mean, hunting. Going out, killing things -”
“Kinky, I like.”

Dean sighed heavily.
“You bitch, You know full well what I mean.”
“If you keep sweet talking me this car ride could go a whole new direction.”

Once he’d hit the main road, he pulled to a stop and turned to face her.
“I’m serious.”

For once Meg was silent. Smirking, but silent. Dean took full advantage of it as he started again down the main road towards the highway.
“I know I try and teach you guys as much as I can but the fact of the matter is, it's not worth a damn if you don't know what to do with it.”

The idea was bouncing around in his head along with the call he’d have to make when he got back, the blue eyed Angel that seemed to stick in his head and the very real potential of him putting his family in danger, higher purpose or not. He’d obviously have to sort of the specifics when he got back but he was more or less thinking out loud, just with an obnoxious devil on his shoulder to commentate.

“How do you think the others would feel about going out every now and then when a local case pops up. Put that knowledge to good use?” He didn't need to turn to her to know she was smiling. He could practically hear it in her voice.
“Sounds good to me, boss.”

------------------------------

The rest of the drive had been spent actually behaving like adults, which was new territory between them. Naturally they didn't make it through the whole drive without some banter and name calling but that was their nature. If she was anything but snarky to him then he’d be worried that it wasn't Meg inside the meatsuit. That was worrying and comforting all at once. If Meg was anything but an asshat towards him, he’d know if something had crawled under her skin.

They bounced ideas off each other and talked about who they would take out hunting first. He’d told her that Ash had helped Sam and him more than enough times so that he didn't require as much babysitting. Garth really knew his stuff. If he was anything like Meg, Dean may not have to worry about him too much at all.

One thing he couldn't bring up though was his availability. Worst case scenario, this Angel would need constant supervision. Around the clock, 24 hour type supervision. The kind he may even need to call in some assistance so he can get the occasional 4 hours without getting stabbed in the face. Best case, they got on as well as Benny and Bobby and he could be left alone long enough to take someone out hunting. Though, really, what was the chances of that happening? It look Bobby months to fully warm up to Benny and even longer for Benny to warm up to Bobby.

Upon reflection, maybe he should have waited to have this discussion till after the talk with Bobby.

It felt like no time at all before they made it back to Lebanon. Dean drove Meg straight to her place, with her direction, just as day began to break. She deserved a whole day of sleep before coming in this evening for her usual shift. If he could, he would have given her another day off but she insisted and kept yelling at him not to baby her.

That was fair enough. She did a damn good job the last couple of days. He already knew she could handle herself, this was just the icing on the cake. After dropping her off, to which she thanked him with a sincere ‘flipping off’ as she head down her driveway, Dean head baby in the direction of the Bar. Keen for a few hours of sleep himself and more than a little anxious to finally make the phone call that's been haunting him since Wednesday night.

He got to Deano's around the same time Oskar would be starting. He’d called in when he knew he was going to be away another couple of nights and asked Garth to pull the all nighter a few more times. Turns out he was more than eager. He always seemed that way. Dean couldn't upset him if he tried.

He pulled into the carpark which was next to empty and parked Baby around the back in her usual spot. He shut off the engine, got out and grabbed his duffel from the trunk. He’d need to chuck most of it in the washing and repack it for the next hunt. Dean locked the door behind him and head inside to the restaurant, which was empty and immaculate with Garth leaning over an equally clean bar.
“Oh, marmaduke, you crazy!”

Dean smiled. There was something about the little nerd that just grew on you.
“Hey man, how'd you go?”

Garth beamed up from the paper like a puppy and immediately folded it away, giving Dean his full attention.
“Good, real good. Was pretty quiet so got a whole lot of cleaning done. Reorganised the fridges so all the expiration dates face forward, and I may have performed a detailed stocktake, just in case you needed.”

Dean's eyebrows shot up. Wow. He was expecting him to be efficient, the guy always was. Maybe he’d need to have him on overnight a bit more, if he could find someone to replace him at the bar. He gave him a genuine smile and a pat on the back as he passed him, gunning straight for the stairs.
“That's - That was real good of you. Thanks. Oskar shouldn't be too far behind, same with Ash. I appreciate you taking double shifts last few nights. I’ll chuck a little extra in your wages this week.”

Garth smiled and let him pass.
“That's not necessary. You pay me to do a job and I did it.”

He didn't bother calling back down. Garth would just argue and tell him not to worry. It would be much easier just to slip in the extra money. It would be harder for him to return it if it was already in his account.

There was nothing Dean wanted more right now rather that a hot, hot shower and sleep but there was one more item on the agenda that needed taking care of. It had followed him out to Colorado and back, popping up in the back of his mind more than he’d like to admit. It was a job, a long time job and it could take him out of the game more than he already was but it was important. Bobby would have to understand. After lots of yelling, Dean would make him understand. He had all his reasoning just about memorised. He just needed Bobby to see his side of things.

Once he got inside and toed off his boots, he unzipped the duffel from over his shoulder and emptied its contents into the washer. Not all of it was worn but it'd all need a good rinse anyway. He could just repack it when it was clean again. It had probably been sitting in his car too long anyway. He lowered his jeans and boxers too, pulled his jacket, plaid over shirt and tee off and chucked those in as well. Though he left his jacket to the side. That wouldn't need it. He did add his socks before adding some detergent and closing it up.

After the machine locked closed and started filling with water, he walked, naked over to the chest of drawers between his bed and the shower glass and pulled out a fresh pair of boxers and another tee. Being far enough after sunrise, it was still pretty cool inside but the sun would beat against the curtains in no time and warm the place up.

He slipped on his clean clothes, deciding he’d shower when he woke instead. Sleep had won out as the highest priority though it still sat second to a certain phone call. Having left his phone back on the laundry sink when he’d undressed, he fetched it before sitting at the edge of his bed and staring at the screen. There was still a part of him that wasn't entirely convinced. What if he did get himself killed. What if he left Sam the way their Dad had left them. It wasn't like they needed each other like they used to but they were still blood. They were family.

Dean's finger traced the edge of the phone, willing it to dial but his thumb never quite hit the screen. He sighed and closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. This was it. If Bobby agreed to it, that was it. He’d start down the path of a long haul hunt that would take him out of the game for sure. Depending on the Angel. When he opened his eyes, he saw the blue from his curtains painted across the far wall. He thought he’d be far too late for it by the time he got upstairs. He was thankful he did manage to catch it though.

It set his plan in concrete and willed his thumbs to dial Bobby.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

“You wanna run that by me again?”

Dean held his breath for half a moment. Every thought was now screaming at him. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. What if he did get himself killed? What if the Angel tracked down Bobby and killed him too? What if he got to Sammy? What if Heaven had something to say about a Winchester owning one of their feathered poster boys, even if he was exiled for whatever crime.

Dean was so sure of himself. He had thought about this for days, ever since seeing that Angel’s photo on his phone that morning. The conversation had run through his head countless times since then and he always won Bobby over. He’d forgotten Bobby could be a ruthless son of a bitch with his greatest weapon. Logic.

“I just mean, I think it could be a good idea if -”

“If you slap a leash on a bomb and hope it doesn't go off.”

Dean collapsed back onto his bed, preparing for the string of abuse he knew Bobby was cooking up. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, taking the silence as a quick opportunity to remember the arguments he’d rehearsed over the last few days. This was a good idea. He was sure of it.

The silence lasted too long. He should have had a new asshole torn by now. He opened his eyes, not entirely to prove that he hadn't fallen asleep or that time had just stopped. Through the phone, he could barely make out any sound on the other end but Bobby hadn't hung up yet. That was worth something, right?

“Not gonna lie, that could be considered a half decent idea.”

Dean's mouth dropped open to start up is first argument, that he’d probably be saving some poor person from the inevitable breakdown the Angel would have, but he didn't need it. His brain took a second too long to process Bobby's… approval?

No way did he just agree with Dean. Not a chance in hell. He’d smack him sideways, call him an idjit and list every way he was likely to die because of his stupid plan. None of it came though. Dean stared at the ceiling and furrowed his brow. Did he hear him right? Surely he didn't get off that easy.

“You still there, son? I imagine you'd have a few questions if you really want to adopt a pet hand grenade.”

Dean ran a hand down his face. He was sure his heart was beating harder in his chest. He’d prepared himself for a damn long debate that maybe wouldn't finish till nightfall but here he was, barely in from the Wendigo hunt. Turning to the alarm clock beside him, the numbers spelt out a very reasonable almost 8:30. A morning nap had almost been wiped off the agenda entirely for but now, it was looking like he could get a solid four hours. If he was lucky. What were the chances of luck striking twice?

“Yeah, yeah I'm here. I expected more of a fight from you is all.”

“Truth is, I was thinking about getting one myself. Or conning another hunter into it.”

Another hunter? Dean asked playfully,
“What, I wasn't your first choice?”

“Thought your hands might be full with the bar. If you're serious about this, it's a full time deal. You’ll need to watch ‘em, make sure they don't try any funny business, at least for the first few days till we can learn something about ‘em. Maybe we can get some kind of info as to why they feel the need to disappear off the face of the earth and take the hand that feeds ‘em with them.”

Dean pushed himself up and off the bed, a new energy hitting him that threatened any chance of a nap. Even in just his boxer briefs and a tee, he was surprisingly, not that cold. Everyone had heard what happened to the last people who owned an Angel so chances were, no one was in a screaming hurry to buy the few remaining ones, on sale or not.

He began moving things around the kitchen, putting away anything that could loosely be interpreted as a weapon. His spare knife block was easily hidden. There wasn't too much an Angel could do with a coffee machine unless he picked it up and hurled it at him.

Maybe he’d stick to coffee from downstairs for a while. He unplugged it and shoved it under the counter. It wasn't the best hiding place for much of anything but ‘out of sight, out of mind’ right? Behind the wooden cabinet doors, at least it'd take him a minute to open it and fish around for a weapon. If Dean was perfectly honest with himself, the Angel wouldn't need anything like that to hurt him. His angelic mojo would be more than enough if he decided he wanted to go.

“Um.. Yeah! My thoughts exactly. Ash can cover for me in the kitchen. Other than that I mostly float around, try and get paperwork done and that. I can do that upstairs anyway.” He shoved the last of the cabling for the coffee machine in a bundle and tossed it back behind it. He closed the cabinet door, holding his phone between his shoulder and his ear and searched through his drawers for the other couple of fancy knives he’d splurged on when the bar really started picking up.

“Even with the Heavenly fire sale, they’re still going to cost about the same as a small truck. You got that kind of cash floating around or is it buried in the walls?” Dean wasn't entirely sure he wasn't moving around his unit purely as something to keep himself busy. He couldn't sit still with the impending thought that he’d have another creature living with him soon. In his apartment.

Maybe he should invest in some chains or something. Surely he’d have to engrave them with the Angel equivalent of a devil's trap or they'd be flat out useless. He’d have to look into it. Turns out, Angels aren't big on sharing their weaknesses. Who knew?

“I’ve got some money saved. Shouldn't be a problem.”

“I’ve got some old books written in Enochian and a couple of reports for something that may work to keep ‘em inside. They shouldn't be able to go much further than where you tell ‘em to go. Part of the slave trade I think. The Mark stopped Benny from trying to make any escape attempts early on but I don't know what the deal is with Angels. We know so little about ‘em.”

Dean seemed to be tidying the house more than baby-proofing. He fumbled around with a few things. Tidied papers on the kitchen table, straightened the books on their shelves and generally moved things for the sake of moving them. He wasn't even sure what he was doing anymore. Maybe if he had everything just so the Angel would be less inclined to kill him. It seemed to make sense in his head. Super. He was losing it and he hadn't even gotten the damn thing yet.

“So what's the deal? How do I - I mean, how did you - ?”
“Get Benny? You got a pen?”

XXXXXXXXXX

As anxious as he was, Dean needed the one more day at work to sort out the new roster. He’d pencilled a quick guide last night while he tried to get a head start on some of the paperwork he’d be neglecting over the next few days.

Ash would come first thing in the morning and do most of the breakfasts and whatnot. That was only slightly earlier than when he came in anyway. Meg would do most of the prep the night before (seeing as she sat around half the time reading magazines anyway). Nancy and Liz already had their own system about who did nights and mornings. Dean found it easier if they sorted it amongst themselves. Garth was around for an evening anyway. Whenever he wasn't making drinks or helping the girls with the tables he was offering Ash a hand. He liked to be, as he said, a ‘busy little bee.’

It still left him with a niggling feeling he’d need someone else. That he was asking too much of his new family and the last thing he wanted was to run them into the ground. It's not like he was far. If they were desperate, he was just upstairs. He had the few security cameras linked to his phone as well as his laptop so he could easily keep an eye on the place.

The decision had come around so quickly, he couldn't have hired someone by now even if he wanted. Without a doubt, everyone knew someone or knew someone who knew someone that needed work but Dean was overly cautious. He wouldn't hire someone at the drop of a hat. Everyone here passed the holy water, salt and silver and he had no time to pull out his usual stops of finding out what they knew about the supernatural. He’d have to wait and see how they went without him before he even knew what to look for.

Ash was a machine in the kitchen and probably wouldn't accept much help. The girls had the front pretty much covered. With Meg helping a little more overnight, they may be fine? All he could do was wait and find out.

Once he’d finished pencilling out and tidying up his rough draft, he set it on the stainless steel bench in the kitchen and waited for everyone to pile in. He’d texted them soon after he’d had a couple hours rest and began figuring out what he was going to do. Before he’d realised, it was getting well into the night. He'd apologised for maybe interrupting their sleep and asked them to come in first thing in the morning to discuss a change of roster. As soon as he sent the text, he realised how bad that could have sounded. He quickly typed out another.

Don't worry, no one's getting fired.

Meg replied almost instantly.

You could have just shouted real loud, boss. I’d have heard you.

Whatever. He wasn't really inconveniencing her. She’d be here anyway in the morning. He may keep her back a little but oh well. She’d manage.

Liz and Oskar replied fairly quickly after that, Nancy a little later and Garth immediately at the end of his shift. Dean didn't mind of they used their phones while working, as long as customers got what they wanted and their sh*t got done. Garth insisted it was just a distraction though. Ever the good employee.

Ash didn't reply till morning. Dean didn't mind. He knew he’d be in sooner or later. That's why he scheduled the meeting for then. He still hadn't fully decided what he was going to say and he wouldn't admit to anyone he’d more or less be making it up on the spot.

He heard the moment Liz and Oskar came through the door. They greeted Meg fondly as if they hadn't seen her in years. The Wendigo had only kept them away 3 days at most and it's not like they were on vacation. She was most likely just happy to see them both back in one piece. Liz was always worried when Dean went on hunts alone. Maybe he should mention taking each of them out in the meeting as well. Crap. He’d forgotten about that.

With no customers waiting outside, Dean wrote up a quick sign and stuck it on the door, locking it at the same time.

CLOSED FOR STAFF MEETING - WILL REOPEN AT 8:00

An hour should have been more than enough to give them a run down.

With everyone in the kitchen and circled around the bench, Dean leant back against a counter opposite the head.

“Morning! I know I try to keep these meetings as few and far between as I can but something's come up and I won't be here for maybe two weeks. Hopefully a lot less but it's all by ear at the moment.”

Meg immediately interrupted. Typical.

“Goin’ huntin’, boss?”

He knew exactly what she meant. What are you hunting and can I come along?

“No, just let me finish.” Dean held up a hand, hoping the gesture would soften the harsh tone that accidentally came out in his voice. “I’ll still be upstairs for most of it so it's not like I’m far. You need me, register explodes, kitchen catches fire, I’m right here. I’m just .. I guess you could say I'm overseeing something which uh.. requires my full attention.”

Oskar and Garth stood quietly. Patiently allowing Dean to say what he had to, as good employees should. Nancy fiddled with the apron she’d tied around her waist just before she’d come into the kitchen and Liz was half leaning, half bending over the kitchen table entirely. Ash was clearly sporting some kind of hangover, but Dean had so rarely seen him without one, he wondered if it's just how he functioned.

Surprised that no one felt the need to interrupt, Dean continued.

“I’ll be back after that, hopefully. This may cut down on how much I can help at all. Like I said it's all a little up in the air at the moment, but I may need to look into finding someone else to help out around here. That depends on you guys. I’ll have today as a practice day. Mostly watch you and see how you go. Outside you're pretty much fine, it's the kitchen I'm more worried about.” Now Ash spoke up.

“I don't need the help, man, I do more back here than you any day.” He beamed a bright smile that shouldn't have been possible so early in the day for him but it made Dean smile back all the same.
“I know, I know. Like I said, just a little experiment to see how it goes. I know ya’ll don't need me but I’ll be the one to judge if you guys could use an extra hand. I’m more than happy to hear from you. You know that. Any suggestions on where to put them or whatever, I’m all ears.”

Meg hadn't moved. She was back against the fridge door with her arms crossed. Dean could tell is she was pissed that he wasn't spilling the beans on his ‘secret mission’ or the fact there’d be new meat yet again. She still had her input. She always did.
“I can tell you where to put them.”

“Meg!” Dean completely ignored her little outburst and gave his favourite news of the morning. “Speaking of helping out, you’ll be helping Ash overnight doing prep.”

Meg's arms dropped to her sides and she pushed herself off the fridge.
“Excuse me?”

“Don't think of it as a punishment, because it's not. Like I said, everyone going to be pulling a little more weight till I can find someone crazy enough to put up with you lot. If you get that sh*tty with it, I’ll make sure the new kid has prep duty. Ash is a hell of a teacher.” Just as she parted her lips to, more than likely, to rip into Dean, he cut her off. It was far too early for her and he’d skipped coffee to make sure this would be done by the end of her shift. “There's good news off the back of it though if you give me half a minute. Well not good. You’ll like it but I don't know -”

He cut himself off and was met with everyone looking very confused. Hopeful, sure. He did say good. But then he did retract it just as quick. There was no easy way to say this and he wasn't even sure if it was a good idea yet. Too late to turn back now. Dean let out a huge sigh, as if it would somehow take the phantom weight off his shoulders. It didn't.

“How do you guys feel.. About hunting?”

The silence went a little longer than he’d hoped. Meg's anger had slithered away and her devious smirk had replaced it. She knew exactly what was coming. Oskar and Liz just looked at each other.

Nancy looked equal parts excited and terrified. She had every reason to. She was born and bred into this stuff but not the way Dean had been. Her parents were religious nutters and told her everything there was to know about demons straight out of the bible. That book had most of it right but it lacked the finer details flaunted some of the more gruesome ones. Dean made sure to educate her properly once she started here.

Ash was no stranger to hunting. Dean knew Ash since right about the time his dad died and they’d tried to track down the thing that did it. They eventually found it. It was the same thing that killed his mom and they ganked it all the way back to hell. Ash was probably the closest friend Dean had once Sam left for college.

Dean may even get him to help train the new recruits if Ash is up for the task.

That left Garth. The only one that knew almost as much about the supernatural as Dean did. He had an unofficial rivalry with Meg and they'd bicker about who knew more about what. They were both damn smart. Garth and Meg even caught Dean out with a pop quiz on a rougarou once. Dean had told them it was a nice try but it sounded made up. Turned out it wasn't.

It was Liz that finally spoke.
“Huntin’? Like your ‘cases’?

“Yeah, hunting. Like tracking down the evil sons of bitches and putting them back in the ground.”

Dean watched as each of his new family members looked around at each other, as if chatting telepathically. God, he hoped they weren’t.

“I know I made sure you all knew about it when you started. Some of you knew already. The basics at least. Knowledge isn't enough. It’ll never be enough. If it's alright with you, I’d like to take you hunting to put that knowledge to use.”

Finally the silence broke. Really broke. Everyone was talking over one another. Dean caught parts of ‘you can't be serious’, spoken under louder ‘when can we start’ and the noise the few of them made was enough to kick his caffeine-less patience over a fine edge.
“Alright, come on. One at a time!” Dean held up both hands, half in a begging plea to silence them this early in the morning, half so they didn't attack him with questions he couldn't answer now. Once they finally simmered down a little, Dean lowered his hands and held them at his sides again. “Alright. One at a time. Clockwise. Meg, your first.”

“Do we get paid for it?” Dean rolled his eyes. Such a damn Meg question. It took time away from them sure. Plus if he did pay them, they may be more inclined to learn. Even if it was dangerous. He made a decision on the spot.

“Yes. Anything else?”

“How much will we -”

“Ok, your done.” He held up a hand to silence her then gestured towards the next question. “Liz?”

“Does Benny know you’ll be taking us out.”

Crap. That was a … Fair . . .

Crap.

Benny would rip his throat out if he knew he’d be taking Liz out to hunt. He closed his eyes, shook his head and smiled at how angry Benny would get and how forceful he could get when he was upset and - no! No. Not going down that path.

He shot his eyes open, meeting Liz and could tell she was waiting on an answer.

“Not yet.” He could play this back on her. He asked, a little quieter and with a smile forming on his lips. “Should he know?” That got the reaction he was looking for.

“I don't see why. He’s a couple states over. Not much he can do about it.”

They shared a knowing smile between them. They could keep a secret. Hell, it wasn't keeping it from him if they both rarely spoke to Benny anyway.
“Any other questions?”
Liz just shook her head. Dean looked to her right.

“Ok, Oskar?”
Oskar shook his head. As did Nancy when Dean asked her. Garth just smiled and offered a polite no. He was probably more keen than anything to get out there and put his knowledge to good use. He’d taken a few solo cases on before starting at Dean’s but found he needed the money of a steady job over freelance hunting. Dean admired that and knew where he was coming from. At least his ‘paid internship’ could help them learn.

This was going surprisingly well. It's not like he wanted them to be out in the middle of all this crap but Dean wasn't going to be around forever. If something threatened them on the way home from work, when they took a vacation with the family, whenever; he wanted to know they could defend themselves.

There's no way he could deal with them living the same life he did. Living out of a car or cheap motel rooms. It was a damn lonely and dangerous life. They wouldn't live the life. Luckily they hadn't been raised in it like Dean had. The least he could do was have them know what they're up against and have them able to defend themselves.

When he turned to Ash, that's where he knew the sensible questions would come from. Ones Ash would know the answer to, but questions that bared speaking out loud for the fresh blood in the room.

“Would you take them out one by one or as a field trip?”

Well they couldn't all go at once. That'd be a nightmare. Hunting was easier in groups but it was also a lot more dangerous. More chance of a divide and conquer or just singling out the weak one and trapping it like a baby gazelle.
“Maybe one at a time to start, pairs later on. It's good to know how to work with another hunter.”

Ash spoke again.

“Say if one of your employees was already a lean, mean, ganking machine..” Dean dropped his head and tried to stifle the laugh by biting his tongue. “Could he apply to become a sensei and teach the younger generation the ways of the gank?”

No doubt, Ash was a damn good hunter. He taught Dean a thing or two about a thing or two back in the day and the kid was smart as hell. And it could take the stress off him if the Angel was going to be even more trouble than he anticipated. Though he already assumed it was going to be one mighty pain in his ass. It was worth it though if he saved even one person from the same fate the others had suffered. Dean looked back up to Ash and asked,

“Ash, would you like to help them learn?”

He feigned surprise.

“Only if our fearless leader thinks I am worthy.” He didn't wait for Dean to respond. “Of course, if he didn't think that I’d tell him to -”

“Yes, thank you Ash. You know I’d be more than happy to take you all out myself but it all depends on how much time this project takes off my hands. The actual hunting trips wouldn't start till I can get used to the situation and even then …”

Dean trailed off when the idea hit him. Was it a good idea? It had the potential to work out. Could be disastrous. His mouth hung open on his last words as the idea formulated into something resembling a plan.

The more he thought about it, the more it could work. It’d render half of what was said this morning as pointless but he wouldn't know till he tried? It was the perfect time to try anyway, especially when he was going to be housing a supercharged felon upstairs.

Instead of saying it out loud he reached for the paper in the centre of the bench along with the pencil resting on top. Dean had a rough graph sketched out for each day of the week with estimated shift starting times for the whole 24 hours each day.

Now that he knew Oskar was good out back and front of house, that made him a much easier to work with. He had little notes next to some of the shifts that were expanded on at the bottom of the page. Meg helping with prep. Garth and Meg alternating close shifts a little better.

Grabbing the pencil in one hand, he put three giant crosses at the bottom of Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday from about 10pm till 6am. He scribbled out the names that had shifts over night and swapped them over the remaining four days. Then he added two extra bullet points at the bottom

• Closed M, T, W overnight for practice hunts.
• If hunters drop by needed info, will leave a number on the door to divert to whoevers ‘on call’ for information.

He slid the paper back to the middle of the table rather proudly and waited as everyone tried to equally see the new changes.

Unsurprisingly, pretty much everyone was smiling. Except Meg. Of course, except Meg. Dean could just about count down in his head when the attitude would start. 3 - 2 - 1 -

“So you're cutting my hours now?” - Bingo.

“To make up for those who’ll lose hours , I’ll make up the difference in your fortnightly pay anyway. Think of it as, paying you for working harder rather than longer. Or a paid internship for Hunting 101. Take your pick. Unless you don't want to do the prep at night?” He knew she’d have to agree to it now.

She’d worked so hard on squeezing a raise out of him and now that he was, essentially, making her actually work for it, she was in no position to be whinging. The power seemed to roll back to his side of the table. This morning was getting better and better.

“I know this is going to take some time to adjust to but like I said,” He pointed directly above him, “I’m that far away if you get in trouble.”

Dean checked his watch and it was only a quarter to. Plenty of time to wrap it up, make sure everyone knew what they were doing and watch how his test day ‘off the job’ unfolded. Without any further questions, for now anyway, Dean dismissed everyone and let them either start their shift or let them clock out for the morning.

That went much better than expected. He was two for two now if he counted the phone call with Bobby last night. That left one more item on the agenda. The trade with the King of the Crossroads.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Having impatiently waited for the sun to go down, Dean was pretty much packed up and ready to get in contact with the ‘dealer’. Bobby had called him a real piece of work and said to always have his guard up. Dean pretty much always had it up anyway. He couldn't remember the he last time he felt comfortable or safe enough to fully let it down.

It's not like he kept tabs on who was in charge downstairs, but info did occasionally pour in from either Bobby or other hunters. He’d learned that the market, the ‘Crossroads’ was run by a demon, though one that had was tainted with human blood.

It made him somewhat hated by other demons and creatures alike. They didn't find any allegiance with him and he, in turn, couldn't give a sh*t what happened to them once the contracts had been finalised. Dean had heard he was a businessman more than a demon, though he still wasn't to be underestimated.

At the end of his shift, he waved goodnight to Meg and she flipped him off as he head out the front door instead of up the stairs. He’d run a quick errand at lunchtime to the bank to check his account and get a blank cheque written up. Bobby had said that's what he did. Dean kept the paper rectangle tucked safely in his wallet until it was ready to have some ludicrous sum written on it.

Dean crossed the the carpark to his Baby and dove inside, closing the door behind him. A heavy weight had started to form in his belly. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea. He could get himself killed. He could get those he loved killed. He’d be cutting well into his emergency money in case Deano's burned down.

Literally everything that could go wrong was likely to go wrong. Maybe not that last bit but it was still a possibility, especially if the Angel was the one that burnt it down in a hissy fit.

He swallowed thickly and pushed the keys into her ignition and listened as she roared to life. He could do this. He would learn about Angels. Know what makes them tick and save the poor soul who was going to buy him in the first place. Hopefully someone hadn't already.

Dean tried to correct himself. He didn’t mean that he hoped someone didn’t buy the blue eyed Angel he’d looked at one too many times on his phone. The one with the striped tie that seemed too out of place and the too-big tan trenchcoat. The one with the look in his eyes that Dean couldn’t place but looked so completely broken. Dean hoped a little too hard that someone else hadn’t taken him already.

What if they had? No. It'd be fine. He could just buy one of the other two. Either the suit jacket and jeans chick or the chiseled jaw. But for whatever reason, he wasn't drawn to them the way he was drawn to the one he kept looking at on his phone. At some stage between getting in Baby and turning her on, he’d opened his phone again and had the same stupid picture up on his screen. He hadn't even remembered doing it this time.

It's not like he had a reason either. If he was looking at the others as well, it'd be to get their faces committed to memory so he knew what to look out for. But he didn't look at them. He didn't look at the woman with reddy brown hair or the other guy with tired eyes. He looked at this one with eyes bluer than blue and a heart wrenching, defeated look about him.

Whatever he’d done to get himself on the market, he’d accepted. He’d probably done it for some greater good even if it had been a hard choice. Dean could read it all over his face.

The woman was proud for whatever sh*t she’d gotten herself into. She had all the confidence in the world. She’d be a handful, that's for sure and he only slightly pitied whoever grabbed her. Other than the obvious ‘death’ thing that was sure to follow.

The other guy had something else about him. It was a sadness and confusion that wasn't nearly as broken as the blue eyed Angel. Like, he wasn't guilty of whatever he’d been accused of. It was sadness but there was also betrayal. Bloody hell, what did these assholes get up to in Heaven?

Dean tossed the phone to the seat beside him and pulled out of the carpark and head down the highway to far west Kansas. It wasn't that there was anything particularly fascinating or important about the small suburban cities, it was something way down the back of old dirt roads that was much more interesting to him.

It was far in the outskirts of Garden City, Kansas that lay a perfect cross in a dirt road. It was big enough that you could see miles in either direction in pretty much a straight line. It was quiet enough with the nearest house more than far enough away, and it had either bush or forest far out in either direction. It was perfect. There couldn't be another person out here for miles. Especially this time of night. Or early morning.

It had taken him the better part of 5 hours to get there but it was worth it. He needed this to go just right. It couldn't be populated or the demon wouldn't show himself at all. It couldn't be an asphalt road or highway for, well, obvious reasons.

He pulled Baby in a large U-turn, pointing her in the direction to head home in case he forgot when he came back. Dean parked her at the side of the road but far enough away that any passing traffic would disregard it or not notice it at all. He’d be in a world of crap if he came back and Baby was missing.

After climbing out of the driver's seat, closing the door behind him, Dean head over to her trunk. He opened it and propped the false bottom up on a shotgun. Dean rummaged around for a few of his rarely used items. The ones he’d pull together for a spell or a ward against something a little more fantastic than a ghost or Wendigo.

He pulled out a little tin container his dad had used to keep mementos in but Dean had either thrown most of them out or lost them over the years. He kept the more important things out of it. Photos, rare trinkets, stuff like that. But the little things like receipts and phone numbers scribbled on paper that led to disconnected lines were easier to throw away.

Dean opened it and placed it on top of another box to hold it steady as he went back to rummaging. God he’d need to clean this out at some stage. The random ingredients were strewn all across the bottom of the boot, having fallen from their much more organised place of shoved-in-a-box. Some of them they’d had since he was with dad. Did hemlock and cat skulls have an expiration date?

Once he’d fished out a small jar of graveyard dirt, a black cat bone and a small bud of yarrow flowers, he tossed them into the tin. He searched for another small box, one that held all this fake IDs and licenses, he picked out one that had expired a few months ago under the name Alonzo Mosley.

Dean placed it into the tin along with the other objects and closed the lid. Holding it in one hand, he lowered the shotgun, the false bottom and Baby’s boot with the other before taking his keys back out and locking her. God, he hoped no one would hurt her while he was gone.

The eerie silence coated the highway like a thick fog. The only noise was the crunch of dirt and gravel under his boots and that heavy feeling in his gut and his heart returned in full force. How was this a great idea, again? He was going to willingly meet with a demon to buy an angel.

How was this going to end in any way other than bad? Especially if the one he had his eye on, he’d literally had his eye on far more often than he should have.

The silence around him made it that much easier to hear the blood pumping in his ears and his shaking breath, hoping he didn’t outright have a heart attack in the middle of a dirt intersection with no signal for miles. Another super idea.

By the time he’d reached the centre of the crossroads, his body was moving more out of necessity than anything else. Dean knew if he didn't do this and get it over with, there was no chance he’d work up the courage to do this again.

He was all for the plan before and it seemed like a good idea at the time. He had to. Dean kept repeating it like a mantra in his head. He’d be saving someone. It was their best opportunity to learn about Angels. If he got the balls to ask, this Angel may even know where the others had gone missing to. Or why.

Dean closed his eyes, leant his head back to the night sky above him and took in a deep breath of the country air. He could at least savour the silence while he had half a chance.

As he exhaled, he leant down on one knee and placed the small container on the dirt below him. He dug at the dirt, making a hole just big enough for the little box. Once it could fit snugly inside, Dean moved it into place and dragged the dirt and gravel over the top, patting it down to give the illusion it hadn't been disturbed in the first place.

Dean pushed himself to his feet, brushing the stray dirt from his jeans and trying desperately to ignore the anxiety beginning to boil low in his gut. This was ridiculous. He was Dean f*cking Winchester. He’d killed every brand of co*ckroach under the damn sun since he was old enough to hold a gun. He’d ganked more demons than he could count but there was something entirely more terrifying about having to make a deal with one rather than just kill it on sight.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper. Dean unfolded it, trying to keep his hands steady. It wasn't so much that he was a little worried about dealing with a demon, it was more that it went against every code in his body. Dean held the paper in both hands and read the latin fluently.
“Rex a Daemonia, esto subiecto voluntati meae.”

Dean looked up from the paper expecting a lot more than what he got. What he was greeted with was the same silence he had before he called the damn Demon. Maybe he’d read it wrong. He was sure he got Bobby’s wording down perfectly. Dean wasn't half bad when it came to Latin and by all means, it should have worked. He turned back to face Baby. Nothing. Dean turned to face each of the four roads and nothing could be seen for miles.

This was a bad idea. What if The Demon knew who Dean was and wanted to kill him right then and there? He’d only brought a knife with him, the rest of his arsenal was still locked tight and warded in the Impala. He knew he should have brought more out with him. Damn it.

He turned one more time to head back to his car to get something, anything more from his boot before some demon came and flayed him alive. As soon as he’d turned to face her though, there was a man standing between them.

Dean stopped in his tracks, catching himself with a step on the ground in front of him. All his momentum had been shifted and ready to charge at the car but this man that now stood a few yards in front of him threw him off balance.

The man didn't seem awfully impressive. He had that confidence about him that all demons seemed to have. He looked Dean up and down with a knowing smile under his stubbled jaw. He was shorter than Dean which wasn't hard to do. It was his dark suit and pea coat that gave off the the very essence of ‘businessman’

Before Dean could form a sentence, the man spoke with a gruff, English accent.

“Dean Winchester. I have to admit, you're probably the last person I’d expect to have called. Next to your moose brother. To what do I owe the displeasure?”

Dean paused, still not entirely sure of his safety. He’d much rather be the one between the demon and his Impala. At least then he could make a break for his weapons if things turned south. Dean silently cursed at himself. If Bobby could deal with this son of a bitch then Dean shouldn't have any issues.

Nut up Winchester. Get this over with. He would have killed you by now if he wanted to.

“You’ve heard of me?” Dean made every effort to relax his muscles. He’d had them tensed and on edge since the Demon appeared.

“Please.” He replied, waving it off as if it was common knowledge. “What I don't know if why you're here. Last I heard, you’d drowned yourself in bacon grease on the other side of Kansas. Was a shame. You were gunning championships before you hung your boots up.”

How much did this Demon know about him? It's not like the bar was some giant secret. Practically every hunter in this hemisphere had passed through in the last few years. It had occurred to him that everything he used to hunt pretty much full time could still have it in for him but he took every precaution. All his cutlery was silver. He had Devils traps painted under the floorboards at every entry and he served almost every drink with a hint of holy water just to be sure. Nothing was getting is his bar without his say so.

That being said, it's not like he’d completely retired. He still took cases from Bobby and kept an eye out for anything local. It's not like he could drop everything and head to the other side of the country but Bobby had more hunters for that. Dean and his Dad weren't the only ones, though some days it felt like they were.

When they were kids, their Dad would pick up any case he could get his hands on in the hopes of it leading to what killed their mom. It ended up in a crappy upbringing he wouldn't wish on anyone else. He’d more than learnt to share the workload by then.

It did worry him that the Demon knew about Sam. Sam had gotten out. As much as a Winchester could. He’d stopped hunting when he first set foot in college. As much as it pained Dean, he could respect it.

Sam still helped. He was as much into slave laws as he was into regular law. He just played golf or whatever with the higher ups instead of slugging around in the filth, getting hands on like Dean did.

Before he could counter, the demon spoke again.
“Don't get me wrong, It was sad to see the great Dean Winchester sidelined but it did make business a hell of alot easier. So I ask myself, self, why is the number one hunter this side of the planet calling me? Crowley? That's me by the way.” He waved, “Hello.”

Dean remained still, perplexed by the demon as he monologued. This was legitimately the first time one hadn't tried to kill him on sight and he was talking as if Dean was some great mystery to unravel. Dean let him continue.

“Then I say to myself, self, he’s the one that tracked you down. He's the one that drove all the way out to this dirty crossroads between nowhere and bugger-all and buried a neat little box of trinkets in the dirt. So then, I say, self…” His mouth curled up into a sickly grin. “He wants to do business with the King of the Crossroads.”

Dean clenched his jaw. Crowley made it sound so simple. Like he’d woken up one day and decided to have tea and crumpets with some British asshole demon. He didn't need this. He didn't need a damn demon reading him like a book.
“If you don't want - ”

“Of course I want. To be the one who finally sells a pet to a Winchester? I didn't think you’d get off your high horse long enough to ditch your moral compass but I’ll take what I can get. Shall we step into my office?” He turned as if he was going to walk away without him and gestured as if a table and chair were going to magically form behind him. Well, it probably could, but Dean expected something a little different. He wasn't entirely sure what.

Extremely hesitantly, he moved towards Crowley. Dean wasn't sure about any of this. All he knew was that he needed this demon to get that Angel. The one that's been silently taunting him in his phone for the last half week. Even the thought of it now was enough to reassure him that what he was doing was right. The demon held out a hand, like he was showing Dean through a doorway that wasn't there. With the image in his head of a blue eyed Angel with dark tousled hair, he stepped towards the demon.

XXXXXXXX

Dean blinked a couple of times as his eyes tied to adjust to the sudden darkness. Not even a full breath ago he was at the countryside. Sun in his eyes and wind in his hair. The air was crisp and fresh.

Now it was dark. It immediately put Dean on edge, if he wasn't there already. He reached out beside him, hoping to grip on to anything to anchor him. His fingers brushed against a wall. It was hard and stone and lead the way in front of them down a long corridor that went on as far as Dean could make out.

He squinted, trying to make out the hallway a little better. Was this really where they kept everything while they waited to be bought? A whole new level of guilt sank in at the thought of anyone being confined to such a dark and dank prison. Just when he thought me may be able to make his way in the dark, Crowley clicked his fingers once.

One small window appeared above eye level behind him. Dean turned and squinted at the newly offending light, allowing his eyes to adjust. The window was small, plain and curved at the top. It seemed all too normal given wherever the hell he was. It was far too covered in dust and cobwebs to actually see through it. It's only purpose was letting in what light it could.

If he was headed Downstairs, with a capital D, surely it was going to be all wall torches and fire. Turning back, he saw the window lit the place up enough to see where they were going, but not enough to drown the place in light like it had been topside.

The words fell out of his mouth before he could filter them.

“Where are we?”

Crowley began to walk down the hallway as soon as the window had appeared. He didn't turn back to acknowledge Dean's question, but continued moving as Dean started up behind him.

“Think of it as Limbo. It's a sanctuary created by Heaven and Hell to keep all their unmentionables locked away.”

Dean followed the demon down the corridor. What little features they did pass were incredibly human. They passed a fire hose at one stage and an electrical box at another. Though no matter how far they walked or how far Dean could see, there weren't any doors or other windows.

“Sanctuary?”

Crowley kept walking. Dean looked up at the newly lit hallway and noticed light fittings on the roof every three or four feet. They werent on. Just sitting in the dark, gathering dust like everything else.

He turned his head slightly in confusion. If Crowley could control this place enough to give it light, why hadn't he just switched those on?

“There's a spell over the place in Enochian that forbids any form of violence. You can't even try.” He stopped moving and turned to Dean who almost walked straight into him. “Go on. Hit me.”Dean's eyebrows shot up.

“Hit you?”

Crowley was asking genuinely. There wasn't a hint of his smartass smile on his face anymore.

“Better yet, stab with with that pretty pig sticker you've got stashed away. I bet that things seen more than its share of demon blood. What's one more?”

He shouldn't have to be asked twice to kill a demon. Yet he had been. Dean was trying, physically trying, to reach for the knife in the back of his belt but he couldn't move. As soon as the thought came into his head, it was like it was erased again and he forgot what he was trying to do.

No matter how many times he tried for it, He couldn't even move his arm with the intention, let alone actually get his hand around the hilt. Crowley finally smiled.

“See? No violence without my say so. I'm in sales, dammit. Can’t have someone slaughtering all my merchandise. Or have them slaughter each other. Bad for business, you see.”

That should have been reassuring. Dean wouldn't have to worry about defending himself if there was nothing to defend against. Though Dean gathered Crowley could still chop him into tiny pieces if Dean so much as looked at him funny. Crowley turned and continued down the hallway which plunged further and further into darkness. The window behind them was enough to light the place, but only so far.

This couldn't be right. Bobby described the place they were headed as a forest without any colour. Tree’s and rocks and dirt and open fields painted in dark greys and faded whites. He said it wasn't any place on earth but it wasn't Hell. Wherever Dean was headed, it sure as hell wasn't any open forest.

“Ok so it's a safe house, but where are we?”

“Some hole in the middle of Missouri, I’d wager.” He’d answered so nonchalantly that Dean was entirely thrown off.

“Missouri? You keep a warehouse full of demons in Missouri? There isn't even anything here? Where are they?”

Crowley sighed loud enough that Dean could hear as he walked ahead of him.

“It’s not actually Missouri, you giraffe. Did Bobby tell you nothing? I had higher hopes for that redneck.”

Now he knew Bobby had sent him. Or at least that he was affiliated with him. It wasn't too much of a stretch but Dean just rolled his eyes and figured it was easier if he just let the demon say what he was going to say and be done with it.

“We can't have our buyers sniffing out where we are or have the merchandise remembering where they came from so they can hunt me down. How The Market looks is dependent solely on the buyer's subconscious.”

“And my subconscious picked Missouri?”

“As it would appear. Some people see circus tents. Very fitting, I suppose. One gentleman saw a dungeon. The fun kind. Was almost tempted to stay.” Crowley stopped moving, pausing in an uninteresting part of the corridor. “So, Dean Winchester, what did you have in mind? Might I suggest a shapeshifter? All sorts of fun in the bed depending on your -”

“I want an Angel.”

Crowley's face barely faltered. It would have been entirely still if not for a twitch in the side of his lip, threatening to curl it into a smile and the sudden gleam in his dead eyes.
“Of course you do. Though, I doubt an Angel will fit in the budget of a former grease monkey.”

They stared at each other a moment, each one daring the other to speak again. Dean was never big on talking about money. It’s not like he had some secret fortune but it was definitely more than his dad offered as a kid. He’d grown so used to a life of microwaveable dinners and cheap motels that he just knew how to live off of next to nothing. They either had a running list of credit card scams or hustled it in a game of pool. They weren't living a high life, but they had enough to get by.

Being so used to living a simple life, when Bobby started actually giving him a wage at the Salvage Yard, he didn't know what to do with it. He kept whatever wasn't spent on his phone, his car or contributing what Bobby allowed him to help with as far as groceries and rent. It was safe to say the savings account Bobby had him set up grew pretty quickly. Dean had forgotten about it most of the time. He had to dive in a few times whenever Baby needed a new part or something but otherwise it was left to sit there and grow interest.

Dean initially planned on using it to fund law school for Sam but the kid had earned himself a full ride almost as soon as he stepped foot in the front door. Whatever money he sent to Sam, Sam would send right back along with a note;

‘Dean, you've basically been looking out for me my entire life. Now you can finally take care of yourself.’

After a few months of trying and failing to send Sam the money, he eventually offered it to Bobby as a thanks. A thank you for all the times their Dad dumped Dean and Sam on him and drove off on a scrap of hope he could find the things that killed his wife. Then, after he died, Bobby had offered to take both Dean and Sam for as long as they needed. Bobby was the father that John could never fully be. Not after his need for revenge consumed him. In the end, Bobby refused to take even a penny from Dean.

Once Dean tried his hand at cooking and Bobby gave him praise wrapped up in confusion.
‘How the hell did you learn to cook like this, boy?’
He slowly started building the idea of a bar and grill in his head. The notion of focusing on something other than hunting was a whole new field for him. Well, other than hunting and cars anyway.

Having money saved for himself still seemed strange. But no one was willing to take it off of him. He donated here and there to charities but some voice in the back of his head had told him to hold on to some of it. That he’d need it for something important.

Angel-sitting seemed as good a cause as any.

“Money won't be a problem. You still have the Angels right?” Crowley didn't reply. For once, he didn't have some smartass comment off the back end of a question. “I’m guessing you do. See, I know everyone who’s had one has gone missing. Word must get around, even to the high and mighty bastards that want an Angel as a pet. I’m guessing they're not so popular now, are they?” The Demon smiled again.

“On the contrary. Two of them have already gone.”

Two? Which two? Dean’s heart sank a little too far into his stomach and the thought that he was even so affected by this only helped to piss him off even further. It shouldn't matter which ones have gone. It shouldn't matter because he could still have the third and that's still protecting someone and it's still a way to get information. It’s not like the plan was a bust entirely, just potentially a little different than Dean had imagined it.

He still had a once in three chance though. That’s not such bad odds. Right?

Crowley’s eyes flickered with something devious again and he held up a hand, ready to snap his fingers, though Dean wasn't sure what for.

“I do have one Angel left. Interested?”

It is what he came here for. No point turning back now.

“Yes.”

“Fabulous.”

With a snap of his fingers, a portion of wall behind Crowley began to crumble. It started as a crack in the centre of the wall that Dean could just barely make out in the dim light. The crack rippled outwards till it hit the ceiling and the floor almost simultaneously before collapsing all at once in a heap of rock and dust.

Dean was paralysed. What was stopping whatever was behind that wall from running out and killing them both where they stood? Crowley's Enochian better have been as strong as he thought it was.

Inviting Dean onwards, Crowley stood back, allowing him to pass. Dean’s heart was beating wildly in its cage. It drowned out any other sound. Any passing comment from the asshole demon, any residual rumblings from the fractures in the rock. Everything fell deathly silent, all except for his heartbeat thudding against his eardrums.

Tentatively, he stepped past Crowley who wore one of the most smug expressions Dean had ever seen in his life. Ignoring him, he peered into the dark room opened by the hole in the wall and waited for the rest of the dust to settle.

There was a figure at the back of the circular room that a passing glance could have mistaken for part of the old relics in there. In the centre of the room was a round table that held all sorts of old artifacts and bits and pieces. There were urns and statues and a few clay sculptures. If his subconscious built this room, were the objects not really there for the Angel to defend himself or were they just unable to pick it up?

The figure sat at the base of an old wooden table. It had curled itself up in a ball, resting sideways and leaning their head and knees on the wall behind it. There was a complete disinterest for whatever had walked into the room. It hadn't even flinched.

Even from the mugshot, Dean recognised the overcoat that blanketed the figure. The tan colour took the stray beams of moonlight coming from a grated hole in the ceiling and basked in it like he was the only thing in there.

Dean's heart beat harder, threatening to simply kill him where he stood.

It was him.

The blue eyed Angel with the dark, tousled hair.

Dean was sure he wasn't breathing. The Angel could probably hear his pulse as it thumped harder and harder. And he must have.

When Dean had stepped over the rubble, he’d made more than enough noise to get his attention but he didn't so much as turn his head. It was only now that he stood in the room, willing the air back into his lungs that the Angel began to shift.

He’d tensed at first. Dean could see how it started in his shoulders and spread out down his arms and whatever else he could make out in the dark. Then, far too quickly, he turned his head and locked eyes with Dean. It was then that Dean finally caught his breath. The anxiety in his own body seemed to melt, if only for a moment.

What relief he had was taken from him once he saw the contraption around his face. His eyes were free, but his nose and mouth were covered by some sort of muzzle. It was a black leather device that covered the bottom half of his face and went right up to the bridge of his nose. It emphasised every expression in those deep blue eyes.

Dean could make out, even from the other side of the room, as they flickered between fear and something else. A few times, the Angel had looked past him entirely, probably looking for Crowley in a silent ask for permission, or to see if he’d be reprimanded for even looking at Dean directly.

Not knowing or caring where Crowley was, Dean moved towards the Angel in slow, calculated steps. This would be alright, wouldn't it? Surely the ‘buyers’ were allowed some interaction with whatever they were about to buy. It's not like you just went into a pet store and picked something from how it looked. Dean imagined. He’d never had so much as a goldfish before. Too many thoughts were flooding through him and he didn't seem capable of stopping them.

As Dean reached the table in the centre of the room, the Angel seemed more distressed. Surely he knew Dean wasn't going to hurt him? He was an Angel, he could probably smell the Enochian warding all over this place. Unless that was only there for the hell beasties. Who knew if that worked on Angels as well. Surely Crowley wouldn’t let the Angels hurt their ‘buyers’ before even taking them home?

With all rational thought having left his head, Dean moved closer still. He was now at the table in the centre of the room and Crowley still hadn't stopped him. Dean rest a hand on the table next to him, not entirely convinced that any of this was actually real. He raised his other hand as a weak show of surrender. That he wasn't going to hurt him. Though with each step, the Angel grew more and more visibly upset. He’d closed his eyes and turned away from him.

“Hey, man, it's alright. I’m not going to hurt you.” Turns out the sound of his voice wasn't going to win him over either. He brought his hands to his ears, covering them as well as he could. He opened his eyes again to look straight pass Dean to Crowley, who was probably still out in the hallway.

The look the Angel gave over Dean's shoulder was the very embodiment of ‘if looks could kill’. It was drenched in a seething hatred that almost completely washed out any of the innocence Dean had caught on the picture in his phone. Dean figured it was only natural to hate the person who was selling you off like livestock.

He turned back to Crowley who had his hands tucked neatly in the pockets of his coat and grinned when Dean had faced him.

Dean turned to the Angel again who was now focused on him completely. His eyes told stories. The other Angels had as well. They’d been around since the dawn of time. That was sure to wrack up some mileage. But this one…

Without looking back, Dean spoke softly and asked,
“S’he got a name?” After a pause, Crowley responded without the wit that had followed him up till now.

“Castiel.”

Ok. Dean could do this. It’s not like he was a lion or something chained in a cage. Only he was. The last two Angels had both tried remarkably to kill him. The only thing stopping this one was some Enochian he couldn't even see.

The only way Dean knew how to play this was offering himself up as equal. He always hated the idea of ‘slaves’. Even the word made his blood boil. If he treated the Angel as an equal, maybe he’d see Dean as a friend instead of an owner.

“Castiel.” Dean repeated. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut again a the sound of his name off of Dean’s lips. He wasn't happy with the arrangement and it hadn't even started yet. It's not like Dean had the option to grab one of the other two instead. They were long gone by now. He needed this one. Though he didn't want to take him without some form of consent.

Dean took another deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. He stepped forward again till he was right in front of Castiel. He wasn't in any chains or bindings at all. Perhaps the Enochian did dampened their will to fight.

Dean knelt, just about meeting the Angel at eye level. He reached forward, only shaking a little before pausing and silently asking permission which he wasn't sure he was given. Either way, he was sick of looking at the damn leather muzzle. He reached behind the Angel's head and unbuckled the two straps at the back.

Pulling it forward and away from his face, Dean couldn't help the brief smile that crossed his lips. He placed it rather gently on the floor next to them, more focused on moving slowly than anything else. He didn't want to spook the Angel.

Dean took another moment as he was stuck staring into the eyes of the Angel. Though now, being able to read whole expressions, he saw the utter defeat on his face. The photo didn't do him justice, by any means. The Angel swallowed thickly and clenched his jaw, trying to keep from saying anything at all.

Dean stood and moved back across the room to the entry where Crowley was still standing.
“How much.” He fished his wallet out of his pocket and searched for the blank cheque he’d put in there earlier this afternoon. Crowley looked past Dean to the Angel who mustn't have moved. Dean hadn't heard anything.

“What do you say, Castiel? It’s obvious he’s got a little crush on you already.” Dean chose to ignore the comment. He knew full well it wasn't anything that depraved. He needed the Angel both to save someone else from him and to get whatever info he could on the ones that had gone missing.

He grit his teeth and let the Demon continue.

“I could make it easy.” He eyed Dean again. “Some pitiful amount of money that doesn't mean squat to a demon.” Crowley spoke to the Angel. “Do you think he knows what the going rate is?”

Dean furrowed his brow. This is how it went, wasn’t it? Buyer hands over money. Buyer takes their new ‘pet’ and leaves. What else could Dean have that was possibly worth a damn? He looked back to the Angel another time. Dean needed him. He needed the information he may, one day, be willing to give up but he didn't even know him.

What he did know was that he was an Angel and Angels were dicks. He’d sooner have Dean as a steamy corpse than as someone who ‘owned’ him.

“What do you want.”

Crowley smiled. A wide, evil smile that put even the slimiest of Meg’s to shame. Something was wrong.

“Vampires and shifters are a dime a dozen. I couldn't care in the slightest what happens to them and there's always more. Angel’s however… They cost a pretty penny. One I doubt you’d be willing to part with.”

Dean pursed his lips. If he didn't want money, he could have told him at the crossroads. f*cking demons.

“Tell you what,” Crowley started. “How about I give you hot wings, here?”

Dean lifted an eyebrow suspiciously.
“Give? For what?”

“Your soul.”

Oh hell no.
“My soul?”

“I won't take it now. But I am a crossroads demon, first and foremost. I deal in souls. You did ask for me in particular so you wanted the Market, not just some standard crossroads deal. One to make all your dreams come true by trading your soul ten years down the line. The Market was set up by the higher ups on either end. They don't care how I get rid of the merchandise as long as it sells.”

“Bobby paid money for his vampire.” Dean snapped back, the anger rising in his chest.
“Is that what he told you?” Crowley smirked.

No way did Bobby sell his soul for some vamp. No way. As much as Dean hate to admit it, it kind of made sense. What possible use did heaven or hell have for something as menial as currency? They could get that anywhere, if they even needed it to begin with. Dean sighed.

“Like I said, I don't want it now. Well, I do, but that's hardly fair. However, you came to me, so I get to set the asking price. I’ll give you 1 year. Most get 10 but you're not most people, are you squirrel?”

Crap. It’s not like Dean had time to think this over. He needed the Angel. If he didn't, they’d be back at square one with nothing to show for it. No info on Angels. No leads on what happened to the others who’d vanished. These were the last Angels.

Heaven was pulling themselves entirely off the board after this. There'd be even less to go on than what they had now. He could track down the other two. Maybe wait and see who grabs blue eyes if he doesn’t and tail them but the records of Market dealings were near impossible to trace. If Demons knew one thing, it was covering their tracks.

And it's not like whoever got them flaunted them off. Most of the things available to buy could all pass as human. Vampires were a little pale, sure. Shifters were hard enough to track regardless. They could look like whoever they wanted. He did have the images on his phone, maybe he could find some kind of computer thing to track cameras and sh*t.

Son of a bitch. Sam was always the computer nerd, not him. Ash could probably build him something to trace the Angels. He said he’d tried before to track their grace but without a solid starting point, an actual sample of grace, he couldn't really do much. Faces he could maybe work off but -

“Tick tock. I've got places to be. Going once.”

sh*t. sh*t.

“Going twice.”

“5 years.” Dean's eyes widened. He didn't mean to say it. He still knew this was possibly one of the worst ideas he’s had and that was a long list to top. This was worse than the time with that waitress in Tampa. Way worse.

Crowley’s eyes gleamed with God knows what kind of horrible intent. Dean still hadn't talked himself into the whole soul bargaining thing and here he was, about to sign it and the rest of his life away for this Angel he’d seen all of four minutes. Crowley smiled.

“1 year.”

Dean sucked in a shaking breath, then sighed it out again. Crowley wasn't going to budge.

“2 years.”

“One.”

Dean turned his head back to the Angel who was now on his feet. It was the first time he’d heard his voice. It stung more than he would have liked. Dean had tried to show him that he’d take care of him. Or at least not treat his as bad as some others would.

Dean could have stomped in, hurled abuse at him and told him he was in for a world of hurt but he didn't. It's not like he’d want to go with Dean. Obviously. But Dean thought he could at least appreciate going somewhere better than this.

Their eyes met. The Angel must have read some of that hurt that Dean had no right to feel. His defensive, hard stance had softened and he’d seemed smaller than he had when he had the muzzle. Dean was about to buy another living being. He didn't have the right to anything like that. He’d just sold his soul to a demon to be in possession of an Angel.

As the information slowly sunk in, the full weight of what he’d done, he’d felt sick. He was no better than those asshats that put their pets in collars and paraded them at parties. What's worse was he’d sold his soul. He’d be dragged to hell in a year just for the privilege of having a slave and claiming ownership over another person, even if that person was a feathered dick. He’d be leaving his family at Deano's, Bobby, Sam…

Nice move, Winchester.

Crowley intervened, causing Dean’s attention to turn back to him and away from the Angel.
“Not that simple. You’re not just a hunter, you're a Winchester.” The corners of his mouth turned up into a half smile. “You know how to seal the deal.”

“I am not kissing you.” Surely demons took a handshake or a scribble on a dotted line. It's not that he was against kissing guys, he was all for it, but he was not kissing Crowley. The smarmy asshole had made Dean feel like a poor excuse for a human and he wasn't about to go further down that rabbit hole and kiss him as well.

“Your choice. Cling onto that deep seated hom*ophobia your father pressed on you since childhood - ” Dean clenched his jaw. Pulling out the Dad card was a low blow. The faster he was out of this hellhole, the better. “ - or give it up and take hot wings home with you.” Crowley stepped forward, completely disregarding what would have been Dean's personal space. “What do you say?”

Dean was fighting the Enochian warding. He really was. What he wouldn't give right now to punch that English dick back out into the hallway and back up to the crossroads, though every time he curled his fist, it relaxed as if it hadn't been there at all.

Dean was tired. He craved the comfort of Baby, especially now with the guilt forming heavily in his gut. He wanted to be topside. He wanted to be back at the bar, back in his shower. Anywhere but here. If kissing the jackass in front of him was the only thing in his way, then fine. He sighed, heavily and maybe a little too dramatically.
“Fine.”

With one fluent movement, Crowley brought a hand around the back of Dean’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. Crowley's lips were sticky, cold and they smelled of expensive whiskey and death. Dean heavily fought the urge to gag as the kiss dragged on longer that it should have. It was a simple press of Crowley's lips to his, but it still made his stomach turn.

Thank God he didn't use tongue. Dean would easily toss his cookies everywhere if that slimey tongue tried to pass through his lips.

It probably only lasted a moment, but it was one moment that felt like twelve and Dean pulled back as soon as Crowley's hand gave the slightest amount of give.

Charmingly, Dean wiped his mouth on the back of his shirt sleeve at his first opportunity. He didn't feel any different. He thought having Crowley's ugly name plastered on his soul like a tramp stamp would feel different somehow. Maybe it only counted when he came back for him and the hellhounds tore him apart that he’d feel it. Dean looked to his chest, like there'd be some magical proof of Crowley's ownership of him, just like he now had to the Angel.

Crowley gave one last smile, one that was prouder than the other sly grins had been. This one made Dean's skin crawl.
“Pleasure doing business, Dean.” He raised a hand, giving the Angel behind him a quick glance before looking back to Dean. “See you in a year.”

He snapped his fingers and that was it. They were back at the crossroads with the cool country air filling his lungs instead of the dark and dust. Crap. It wasn't he was back, it was they were back. The Angel was right behind him. Dean could practically feel his gaze on the back of his neck.

He turned swiftly, meeting the full stare of the blue eyed Angel and Dean's breath caught in his throat. His eyes. Now that they were out in the open, under the sun that had risen in the time they were with Crowley, the light reflected in the blue in them and it was mesmerising. Dean could get addicted to them. Maybe he already was. This was all kinds of messed up.

Neither of them spoke a word. They just stood in the middle of the dirt crossroads, miles away from the nearest town and let the silence speak for them. The Angel watched every move Dean made. Every breath. Every twitch of his hand or clench of his jaw. The Angels flickering eyes noted it all but he never said a word.

It was Dean who was going to have to speak. He gave the orders now. The thought made him cringe. The Angel probably had some ‘don't speak unless spoken to’ rule programmed into his system. Being in charge now, Dean could probably overwrite that.

Dean cleared his throat and gestured to his Impala behind the Angels back.
“Um, That's my car. We should probably head back to my place.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “Unless you’d rather fly? Can’t Angels fly? I know you guys have wings …” He trailed off, suddenly all too aware of how little he really knew about Angels. The Angel didn't speak. Didn't answer.

“You're, uh.. You're allowed to talk, you know? Give me something here.” Dean tried to smile, even a little to break the thick tension between them. When the Angel answered, his deep voice somewhat startled Dean. It was coarse and smooth, all at once. Like silk draped over gravel. Dean saw the hurt on his face before he even gave his reply.

“My wings were damaged. I can’t fly.”

Oh god. Did they do that to him when he committed his crime, whatever it was? The thought of someone ripping into his wings reinforced the heavy guilt inside him. This whole thing was a terrible, terrible idea.
“Oh. I'm sorry. Is -” He gestured again, “Is that going to be alright? Driving with me?”

The Angel looked back to the car and paused for a moment before answering with downcast eyes.
“Yes, Dean.”

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

The drive home was long and awkward. Dean wasn't sure whether he should try make small talk or turn right back around and see if they had a return-for-store-credit policy. He was barely comfortable having an Angel in his Baby at all, let alone the front seat, so he offered him the back. It was roomy enough. Mostly. Plus this way, Dean could actually concentrate on the road and not have to worry about watching him out of the corner of his eye.

By the time they pulled up to Deano's, the car park was fairly busy. They did well at lunch time. Deano's had an all day breakfast so the late risers were typically in around now for some bacon and eggs. It'd die down soon enough though. It was beginning to break well into the afternoon and there’d be the dead hours between lunch and dinner.

Dean drove through the customer parking and around to the back where Baby could finally rest. She’d done him well over the last week and she’d more than earned a few days off. Maybe if he trusted the Angel alone for a few moments, he could actually come down and give her a proper wash.

Baby pulled into her spot with a deep purr and fell silent as Dean shut off the ignition. She was the only noise between them for the whole ride home and it was definitely too quiet without her now. This was going to be a damn uncomfortable situation until they found a steady rhythm like Bobby and Benny had. If they found that rhythm.

Who knows what was going on in that Angels’ head other than desire to not be here, which he had made very clear when ‘no’ was the only word he’d spoken. Dean had tried so hard to make the Angel understand he wasn't going to hurt him. It had to be no cakewalk to be someone else's possession, but Benny was hardly Bobby's anymore. Technically he was, on paper. But they were more like equals. Hopefully Dean could persuade him into that kind of arrangement.

Dean took in a long breath before forcing himself out of the car and out of Baby's reassuring embrace. He closed the door behind him and moved around the back to the other side of the car, eyeing the Angel in the backseat who didn't seem to notice or care that Dean wasn't inside anymore.

This was going to be a lot harder than Dean had originally thought. He knocked lightly on the back window.
“You can come out, y’know.” The Angel turned his head but only barely. Only enough to just capture Dean’s stare. He didn't move or reply at all. He just sat there like he was -

Oh. Like he was awaiting an order. Dean pulled the door open and asked again.

“Can you get out of the car?” He stated gently, before adding, “Please.”

The Angel blinked once before gracefully sliding himself off of the seat and out of the car. He moved away from the door, allowing Dean to close and lock it behind them.

“You gotta give me something.” He still didn't move. The Angel wore such a defeated expression. He didn't want to go with Dean. But he had to. Dean wasn't going to pull out the Asshole-Master card if he could help it. Maybe after time, he wouldn't hate Dean so much and he may even open up to him.

Dean took a few steps towards the Angel, trying to get his point across as un-asshole like as possible.

“Okay, this is what's going to happen. You're going to follow me up the fire escape to my apartment. I’d take you in the front door but that'd be too many questions so window acrobatics it is. That's an order.” The Angels face hardened but Dean continued anyway. “Then we’re going to have a sit down, a whiskey or seven, and you're going to tell me how this whole thing works. That's an order too. You copy?” The Angel nodded silently and moved closer to Dean, an unspoken agreement to follow behind him. Dean nodded too. That was something at least. At least till they got inside.

----------------------------------------

It wasn't the first time Dean had to sneak into his own apartment. More than once, he’d come back from a hunt covered in blood or smelling like a sewer. It wasn't the best way to attract customers so he’d snuck up the back fire escape and dove straight into a shower. If only he had that luxury now.

No, this time he was closely followed by an Angel. There should be a joke about sneaking an Angel into your bedroom but Dean was too busy focusing on not getting dead while his back was to him. Once he was inside, he turned back to offer a hand but the Angel was already fitting himself through the window.

Once inside, Dean didn't miss at all how the Angel drank in the place he’d be locked up in for the next year. If this was going to be his new ‘dungeon’ he may as well get used to it, Dean figured. He turned in circles, almost in awe as he eyed the few books on Dean's bookshelf before stopping himself and straightening his posture, apparently awaiting more orders.

Dean had made it as far as the kitchen, still with an eye on the Angel and grabbed two glass tumblers from an overhead cupboard. He held them both in one hand and and grabbed the whiskey from the countertop with the other. Closing the cupboard behind him, he left the kitchen and head for the small table and chairs just off the tiles.

Dean sat down, and gestured for the Angel to do the same. He was not looking forward to this talk. It was bad enough he’d bought the damn Angel, now they were going to have a sit down and discuss the rules?

At least the Angel joined him at the table without needing it spelled out for him. Dean poured two glasses, not entirely sure that Angels even drank but at least the gesture may have counted for something. Dean downed the couple of fingers and poured another before setting the bottle off to the side and leaning back in his seat.
“Ok so how does this work?”

The Angel co*cked his head slightly and squinted at Dean in confusion. Surely the question wasn't that hard. Dean sighed and added a further -

“Permission to speak freely, by the way. Forever. You don't need my say so every time you feel the urge to share something.” He looked back down to his glass and swirled the liquid in the bottom a few times before taking a small sip.

Dean looked back to the Angel, hoping he’d at least give him something, anything to go off or this was going to be a long few weeks. Though, it had taken Bobby and Benny months to even speak to each other like adults let alone come to the friendship that had bloomed between them. At this rate, Dean and the Angel could take the whole year and by then it’t be too late.

Dean ran a hand down his face and over his jaw. What was the point of selling his soul if he was given nothing for it. Sure, he had the holy tax accountant with him and in his room but if he didn't even want to speak then it would have been all for nothing. Bobby would definitely tear him a couple of new assholes. So would Sam.

Just the thought of leaving Sam in a year felt like a knife in the gut and Dean knew that feeling all too well. It's not like Sam depended on him anymore. Not the way he had growing up. He didn't even need him anymore. He was into his first year of his Masters for Law at Stanford. He had a girlfriend Dean had met all of twice but Sam never shut up about her. If he’s damn lucky, he may get to hear wedding bells from them before he gets dragged to hell.

Though Sam may send him there anyway for buying an Angel. He is studying slave rights after all.

One thing Dean was fascinated by, probably more than he should be, was the way the Angel watched everything Dean did. It may have been instinct. Watch your target for any signs of an incoming attack. He may have been learning Dean. Finding a weakness he could exploit later when he tried to kill him. And he would try. It was only a matter of time. Who knows what happened to the other people who had gone missing. If he wasn't going to get any info from the Angel, at least he may get to find them first hand.

That's when a sudden thought him him. Angels were pricey. If the others had paid for their with their souls too then there wasn't much helping them. A crossroads deal, especially with the King of the Crossroads, wasn't something you just just squirm your way out of. That deal was solid. He’d have to check into the records where he could. See if there was a correlation between them buying the Angel and disappearing however long afterwards.

Though that was fair enough for the buyers, what happened to the Angel after that? Was their rehab magically finished? This whole thing had taken an ugly downwards spiral. Any information he offered up to Bobby was going to be met suspiciously. If he knew what the others paid, he’d know what Dean paid too.

Plus side. He knew what happened to them.

The Angel wasn't keen on talking. That much was obvious. Whenever Dean asked, he’d act like he didn't hear it all or he just looked at him with such sad eyes like he couldn't bare to converse with someone who owned him. Dean couldn't blame him.

Dean needed a breather.

“Alright I’m going to grab something to eat from downstairs.” If he dove straight into giving the Angel short bursts of alone time, maybe he would see that Dean trusts him. Or is trying to trust him anyway. Like extending an olive branch. “I’ll be back in a bit. Help yourself to the books or the TV or something. I don't know what Angels to do get their rocks off.” Still, the Angel didn't answer.

“Fantastic. Glad we had this little chat.” He pushed his chair back and rose from his seat. He’d made it to the door before calling back to him. “Do you want anything?” Nothing again.

“Of course not.” Dean pushed through the door and locked it as he closed it behind him. He walked down the stairs slower than he usually would, hanging an ear back and listening for any movement through the door. Still nothing.

Taking the last few steps a bit quicker, he pulled his phone from his pocket. There were a couple of calls he needed to make and at least one of them wasn't going to be pretty. Seeing as he didn't have the privacy of his own room anymore, he opted for a booth in the back of the restaurant.

With most of the lunch rush gone, his staff would still be busy cleaning and serving those at the bar. They’d be busy enough not to listen in. He’d be keeping his voice down anyway.

He took a detour through the bar and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Dean smiled politely as Garth was showing Nancy how to properly pour a beer from the tap. She seemed to be more interested in Garth than how much head was on top of the beer she’d just poured. Dean wasn't going to touch that joke with a fifty foot pole.

Bobby's phone was already ringing by the time Dean slid into the deep red booth at the back of the restaurant. It was a large round one where all the others had been the standard rectangle tables. Dean typically stole this seat once or twice a week whenever there was an abundance of paperwork that needed to be spread out. He could have done it upstairs, but down here he could grab a beer or some fries easily enough when he got too frustrated.

By the time Bobby answered, Dean realised this conversation could go one of two ways. He’d need to make a decision and relatively quickly.
“So, How'd it go?”

“I am now the proud owner of an Angel of the Lord. Or a nuke in a tax accountant. Take your pick.”

The concern didn't leave his voice. Dean knew what he was going to ask but it didn't lessen the worry when it finally did come out.
“How much it set you back?”

Dean swallowed thickly, and settled on an answer.
“You were right. ‘Bout the same as a small truck. Didn't leave a huge dent in the bank though so…” He trailed off. He could lie about his soul for now. Though if he did he wouldn't have the opening to ask Bobby what he paid for Benny. If he asked, Bobby would know without a doubt he was lying.

Dean was useless at the stealthy segue into a different topic. If he outright told him, Bobby would be far more interested in getting his soul back than actually using what they got from it. Lying was definitely the better option right now. “He’s not much of a talker though. I've asked him a few times how it works with giving orders or whatever but he doesn't say anything. Was hoping you could maybe help me out.”

“He’s not your friend, Dean. You didn't buy him from a demon so you could hold hands and cross the street together. You got him because he’s dangerous. That kind of power needs to be watched. That and he may have some handy information.”

The longer Bobby went on, the more frustrated Dean got. He took a sip from his beer and let him finish anyway. Dean knew all this. It was the only reasoning he had to sell his soul for the damn thing in the first place. Bobby paused a little too long at the end of his last sentence.
“Where is he now?”

Dean closed his eyes, preparing for another rant, only angrier this time.

“Upstairs. I’m in the restaurant.”

“You get your ass back upstairs before the damn thing stashes a knife or something. Like it or not, that thing is gunning to kill you. It doesn't even need a weapon! He could have run off! I’m going to hang up and email you some warding to put around your place. Your stupid ass is going to keep both eyes on him at all times. Got it, ya idjit?”

Dean offered a weak acknowledgement before he let Bobby hang up. No point trying to argue with him now. The Angel didn't seem the time to fly away at the first given opportunity. Hell, he couldn't if his wings were damaged. Even if Dean didn't know the extent of it. Or if he was lying. This was going to be much harder than originally anticipated.

Well that was the easy phone call. Time for the harder one.

Dean hadn't spoken to Sam in a few weeks now. Before he started his masters, they’d try and talk as often as possible, sometimes once a day if time permitted for both of them. Truth was, Dean missed him. He’d missed him the second he’d left him. It was his mission to keep his brother safe. To protect him at all costs.

He still tried. He’d send a hunter every now and then out that way on a case and asked they popped their head in. Not literally into his room. Hunters knew how recon worked. The few messages he’d get back saying he looked fine, or mostly not dead were always a reassurance. He hadn't had someone check on him in a while though. He probably should have made a trip himself before he got the Angel. Now he wasn't likely to have the time on his hands at all.

He pressed the speed dial for Sam, hoping he’d catch him after a class. It was getting into early dinner time and the really early ones were already making their way in. Surely school finished at a reasonable enough time to give the students dinner.

After a few rings, Sam picked up and the relief of his voice washed over Dean and calmed any stress brought on from his last conversation. Yeah. It was definitely a good idea to call Sammy second.

“Dean! How’s it going? It’s good to hear from you.” The excitement in his voice immediately dropped, probably expecting the worst. “Are you alright? What's wrong?”

Dean smiled. It's like they knew each other even from the other side of the country. He hadn't even said a word and Sam was already worried about him. Sam was his brother. They'd spend the rest of their lives worrying about each other.

Dean teased.

“Shut up, everything's fine.” He smiled again at the brief chuckle on the other end of the line. He’d heard Jess call out behind him.

“Oh! Tell Dean I said hi! And he needs to get his butt over here again!” Dean could hear the smile in Sam’s voice. He was so genuinely happy when he spoke to Jess, even in passing comments. Dean was maybe a little jealous. Sam called back to her.

“I will!”

“Yeah, yeah I heard. Tell her I’ll come if she bakes more of those cookies.”

“As much as I’d love to play messenger between you two, we have a hell of a lot of study to do. I still haven't figured out what to do my dissertation on. I’ve got a few ideas but seeing as I'm trying to specialise in slave laws, it's a bit of a delicate subject. I need to find an angle that…” Sam trailed off and Dean could practically hear him thinking. “Sorry, I won't bore you with the details. What’s up?”

Dean held his breath for a half moment. He had no idea what Sam's dissertation would mean or what he’d need to do it on. He’s been on about slave laws since they brought it back in all those years ago. Seeing as they've recently started a trial on human slavery again, there's a lot of murky water to tread through and Dean didn't understand half the legal mumbo jumbo that Sam went on about half the time. To be honest, he just missed hearing his voice.

A lot of his work, from what he gathered, was about the rehabilitation program. It had started as a means to transition the few vampires that didn't want to make the swap to synthetic blood like the majority had. Benny was strictly synthetic. Mostly. He was the poster boy for vampire rehab, courtesy of Bobby, mostly. Sam was fascinated when Bobby announced he’d gotten a vampire to help out around the Yard. He wanted to ask him all sorts of questions but back then, Benny wasn't exactly the talking type.

Sam could do a dissertation on Benny. Show how well a vampire could redeem himself back to society and all that crap. It's not like Dean knew the specifics of what Sam was studying. He sighed. At least this was a way to ease into it. Maybe. The concern slithered its way back into Sam's voice.

“Dean?”

“What’s this dissertation again?”
“Dean, I don't think -”
“Come on man, humour me.”

Dean rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, trying to predict which way this conversation was headed. Sam continued, voice still dripping with hesitation and concern.

“It's a research paper. To get your master's degree, you need to research something in depth within your chosen field and submit an original contribution to the knowledge.” Sam sounded like a textbook. He’d probably read that to himself over and over trying to think of a topic.

“I -” Crap. Dean hesitated before forcing out the words. “I think I may be able to help.” Dean looked around the bar, noting the increasing number of patrons all entering for the dinner specials. He slid out of the booth, allowing a family of 6 that had just arrived to take the seat. Sam chuckled softly.

“What do you mean? You mean with Benny? I already thought about asking Bobby but there's quite a few wealthy families here and most of them have their own. If it's not a vampire they have sirens, familiars, shifters, just about everything and they’ve all rehabilitated really well. They’re all functioning members of society and everything. I don't want to add just another vampire story, you know? I want something different. Something that will get their attention.”

Perfect. Dean slipped out the front door and around to the side of the building, smiling at entering customers where most of them knew him by name. He stepped over the crunching gravel as he reached his Baby who was basking in the red glow of the setting sun. It didn't matter what time Dean came out to see her, she was always beautiful. By the time he’d reached her and leant across one of her doors, he’d just worked up the courage to all but admit his dumbassery over the last week.
“How many of those families have an Angel?”

The line fell silent. He was in for it. He had a hand over his eyes and willed the yelling to start so it could be over with. Sam, surprisingly let out a little chuckle, even if it was a little bitter. He replied casually, but the anger rose quickly as the sentence went on.

“I’m sorry, you're gonna have to run that by me again. I was starting to get the impression that you bought an angel?!” He laughed somewhat bitterly again before adding. “I must have heard wrong. But, what, a hunter came in? Told you who has? Do you know them?”

Well, technically, yes. He did.
“Yeah. I know him.”

Sam sighed in relief. That relief didn't last too long though.

“He’s about my height. Aquarius. Loves long walks on the beach -”
“Dean…”
“And he’s damn attractive if I do say so myself.”
“Dean. What are you -”

Dean clenched his jaw. If Sam was here there was more than half a chance he’d hit him. It's like he was preparing for the blow that wouldn't come. Dean kept his mouth shut. He’d learned it was easier for his brother to work his own way through sh*tty news.

Not that this was sh*tty. Not entirely. Only mostly. God, he’d hate to see how he’d react if he told him what it cost. Dean listened through the phone as Sam rustled about. Dean could pretty well picture him moving into another room and away from Jess. Clearly this wasn't a conversation he wanted her to hear. ‘Conversation’ may have been too gentle of a word.

“Dean, you had better be joking. That's not funny.”

Dean stared out in the street at the shadows made by the setting sun. He made a quick glance up to his window to see it was still closed. If the Angel had run off already, at least he was polite enough to close the window behind him, though Dean didn't see any sign out here that suggested he’d bailed.

“I didn't say it was funny, Sam. I know what I'm doing.”

“Do you?” Sam may have been four years younger than Dean but that didn't stop him worrying like an older brother. He sighed into the phone. “What did he cost you, Dean?”

The answer came automatically. It was the same he’d given Bobby.
“Didn't make too much of a dent in the bank, don't worry.”

Sam bit back, a little angrier.
“In figures. Right now.”

A worry had started creeping in the back of Dean's brain. He didn't know what sum sounded believable and the longer he put off answering, the more suspicious he’d get. He stumbled over his words, trying to form a decent amount.
“Thirty thousand.”

The silence on the other end was deafening. Dean swallowed thickly as the worry clawed its way in the back of his skull. When Sam finally answered, his voice was quieter, much quieter than Dean would have liked.
“You’re lying.”

“What? No I’m -” Sam cut him off, his answer deadpan and monotonous.
“Dean, How can I defend slaves if I don't know what the asking rate is.”

No. Sam couldn't know. Dean couldn't do this to him. He was studying. He was out. He shouldn't have to worry about Dean the way he worried about Sam. If his little bargain distracted Sam out of a life he deserved, Dean would never forgive himself.

After a silence between them that was so tangible, it hurt to break through it, Dean figured he couldn't play this game with Sam. He already knew.
“We need him Sam.”

“Bullsh*t.”
“Sam,” He needed him to listen to reason. It's not like he wanted to do this. He had to. “People have been going missing, as well as the Angels. We don't know anything about them. If Michaels pulling Heaven from the board we need as much info as we can.”

Sam's voice broke a little and it was like a knife right in his chest.

“I know the Angels, Dean. We know what's important. We know what they cost to buyers and we can't help that.” He took a breath before continuing. “We know it's why people have gone missing but we weren't at liberty to disclose -”

“You knew?” Dean's free hand curled into a fist as he pushed himself off of Baby. “ You knew?! Why the hell didn't you tell Bobby? Tell me?”

“It's part of the Treaty. The Archangels use the souls -”

“I don't care what they use them for!” Dean paused, having noticed his yelling was now causing some of the regulars to look over to him as they entered the bar. Dean took a breath, trying to calm himself before continuing. “Sam, Bobby has had those files tucked away for years, years, trying to figure out what happened and you knew?”

Sam answered as textbook as he could but Dean read straight through it. He could hear the lawyer underneath and whoever that was, wasn't his brother. “When we’re shown the details of the treaty, when we start our masters, we sign a disclosure statement. We can't discuss the specifics with anyone outside of our class or -”

“I’m not anyone Sam, I’m your brother. It's my job to protect people from sh*t like this.” Dean's blood running hot through his veins. He hadn't been this angry, this confused - At least not since that dream where it had stuck with him for no reason at all. “I’m your family. How can I protect them if I don't know sh*t like this?”

“Because I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to sell your soul!”

Dean's voice caught in his throat. The anger in Sam's voice spoke in more ways than one. He was pissed, sure, but Dean knew that tone. He was hurt. He was scared. Probably more than anything, he was disappointed. Sam was going to lose Dean in a year and he couldn't help that. Neither of them could.

So what if they now knew where the other buyers had gone. So what if they could learn about Angels from one who would probably never open up. It could take Dean years to even get him to talk to him and they'd both be gone then.

He still hadn't told him how long he had.

Sam probably knew more than Bobby and him combined. He clearly already knew what happened to the buyers. However many years later, Crowley came to claim their soul. Sam probably knew where the Angels flew off to after that. He probably had all sorts of inside information that Dean and Bobby would never hear because family doesn't mean the same to Sam as it does to them, let alone the family business.

Sam had been out for about seven years in a school with civilians and not a single thing worth hunting. He’d forgotten what it was like in the thick of things. When you were knee deep in sh*t, you didn't really have the luxury of thinking things over.

When Dean couldn't find it in him to break the silence, Sam broke it for him. His voice was calm. It was that same monotonous tone that clearly didn't want any part in this conversation anymore.

“Dean, I need to study. We’ve got an exam coming up and I need to - Can we talk later?”

“Yeah.” Dean hung up and leant his head back across Baby's roof. At least this way he didn't have to figure out a way to break it to Sam. He already knew. The only thing left to worry him was if Sam was going to run off to Bobby, or if he’d give Dean the courtesy of telling him, himself. Either way, it was getting dark and Dean was already tired from the drive. He had a year to worry about that conversation. No point starting now.

He head back inside, deciding not to make himself anything to eat. His gut was doing backflips and even a burger didn't seem at all appetising. Dean moved through the white noise of busy patrons enjoying their meals cooked up by Ash and maybe Oskar. They looked pretty good and they probably smelled amazing but it did nothing but make his stomach turn. Maybe he’d stick to a liquid dinner tonight.

Liz smiled at him as he head through the bar to the stairs. That smile was a thousand questions in one that he didn't have the time or the patience to answer. He smiled back as genuinely as possible which seemed to convince her and she turned back to pouring beers.

Dean made his way up the stairs and paused at his door for a moment to listen through the door. Still no noise. No television, no faint sounds of papers or anything. Maybe he really did take off.

Once he’d gently pushed the door open, he saw the Angel in the same place he’d left him. Sitting at the small table by the kitchen with the same glass in front of him. Dean sighed, closing the door behind him. God, he wished the Angel would do something more than just sit there. If he broke something or yelled at him or just asked for a damn order, at least Dean could work with that. It would be a starting place, if nothing else.

As soon as he’d opened the door, the Angels whole body had tensed again, just like he had at the crossroads. Like he was bracing for the worst.

Dean clenched his jaw and joined him at the table. Something good had to come from today. He’d be damned if today had gone to complete sh*t for no reason. Well, he was damned, but at least he’d feel better if he made progress. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey he’d left on the table and poured another half glass.

“Alright man, I need you to work with me. I know you don't like me. Hell, you probably hate me. I’d hate me too.” Dean took a reasonable gulp from his glass. “But we’re in this now. We may as well make the best of a sh*tty situation.”

The Angel looked right into him, confused and eyes squinted. His voice was hard and direct.

“I’m here because you brought me here.”

Dean blinked a few times. He wasn't expecting him to reply, but it was more than he’d hoped. Trying his luck, he leaned forward and continued.

“I'm not forcing you to stay, am I? What stopped you running off while I was downstairs?”

His eyes travelled to the Angels adam's apple. It bobbed in his throat as he swallowed which caught Dean's attention more that it should have, but he still didn't answer. Dean took another sip.

“Answer me.” He looked him dead in those perfect blue eyes. Dean didn't want to. He really didn't, but he needed somewhere to start. Hopefully this wasn't a step backward. Dean's voice wavered slightly as he forced out the words, “Please.”

The Angel dropped his gaze to the table.

“I have … a brand.” He closed his eyes and sighed, some of the tension visibly leaving his body. Surely it couldn't calm him to talk about his status. When he didn't continue, Dean offered,

“Like the Mark of Cain?” The Angel flinched.

“The Mark is -” He hesitated “- for God’s abominations. It was created to hold back the darkness.” The Angel shifted in his seat. Dean followed every motion the Angel made. He didn't want to share this, Dean could tell. But he was. Did his brand make him obey the order the way the Mark did with Benny? Did he get hurt if he isn't answer.

A memory flashed in Dean's head of the few times Bobby had given Benny an order early on and he refused. The pain struck him like lightning. Dean could see the veins threaten to burst up the side of his neck and in his temple. His eyes had turned red and he was left a panting heap on the floor. The sight of it, just the once, was enough to turn Dean of owning his own forever. See how well that turned out?

If he gave the Angel an order and he didn't answer, what was to stop the same thing happening to him? He said he has a brand as well, though he was a little too covered for Dean to see it as he sat in front of him. The thought of seeing the Angel in anything less than what he was wearing seemed wrong, somehow.

“Angels are branded in Enochian with holy oil.” The Angel tensed again, looking anywhere but at Dean. “Following orders is written into our coding. We were made to follow God’s orders.”

Dean finished the whiskey in the bottom of the glass before pouring another. Even though it was already going to his head a little, he still didn't like today. Not one bit. Even if he had the blue eyed Angel with the dark tousled hair in his room and across from him it wasn't as equals.

Dean couldn't even kid himself. He was here because Dean had paid for him. The full weight of that was going to crush Dean for the next year and properly seal in what a piece of sh*t he’d turned into, even if he had the best intentions to begin with.

“So that's it? You just cling onto the first thing to give you orders and follow them? I thought Angels were guardians.”

The Angels face hardened And he pushed himself up from his seat. It was the first time he’d seen anything even resembling anger. Until now, it had been all doe eyes and confusion and sadness. It was actually a little refreshing to know he could get mad. That he had more than just the nothingness that came from becoming a piece of property.

“Angels are warriors of God. I was a soldier!”

He stared at Dean for a moment and Dean's heart had almost stopped. Dean's eyes widened. He’d just pissed off a holier than thou Angel. He could kill him without breaking a sweat.

For the first time since bringing him back from the crossroads, he was afraid, if only for a second, of the Angel now above him. He wanted to take it back. Most of him did. Part of him was thankful for the outburst but another part of him wanted to not be dead. It's not like he understood the inner workings of slavery or Angels.

Dean pushed further. This was more than he’d heard from him at all. With the warmth of the whiskey in his system, he found a new edge that willed him onwards. At this stage he didn't even care if it got him killed. He was doomed anyway.

“And now you're not.” He took one more gulp from the glass, finishing the drink at the bottom. “Want to tell me how that happened?”

The Angel didn't respond. His fists had relaxed and hung at his sides and the anger had melted away into something more pained. He was still furious, but whatever he was in sh*t for obviously didn't please him too much. “A little birdy told me a few Angels fought against Michael and Lucifer. That they wanted the Apocalypse to go ahead. Was that you? Did you hate humanity so much you wanted to bring about the end of days?”

Dean was trapped in the Angel's eyes. Eyes so hurt and so fragile that Dean felt the Angel could shatter at any moment. How could a being so strong look so tired? So worn? Dean stood and blinked away the slight head rush that followed before moving towards the Angel.

Something was driving him. The alcohol or the fury at this Angels hatred for humankind, he wasn't sure. He didn't know if Bobby's word was anything to go off, or if this Angel was even in on that, but it's not like he had anything else to go off.

“Tell me.” He looked straight into those eyes that had taunted for days, even before he knew the stubborn asshole.

The Angel looked away, like the admittance would somehow disappoint Dean. He spoke softer. Dean had barely heard the words.

“I don’t hate humanity.” He closed his eyes sighed heavily again, like some burden was lifted.

As much as Dean wanted to press on, ask for more, his body was betraying him. He was tired. So tired. The whiskey he had wasn't softened by any food in his system. Even with a built up resistance to it over the years, it was still already starting to take it’s toll. When had he become such a lightweight? Maybe he’d tormented the Angel enough for one day. What, with being hauled off with a new ‘owner’ and all.

Dean had fully intended on watching the Angel the first night, more out of self preservation than anything else. Though there was something there that made him think he wasn't in immediate danger. If the Angel wanted him dead, he would have made it very clear by now. If he did kill him then so be it. He was too tired to care anymore.

“Ok, sure. I’m callin’ it. I’ll uh - I’ll take the couch. You have the bed. We can sort out something more permanent in the morning.”

He walked behind the Angel and head to the couch, shrugging off his jacket and shirt on the way and tossing them on the ground by the coffee table. Dean slumped heavily onto the couch and untied his shoelaces. Or fumbled at, which was probably more accurate. He glanced upwards and saw the Angel still hadn't moved. Catching the clock at the side of his bed which was only starting to move into double digits, he figured now was as good a time as any to try and catch some shut eye.

“Dude, please just take the bed.”

Dean continued pulling at the laces till his boots came loose and he kicked them off. He could still feel the Angels heavy gaze on him though. Some part of him knew he was going to be watched for the next year but he didn't think it would be so literal. Thankfully, he’d started to move towards the bed. Even though Dean couldn't see his face, he could still make out the weariness in the way he moved. When was the last time he’d had any rest?

With only a lingering effort to making himself comfortable, he watched as the Angel delicately removed his tan trench coat and hung it carefully on the end post of the bed. Every movement he made had purpose.

Dean found himself losing all interest in setting up a bed and undressing himself to somewhere between comfortable and inappropriate.He was far more interested in the movements of the Angel. He spread his fingers over the sheets Dean never properly made.

He straighten them each morning but he never spent too long tucking in corners or anything like that. Just made it presentable enough on the occasion someone would be joining him.

Technically someone had joined him. Though it wasn't the type of company he was expecting.

Just as Dean thought the Angel was going to actually get into the bed, he turned and faced Dean. It caught him off guard and he probably reacted a little slower than he'd have liked. He furrowed his brow before curling up onto the couch, facing away from the Angel. Reaching up to the blanket he kept folded across the back of it, he could still feel prickling on the back of his neck. Every hunter instinct was screaming at him. That he was stupid for turning his back on the Angel, that if he did sleep, he’d kill him as soon as look at him.

Dean didn't know what it was, but he didn't feel like he was in danger. Of course the Angel could have killed him. He could have killed him on the drive here, he could have killed him when he pulled into the carpark or when he’d come back upstairs from one of the worst phone calls of his life.

Even if there was Enochian branding somewhere on him, he still didn't know what it meant. It could protect Dean, sure. Like the warding in Crowley's Limbo. It could be a tracker, or some angelic recorder keeping track of every order Dean gave. It could just be a tramp stamp. Either way, it wasn't a mystery that was going to be unravelled tonight.

Dean pressed his eyes tightly shut, willing the burning off the back of his neck. He had planned to watch the Angel tonight, not the other way around. Whether it was the hunt a couple of days ago or the drive or the crossroads or Crowley, something in him had had enough and his body was demanding sleep. If he was lucky, he may even get a few hours before the nightmares inevitably started.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The first thing he knew was that something was wrong. Dean could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something was in his apartment and it was watching Dean.

Slowly, so slowly, Dean reached for the knife he kept in the crevice of his couch. He had weapons tucked all over in case something like this happens. It took Dean till his fingers were around the blade till he realised he slept on the couch. Why did he sleep on the couch? He’s only done it a couple of times before when Sam stayed over. Sam sure as hell wasn't in his bed. So who was?

It all came flooding back at once. The Crossroads. The Demon.

The Angel.

Dean left the blade in its place and turned around, almost falling off the edge in the process. The Angel was staring at him. Not even subtly. Just straight at him. He sat at the end of the bed with his hands together. It was almost childlike. He looked at Dean with soft eyes before finally turning away, looking off to some uninteresting corner of the apartment.

“Did you sleep?”

The suit he’d worn under the coat wasn't wrinkled. Not barely. His tie was straight and his white shirt seemed unbothered. Unless that was just a vessels clothing. Cursed to be perfect at all times. Even when Dean had asked, he still didn't answer.

“Did you?”

He turned to face Dean with something sad in his eyes. He answered directly and almost without missing a beat. Almost.

“Angels don't sleep.”

Dean brow shot up.
“What, like ever?”

His silence was all the answer he needed.

“So last night..?” He began. “You just sat there?”

The Angel kept his focus trained on anything that wasn't Dean. If he has to ask him to answer every question, this is going to get real old, real fast. He asked again, gentler this time.

“You sat there?” He turned back to Dean, making every effort to conceal whatever was going on behind those blue eyes and forced stone expression.

“I watched over you.” Dean's eyes widened.

“Come again?”

Dean watched as the Angel let out a long breath and he somehow, didn't seem so frustrated. He seemed calmer. Calmer than yesterday anyway. Not like he had a whole lot to go off. The only thing Dean could think was that he’d grown accustomed to taking orders again.

If so, that was pretty damn quick. It was built into their coding or their wiring or whatever to follow orders. What if it just took time to get the hang of someone else rather than Him. Even still, it seemed pretty damn quick to Dean.

“I watched you.” He answered. “To make sure you were safe.”

Dean blinked a few times, giving the Angel a moment to say if he was kidding or not but his face didn't so much as twitch. He wanted to protect him? Or needed to? Was that part of the deal? Serving as some holy body guard till your time was up and went ass first downstairs?

Dean was stuck staring at him, utterly confused. It's not like this place wasn't a safe house. Dean wasn't an idiot. He had a devil's trap under the rug in front of the couch. He had a line of salt above each window and over the front door. Surely Angels sensed that kind of thing.

“Uh.. Thanks, but that really wasn't…” He stopped himself. He didn't want to take two steps back for the small step forward. Even if that step was far creepier than Dean would have liked.

The Angel tilted his head slightly. He looked at Dean, or rather, into Dean. Dean felt the full weight of the Angels stare as he decided on his next words. Figuring it was a step. At least a step away from wanting Dean dead, if nothing else.

“Thanks.” He didn't blink. “That's not really necessary though.” Dean shot a quick smile, hoping he didn't offend him somehow and end up straight back at square one. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging a little to try and force himself awake with the adrenaline from an unorthodox awakening having well worn off. Under his breath, he muttered, half hoping the Angel wouldn't hear. “It's just creepy…”

Dean lowered his hands and caught the tail end of a half smile, just as it left the Angels face. Dean's brow raised, quizzically. He thought that was funny? Even the small glimpse of what could have been, in a galaxy far far away, an actual smile, was enough to make Dean smile back. Genuinely this time. Especially if there was any hope, no matter how small, of them getting to know each other as equals.

This could be a good thing. Even if it was over something as creepy as watching Dean sleep. It could be an opening. He held onto the smile hoping the Angel would return it.

Thankfully, he did.

It was more in his eyes than his mouth. His eyes softened and a new light shone from them that Dean got more than a little lost in. It must have been his grace or something. No way could a human's eyes be so blue and shine that brightly. It was like the sun reflecting off one of those beaches where the water was way too blue.

The moment he realised he was trailing off like a teenager, he swallowed and turned away.
Get a hold of yourself, Winchester.

Dean forced himself to his feet. Shower. He needed a shower. He looked through the glass opposite the bed and remembered something else he should have thought about before pissing his soul away and signing up for the most awkward babysitting job ever.

It's not like he ever had guests over and when he did it was either Sam, who could go downstairs, or someone who was more than welcome to watch through the glass. It's why he had it there to begin with, after all. That was with his typically more intimate company though. That had definitely not carried over to his present company.

Now, awkwardly on his feet with nowhere to go, he eyed the glass again and managed to stumble over some attempt at a heads up. If he added a touch of the old Dean Winchester Humour, it may go down a little easier and not as awkward as it could be.

“I don't know about your Angel senses of whatever but I can definitely smell me. I need a shower.” The Angels eyed widened. He looked like Dean had asked him to join him, which sent Dean rushing to clarify. “I mean, I know it’ll be weird with the -” He nodded his head toward the glass.

He took his, frankly, terrified glare off Dean for a moment, flicking it across to the glass and back again. What did Angels do? It's not like he could offer breakfast, he didn't have anything to cook up here. Breakfast would be step number two. Coffee? Did Angels drink coffee?

“I could make you a coffee before I go in?” He shook his head slightly, declining. The coffee machine was shoved in a cupboard anyway. Dean needed him to do something other than what he was currently doing which was facing the shower directly. That'd make it real uncomfortable for all parties involved. “Do you read? You can grab something off the shelf if you like?”

The Angel looked past Dean to his half empty bookshelf and the terror in his eyes faded.

“Thank you. I’ll browse your collection while you're in the bathroom.”

Dean sighed in relief. If he was away from the glass, showering would be much easier. He stepped forward, aiming at getting to the chest of drawers against the far wall. Just as he went to pass the Angel still sitting on the edge of his bed, he rose and Dean immediately realised Angels have no concept of personal space.

He was inches from Dean's face. Granted, it wasn't too tight of a fit between the glass and his bed, Dean didn't need to walk so close to the bed, it was just his natural path to his dresser. They’d had such a good start to the morning, all things considered. Dean didn't want to mess it up now.

Rather than drawing attention to how awkwardly close they'd become, Dean forced himself to turn back to the dresser, not realising he’d turned to face the Angel in the first place. He stepped closer to the drawers than he needed to, just to make sure he was entirely out of the Angels way before digging out a clean shirt, a fresh pair of boxers and some socks.

Dean hated putting socks on straight after a shower in the bathroom but he didn't want to make the Angel uncomfortable. First priority was getting them to even ground. As even as it could be, anyway.

By the time he’d turned around, the Angel was running the tip of his index finger across a few of Dean's books with a tilted head, presumably reading the titles. On second thought, that was probably a stupid offer. Angels had been around since the dawn of time, he’d probably read the few books that Dean did have a hundred times over. Hell, he was probably there when they were written. At least it served as a half decent distraction so that Dean could slip into the bathroom, more or less unnoticed.

Once he’d reached the cold, tiled floor waiting to be warmed by the heat lamps, he exhaled a breath he wasn't aware he’d been holding. It had only been a day and they were making progress. It was a hell of a step up from yesterday, that much was for sure. Maybe this wasn't all a waste of a soul.

Dean opened the glass door to the shower and adjusted the water to where he knew was the perfect temperature. He eyed through the other side of the glass and saw the Angel still fingering at his book collection. There was only a few shelves worth, it's not like he had that much of a variety.

Closing the door again, he slowly undressed, dumping his shirt and boxer briefs into the hamper. Tentatively, he peeked through the glass again and the Angel had picked up one of his Vonnegut's and was flipping through pages as he sat, thankfully facing away, at the table. Dean sighed briefly in relief.

He stepped foot inside, deciding on making this shower one of the fastest he'd ever had. His priorities were on scrubbing clean and getting the hell out again. Dean had just rinsed the shampoo from his hair and blinked the water out of his eyes before a thought occurred it him. It couldn't be that hard to install some kind of privacy curtain, right? One to pull across the glass to avoid anything this awkward again in future?

The only way he could really have his privacy was if he sent the Angel somewhere and that was never going to happen. He could put him up in a hotel room when the trust built a little. Though, what was stopping him running off then? Yeah, he had his branding or whatever but there was something unsettling about leaving him somewhere Dean couldn't see him.

Dean was getting ahead of himself. They needed to get to that stage first. A privacy curtain was an easy first step though. He could go out and grab the necessary means today and have it built by sundown. Turned out, he was pretty handy when it came to DIY’s. He’d picked up a few things when he’d helped (where he could) build the bar. He knew the basics anyway. That’d be enough to chuck a pole and a sliding curtain on the roof.

Once the suds had all washed down the drain, Dean shut off the water and reached for a towel just outside the door. He hadn't bothered to check on Castiel again. If he’d grabbed one of Dean's Vonnegut's, he’d be far too intrigued by the story, if he hadn't read it a hundred times already. They were easily some of Dean’s favourites.

Dean stepped out of the shower with his one towel wrapped around him. He reached for another and dried up as best and as fast as he could. It's not like he didn't trust Castiel alone or anything. He’d left him alone for over an hour yesterday and that turned out fine.

Having thrown on a reasonably clean set of jeans and a fresh shirt, Dean was surprisingly more relaxed than he could remember being this time of morning.

He didn't have any nightmares, that was a first for a long while. On top of that, he’d slept in till just about 10. He can't even remember the last time he’d slept that long. Dean figured he’d be all sorts of ‘on edge’ having Castiel in his apartment but something about him was oddly soothing. He didn't feel like a threat. Having him here felt natural.

So naturally Dean had to be going insane. There was no way he could feel so comfortable around his ‘property’ after one day. It was only now he’d realised he’d thought of Castiel by his name.

His hand paused as he reached for the doorknob to join him back out in the living area. He’d been referring to him as the Angel up till now. Even if they had managed to trade civil words and sleep without murdering each other, that was still a far step from first name basis.

Castiel called him Dean, obviously. What else could he call him? Benny called Bobby a healthy variety of four letter words when they first worked together but he was a vampire. The only thing running through his dead blood was anger and hunger.

Dean expected the same hostility from Castiel but upon reflection, it made sense that he didn't. He was an Angel of the Lord, or whatever. Perhaps they didn't know how to swear.

Dean briefly attempted to visualise Castiel swearing and snorted a quick laugh at the outcome.

Finally, he turned the door handle and left the bathroom. He hadn't been in there long enough to let any kind of steam build up follow him out onto the carpet. Usually he’d have a shower long enough to make it look like a music video when he opened the door. Steam billowing around his feet and parting softly as Dean walked through it. Not today though. Today was one step up from a shower in a can. He felt clean, but for whatever reason, didn't need the comfort of a prolonged shower this time.

As he closed the bathroom door behind him, Castiel turned to face him with a guilt written all over his face. He went to stand as soon as Dean looked his way, but Dean's hands shot up in his best attempt at waving a white flag.

“Woah, hey. If I didn't want you reading, I wouldn't have offered it.” He gave a quick smile, hoping this could work as an opening. “What did you think? Or have you read it already. You’re like, a million years old, you’ve probably already read it.”

Castiel didn't smile. All Dean managed to do was replace the guilty look with a disappointingly neutral one. One that hid a lot more than Dean would have liked.

“I haven't read it.” He spoke softly, with his deep baritone that sounded harsher than Dean made it out to be. “I hadn't found myself with the concept of ‘free time’ in a long while.” His face fell. “I guess there is still nothing free about my time. It just belongs to you.”

Ouch. He was forthright, if nothing else. Technically it was true. As much as it pissed Dean off to admit it. He didn't want to be the type of asshole to note his every breath, his comings and goings and every detail of what he did. He wanted him to be as free as he could. Paperwork excluded.

“Castiel,” Dean began, not at all ignorant to the way his face had shifted when he’d used his name, “I uh…” How did he say ‘I want you to be happy here’ without sounding like a sick and twisted, well, master?

It was the truth. It was mostly all he wanted from Castiel. Other than the info which he wouldn't turn down but most of all he wanted him to not hate Dean for the next year. After a silence that was far too long and Castiel looking at him with blue eyes that were far too distracting, Dean caved.

“I’m going to grab some breakfast, you want anything?”

He clearly thought hard about it. Dean wasn't sure Angels ate at all and was half expecting an immediate ‘no’. While Castiel thought, Dean's head was flooded with what he could cook for him. What did Angels eat? He could do some French toast? Classic bacon and eggs? He’d thought for sure if Angels didn't sleep, they wouldn't need to eat either. Though, the amount of thought Castiel was putting into the offer was making him think otherwise.

“Please. Thank you, Dean.” He nodded slightly when he eventually spoke. Dean smiled at the response. He moved back over to the couch to retrieve the boots he’d neglected last night. As he reached for them, he expected some form of hangover to magically sprout but nothing came.

Maybe Sam was right. That Dean had built up such an immunity that alcohol had to be a vitamin for him by now. He was still able to feel drunk, though, so that was something. He dropped to the couch and slipped his feet into the boots. Not turning to face him, he asked,

“Anything in particular?”

After another silence, Dean finally looked up to Castiel who had his head co*cked in some kind of unspoken question.

“I’d appreciate whatever you brought me. Thank you.”

Tying the last shoelace, Dean rose to his feet and instinctively grabbed his keys on the way out. It was more out of habit than anything else. It’s not like he was really going anywhere. Not yet anyway.

He’d head to the hardware store later and grab some things for a privacy curtain or whatever it was called. Something to ease the awkwardness at least. He paused at the closed door and rested the keys on the counter. Dean let his hand rest on the dividing bannister for a moment before pulling open the door and heading downstairs.

Once he reached the bar, he was welcomed with a whole new atmosphere than what he was used to. Typically he’d get downstairs, have to put up with Meg for about 15 minutes then start in on a breakfast shift. By the time he’d made it downstairs, it was well past 11. The early lunch patrons were here and it seemed comfortably busy. Very different to the usual almost empty bar he was used to being greeted with. It was bustling with chatter and clinking silverware.

Though he did admit he was grateful he’d missed Meg. One attack on the senses at a time.

Dean passed Garth behind the bar. He was a good kid. Even though lunch was never particularly busy for the bar, being much too early in the day for a drink, he was still finding things to do and keeping himself busy as best he could. He’d just put on a load of glasses through the under the counter dishwasher and was busy making garnishes and putting them on ice. He had next week's stocktake on the bench and had obviously started that too. Dean gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder as he passed as an appreciation for his hard work.

By the time he made it to the kitchen, Nancy had done a good three laps of the restaurant. He’d seen her leave with two plates of food, come back with an order slip and leave with another three plates balanced on two hands. His face instantly dropped. He was clearly working her too hard. She hadn't even noticed him come down, or if she had she was too busy to so much as look at him. Maybe he did need someone else, just to take the edge off.

He pushed through the heavy wooden doors to the kitchen, expecting to see Ash up to his eyeballs in orders and cooking grease. Dean was pleasantly surprised to find him micromanaging the whole kitchen and seeming none too fussed about it at all.

Ash was carefully guarding a pan of scrambled eggs, folding through them pretty delicately. To his side he had maybe a dozen bacon rashers on the grill and, what must have been, four whole onions that were sliced and cooking into beautiful golden colour. He had slices of toast lined up under the grill, he had pancakes going, the sandwich press, a couple of steaks and still the dirty dishes hadn't piled up. There was a clean stack to put away but that was about it. Ash had everything very well under control.

“Morning sleeping beauty!” Even if he did have eyes everywhere but on him, he still clearly heard Dean enter. “I thought you were leaving the heavy lifting to us peasant folk.” Dean smiled, popping his head around to the benchtop in time to catch Nancy drop off another docket.

“Nance, you alright out there?”

Nancy was pulled from her busy routine and gave Dean a warm smile that softened her whole face.

“Yes, boss. It was a little much yesterday but you get into a rhythm and it comes so naturally.”

Good, that's…. Good.

“Is anyone else coming in soon?” He didn't remember exactly what was on the roster. He’d only drawn up a general guideline and left his staff to sort out what shifts suited them best. Nancy ducked her head a little to have a better look into the kitchen. She caught the clock that hung off the back wall and squinted at it for a moment.

“Oskar should be here in about a half hour.” She smiled at him once again. A short and warm curl in the corner of her mouth before she grabbed the few plated Ash had set out for her.

Everything seemed to be running alright. He’d need to give it a few days to see if he’d need to hire anyone else though.

Dean scanned the organised chaos about the kitchen and settled on a breakfast. Bacon and pancakes. He was tempted to pinch some of what Ash had already cooked up but that'd put some customers way behind on their orders. It seemed things were running on a thin line as it was. He didn't want to mess that up. Plus, he’d miss a chance to cook the food for Castiel himself.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean and Ash talked as he cooked. He tried to avoid as much detail as he could about his new roommate and his secret gig, but Ash knew him too well. He knew there was something. Dean dodged as many questions as possible without being too suspicious. Palming the big mystery off as helping Sam with his homework which wasn't technically a lie. It was only a matter of time before Sam asked if he could meet with Castiel. Till then, settling Castiel in could be loosely interpreted as helping Sam. Loosely.

Dean tried to help where he could while preparing his own meals. Ash had accused his stomach of growing three sizes when he saw amount Dean was making. True, he was maybe going a little overboard but the more he thought about Castiel trying his food, the more he wanted to impress him.

Food was the way to a man's heart, or however it went. Castiel was sort of in a man? Maybe that counted. But not to his heart, like… heart. Dean was more aiming for whatever Bobby and Benny had. An equal friendship. The way to lessen hatred and make a slave not hate his owner was through his stomach?

He’d started making the batter for the pancakes when he thought it may be a little boring. His pancakes were some of the best in Kansas, he’d been told, but they were still just pancakes.

Dean ended up making a few different types. Just one or two of each so Castiel had his options. In two, he’d thrown some fresh blueberries into the batter. In another, he carefully dumped a good heaped tablespoon of Nutella and closed it off with more batter, making a melty chocolatey centre.

As a half experiment and an entirely last minute decision, he threw some savoury ingredients in the third. It was entirely possible that he didn't appreciate sweet things as much as Dean did so after a quick rummage in the fridge, the third batch of pancakes had a handful of shredded spinach and crumbled Danish feta.

He made a quick side bowl of diced tomatoes, onion and a few herbs to garnish. As much as Dean could eat anything drowned in maple syrup, and he’d fight anyone that didn't say maple syrup made everything taste better, he’d learned that wasn't how most people ate their meals.

In the few minutes it took to cook the batter through fully, Dean helped where he could by putting clean plates away and tidying some of the benches. It wasn't much but it eased some of the guilt from leaving his bar in his friend's hands for a few weeks.

It may not even be that long. Castiel already seemed to be willing to not want to kill Dean. Or run away. He was a good couple months ahead of where Dean thought they'd be. He may not need someone else to help around after all.

It would be somewhat suspicious if Dean took two plates up to his room, so he piled what he could onto one plate. It ended up with 6 thick pancakes, 4 rashers of bacon, a side dish of the diced tomatoes and another side dish with nothing but maple syrup. Not just any syrup, pure Canadian maple syrup (one of the only decent things to come out of Canada). Dean took a final look at the almost overflowing plate and figured this would be a pretty damn good breakfast.

Ash wasn't paying him too much attention, with his own plates full of orders to go out. Knowing he’d make some crack joke or get way too inquisitive, Dean left him to tend to orders while slipping out behind him.

He’d made it through the bar relatively unnoticed by his staff, though some of the patrons did give him a curious look. Sneaking through the bar, he grabbed a bottle of locally grown OJ from one of the fridges, kicking the door closed behind him. Garth had looked at him and gave an impressed nod of the head and eyed off his breakfast. Other than that, he escaped pretty much invisibly.

Once he made it back upstairs, somewhat balancing the breakfast and the OJ enough to open the door, Castiel was in the same place he’d left him. Sitting at the table with an open Vonnegut in front of him. He hadn't so much as flinched when Dean closed the door.

Dean let him continue reading while he sorted their breakfast out. Admittedly it smelled pretty damn good. He wasn't typically one to make a big fuss of his own breakfast. It was more the pleasure of cooking for someone else and seeing the way their face lit up with the explosion of tastes.

As he fumbled through his cupboards and drawers for an extra plate, glasses and cutlery, he pushed down any worry he had over his cooking. What if Castiel didn't like it? He’s probably sampled the best food from every corner of the planet and all throughout history. One little batch of pancakes isn't going to be anything spectacular.

If he didn't want anything to eat, all he had to do was say no. Dean kept telling himself that.

He silently cursed himself for stashing his coffee machine under the cabinet. He could go with a coffee, though today he didn't need it like most mornings. Perhaps he’d had a better night sleep than he thought. He’d have to pull it out sometime today so he could at least have coffee up here and not have to run downstairs every time. He cursed himself again for not making a coffee while he was downstairs. Though he probably couldn't have balanced it on the way back up.

Between the two plates, he dished out half the blueberry and chocolate pancakes then kept a plain one for himself and gave the savoury one to Castiel. He divided the bacon and dumped half the small bowl of syrup over everything on his plate, making sure to leave plenty in case Castiel liked it.

He’d probably had the best maple syrup in the world before too. As well as the best tomatoes and freshest blueberries. Hell, he’d probably picked them straight off the vine or bush or whatever the hell blueberries grew on.

The more he looked at the plate scattered with different flavours and colours, the more he worried with a reason that was completely lost on him. Mostly lost. If he was going to be with Castiel for the next year, he wanted him to at least enjoy his cooking. It wouldn't have been the best thing he’d ever eaten, but it'd be sustenance nonetheless.

Once everything was sufficiently divided, Dean took two glasses of OJ and placed them on the table, one of which directly in front of Castiel. He returned to the kitchen, grabbing the two plates and sets of cutlery. He took a deep breath, pushing down the stupid concern over his eating habits. He was here now. At least he wasn't ordering him to starve or scavenge his own food. Dean's food would have to do.

He returned to the table and placed a plate down in front of Castiel, where he’d moved his book to the empty space to the side. Dean watched Castiel as he scanned the plate in front of him with wide eyes and a small side that curled the corner of his lips. A smile was a good thing right?

Dean sat in the chair next to Castiel, putting his own plate down and adjusted comfortably in his seat. He wouldn't admit he was watching Castiel probably more than he had to, but he was waiting on some kind of reaction. When he hadn't so much as raised his arms for the cutlery on the table, Dean grabbed his own cutlery, trying to encourage him to start.

“Bon appetit.”

Castiel looked up from his meal and answered straightforwardly.

“Merci beaucoup. Je comprends le geste. Il semble merveilleux.”

Dean blinked. Did he really just reply in French? How many languages did the Angels know? He gave a half smile, not entirely sure he hadn't just insulted his breakfast.

“Yeah, sorry. I blew all my French on ‘Bon appetit’.”

Castiel squinted, as if he was trying to read Dean again. Dean let him. It was only fair that he study Dean in the same way he’d want to study Castiel later. If given the opportunity. Though it started to worry him that he could maybe see something in Dean that he wasn't willing on sharing. They still had so much to learn about each other. Well, more specifically, Dean about Castiel.

After a short silence, Castiel finally spoke again.

“My apologies. I was simply thanking you for the meal.”

That was a lot of words for ‘thank you’, but Dean didn't want to push it. Instead, he began on his meal. The pancakes had waited long enough to get in his stomach. Who was he to deny them their true home.

Deciding on the blueberry one first, Dean noted out of the corner of his eye as Castiel went for the same one.

“You should try it with maple syrup. Everything's better with maple syrup.”

Watching Castiel eat was surprisingly and, somewhat comically, fascinating. He had to watch Dean a few times to figure out how to hold the cutlery. Dean had to stifle a laugh with a bit lip as he watched him cut the pancakes and maneuver it onto his fork. For an all powerful Angel of the Lord, Dean was expecting a little more grace when it came to everyday activities. Dean tried his best to pay attention to his own meal but Castiel's mannerisms were just too … Interesting?

He took a forkful of maple soaked pancake and finally brought it to his lips. The burst of blueberries from their little beds of fluffy pancake and wrapped in sweet syrup was well worth the wait. He couldn't remember the last time he even had pancakes, let alone ones where he actually put the effort in.

Though he wouldn't admit it, some lewd noise came out of his mouth. It had slipped out so involuntarily and Castiel hadn't even acted subtly about it. His own forkful, which was most of the way to his mouth by now, hung in the open air. Once he saw that Dean was looking, he’d turned away and finally put his piece of blueberry pancake in his mouth.

Dean tried to gauge his reaction. He really did. Castiel had eaten it more or less unphased by it. Once it had passed his lips, Dean watched every movement he’d made. Every chew, every thoughtful look he gave to the remaining pancakes, every time his tongue darted out to catch any lingering drops of syrup. The whole thing was an effort to him, clearly. But whether it was good or not wasn't even there. The worry started to build again before Dean could tell it to piss off. So what if he didn't like it. Dean could always try something else?

Finishing his mouthful and opting to try the chocolate pancake next, Dean swallowed thickly, around both the pancake and his own pride.

“Well?”

Castiel chewed a little more before swallowing.
“It’s very informative.” He fumbled with his cutlery before going for the spinach and feta pancake and cutting off another small mouthful. Castiel bit into the savoury pancake and his eyes widened. At least that made an impression.

Dean raised an eyebrow. It still wasn't quite the answer he was expecting.

“Informative?”

Castiel chewed slower on the new mouthful. After what seemed to be a quick decision, he scooped up a small forkful of the tomato and onion mix and added that to the pancake already in his mouth. A visible smile curled his lips while he ate, but he still didn't answer Dean's question. Dean chewed on his chocolatey mouthful and finished it before asking again.

“Informative how?”

It was like Castiel had forgotten he was there. He turned to face him and swallowed this bite a little thicker than the last. Dean took a drink of his orange juice. His mouth had suddenly gone a little dry.
“It’s overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming?” His cooking had been called a lot of things. Overwhelming was not one of them.

Castiel looked back to his meal and picked at the bacon with his fingers. He tore off the long tail and bit into the middle. After pursing his lips and pulling an expression that could loosely be defined as disgust, he swallowed the bacon and grit his teeth at the taste.

Surely his cooking wasn't that bad. Though Dean couldn't help as his jaw dropped at the complete disregard of Dean sitting right next to him. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but almost spitting out his food wasn't part of it.

“Does overwhelming mean disgusting in ‘Angel-speak’?” He took a bite of his own bacon, just to make sure there wasn't something actually wrong with it. Nope. It was just as perfect as perfect bacon could be. Slightly crispy and not the usual charcoal most American places served. Dean liked his bacon a little more ‘English’ than blackened. This bacon was just about perfect.

“The bacon is unpleasant.”

Ouch. He said it so casually that Dean actually huffed a breath. No one had ever called his cooking ‘unpleasant’ before. He sat back in his chair having lost a little of his appetite, and hoping it would encourage Castiel to elaborate on why he sucked so much at cooking, apparently. “Actually all of it is fairly unpleasant.”

Dean clenched a fist. Constructive criticism he could take. Being told whatever he made ‘hadn't been his best’, sure he could take that too. But being told it was terrible without justifying why was just infuriating. If he didn't want his food, fine.

Dean pushed himself to his feet, reaching for Castiels plate with the intention of cleaning it but was stopped by Castiel putting his hand on Dean's wrist. The too-gentle touch caused him to pull back, probably stronger than necessary and snapped at him.

“If you don't want it then you don't have to eat it.”

Castiel caught his eye with such a sad look. Like he truly hadn't realised how Dean could be offended by his actions. Dean was caught in those stupid blue eyes again. Though describing his eyes as blue was kind of like describing water as wet. One word could never fully describe the colour. He wasn't even sure a thousand could.

“My apologies, Dean. I simply meant…” He turned away and back to his food. With the forgotten fork, he broke off another small piece of the savoury pancake and placed it far too delicately in his mouth. Dean was paralysed watching him. “I should have mentioned sooner. I’m sorry, I assumed you knew. Angels don’t eat.”

He spoke with a mouthful of pancake. The completely contrasting image threw Dean's brain out. Angels don't eat, yet here he was, picking at Dean's pancake. It didn't look like he was going to elaborate anytime soon. Dean blinked a couple of times.

“Have you noticed that you're still eating?”

“When an Angel eats, all they can taste is the molecules, not the sum of its parts.” That wasn't much help.

“Uhuh.. And?”

“When I tasted the bacon, I could taste the farm the pig lived on in Tipton, Indiana. I can taste the feed it was given and the rain that touched it's skin on the day of its slaughter. I can taste the plastic it was wrapped in and yes, it's overwhelming.” Dean paused a moment, then repeated. Though this time, with a half smile he couldn't seem to wipe off his face.

“Have you noticed that you're still eating?”

Castiel looked back to his food and picked up the remnants of the spinach and feta pancake, only now, he didn't meet Dean’s stare.

“I can taste the spinach and the feta, or more accurately, the molecules that combine them. If I fight through the origins of each ingredients birth, I can find information buried underneath.”

Okay…
“Such as?”

Castiel took a moment before replying. He tasted again and furrowed his brow, clearly thinking hard about each taste. Was it really that complex? This time, he looked straight at Dean when he answered.

“This wasn't the first pancake you made. You made the others first. I’m yet to try the chocolate so I can't accurate decide which was first but this was last. The batter is a little more cooked on one side. More than the blueberry. I think you chose this filling rather spontaneously. The batter was still cooking when you prepared the spinach and the feta.”

Dean's jaw dropped, if only slightly. He didn't want Castiel to know how horrified or impressed he was. He hadn't decided yet. No way would he tell all that from a couple bites. No way. Castiel brought his fingers to his lips and traced the bottom one softly. It was probably innocent enough but the visual still made Dean snap his mouth shut again and swallow thickly.

“I can't tell why you made this one in particular, seeing as you didn't make the same for yourself. Unfortunately molecules only reveal so much. They don't reveal a person's intentions.”

He knew this was going to happen. The damn Angel knew he could get information from Dean through a sneaky backdoor approach rather than just asking. By using his angelic taste buds to Sherlock some deductions about Dean.

Most of him was pissed. He was trying to build some bridge between them and the bastard was swimming right underneath. He was so mad his metaphors weren't making sense but a small part of him was impressed. If Dean had some magic mojo like that, he’d be using it as well.

Honesty. Dean took in a deep breath. For once in his life he needed to be honest. It was the only way to level the field. Before he could think about it too much and talk himself out of it, he forced out the words.

“I made it because I thought you might like it.”

The words felt foreign on his tongue. It felt awful. Like his soul was bared. Castiel was clearly startled. Probably more than Dean was. If Dean wanted honesty, he’d have to give it first. It wasn't going to be easy, but nothing truly worth it is ever easy. He’d have a lot to make up for.

There was only one years to get whatever information he could from Castiel. He’d learned the hard and sh*tty way about where the buyers had gone. Their time was just up. That didn't explain where the Angels went. They still knew nothing about them, other than the fact they are colossal douchebags. All of them, except this one. So far.

Castiel lowered the fork back onto the table and finished his mouthful. Crap. Was it too late to take it back? He barely knew what possessed him to say it in the first place. Before Castiel had the chance to call him out, or worse reciprocate the chick-flickery, Dean grabbed his plate and glass and head to the kitchen. He dumped his barely touched breakfast on the counter by the sink. Cleaning it wasn't exactly a priority at the moment.

Grabbing the keys he’d left there earlier, he rushed a sentence out before Castiel could stop him.

“I need to go to Home Depot and grab a few things.” He thought about asking the Angel if he’d want anything but, if he was being honest anyway, he didn't care. After a sudden attack of openness, he needed something to focus his mind on. Building a stupid curtain rod seemed like the perfect distraction. Dean threw on his coat and left, slamming the door maybe a little harder than necessary.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

The drive in Baby didn't help much, which only served in pissing him off even further. She was his one thing that never turned to crap. She was his safety blanket and she fixed everything. Though now, Dean was too infuriated to fully lose himself in her embrace and just drive. He was annoyed at Castiel, sure. He was all sneaky, trying to get secret info on Dean but that little voice in the back of his head kept screaming at him. One word, over and over.

Hypocrite.

Isn't this exactly why he brought Castiel home in the first place? To get information and learn. Exactly what he had done to Dean. That led to a whole new set of irritating questions. Was he pissed at Castiel or pissed at himself? If Dean had Sherlockian taste buds or some sh*t he would have pulled the exact same stunt. Castiel was trying to learn about Dean. They were in the same boat, just at opposite ends.

By the time he pulled into Hays, the closest Home Depot to Lebanon, he wasn't much calmer than he had been when he left home. There was probably a dozen closer hardware stores but Home Depot, being a solid hour's drive away, gave him the chance to gather his bearings. Or so he thought. The drive wasn't half as helpful as he had hoped it would have been. It had answered some questions but only slightly.

Dean left his Baby in the parking lot and head inside. He waved politely to the young woman standing at the entrance, ready to guide customers to their intended purchases. After being pointed in the general direction of the supplies he would need, he head down to ‘Windows and Furnishings’.

Dean was always easily so distracted when he came to hardware stores. He’d come in looking for a washer for a tap or something for the kitchen and end up a couple hundred dollars down with bits and pieces he neither needed, nor wanted.

One time, he came back to the bar with a fancy new light fitting for his bathroom, a cordless drill (which seemed important at the time) and one of those window box things for plants. Dean had never gardened a day in his life, but felt the urge to hang it on his window anyway. It did get good light, and he could use whatever herbs he grew in his cooking. It seemed logical.

The damn thing only ended up emptied out and tucked somewhere in the cupboard beside the washing machine. If he threw it out, it would be like admitting he never needed it in the first place and Dean was far too stubborn to admit that.

This time he had a goal and far too many things on his mind to be distracted. He easily walked past the temptations waiting on display and head straight to his destination. Dean would need some fixtures, some screws, the rod itself and a curtain. Luckily, he had a cordless power drill waiting to be used.

He repeated what he needed in his head like a mantra. Partially so he remembered everything. Mostly to stop him thinking about what he actually needed to think about.

It could have been good. Really good. Castiel wanted to learn about Dean, obviously. They could trade information and it wouldn't be like talking to a brick wall or trying to get water from a rock or something. Dean didn't think the there was anything particularly fascinating about him and surely no harm could come from giving Castiel a little info.

Castiel should be the one that was hesitant to open up. Dean could be some kind of asshole that spread the word about Angels and whatever dirty laundry Castiel was willing to share. Not like it mattered. They were all packing up shop and leaving anyway.

Once Castiel came back to his place, there was probably some grand farewell. Or they’d be planning one anyway. If they weren't already gone, they soon would be. It didn't matter what info Castiel gave Dean, it'd be useless now. It was more a curiosity and future reference thing than anything else.

That was just Dean though. If Sam ever forgave him for selling his soul, there wasn't a chance in hell that he’d pass up an opportunity to talk to Castiel. He was right. He’d have talked to Angels already. Probably. Sam hinted that he had. But he’d never talked to one of Castiel's ‘status’ before. Dean was sure of it.

Sam would probably have all sorts of nerd questions for him and, as much as Sam would hate to admit it, he’d love him for a dissertation. The thought of Sam studying Castiel made him twitchy and he tried not to think about it. He turned his attentions instead to the aisle he’d reached.

Most of the fittings were for coming out of a wall, not a roof. If he could find a pretty generic one, he’d be able to tamper with it a little and make it work. Not like drilling a rod to a roof was going to be rocket science. He fiddled with a few of the loose fittings and checked out some boxed ones near those.

Some seemed a little awkward. Too many middle pieces that would catch on the curtain or needed two separate curtains to meet in the middle. That wouldn't work at all. He’d need one curtain that went all the way along. No chances for accidental peekage allowed.

That raised another question. What curtains was he going to get? It'd be too dark if he got the same as the ones on his windows. It’d look too much like a hospital if he got just white ones. Truth be told, he could probably get away with one of those Japanese divider thingies but it just seemed like more clutter. A curtain would be much better. It'd be much easier moved when his usual company did come up.

Dean pursed his lips at the realisation. He’d have Castiel with him for a year. How in the hell was he going to bring anyone up now? Not like he could just say ‘Oh, he's some cousin, eighteen times removed and he’s going to stay here while we get our nasty on’.

Maybe a little further down the line, if the friendship built, he could have a system like Sammy and he used to have with a sock on the door. Dean took a deep breath and tried to get back to the reason he was here. One step at a time.

After grabbing a box of generic wall fittings, he figured it'd probably best to head to the curtain rods and make sure the damn things actually fit.

It probably took longer than necessary to find the rods a few aisles down. He should be trying to think of how to attach this stupid rod to the ceiling and what curtain to put on it but all he can think of is why. He hasn't needed anything like this before. When Sam visited, Dean would either hang out downstairs or make them all breakfast while he and Jess were in the shower. Any company of his was more than welcome to watch or join. He was doing this as a courtesy to Castiel. A sort of apology. A start to one anyway.

How do you apologise to someone for buying them?

The least he could give him was some privacy, from Dean if nothing else. Castiel probably didn't shower. He didn't do anything else human, why would he need to shower. He’d probably go all squinty eyed at the shower head and watch the water fall out, wondering where it came from or something like that. He was made of grace and heaven and whatever else Angels were made of. He probably didn't even feel the water the same way humans did. Yeah, he was in a meat suit. But how did that change what the Angel felt?

Would he feel it the same way Dean did? When Dean would finish a long shift or a nasty hunt and the pressure of hot water would melt the tension out of his shoulders. How, if he was being completely honest, that tension was much better released with someone else in there with you. That firm fingers lathered in soap would apply just the perfect amount of pressure to make all that stress, all that worry, all that pain, make it all just melt away.

Dean sometimes had an overactive imagination. Especially when it came to thinking about the women or men he’d been with. Sometimes it got the best of him. He’d be in the middle of grilling burgers and end up thinking of Rhonda Hurley from when he was 19. Or he’d be on a case, asking the locals what they saw and remember Aaron Bass waving to him out of the corner of his eye. It was moments like that that typically drove him to the need for a quick hook up after a shift or a hunt. Especially when he’d been left to reminisce for too long.

There was no chance of that happening any time soon. Dean figured he’d either need to keep his head in the game or move his ‘encounters’ somewhere else. He wasn't sold yet on leaving Castiel alone overnight but they had a year. Hopefully Dean wouldn't have to take up any Mother Superior celibacy vows for his last year on earth.

He could always get rid of that pent up stress in the shower. It wasn't like it'd be the first time. It made his time in the shower all the more relaxing when he was completely spent by the end of it.

Dean thought back to how a shower could start with the heat and the lather of soap running down his chest and hips to white mounds at his feet. How, then, Dean would trace the curve of his muscles from his shoulder down to his nipples, lingering there enough to tease them and tweak them till they were hard. How one hand would continue its path over his abdomen and hips and meet the length between his thighs.

He wasn't a teenager anymore. Gone were the days of having to pump out a quick one before Sam needed the bathroom. Now he was older and knew every inch of himself. He knew what spots needed that extra amount of pressure. Where he’d drag his fingers from the base up to under the head. He knew what each part of him felt like under his palm as he’d stroke slowly at first with the soap making a smooth glide. His hand curling around himself softly but increasingly tighter with each motion.

It was much better when he’d shared his showers. It's why he built his so big in the first place. Far too many times, Dean had one or both hands flat on the tiles in front of him, holding him upright and steady. The warmth of the water running over his head and down his back had nothing on the breath of someone behind him whispering lewd commentary into his ear. Then, that had nothing on the moment those lips gave up on forming words and were put to better use mouthing his earlobe or biting into his shoulder.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Now definitely wasn't the time to be reminiscing. Though the more he thought of strong hands fisting at him from behind, their own erection nestled up against Dean's ass, the more Dean would always try to get a glimpse of them.

Through now closed lids, Dean looked behind him, somehow hoping the mystery man from his memory would still be there. Instead of some faceless man from however many encounters, he was met with eyes bluer than any he’d ever seen before. Eyes that belonged to someone still in his home. Someone that was the reason for him being in a damn hardware store in the first place.

Dean's eyes shot open and he clenched his jaw. He didn't just think about Castiel in his shower with him. He didn't. Thankfully, he was still alone in the middle of a Home Depot aisle, though he was breathing a little heavier and the fabric in the front of his jeans had started to tighten. He even had his hand gripped tight around one of the curtain rods and once he realised, he almost dropped it trying to put it back into place.

A passing elderly couple looked down the aisle just as Dean managed to get the curtain rods balanced again. He shot them a quick smile and backed away from the messy stack.

No way could he think about Castiel like that. He barely knew him, as if that was an issue with his hookups before. He was an Angel and he was Dean’s ‘slave’. Dean cringed again at the word but he needed to say it. Needed to think it. Castiel wasn't even human. He couldn't think about him in any way other than hopefully, eventual friend.

Right now he was the stray cat Dean had bought home. No. He wasn't even that. That made Dean out to be some kind of Saint. Taking in something homeless and broken out of charity.

Dean was much worse.

The vicious cycle kept spinning in his head. God, he hoped Angels didn't have some secret mind reading thing too. He couldn't take it if Castiel could see into the spiralling sack of sh*t that was Dean's head. Not only owning some holier than thou creature, but apparently wanting him as well.

He needed to focus. It was when he let his mind wander like this that the worst of him really came out. Dean grabbed a simple black curtain rod and gave it a quick once over, making sure the dimensions were both long enough and would work with the fittings he’d grabbed off the shelf. Good. That just left the actual curtain.

You’d think a home improvement store would have a wider selection of curtains. Sure, it's not what they're known for. They're just there to help you get it up.

Put it up.

Put the railing up.

Still, Dean would have thought they'd have more than a handful to choose from. There was a small stack of them folded neatly into squares in plastic packaging that showed the colour, but labelled the opacity.

It boiled down to mostly see through, a little see through, or hospital room might-as-well-be-dry-wall dividing. Dean sighed and ran his free hand over his face. He really didn't want to make another stop somewhere else to browse curtains. He wasn't that domestic. He just needed a quick slap up job he could finish in an afternoon. Preferably before his next shower.

With the constant looming thought of even the possibility of Castiel using his shower as much as he did, Dean grabbed at the first curtain that wasn't entirely see through and head for the register. Taking a quick inventory of everything in his hands, he figured this shouldn't be too difficult of a job. The fittings would hang down and cradle the rod. The curtain had pre made holes along the top and could just slide easily over it. The best part was it would go all the way across, so there'd be no accidental sticky-beaking.

As he approached the register and started dumping his various supplies on the counter, he gave the check out chick a quick smile. She tried striking up a conversation but Dean just wasn't in the mood. On a good day, he’d have gotten her number and left with a half promise but he couldn't get Castiel out of his head and he couldn't even convince himself it was in an innocent way.

Maybe it had just been too long since his last hookup and his brain was fried. If that was true, he should have been all over the young blonde trying to get his attention. But forever reason, he just couldn't.

The only comment he did actually hear was on the style of curtains he’d grabbed. Something about her place having the same style, but in a different colour. Hers was a dark orange and complimented her bedroom very well. Apparently Dean had grabbed a Royal blue. Perfect, he thought to himself, sarcastically. At least it'd match the darker blue curtains on the window.

Once everything was bought and bagged, he head out to his Baby and all but dove into her arms. Here's hoping the drive home would be easier than the drive out.

XXXXXXXXXXX

It wasn't. If anything, the drive back had been worse than the drive out to Home Depot. He tried to think of anything else, but he couldn't. Nothing could stop him thinking about the Angel living in his apartment. It was only fair. He sold his soul, gained a permanent roommate and pissed off his brother in the process, it was only natural that Castiel was all he could think about.

Dean's head was flooded with him. He was thinking of ways to talk to him, ways to make him more comfortable, ways to make him hate Dean less. He couldn't help but think of his dark tousled hair and permanently sullen expression. The drive back was only a couple of hours but those hours were filled with the blue eyed Angel. If Dean had one more year of this, he was going to go insane.

One thing he did decide on the drive home was that they were at least in the same boat. They both wanted to know more about the other. Castiel had made that much perfectly clear when he picked his breakfast apart. It'd go a hell of a lot smoother if they both just sat down and asked whatever they wanted to ask.

Nothing was particularly stopping them. The only problem would have been Dean. He wasn't one to share anything at the best of times, let alone with an Angel. Though it was the least he could do, that didn't mean he was happy about it. Opening up is how you got yourself hurt. Or killed.

By the time he pulled into his carpark, the sun was almost down. He’d spent far longer in Hays than he meant to and he ‘accidentally’ took a detour on the way home to try and clear his head but it hadn't worked.

Dean grabbed the plastic bag from the passenger seat as well as the curtain rod he’d positioned down the length of the car And was left to hang slightly out the passenger window. It took a little maneuvering but if he managed to get it in, he could manage to get it out again. He closed the door behind him, locked it, and made his way inside.

He paid little attention to who was working and made his way straight up to his apartment. Each step he took only made him more nervous. He was, well, not afraid to enter his own home but yeah, nervous. Dean knew the Angel was going to turn his life upside down but he hadn't fully prepared himself. He had really only given himself five days to really think about it and prepare in whatever way he could. Five months probably wouldn't have been enough. Not really. He had no idea what to expect.

That was a lie. He knew what to expect. Though what he got was entirely different.

It threw him off that Castiel wasn't immediately hostile towards him. Dean was more or less on his guard 24/7 as it was. He was raised that way. It made sense to him in his own, messed up way to have that mindset carry on after the ‘trade’ but Castiel wasn't like that. Some part of him knew the moment he saw those stupid too-blue eyes on the picture in his phone. Dean didn't think too much of the other Angels. He didn't study them the way he studied the broken, defeated Angel that now shared his home.

At the top of the stairs, he hovered his hand in front of the handle for a moment. He’d done this far too often now, hesitating before entering his own home. Castiel was here now. If he couldn't learn to at least begin to relax around someone that apparently didn't want him dead, he'd undoubtedly go insane.

Juggling the pole, the bag and his keys, he managed to push through the door without giving it too much thought. More than he already had, anyway. Castiel was still at the table reading the same Vonnegut from this morning. Dean had been gone most of the day. Surely he hadn't been reading the entire time he was out. Dean closed the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter.

“You been there the whole time?”

Castiel didn't turn to face him. He turned his head slightly in acknowledgement, but kept his eyes on the book in front of him.

“I didn't want to presume any privileges.”

Dean paused for a moment. He kept repeating to himself that they were on the same path. In the same boat. Whatever. Even if some piece of crap contract said Castiel was Dean's ‘property’, that was just the formalities. Dean kept comparing their situation to Benny and Bobby but truth was, it was entirely different. Benny wanted to gut Bobby from the day he met him. It took months of fighting his Mark and shaky ground between them before they even talked to each other, let alone build what they had now.

Castiel was so very different to Benny. Other than the obvious. Though, all of it seemed obvious, really. One was born of blood. A lifetime plus of murder and bloodshed. It made sense that he was a little resigned when someone finally slapped a leash on him.

The other was … Dean didn't even know yet. He wanted to. All he knew was that he was good. He didn't know how to explain it, even to himself, but there was a warmth that came from him in almost tangible waves. As soon as Dean saw him, the craziness in his head stopped and something in him was calmer. It must have been some heavenly side effect. You didn't get a reputation as an all loving messenger of God by being a douchebag all the time. Right?

Dean carried the bag and the rod and dumped them gracelessly on the bed. There was no point putting this off. He was itching from equal parts ‘wanting the curtain up’ and ‘needing another shower’, even though his hurried shower this morning hadn't left him as tense as he expected. He unpacked everything from his bag as he thought to his rushed time in the bathroom earlier, scrubbing at his skin and hair in a desperate attempt to leave without inconveniencing Castiel.

He’d had rushed showers before when he’d slept through his alarm or had one too many the night before. That ended with a hurried scrub down as well. Dean wasn't in the habit of working without at least a quick once over. A shower in a can was never quite enough to cut it. Not when he’d be working in a kitchen for most of the day.

Each of those showers had left him as tense as he was before he got in them. His hurried shower this morning though… He didn't leave the bathroom with the usual tensing in his shoulders he would have had any other day.

As he unpacked the contents of the bag onto the bed, Dean stole a quick glance at the curtains over his window. Then he remembered. He showered late this morning. Much later than he usually did. That meant he didn't catch the sun as it shone into his room. His shower wasn't washed in the blue that usually filled it come daybreak. He’d had plenty of mornings where he’d wished he’d had it. He couldn't remember one when he’d forgotten about it entirely.

Dean ran a free hand over his face and tried to disregard it. His whole routine was thrown off in one way or another. This was just another casualty.

With all the pieces strewn across his poorly made bed, Dean moved to grab one of the free chairs from the table Castiel was still sitting at. Not expecting anything from him, Dean was a little surprised when Castiel offered his help.

“May I be of assistance?”

It was an opening. Dean would be damned if he wasn't going to take it.

“Actually, yes.”

Castiel looked up from the book, probably not expecting Dean to actually take him up on his offer. He immediately stood, his tan trench coat falling into place as he rose. Dean scoffed a little, but he couldn't help it. Castiel had said he was a soldier. If that wasn't a stand to attention, Dean didn't know what was.

That's good. He could start with that. Though it would be infinitely harder to talk if he just stood there with him. At least moving the chair to the far side of the glass gave him something to physically do while he asked.

“What was it like? Being a soldier of God?”

Dean almost didn't have to look back to know what expression Castiel was wearing. The silence between them spoke in volumes. Dean looked up to the roof, keeping his hands on the sides of the chair and positioned it under where the first fitting would go. He briefly looked back to Castiel, his face the image of confusion with his eyes squinted and brow furrowed. There was something else there too, but Dean couldn't work out what. Fear, maybe?

Satisfied with the chairs placement, he walked past Castiel to the small laundry to fish out his once-used cordless drill. At least it was still charged.

“Come on man,” He started as he passed in front of Castiel. “You’re stuck with me for a year. We may as well get the small talk out of the way.”

The drill whirred to life a few times as Dean played with the trigger on the way back to the bed. By the time he pulled all the fittings and screws from their boxes, Castiel still hadn't answered. Dean was about to ask again when he finally spoke.

“Why is that of interest to you?”

If Dean stopped to really assess why he was asking, he may actually cave altogether. He wants to know about Castiel. He knows Castiel wants to know about him. It made sense. The fact he doesn't particularly like opening up is something he needed to skim over entirely. Not everyone could handle what a pile of sh*t he was behind that door. Instead, he kept his attention focused on picking out the right screws.

“Come on. Humour me.”

He really pretends to focus on the drill in his hand but the lack of an answer is far more distracting. After eventually securing the first fitting to the ceiling, he realised just asking isn't going to get him anywhere. Dean stepped back off the chair, gently tossing the drill back onto the bed as he moved the chair to the other end.

“Alright, how about this.” Dean turned to face Castiel, crossing his arms unintentionally before realising that may come off as defensive. He let his arms hang awkwardly at his sides, swinging them a little to give them something to do.

“You only entertained breakfast as a backdoor way to learn a little about me. You could have just asked, but it was easier for you to obtain the information yourself. You wanted to know either because I bought you -” Dean flinched at the word, before continuing, “ - and you want to know what you're getting into, or because you've heard of the Winchesters, like most beasties have, and want to know what truth is in it seeing as you're stuck here anyway. How am I doing so far?”

Castiel, still with his brow furrowed and lips pursed tight, nodded slightly.

“Super.” Dean nodded. “So, I propose we have a little ‘getting to know you’ session, only more questions and less Julie Andrews.” Just as Castiel co*cked his head and started to, obviously, express his confusion at the reference, Dean put a hand up to stop him. “Never mind. You want to know about me. I want to know about you.” He sighed, hoping this served as a half decent excuse to get to the root of why he brought him home in the first place. “I’ll even let you start.”

Dean grabbed the drill back off the bed, along with the other fitting and stepped up on the chair again, letting Castiel think about his question. Dean already had his. He asked it already. He was giving him the courtesy of jumping the queue in hopes it might make him a little more open. He’d just positioned the fitting parallel to the other one and was just about ready to drill it in when Castiel finally spoke.

“How long have you lived here?”

Ok. Not the question he was expecting. But it was an easy one, nonetheless.

“Here? About four years. That's when I finished building the bar downstairs and everything was habitable. I moved in just before the place was really up and running. Wanted to check for any issues before we opened.”

That seemed to satisfy his question. Dean drilled the fitting into place and hopped back off the chair.

“So? What was it like? Being a soldier?”

As Castiel answered, he pulled the ‘Azure Blue’ (according to the packaging) curtain out of its plastic wrapping and straighten it out. Castiel had taken his seat again at the table, only he’d turned the chair to face Dean and watch him. Dean, in turn, watched him out of the corner of his eye and didn't miss the sadness on his face as he spoke.

“An Angel is a weapon. They’re powerful and they're absolute. Their only purpose is to follow the orders given to them by God.” Dean wanted to interrupt. He wanted to ask if it was his orders that had him locked up with Crowley but it wasn't his turn yet. He started to feed the rod through the rings on the curtain.

“As a soldier, each garrison was assigned a different duty. Some fought the battles against demons. Some waited for a prophet to be revealed so that they may guide him. It was my garrison's mission to watch. At first. The missions often changed.”

Just as Dean parted his lips to ask for more, Castiel continued.

“Where did you live before this?”

Dean definitely expected much harder questions, especially with some of the ones he had in mind for Castiel. Maybe he was working up to the hard ones.

“If I wasn't up in South Dakota with my not-a-dad, it was in my Baby on the road. My real dad died about 10 years ago then Bobby took us in. Not like we weren't old enough to get sh*t done ourselves but he had this protective complex and made some promise to our dad to keep us safe. My bed was there but I’d be out on the road mostly. So sort of half and half, I guess.”

He looked up from the menial task in his hands to see Castiel all but hanging on every word. His turn. Alright.

“So what happened?” Castiel squinted his eyes in confusion. “You didn't go from ‘Angel of the Lord’ to domestic house cat for nothing right?” Castiel averted his gaze. He’d already brought this up. Though last time it was asked a little harsher. This time, he approached with caution.

“Bobby thinks it was because you fought the other Angels. That you tried to keep the apocalypse on track when they tried to stop it.” Maybe this was too heavy of a question to dive headfirst into. It was a bit late. It was out now. May as well follow through and see what he could get. “Was that you?”

Castiel looked down to his hands as he played with his fingers. He was either avoiding the question or thinking up some way around it. Dean knew that look. He’d worn it a thousand times himself. When he finally answered, his voice was quiet and Dean had to pause to hear him properly.

“It’s not my place to comment on the inclination of Angels.”

Figuring that was as much as he was going to get, Dean stood with the curtain rod in both hands. He was expecting another random question to pop out of his mouth. Something like his favourite colour or if he has any hobbies. Instead, Castiel continued softly;

“What matters is that it was stopped. Why does it matter how?”

Dean pressed his lips together, a physical effort to stop probing at something Castiel clearly didn't want to talk about. Luckily, it was his turn.

As Dean finished hanging the curtain and tested its stability, they made their way through some fairly safe questions, as far as Castiel's were concerned. He’d asked Dean if there was anyone he shared his life with, if he still hunts and about the bar. He seemed to enjoy the the small details more than anything else.

Dean could see him fighting to keep a smile from coming through too strongly but he wasn't sure why. Angels were light and grace. Perfect. How could the almost domestic life of one human be remotely interesting to someone or something like that.

His own questions ranged from easy to not so easy and Castiel was always reluctant to answer. When he asked what got him locked up with Crowley, he simply stated that he’d failed in his duties. When Dean asked if he had any one before, unsure if Angels formed relationships the way humans tended to, the sadness in his eyes was crushing. He didn't think he could look any more broken than he had in that photo on TV but he’d managed. Dean dropped that one pretty quick and let him move on to the next question.

When he asked if Angels had families, he’d said they were all brothers and sisters. None were closer on a familial level, or something, but you did grow closer to some of your siblings which was understandable. Especially when there were a few thousand, at least.

They were learning. That much was true. Even if it wasn't specifically what Dean had in mind, he was still knowing more and more about Castiel through the stories he told. At some point in the night, they’d gone off on a different tangent entirely. The questions turned into stories of Castiel's long, long existence.

Castiel said he was at the shoreline when the first fish made a break for land. He told Dean about the brutal sacrifices of the Mayans, about the pyramids of Egypt, which Dean vaguely remembered from history class, though admittedly he was far more interested in the cute girl that sat next to him at the time.

Castiel described the eruption of the city of Athens as it came to host the first Olympic Games as an honour to Zeus and the Greek Gods. He went into great detail on the Battle of Plataea when the Persians suffered two hundred and fifty thousand casualties compared to the 159 of the Greek. Castiel told him all sorts of stories, and he told them a hell of a lot better than the textbooks in high school.

Dean had a passing knowledge of most of it. If he didn't have some mental note tucked away from the few lessons he turned up for in school, he sure as hell knew them from enough pop culture. Hell, 300 Was one of his favourite movies. Leonidas was a badass.

It was the other stories that caught Dean's attention. Dean thought most of those stories were cooked up by some jackasses trying to write a half interesting book of fiction.

Turns out the better half were true, only written very one sided. He told Dean about the Tower of Babel, David and Goliath, the story of Cain and Abel, only with the extra details of Colette who was apparently Cain's wife. They’d left her out of the books because of what happened. Apparently the bible didn't appreciate her loving Cain even though he was a demon. There was a whole mess of details left out from their story apparently.

They'd entirely lost track of asking each other questions in favour of listening to Castiel's stories. Castiel had warmed up considerably since the conversation started. His body had lost most of the tension that had followed him back from the crossroads. He had even genuinely smiled at recalling some of the events, even if they ended in a ‘tragedy from the human perspective’. His words.

It didn't matter what atrocity humans either caused or just caught up in. Whether it was war or natural disaster or disease, Castiel was constantly surprised at how well they bounced back. They always had faith, in themselves if not in whatever God they believed in.

It was long into the night before either of them stopped talking. Dean had shoved the remnants of the plastic wrappings from the fittings onto the floor. He’d deal with them tomorrow. Or later today. Whatever time it was. Dean was sitting at the head of his bed with his legs stretched out and his arms crossed over his chest. Castiel didn't think it was defensive. It was comfortable. Dean was listening intently.

Castiel had just finished explaining how it was important to allow Pompeii to be swallowed rather than alter the work of fate when Dean let out a yawn without warning. He covered his mouth with one hand, using the other to lean across the bed and check the time.
“Dude, it's past one. We should call it.”

Realising his mistake, he quickly corrected himself.
“I mean me. I should call it.” Dean sat forward, the full weight of how tired he actually was had already started to sink in. “Do you want to read another book or something while I’m out? You can keep the lamp on, I won't mind.”

Castiel looked back to Dean’s small collection of books. If he was going to read every night when Dean went to bed, he’d have to up his collection. Dean would have to grab some more for him when he could. He’d get Castiel to write a list.

When Castiel turned back, he stood almost immediately from the foot of the bed. He’d been perched at the end of it since Dean asked how old he was and the stories started in the first place.

It was probably when he started in on Cain and Abel when Dean had made himself comfortable. He’d undone his shoes and left them at the door before returning to the bed and laying across it for the next few hours. Though it was starting to get cold, Dean would never sleep in more than a shirt and boxer briefs. He ran hot. It made winter nights a lot easier, but made summers remarkably more uncomfortable.

When Castiel moved towards the table, heading for the Vonnegut he’d forgotten earlier, Dean took the opportunity to quickly shed his jeans and over shirt and slide under the blankets. He tried not to make it awkward but truth was, the first few nights were going to be awkward regardless.

On one side, at least Castiel didn't want to kill Dean. That was something. But on the other, he didn't sleep. He’d be awake for the next few hours till the sun rose and Dean, with it. It was unsettling, but there was no way to avoid it.

Though something in the last few hours had considerably relaxed both of them. It was so good just to talk and lose themselves in the talking. It wasn't even really about anything personal. For Dean anyway. It was history and the Bible, which Dean only read when he’d found out about Angels. It was fascinating hearing the boring tales told from the perspective of someone who was actually there.

So once Castiel had picked up the book and sat where Dean had found him earlier, he settled in the bed with his guard further down that it had been in years. As he reached over to flick the main light off by the switch above his side table, Castiel turned back to him for the last time tonight as smiled.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Not knowing what to reply, he smiled back and flicked the light off. Castiel had turned the lamp on over the stove in the kitchen. It was bright enough that Castiel could read by it, but not so much that it bothered Dean. Being somewhat around a corner, it didn't glare at him angrily. Rather, it lit the room in a soft yellow glow which seemed to warm it considerably. This was fine. He could do this. He could sleep and have Castiel in the same room. Hopefully that sleep lasted till morning.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

“Look, man, how do you know until you’ve tried it?”

Castiel stared back at Dean with with an anger that wasn't quite a glower, and a little shy of a scowl. He hadn't been angry with Dean since he first met him almost a week ago. Since then, they’d fallen pretty easily into a comfortable flow. Well, not entirely uncomfortable anyway. It had taken a few days for Dean to adjust to having someone in the room with him while he slept. That little voice in the back of his head that usually told him when something was wrong didn't seem to mind and Dean's usual nightmares hadn't torn him from his sleep.

If half decent sleep was a side effect of an Angel roommate, it was one Dean was more than happy to accept.

“Dean, I don't understand why you feel this is of any import.” The impatience that had started to swell in the Angel was now creeping over into frustration. Dean knew why he was pushing this. Not ‘pushing’ so much as ‘using a gentle persuasion’. It wasn't just that it was fun to torment him.Castiel would be better off having tried it at least. If he was going to be here, he may as well take full advantage?

“It's not ‘of import’ but you’ll probably like it. I do it every day. Sometimes twice.”

“I’m not human Dean. I have no need -”

“But you’ve never done it? How would you know?”

Dean was teasing more than anything else. He’d seen the way Castiel would huddle in the nearest corner when Dean so much as mentioned having a shower.

The curtain Dean had hung worked well enough. You couldn't see through it on either side, so there shouldn't have been an issue. The only problem was a curtain didn't make the glass soundproof so Dean couldn’t enjoy himself as much as he wanted. He’d gone over a week without so much as touching himself which was setting a new record but, if he was honest, he hadn't felt the need.

Unless his brain decided to run off like it had in the hardware store.

The want was there. Sweet gods above, the want was there. Dean had spiralled down into a dark and tragic pit of finding his angelic room mate far more attractive than he had any right to. He shovelled the guilt from wanting the Angel on top of the growing pile of filth and horse sh*t he had tucked away in the back of his head.

It was a dark and foul place if anyone dared to go looking. Thankfully, no one could. He was a little worried the Angel might but he hadn't tried yet. Surely a frontal brain probing would have been an easier and sneakier move than super powered taste buds.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ve got some stuff to take care of downstairs. The new kid is starting soon and I want to make sure Meg doesn't scar the poor thing on their first day. Just give it a go?”

Castiel turned from Dean who was now at the front door shrugging on an over shirt to wear to the bar. If Dean didn't know any better, he’d say he was looking through the bathroom door and into the shower itself. He probably was.

Despite the last few days and the few choice conversations, Dean still didn't know too much about Castiel. He knew about the Angel part of him, sure. But that was like someone knowing the hunter part of Dean. Under the hunter, Dean had several other layers of ugly and guilt and self loathing. Surely there was more to Castiel than just an Angel of the Lord, former or otherwise.

Dean grabbed the keys from the kitchen counter and rested his hand on the doorknob.

“Just try it? Fresh towels are in the laundry cupboard behind you” he offered, gesturing to the closed doors behind Castiel. “I won't be too long but if you get bored, TV remote is on the table and you're more than welcome to any books you haven't read yet.” With a sudden idea, he continued, “How do you feel about video games?” Castiels confused expression more than answered for him. “Never mind. I’ll be back soon.”

If someone had said he kept his ear to the door after he’d closed it, Dean would've called them a damn liar. Truth was, he was waiting for the sound of running water either through the closed door or in the rattling pipes in the walls. After what would be considered long enough, he continued down the stairs and away from the silence in his apartment.

It was just this side of the dinner shift when Dean spotted the new kid coming through the door. She had something about her as well. It was uncanny. He’d interviewed a few kids who needed the extra money outside of school and none of them really stood out. Dean was starting to believe this ‘spark’ that each of his staff had was something out of the ordinary. Maybe he was just getting really good at picking who’d be perfect for the job.

The new girl was going to be a firecracker. Dean knew that much from the first words out of her mouth. One part of him wanted to chuck her on a shift with Meg see who tore the other apart first. Meg wanted to be here. She was all for getting information from regulars and now, learning to hunt properly. New girl was forced to ‘give it a go’ by her foster mother who’d been a friend of Dean’s for years.

Jody gave him a call whenever word of a case rolled by. She was remarkably close to Bobby as well. Even though she was still the Sheriff in Sioux Falls, Bobby had talked her into letting Claire come and work with Dean. Apparently the kid needed guidance. Jody had somewhat adopted her when she was 17 where she was in and out of group homes after her mother died.

She took on a somewhat rebellious streak. She had a mini rap sheet of minor offences like shoplifting, vandalism and a count or two of minor assault but Jody had managed to more or less sweep it under the rug.

Jody had promised Dean she was a good kid. She just took the death of her mother and her father vanishing pretty hard, which was understandable. Dean could almost relate. His own mother had been dead since he was four.

Claire was 19 so she still technically wasn't allowed behind the bar. That wouldn't be an issue. Garth and Meg had that pretty well sorted anyway. She’d mostly be hanging out with Ash in the back helping with dishes and food prep. Not like the job was rocket science but it should be enough to keep her out of trouble. It was her first year out of school and she already had far too much free time on her hands, according to Jody.

When she arrived for her shift on a quiet Monday night, she’d washed up a little better then when Jody introduced them. Then, she’d had her blonde hair braided down one side, out and unbrushed on the other. She had dark, smokey makeup around her eyes that reminded Dean of a raccoon and he was a little more than thankful she’d be out the back with Ash and not mingling with the customers yet. When he saw her now, she was almost a different person.

Her hair was braided in two plaits that rested on her shoulders and her makeup was gone. Or, at least, not as scary as it had been. She’d changed from her ripped jeans and ‘Classy and sh*t’ tee into a neat black pants and a simple black shirt. Though, it didn't matter if she toned down her appearance for work, her personality clearly wasn't going anywhere.

“Evening, Hasselhoff. Where do you want me?” Her lips curled up into a mischievous smile that reminded him of Meg's, only infinitely warmer. Dean scoffed lightly, gesturing to the kitchen doors.

“Follow me.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ash and Claire got on like a house on fire. At first glance, you wouldn't expect them to have much in common. Ash was a genius. M.I.T. level genius. Claire was a kid who’d swapped schools one too many times and seemed to cause trouble everywhere she went. On second thought, maybe she was a little too much like Dean.

Dean bounced between the kitchen and the bar, chatting with whoever had a spare minute. With the new hours looking like they could start pretty soon, he’d have to get them accustomed to the change of shifts. Not a whole lot was done during the late nights early in the week anyway but it was still a change from what they were used to. Instead of sweeping or polishing glasses, they'd be out hunting.

That was another item on the agenda. To sort out a completely different roster for training.

It was getting close to knock off time for almost everyone except for Meg. She’d started alternating shifts with Garth pretty regularly and she wasn't too sh*tty about it. Yet. She was like a bomb waiting to go off and Dean half expected it every time he saw her.

When the bulk of the orders had dwindled to a few plates of buffalo wings and a couple of sliders, Dean made his way back into the kitchen. To his surprise, Claire had finished all the dishes and put them away and was chatting up a storm with Ash. Debating, or arguing may have been more accurate. Ash turned from scraping the excess grease from the grill to face Claire.

“We’d still need info from the holy rollers before we can-”

“But once we have the data we can still -”

“They’re in human vessels! ”

“Am I interrupting?”

Both Ash and Claire turned to Dean, somewhat startled. They apparently hadn't heard him come through the doors. Each of them shot a guilty look back to each other before exchanging another conversation through their eyes alone.

Claire clearly wanted to tell Dean but Ash was trying to play it down. Ash was usually the first to tell Dean if he’d come up with some info or a crazy scheme or whatever. For some reason, he was resigned at this one.

Claire's silent convincing had won over, it seemed. She beamed up at Dean like she had the answers to the universe in her next words. She wasn't far off.

“I think Ash can track the Angels.”

Dean stood in the doorway, paused for probably a little longer than he’d have liked. He was still processing. Track the Angels? At least three had gone missing before Michael's little going away party. If they could find them, then super. The only ones he knew were still in play were the two that had already been bought by the time he got to the crossroads… And Castiel.

What got them on this line of thinking in the first place? Dean was getting ahead of himself and the look they both gave him from not speaking was starting to get worrying.

“Track them?”

Claire nodded enthusiastically while Ash gave more of an obligatory and forced smile.

“How?” He stopped Claire from answering too quick. What had Jody, or Bobby, put in her head about Angels? “No not ‘how’, I mean why?” He thought again. “But yeah, also how? How did this come up? You guys have known each other for 20 minutes.”

The beaming light of excitement radiating from Claire's face had started to dull, but only slightly.

“I called Macgyver out on his mullet and he started bitching that Macgyver had nothing on him. That led to computer talk which led to him teaching me how to create fake credit cards for hunting,” Dean shot Ash an unimpressed look for corrupting the poor girl, rap sheet or no, “then that led to technology in hunting. Specifically, tracking.”

It wasn't the first time Dean and Ash had toyed with the idea but it was always tossed aside. Shifters were virtually impossible. Obvious reasons. Demons could be tracked but it would be near impossible. You'd have to monitor weather patterns and all sorts of crap neither of them had time for. Witches, generally speaking were all registered in a coven of sorts so that was never too hard. Hell, one ran the general store down the road. Broadly speaking, it'd be a nightmare unless it was really, really important. Maybe this qualified.

One thing was still a little unsettling. Claire was clearly all for it. Ash however…

“Ash?”

By now, he’d turned back to the grill and had continued scraping it down with the back of a spatula. It didn't add up. Till now, Ash had always been on board with, if not the actual instigator, when it came to technology in the field. Dean's watch was still chipped with GPS and some kind of heart rate monitor that alerted Ash if it got too high or showed any kind of danger signs.

When he’d finished scraping the last of the grease off and wiping it on a nearby cloth, he met Dean's questioning gaze again and sighed.

“We’ve done this before, man. I told you then and i’ll tell you now, the variables can't count for everything. It's not a practical application for string theory when you don't know how they move the way they move. The best we can do is find out where they were.

“Remember when we tried tracking that demon? We had all the info we could muster.” Ash counted the list off on his fingers. “We had cross-spectrum correlations, non parametric statistical overviews; we had lists of corresponding signs, omens, crop failures, electrical storms but it meant jack sh*t! It only told us where he was at the time or where he’d just left. Or a ballpark area anyway.” He sighed, defeatedly.

Dean remembered how pissed Ash had been when he couldn't get the numbers right. They’d played around with it a few times before but they always ended up one step behind. Or, more accurately, one victim behind. There wasn't any data or pattern they ever put in that could predict their flight paths.

“We could never pinpoint. Without a practical application or knowledge of string theory, there’s no way to accurately predict where they're going to fly off to next.”

If they could fly. Castiel had said his wings had been damaged. Was that the same with the others too?

“Well, Claire seems excited.” He nodded back in her direction where she was firmly planted, arms crossed in front of her. “What's different this time?”

Not allowing Ash to ruin her streak, she continued for him.

“Facial recognition.”

Dean's brow shot up, not entirely sure that was even a real thing.

“Isn't that reserved for procedural cop shows?”

Ash wiped the remaining grease and mess from his hands on the white apron in his lap. With an eye roll that Dean didn't miss, Ash reached up to the small cabinet near the kitchen doors and brought down his laptop which had been on charge. Dean knew one day Ash would be able to be more than four feet from his computer at all times. It seemed, however, today was not that day.

Having grabbed a clean towel from under the closest steel bench, Ash gave it a quick wipe over before setting the laptop on top and opening it. He’d had this monstrosity for years. Dean was half surprised it was still running. Ash had rigged it up with God only knows what cables and extra bits and pieces all around the outside. Dean wasn't the best with computers, but apparently it allowed Ash to do all sorts of illegal hunting crap off the grid.

With a few taps on the keyboard, it was brought to life and a program was taking up the full screen. It was like it was pulled right out of a movie. Photos of street corners and subway stations littered a dull grey background with lines and random text all over the screen.

“Hold up, if you've only just talked about this, how do you already have -” Dean gestured vaguely at the screen, “ - all this ready to go?”

The keys fell silent as Ash’s fingers slowed to a stop.
“I've been toying with it over the last week seeing as you want to take the kidlets out past their curfew. Thought it could help find us some of the small town stuff to play with till they're old enough to leave the nest.”

Dean kept his focus on the screen in front of him. Each photo, which looked like it was either pulled from security footage or traffic cameras, had one face from the crowd selected with a square around their head. With a slow realisation creeping in and gripping onto his stomach like a strong claw, Dean looked up to the search target. It was a small photo in the corner of the screen and must have served as the parameters for the software to search for.

Dean would know that floppy mess of hair anywhere.

“You’re tracking Sam?”

Ash finally smiled, if only a short one.

“It was a test, more than anything else.”

“A test?”

“Now I know how well the program works. Plus, I got some stalker info on your gigantor brother.”

The pictures flickered quickly over each other. There was more than a few. Ash wasn't lying when he’d said he’d been playing with it for a week. Photos popped up of Sam and Jess walking from campus to a diner not to far away. One of Sam leaving a grocery store with a couple of plastic bags on each arm.

They even had a picture of Sam coming and going from a few choice jewellers on his own. If that wasn't screamingly obvious, Dean didn't know what was. He couldn't have held back the smile that creeped onto his face if he wanted to.

“Sam, you sly dog…” Dean forced his knowing grin back down where it came from and tried to continue the conversation. “So what, you want to chuck in the faces of the missing Angels? We don't even know what they look like.”

Resuming the clicking on the keyboard, Ash typed something that brought up several new pictures. Two were ones he’d already seen. The other man and woman from the ‘batch’ Castiel was with. The worry hadn't had a chance to catch up with him before a picture of Castiel wasn't too far behind.

Trying his best to stifle any kind of reaction to that same face that had haunted him before it actually started haunting him, he noticed the last three pictures. Two were Angels he hadn't seen before.

“They’re Angels?” Ash nodded in confirmation. “How’d you get those? They were far more secretive about the trades back in the day. I didn't even think they were documented.”

“Oh they were, Dean-o. Everything is documented. If you have your tinfoil hat on tight enough you can find just about anything in the government files.”

Dean gave a quick glance back to Claire who was still with her arms folded, but a wry smile on her face. He turned back to the few photos and tried to study them. Maybe he’d seen them before.

“When did you get them? How?”

“Each of the ambassadors kept secret files from the others. Raphael was very organised. He liked to make note of just about everything on the ‘lesser Angels’. Slave or not.” Ash emphasised with air quotations. “We know these two -” He pointed to the other two Dean recognised from the news, “Are Hannah and Gadreel. All sorts of info on them. Gadreel apparently let Lucifer into the Garden back in the day.”

The air was punched from Dean's lungs. If he had a beer in hand, which would have been perfect around now, he would have choked on it.
“The garden? The Garden?”

“Yup that one. I can see why he got sent to the naughty bin.” He typed again till the photo of Hannah took up the screen.

“Raphael wrote that Hannah was the leader of the rebellion during a civil war. Being the leader, she was kept alive for slavery. Everyone else she worked with were killed on sight.” Safe to say, Angels laws were a little more brutal than humans. Not by much though. Humans had killed for a lot less.

A part of Dean wanted to stop while he was ahead. If Ash had Castiel in the system, he’d know why he was, well, where he was. Castiel hadn't told him for a reason. If he wasn't comfortable with it or whatever, Dean didn't want to push it. He needed Castiel on his side and he wasn't going to get him there by digging up dirt on him behind his back. They’d worked so well at actual conversation that'd it'd throw their whole last week down the drain if he blew it now.

But if found out from someone else telling him, he couldn't be held accountable. Right?

“What about the others?”

Ash flicked through the three other photos slowly, pausing on each to give a few details. The first was a thin man in a low cut V neck shirt. He had ‘smug bastard’ written all over his face.

“That's Balthazar. He stole a good pile of Heaven's weapons during a different civil war. Apparently they like their wars up there. This one's Naomi.” He switched photos. This was a woman who seemed more ‘business-like’ than Hannah. Her brown hair was tied back in a bun and she had a look of superiority about herself.

“She apparently tortured and brainwashed a few rebel spies. It helped take the rebels down, but it was still frowned upon.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Dean watched the next photo pop up and knew him instantly.

“That's -”

“Uriel. Yeah, we met. He’s dead so you can cross that one off the list.”

Dean had told him about his encounter with Uriel six or seven years ago. He’d heard, but Ash never saw his face. Ash returned to the computer, clicking away at the keys till the image vanished to a separate corner than the others before the last image was pulled up and Dean could just about pinpoint the moment his stomach tied itself in an ugly knot.

Castiel.

“Last but not least, Castiel.” Dean couldn't form a sentence if he wanted to. He knew it was coming. There were only so many Angels out there and he didn't want to know what happened to him.

That was a lie.

He was dying to know.

He didn't want to want to know. It wasn't his place. If it felt right, Castiel would tell him in time. It wasn't Dean's place to find out for him.

For the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to stop Ash.

“He’s a curious creature. The others had been locked up for years. Gadreel since the dawn of man, for example but Castiel… The only thing it has on him was that his sentence started just over a month ago.”

Dean didn't know if he should be relieved or upset. Castiel was barely in chains by the time Dean got him out, though he still didn't know why. Ashamed at his blatant lack of control, he prodded further.

“Nothing on why?”

“Nope. Just says -” Ash trailed off, searching for more data, “- his sentence was agreed upon by the archangels and other Ambassadors.” With a raised eyebrow, he looked back at Dean before double checking the screen in front of him. “There's one more bit in Enochian and I'm not fluent but…” Ash squinted a little at the screen and read the words out long and slow. “The debt shall serve as punishment, and the punishment shall serve as debt.”

The three of them looked between themselves, each of them equal parts confused. It was Dean that finally asked.

“Well, what the hell does that mean?”

Ash shrugged and pulled up the remaining images so they were aligned on the screen, including Uriel’s, which now had a big red cross over his face.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Angels love their cryptic sh*t.”

The words turned over in Dean's head. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He got the punishment part. No one ended up in the market without some colossal f*ck up over their heads. But the debt? What?

One more thing still hadn't been answered, other than the cryptic Angel riddle.

“Where did you get the pictures?”

Ash closed the laptop and put it back behind Dean on its shelf. Dean stepped out of the way.

“I had the three new ones since they were posted on the news. Bit hard to keep them under wraps if you've made them public. That one was easy. You’ve got your little hot pocket to thank for the other three.” Ash winked at Claire who smiled wide in return.

“Claire?” The look she gave Dean was a look he knew all too well. He’d worn it himself when he was particularly proud of something Sam didn't approve of. That usually translated to one of his many pickups or straight after Dean had done something fairly dangerous on a case. It may have had underlying tones of a sh*t-eating grin, especially given how smug Claire looked right about now. She gave a small shrug, like it should have been common knowledge.

“I had it emailed through, like, ten minutes ago. Bobby's working it which means Jody's working it.” Dean helped her finish.

“Which means you're working on it? Jody lets you hunt?”

Claire uncrossed her arms and shifted where she stood. She stared Dean down before finally replying.

“Well, ‘let’ might be a little generous.”

Dean ran a hand down his face. Bobby was going to kill him if he found out he was letting Claire help. Hell, Jody would skin him. In a very literal sense of the word. One day in his bar, one, and she's already on the hunting bandwagon.

It should have been obvious. Claire had been with Bobby and Jody for the last two years. It was only natural that she’d figure out what they were really doing in their down time, if they didn't up and tell her themselves.

He instantly made the comparison between Claire and Jo and his heart sank a little. Her mom, Ellen, didn't want her in the family business. Said it was too dangerous. Said she wasn't trained. Jo was a stubborn kid who refused to take no for an answer and went out hunting wherever she could anyway. It ended in blood. It always ended in blood. Jo and her mother ended up torn to shreds by hellhounds about five years ago.

Dean tried to push that back down where it came from. It wasn't the time to be nostalgic and he didn't need Jo and Ellen fresh on his conscience again.

Bigger fish were on the table. Ash was going to track down the Angels last known locations which was, at least, a starting point. It was more than they had a day ago. Or it was more than Dean knew they had anyway. Everyone seemed insistent on keeping Dean out of the loop. Claire seemed to know what Bobby and Jody were up to, but not the extent of it.

Ash was still standoffish though. Dean knew why he was reserved. If that facial recognition thing is as good as it looks, it probably won't be long before they pick up that one of them is living literally above their heads. What he didn't know was why Ash didn't seem as keen as Claire was.

“So what's the problem Ash?”

By now, he’d just about finished cleaning one of the grills and started scraping down the other with the back end of a thick spatula.

“It's unorganised. We can't just rock up to wherever the hell the Angels are and ask them whatever we want. Angels are psycho’s, man. They’ll kill you as soon as look at you!”

For the first time this evening, Dean was able to keep his remark to himself.

“Say we do track one down. Brilliant. I’m all for it. I really am. But I’m not too keen on getting my eyes burnt out. We’d need to know more about them first which we can only do if we have more info than we already have. It's a piece of sh*t cycle with not enough information.”

The scraping of the spatula on the metal surface was becoming increasingly rougher.

“I’ve looked, man. If I can't find what I need in 51 hours of poking around, it's not there to be found.”

Dean didn't press him. Ash was damn thorough when it came to research. He knew just about every damn back door and secret tunnel into every police/FBI/medical/government site, documents, whatever. If the information existed, Ash could find it. Though Dean still wasn't sure why it was important.

To the outside world, or the hunting world anyway, the whole thing did seem suspicious. That's why Dean had jumped on board in the first place. Angels and their ‘masters’ going missing. New Angels sent out to probably bring about the same fate.

The sudden ‘revelation’ of where they’d gone was enough to throw Dean off the case entirely. He knew the other Angels were out there but there was nothing he could do for the people. You can't slither your way out of a Crossroads Contract. There was just no way.

As for the Angels themselves, who knows where they fluttered off to. If Uriel was a prancing son of a bitch when Dean first saw him, maybe freedom was just the end of their contract? They were free to go back to terrorising or having wars or whatever it was Angels did in their free time.

Though...

Uriel's wings hadn't been damaged. Why were Castiels? Did it depend on the crime? Was he in one of those civil wars and maybe ‘damaged’ in battle? He said he was a soldier. That was another question for the list entitled “sh*t To Ask Castiel When/If Dean Grew the Balls.”

Seeing that Ash was still sh*tty over the fact he couldn't get the information he needed, Dean decided to let him finish out his shift in peace. Ash was happier when he could work at his own pace and on his own. Dean, fairly impressed with Claire having done her work and faster than he thought she would have, gestured for her to leave the kitchen along with him.

Claire had put in a solid few hours in the back of the kitchen and though she wasn't technically old enough to be working behind the bar… Dean couldn't think of a legit reason for her to be there. If she liked the place and wanted to stick around, she may eventually need to learn it, but that still wasn't much of a reason. Mostly, he just really wanted her to meet Meg.

“Who’s the brat?”
And she didn't disappoint.

“Meg, play nice. This is -”
“Claire. Who's the hag?”

A fire was lit immediately in Meg's dark eyes but she didn't let it spread to the rest of her face. Instead she wore something that seemed rather impressed that a ‘kid’ would speak to her that way. She put down the cloth she’d been pretending to clean with and leant back against the counter where she stood and put on her entirely fake puppy dog eyes.

“Careful, buttercup. That really hurt my feelings.”

Dean shot Claire a quick look who held herself pretty well. She would have been getting this sh*t most of her life, if Jody’s brief run down was anything to go by. In and out of group homes and foster care and a list of minor offences. Meg may finally have met her match.

“Where did you find this one Dean-o?” Meg trailed her eyes down slowly from where she’d met Claire's in a harsh glare. She took her time examining every inch of her from head to toe, pausing in some inappropriate areas, before meeting her stare again. She addressed Dean but didn't look away from the new blonde plaything in front of her. “How did you know I liked them young?”

“Meg.” Dean bit out in warning. He’d had to put an arm across Claire like a soccer mom when she’d stepped forward towards Meg. Meg hadn't flinched. She thought Claire coming at her with a thick scowl on her face was amusing. Or cute even. Meg wasn't as old as Dean but old enough to put an age gap between Claire and herself. Dean hadn't exactly carded her or anything, other than when he checked her resume when he hired her, but she was maybe early thirties. The one thing Dean knew about her was that she was predatory.

Claire was all but growling under her breath when Meg then gave her a seductive wink, followed up with blowing her a kiss. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. Dean was regretting it already.

“Meg, this is Claire. She’s -” Well… If she was with Jody and Jody was with Bobby, whether they denied it or not… “She's family. Behave yourself.”

Meg stood, straightening the black apron that had earned a crease down the centre when she'd sat back.

“She's the new girl, huh?” She approached Claire in slow, calculated steps, like a lioness circling her prey. “Guess you and I are going to be the best of friends.”

Meg reached up, ignoring Claire's obvious flinch and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ears. It must have fallen from her braid during her shift. Dean would be worried but he knew Meg was harmless. Judging by Claire's half smile, she wasn't taking her too seriously either.

If Dean could hazard a guess, he’d say she even enjoyed the challenge.

Summoned away by a gruff customer clearing his throat, Meg looked away from Claire for the first time and smiled sinfully at Dean.

“I owe you a fruit basket.”

Once she’d given her whole attentions to the customer who’d just sat down, Dean gave her a quick introduction to Garth who reacted at the total opposite end of the scale to Meg. He was sweet, shook her hand and gave her a warm and genuine smile. He’d whispered something about ignoring Meg and coming to him if she gets too much. Claire simply responded that she could hold her own.

When Dean had finally let Claire out the door, he’d figured she wasn't such a bad kid. Not after only meeting her twice. She came off stubborn and brattish but she got sh*t done when push came to shove. He’d have to remember to ask Jody what the rules were with her and hunting. If she was for it, he could add Claire to the roster he need to start writing up. He could make a start on it tonight, but would have to check with Jody first. No way in hell did you want to get on Jody Mills’ bad side.

After sending Claire off with her next few shifts scribbled on a piece of paper, Dean finished up whatever he could downstairs before heading back up again. This was, well, not easy. But easier than he thought it'd be. He thought one week in and he’d still be fearing for his life. Turned out one week in and he was more worried about walking in on him naked if he’d taken Dean up on his offer for a shower.

At the top of the stairs, Dean tested the knob briefly and found it was unlocked, just as he’d left it. He had been locking it most of the time. More for Castiels safety than anything else. He didn't want someone peeking their head in from downstairs to ask a question about inventory or something. Not like they ever had before, but there was a first time for everything.

He didn't lock it this time as a quiet show of trust. Who knew if the Angel even understood the concept of locked doors but it also sat better with Dean. If the door was unlocked and Castiel was still there or hadn't burned the place to the ground, intentionally or otherwise, it set in his mind that they could make it work between them. They seemed to be making it work already.

Dean opened the door quietly, for reasons he wasn't too sure of. If Castiel was human, he may have been asleep. It was getting into late night and he didn't intend on being downstairs for so long but with Ash and Claire then Meg it ended up being the ass end of the night.

Castiel acted so normal that it was sometimes easy to forget what he was. Whenever he relaxed into telling Dean some story from a million years ago or when Dean settled down to sleep and he’d pick another book from his bookshelf, he looked remarkably human. It was only in the routine moments, Dean needing food or sleep that it was really forced into his head and he silently cursed for letting him himself forget. For letting himself think he was just an ordinary room mate.

It never went that far. He’d never be anything that plain or normal. Even if he wasn't an angel, there was something about him that set him apart from everybody else. The only thing he could put it down to was his grace. It had to be. What else would make him so…

He refused to write out a list of dramatic, teenage girl descriptions. Castiel was an Angel. Simple as that.

The room was dark except for the warm glow of the light above the stove. The light from the bar couldn't travel high enough up the stairs to allow the room to grow any brighter. Even through the darkness, Dean could make out the faint shadow of Castiel. It threw him off a little at first, squinting to make sure he was seeing what he thought he saw.

Once he saw it wasn't some trick of light, or lack thereof, he gulped thickly. The air in Dean's lungs had long gone. If Dean was honest, he probably left his lungs and his heart and probably his stomach out in the doorway. The last thing he expected to see upon opening the door was a half naked Angel.

Dean tried to look away. He really did. Or he thought he did. He was doing a spectacular job of staring and not moving and he really should. Castiel was standing at the small kitchen table that he stayed at every night. His back was to Dean and he was, from what Dean could make out, he was getting dressed. It was a little hard to make out in the dark but a subtle humidity in the room suggested he had taken up Dean's offer for a shower.

He’d just finished buckling the belt at his pants, but he was yet to put on any of the ill-fitting suit he was so used to seeing. What Dean made out instead was flesh. Too much flesh. Dean was hypnotised by the roll of his shoulders as he reached for the shirt in front of him but that wasn't all. Across his back in a fresh brand was a whole line of some Enochian scribble. There was maybe five letters on the left, a sigil in the centre, and another five letters on the right broken up by dots and hyphens. That's what they were in English anyway. They probably meant something else in Enochian.

Unable to form a sentence, or words at all, Dean found himself silently tracing the letters on his back. He definitely wasn't fluent but he did recognise the letters, just not well enough to know what the combination of them meant.

It wasn't until Castiel had just about put one arm through the white, button up shirt that words fell involuntarily out of Dean's mouth.

“Don't.”

Castiel turned around far slower than if he’d been startled. He was an Angel. What were the chances anybody could sneak up on him? Did he know Dean was there? Staring on like some high schooler? Did he want Dean to? Or didn't Angels care.

Everything was starting to swirl together that made Dean positive his stomach wasn't in the hallway, but doing flips inside him instead. Castiel had stopped. He was looking at Dean with that same questioning brow and seemed in no hurry for a follow up to Dean's comment.

That moment could have lasted forever. It may have. Dean was the only one who aged between the two of them as he felt as if years had passed. Castiel didn't say a thing. He was relaxed. None of the tense shoulders Dean was expecting considering he’d just walked in on him getting dressed. He was almost stone.

Dean on the other hand was a mess. He had a cyclone inside him that didn't know where to stop. One side had his trademark guilt for all but checking Castiel out. Another had a crippling want. A want to close the space between them, shove him back against the table until he kissed him into oblivion. Another part of him desperately wanted to ask about the brand.

He didn't do either. He couldn't.

“You should let me wash it.” Castiel co*cked his head. Dean swallowed again, weakly gesturing to the shirt in Castiel's hands. “Your shirt. I don't know what angel mojo lets your clothes be clean all the time but it's weird. You should let me wash them.”

The silence was tangible. Dean thought he could have been downstairs for five, five more minutes and this could have been avoided. He was somewhat happy it wasn't. He saw his brand. Castiel had to know too. If he knew Dean was standing there, he didn't make a big deal about covering it up.

Dean took a few cautious steps forward, reaching his hand out for the shirt being kneaded between Castiel's fingers. After a brief moment, Castiel handed it to him and finally spoke.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean took the shirt and fumbled, somewhat blindly for the laundry door to throw the shirt into the machine.

“If you want me to wash the rest I’d be happy to. Though probably not the suit jacket. That's probably better off at a dry cleaner.” This was good. If he had something to focus on that wasn't the half naked man in his room, he might go crazy.

Castiel turned and grabbed the socks and tie from the table, but opted to keep his pants and underwear on. Dean didn't know if he was disappointed or relieved.

He tossed them into the machine and chucked them on a delicate setting. He’d never washed a tie in his life. The ones he owned said 'dry clean only' so that's what he did. Surely on a gentle setting, he couldn't do too much harm to it.

Even in the dim light Dean could see the machine was all but empty. He’d grown up learning how to shove every article of clothing into a washer to save the quarter from a second load. It seemed wasteful to only put three things in there. Without looking behind him, Dean shrugged off his jacket before pulling off his over shirt and dark tee.

He could practically feel Castiel's eyes like a laser on the skin of his back. It was terrifying, and all too exciting all at once. Rather quickly, he then toed off his shoes and threw his socks in there too. Still not full, but better than nothing.

Dean closed the door and poured a small amount of detergent in before leaving the machine to its own devices. He wasn't even sure he put it on the right setting, to be honest. His mind was anywhere else. It was committing the brand between Castiel's shoulders to memory. Maybe if he drew it out for Ash or Sam, if Sam would speak to him, they could learn what it meant.

If he wasn't thinking of the brand, he was thinking of the shoulders beneath it. The way the muscles danced under his skin at the simple motion of reaching for a shirt. Dean closed his eyes briefly, fully picturing the curve of his waist and the the way the black pants sat on the edge of his hips. This was insane. He shouldn't think about Castiel this way. He couldn't. But ever since that night when they'd shared so much and Dean was willing to let him watch over him while he slept…

Dean was going down a dangerous road.

The week that had followed was more of the same. Either a comfortable silence or all the talking in the world. Castiel asked Dean about everything. He asked about Sam, about his family, about his car which had left him talking for hours. Castiel didn't even stop him. He just let him go on about the way she’d purr or how many times he’s rebuilt her.

He’d asked about Lisa and Cassie and Dean barely hesitated. He told Castiel everything. He must have known more about Dean in the last eleven years or so than Sam did, but that's only because he left. Sam would always know more about how it was to grow up with him. That was something between them.

When Castiel had told stories from a few hundred lifetimes ago, Dean hadn't stopped him either. He was so happy when he spoke about the greatness that humans had endured. Dean didn't have the heart to tell him that most people were tiny black holes, sucking light and happiness in to die, like Dean was. He didn't have the heart to tell him how broken people, how broken Dean, really was.

The way Castiel went on about humans, it was pretty clear he wasn't one of the ones trying to end humanity.

The washing machine whirred to life and Dean was pulled from whatever path his brain had gone down. He must have been more exhausted than he thought. Dean turned to face Castiel who hadn't moved from his place.

“I’m uh... I'm calling it. I didn't mean to spend so long down there but I got caught up.” And God, how could he mention the whole Angel Tracking thing with Castiel? That was a nightmare for a whole other day.

Castiel nodded slightly before returning to a book that was propped open on the table. He’d made his way through both of Dean's Vonnegut's, Cat's Cradle and Slaughterhouse-five, and he'd surprisingly started in on A Song of Ice and Fire. Dean had only gotten them after seeing the first couple of seasons of Game of Thrones and had fallen in love with the whole universe. He was a sucker for fantasies. Once he’d learned how different the books were to the show, or rather, the show to the books, he vowed not to read them till the TV show ended. He only got as far as the end of book two. Castiel was now well into the third which was actually the second part of the second.

Dean was sure it'd make sense once he read them again.

For now though, he crawled under his sheets and into bed, part because he legitimately was exhausted and needed sleep, mostly to hide the blatant erection which he was completely ashamed of. Dean hoped to whatever God that Castiel hadn't noticed but part of him knew he would have. At least he wasn't asshole enough to mention it or make it weird.

Dean stole one last glance from where Castiel was sitting at the table, shirtless and reading. It was surprisingly soothing. There was still that hidden layer of dirt and filth underneath it all that made sure Dean remembered how much of a piece of sh*t he was for owning him in the first place. How he wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Dean being a selfish asshole and trying to keep himself in the hunting game at whatever cost.

He was so f*cking determined to prove to Bobby that he hadn't gone soft and yeah, maybe Crowley pushed a couple of buttons at the Crossroads, the dick. Dean rolled over and buried his face in the pillows. He didn't deserve to look at Castiel. Not when he was half naked and tempting and everything Dean shouldn't be thinking of, both now or ever.

Upon reflection, he should have had a whiskey or three before heading upstairs. In all fairness, he wasn't expecting what was waiting for him.

Without the warm alcohol in his system to help him to sleep, it took him a little longer to finally doze off. At least he’d had a few nights of peace. What was the harm in asking for one more.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

The stench surrounded him. It wasn't the first time he'd be here and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Everywhere he turned, it smelled like roasting flesh and blood and pus. It always had that metallic smell that swept through his sinuses and caught at the back of his throat. Dean swallowed thickly, hoping he could will the taste of it back down but it never left.

He was angry. He was always angry here. He’d clench his hands into fists but only one pressed against the skin of his palm. The other only wrapped tight around something in his hand. Maybe if he squeezed hard enough, it would break. A part of him wanted to squeeze whatever it was till it shattered, just so he could feel the snap. It didn't matter what it was, as long as Dean could crack it.

He looked down to see what he was holding. It shouldn't have surprised him. Dean had seen it so many times before. It was a knife. Some ancient looking thing that belonged in his hand and looked so much more complete with the dark smear of blood across the blade.

Dean looked back up to see some faceless man on a rack in front of him. His chest, arms and legs were scattered with cuts. Shallow, deep, it didn't matter. Dean could even make out bone beneath a few of them. The man screamed with such an agony that Dean should have felt guilty. Should have felt helpless. Should have felt anything other that what he felt now.

What he did feel, was euphoric.

By his own will, the knife cut into the man again, eliciting a whole new string of cries, sobs and screams. It was music to Dean's ear. The only other sound dancing through his head was a soft voice. One that sounded like it belonged to a snake. It was twisted and encouraging, though calm and almost proud. Every cut Dean made seemed to make it happy.

Dean tried to look over his shoulder, just once, to see if he could put a face to that haunting voice. Instead, he was met with darkness, as far as he could see. Occasionally there was a flicker of light, like a bolt of lightening, only without the rolling thunder that usually accompanied it.

Wanting, no needing, the wrecked and agonising sounds from the tressed man in front of him, Dean gripped the knife tight and turned back around. He plunged it forward, ready to sink into the sternum of the faceless man only once the blade sunk into the flesh down to the hilt. Only now, he wasn't faceless at all.

Dean would know that floppy mess of hair anywhere.

Sam cried out as the knife plunged into his abdomen. Dean didn't flinch. After a moment to catch his breath, his brother managed to form words in his mouth between gasping breaths.

“Dean, please…. Dean don't do this!”

But Dean had every reason. Every reason in the world to gut his younger brother.

It wouldn't do. A knife, his knife, was too sharp. Too easy. Dean needed to feel him break under his own hands.

He tucked the knife behind him and the rack disappeared. Dean was free to finally crack his fist across Sam's jaw. Sam groaned at the contact and almost hit the floor, but kept on his feet. Dean punched again and again, left hook, right hook then left again till Sam finally fell to the ground. Dean's blood pulsed through his veins like lava with the need to feel the bone break beneath his fists.

Dean kneeled over his brother, a bloody and broken mess below him. Sam couldn't form words. He was laying across a dark, hardwood floor looking next to dead. Just as Dean reached for his knife again, he instantly noted it was different that the last. This one was smooth and silver and something much holier than Dean. He shouldn't be able to touch this with the darkness inside him.

After giving the new blade a quick glance, he tightened his fingers around the hilt and drove it into the body below him but it wasn't Sam anymore. It was Castiel. That still didn't stop him.

Once the blade pierced the flesh and dug into the wooden floor beneath him, a white light began to rise under Castiel's skin. It grew brighter and brighter, flooding the whole room in a burning sea of white.

Dean, numb with the anger and with a deep hole where the guilt should have been, felt the light dance across his fingers. He watched as it grew hotter and hotter, until his hand caught fire. The skin shrivelling beneath the burning white light was hypnotic. He couldn't look away, even if he tried.

Some part of him inside was screaming but nothing passed his lips. He was going to stand there and watch himself burn. And so he should. He deserved it.

Dean woke with a harsh pant. He was upright in his bed and a thick layer of sweat covered his skin. The soft glow of the stove light wasn't so soft now. It was gentler than the hot white light had been, but it still seemed far too bright now that his eyes were open. He blinked twice or three times, just to make sure this was really his bed in his room.

The first thing he noticed once his senses returned was that Castiel wasn't still sitting at the table. Suddenly aware of a dip in the side of the bed, Dean's head snapped to the left to see Castiel sitting far too close to him with his hand resting on Dean's shoulder. He should have noticed straight away. Dean still wasn't completely aware but surely he would have noticed someone in, no on, his bed by now.

He wanted to say something. The quiet between them was getting far too heavy and all either of them managed to do was stare at eachother. Dean knew what he was looking for.

He was looking for a sign, a hint, anything to prove Castiel wasn't the one that put the nightmare in his head in the first place. Deep down, Dean already knew the answer. Castiel didn't want to hurt him and shoving insane nightmares in his head didn't fit with him. It just didn't.

Of course the concern, which was practically coming off of him in waves, was enough to tear that half hearted theory in half.

“What happened?” Dean finally got out, though far more shaky and quiet than he intended.

Castiel's eyes darted across Dean's face, searching for something Dean was too tired to figure out.

“You seemed to be having a nightmare.” Castiel lowered his hand now that Dean was awake. He pulled it back probably a little faster than necessary. “I tried waking you from the other side of the room but it seems you can be very stubborn, even when you sleep.”

Was he… Was he trying to be funny? The corner of Dean's mouth co*cked into a smile, suddenly much more at ease than he was only a moment ago. There was something so reassuring about they way Castiel smiled back at him. He barely moved his lips but his eyes spoke in volumes, even in the dim yellow glow from the kitchen.

Everything bright and harsh from the nightmare slipped away into nothing. Whenever he’d had a nightmare before, the residual sh*t would stick with him for hours, if not the whole day until the next one.

The hand on his shoulder, the dip in the bed, the sideways smile, it really made Dean think that, for a fraction of a second, he could make it through the next year somewhat easier. As long as Castiel was by his side.

It only lasted a moment though. Castiel rose from the bed without warning and faced away from him. Dean's heart fell.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep. I’ll leave you be.”

Before he could take a step and before Dean's brain managed to filter his actions, Dean reached over and grabbed his arm before he could leave. Castiel looked down at the contact before looking back to Dean, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Stay?” Dean was being selfish. He knew it but he still couldn't manage to stop himself. Castiel was still shirtless for God's sake, his clothing was still in the machine. All Dean knew was that the all too short a moment of Castiel being by his side was the safest he’d felt in, well, years.

If Castiel said no, then fine. It was an asshole thing to ask anyway. Dean was expecting it. He shouldn't have asked in the first place.

When Castiel didn't answer, Dean lowered his arm in silent apology and finally looked away. Maybe they could both forget he even asked.

Dean lay back in bed and turned away from Castiel, hoping that his embarrassment wasn't too obvious. He pulled the quilt up in an attempt to hide himself before he felt the bed dip again.

He shot around to see Castiel having lifted the sheet and was now sliding into the bed behind him. Dean's breath caught in his lungs and it became all too hard to breathe. Was he really doing this? Castiel only actually looked at him once he’d lowered the sheet and the caution across his face was crystal clear. It's like he was asking permission even though Dean was the one to ask in the first place.

Castiel kept himself propped up on his elbows, awaiting further orders. It hadn't really occurred to Dean that an Angel of the Lord may not be well versed in sharing… Whatever they were about to share.

Another dangerous thought crept into Dean's mind and he almost didn't want to voice it, but it'd be more for Castiels comfort than his own.

“Do you wanna… Um…” He sighed and awkwardly cleared his throat. Out with it, Winchester. “Did you want to get rid of those suit pants? I can't be comfortable, I mean.”

Castiel looked down the bed, as if seeing the pants through the quilt before looking back to Dean with an unsettling numbness or even hurt in his face. It wasn't like Dean had just asked to bed him or anything and it was only a suggestion. Not one that he had to follow though with but he started fumbling with the belt anyway.

He didn't seem particularly happy about it. Castiel seemed much more upset than anything else but it wasn't like Dean forced him. He’d only asked. Was he doing this because -

Oh god. Was he only doing this because Dean had asked? Because he’s Dean's ‘slave’?

“Wait no, I don't mean -” Dean collapsed on the pillow behind him, running both hands over his face. He was even more of a dick than he originally thought. He’d actually partially forgotten over the past week that he ‘owned’ Castiel. They had started to find such a common ground and with his unorthodox wake up, he’d somewhat forgotten. Somehow.. Dean was such an asshole.

Staying under the safe cover of his hands, Dean spoke again.

“It's not an order. I just thought you'd be more comfortable.”

When Castiel didn't respond, he parted his fingers to peek through them and squint slightly at the kitchen light. Castiel's face was almost unreadable. He’d lost that broken expression when he thought it was an order but now, he wore something far more dangerous. Like this is completely uncharted territory. As if Dean was used to having Angels in his bed.

Dean couldn't help himself. He knew it'd probably make things weird between them but he’d only had a brief taste of what it felt like to be close to Castiel and it was warm and kind and all those safe things normal people have.

It was everything he wasn't allowed from Cassie or Lisa because he was always on guard around them but now, for whatever reason he just wasn't. There was safety here and he’d be damned twice if he didn't indulge himself in his final months, but only if he had Castiels permission.

“It's not an order,” he repeated hesitantly before finally dropping his hands from his face. Dean wasn't too good with voicing his wants or his ‘feelings’ or whatever. It was all so new to him and yeah, a little weird. “- but I’d like you to stay here. You know, if that's what you want too.”

Even in the dim glow that Dean was finally adjusting to, the quick smile across Castiel's face was clear. He resumed fiddling with his belt before gracelessly kicking them off and out from under the sheets. Once he’d finished moving, the realisation finally hit Dean. He was always a little slow when he woke up, but this was a new kind of slow.

Dean hadn't thought past this point. He barely knew what he was doing when he asked Castiel to stay but now he was here, in his bed, looking all too tempting and comforting all at once. Dean wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the warmth of the Angel but at the same time, the last thing he wanted was to make it weird between the two of them.

He swallowed thickly as he drank in the image beside him. The half naked Angel, propped up on his elbows and looking to Dean for further instruction. Words. Dean needed to form words. There wasn't any combination he could think of that didn't have him sounding like something pulled right out of a chick flick.

“Just… Tell me if this gets too weird for you, ‘kay?”

Castiel nodded silently and lowered himself till his head was on the pillow next to Dean's. Never breaking the intense gaze between them, Dean shuffled under the quilt hesitantly towards Castiel.

His bed wasn't massive. It wasn't one of those crazy beds he’d seen in James Bond movies that could probably sleep eight or so people but it was big enough. He liked his space.

He typically liked his space.

Nothing seemed further from his mind at the moment. The only thing wrapped around his brain right now was Castiel and the fact he was actually in his bed. No way did Dean think this would ever happen when he first saw him. As much as he’d try to deny it to himself, Dean knew there was a sexual attraction there but he’d never ask Castiel for anything he wasn't willing to give. It wasn't that that he needed right now, anyway.

Dean knew what he needed, he just prayed to whatever God that Castiel wouldn't hate him for it. He’d given him an out. He'd said for Castiel to say if this was wrong or whatever and he hadn't said anything. Yet.

He moved slowly and cautiously till he was past any sort of personal space barriers and Castiel hadn't frozen up. Well, more so. He was a kind of ‘still’ that worried Dean but he still hadn't said anything. So Dean proceeded.

With a quick glance up to Castiel, not reading discomfort so much as inquisitiveness, Dean shuffled down a little so his head could rest on Castiel's chest. As soon as he breached that physical barrier, everything stopped.

The worry, the fear, any residual terror from the nightmare, it had all melted away entirely. There was a comforting silence in his head and Dean sighed audibly at the relief. He hoped against hope this was okay for Castiel because this was perfect for Dean. It was the most relaxed he’d been in, well, forever.

It wasn't just that there was someone in his bed. He'd had that far too many times and it had never felt as good as it did right now. Maybe he was just tired, but Dean couldn't, for the life of him, put his finger on what made this any different. Or so very different. Before he had any control over himself or before his brain could argue against it, Dean brought an arm across and rested it on Castiel's torso.

He could get used to this. He shouldn't. It's a selfish as hell thing to ask of Castiel seeing as he doesn't sleep so he’d essentially getting a front row to Dean's probable snoring for a least another few hours. Dean didn't want to worry about that for now.

For now, he just wanted to chase the inevitable sleep that was coming so easily to him. Once his hand had found its cautious place across Castiel's stomach, Dean could have sworn he felt him relax with an exhale too.

Within minutes, Dean was barely able to keep his eyes open. Sleep was just around the corner and somehow he knew he’d be safe from nightmares, as least for the rest of tonight. Right before sleep took him, Dean held on to Castiel somewhat tighter, hoping he wouldn't leave him once he’d drifted off, though somehow he knew he wouldn't.

He knew Castiel would be here when he woke and for that he was more thankful than he could ever put into words. Though that didn't stop him from slipping out two words before letting himself go.

“Thanks, Cas.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

He shouldn't be here. Castiel halfheartedly willed every muscle in his vessel to slide out beneath Dean, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It's not like he was ordered to stay. Dean had asked and Castiel had complied, assuming it was an order.

It wasn't one he was particularly comfortable with, given the circ*mstance. If he was to breach a physical barrier with Dean he’d much rather it be of natural occurrence between their friendship, not because Dean had ordered it. It hadn't been until Dean had clearly stated that it, in fact, was not an order, but a request, that Castiel had felt much more comfortable.

It was still worrying. He’d only really known this man a week and he was so much different to what he was expecting. In truth, he didn't know what to expect. Dean could have been anyone. He didn't know this man.

He was half expecting to be bought by some person descending from wealth or money. Perhaps someone planning on exploiting him or torturing information out of him about Heaven and Angels, or even God. He was even half expecting to be bought by someone sick and twisted who’d use him for sexual perversions, if Crowley's tauntings had been anything to go off. Castiel had braced himself for the worst.

He was equal parts relieved and horrified when Dean had been the one standing next to Crowley.

Castiel had to remind himself. He didn't know Dean. He could be the sad*stic type Crowley loved to brag about. He’d filled his head with such awful ideas of the types of people that bought from his market. It was the moment he’d seen Dean's soul that he knew he’d be going in safe hands.

Though he’d been fooled before. He’d been lied to and tricked so many times it was a wonder he could still be surprised by it anymore. He may have been more comfortable if Dean had given Crowley American currency, as was expected, but when Crowley demanded his soul, that's when Castiel felt the physical ache in his grace.

This man, whoever he was, wasn't going to hurt Castiel. He could see it and he knew it to be true. There’d been so much corruption with the trading of souls, Castiel wanted to be no part of it.

Unfortunately, given his transgressions and his current status, he had no say in the matter.

Somewhat hesitantly, he ran his fingers through Dean's hair and didn't miss at all that this was easily the most relaxed he’d been in sleep thus far. The other nights when he’d tossed and turned, all Castiel had needed to do was to press two fingers to his forehead and he’d settle back into sleep.

He’d tried that tonight but for whatever reason, the nightmare was too great. There was no choice but to wake him up. Castiel could see into the nightmares and they were far from pleasant. Though it wasn't his place to enquire on them.

This was far too comforting. Castiel shouldn't allow himself the luxury. He didn't deserve it. He watched as his traitorous fingers ran through the brown hair of the man below him. Once he’d started, Dean had held onto him tighter, it that was even possible.

He’d even rubbed his head against Castiel's torso in a way that reminded him of a cat he once cared for briefly in what seemed like eons ago. If he was completely honest, he could have sworn that Dean even purred, if the anatomy of his throat and vocal chords allowed it.

There was something in the way Dean's flesh pressed against his that gave him a reassurance he hadn't had before. As if there wasn't a Heaven or a Hell, or Purgatory or any number of alternate realities. That there was only here and now and this space beneath the perfect man cradled into his side.

It had really only been a week but it felt like so much longer. He’d heard all the stories that Dean had to tell and relished in the details of every one. It was truly warming to hear of his brother and his car. Dean had such a passion when he spoke of them.

Another traitorous thought crossed his mind and, before he was able to stop himself, he placed a small kiss on the crown of his head just after his fingers passed over it.

Castiel clenched his jaw and tightened his free hand into a fist, though still continued the petting with the other.

You don't know this man. You may have seen his soul but he’s not what you think. You don't know him. You don't know him.

He repeated the words like a mantra. It was clear that Dean was growing fond of Castiel. He’d even shortened his name to Cas only moments ago. He shouldn't allow it. He couldn't. True, they’d only known each other a week. A mix of emotions can form under the circ*mstances they've been provided.

He can't imagine Dean had been forced to live within close quarters with anyone besides family before. At least, there wasn't any instance Dean had told him of or compared him to.

If Dean woke in the morning and apologised profusely, Castiel would accept it. He’d return to spending the night hours reading one of the few books from Dean's collection or simply sitting there quietly. He knew exactly what he’d do if Dean had regretted his actions. The only thing Castiel wasn't prepared for was if Dean wanted to continue.

It was clearly as preferable to him as it was to Dean but this wasn't about Castiel. Dean gave the orders. As much as it pained Castiel to remember, he needed to repeat that to himself as well.

This man bought you. You don't know him. He bought you.

If that was truly to become an issue somewhere in the next year, Castiel would deal with it then. For now, he could have this. He would allow himself this. Castiel continued to stroke Dean's hair, occasionally moving his hand to the back of his neck or part way down his back just to hear the involuntary but audible sighs and moans Dean made. It was soothing to him. He’d told Dean he’d watch over him. He’d protect him. If Castiel could give him that, and have this in return, that would be enough.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Once again, Dean woke without the shrill beeping of his alarm clock. It was something he could definitely get used to, but hate once he started back at work again. He couldn't wake up as early without it.

God only knew what time it was now. Just as he thought about moving to check the clock, memories from last night or early this morning began to flood back to him. It didn't help that his ‘pillow’ was far warmer than it should have been.

Last night Dean had a nightmare. A bad one. He’d woken up in a sweaty and shaking mess but he wasn't left with the anger or the broken pit inside him like he always had after a particularly bad nightmare.

He remembers it but he didn't feel it now like he should have. He felt…

Calm?

His muscles weren't tensed and he couldn't feel the blood boiling under his skin. This was different. This was better. He didn't feel like the empty shell he was so used to feeling.

It had to end though. Everything good always came to an end.

By now, Cas would know Dean was awake. Dean tried to act natural, which seemed stupid but one half of him wanted to dive out of bed and hide and the other wanted to stay where he was forever. Couldn't he have both? Dean kept as still as he could while he decided which path to take. He hadn't thought very far when Cas finally spoke.

“Hello, Dean.”

Far too cautiously, Dean pulled his arm back from across Cas’s waist and used it to prop himself up. When he finally met the bluer than blue eyes above him, every worry about the night before melted away all over again.

“Mornin’ Cas.”

Cas smiled at the use of the new nickname. Dean didn't know where it came from. He’d made a conscious effort to call him Castiel on the off chance Angels got offended at shorthand. He felt like they were both balancing on thin ice this past week but whatever came from last night had broken that. Dean wasn't in the habit of sleeping in late with just anyone.

Whoever he’d brought back to his bed before now was either gone the same night or Dean avoided them at all costs in the morning. He’d have his alarm to get him into the shower on time and a bar/grill to run downstairs. He didn't have the time for lazy sleep ins. Even if he did, he'd never let them know that. He'd want them gone as soon as he could so he could get back into his routine which seemed much more important then than it did now.

Dean still felt like he pushed some sacred boundary. He didn't want to admit that what he'd asked last night had been a major act of weakness. The only person who had really seen how bad the nightmares got was Sam and no way could Sam give him what Cas did last night.

Once Dean had seen Cas so close and concerned it was like a switch flicked off in his head. The switch that was set to ‘cautious’ and ‘tiptoe’ and ‘play it safe’. It didn't matter then. It didn't matter than Dean bought Cas or that Cas was here against his will. For a brief moment, it seemed like Cas wanted to be here.

Even in his screwed up haze last night, it seemed like Cas was okay with it. Once he’d established it wasn’t an order, he’d relaxed into Dean just as easily as Dean relaxed into him. It should have been wrong. It should have been all sorts of ‘shouldn't do it’ but it was just so right. Dean didn't even know how long it took him to fall back asleep but it felt like it was instant.

Just because Dean relished in the warmth that Cas had to offer, doesn't mean it was his to take. Even if he ‘owned’ him, he still wouldn't force him like that. He slid back to his colder, emptier side of the bed and didn't miss at all when Cas’s face fell just that tiny bit.

This next moment could be crucial. Either play it off an as accident, a one-off that shouldn't happen again, or acknowledge just how much Dean needed it and would definitely need it again.

The worse thing was the silence. Cas had shuffled awkwardly now that Dean wasn't spread across his chest. Dean immediately regretted moving. He couldn't think straight in the tangled ball of warmth and comfort of Cas’s arms. A decision needed to be made and it needed to be made now.

“Cas -”

“I’ll understand if you choose to ignore what happened last night, Dean. I merely wanted to assist you in sleep. ”

Dean's mouth hung open, trying to catch the sentence that escaped him. It's not that he wanted to ignore it. Far from it. It was more that he felt like a selfish bag of dicks for asking for it in the first place and he felt even worse that he’d want it to happen again. And probably again.

Cas had made it quiet. He’d stopped the constant string of voices and screams and rather than shove them back down like Dean was so used to doing, they’d evaporated into nothing. So he tried again.

“Wait, Cas. I -”

“It's alright, Dean.” Cas stood and Dean will deny to his grave that his heart skipped a couple of beats when he saw Cas in only a pair of white boxers. He'd tried so hard since installing that damn shower curtain thing to not think of Cas like that. He didn't have the right.

He'd blown any possible chance when he'd brought him home on a proverbial leash. He sure as hell couldn't act on any of those not-entirely-unwanted spontaneous thoughts, so he tried to stop them before they started. In this case, it involved modestly turning away before Cas caught the flush on his cheeks. Crap.

It didn't take long before he’d turned back again. His traitorous eyes wanted more of what they couldn't have. When he’d looked back, he caught Cas facing away from him and doing up the buttons on his suit pants. If possible, Dean had made it more awkward between them than it was a week ago. Smooth. Real smooth.

Dean took a deep breath.

He threw the quilt off to the other side of the bed, effectively destroying any hiding place he could retreat to. All but diving out of the bed, it was clear that Cas was a little more than startled by his actions.

By the time Dean had stood to face him, Cas was backed up against what would have been the shower glass. Now, it was just the deep blue of the shower curtain Dean had hung in front if it.

Dean moved around the bed and towards Cas. He didn't exactly storm over, but it was definitely more forceful than simply walking. Fact of the matter was Dean was tired. Not because of the actually amazing sleep he’d had after the nightmare, more because they’d tiptoed around each other for a week.

Dean had less than a year left. It was going to be far too much of a pain in the ass to keep up the tip toeing for that long.

Dean caught a glimpse through the veil last night of what could be if they were honest and just spoke to each other like adults. Dean wasn't the best when it came to talking about his ‘feelings’. It'd be twice as difficult without Sam acting as the usual chick-flick instigator.

Now face to face with Cas and probably far too close, Dean didn't miss at all how he’d turned his head away. It was only slight enough that he could still catch Dean's eye, but it was enough that it half made Dean want to force it to facing him again. Right on schedule, another wave of inappropriate thoughts kicked in.

Stopping himself from actually placing a hand on Cas, he opted instead to awkwardly hang his hands by his side.

“Cas, listen to me.” Like he didn't have his obvious attention already. Though now that he had the attention, he couldn't find his words. “Last night was… It was fine. Okay?” Cas’s face barely moved. It barely acknowledged that he’d spoken at all. “You said you wanted to help, and you helped. So thank you.”

He’d maybe been a little weak and broke eye contact for that last part but he was pretty damn proud with himself up till that point. Now that the words were out, he managed to look back at Cas whose face had shifted entirely. Where there was, what could have been considered as a mild panic when Dean had first cornered him, had softened into a half smile and a furrowed brow. The same partially confused crinkled brow that seemed to be permanently part of his face, like he was always learning and trying to absorb new information.

After what seemed like far too long, Dean was fully aware how far into Cas’s personal space he’d gotten himself. He took a calculated step back just as Cas opened his mouth once again.

“Does this mean you’d be amenable to repeating the night's activities if you were to suffer the same ordeal in future?”

Dean ran a hand over his face. Cas really did have a way with words didn't he? Dean wasn't going to up and say it like that but -

“Sure.” Cas squinted for half a second, like he wasn't sure Dean was actually telling the truth. “Yeah. If I interrupt your reading -” he gestured vaguely to the long forgotten book on the table, “- then feel free to come wake me again.”

“Do I have your permission to join you again if they become too violent?”

Surely that went without saying. Dean had all but physically said the words. It was pretty hard at this stage to tell if Cas was clarifying as a genuine question or just to make Dean say the words like an asshat. Dean took a breath, not entirely sure the next words weren't going to kill him.

“Yes, Cas. I invite you into my bed.”

Cas’s brow shot up.

Bad wording. Bad wording.

“You know, to help with -” he waved behind him, gesturing to somewhere in attempts to reference whatever that was. “- help with that. Same as last night.”

That got Cas to smile with the biggest smile he’d seen from him yet. It had started out as a curl in the left side of his lips and spread across his face like wildfire though he’d actually turned away from Dean as if he should hide it.

This was the first real proof that they had something. That it wasn't going to be all sideways glances and dancing around each other for the rest of Dean's life. Yeah, Dean thought it was going to take a solid six months, minimum, to get here but he sure as hell wasn't complaining. Anything he could do to make it less weird for Cas and maybe kill a little of that guilt constantly bubbling in him had to be a good thing.

Now if he could just get the lower half of him to think rationally, the rest of it could be a cakewalk too.

Dean wasn't sure how long they stood like that; Cas with his, frankly and annoyingly gorgeous, lingering smile and Dean maybe one foot too close to him. He knew he should move but the rest of him just didn't seem to want to comply. Dean couldn't tell when, but at some stage Cas had finally caught Dean's eye again and the lack of space between them wasn't something to be concerned with anymore.

Every thought Dean had been pushing down since he'd woken up was threatening to come back and overflow. He could feel the low burn in his belly and the blush start to form on the tips of his ears. His hands clenched into fists at his sides in some kind of distraction. Every part of him wanted to push Cas back against the covered glass and kiss that squinty confusion right off his face.

If Dean didn't know any better, he’d say Cas was fighting a similar war. Dean had been around the playground enough times to read the signs, even if they were only human. Cas was so much more than the meat suit he was wearing but he still showed the same signs he’d trained himself to look for.

Dean caught his chest rising in quicker breaths out of his peripheral. His hands were doing the same weak dance, though being in somewhat switched positions, Cas was probably thinking of pushing him back onto the bed they'd shared last night. If that idea didn't make Dean's breath catch in his throat…

He swallowed thickly, willing some of the tension between them to go away. Just for now. They’d only been stuck together a week. It was completely understandable to have lusty naughty feelings already and Dean could practically hear the extra voice in his head screaming at him to back the f*ck off.

If he ruined this now, he couldn't just bail on Cas for a morning shift or leave him a twenty for cab fare. Cas was with him now. As much as he wanted the Angel writhing beneath him or even, becoming his own utterly wrecked puddle underneath Cas, he couldn't do that to him either. The fact that he wanted to and had practically forced himself on him now was a clear reminder of why Cas was here.

Dean could force this on Cas. If the fire in his eyes was anything to go by, he wouldn't be particularly against it. He could order Cas into all sorts of positions or situations an Angel of the Lord shouldn't be allowed to perform. Something in him wanted it, wanted Cas, and it was more than just wanting. It was so much more and just enough all at once.

Digging his nails into his palms and closing his eyes, he took a step back.

He hated himself the moment he thought it. Maybe the next year wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.

Keeping his eyes downcast, not daring to open them to see whatever the hell expression Cas was wearing.

“I should shower.” The words came out bland and forced. “See how they're doing downstairs.”

Cas didn't make a noise. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he was breathing when he all but pushed past him to his chest of drawers to pull out some clean clothes. The jeans he’s left on the floor would be clean enough. He didn't get any sh*t on them yesterday when he was downstairs. They at least had another decent day's wear in them.

Through the routine of grabbing clean clothes and heading for the bathroom, Dean replayed the morning over and over in his head. Everything had been fine. Better than fine. They’d shared something last night. It wasn't even purely selfish on Dean's end like he thought it was. The warmth Cas enveloped Dean in once he'd woken up had spoken louder than any words.

If he didn't need it as much as Dean did, he would have seen it. Something in those stupid blue eyes wouldn't have been half as welcoming or comforting as they were. They would have been as hardened as they were when he thought it was an order.

They both needed it and it was more than likely going to happen again in the future. Probably more than once or twice.

Not realising he’d actually made it to the bathroom, the chill of the tile beneath his feet caught him off guard. His mind was still stuck 12 hours behind, like jet lag or something. Not that Dean would know. He’d rather give up pie for a week than have to get on a damn plane to anywhere.

Dean turned on the shower and waited impatiently for the water to heat up. He was still sporting a half erection by the time he actually got under the hot spray and, if he wasn't sure that Cas could hear him, he'd have scolded it till it went back down again. It wasn't his preferred way of getting rid of it but it's not like he had another option right now.

Opting to ignore it, he reached for the shampoo instead and continued with his shower.

When he'd soaped himself down and finally, after turning the temperature down a fair bit, managed to get rid of his completely inappropriate erection, he finished up and turned the water back off. To be honest, it was probably best if he just head downstairs as soon as he could. He needed to let the monotony of some kind of work steal his brain even for a few moments.

Dean hadn't been in the shower long enough to let much steam build up so it wasn't much of a pain to get dressed in the bathroom. He kept his mind on the coming day. He didn't know the roster by heart anymore seeing as they mostly worked it out amongst themselves but he figured Oskar would be on this morning. The kid loved the morning shift as an excuse to make coffee if nothing else. That was good. Dean could use one of those right about now.

Finally dressed and ready to bail on the almost but not quite tension in the room, Dean gave a glance to Cas while he grabbed his shoes. He’d managed to pull the shirt out of the machine and had buttoned it up. Whatever Angel mojo he had going on had managed to make it looked ironed too. Dean needed some of that for himself.

Dean got a sudden flashback to last night and the brand across Cas’s shoulders and remembered it almost perfectly. If he remembered it more for the way they seemed painted across his shoulders and how the dark letters and symbols contrasted beautifully with his skin, then so be it. At least it was committed to memory. It had taken every inch of him not to move over to them and trace them with his fingertips or even his tongue. If he hadn't been so startled, he may have.

God, this was going to be a rough year.

He brought the image of the brand back to his head again and had to remind himself to scribble it down when he got downstairs. Maybe Ash could translate. It wasn't like Dean was being nosy but…

Okay, he didn't have a good excuse. After the damn cryptic sh*t the Angels pulled in writing down what Cas actually did, Dean figured he could at least have this one thing. Dick move or not.

The other thing Dean had noticed, though much much slower, was that Cas wasn't wearing his tie. From what he did know about Angels, which wasn't a lot, they wore what their vessels wore and didn't change anything. Cas seemed somewhat naked without a tie on. Not naked as in - no, no. Steering clear of that trail of thought.

With a quick scan, Dean found the tie in a tangled ball on the table. Oh.

He’d never washed his own tie’s before. They always kept with the suit when he got it all dry cleaned. Maybe ties weren't supposed to go in the machine. Oops.

With a new pang of guilt to add to the pile, Dean grabbed his shoes and started to force his toes into one of them.

“Sorry about your tie man, I’ll grab you a new one today.”

Cas turned to face Dean and was seemingly surprised by the offer.

“That's not necessary, Dean.”

The jumbled knot of blue and white striped fabric didn't sit right with him. There was some part of him that was kind of happy to see the ugly striped thing in a shrivelled mass of fabric and broken threads.

“I broke it, I bought it, Cas. Don't worry about it” He gave Cas a quick but genuine smile before grabbing his keys and heading downstairs.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

The weeks that followed were pretty much the same. Dean was able to head downstairs more often than he thought, given that Cas wasn't heaven-bent on killing him. He’d even bought Cas a few new books in case he’d finished the ones on the bookshelf.

His staff had the place running without him, paperwork and that excluded. Dean could still do the ordering and payslips and everything either downstairs or upstairs. It was easier if he did it downstairs. It gave Dean a reason to eat and watch how everyone went about their shift.

The only thing that started to worry Dean was Ash.

He’d given Ash a rough scribble of Cas’s brand maybe 3 weeks ago and not saying how he got it, and Ash still hadn't told him what it meant. Ash could read Enochian so it wasn't like it was going to be some huge stretch. It could very well have been that Ash was too busy in the kitchen but Dean had asked sh*t from him before and he’d multi tasked like a pro to usually give him same day results. Now that the lunch shift had started to quiet down, there'd be a lull till dinner. He could get some answers then. Hopefully.

The other thing that had become fairly common was how often Cas shared his bed. It started out a bit shaky, even though once he was there it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Dean had woken from another nightmare a couple of nights after the first. By the time Cas joined him and soothed him back into sleep, he’d forgotten what it was even about. Something about a crypt and a creepy blonde haired woman. Well, she had blonde hair, then it was dark and she was laughing. It didn't make sense and Dean didn't feel the need to dwell on it.

The next few times were much easier. Cas barely even needed him to ask anymore. A couple of times, Dean hadn't even finished the nightmare before Cas had woken him up, already in his bed and with an arm around him trying to coax him to fall asleep again. It never took long.

As good as it was, and it was always so much better, Dean had kind of hoped it wouldn't take a nightmare to get Cas to sleep with him. Not sleep with him, more like lay awake with him while Dean slept and probably snored.

He still wasn't even sure what Cas did those nights. He knew he didn't sleep so that wasn't really an option. It was a little weird, but also so very comforting that he would just be awake for those few hours. Dean really did have his own guardian angel.

Cas had said it on his first night but Dean didn't really think it would develop to have such a deeper meaning. I watched over you. Dean should be more creeped out by it. He really should. There should be a part of his brain that says ‘there's something watching you. It's studying you. It wants to kill you.’ That way of thinking had been forced into his head since before he could remember.

His dad had raised him that way. Ever since his mom died and his dad was determined to find the thing that killed her. It's where he learned about the family business and the harsh way of life that would undoubtedly end quick and bloody. Dean was surprised he'd even made it this far. There had been more than enough close calls along the way.

None of that seemed to matter with Cas. Dean was yet to go on a hunt since meeting him, let alone sharing a bed with him. When he put it like that, it still barely seemed possible. How could he go from ‘nuke in a trenchcoat’ to practically ‘sleeping together’ in hardly a week's time. It should have bothered Dean as much as the ‘watching you sleep’ thing but it just didn't. It felt more natural and comfortable than anything he could remember.

He craved it instead of fearing it.

He’d even bought a new tie for Cas after blatantly trashing the stripy blue and white one. He’d gone out the same day and bought one that seemed much better. It wasn't particularly striking. In fact, it was much quieter than the striped monstrosity had been.

Dean wasn't sure what it was. It just seemed better. There was nothing special about it. It was just a simple, dark blue, bordering on navy tie. Once he saw it, he knew that one would suit him much better. He’d bought it without any doubts.

Once Cas had put it on, somewhat hesitantly, the smile seemed to be plastered to Dean's face. When Cas had seen it, he lit up as well. The new tie was definitely a good decision.

In the past few weeks, Dean even spoken to Sam again.

Sam was still sh*tty. He’d probably be sh*tty right up to the day Crowley or his hounds dragged him off to hell but at least Sam was trying to see a silver lining. He did want to meet Cas. Dean knew he would. Probably half so he could get some info for his dissertation, half so he could rip Dean a new one in person.

It's not like Dean had a lot of time left though, so he'd organised Sam to come in a few more weeks time. He still had to break it to Ash and everyone else that they had an Angel living over their head and that he'd be gone in a year. Even if he wasn't dangerous. Put so bluntly, it may be a tough pill to swallow.

Dean would leave Deano's to Ash. That was simple enough. He could give him his home upstairs. It's not like Sam would want it, or need it. Sam would get his Impala though. He only semi trusted the giant to look after her as well as she deserved but it was better than selling her off to some stranger. Just the thought of someone mistreating her, installing one of those new-agey CD players was enough to turn his stomach. He didn't even dare think about that stranger owning a dog.

With that unpleasant thought, Dean slid away his almost empty plate finding his appetite had died off somewhat. Figuring this was as good a time as any, Dean slid out from the booth and took the plate and his glass to the kitchen.

He caught Ash and Claire in another discussion about Angels. Claire was more than keen to get out and start hunting them already with Ash acting on the side of caution. He knew all too well what happened if you met something face to face who knew you were gunning for them. It's what should have happened to Dean when he met Cas. He washed his own dishes, seeing as everything was just about done in here.

Claire was probably one of the fastest ‘dish pigs’ he’d ever seen. Turns out her secret was plugging in her headphones and working to her own rhythm. Dean could relate

Dean waited till a gap in their conversation to, somewhat appropriately, bring up Cas’s brand.

“By the way, did you manage to decipher that Enochian I gave you?”

Both Ash and Claire turned to face him, having all but finished their lunchtime cleaning. Dean would have preferred to speak to Ash alone but if Claire was anything like Jody, or learned anything from Bobby, she’d weasel it out of Ash easily enough.

Ash pulled out his computer and set it down on the benchtop where Claire was now sitting cross legged. Ash threw his kitchen towel over his shoulder and typed away till Dean's rough drawing popped up on screen.

“I don't know man, this is grouped differently to most of the Enochian I've seen.” He typed again till only the first five letters were displayed and made somewhat bigger. “That there is darbz.” He pointed to each symbol. “D, A, R, B, S. That one’s easy. Means ‘obey’.”

He gave Dean that quizzical side eye that only came out when he knew Dean was hiding information. “Seems to be the sort of thing an angel-slave would relate to, am I right?”

Dean wasn't going to deny it, but he didn't want to confirm anything about Cas just yet. Instead, he nodded, eyes fixed on his own drawing rather than meeting Ash’s glare. He waited for him to continue.

Typing again, the image on screen switched from the first few letters to the large symbol that sat in the middle. A sort of triangle with lines all through it and a curl at the bottom.

“This bad boy here,” Ash pointed to the triangle, “Is the Sigil of Lucifer.”

Before Dean had the chance to start any kind of panic, knowing full well what Lucifer was capable of, Ash hurried to elaborate.

“I know, I know. Don't get your panties in a bunch. This sigil is more manmade Enochian and it refers to the ‘human’ aspect of Lucifer's fall. It was first seen in Italy back in the 1400’s in a book called Grimoire of Truth but apparently has ‘always been the sign of Lucifer’. So interpret that as you will.”

Well that was as confusing as it was helpful. If Dean put it in the context of ‘branded on a slave's back’, it could mean any number of things. If it was in that truth book, did it mean that Cas had to tell the truth? Did that sigil stop him from lying? It's not like he had any reason to and he seemed to be pretty honest with everything up until this point.

But it's origins were all surrounding Lucifer. Ash had said it probably wasn't Lucifer himself, but more what he stood for. The fallen angel who went against the word of God or challenged him or something. Dean would have to buff up on his bible study.

It could have been like those death tarot cards; looking all scary with the skeleton and the reaper and all that but actually meaning rebirth and life or something.

That was half the symbols. All that was left was the last five characters with dots and a hyphen separating them.

“It's these that are starting to bug me.” He typed again, bringing up the right half of the brand. “The first three right there,” he pointed to the screen again, “means ‘guardian’. It's this last little cluster that's all out of whack.”

The last few symbols had two dots, a hyphen, what Dean knew was the Enochian letter A and one that looked like a U or a fancy cup or something. Ash brought up another screen that had a giant list, like a direct dictionary of more letters and words then Dean would ever know in Enochian.

“Some individual characters have meanings that could either be a word or have a root meaning but put in direct correlation to the other letters, then there's these dots…” Ash trailed off, equal parts confused and pissed that he hadn't figured it out already.

Dean wasn't sure what he expected. Other than the obvious, anyway. He’d expected ‘obey’ or some variation. ‘Lucifer’ was a bit of a curve ball but if it wasn't taken literally, it kind of made sense. Slaves would have gone against the will of God else they wouldn't be where they are.

Guardian’ made a kind of sense, in the right context. Dean didn't really know till Cas had watched over him and continued to watch him at night. If the Angels were assigned to their buyers to guard them, it cheapened all the times Cas had stayed with Dean after a particularly bad nightmare. It sat uncomfortably in his gut if he was now only doing it for the brand, regardless of Dean asking if Cas wanted it.

Dean still wanted to know if they worked like the Mark did. Did it force something on Cas or was it just a mark of his status. Every time Dean tried to shift the conversation that way upstairs, Cas got all shirty and dodged the question or directed it somewhere else.

It wasn't like Dean was trying to invade his privacy, he was just trying to get a better understanding so he wouldn't hurt Cas the way Benny hurt after not following an order. Not that Cas was like that, but Dean couldn't stand to see Cas in that sort of pain, especially to be the one that caused it.

It would probably be a hell of alot easier if he new the meaning of the last part. Ash was right, as usual. Having only so many letters with a thousand odd combinations meant the last two letters and the hyphen could have meant just about anything. It was one of the oldest languages, probably the oldest seeing as it would have been around before man if the Angels spoke it.

If only he had an Angel he could ask…

Yeah, it was definitely best to leave Ash to it.

Having finished washing his few dishes, Dean put them away and left Ash and Claire to whatever crimes against humanity they were plotting next. He had planned to go upstairs, maybe finally fill Cas in on his brother visiting soon and asking how he felt to be part of a study.

Dean didn't think he’d mind. He definitely, probably should have asked before telling Sam he could, but he was so desperate for Sam to not be mad at him anymore. It's not like Sam had a lot of time left to hold the grudge.

Instead, he was caught by Liz who wasn't wearing the bright smile she usually was.

“Dean, you haven't heard from Oskar, have you?” The worry was practically dripping off every word.

He hadn't. Dean wasn't even sure when he was next rostered on.

“No, sorry. When's he supposed to start?”

Elizabeth checked her watch.

“A half hour ago. He didn't come in last night either.”

Last night Dean was upstairs trying to lessen the hoard of paperwork he’d accumulated since Cas got here. He’d been somewhat putting it off seeing as it was his most hated part about running Deano's.

It had gotten late before he called it and left the rest in organised piles on the table upstairs. Someone could have at least mentioned he’d dodged a whole shift without so much as calling in sick. He loved the kid, but that's a dick move.

“Why didn't anyone say anything till now? I could have called him last night.” He wasn't mad exactly, just concerned. He had a good family here. They weren't in the habit of bailing on each other without warning.

“We didn't want to worry you. With Claire, we had everything sorted pretty well. I was going to tell him today to make sure you knew he wasn't here but he's not here now either so I don't know where he is.” The few times Liz had been worried or nervous, she’d gone off on a tangent, spewing words a mile a minute and hardly stopped for air.

“Then he didn't come back to my place last night and we organised dinner but he didn't show and -”

“Liz.” Dean grabbed her firmly, but gently by the shoulders, hoping to calm her before she broke out into an all out anxiety attack. “Breathe.” Liz swallowed and closed her eyes, taking deep and forceful breaths. “I’ll go call him now.” He maybe had an ace up his sleeve not too many people knew about. He halfheartedly wondered if Liz knew. “I know his mom, i’ll ask if she's heard from him too.”

She barely flinched. Maybe she knew about Oskar's mom too, though probably not to the extent Dean did.

Liz nodded, probably a little stronger than she intended before flashing a brief smile and heading back to work. Dean pulled out his phone and head outside, slipping behind Garth in the bar.

He’d rung Oskars phone maybe four times before realising he wasn't going to get an answer. The kid had been so gung ho about being a part of the team and fixing Dean's coffee machine and apparently making a move on Liz that it just didn't sit right that he wasn't answering. It was only made worse by knowing he’d skipped a shift already and today made shift number two. On top of that, he’d apparently bailed on dinner with Liz last night. Something was definitely wrong.

Dean would be lying if he said his spider senses weren't tingling just a little, but he had been programmed that way. It was probably in large part due to the fact he knew the kid so well. Or, as well as he could know him after barely two months. Giving a quick check to the time on his phone, there was still a good hour before the general store closed. He could still ask his mother if she’d heard from him.

----------------------------

It was only a few moments later that Dean had pulled Baby into the parking lot and made his way inside Foro Mortis. Most people didn't bother to look up the name. Dean, being fairly fluent in Latin thought it was as an awful name for a civilian general store. Yeah, she traded in occult bits and pieces as well and Dean did most of his resupplying from her, but ‘Death Market’ was a little on the nose.

Dean could swear Rowena never moved from her spot behind the counter. Every time he came in she had her chin resting on a closed fist flicking through a celebrity gossip magazine. Her long red hair was a thick mess of curls and waves that managed to look perfect no matter which way it fell.

She was gentle enough to civilians, most of the time.

She never outright stated that she was a witch. Rowena had the supplies and that, sure. Every store equipped with occult trinkets and spell necessities had hunters markings in the window, as did Foro Mortis. If they didn't, how else would hunters know where to stock up? Dean only picked up on Rowena being a witch because she had all sorts of knowledge when it came to spells and charms and he'd called her out on it. She didn't even try to deny it.

As far as Dean knew, she was over 300 years old and she'd gathered some fairly extensive intel in her time. She was the one to go to when Bobby didn't have any info. In certain cases, she was indispensable. She’d helped Dean, for the right price, make a number of hex bags and charms that were far more powerful than anything he'd ever whipped up. It was a good thing she was on his side.

“Winchester.” She greeted him with a thick Scottish accent without looking up from her magazine. “What have you gotten yourself into this time, I wonder.”

Dean approached the glass countertop which had a few fancy knives and lighters on display.

“Not me. Your son.”

That got her attention. A hint of worry was threatening to seep past those ancient auburn eyes.

“My son?”

“Oskar. Have you heard from him?” If anything, the mention of her son's name came as a relief.

“No. Haven't spoken to him.” She returned to her gossip columns. “What's the wee lad done now?”

Dean knew they weren't close, but with being his mother and all, Dean had hoped she'd at least been in contact. That, or maybe seem to care a little more than she put on.

“He’s missing. Hasn't been to work in a couple of days and he apparently stood Liz up.”

Rowena turned a page.

“Haven't seen him.”

Dean took a step closer and rested his palms on the glass counter.

“You're his mother. Can't you do a location spell or something? Don't you care at all that he's missing?”

She looked up slowly from her magazine and pulled brought her hands to meet each other, interlocking her fingers.

“Oskars a big lad. Ties his own shoes and everything. I’m sure he's fine.” Rowena kept her gaze locked with Dean's in a stand off. She was one of the strongest women Dean had ever met, and that was before the witch part was mixed in as well. She was a prime example of a fiery Scot, so much so that Dean was sometimes a little afraid she may turn him into a frog just for her own amusem*nt.

Powerful being or not, all mothers cared about their sons. Right?

“How about I do a location spell? You give me the stuff and the incantation and I’ll go whip it up. What do you say?”

Rowena seemed to be listening. She was looking deep into Dean's eyes, so much so that it started to make him worry.

“What?”

“Somethings changed in you.”

Her eyes darted between Dean's. He blinked a few times and turned his head away. The last thing he needed was her input. Especially if she could see any of the sh*t storm he’d gotten himself into over the last few months.

“I'm just looking for Oskar. Can you give me a spell or not?” He pulled out his wallet, hoping that actually showing the money for it may get her attention.

Instead, she just kept staring. Not staring, so much as studying every detail in or behind his eyes. He could practically feel her on the back of his skull.

“What have you done, Winchester?” Her voice was cautious and, if Dean didn't know better, slightly afraid.

“I didn't do anything!” He lied. “Just give me the damn ingredients and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Rowena paused for far longer than Dean would have liked. Her full red lips curled up into a knowing smile and she huffed out a small laugh.

“Of course.” She stood and turned, heading through the tacky hanging beads in the doorway behind her. Dean took the opportunity to catch his breath and run a hand down his face.

She could see it. Whatever Crowley had done to him, whatever claim or signature or dibs he’d left on Dean's soul… Rowena could see it. Not like it was some universal secret, he just hadn't gotten around to telling Bobby. Or Jody. Or his family at Deano's.

There was a lot more people he hadn't told than people who he had, but he didn't want to make a huge deal out of it. What would be the difference if she knew he was going to die in ten months versus him being on the losing end of a hunt around the same time? Dean could be dead at any minute, especially given his chosen path.

To be honest, he thought it would have happened a lot sooner than now, or ten months away. He figured he was doing well to even get to there.

Dean did have a checklist to try and accomplish before then. Other than getting whatever info on Angels Cas cared to give up. If he got something, super. If not, it didn't really matter. Michael and the other douchebags seemed to have left for good but the info could have been handy for if they ever decided to come back down again whether it was in 3 years or 300 years.

It had been, easily put, a bittersweet situation. Dean didn't really need to have sold his soul for Cas, but if he hadn't, he still probably wouldn't know where the humans that bought an angel went. Even if Sam knew and was holding onto the information like the asshole that he was, disclosure statement or not.

Bobby didn't know, therefore the hunter community didn't know. Maybe he was still a little sh*tty at Sam for not saving Dean the trouble of pissing away his soul.

“I don't see why this is so important to you.” Rowena stated as she came back through the hanging beads. In her arms were a half dozen random objects. Some Dean recognised. Some he didn't. “Oskars probably galavanting around the world again. Wee lad didn't even tell his poor mother when he visited Poland.”

She lay the ingredients out on the countertop. There were several white pillar candles, a small bag with markings which Dean recognised as carrying the bones of a Raven, a small glass jar with some unknown powder and a few purple crystals, all carried in a bronze bowl.

“It's not like he’s your responsibility.” Rowena commented as she began arranging the items on the glass surface.

Being just about closing time, Dean figured she was probably just going to do the spell herself. He checked his watch and yeah, right on close. He head to the front door, turned the lock and flipped over the open sign to say ‘Were Closed’. For good measure, he lowered the blinds before returning to Rowena’s setup.

“Be a dear and grab one of those maps on your way back.”

Dean plucked one of the mini folded maps from a stand and unfolded it on the way back over. The counter wasn't especially large, but it managed to have space for everything as Rowena set it up. The few candles were placed on the far ends with the bones and crystals still in the brass bowl in the centre. Once he’d reached it, Rowena moved the bowl closer towards her and gestured for Dean to lay the opened map in front of it.

As she worked, Dean finally commented. He didn't want to till now, just in case she’d changed her mind about the spell.

“He is my responsibility. He’s family.”

Rowena scoffed.

“He’s worked for you for what, two months? Suddenly now he’s family?”

She brought out a small flask from under the counter and poured some of the liquid into the bowl. It looked like water, but the flask it was kept in would suggest it was anything but. It didn't have the markings to be holy water, so that left something else entirely. As he eyed off the flask, Rowena caught him staring. She answered the question he didn't ask quite bluntly.

“Styx water.”

Before he could ask to elaborate, she’d put it away again.

He didn't like dealing with her at the best of times. There was something about Rowena that didn't sit right and it was probably that she was a witch. Dean never had much luck when it came to witches as most of them wanted him dead. If Rowena did too, she wasn't exactly flaunting it, which made it even worse. She could have been plotting anything.

Instead, he just watched as the last pieces of the spell came together. The candles were lit and the raven bones and purple crystals were doused in Styx water in the brass bowl. She’d opened the jar of powder but left it to the side. Apparently it wasn't time for it yet.

Rowena sighed, as if finding her son was some great chore and reached again under the counter for a decorative knife. Wincing slightly, she brought the blade across her palm and let a few drops of blood fall to the bowl beneath.

With her clean hand, she then picked up one of the lit candles and brought the tip of the flame to the bowl and the contents caught alight. Quite fiercely actually. Dean had to take a half step back.

Using the hand with the cut on her palm, she grabbed a fistful of the pale purple powder and held it in a clenched fist. Rowena's expression hardened as she held her closed hand over the flame and Dean almost baulked at the idea that he’d be smelling burnt flesh. She recited,

“Inveniet animam perdidit suam.”

She then opened her hand out flat and blew the dust from her palm over the creased map of the states.

Almost immediately, she brought her other hand to the cuts and burns and whispered to them,

“Mahday, eelohtah sahn. Serloh, eelohtah.”

The cut and the burns on her hand faded in a pale white glow. Dean's brow shot up. He’d have to learn that one for hunts. In a matter of seconds, the cut had sealed closed and vanished entirely and the oncoming threat of burnt and marred skin relaxed out to its normal alabaster shade. Yeah, he definitely needed to get that one in writing.

Rowena moved the bowl to another part of the counter so it was well and truly out of the way. She then returned to the map and waited.

Dean darted his eyes between Rowena and the map, not entirely sure what he was supposed to be seeing. Before too long, a small white glow began to form right on top of Lebanon.

“See there?” She pointed at it, like Dean couldn't see it for himself. “That's me.” She waved at it, smiling. “Hello!”

“If I was looking for you I would have told you.”

Rowena looked up from the map with a look that could kill, it probably really could with her power, and rolled her eyes.

“It follows the bloodline, you great git.” She pointed again. “There's me and there's no second light which means Oskar isn't in Kansas anymore.”

Dean's stomach dropped. He wasn't in Kansas? Or anywhere in the US? No way had the kid just up and left and . He had to be somewhere though, right?

“Can we do it again? Bigger? I’ll get a map of the world or something and we can do it again. He said he wanted to travel? Maybe he hopped a plane somewhere and -”

Rowena sighed, more out of defeat than annoyance this time, gestured to the map again and took a step back.

“There would be a second light. It would be hovering around the map if he was simply in another part of the world.”

Dean could barely bring himself to say the words. He swallowed.

“Do you mean he's dead?”

She looked back to him with a kind of sympathy. Not the kind for a mother having lost her son, but for a man losing a friend, or in Dean's case, family.

“He’s gone.” Dean took another step back, almost bumping into a magazine rack.

“Gone?”

“I’m sorry, dear. I do try and warn you not to get attached.”

Why wasn't she mad? She’d just learned her son was not only missing but dead and she was more worried about Dean?

“Why don't you care?”

“Beg pardon?” She feigned surprise.

“Your son is dead. Don't you care at all?!” Dean could feel his body begin to shake. His hands curled into fists and his breathing started to quiver. He was devastated, of course. But he was furious. Rowena didn't even care.

“I’m 300 years old, darlin’. I’ve learned not to grow attached.”

Dean was paralysed as she began to pick up the mess left by her spell. It was like a part of him had been taken. Not that he’d lost, like people were so used to saying. ‘We lost him’ or ‘we lost her’. Like they were a set of keys or a pair of glasses. Dean didn't ‘lose’ Oskar. He was taken. Dean could feel it. People don't go missing and just die for no reason. Something did this to him. If Rowena wasn't going to be any help, he’d have to find someone who would.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Dean couldn't remember getting back to Deano's. He didn't remember who he passed in the bar. He didn't remember climbing the steps to his place. He didn't remember opening the door or when he got into the bathroom. It wasn't until he was under the hot water of the shower that some part of him came back to his senses.

His hands were planted on the tile in front of him and his gaze was fixed on the tiles below him. He could feel the hot water running down his neck and back but it felt surreal. Like he shouldn't be allowed to feel it's comfort if Oskar couldn't.

It seemed stupid but he kept thinking of things that Oskar wouldn't do anymore. He wouldn't smile brightly each morning as Dean came down, ready for his morning coffee. He wouldn't get that light blush on his face whenever Liz whispered something in his ear. He wouldn't be going with her to Vietnam or Thailand or wherever it was they were planning on going. His brain wasn't exactly functioning like it should have been. All it managed to do was think of the sh*t Oskar wouldn't be here for anymore. He didn't even have a reason why.

Dean couldn't even think of how sh*tty Rowena had been. Well, he could, but only because his brain was forcing it. He didn't want to think how casual and nonchalant she’d been about the whole thing. Like it was some mild inconvenience to her day. She seemed more annoyed by the fact she’d have to clean up that powder over anything else.

The business part of him kept trying to put in his head that he’d have to hire someone else now, though that was something he could deal with much, much later. If he was able to cut that trail of thought off entirely, he would have.

Even now, in the shower, Dean still wasn't fully aware. He heard some noise in the distance. It was so muffled by his own thoughts, it could have come from the next street over and Dean wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.

Turns out, it was coming from just outside the door.

“Dean?”

Cas’s voice was quiet through the closed bathroom door. The running of the water muffled it along with the swirling mess in Dean's head. It could have been the first or the thousandth time he’d called out to him and Dean wouldn't have known the difference.

“Dean? Are you alright?”

Dean tried to answer but his mouth refused to form words. Instead, he turned the shower off with fingers that were far too pruned and pushed the excess water out of his hair and eyes.

He was never good at ‘death’. It was funny, with how often he’d put family and friends in the ground, you'd think he'd have gotten used to it. With Dad, Ellen, Jo, Charlie from the L.A.R.P. group he used to hang out with, Kevin who he’d met at a school in Michigan and kept in contact with after he moved again. They all died. They were all taken from Dean far sooner than they should have been.

Dean figured he was cursed. If you were somehow, or in some way unlucky enough to be associated with Dean Winchester, then flip a coin. That was pretty much your odds of survival around him. He couldn't help it.

Cas hadn't said anything since Dean turned off the shower. Maybe he was just looking for a sign he hadn't drowned or passed out or something. Dean wrapped a towel around his waist automatically. All his movements were too stiff. Too forced. As if everything would magically be fine again if he made it through this moment, then the next, then the one after that.

He opened the door to the bathroom and almost walked right into Cas.

“Sorry man.” Even Dean could hear how forced that sounded. He couldn't even bring himself to look Cas in the eye. Cas would just do that thing where he made everything better without actually doing anything. Dean would have fed off it, if he felt he deserved it.

He didn't. He failed Oskar. Dean wasn't sure how, but by simple association at the very least, it was Dean's fault he was gone.

Being careful not to make eye contact or give too much attention to Cas, Dean tried to step around him which was made somewhat harder given he only had the space of a door frame to work with. Each time Dean moved to one side, Cas stepped with him, blocking his way. Dean sighed.

“Cas -”

“What happened.”

Dean kept his eyes on anything but Cas. He stared into some empty space over Cas’s shoulder. He just wanted to call it an early night and collapse in bed. He didn't even care that it was only just past seven. Honestly, he could hardly be bothered to make it from the bathroom to his bed.

He sure as hell couldn't be bothered dancing around it. May as well get it out.

“Oskars dead.”

Having not moved his eyes, he did catch Cas tense his shoulders through his peripheral. It's not like Cas knew Oskar. He only knew what Dean had told him in bits and pieces. Though maybe the way he spoke about him could have counted for a little more. When Sam had first told Dean about Jess, it wasn't what he said so much as how he said it. The gigantor had such a warmth and excitement in his voice that Dean forgot most of what he actually said. All he knew was that if Sam was going on about her like this, she must be a hell of a catch.

It's not at all like how Dean would have spoken about Oskar, but he was fond of the kid. He had something in him, something that shone a little brighter. It's not like Dean could see souls or read minds or any of that crap but he just knew. There was something about him. Though that didn't matter anymore. He was gone.

“How?”

“Don't know.”

Dean tried to step around Cas the other way but Cas only stopped him again.

“Then how do you know he-”

“I just know. Okay?”

His eyes fell closed. It started out as a blink but they'd given up halfway through. Dean was tired. He wanted to try and sleep and just get to tomorrow in one piece. Though tomorrow wasn't looking much better. He’d still have to tell everyone downstairs, including Liz, that Oskar wouldn't be coming back. The worst part was that was all he could offer. He didn't know what happened to him. He didn't know where he went. What got him. When. Only that he was gone.

Dean forced his eyes open again.

Just get to bed. You can shut them again there.

Cas still hadn't moved. He was still in his damn suit and trenchcoat with the blue tie he’d somehow managed to put on backwards. The sight of it brought a half smile to his lips. He was so meticulous with his suit and his trenchcoat. They didn't have any wrinkles or whatever. Dean wasn't sure how it was Angel mojo but it must have been. The fact there was a tie all askew at his throat on top of all that neatness just made a kind of sense to him now that he knew Cas a little better.

If he saw Michael in that interview with so much as a fiber out of place, it would have made him more unsettling than he already was.

“Cas, I’m tired. Can we not do this now?”

He didn't answer. Hell, he hardly moved at all.

“I need to sleep. Or I need to try.” Dean took a few steps toward the bed, hoping Cas would follow without him having to beg for it. It would be clear that he’d need Cas tonight. Nightmares be damned. They were nothing on losing someone he’d call a friend.

It wasn't till he hit the bed that he remembered he wasn't exactly dressed for bed. All he had around him was that towel he didn't remember putting on. Cautiously, he looked back to Cas to see if he was watching.

Of course he was. There was very few moments when Dean could tell Cas wasn’t watching him or studying him in one way or another. It didn't matter if he was trying to go to sleep, reading a book, even something as boring as folding the laundry, Cas would be watching him. The only times he truly gave Dean privacy was when he was getting dressed or locked away in the bathroom.

Dean wanted to get in bed, and to do that, Cas would need to take his stupid blue eyes off him for even a second. He dropped his eyes to the ground and felt the damn blush warming the tips of his ears.

You’d think by now, a damn Angel would figure out when and when not to look.

“Could you turn around while I chuck on some boxers, at least?” It probably came out a little harsher than necessary but he was done with today. Done with uncertainty. Done with failing. Done with frikken Rowena and her witchy eyeballs looking right into him, trying to read Crowley's damn handwriting from where she stood. Just done.

Thankfully, Cas didn't seem offended at all. If anything his face relaxed a little from the worried scrunch of features into something a little more gentle. Cas turned on the spot, allowing Dean to slide on some clean boxer briefs and hop into his bed. He couldn’t guess how well he’d sleep though.

On one hand, he was exhausted. He should have passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow and not wake till this whole mess was over. On the other, he’d be thinking of Oskar and racking his brain, trying to figure out what got him. If he had so much as a body he could tell what it was and hunt the asshole down. Instead, he was just gone.

He’d hardly slid to the far side of the bed, closest to the window when the bed, thankfully, dipped behind him. Even that slight motion allowed him to catch his breath again and he turned to see Cas in his suit pants and button up shirt maneuvering under the quilt.

Cas hadn’t stripped down since that first night. If he was more comfortable in a shirt and slacks, then Dean would take it. He’d take the trench coat and shoes too if that's what Cas needed to be comfortable with him. Dean did miss the warmth of his skin and the smell that wasn't a smell that lingered on his skin. There was no chance in hell he’d ask him to strip down of he wasn't OK with it. If he wanted to later on, he’d take it happily. If he didn’t, it’d be a damn shame but he wouldn't press him, no matter what.

The bed had barely settled before Dean almost tackled Cas where he lay. He needed Cas tonight more than ever. He needed to hold onto him and hope against hope that the ‘world falling away’ affect he seemed to have came back in full swing.

Sure enough, they’d barely nestled against each other in their usual tangle and it started to take hold. He’d never fully shake the loss or the guilt of quite literally losing Oskar. In the worst possible way, he was another name on the list. Though here, in the warmth of his bed and in Cas’s arms, he knew it was going to be alright. He could get through tomorrow and the day after that. He could do anything.

Cas gave him a new strength. He didn't know if it was strength he used to have and lost somewhere along the way, or if it was new altogether. All he knew it that he needed it. Even if he could count his last months on his fingers, he knew it wouldn't be so bad.

XXXXXXXXXX

He could do this. He could.

Dean had dragged his sorry ass out of the safety and comfort of his bed earlier than he had any right to be awake. Given how early he went to bed, he figured his morning hangover wouldn't be so severe. So much for that theory.

He’d had a pod of coffee from the machine he’d retrieved from its hiding spot. The taste was better than anything he’d make himself, but it was a far throw from Oskar's coffee.

That was all the reminder he’d needed. Dean knew he was up this disgustingly early for a reason. The sun had barely risen by the time he’d down the last of his coffee. He needed to get downstairs before Meg ran off and before Liz started. Just in case, he double checked the roster this morning on the duplicate he kept upstairs.

This wasn't going to be pretty, but it would only be worse if he put it off and that wouldn't be fair to anyone. No. He needed to bite the bullet.

Once he’d made it downstairs, Meg had actually looked impressed with him. As if his presence at such an early hour was a rare occurrence. He was only a little earlier than he would have been if he was working. He just hadn't been downstairs this early in a while.

Upon reflection, he probably should have called another work meeting. It’d be a hell of a lot easier to do this once than drag it out through the whole day. It’s not his fault his brain was fried yesterday. He just didn't put in that much forethought to something he really wasn’t looking forward to.

Both the bar and the restaurant were empty and Meg was counting down the minutes till she could leave. It was still almost a half hour but she’d done everything she needed to. Maybe Dean’s presence alone gave the impression she could leave early.

“Meg,” She turned from whatever infomercial was being shown on the morning show. At least it wasn't more Angels. “You got a sec?”

“Maybe. Don't even think about keeping me overtime. I got plans today.”

Great. He’d probably put a damper on them too.

“I won't. In fact you can leave after this. Liz isn't too far away and I can man the fort till then.”

He thought she’d be happy with an early mark, but she seemed skeptical and rightly so. Neither one of them in their year's working together gave the other something for free. They had a bartering system. If either of them offered something sweet upfront, the sour wasn’t far behind.

“Why.”

Dean swallowed and opened his mouth a few times, trying to form the words. He probably should be as blunt as he was with Cas. Cas was different. Dean didn't have to sugar coat things. Lord knows Cas didn't sugar coat when he had something to say. Their relationship could be called honest if Dean didn't technically own him or they actually talked about anything that mattered.

“You know Oskar hasn't been in for a few days now…” he started, “I got some outside help in tracking him down.”

“He’d dead, isn't he?”

Dean froze on his half formed sentence. He’d lost the rest of the explanation he’d spent half his morning preparing in favour of a jaw he seemed to need to pick up off the ground.

“Uhh. Yeah.” Dean scratched at the back of his neck absentmindedly. “How did you -?”

“I can see the speech coming. Thought I’d save you the trouble.”

Meg did her best to hide it behind her usual stoicism but Dean knew her too well. He could read her, plain as day in her short words and quick movements as she gathered her things to take Dean’s offer of an early mark.

Meg didn’t form relationships with anyone at work. She kept to herself unless she needed something or someone had something she wanted. Dean doubted there was anything Oskar had that she would want or exploit but he could still tell she was even somewhat hurt by the news. She hadn't asked details or anything. Information and sordid details were her lifeblood. Dean expected a lot more questions than he got.

With her arms full with her apron and her bag, she was just about ready to take off when she finally met Dean's eye again.

“How?”

“Don't know. But it came from a reliable source.”

Dean was sure he’d get more of a fight from that one but instead, she just left. She gave a half nod, like she’d knew how pissed Dean would be without any info, and left him to it.

They were almost the same when it came down to it. That's probably why they butt heads so often. When something this hard hit them, they didn't want to sit down to some herbal tea and talking about ‘feelings’. They’d leave it as it was and deal with it in their own way.

After Meg had left, Dean took a piece of paper from the fax under the register and grabbed a thick permanent marker. If he didn’t think of having everyone here for a meeting at the same time, he could offer the next best thing. After quickly scribbling down a couple of sentences, Dean grabbed some tape and went to stick in on the main door.

The door was left unlocked. Even if someone wandered in without seeing it, it’d be easy enough to explain the situation and apologise for the inconvenience. It was more that he wanted Liz and everyone to come in so he could explain why he was going to be closed for today. Maybe tomorrow too.

Liz would be the hardest part. She was due in any minute and Dean was not looking forward to telling her. He’d broken the news a couple times in his line of work. Mostly it was up to the police, leaving him to do the follow up after they'd had a little time to grieve but to be the one that actually shatters someone's world like that…

Yeah. He was not looking forward to it.

It seemed like forever when Liz finally did come through the doors. Dean hadn't gotten as far as moving away from it after putting the sign up. He’s not sure where the time went but he’d hoped to have a little more preparation for her than almost nothing.

“Dean?” Liz darted her eyes between the back of the scribbled sign and Dean, who’d barely moved since she closed the door behind her.

“Morning Liz.” He didn’t even try to fake a smile. She’d see right through it. All he could do was try and hide his face, so he finally moved, heading behind the bar instead. “Can I get you a drink?”

The worry was hanging heavily from her face. She’d been wearing it almost non stop the last few days. The only comfort Dean could take is that she’d at least not have that worry anymore.

Though what would follow would be much worse.

“You can get me an explanation. Why are we closed today?”

Dean poured himself a half glass, very much in need of some liquid courage. Liz hardly drank at all, but she was known to have a shot or two to take the edge off a busy shift. He poured her one, just in case, before taking a quick gulp of his own.

“Can you sit down, at least?”

Her face fell.

“It’s Oskar, isn't it?”

Dean couldn't even deny it. Instead, he just pushed the shot glass towards her and took another drink before topping himself up again. As much as the amber liquid helped, though not by much, he would have given anything right now to have Cas downstairs with him.

Not even in a weird way. Just in his way that was so very him. He could stand in the far corner right now and Dean would still feel more at ease knowing he was in the same room.

He’d even started feeling less bad about it. Cas would have told him if his pathetic neediness had become too much for him. It was whenever Dean needed that anchor, Cas was almost already next to him, either in bed or by his side at the table. It’s like he just knew.

Dean would be able to tell, at least, he thought he could be able to tell if it made him uncomfortable or something. He tensed up sometimes or cautiously looked around as if they were being watched but once Dean relaxed, so did Cas. He wouldn't be able to relax if he was feeling all weird about it, right?

He could really use that strength from Cas now, but all he had was the liquid courage in the bottom of the glass. He downed the last of it before finally catching her eyes, so filled with a horrible anticipation. Better to get it over with.

XXXXXXXXXX

As he started up the stairs, Dean shot a quick smile to Liz as she head out the door, locking it behind her with her spare keys. She had been devastated. Of course she had been. But she wanted to help Dean in any way she could.

She offered to call Garth, Ash, Nancy, and Claire and let them know so they didn't bother coming in later. She even managed to get the words out better than Dean had. She held a shaky smile through the conversations, probably more to keep herself sounding OK rather than anything else. She told them all not to bother coming in today or tomorrow, giving Dean a quick glance to check that was alright, even though they both knew it was probably best.

Seeing as Oskar traveled a fair bit, he didn't know too many people in the area, other than his mother who apparently couldnt give a figs ass if he was dead or not. There probably wouldn’t be any ceremony or anything too official. He’d only really been in town a few weeks before he started working here.

Dean made a mental note to have Rowena at least take care of all the legal crap you’re supposed to take care of when family dies. The more Dean thought about it, the less he really knew Oskar enough to be making those kinds of decisions. He was only his employer after all.

Liz had even thanked Dean as she ended the last call. As if knowing what happened, but not even how, was better than not knowing at all. In Dean’s line of work, not knowing had to be a thousand times worse. She was holding back the rest of the tears she didn't shed, waiting to release them once she left the bar. Dean knew she’d be alright eventually. Liz was one of the good ones.

He head up the stairs feeling better than he did going down, but still felt like absolute sh*t.

Dean needed a distraction. Something to keep his mind moving. With Deano’s closed for the next couple of days, he’d have nothing but himself and his thoughts.

And Cas.

Cas had been a distraction in the most incredible way. Even just being here made Dean certain that everything would be alright, even when he does get his ass dragged down to hell. A part of him didn't care if Cas never gave him the information they'd need to track the other Angels, he was twistedly happy to even get through the nights without nightmares and have him around more than anything else.

He knew how screwed up that was. If the lusty-wrong feelings he had before weren’t bad enough, he was pretty damn sure it was evolving into something a lot more ‘feelings’ than that.

It was sordid and all sorts of f*cked up. He knew it. He wasn't a complete idiot. He bought Cas. No point in denying it. That's exactly what happened. He traded his soul to the King of the Crossroads for the pleasure of having him as a pet, and now he was developing things and feeling things that he had absolutely no right to.

Dean only had a bit over nine months. He could not make an ass out of himself for that long, surely.

Once he’d opened the door to find Cas sitting at the dining table, still as ever, he’d had an impulse decision too good to pass up. He needed one hell of a distraction. There were a few other pressing matters he could cross off the list at the same time. Why not three or four birds with one stone? He smiled at Cas as he closed the door behind him.

“Cas, get in the car. We’re going for a drive.”

Dean didn't give him a chance to respond. He’d have told him to pack a bag if he actually owned anything. His only possessions, that Dean could tell, were the clothes on his back.

Instead, he head past him to grab the extra duffel he kept under his bed. The one saved for longer road trips where the one already packed in Baby’s boot wouldn't quite cut it. He began tossing in some extra boxers and shirts when Cas finally responded.

“Are we going somewhere?”

“Could say that.”

After tossing in sufficient clothing for a few days (he could always wash what he did bring), he shot out a quick text, hoping everyone would understand. He knew they would. They were his family. They probably could have used the time off too.

I’m closing up for about a week. I’ll pay you all the hours you were rostered on for. Take the time you need and I’ll see you next Monday.

With an afterthought, he added;

We’ll start the new hunting schedule after.

If something did get to Oskar and he didn't know how to properly defend himself, that'd be on Dean too. The sooner he stopped talking about teaching them how to, the safer they’d be and the slightly-less-guilty Dean would feel.

He’d have to change the sign on the way out too. The more he thought about the drive and where he was headed, the more excited he got. Nervous too. He’d probably get his ass handed to him when he got there.

Dean sidestepped Cas and grabbed a small pre-packed bag of mini toiletries from the laundry. Another necessity to have lying around for when distant cases turned up.

“Where are we going?” Cas followed Dean’s movement as he tossed the bag into the duffel and zipped it up. Dean was ever the minimalist.

He swung the duffle over his arm put a hand out, resting it on Cas’s shoulder. He almost flinched it back. They hadn't really ‘touched’ outside of sleeping before. Dean bit his lip and rubbed a thumb over the thick material of the trench coat, wishing he could feel the muscle and skin under the fabric.

He blinked a few times, hoping Cas wouldn’t notice whatever the hell that was, and gave him another big smile.

“We are going to California. It’s time you met my brother.”

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Dean had made this trip more than enough times before. He was essentially running on autopilot. It was true that Sam had only been to see Dean a few times. Kansas was far too far away during semesters or whatever. It was much easier for Dean to go and see them.

Each time he’d left Ash in charge of the bar and he’d always been a little worried, sending texts off every few hours to make sure the place hadn't burnt down. He wouldn't have that problem this time. Well, he could, but no one would be around to tell him right away.

It was well over a decent day's drive. Back when he and Sam would still hunt together, they could usually smash out that distance in about 24 hours if they only stopped to swap over and get petrol or food. With only Dean driving, it could take a little longer.

He’d grown used to the long drives on his own. When Bobby caught wind of a case out that side of the country, Dean was more than happy to take Baby out on the road and let her really stretch her legs. Though it had been a good few years since then.

So when it came to the trips he did make out to see Sam, he was a little rusty, which he hated.

It’d be easier in every possible way if he could just man up long enough to hop on a plane and fly there. Itd only take about 4 hours or something but he couldn't do it. It wasn't just that he couldn't bring himself to abandon Baby in some dirty airport carpark. She’d undoubtedly be bumped around by the valets, scraped into by other clumsy parker's or even nudged by families with clunky luggage. Even if he didn’t well and truly hate flying as much as he did, he still wouldn't leave her like that.

That just left the drive.

He did love it. Dean loved the monotony of an endless drive on an open highway. Though typically he’d be alone. This time his passenger seat was occupied. This time, he was with an Angel riding shotgun.

The last time they were in his Impala together, it was a hell of a lot more awkward than this. It was on the way back from the Crossroads in what seemed like a lifetime ago, not the two months it had really been.

And God, had they come a way since then.

Dean never would have thought they’d get on half decent speaking terms, let alone grow a bond that came so naturally to the pair of them. Given Cas’s initial horror when Dean accepted the cost for him, he thought it would have taken much, much longer to get anywhere near this comfortable.

He couldn't help but watch Cas out of his peripheral. He was driving in pretty much a straight line on a quiet as hell road that he'd been on a thousand times before. It was the little things that made Dean keep looking.

Cas seemed so completely fascinated by whatever they passed. Tiny highway towns, fruit stalls, forests, fields, you name it and Cas was focused on it intently. He’d have the brightest smile, even if he tried to hide it on his face, the way his eyes lit up was incredible.

Dean wouldn't admit to watching the rest of him. The firm jawline with the faintest hint of stubble, or the hands resting in his lap where the fingers would occasionally intertwine when he was getting fidgety. The best part was when Dean could tell Cas was watching him.

He knew it should feel weird. He’d hated anyone watching him before whether he was driving or not. Sam would always have a book or something, making the drive comfortably quiet with both of them having other things to focus on. With Cas, it was just a comfortable silence. Any normal person would have tried to strike up a conversation to stop things getting weird but a good three hours into the drive and nothing felt out of place.

It wasn't until he was just shy of the Nebraskan border that Dean really needed to pull over, for a bathroom break and gas if nothing else.

He pulled over in a little town on the border of Nebraska and Wyoming. Having emptied his bladder and refilled the car, he’d also grabbed some typical driving snacks and beverages. Usually he tried to avoid energy drinks but on a drive like this, they were almost a necessity.

Once he got back to the car, he’d found Cas hadn't moved at all. It was just like back at his place. He barely did anything without so much as a suggestion from Dean.

“You want to stretch your legs? We won't be stopping again for another few hours.”

Cas looked through the opened window, apparently not noticing that Dean had returned from the cashier after filling the tank.

“No thank you, Dean. I’m ready to leave when you are.”

Dean didn't argue. He was an Angel after all. It's not like he ate or drank or would need the bathroom at all. Hell, they weren’t even ‘his’ legs to stretch. Did Angels get car cramp? He returned to the driver seat and brought Baby to life again before getting back out on the road.

With a full tank of gas and the next stop not for another few hundred miles, Dean figured now as a good a time as any to strike up a conversation.

“So,” he started, making Cas face him again, “You seemed pretty keen to get going? You keen to meet the family?” He was mostly joking. Just teasing, really, but he was genuinely curious as to whether or not he wanted to meet Sam, and Jess by extension. They were, quite literally, the only family he had left, other than Bobby who was a much easier drive from home than this would be.

Maybe they could organise a trip to meet Bobby, depending on how well this trip went. Bobby would be dying to interrogate him, if nothing else.

Cas seemed to pick his words rather carefully before answering.

“You spoke about him quite fondly.” Cas’s eyes dropped to his hands which were now fiddling with the bottom of his tie. “The day after I was… was relocated to your place of residence… “ He straightened his tie and looked straight out the front window. “You only spoke of him briefly but I can tell you have a deep connection with your brother. If you feel that I should meet him, I would appreciate the honour.”

Ok, that left Dean a little speechless. Back when they played Twenty Questions, Dean had only mentioned Sam a couple of times. The ‘Angel thing’ was still new to him and he didn't want to give away too much information just in case Cas was going to hunt him down after taking Dean out. It wasn't a pattern for the other disappearances so he shouldn't have been worried even before he figured out what happened to the buyers.

Now, he knew that Sam was as safe as he could be.

From Cas anyway.

“You didn’t say much about him, from which I can only assume you were cautious of his safety.” He turned and looked at Dean, dead in the eyes, as if he was determined to get his point across. “It speaks in volumes that you trust me enough to meet him now. Thank you.”

Dean shot a glance back to Cas.

He didn't actually think about it like that, but he guessed it was true. He would have never even considered bringing him to Sam before. Not only to meet him but to show him first hand where he lived?

He must be going crazy but yeah, he did trust Cas enough to bring him to Sam. Sam. The little brother he’d spent his whole life protecting. The one he’d go to the ends of the earth for if it meant he’d be safe. Even now that he was technically out of the picture, he still had someone checking in on him when he couldn't. If he did trust Cas enough to meet him, that had to be a good thing, right?

“Uh, yeah.” He took one hand from the wheel and ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. I do.” It was surprisingly, actually, to see just how easily that trust had come. “Trust you, I mean.” He looked over just in time to catch the tail end of a smile, one that lit up his eyes even in the dimmed sunlight coming through the windscreen. “You haven't really given me any reason not to.”

Dean shot Cas a quick smile, waiting for it to be returned before looking back to the road but it didn’t come. He didn't want to take it quite as personally as he did. He may have been expecting some kind of ‘I trust you’ back. That's how these things usually went, did it? One person expresses something to the other and it's typically reciprocated. That's how it went.

Did that mean Cas didn’t trust Dean? He couldn’t really blame him. He did buy him after all. But he’d been nothing but good to Cas since he got him home from the Crossroads. At least, he thought he had been. He’d offered him his own bed, put a privacy curtain thing over the shower so it wouldn't be weird, he even cooked for him before he knew that Angels didn’t eat.

That was definitely more of a sneaky move from Cas’s side so as far as Dean was concerned, it should have been a mark against Dean’s trust for Cas, not the other way around.

Deep down he knew it was selfish to expect some level of trust from him. Even if they did spend their nights together or were able to sit in comfortable silence without thinking the other way going to rip their throats out, that's still trust, right? Letting someone close to you when you're most vulnerable? Or at the very least, believing that the other person isn’t going to gut you.

He’d tried to give Cas every reason to trust him. It was the only way he thought a civilised bond would work between them. They had that bond. Or at least, Dean thought so. How could they have that without some level of mutual trust?

Dean shifted in his seat, suddenly somewhat uncomfortable. It was wrong of him to want to ask Cas outright if he trusted him back. Everything Cas did was at some order or suggestion of Dean’s. He hadn't really shown any of the ‘free will’ Dean had promised him. Or promised himself he could give him. Maybe that part wasn't clear enough.

Either way he couldn't just ask him. Trust had to be earned. Not forced or taken. If he played his cards right on this trip to California, maybe Cas could learn to trust Dean the way Dean trusted him.

XXXXXXXXXX

The rest of the drive had been more or less the same. Either with both of them in silence, staring out at the road or the passing tree lines, or exchanging in small conversations. Dean would ask more about Castiel, almost feeding off the information he was willing to give up. He wanted to know everything about him, as strange as may have seemed.

Cas was unsurprisingly hesitant to give up anything that mattered. What happened to him, how he wound up with Crowley was never even remotely touched on. Instead he’d talk about things he’d seen or events over his vast lifetime. Dean didn't think he could ever grow tired of his stories, even if it was just so he could hear his voice as he described the ‘wonders of his father's creation’.

Dean talked about Sam and Jess too. Dean gave Cas plenty of heads up that Sam would still be pissed at him. He told him about his degree in law and how he was smart enough to score a full ride to college. He told him about Sam’s dissertation too, or what he understood of it anyway. After the initial introduction and some undoubted hostility, Sam was bound to ask about Cas. Best he have a warning for that interrogation too.

Dean finally pulled over for the night somewhere outside of Salt Lake City. The busy capital was far too busy to score a cheap hotel for the night, so Dean ended up a little closer to the Great Salt Lake. It always had a few choice spots with a great view, at least from what Dean had seen when he’d driven by in the past, and he thought Cas may have appreciated the sight of it rather than a bustling and busy city.

It cost a little more, being a tourist attraction and all that but it was worth it. As soon as the room was bought and paid for, Cas took to the view like a fish to water. Dean even had to coax him away from the office so they could actually dump their stuff, well Dean’s stuff, into their room.

It was a quaint little set of cabins a couple of stone throws from the lake itself. They were lucky there was a cancellation really. Otherwise it would have been booked solid. They only needed necessities. Beds, bathroom and and, well, that was it, really. They’d be off again first thing in the morning.

So what if Dean over spent a little. He never spent more than the minimum on a hotel in his life. With someone to actually share it with, it made it well worth it. That and he wouldn’t need any extra ‘disposable income’ in nine months time.

They’d left the office with the key and had just about reached the door to their cabin when an idea struck.

“Tell you what. Let me change clothes and then we can go check the lake out before the suns all the way down, what do you say?”

An answer hadn’t even formed on Cas’s annoyingly distracting lips when Dean got an even better idea.

“Actually no,” he started, just to see the confused expression Cas gave at Dean changing his mind, “You go ahead. Find a good spot or something and I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

It was probably risky. To a sane person, it would have seemed a dangerous move. Letting an Angel head to a tourist attraction on his own. Even encouraging him. If it had been any other Angel Dean had met, he’d have done everything in his power to stop them getting even this close.

He didn't even have to tell himself again that Cas was different. No way would he have thought about doing something that would injure others, let alone draw attention to himself.

He’d said that he loved humanity. Whether or not he was on the side of the Angels that wanted to start or end the Apocalypse or whatever, it was clear when he spoke about humans or whatever that he loved humanity. He saw the good in people when he had no reason to. After wars, famine and every kind of tragedy he’d actually been around to see, it still made him love them more.

Dean trusted Cas not to hurt him or anyone else. And he wanted to show him that.

After a brief silence where Dean could just about hear Cas thinking, he finally spoke.

“Are you certain?”

Dean nodded almost instantly.

“I trust you.”

Cas co*cked his head sideways in confusion, or maybe disbelief, for a moment. After a quick thought, his face hardened. Dean’s heart dropped as Cas stepped towards him, closing the short distance between them. He moved with such intent and certainty, if a little slowly and almost predatory. Dean was almost a little scared. He said he trusted Cas and he meant it. Even if this was toeing the line a little.

“You trust me here, by your side, where you can monitor my every move.”

He was dangerously close now. Any remote regard he would have had for personal space was long abandoned. It was gone right about the time Dean stepped back, bumping into the closed door of their room, making him drop his duffel to the floor. In any other situation, Dean would have fought back. An enemy pressing him between a wall and his aggressor would have triggered his fight or flight, in which fight always won.

It wasn't helped by Cas raising an elbow and pinning Dean to the door at the collarbone. Dean swallowed thickly. He should have been scared. He should have. There was an underlying tone that said this was all manner of hot and he shut that down as fast as he could.

Cas’s blue eyes were fixated on Dean’s, looking for any sign of weakness. Dean swallowed thickly and kept the stare between them, refusing to be the one to look away first.

“I’m an Angel, Dean. An Angel exiled from Heaven.” Cas scanned Dean’s features over and over. An anger was rising in his voice, turning threatening. “Do you understand what it takes for an Angel to be exiled? I could have done anything. I could have murdered half the world. I could have given man his first sin. I could have been the one to let Lucifer in the garden.” As much as he was fighting it, Dean caught as his voice wavered, just that tiny bit.

But Dean knew he hadn’t. Ash showed him the Angel that did let the snake into the Garden. So why was Castiel trying to make whatever crime he committed sound worse than the original sin? What had he done?

“I could have killed millions of people. Women…. Children …” Cas had started out trying to scare or prove something, sure. Though Dean read right through it now. “ …and you’d still trust me?”

This wasn't about Cas being dangerous. This wasn’t Cas testing Dean’s trust or threatening to hurt anyone. No. This was Cas in disbelief. It was written all over his face.

He didn't believe that Dean could trust him enough to ‘go out unsupervised’ as if he was a child or a family pet. This simple gesture Dean had offered, knowing the full weight of it, clearly struck some kind of chord with Cas. Though why, he couldn't tell.

Gently and so very cautiously, Dean reached for the arm still pressing him to the door behind him. Dean couldn’t look away now. If he did, it could show him that whatever he was going to say wasn’t a hundred percent sincere. When he said he trusted Cas, he meant it, even if it had only been a few months.

He still wasn't sure why it had come so easily to him. He should have questioned it, but it was just there.

“I trust you, Cas.” He lowered Cas’s arm, though that may have made the whole thing worse. Now Cas was close, so close that Dean was fighting every urge not to change their places. He was fighting not to shove Cas back against the door where he had been and kiss that stupid mouth that had haunted him since the first night Cas had watched over him. He wanted to show Cas just how much he meant it.

He was so close that their foreheads could have been touching and Dean wouldn't have even been able to tell. Not when his bluer than blue eyes were still running all over his face, scanning him for any sign of dishonesty. Dean could have grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him into a desperate and wanting kiss and his hands curled into fists at his sides trying to fight off the actual possibility that he might.

When Cas finally took a step back, he wasn’t sure if it was better or worse. The only thing he knew was that he could now release a breath he wasn’t fully aware that he was holding onto.

Cas’s features were unsettlingly neutral. He wasn't happy that Dean trusted him this much. He wasn't upset. He wasn’t, well, anything, as far as Dean could tell. Before Dean could ask, Cas interjected.

“Thank you, Dean.” He couldn't even meet his eye now. “I’ll try to remain somewhere you can easily find me.” He kept his eyes downcast before turning to walk away entirely.

What the hell just happened.

Everything was fine on the drive here? The sun was just starting to go down and, if he was honest, Dean would have kept driving into the night but he thought Cas may have liked to see something other than the inside of Baby before he stopped to grab a few hours rest.

Dean grabbed the duffel from the floor and pulled the room key from his pocket. Once he was inside, he closed the door behind him and sagged back against it.

He wanted to show Cas he could trust Dean too. Maybe if he gave and gave and gave, maybe he might come around. It’s not like he was an asshole to him or anything. He’d tried to be as accommodating as possible, given the circ*mstances.

The moment kept replaying over and over in his head. What should have been an Angel showing dominance over a human, Hell, threatening a human should have been well up there in the ‘sh*tting your pants’ levels of scary.

Only it had been the furthest thing from it. Dean’s body had tensed when he was pressed against the wooden door, but it wasn't from fear or uncertainty. He was more than certain of what happened in that moment and he already hated himself for it.

Cas was showing him a vulnerable side, even if he didn't mean to. He asserted his power, sure. He could have done anything to Dean and just the thought made the fabric of his jeans tighten. He was already half hard once Cas had pinned him to the door.

sh*t.

Dean hadn't even realised this would be his first time really alone since meeting Cas. Up till now, he was either with Cas upstairs in the bar or down in the bar surrounded by staff and patrons. He hadn't had a moment in the last few months to really…

Double sh*t.

It was all threatening to ambush him at once. The dark tousled hair, the deep baritone of his voice that Dean had more than once wondered what it would sound like if it moaned Dean’s name.

The thought of it now was more than enough to feed the fire in the pit of his belly and tent the fabric of his pants.

No. He couldn't. No way in hell could he do this. He tossed his head back against the wood of the door and cursed himself for even thinking it.

It had been months. He’d been too afraid to do much in the shower, even with the stupid privacy curtain up. If he didn't do something now, God knows how long it’d be before he was alone like this again.

Growling under his breath, he threw the duffel to the other side of the small room, and dug the heel of his palm into the front of his pants, both desperate for the pressure and cursing it at the same time. He ran a hand through his hair, half panting. He’d need to be quick. Cas was expecting him and Dean would be damned twice if he gave any sign he’d been thinking of him at all.

In his current state, it wouldn't even take long.

He’d been working up to this for, what seemed like forever.

Dean needed to come. He’d denied himself far too long.

Before the usual wave of guilt could ruin the adrenaline and arousal flooding his system, Dean kicked off his shoes, tossed his two shirts in the same direction as the duffel, and sat on the edge of the King bed. The only bed in the room.

sh*t!

If Cas was going to stay with Dean again, he’d be lying in a bed where Dean jerked off, thinking about him. Though the thought of it only helped to harden him further.

He shoved his jeans and his boxers down the cleft of his ass, letting his co*ck spring free and rest against his belly in a proud arch. Desperate for the friction, he immediately grabbed at the base, causing a bead of precome to bead at the slit and the sight alone made him lick his lips.

Dean quickly scanned the room. Thankfully, there was a small, decorative box of tissues on the bedside table beside him.

Looking back to his dick which was practically pulsing, begging to be touched, Dean licked at his palm and rubbed it over the head, smearing the precome. Perhaps the first moan was a little louder than necessary. It's just been so damn long and Cas has more than contributed to his spank bank, even if it wasn't intentional. Closing his eyes, Dean let his head fall back as he start up a steady speed with a firm grip.

With one hand leisurely pumping at his co*ck, he used the other to hold himself up on the bed. For just a moment, Dean let himself reimagine. What if he had kissed Cas. What if Cas had kissed him.

What if Dean had shoved him through the door to the cabin, not caring who saw before slamming Cas against again it once they were inside. Dean had never been bothered before about who topped or bottomed when it came to ‘male acquaintances’. As long as all parties were happy and consenting, chances are, he was damn happy. Though this was his own land of ‘what if’ and he could set the rules.

He picked up the pace a little as he then imagined Cas being the one in control. All that Angel power being used to hold Dean down and render him more or less helpless.

Deans breath was coming in short, uneven bursts as he then pictured Cas with those gorgeous pink and seemingly chapped lips wrapped around the head of his dick. He’d barely worked up the visual before the heat coiled red hot inside him and he fumbled for the box of tissues, dragging it closer to him on the bed.

In his mind's eye, he had his fingers laced through the dark tousled sex hair and every experimental tug made Cas moan around his dick. It didn't take long at all before Dean scrambled for a handful of the tissues.

When he came, the moan he’d barely suppressed sounded suspiciously like Cas’s name. He strokesd himself through the final waves of his org*sm and a little longer, just to make sure he got it well and truly out of his system. He cannot be doing this again. The guilt had already started to sink in and Dean’s hand hadn't even finished moving yet.

This was wrong in so many ways, other than the obvious. Not only did he just jack off thinking about Cas, an Angel he was really only starting to call a friend, but he jacked off thinking about Cas. The Angel he owned for all intents and purposes. He knew this guilt was going to come long before he did. Though now that it was almost back in full force, he almost felt worse than that day at the Crossroads.

It's not like Cas would ever know. Dean sure as hell wasn't going to tell him. He wasn't going to find out. That's the point of lying.

It still wouldn't stop the surge of guilt that self loathing running through his system right now.

He didn’t allow himself the relaxing moment of the afterglow. No way did he deserve that. Dean got up and pulled his pants back on. There was no point messing up a new set if he was only going to wear another new set tomorrow morning.

Dean grabbed the shirts that had landed surprisingly near the bag when he threw them and shoved them into the spare pocket he saved for dirty clothes. From another, he pulled out a shirt which would do him for now. It’d be a little cold but there was not point dirtying anything he didn't need to. He wasn't lying when he told Cas he wanted to change. A whole day in the car in the same shirt got a little ripe after a while. He just didn't anticipate what else he’d need to do in the room before he met up with Cas.

After a quick shower-in-a-can that was also sprayed lightly over his jeans, just in case, Dean figured that he was pushing it for time as it was and he had to go find Cas. Not like he’d have gotten himself into trouble, but the light of day was fading and Dean wouldn't admit, under any circ*mstances, that he wanted to see how the dying light coming off the lake reflected in Cas’s eyes.

It's not like he had that much longer to live anyway. Who said he couldn't be a sap and enjoy the little things?

XXXXXXXXX

When he found Cas, he was sitting at a bench, focused intently on the lake in front of him. There were only a few families still around, but they were packing up to leave. Dean figured most of them were headed out to dinner. It was around about that time. He was starting to get hungry, himself. He’d have to grab something from one of the local shops before calling it for the night.

The only people that looked intent on staying out late were photographers that were trying to catch the last moments of twilight, and couples sharing in the romance.

Well, sh*t.

He didn’t think, or he didn’t intend to rock up at a ‘date’ spot. One of those places where couples came to make out behind trees or on blankets or wherever, as long as they were hidden from the rest of the world.

If Dean was honest, the view that almost stopped him in his tracks could have been loosely interpreted as romantic. Loosely. The pristine and still lake, the sun going from orange to pink as the sun set and the faintest hint of snow capped mountains in the distance. Well done, Winchester. He’d done it again.

Cas was a little dense when it came to ‘human things’ though, so perhaps it didn't phase him. Dean was yet to test his social skills on other people but from what he’d seen, he didn't pick up on some of the subtle nuances that humans had, such as ‘romantic settings’. Thank God.

Dean approached the bench and sat beside Castiel who didn't flinch at his presence. He kept his eyes on the lake, or the horizon, or the sunset. Who knew.

“Not bad, huh?”

Cas glanced at Dean, just for a moment before turning back to the sight infront of them.

“It is pleasant, yes.”

Dean scoffed to himself. Cas had such a way with words. Like he thought too much about each sentence, and not enough at the same time.

“How much further till we reach your brother?”

Quickly calculating it in his head, he figured they’d get here late tomorrow but it would depend on when they left.

“It's about 12 hours from here so if I can smash it out and we leave early enough, we could get there for dinner tomorrow. Not that you eat but, typically people eat together in a social setting.” Dean smiled and bumped his shoulder into Cas’s, teasing him a little. Not because he couldnt or didnt need to eat, but because he wouldn't know the mannerisms when meeting someone. It was going to be great.

Dean didn't know what provoked him. It must have been either how relaxed he finally was after a quick go in the cabin, or the eerily peaceful silence by the lake, or some combination of the two. It had been months since he asked. What could be the harm in asking again? Cas was technically the one that brought it up, anyway.

“Sure you can't tell me what you did?” Dean kept his eyes on the vast body of water, completely catching how Cas had quickly turned to face him out the corner of his eye. “I know you didn’t kill people. I know you didn't let the snake in the Garden. I don’t know what you did, but no way in hell was it anything that bad.”

When he finally looked over to Cas sitting next to him, the defeated and broken look on his face reminded Dean of the photo that he had of him for a week before actually having him. The one that made Dean want to have him and somehow fix him in the first place.

“Dean…” Cas looked away and sighed. Dean could almost see the internal argument, debating whether or not he should share. Dean desperately hoped he would. The curiosity alone would be the death of him. Cas pressed his lips together, then spoke.

“I fell.”

“Fell?”

“From Heaven. I wasn’t exiled. At least, not to begin with.”

Dean had the sense there was a long, long story to go with it. Thankfully, they had all the time in the world. Up till the end of Dean’s contract anyway. Plus a day's drive tomorrow. He could either get the whole story in the time they had, or watch as Cas closed up again.

“My sin was free will. My punishment, however, came from what I chose to do with it.”

Dean was sure he knew that part. Free will was a big ‘no-no’ when it came to the feathered douchebags. That much was obvious. They were all about God’s orders and following them to a tee.

Ash’s reading of the Enochian report popped up in his head.

The debt shall serve as punishment and the punishment shall serve as debt

How the hell was that supposed to make sense to anyone.

Even if Cas was being just as annoyingly cryptic as his report had been, he still seemed more giving at the moment than he usually was. Maybe, with the right probing, Dean could get a little more from him.

“Your punishment?” Obviously, that was being on the market. How did that serve as debt? Or the other way round? “But it's only temporary, right? You’re free once my contract expires?”

Cas kept his stare intently on the lake in front of them. As though, if he could, he’d spread his broken wings and fly right off into the sunset. The reminder that he couldn't had hurt Dean more than he’d like to admit. He pushed again.

“It's like a clean slate after that, right? Like being out of debt?”

That didn't get nearly as much of a reaction as he’d have liked. If anything, he looked a little sadder. Like the end of the contract would mean his death as well as Dean’s.

God he hoped it didn't mean that.

The sun had dropped below the horizon, taking the pink and blue colours of twilight with it. They should really be getting inside before Dean got any colder than he already was in just his shirt. The fading light only served to capture Cas in a perfect silhouette, staring out at the lake till the light left them entirely.

Dean was sure Cas wouldn’t ever tell him what happened. Not really. If anything, he’d get some cryptic clues like his damn report. The only thing he had left to go on was the brand.

Ash had figured out he was someway tied to Lucifer, or more accurately, the idea of him or his story. Cas said that he fell, which Dean was sure happened to Lucifer. Something about loving God more than humans though, so it must have been something else. What had Ash said? Something about the ‘human aspect of Lucifer's fall’. Lucifer was the farthest thing from human. He hated humans. So why was his sigil on his back if Cas loved humanity so damn much.

Dean sighed. The answer must be in the rest of the Enochian. The few symbols with a hyphen and a couple of dots. It almost seemed like nothing, but there was a world of meaning behind those few lines and circles.

Either way, Cas either didn't want to, or simply couldn't talk about what had happened. Dean could tell it wasn’t something as easy as leading a civil war or torturing other Angels. Whatever it was, it was fresh and it was on him. Dean would be there when he wanted to talk but, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't push him more than he already had.

So instead, he gave him an out. It was well past time they head back anyway. Dean was getting cold and starving. He pushed himself to his feet and looked back to face Cas.

“Let's get going then. Not much more to see once it's dark.”

Cas looked up at him, clearly thankful he’d stopped asking what his giant secret was, not that he still wasn't dying to know. Without thinking, Dean stretched his hand out to Cas who looked at it in bewilderment for a moment before he took it in his, and rose to his feet.

It was the tiny moments like this that Dean clung on to. At night, more often than not, he got to share his bed with Cas. It worked wonders for keeping the nightmares away. Even when they started, and they still started, Cas would do something while he slept and they’d die out soon enough.

As amazing as that was, funnily enough it only happened while Dean slept. He wasn't even awake for the gentle touches and that annoyed Dean far more than it had any right to. He had no right to ask for, or want more from Cas. If he chose, he could order it from him, but that was the last thing he’d ever want. Whatever small touches Cas was willing to share was whatever Dean would hungrily take.

And if he was an asshole and wanted more, he’d never tell Cas that.

So he toed the line. He’d offered his hand to, yeah, help Cas to his feet. As if he was an old man whose knees were giving out like Dean’s were after thirty plus years of hunting. If Cas dropped it again after, then fine. Dean had that one electrifying touch to keep him going till he next craved Cas’s skin.

It wasn’t all perverted. There was something in the warmth of his touch that seemed to put the world right again. Like Dean didn’t have that gaping hole inside him telling him that something was missing. Whenever they touched, if only for a second, that awful feeling melted away. Sure, Dean was selfish for wanting more of it. He couldn’t help it. Cas was an addiction.

It only served as a bigger surprise when Cas didn't pull his hand back. He’d stood next to him, but instead of dropping his hand again and walking off, he’d held on. Not especially tight or anything, more experimentally. As though he wanted to see if Dean would take his hand back first. They both looked at their hands in one another before Dean spread open his palm, bringing his fingers to intertwine with Cas’s.

Once they’d settled their palms together, of which Dean was sure his should have been sweating from how nervous he was, they finally looked to each other.

Cas’s face was almost unreadable, except for a small smile on his lips and a spark in his eye. Dean had no right to this. He didn’t. Especially not since he’d taken care of himself maybe a half hour ago with the other hand and the reminder brought the guilt back in full force.

He could have this. It was obvious that Cas didn’t hate the idea either which was nice. It was more than nice. He hadn’t done anything as ‘high school’ as holding someone's hand since Lisa all those years ago. As much as they cared for one another, it never felt like this.

Dean’s heart was racing and he gave a half smile to cover up a nervous laugh that may or may not have slipped out. It must have, because Cas all but frikking blushed before looking away.

God dammit. Cas was definitely going to be the death of him. Literally, soon enough, but right here as well.

“Come on. I’m starving. How does watching me eat pizza sound?”

Dean smiled and lead him by the hand. He walked hand in hand with Cas back to the cabin and if it wasn’t one of the best feelings in the world, Dean would be damned all over again.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

The next morning, Dean woke feeling more refreshed than he had in months. He was sure his quick solo session yesterday had something to do with it, though the thought of it brought up a whole new wave of self loathing that he tried to avoid this early in the morning.

He’d never gone without a release for more than a couple weeks and even that would be considered a catastrophic dry spell. Almost three months was pretty much unheard of. So yeah, he woke up feeling much better, and a little worse all at once.

As sweet as little set of cabins were, Dean and Cas had to be off before anyone was up to offer them a continental breakfast. It was time they didn't have and Dean would rather some garbage breakfast on the road and a sit down dinner of Jess’s cooking over a decent breakfast and missing out. Even if it was fancy rabbit food, Jess knew how to make it taste amazing. Sam was one hell of a lucky guy.

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon by the time they’d loaded back into the Impala and back onto the highway. Once Dean was on the straight, he got Cas to check his messages for him while he drove. He’d have done it himself, he was used to checking his phone while driving, but why risk Baby when Cas could check for him.

The added amusem*nt of Cas flicking through his phone didn't hurt either.

Turns out he got a few non-urgent texts last night. He kept his phone on silent as an underserved reward to himself. He didn't want anyone waking him. Dean wanted to savour the one night vacation as long as he could and any messages from work or otherwise would have ruined that isolated feel altogether.

There was a few messages. One from both Meg and Ash suggesting hunts in their area for when they got back. Apparently there was some ghostly happenings in their backyard. Almost literally, as in two or three streets away from the bar.

That could be a good first mission.

He explained to Cas how to reply to Ash and got him to text something along the lines of sounds good, make sure it's safe for the week. Maybe look into the history and look for a possible body, we can show off a salt and burn when I get back. Dean couldn't help but smile as Cas’s fingers tripped a little over the touch screen and sighed, frustratingly as autocorrect got his message wrong.

The other messages were mostly condolences which Dean was grateful for, but still felt like he didn't deserve. That just about came with the territory. Everyone always apologised or sent sympathies or whatever but it was always Dean’s fault they were dead in the first place.

He didn't reply to any of them.

Cas read through them anyway, like he thought Dean would somehow benefit from them. He read them out and named each of the senders till one caught Dean and apparently Cas’s attention.

I told you not to get attached, Dear. I’ll take care of the usual arrangements but there’ll be no funeral. Too dreary if you ask me. I’ll have his remains sent home to Poland.

It didn’t take much past the first sentence to realise who it was from. The bitch had struck a whole set of nerves the day they did the location spell and she had the nerve to follow it up with that text? Not only couldn't she clearly not give two sh*ts about her own son, she didn't even care enough to give him a proper burial.

Bitch.

Dean scoffed bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief as he kept his eyes on the road.

The silence that came from Cas was a little unnerving. Like he had an opinion towards it but was afraid to actually voice it.

“Something to add, Cas?”

Cas read the text to himself again, studying the letters on screen as if they held the answer.

“This woman… Rowena?”

Dean nodded.

“A witch and a bitch, all wrapped in an evil Scottish bow. Oskar was her son.”

Cas parted his lips and thought a moment before speaking.

“That explains a lot.”

“It does?”

“Witches are often hundreds of years old. It would make sense for her to not form any emotional bonds. She may have outlived another child or loved one and refused to undergo the suffering another time.”

While that did technically make sense, Dean still didn't see how a mother could so easily abandon her son. Even if she wasn’t as cold and heartless as she was trying to seem, she was making a damn good show of it. He thought she may have cracked a little or given some glimmer of love underneath the mask but there was nothing. Dean had come to know her pretty well since moving to Lebanon and there hadn’t been any signs of anything as ‘dreary’ as love. Everything she did was for her own gain.

“Yeah, well even if she had separated herself or whatever, she could have at least acknowledged his death a little better. He was only a kid.”

Cas hummed, though if it was in agreement or holding back further comments, Dean couldn't tell. He flicked through Dean’s phone again, a gesture that should have counted as an invasion of privacy and off limits in every way. Dean never let anyone through his phone. Not even Sam. It wasn’t that he had anything in particular to hide, he was just a very private person.

The only reason he hadn’t snapped at Cas was the constant reminder of offering trust before he could get it back. If he hid his phone away now for no good reason, Cas would see it as secretive and Dean wanted zero secrets between them.

Dean tried to catch what Cas was looking at without being too obvious and keeping his eye on the road at the same time. They had a hell of a drive today, may as well pass the time somehow.

“Find anything interesting?”

Cas continued to flick through some old messages, though Dean couldn't see who they were from.

“Your interactions are very informative. You speak to each of the people in your phone with different mannerisms.”

Before Dean could ask, Cas switched between conversations and continued

“You speak to Nancy very politely. Whenever you ask something of her, you always have excellent manners and I haven’t found a single instance in which you are unpleasant to her.

“Meg, on the other hand,” Cas paused a moment at the name, or the messages, Dean couldn't tell. His messages with Meg were always somewhat colourful. “With Meg, you're always battling for dominance. Even though, it's clear she works for you, she wants to have you under her thumb and you resist without trying to aggravate her too much.”

Cas smiled as he read through some of Dean’s exchanges with her. They had an interesting relationship to say the least. It was even more interesting watching Cas try to label it, for whatever reason. At least it passed the time for him. Watching the highway can only entertain you for so long.

“Even though you and her seem to argue to no end, there is a mutual respect for each other. It's admirable. And quite familial.”

He would never have thought of Meg as a sister. Not until their recent hunting trip at least. She was… well she was a brat. A cunning and conniving demon of a woman who tried to manipulate Dean to no end.Though, come to think of it, she kind of was his family. No matter how off-putting and creepy she came off sometimes.

Dean let Cas go through his phone, explaining who everyone was as he brought them up. He had a photo saved to just about every contact in his phone so whenever Cas brought someone up, Dean explained who they were and a little about them. Nothing too intimate, just a little about their personality and whatnot.

The decision was all but made anyway. Depending how his meeting went with Sam, he’d introduce Cas to everyone else when they got back to Kansas. Seeing as he wasn’t Hell bent on killing Dean and whoever else, they may actually be interested in who was sharing his accommodation and was pretty much the reason he’d be gone in under a year.

Oh. He should probably mention that to everyone too.

Before he knew it, Dean had reached the turnoff to head through San Francisco and San Jose towards Stanford University. They'd spent the whole day just talking. Again. Somehow they still hadn't run out of things to talk about. They talked about everyone that works for Dean, about Jody and Claire and about Bobby and Benny.

Cas did turn a little sour when Dean talked, even briefly, about Benny. He tried to keep the details to a minimal, not really caring to share the sordid parts with an Angel. From what he did say, which was how Benny came to be part of the family after Bobby bought him almost three years ago, made Cas turn and look out the passenger window and tense his shoulders.

It was probably because he was a Vampire. There had to be some ‘vampires and demons are scum of the earth and angels are light and good’ superior crap like that. Granted it was a little speciesist, but Dean had been raised the exact same mentality. More or less. Benny was the exception to the rule. So was Cas, if he was honest. He hated all Angels too on the simple premise that they were angels.

Yeah, sure, it was more than possible that there were other vampires or angels or whatever that aren't complete douchebags. It’s just that Dean was yet to be proven wrong. Twice.

It seemed like no time at all by the time they actually pulled up to Sam and Jess’s place. Given how much they'd driven over the last two days, the extra hour seemed like nothing at all. Dean detoured a little so they could get a passing glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge. Cas was vaguely impressed but more disappointed it wasn't made of actual gold like the name suggested.

Sam and Jess’s apartment was barely a stone's throw from the campus. As it turned out, Jess inherited the apartment shortly after she finished school. Her parents died in some accident and left it to her and she’d lived here ever since. The banks let her use the house as collateral for her degree or something so she was able to get into Stanford which was essentially in her backyard.

Their place was surprisingly quiet. Given how close it was to the school, Dean would have thought that the surrounding miles would have been filled with various juvenile delinquents going to the same school, making generally poor decisions and partying too much. Though he probably only assumed that because he’d watched too many crappy motel room movies.

Once he’d pulled into the garage and parked in the second car space Sam and Jess never used, he grabbed his duffel from the back and guided Cas to the lift.

“Ok, so Sam is still definitely going to be pissed at me. He’s all about Angel rights and whatever and he’s going to be super sympathetic to you.” He glanced at Cas as he pressed the button for their level. “I mean yeah, I get it, I’m an asshole for buying you and I’m sorry but I kind of needed you and it was a split second decision.”

Where the hell was this coming from? The agonisingly slow elevator kicked up some nerves about Cas meeting Sam and for the life of him, he had never been this nervous. What was worse is that his mouth wouldn't shut up. He’d never really apologised to Cas outright for buying him and now it was all slipping out in sentences his brain never had the chance to filter. On top of that, Cas had furrowed his brow in a question he’d never get the chance to ask between Deans rambling and the time they got to the door.

“Look, Sam hangs around with Angels all the time so he’ll probably be better to you than I am. Not that I’m horrible. Am I horrible?” The elevator opened onto Sam’s floor and Dean still couldn’t seem to stop the words from coming out. God help him.

“It’s just the only other Angels I’ve met been have been douchebags and tried to kill me on sight so I kind of expected the same from you.” Someone make it stop. Smiling nervously he knocked on Sam’s door, hoping his useless mouth would take the hint.

“Hell, you may even want to stay with Sam instead of with me so everything's not a roller coaster of -”

“Dean!”

Admittedly, he had to force his attention away from Cas. He’d parted his lips and his features all screamed that he wanted to have some kind of input into Dean’s little explosion but Jess dragging them both through the door meant that little conversation would have to wait till later. Super…

“Dean, it’s been forever! Come in, please!” She led Dean through and, somewhat cautiously, greeted the Angel that followed him. Dean watched as she extended a hand. “I’m Jess. It’s nice to meet you.” Cas stared at the hand for a moment before taking it gently. At least he’d figured out handshakes easy enough.

Their apartment wasn’t that big. If Jess was here, Sam couldn't be too far behind.

Almost on queue, Sam called out from a room or two away.

“Jess? Did the phone ring? I thought I heard you say -”

Sam stopped as soon as he saw Dean.

Dean could read him like an open book. He was equal parts excited to see him and Castiel as he was pissed off for the reason Cas was standing next to him. Sam darted his eyes between them and back to Jess. Yeah, Dean knew Sam was mad, but he was also his brother. He knew Sam could stow his crap long enough for Dean to see out the end of his contract.

“Heya Sammy.” Dean offered, tentatively. He flashed a grin, trying to defuse some of the tension. “Got room for an Angel and Hell's most wanted?”

Sam took a few steps forward, placing the stack of papers he’d brought out with him on the breakfast bar beside him. Dean would have been lying of he said he wasn't entirely sure Sam wasn’t going to deck him right then and there.

Instead, Sam pulled him into a tight hug. Yeah, Sam was pissed. But they were still brothers. This would be the first of the last times they’d ever see each other. That hurt more than either of them would have liked.

Saving himself from a chick flick moment, Dean pat Sam on the back a couple of times before stepping back out from his arms. He could already tell Sam was conflicted. Dean offered up another icebreaker.

“So, Jess. Is that dinner I smell?” He looked between them, both hopeful from his empty stomach and that it’d get past the awkwardness they were digging themselves into. He knew full well Jess always made more than more than enough.

Jess smiled brightly. She had one of those smiles that could light up your day, no matter how sh*t it had been. Like she had her own ball of sunshine tucked under that platinum blonde hair of hers. She was always happy or trying to make others happy.

But that didn't mean she was some delicate flower. Oh no. Dean himself had tried to rile her up when they first met, just to see if she was capable of getting mad and she flipped on him, hard. She used her bubbly demeanour and that smile to turn Dean's words on himself and to this day he hasn't been able to say anything to her that she couldn’t immediately come back to. She was smart, had a very quick wit and a fantastic sense of humour.

Yeah, Sam was definitely a lucky guy.

“Yeah actually, it’ll be ready in ten. Seafood lasagne with vegetables.”

In any other house, Dean would have pulled some disgusted face that anyone would purposefully serve vegetables and not even with the decency to hide them within the meal somehow. Though Jess worked magic in the kitchen. Dean could eat her food for days, even if he did consider it rabbit food. Jess eyed Dean for a moment with building frustration. He half shrugged before she gestured to Cas and back to him.

“Oh, uh..” He cleared his throat. “Guys, this is Castiel.”

“Nice to meet you, Castiel.” Jess repeated, with the added sincerity of using his name. “I know you don't eat but you’re welcome to try it, if you like. I’ll set you a place at the table so you can join us.”

Cas smiled and Dean would be lying if he said it didn't hurt a little. It was selfish as hell, but it took Dean ages to see even the glimpse of a smile, let alone a whole one.

“Masterchef here is Jess, which you probably guessed and this is Sam.” Dean stood back a little, allowing his brother and Cas the chance to shake hands or whatever the official Angel greeting was. If they even had one.

Sam, even through his mixed emotions towards Dean, as clearly happy to be meeting Cas. Even if he was the reason Dean would be gone in less than a year, that fault was on him. Cas was just the Angel that got caught in the crossfire. He was still an Angel and a slave at that which meant Sam would treat him the same as any other client. With utter respect.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Castiel.” He extended his hand, but instead of Cas grabbing hold to return the shake as he’d done with Jess, he took it in his hand and covered it with his other.

“Sam. It’s an honour. I’ve heard much about you.” Cas looked up at Sam who towered over him, just like he did everyone else.

Sam creased his brow for just a moment, then smiled.

“Uh, yeah. Unfortunately Dean and I haven't talked much yet so you’ll have to tell us about yourself. We’re excited to hear about you. You and your story.” Any of the anger Sam had been harbouring for Dean had practically melted away. If it was still there, he did a damn good job of putting up a front for Cas.

Sure, it had only slipped out on accident. A lot of things happened to ‘slip out’ on the way up here but maybe Cas would be better off staying here.

Cas clearly liked them. Maybe even better than he liked Dean. Dean did force him into a sh*tty situation, kept asking questions about things Cas would probably never want to talk about. Dean had really only moved him from one cell to another by keeping him locked above the bar for the last two months.

On some level, he was even forcing him to share a bed.

The sick realisation burned through his gut and bile began to rise in the back in his throat.

No. No… It's not like… he …

Dean swallowed thickly and blinked through the light starting to form at the corners of his eyes. Air. He needed air.

Barely registering the look Cas was giving him, Dean tried to be as subtle as possible as he made a break for the small balcony off the living room. Sam was still talking to Cas, asking him questions or something, Dean couldn't tell. He could only hear a white noise in the back of his head.

His breath quickened as he fumbled at the latch, trying to open the damn thing before the sliding glass door finally gave way. He stepped right up to the railing and inhaled, deep as he could.

The cool city air was more than refreshing. It cleared his head and his lungs and brought the world back into focus. Hopefully no one inside caught on to whatever little tantrum his brain had decided to pull.

With his breathing returning to normal and the world coming back into place, Dean was thankful to catch the sound of light footsteps approaching. It gave him a moment to think up some bullsh*t and lather on a little Dean charm as a way to convince both parties.

“Dean?” Jess approached him on the balcony, sliding the door half way closed behind her. He’d turned to face her, hoping he didn't look too pale or something else that would have given away how completely not okay he was.

“Hey. Was just dying to check out your view again, you know?” He glanced over the railing again at what wasn't, in any way, a view to brag about. Sure, they had a sliver of ocean or San Pablo Bay, Dean could never tell, far off in the distance but most of it was surrounding buildings and busy streets. Nothing spectacular and, unfortunately, not at all a convincing lie.

Jess smacked her lips together.

“Oh for sure. You know, we’re the only building that gets to see the Clement Hotel from this exact angle?”

Dean dropped his head and smiled. He should have known there was never any fooling Jess. Dean sighed, a little louder than necessary just to make sure she heard.

“Alright, caught me.”

He caught her eye again and she was smiling fondly at him. It was only another moment before she closed the space between them and wrapped her arms around him. Given that Dean was a fair bit taller than her, that left her to slide her arms under his and around his back, pressing her cheek against his chest. Just as he lifted his arms to return the sudden affection, Jess spoke.

“I know you must be scared.” Dean scoffed a little. “To know you have an end date, I mean.”

She didn't let go and the hug wasn't as weird as Dean thought it would have been by now. It was actually really comforting and assuring. Who knew.

“I get why you did it and you’re a good man.” She finally pulled away and Dean may have missed the brief sisterly hug already. “Even if Sam gives you sh*t for it, you couldn’t have known what we knew. Even if you’d asked, we’d have had to lie about it. The whole lawyer confidentiality thing is a nightmare.”

Jess smiled again and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“You got the information you needed to save lives. You are a good man, Dean.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before offering out her hand, most likely to lead Dean back inside again.

It wasn't much, but he did feel a little better. He was still a sack of sh*t for buying Cas and everything since then. He may have had the best intentions but that won't get you anywhere. What was that saying? The road to self loathing is paved with the best intentions? Close enough anyway and very accurate.

Dean returned her smile as a silent thanks and joined Sam and Cas inside. Sam had seated Cas at one end of the table and had taken the lasagne out of the oven. It had been placed on a heatproof board in the centre of the table with a serving utensil wedged in the side. He’d just set down the bowl of steamed vegetables that Jess had always somehow infused with various delicious herbs and whatnot, and was in the process of opening a beer for Dean and himself. He’d poured Jess a glass of wine.

It only felt like a second, but he must have been on the balcony longer than he thought.

When he caught Cas looking at him out of the side of his eye, he returned the glance. He looked worried which came as a fair shock. If it wasn’t for how Dean had forced him to share a bed at night, got him to hold his hand yesterday, even spanked one out yesterday thinking about him, he would almost say he deserved the concern.

He did have that little outburst on the way up which may have revealed more than he meant to. He hadn’t rambled on nervously like that in a long, long time. Not since Lisa had asked to top him in the bedroom half a blue moon ago though that was mostly because she’d caught him off guard. This wasn’t even anything. This was, well, ‘meeting the family’. Technically.

Dean and Jess joined the others at the table and he couldn’t help but eye off the dishes in front of him. They smelled so damn good. He’d only eaten roadside trash whenever he’d stopped for petrol and whatever he could quickly whip up in his kitchen during work hours. It had been God knows how long since he’d sat down for a home cooked meal.

XXXXXX

Dean knew that dinner was going to be amazing and he wasn’t wrong. The lasagne was perfect and the white sauce stuff inside went perfect with the chunks of fish and whatever else was in there. He figured it safer if he didn't ask what it was, exactly. It tasted good, that was good enough for him.

It was also probably the only time he ate proper vegetables in vegetable form. His body would love him by the end of the trip.

As amazing as the food was, the conversation was somewhat concerning. Maybe not the conversation itself as it mostly consisted of Sam and Jess asking Cas the same stuff Dean had asked and Cas gave the same answers. Bible stories told from another perspective, the truth about some of history's most incorrectly documented moments and very little about himself.

Dean hadn't expected much else. If Cas was going to open up to anyone, it should be him, but he couldn't be sure of anything at the moment. He’d put a great big foot in his mouth which was shortly followed by food. Who knew if Cas thought Dean was as garbage as Dean thought he was. All he’d gotten was a questioning and confused look before Jess opened the door and dragged them back in.

There’d definitely be a conversation later. Dean just hoped he had the balls enough to start it.

It wasn’t the conversation or the topics which were particularly worrying. It was the way Cas looked at everyone. If you’d asked him when Dean first met him, all his expressions were pretty much the same. Since then, he’d picked up on subtle movements in his forehead or the way his jaw tightened. Dean could have watched him forever and kept learning newer and newer expressions as they came.

Though the one he wore now, he hadn’t seen before. He could hardly put a name to it. It was as if he had some wonder that was buried beneath fear or something. Like he wanted more of this mundane conversation but was scared of it at the same time.

Dean had to stop trying. He couldn’t sit and analyse every facial expression, every movement, every tick in the hopes of understanding Cas a little better. Cas was strange. He was otherworldly and ethereal and all that crap and there was no way a Winchester would be able to find the mysteries buried underneath.

The only clue he had was the brand across his back. Maybe he should ask Sam. He’d have to be pretty fluent from working with Angels all the time, right?

He was only dragged back into the conversation when he noticed Sam looking at him expectantly

“Wait, what?”

Sam gave a half smile and asked the question again.

“I asked why you were here? I thought Jess and I were coming to stay with you in a few weeks?”

He’s not wrong. They did organise for Sam to come see him but coming here just sounded so much easier, and safer. Dean drank the last of his beer before replying.

“I figured it’d be helping you two out. Saves you coming all the way to Kansas. Saves you being crowded in my tiny place. This way you have all your nerdy school stuff around for when you inevitably ask him to be part of your dissertation.”

Sam swallowed which made Dean smile. No way was Sam going to turn down the opportunity. Dean just broke the ice for him.

“Uh, yeah, maybe. We can talk about that tomorrow if you'd like, Castiel? If that's ok with you?”

Cas looked to Dean, eyebrows slightly raised as if he was asking Dean's permission to continue. Dean hoped that Cas had known by now he was free to do pretty much whatever he wanted. He nodded slightly and looked away. Some part of him figured it’d be harder for Cas to read him if he looked away.

“Of course, Sam. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

Dean couldn't help the wave after wave that went through his head that kept telling him that Cas should stay with Sam. He hadn't even considered it until his dumb ass had vomited it out on their doorstep. Though the more he inadvertently thought of it, the more it made sense. Cas could help Sam with his dissertation. Cas would be looked after and not hidden away like some giant secret.

Granted he was going to introduce him around when they got back but it had still been almost four months with the people around him having no idea. They'd likely rip him a new one when they found out and, by extension, treat Cas like crap. Here, he’d be treated far better. He wouldn't have Dean and his constant neediness and his nightmares and the giant hole he didn't know how to fill. He’d have Sam and Jess and sit down dinners, even if he didn't eat. He’d have a social setting and he would probably even get to see other angels.

Even if he was ‘exiled’, he’d still want to see his brothers and sisters, right?

The constant flow of pro’s over con’s was making Dean feel uneasy. He had no reason to be. It was entirely selfish to want to drag Cas back to his hellhole after he’d been with Sam and Jess. It was a great f*cking idea. If he actually said it out loud, all included parties might like it a little too much and Dean would be forced to live out the last 8 or so months as he would any other.

It should have been a good idea to him too. Let him take his mind off the coming months and put down some plans for what would happen to Dean's after he left. On paper, it was a pretty damn solid plan.

Instead of voicing it, he did the selfish thing and pushed it down for now. He got up and head to the fridge for a beer with the intention of washing out the aftertaste of one of his better ideas.

XXXXXXXXXX

The next few hours had been more of the same. Menial small talk about Cas and Sam and their classes and previous interactions with angels. Dean had sat in the corner of the room watching them and downing beer after beer. They got on so well. It would make so much sense if Cas stayed here. No awkward tiptoeing. No curtained showers. No question of consent on bed sharing. He’d have his own thing here. His own room. Better reading materials and hell, maybe even privy to some of the inner workings that Sam was privy to.

If he was ‘free’ once Dean’s time was up, what better way to reintegrate himself back into angel society, or whatever.

He refused to mention it. At least not to Sam. Not yet. He’d maybe ask Cas first but Dean knew he wouldn't like the answer. Of course Cas liked it better here.

Once Sam and Jess had called it for the night, they helped Dean make up the fold out lounge. They only really owned one for when Dean would visit or if they had late night study sessions where it was too late for anyone else to crawl home. It was a roomy double so there’d technically be plenty of space for Cas to sleep beside him, but no way in hell was he going to risk Sam catching them snuggling together in the morning.

Cas did have much better reading material here. Sam had said Cas was welcome to read whatever he could find. Most of it was research or journals or other boring angel crap. Though Cas had only been locked up for a month or so. It wasn't as if he had a millennia of Angel history to catch up on. He must have either known it or lived it.

Dean realised with a passing thought that Cas had never mentioned what he’d done before getting hauled off to Angel prison. He’d only ever talked about eons ago or, most recently at a couple of hundred years. If he was in trouble for some rebellion or whatever, it must have gone on a while.

After the bed was unfolded and lined with sheets, Sam and Jess wished them both a goodnight. They'd offered Cas some journals and even a map of the surrounding area in case he wanted to get out. Dean tried his best to subtly suggest against it, being instantly reminded of Ash and his tracking software. Then he was reminded of the not-yet engagement that'd be coming up soon. He hadn't decided if he should even mention that one to Sam.

When they’d retreated to their room, Dean stripped down to his briefs and climbed into the makeshift bed. His head spun a little from the one too many beers he’d downed during the course of the night, but he could still feel Cas’s eyes all over him. Was he waiting for an invitation? Was he hoping he didn’t get one so he could read or did he want to get both him and Dean in a world of sh*t by ‘taking a stroll’? Was he thankful that he’d be able to do what he liked for the first night in… well, God only knows how long?

Dean purposefully kept his back to Cas. It was a little difficult, given the layout of the room. The end of the bed more or less pointed straight at the lounge Cas was sitting on. All he managed to do was curl his legs up and make sure the angel couldn’t see his face.

He couldn’t say how long he lay like that. He had every intention of falling straight to sleep with the help of the many beers but his brain didn't want to shut up. It had felt like so long since he didn't have Cas beside him at night to knock all those thoughts out of him. Looking back, he didn’t know how he ever slept without him.

Time passed. Or maybe it had. He couldn’t hear Sam and Jess’s whispered voices behind the closed door anymore. Everything was dead silent except for the steady breathing of Cas at the other end of the room. If you could call it breathing. Dean didn't think Angels actually needed to breathe.

As if he hadn’t let enough out today, it seemed his mouth was a glutton for punishment. He couldn't even stop himself before he asked

“Do you like it here?”

He didn't move. Dean didn’t and wouldn’t uncurl himself, let alone face Cas. He couldn’t bare seeing his face if he knew he had the option to stay here. Away from his prison. Away from Dean.

After a silence that lasted a little too long, Cas finally answered,

“It seems pleasant. I feel I haven’t been here long enough to make a decision.”

But it seemed pleasant. Hell, that was almost more than enough, wasn’t it? How had he described Dean’s place? Had he? Or was it really just a prison to him? Either way, Dean couldn’t help himself.

“So yes, you like it.” It wasn’t a question.

Dean wasn’t nearly as drunk as he’d like to have been. Sam was such a good little student, he only had whiskey or scotch around when he knew Dean was coming. Having caught him off guard, the only thing in the house was a few beers that Dean now had to replace or Jess’s wine, and no thank you.

What he wasn’t, was drunk enough to ask him outright. That was a conversation for many more drinks.

It took him a lot longer than it he’d hoped, but eventually he did fall back into sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The first thing he notices is the pain. The searing fire in his chest that makes him bring his hands to his heart to grasp at something that isn't there. It's like fire and ice spreading through his ribs and over his lungs and his breath is caught in his throat. It hurts, but it's nothing on the screaming in his head.

Dean had never wished for an end before. Through a sh*tty upbringing and into a sh*tty lonely adulthood, Dean had never seriously contemplated ending it before. It was almost worth it now just to make the pain stop. He felt like his head was in a vice that was growing tighter and tighter, but when he brought his hands up, there was nothing there. The walls of his skull were pressing in on his brain, or his brain was pressing against his skull, he couldn't tell which. Either way, it was agony.

He couldn't bare to open his eyes. Any sliver of light or single image was only going to make the pain stronger. Instead he scrunched his eyes tight in the faint hope that it may relieve some of the pressure but nothing came.

The only thing he could do was curl up as small as he could. He brought his knees to his chest is some attempt to relieve the tightness around his lungs. He kept his hands in tight fights clenched to his temples. Dean lay for some immeasurable amount of time, taking in quickened breaths to try and slow his heart but nothing came. Nothing slowed it and it didn't stop.

Until, suddenly, it had. He wasn’t… wherever he was anymore. He was in Sam's crappy fold out mattress, still curled up in the fetal position he’d fallen asleep in. His breath was coming in quick, hard pants as he blinked his eyes open, relaxing them after having been shut so tightly.

It took a minute, but he finally felt something on his lower leg. Bolting up and practically scrambling to sit upright, he was met with one of Cas’s trademark concerned expressions. Even in the dark of the night he could make out the annoyingly gorgeous blue in his eyes and now he wasn’t breathing so hard anymore.

He looked down and saw the all too gentle way Cas had his fingers curled over his bare calf and swallowed, thickly. Suddenly, he had to try and control his breathing all over again. A little too hesitantly, he pulled his leg out of Cas’s grip.

“Thanks, Cas.” And he was. He was so thankful. He hadn’t had a dream like that in months and, quite frankly, he was starting to forget what it was like to have them. He’d spent literally every night with Cas by his side and something as simple as his touch was able to make them stop before they even began. Whatever Angel mojo kept the nightmares out, he was thankful as hell for it. Though he didn't deserve it by any stretch of the imagination.

Without allowing Cas to comment, he rolled straight back over and tucked himself under the blanket. Dean wasn’t sure who Cas was doing this for anymore. He knew he didn’t deserve Cas’s touch. He wanted it. God, he needed it, but it wasn't his to have. Cas hadn't said if he liked sharing a bed with him or if he only did it because he sensed that Dean needed it. Or because he asked that one time and he had just kept doing it until he was told otherwise. If he was going to stay here with Sam, there would be no need to make Cas sleep with him anymore.

It's not like Cas would be cuddling up to Sam in the middle of the night, though the thought of that pissed him Dean off more than he’d like to admit. Either way, if he was going to stay here. He had the chance now to see what it would be like without him.

And Dean should get used to nights without Cas.

He buried his face in his pillow and shut his eyes tightly. Maybe if he willed for sleep to come, nightmares or not, it would come anyway. If he was asleep, he couldn’t feel Cas’s eyes on him the way they were on him now.

Maybe coming to California wasn’t the best idea.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

The next morning, Sam and Jess had left rather early for class. Dean was woken by the sound of Jess starting up her blender to make some questionable looking smoothies for Sam and herself. Truth be told, he was woken before that by the running water he could hear through Sam’s bedroom door but that was low enough that he could almost doze back off. The grinding blender though was another matter.

Dean should have remembered. The few times he’d come to stay with them, he was always unpleasantly reminded of their early bird schedules. If it wasn’t one of them coming out to make their, frankly disgusting looking smoothies, It was the sound of the door closing as they’d come back from an early, early morning run. As in ‘before the sun was up’ kind of early. No one in their right mind needed to be up at that hour. Even with his alarm and business downstairs, Dean was never up that early. Or if he was, it wasn't to go for a run or make a damn smoothie, that's for damn sure.

So just like every other time he was here, he buried his head under his pillows or blankets trying to drown out the sound till they left. Even if he did have limited time with his brother and Jess, he also had limited sleep-ins so he’d take what he could get. He could annoy them well into the night. His mornings belonged to him.

He’d be lying if he said he wanted them to belong to him alone. What he really wanted in his last months was someone next to him when he fell asleep and woke up in the morning. He wanted a reason to lay in bed for hours that wasn’t just because he liked his sleep. He knew exactly who he wanted to do that with but wanting and having are two entirely different things. Even more so when one is a freakin’ Angel of the Lord.

It wasn’t even because how safe everything was when it came to Cas. How he’d actually get a full nights sleep because he’d keep the nightmares away, intentionally or not. It wasn’t safe in the way it should have been. It was actually more dangerous than most if the hunts he’d been on. He was still an Angel. He could burn his eyes out or whatever but Dean knew deep down that Cas wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure how he knew. He just knew.

Given the exceptionally sh*tty return of the nightmares last night, he’d give anything for Cas to be curled up beside him right now. If he tried hard enough and turned the blender into white noise, he could almost imagine it. It's not like it was too hard, he’d woken up with Cas beside him before but that was too clinical, somehow. Like his vessel was there, but the Angel had left the building. What he would give for a morning where they could actually lay and talk and just be themselves. Maybe get a little physical. Dean could dream. He’d give his soul for it, but that's not really his to give anymore.

With a brief goodbye from the early birds and a grunted reply from Dean, he figured now as a good a time as any to get moving. He was awake and there was zero chance of him falling back asleep with Cas watching or a certain impending conversation that was still yet to happen.

In truth, he hadn't given much thought as to what they’d actually do while in California. Sam and Jess had classes during most of the day so they could only really socialise or do anything together late afternoon or at night. Dean didn’t even know what to do indoors besides research cases, having some ‘private time’, or general cleaning. Sam and Jess were neat freaks so the house didn't need that much cleaning, other than the dishes no one had gotten to last night so he figured that was a good place to start. After a shower anyway.

Their small apartment only had the one shower that was attached to their bedroom and he’d used it plenty of times before. Luckily, it was well tucked away from Cas and the poor job Dean was doing in trying to avoid him. He knew if he caught one second of eye contact with Cas, he wouldn't be able to stop just staring at him. He’d done it a little last night while he was a little drunk. He stared so long and so hard he thought he may actually be willing the desire to stay into Cas’s head. Well, to stay or not to stay, he couldn’t remember.

Dean grabbed the duffel he’d brought from the car which only required passing through the same room as Cas before beelining for the bathroom.

It wasn’t until the hot water began to beat on Dean's shoulders that the tension in them started to subside. The steam filled his head and his lungs and did wonders for calming the sh*tstorm that had been swirling around in his brain since they got here. Dean inhaled deeply a few times, allowing the warmth to seep into his skin and calm the nerves that had started to build in his gut.

He tried to think about it as calmly and logically as possible with the steady stream of hot water to keep him grounded.

What if Cas stayed with Dean till after Dean’s ‘time’, then lived with Sam? No, that was stupid. That took over 7 months away from Sam where he could have Cas right here ready to answer questions or whatever he’d do to contribute. Even then, why would Cas want to stick around after Dean had gone? He’d be free to do whatever he wanted, presumably. That most likely didn’t include sticking around the family of the man that bought you.

Cas could talk to Sam through emails or skype or whatever the cool kids used these days. If Cas got the hang of texting, Dean could even get him a phone. Surely Cas’s help could be summed up in a handful of phone calls? He didn’t have to stay here?

Though it was a much better environment. Dean wasn’t sure of the rules of whatever but surely Cas could see the other Angels if he was accompanied by someone, right? Not to mention he wouldn't get whatever side-eye cautious treatment was waiting for him at home. Ash would have a fit. So would Claire.

He was actually a little surprised that she hadn’t found out through Jody who, surely, Bobby would have told. Unless he was waiting for Dean to spill the beans, even if he was taking his sweet time about it.

It didn’t matter which way he thought about it, every angle suggested Cas should stay here. It just made sense. It also meant Dean would be free to take the kiddies out on a hunt when he was back. Not like Cas would hinder it in any way, just that Dean could focus on that and not on leaving Cas behind. Or bringing him. Come to think about it, he wasn’t sure what he’d do with that either.

One predicament at a time and only one predicament per shower.

Dean turned the tap off to leave a gentle flush across his chest and back where the hot water had maybe been a little too hot. Even if he was a little red and a little pruney, he came out of the shower far better than when he went in.

Though it didn’t calm him entirely. He still needed to have ‘the talk’ which he was dreading in every imaginable sense of the word. But at least he’d cleared his head.

XXXXX

Dean had made it all the way to midday without making it too awkward between them. He sat on his laptop for most of it checking out the info Ash had sent regarding local hunts. Local in Kansas, anyway. The one he messaged about seemed pretty good for a first time. It seemed very much like a ghost was causing minimal trouble. Not enough for it to be noticed, but there were some disappearances recorded near it which was more than enough for Dean to want the son of a bitch gone. He’d get right onto it when he got home. In the meantime, he’d have Ash make sure no one else stumbled across it.

He’d also run a quick Google of the area to see if there was anywhere Cas and he could go and not be spotted by AshCam. If Cas was caught on surveillance, Ash would eat him alive. So would Claire. Ash had the pictures of the Angels in his system so surely it’d flag if one of those faces popped up anywhere in the world. Dean wasn’t even sure if Ash was actually watching or if the surveillance was running around the clock. He still wasn’t game just yet to give anything away. Though, if he caught Dean on the final days, that may not be the worst thing if he’s coming home anyway.

Dean had only glanced towards Cas a few times which he was incredible proud of. It was both comforting and awkward as hell to just sit in the same room. With Cas just being there, it seemed to make everything simpler, somehow. There was no gnawing at the back of his head that made him overthink everything. That deep, empty pit inside him wasn’t so big anymore. Any residual crap from last night's nightmare was long gone. Even the way he had his shoulders semi tensed from having his guard up all the time was slowly starting to disappear. There was something about Cas that was just comfortable. That felt like home. That alone should be the weirdest thing in the world.

The only downside was the giant elephant in the room. Two of them, actually. One of them was a giant, naked elephant that whispered in Dean’s ear that Cas knows all about his little ‘alone time’ session which was all manner of creepy on its own. The other was a looming conversation he was not keen on having and purely because he was afraid of what the answer would most likely be.

Cas could live here and be happy and wanted and protected and all that other hallmark crap that Dean couldn’t offer. He’d talked himself around it so many times he thought his brain was going to fall out so he ignored it as best he could, at least till he could actually get the question out to Cas. It was his decision after all. The only problem was Dean was only here for a few days so he needed to find out sooner rather than later if Dean would be making the long drive home with or without his Angel.

The times he did try and think about how to ask, Dean would be distracted in some way or another and found himself avoiding the problem altogether which was pretty much his staple solution when ‘personal’ sh*t went sideways. The fact that Cas was closed in the room with him meant he couldn’t think about it seriously without wondering if Cas actually could listen in and see or hear what he was thinking. He was a sneaky son of a bitch with the eating thing, why not keep ‘mind reading’ up his sleeve too?

There was a clear answer staring Dean in the face and he should have thought of it earlier. Not to his conversation dilemma. But a much smaller problem could be dealt with. He was surprised actually how long it took him to think of it, given it was more or less a tradition for every time he stayed with Sam or Sam stayed with him. What better excuse to get out of the apartment where the walls felt just a little too close. He tried not to think how confined Cas must have felt. Again.

Now was a good a time as any, now that Dean had started to work up the effort to have a semi rational conversation with himself. Getting out may clear his head entirely which would have been better for Cas and himself.

Dean had hardly moved the laptop to the side table before Cas gave him his whole attention. Not that Dean was watching, but he may have been sneaking a peak for a while out of his peripheral. Cas had spent the last hour or so focused intently on Sam's bookshelf. The books on them looked boring as sh*t, if you asked Dean. A bunch of different law textbooks and journals and whatnot took up about three out of the six shelves. One shelf was almost entirely dedicated to Angels. That must have been what piqued his interest.

There was a fair amount of history. Some of the books had been borrowed from Bobby and Sam had clearly never gotten around to returning. Those books were older than Bobby, Dean and Sam combined and had probably seen better days. The other books all seemed fairly new. Almost immaculately new. Seeing as Angels only really became common knowledge when Dean was a kid, the entire accessible history and whatever was probably printed and reprinted a thousand times since then. Especially if there was a damn university degree all but centred around it. It still looked a little weird having probably hundreds of years old books to ones that couldn’t have been more than a year or two old.

Dean rose to his feet, lifting his arms up to stretch and satisfyingly popped his spine in a few places. Cas just stared at him, somewhere in between ‘waiting for orders’ and ‘having something to say but not quite game enough to say it’. Dean cut him off before he had the chance to find out.

“I’m going to go shopping.” Dean grabbed his phone, wallet and keys from beside the laptop, focusing on them rather than having to make eye contact with Cas again. “Do you need anything?”

“Thankyou, Dean. I’ll be fine.” When Dean looked up to catch a glimpse of Cas, he’d returned to eyeing off the bookshelf. Maybe he’d actually pick something out when Dean left.

Rather than hanging around to find out, Dean left and head to the elevator, leaving the apartment door unlocked behind him which felt strange. He kept having to remind himself that it's a trust thing. Get Cas to trust him as much as he can. Not for any reason other than Dean feeling like an asshole that he didn't and for damn good reason too. He wasn’t even sure what it would accomplish if Cas did trust him. The best that could happen was Dean finding out why Cas had been sent to the naughty corner and that was about it. The curiosity itself was almost reason enough.

Dean chose to walk rather than drive. Not only would it take some extra time so Dean could think, but he didn't trust Californian dwellers enough not to hurt his Baby. She was probably safe enough but he’d rather not take the chance.

It was only a half a mile to the nearest grocery store and Dean knew exactly what he needed. It had been a good while since Mexican night and Dean could really go for one at the moment. It’s not like Cas would eat with them but he could at least sit with them and chat. Surely that wouldn’t kill him. Not only that, but Dean needed to replace Sam’s beers and maybe pick up something a little stronger. He’d need it without Cas making everything quiet in his head. He’d need to settle for the liquid comfort instead.

He hadn’t meant to, but he started keeping track of every security camera he saw. It would be nice to get Cas out of the house for a little. He was only really ‘outside’ when they’d stopped on the drive up here or that day on the crossroads. Of course, Ash would slaughter him, but that was when he got back. He couldn’t do much to him while he was on the other side of the continent. Dean could probably take him out anyway. It could be a better setting for when he did ask his dreaded question.

XXXXXXXX

With arms filled with shopping bags, Dean made the short walk back to the Marc where Jess’s apartment was. It ended up being pretty well timed. Dean had killed enough time not actually thinking what he was supposed to be thinking about while he was out. The only thing he’d decided on was that he would take Cas somewhere. It was as much for Dean’s benefit as it was for him. Dean only had a bit over 7 months to get in whatever sightseeing he could which probably wasn’t going to be much after he got home.

If Ash saw him then too bad. He had to explain himself when he got home anyway and Ash was going to be mad anyway. Dean may as well take advantage of the west coast while he was here.

Sam and Jess must have returned to the apartment not too long before him. They’d put their backpacks filled with textbooks and notebooks on the lounge and were chatting with Cas. He’d pulled out one of the newer Angel history textbooks and apparently had gotten a fair way through it.

Upon Dean’s arrival, Sam almost lit up at the sight of the shopping bags. Dean could tell Sam had worked out what was inside. He laughed to himself and spoke with the biggest grin Dean had seen in a long time.

“Mexican Night?”

“Mexican Night.” Dean answered, equally as enthusiastically. Even Jess was smiling. She’d shared a few of them but Mexican night went back as far as either of them could remember. It started as a tradition whenever they got to a new town with their dad and he’d left them to go hunting. Dean would pull out a directory and find the nearest mexican restaurant. Bonus points if they delivered. They did that right up till Dean was old enough to buy a pack of mince and one of those all inclusive burrito or taco kits with all the makings from the local store. Dean experimented with different ingredients a few times and eventually he was making tamales and taquitos and everything from scratch. ‘Mexican night’ just about paved the way for Deano’s. It was certainly where Dean got the passion for cooking.

Once he picked up on a few things in the kitchen, it was only a matter of time before he started trying to dissect the burgers and whatever they’d come across during a hunt. There were a few times where he’d made them himself but he rarely had the time between being on the road and stopping in crap motels that barely had a fridge let alone a whole kitchen.

Jess had been around long enough to know that ‘Mexican Night’ was a Winchester tradition. Sure, she was more than welcome to eat the goodness that came from the kitchen but the actual preparations was something the boys shared. Granted, Sam mostly chopped vegetables and provided commentary while Dean did most of the work but it was still some of the best times they’d had. Jess smiled softly and guided Cas to the balcony where she could chat to him a little better. Dean had nothing to worry about. Jess was possibly the sweetest thing on the planet plus she had all the ‘Angel’ experience. Cas would be in very safe and non intrusive hands. For once.

Dean put the bags on the counter, eager to pull everything out and start cooking. He’d thought about it a little on the way back and figured this was a good a time as any. After a little icebreaking and asking how his lectures were, Dean steered the conversation a in a bit of a different direction.

“So out of all the angels you’ve met, which was the worst?” Sam had tried to call his ‘confidentiality’ card but Dean always talked him into it. Though that was mostly with vamps and shifters and familiars and whatever else. He hadn’t asked about an angel before. Sam glanced at him between arranging vegetables on the countertop, ready to be cut.

“Sorry, Dean. With Angels heading back to Heaven, I can’t really talk about it. There was this one werewolf though who had stolen a key to her ex boyfriend's house and -”

“Yeah that’s great,” Dean cut him off, stealing a quick glance to the balcony to make sure Cas and Jess wouldn’t come back inside anytime soon. “So I guess you’d be pretty fluent in Enochian then?”

Sam looked to Dean, putting down the knife he’d been cutting up the peppers with. Dean didn’t bother stopping. He kept dicing up various meats and kept himself looking busy. Dean could hear the suspicion in his voice.

“Yeah, very. Why?”

“With Angels,” Dean moved on to preparing a few different types of fillings and started throwing herbs and spices into bowls, still not making eye contact with his brother. “They can’t have the Mark so their crime is branded on them.” It wasn’t a question and Sam could now tell exactly where this was going.

“Dean..”

Dean put his knife down and wiped his hands on a nearby towel. With one more glance towards the balcony, he pulled out his phone and pulled up the image he’d taken of Cas’s brand. It wasn’t exactly of his brand. It was a picture of the sketching Dean had drawn out and given to Ash but he was certain it was exactly the same. Ash had a little trouble with some of the more generic and ‘multiple use’ symbols. Maybe his fluent lawyer brother could figure it out based on context and the other symbols. He had ‘guardian’ and the ‘sigil of lucifer’ and that alone had been eating away at his curiosity. He had to know what the rest of it meant.

Sam rolled his eyes, partly in annoyance but mostly in a way that meant ‘he should have known better’. Of course Dean was going to ask him if Cas wouldn’t tell him himself. It was clear Sam was a little uncomfortable but thankfully, he took the phone off Dean anyway.

Sam checked outside for himself before looking at the screen. Dean’s heart sank a little.

He thought Sam would read it instantly. He’d read more Enochian than Ash at this stage, probably even more than Bobby. He moved his lips as if he was going to start, but something had stopped him. Dean looked at him expectantly.

“Uh..”

“Uhh what?”

Sam took a breath then looked back to Dean.

“Did you give this to Ash to translate?”

Dean checked the door again before gesturing at his phone, getting increasingly annoyed and impatient.

“Of course I asked”

“And?”

“He said something about ‘guardian’ and the ‘sigil of lucifer’ but not actual lucifer just his traits or something, like, what lead him to fall. I don't know, why?” Dean spoke quickly. His eyes widened a little in concern. “Why, what’s there?”

Sam handed back the phone with a tensed jaw and returned to chopping his vegetables.

“I don’t know. I can’t tell.”

Ok, that was horsesh*t. Dean had all but taught his baby brother how to lie and that was horsehit. Lawyers should lie better than that. Hunter/lawyers shouldn’t even blink.

“Bullsh*t.”

Dean refused to pick up so much as a carrot without an explanation as to what the hell. Sam's jaw tensed and he swallowed. He’d grown up with his brother literally at his side for over two decades. There wasn't a single expression that Dean didn’t know. This one was Sam’s I don't want to tell you face. It’s not that he didn’t know. It’s that he didn’t want to tell Dean.

After a pause that went for a moment too long, Sam finally answered.

“Dean..” He chose his words carefully. “If Cas wants to tell you, then he will. It’s not my place and I shouldn’t have looked.” Sam stopped chopping and met Dean's rather infuriated stare. “An Angel's brand is pretty much the most private thing about them.” He looked cautiously at the phone in Dean’s hand. “It’s their biggest sin. That can mean a lot of things” He paused again before turning back to the kitchen counter. “You should speak to him about it.”

Before Dean had the chance to ask again, the sliding door to the balcony opened and Cas and Jess came back inside. Dean took a quick step back as a reflex more than anything else. He didn’t want to give away he’d been arguing with his brother a moment before. Dean sighed and turned back to the counter to prepare their dinner. If Sam wasn’t going to talk, he wasn’t going to talk. He knew that much. He’d learned the hard way when Sam kept quiet about Angels being bought with souls. If Sam had to keep an Angel safe then he would. It was more client relations than anything but the one thing Dean did know was that Sam wouldn’t tell.

It didn’t matter that Sam was ‘out’. This had nothing to do with ‘hunting’. Not really. It wasn’t life or Death and Dean didn’t need to know. It was all about calming Dean’s curiosity and the further he looked into it, the more the thought he’d never get the answer. One day he may ask Cas directly and one day he may even get an answer.

One day.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Even if Dean was a little sh*tty at Sam, the rest of the night was still fantastic. Dean had opened his whiskey not long after Sam shut him down and he was comfortably buzzed by the end of the night. Somehow, they’d talked Cas into playing Cards Against Humanity with them. He wasn’t very good. His occasional answer was funny but purely because it didn’t make any sense whatsoever. He still seemed intent on joining the others though so Dean was thankful for that.

The night went on and Dean kept drinking. He could lie and say it was because he was having a good time or that he always drank on Mexican Night, both of which were true. If someone asked him if he was drinking for any other reason, he’d deny it outright.

Thankfully he hadn’t felt much of it in the morning. He had too high a tolerance which was both a blessing and a curse. He knew he had a nightmare last night but the whiskey had dulled it enough so he didn’t remember much of what it was. He just had that empty pit that usually followed one of his crappy dreams. It went away though. Eventually. Given long enough, it always went away. Just in time for the next bad dream.

It was good that he didn’t feel too hung over. It gave him the chance to get ready in the morning for a last minute plan he’d decided on last night. He figured now was a good a time as any, given his literal clock was running out. Once Sam and Jess has left, he’d gotten straight into the shower and started planning out the trip.

He wasn’t sure why he felt so good about it. Truth was, he’d wanted to go since he was a kid. He saw it advertised somewhere and somehow fell in love with the place he’d never visited. He always figured he’d go with Sam and his dad but for whatever reason, it wasn’t a monster heavy spot. That seemed almost impossible. It was so busy, something had to have turned up in the 20 years. Not once had he had the chance to go.

Once he’d semi retired and worked at Bobby's Salvage Yard, then at Deano’s, somehow it just never crossed his mind. Something in him told him it was for kids or even couples and he was neither of those things. It got pushed down to the bottom of the list and he just assumed he’d never have the time or the effort. Especially not to go alone. That would probably be the saddest thing in the world.

That being said, he very much wasn’t going to count it as a date because it wasn’t. It was a chance for Dean to cross something off his bucket list which happened to be an item that shouldn’t be done alone. He probably could have brought Sam but with his studies, he was always so busy. He may have taken Jess once but he needed to go for himself.

Once he was showered and dressed, he returned to the living room and started sorting out his duffel. He’d only need an overnight bag. The rest of his clothes and whatever else he could grab sort of on the way back through to Kansas. He’d pack for Cas, but he only ever wore one thing.

The sight of Dean up and ready so early was clearly interesting to Castiel. He’d watched him since he emerged from his brothers room freshly showered and ready to go. Dean cleared through his duffel, sorting out what would be packed and what would stay with a half smile on his face he couldn’t seem to wipe off. Truth was, he was pretty f*cking excited to be taking Cas out on definitely not a date. Even if Cas was a million years old and probably seen everything, he hadn’t experienced some of the best of what people could offer, even if it was a small attraction that had a spot in Dean’s heart, for whatever reason

“Are we leaving already?” Cas almost had a concern in his voice but the way Dean was smiling and somehow relaxed even was enough to get rid of any worry Cas may have had. Or so it seemed.

“Road trip, Cas.” dean zipped up the duffel and swung it over his shoulder. “Keen for another 6 hours trapped in a car?”

“Of course, Dean. Where are we headed?”

Cas’s enthusiasm admittedly caught Dean a little off guard. Of course he was keen to be stuck in a car with him for 6 hours? Surely that was a step in the right direction.

Dean had organised it while he waited for Sam and Jess to leave this morning. He’d left a note for Sam in the kitchen and now having packed his bag, all that was left to do was to get on the road.

Cas had been staring out the balcony window. A small part of Dean, well ok, a big part, saw that as the classic ‘caged bird’ syndrome or whatever it was called. If Cas had his wings, surely he’d love nothing more than to step out onto the balcony and just fly away. Spread those… whatever colour they were wings and just take off into the sunset. Dean hoped the drive and their not a date might distract him.

With almost a spring in his step, Dean ushered Cas out the door, locking it behind them, and head to the garage to let Baby, once again, stretch her legs.

XXXXX

This had to have been one of Dean’s better ideas. Not only was he out on the road again in his Baby with Cas by his side, but he was heading towards one of his biggest ‘bucket list’ items. He’d probably never get the chance to do the rest of the things on his list like catch an ACDC tour or hunt in the few states he’d never passed through, though it didn't bother him so much anymore. He had over 7 months left and it was almost like he’d already accepted it. It was rare for a hunter to even get this far so he figured he was one up, no matter which way he sliced it.

After navigating, no thanks to Cas, through the crappy traffic on the outskirts of San Jose, they’d eventually merged onto the 1-5 S a couple of hours later. They’d reach their destination in a short 4 or 5 hours, depending on the possibility of more traffic.

If he was honest, he was kind of happy to get out of Sam's mop-hair for a couple of days. They’d organised for Sam to come to Kansas when they did because that was the closest break in their semester and they’d be free to drive to Kansas and annoy Dean for a while. Coming up to the end of the semester though meant they were knee deep in studies. Dean was thankful they’d even let him in the door.

Escaping the confines of their apartment with a sudden and complete disregard for AshCam made Dean feel, surprisingly better about his whole situation. Cas included. Come to think of it, he should really message Ash about when he’ll be back. Doing the quick math in his head, if he was in this hotel overnight then back to Sam's before heading off, he’d be back to the bar maybe Monday evening. He’d have to get Ash to open for him and get everyone back on a schedule, if they were up for it. He wasn’t sure about them, or even Liz, but the drive out here, seeing his brother and having Cas by his side made everything better.

For the added amusem*nt, Dean handed Cas his phone and asked him to get Ash to organise opening back up. Cas was a little better at it than the drive out but still fumbled over autocorrect and even added an emoji at the end. He wasn’t sure where he found them, but he seemed to like them. Seeing the ghost of a smile cross his lips made Dean huff a short laugh. He looked back from watching Cas to the road and looked for their turn off.

A few minutes later, Dean had pulled up to the front of the hotel he’d booked on one of those ‘last minute’ websites. He’d gotten a pretty good deal, seeing as where he wanted to be was essentially right across the road. Though he didn't mind spending the extra dollars. It was a luxury he had at the moment. He’d barely stepped out of the car and stretched his legs before he was greeted by a girl that couldn't have been far into her twenties with a nametag that read ‘Jessie’. Unfortunately, the hotel seemed to prefer to valet park their guests.

He’d gone around to the trunk before Jessie could follow him and grabbed his duffel before making sure his ‘other trunk’ was locked down. Cas had intercepted the valet, giving Dean enough time to make sure no one was getting in. Dean had to admit, that was some quick thinking by Cas.

He reluctantly handed over the keys and she seemed far from enthusiastic about it either.

“Listen, Jessie. Not a scratch. Okay?”

She forced a smile and took the keys off him before sliding into the driver's seat and taking off to the underground carpark. A sick feeling sat in his gut as he watched his Baby drive away but that was almost immediately remedied when Cas rested a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him inside.

There was still a decent amount of light left by the time they got there so once Dean checked them in and left his bag with another valet to take to their room, Dean head straight back out the front door again.

Dean was practically giddy on the small walk over. He could feel his heart beating in his chest and he couldn’t get rid of the smile on his face. It was apparently contagious as Cas seemed to be smiling too. Dean caught him in his peripheral a few times as they walked and Cas seemed to be watching Dean more than anything else though he couldn’t tell why. Maybe he was still in ‘guardian’ mode or whatever setting Angel slaves had. Given that he was surrounded by quite a few people in unfamiliar territory, perhaps he was just being safe.

It was so surreal, yet somehow he’d made it. He was under the giant archway that read ‘Santa Monica Pier’. He really didn't know why he’d been so excited to come here. It may have just been that it had been that unattainable heaven when he was a kid that he grew up with and his subconscious had pegged it as some magical safe place away from the world. He was bound to be disappointed but the fact he was here meant more to him than he thought it would.

He paused for a moment, unable to continue. What if this was it? What if the pier was actually some hellhole and it ruined that special place it had for him in his head. It would be one more great disappointment and failure to add to his last months on Earth. He couldn’t even die properly and wait for it to come naturally from some monster or even from crossing the damn street. No. He had to seek it out like he had some kind of death wish.

It seemed ridiculous. It was only a place. Some blip on the map on the other end of the continent. Who cares if it turned out to be sh*t, like that time they visited Hollywood Boulevard and it was a hell hole because of all the tourists and buskers and chaos. He’s barely stepped foot onto the pier and it was already fairly busy, even for well after the lunch period. Did it matter if it didn’t meet Dean's ridiculous expectations? He guessed it was like that rule that you should never meet your heroes. Luckily, Dean never had a hero. Except Batman and he wasn’t likely to be meeting him any time soon. What if all this trip did was cement how crappy Los Angeles was in his head and take away one of his few good childhood memories, even it it was only the memory of wanting something better.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he stood under the giant sign, but it seemed hoards of people had walked past him. The only thing he registered was when he felt a hand slide into his, taking it firmly but gently. He looked down and saw Cas’s hand in his and whatever spiral he’d fallen into seemed to fade away. The crowds, the passing cars, the noise, all faded until all there was was Cas. when he finally brought himself to meet Cas’s eye, Cas seemed as unsure as he felt. As if, he wasn’t sure if this was even acceptable, let alone the right thing to do.

It was perfect.

He must have relaxed enough for Castiel to notice because he’d relaxed as well. It wasn’t until Dean caught those gorgeous blue eyes that he felt the tension leave his body. Once his slightly erratic breathing had returned to normal, Cas had so subtly gone from looking scared to looking almost content. In what Dean could only offer as a thanks, he laced his fingers in between Cas’s and gripped a little tighter and smiled, before leading him, with a new excitement, down to the Pier.

XXXXX

Amazing wasn’t a strong enough word. Dean had it somewhere in his head that today could have been ruined by trying to make sure things between him and Cas weren’t as awkward as they had been. He wasn’t sure if Cas was putting up a front for Sam. He knew he was but it was sort of unintentional. He didn’t know how to act with Cas in front of anyone else yet because he wasn’t even sure how to act around Cas, himself.

It was easier today. Today it was just him and Cas and no one else in the world. They explored the stalls and the souvenir stands, undecided if he should buy anything, either for himself or for Sam. As they browsed, it seemed so natural and so easy. They were two friends enjoying all the touristy crap that civilians did. It would only last a few hours but for now, he could be normal.

Cas opted to skip the rollercoaster, but happily joined him on the ferris wheel. Dean wasn’t too thrilled with the 130 ft climb but he was easily enough distracted by the cute fun facts they had inside each compartment. Apparently it's the world's only solar powered ferris wheel. Huh. the more you know.

The top of it had been worth the climb. When their compartment had stopped ascending and blowing in the breeze, Dean finally allowed himself to take in the view.

The air had been stolen from his lungs. It was spectacular. Not the view itself so much. It would have been better if Los Angeles hadn’t been drowned in a thick blanket of smog but it was impressive nonetheless. Dean’s favourite part, without a doubt was Cas. The angel who had seen the beginning of man and countless wars and everything since the dawn of time was enamoured by the sight in front of him. He scanned the surrounding views with the softest expression and the gentlest smile but Dean could tell the difference in his eyes. His eyes always spoke in volumes.

When Dean should have been looking outward, he was looking in. He should have savoured his spot on top of the world in their small little cage while he had the chance but he couldn’t take his eyes off Cas. He was loving this. Dean, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out why.

He’d been around for forever. He’d probably been up the highest mountains and seen some of, no, all of the natural wonders of the world. He probably knew about some that the history books didn’t. What was a hundred foot basket overlooking a smoggy beach compared to all of that?

It wasn’t until the cage shook a little and the wheel started moving again that Dean had finally looked away. Once around was enough for Dean so he flagged the man on the way down and he slowed the ride to a stop, allowing them to get out. He thanked the man with a tip and guided Cas over to where the food kiosks were set up. It was getting late and he was starving.

After grabbing some taco bell and silently praising himself for his iron stomach, Dean had figured they’d covered just about everything he’d set out to do while he was here. It's not like the pier was that big. It wasn’t disneyland that would have been a day and a half on its own, but it was perfect as it was. He was going to jokingly suggest that Cas try out the trapeze school but anything that sent Cas in the air made him think of his wings and he hated to rub salt into that wound so he left it.

Their last stop on the way back to the hotel after the sun had gone down was the antique looking carousel near the entry. It was about 100 years old but hardly looked it. It was pretty cool to see, but no way was Dean going on it. Cas showed a decent bit of interest in the structure of the building so Dean waited by the front as it was too crowded for both of them to go in just to look at the walls.

Dean stood with a stupid smile and a fluttering in his chest. He was sure it was because he was finally here and here was awesome. He wouldn’t put it down to anything else. Not yet.

As he waited for Cas to finish whatever crap he was looking at, he wasn’t entirely sure Cas wasn’t actually on the carousel, Dean took one last look up and down the pier. Somehow he’d missed it, but at the end of the historic building was a small white canopy. With a couple steps back, Dean made out a hanging neon sign above it that read ‘PSYCHIC’

Dean smiled to himself. Why not. He knew what he was in for. No way could a roadside psychic pick up on ‘sold his soul for an angel and only had eight months left’. Even if, by some miracle, she could read the claim Crowley had on him, she couldn’t get the rest of it. Dean could use a laugh and he apparently had a few minutes to kill so he figured to himself yeah, why not.

Dean maneuvered his way through the crowd. He wasn’t going that far. It was only at the end of the large carousel building but as the sun went down, the pier seemed to get busier and busier. Probably more tourists wanting to come when everything was lit up like the fourth of July.

Once he got to the makeshift tent , he cautiously peered in before stepping inside. It was a plain white room with plastic chairs in what could have been a waiting area but no one was in. He continued through to the second room, trying to make his presence known by clearing his throat seeing as he couldn’t really knock on the fabric.

“Enter,” echoed a baritone voice that sounded just a little forced. Dean tried to hide a smile as he entered. Surprisingly, she had no one with her. She sat behind one of those small round wooden tables with a crystal ball on top of a lush, burgundy pillow. The walls had been covered with dark coloured drapes and the whole room had that fantastically stereotypical feel to it. That made Dean smile a little brighter. He couldn’t wait to see what kind of crap she’d try and guess about him.

He rubbed his hands down his thighs as he sat on the small stool opposite her. She had her eyes closed for whatever show she was about to put on so Dean scanned the walls. There were a couple of bookshelves that had been painted purple and teal, scattered with books, candles and crystals and various spooky looking artifacts. Dean recognised a few. There were a few herbs and various displayed ingredients Dean had seen and even used himself in a few spells. A spark in the back of his head said ‘witch’ but he decided to let it play out.

Dean had still been looking around when she’d opened her eyes and smiled.

“Dean. How nice to see you.” Lucky guess. She sat in silence for a moment before Dean took it as a hint. With a silent ‘oh’ he pulled his wallet out and left a twenty on the table. She smiled once again and slid it towards herself and under the pillow that held the crystal ball.

“Dean,” Ok, using his name was getting fairly annoying, “Do you have a personal item I can hold onto to better read you with?”

He felt around in his pockets, not really having anything other than his wallet, phone and keys. Though he did have a photo of him and his mother in his wallet. He quickly fished it out of its safe place and hesitated before handing it to her. He silently hoped she wasn't going to hurt it. It was all he really had of his mom.

She held the photo to her forehead and closed her eyes again.

After a reasonably long silence, she finally spoke.

“Why?” Dean sat with his arms crossed, deciding on whether this was a good idea or not. “Why can’t I see you?”

Because your eyes are closed, he wanted to say, but bit his tongue.

She looked around the room with eyes closed and a look of confusion on her face. Dean couldn’t tell if she was being serious or if it was some cheap ploy to ‘amaze’ her clients. Psychics were always purposefully vague and Dean hated it. The ones that did have talent were always tied to a witch or a demon or something and got their power that way. Otherwise it was all a bunch of John Edwards grasping at letters and facial expressions till something clicked. He was yet to see which one this woman was. Either way, he sat and decided to wait it out. He’d paid, he may as well enjoy the show.

After half a minute of ‘looking for Dean with her eyes closed’, she finally opened them, looking directly at Dean.

“Something is missing.”

Dean’s brow raised a little. Could she actually see that his soul wasn’t his anymore? Though, in proper vague psychic fashion, she could probably just see the empty hole he’s had inside him since before he can remember. She slowly reached both hands around the side of the crystal ball gestured for him to reach his out and meet her. He unfolded his arms and rest it on the table within her reach.

As soon as she touched his skin, she retracted as if she’d been burnt. She gasped silently and looked at her fingertips like she expected a scar to form. After another silence that lasted too long, she spoke again.

“This isn’t right. That isn’t how it's supposed to be.” She looked up sharply and met Dean’s eye again with confusion but with something that looked like fear. “You’re not how you’re supposed to be.”

Dean knew that much. No one's supposed to have a giant label on their soul but he did. It was a bit late, there was no fixing that. He reached his hand out disappointedly for the picture of his mother. He hadn’t meant to upset her. Instead of handing back the photo, she grabbed both his hands and looked deep into his eyes. Dean blinked away and smiled politely, trying to pull his hands back but she kept her eyes locked onto him.

“What did you do?” She asked, calmly at first… “What did you do?!”

Dean stepped out of the chair, just about knocking it to the ground. He didn’t need this. Not more berating from a stranger about the sh*t decision he’d made. He pulled his hand back from her before picking up the, now discarded, picture of his mother. He wanted to say something. An apology for freaking her out or something, he wasn’t sure. He ended up leaving without saying a word and pushed through the two sets of white canvas curtains on the way out.

It was darker now. He didn’t think he was in there for that long but he used the glowing neon light to tuck the picture of his mother back into his wallet, eyeing her for a minute to make sure he hadn’t been hurt. Once she was back home, he looked up and saw Cas looking for him outside the carousel building. Dean smiled. Even the sight of Cas took away whatever dread that woman had placed in his veins. Well, most of it.

Dean navigated through the increasing crowd till he was finally back at Cas’s side where it seemed like Cas was smiling back at him. It was hard to tell in the dim lighting. All too easily, Dean reached for Cas’s hand and weaved his fingers through his, suddenly all the better. Weirdo psychic be damned, he had what he needed. Whether or not he deserved it was still very much open for debate but he would enjoy it while he could.

With their fingers interlocked, Dean guided Cas back up the ramp towards their hotel, completely ignoring some of the looks that they received on the way. Even a year ago, if he was spotted walking down the street holding another guy’s hand, he’d have dropped it immediately not to give people that passed by the wrong impression. Now though....

Now he didn’t care.

XXXXX

After grabbing a slice of Joe’s Pizza on the way in, Dean was surprisingly tired. He had driven from Stanford to Santa Monica in one trip, plus had the few hours actually on the pier so it made sense if he thought about it. He head to his room with Cas which was surprisingly nice, given how last minute he managed to snag it. It had a view of the ocean and a private balcony which Dean wasn’t sure he’d even use but it was nice to have.

Dean let Cas explore the room a little while he had a shower. His duffel had been placed on the bed so he took that on the way to the bathroom.

The shower had one of those rainfall heads like he had at home. Some dramatic thing that made an ordinary shower feel that much more luxurious. As he turned on the water and waited for it to heat up, he stripped down and was understandably annoyed at the erection that was staring right at him. He hadn’t even done anything. Nothing except hold Cas’s hand on the walk home and if that was enough to wake little Dean up, then he was much worse off than he thought.

He climbed into the shower which was a little too hot. He probably should have turned it right down so he wasn’t standing to attention by the time they went to bed.

Crap. He’d be sharing a bed with Cas again and right now he was hardly in a state to share a bed with anyone, let alone his angel. He could take care of it, but he wasn’t exactly known for being silent. The only thing worse than sharing a bed with Cas while he had erection was sharing a bed with him after knowing he heard him ‘get off’ in the shower.

Dean washed and willed it to go back down but it wasn’t going anywhere. The obnoxious head was staring at him and reminded him he shouldn’t be so comfortable with Cas. It didn’t matter if Cas was playing along, he was still here against his will. Dean had extended the peace branch so far that it was all but smacking Cas in the face. There wasn’t much more he could do. Cas didn’t want to be here. That had been pretty much confirmed when he said he liked it at Sam and Jess’s place, like it was some home away from hell.

The longer he showered, the faster and harder it came flooding back. It didn’t matter if they had a good few hours on a pier or a hand in hand walk on the way back. Everything ‘between’ them had been initiated by Dean. Cas was only playing along because it was expected of him. He was probably expecting punishment if he didn’t comply and the whole thing rolled uncomfortably in Dean’s gut.

If nothing else, at least his dick had gone down again.

Dean turned off the water. He rushed to dry his hair and throw on some boxer briefs to sleep in. He should have packed more. Again, he’d stupidly assumed Cas was ok with lying next to an almost naked man while he slept. How the hell had he grown so complacent, so comfortable with treating Cas like more than he was. Or less than he was, depending how you looked at it. Good thing they were heading back to Sam’s tomorrow. He could let Cas stay there, no arguments needed. It was obvious it was a better fit for him and he was tired of trying to convince himself otherwise. Dean was being selfish.

He swung the bathroom door open with a little more force than needed, causing the doorstep to bang on the wall behind it. Cas had flinched at the sound and and swung around from admiring their view. Even though they were a few streets away, he could still see the glow of various lights from the pier coming through their window. Cas had kept the light off, probably so he could see it better. Dean didn’t mind. If it was darker, it was easier to hide himself.

He crawled into bed and instantly noted how cold it felt on his skin. After a particularly hot shower, it was probably expected that it was going to be at least a little cool.

Cas had taken not even two steps towards him when Dean said, somewhat angrier than he intended,

“You can sit on the lounge.”

Cas stopped in place for a moment. After a brief silence, Cas spoke with words he’d clearly chosen carefully.

“Would you prefer me to be with you? In case your dreams return?”

Dead did. God, he wanted Cas with him, next to him, always. He was a dangerous drug that he couldn’t get enough of and one that made everything so much easier. But if it came with a question of consent then no way did Dean want it.

If he sat on the lounge, all night, would that even be far enough away so that he wouldn’t crawl into bed with him if one of his nightmares did return? He had to be sure Cas got the picture. No more blurry lines, no more ifs or maybes. If Cas didn’t want to be here then he didn’t have to be. He never really initiated, just followed Dean’s lead or instruction. Or orders. It was about time he gave him some new ones. He had to follow those right?

“Actually you can stay on the balcony if you want. Or go for a walk, I don’t care. Just get out”

“Dean -”

“I said get out!”

With only the pale coloured glow coming through the window, it was hard to make out what Cas was thinking. As he head back to the balcony door, Dean thought he caught a glimpse of hurt in the angels eyes. Before Dean could roll over to face the other way, Cas had turned to face him again. With more determination in his voice than Dean was expecting, Cas spoke.

“Why?”

Dean wasn’t about to spill his guts. He was tired and his clock was running out and he kind of just wanted the whole thing to be over with. Cas could move on and do whatever it was that angel slaves did when they ‘retired’. He wasn’t about to lay his feeling out and have some share time though, that was for damn sure.

“Cas -”

“Why?” He asked, stronger and facing him now. He’d co*cked his head into that sort of sideways look he did when he didn’t understand something. In what light he had, Dean could see a sad confusion on his face. Did he really not get it? Dean sighed.

“I know you don’t want to be here. I know you’ll never trust me and I sure as hell know you’d rather be with Sam or back in Heaven or anywhere that’s not stuck in a room with me. So go. I’ll drive you back to Sam’s in the morning then you can stay there and-”

“I don’t want to”

It had been barely more than a whisper but it had caught Dean off guard. He was going to say he’d make all the arrangements, let Ash know what was going on and all that. He’d cast his eyes off to tell a painting on the wall because he couldn’t actually bare the thought of looking him in the eye when he said he’d leave him here. The smile Cas would give at being ‘almost free’ would break Dean’s heart so he just didn’t look.

But when he said he didn't want to… didn’t want to what? He wasn’t even sure he heard Cas right till he finally looked at him and he was...

Was he sad?

He wasn’t even looking back at Dean, he was looking in some corner of the room, at the other wall, anywhere but actually at him.

“I don’t - I don’t want to stay with Sam.”

Cas finally looked at Dean and it hit him heavily in the chest. When his gorgeous blue eyes met his, even through the darkness and the faded neon lights from the pier, Dean felt it in his heart. He wasn’t sure what it was at first. Hope, maybe? He didn’t want to stay with Sam? Did that mean -

“I’d like to stay with you.”

Dean took in a shaky breath, one he wasn’t even sure he was holding. Cas wanted to stay?

With Dean? Did he have any idea how f*cked up that sounded? He wanted to stay with the man that bought him? What was it, Stockholm Syndrome?

Cas approached the bed and Dean sat up on reflex to get him to back off. He didn’t want to get in this mess and Dean wasn’t going to allow it. He held a hand out to stop him but before he could say anything, Cas had come to his side of the bed and sat down near his thigh. If he was at home, technically this would be ‘Cas’s side’ but seeing as this side was furthest from Cas at the time, Dean had slid in and hoped to hide himself any way that he could. Now that Cas was close, he instinctively moved a little, leaving room for him to sit.

So very cautiously, and moving slow enough that Dean could have stopped him if he really wanted to, Cas raised a hand and gently placed it on Dean’s cheek and his heart stopped. He wasn't even sure he was breathing but he sighed into the warmth of the hand cupping his cheek. What the hell had he done to deserve Cas? With one simple touch, everything was fixed. He wasn’t even sure how but nothing mattered anymore.

His eyes had drifted closed but he forced them open again, determined to see what Cas was up to.

Cas scanned Dean’s face, looking for a sign that this was, in any way, not okay. He brushed his thumb over the light stubble growing on Dean’s cheek and his features softened. He didn’t smile, at least not with his lips. Lips that Dean was far too focused on. He was, somehow, smiling purely with his eyes.

“I can see inside you, Dean.” Dean swallowed thickly. He would have been scared or pulled back but the comfort of Cas’s hand kept him in place. “I see your anger. I see your confusion” Dean darted out his tongue and wet his lips. The bastard could read him. He knew it. How much did he know?

“I see your guilt, Dean.” Dean would have curled away if he could. He really would have but he was paralysed. He was stuck staring into the deep blue of Cas’s eyes and they washed over him and took it all away. Thank god it was dark or Dean would be a hell of a lot worse off right now.

“You don’t need it. I enjoy your company, Dean.” Cas finally smiled, “I’m glad we were brought together.”

Dean couldn’t help himself. He brought one hand up and pulled Cas into a tight embrace. He fought to regain a regular breathing pattern but all he could do right now was force the impending tears back down where they came from. Cas wanted to stay. Dean wrapped the other around his shoulders and held him tightly, to somehow prove to himself that Cas wasn’t going anywhere. He buried his face in Cas’s neck and just breathed him in.

He wanted to stay. With Dean. He enjoyed his company. A little voice kept reminding him he didn’t deserve it but he pushed it back down to where it came from. He could worry about that later but for now, he had Cas in his arms and he wasn’t leaving.

Until he was.

Cas stepped back out of Dean’s reach and back off the bed.

Before that horrible feeling could start bubbling up again, Cas slid off his trenchcoat and black suit coat, then placed it on the desk at the end of the bed. All Dean could do was watch as Cas unbuttoned his shirt and left that on top of his jacket. A different sensation started bubbling low in his gut as Cas undid his belt, then his pants as he gracelessly pulled them off, stopping half way to untie his shoes and slipped them off as well. He left everything in a neat pile on the end table, leaving himself only in a pair of white boxers, standing at the side of the bed.

Dean swallowed and shimmied to the other side. To his side. Cas pulled the sheets back and climbed in next to him.

Before Dean allowed himself to finally, finally curl up to him and let himself breathe, he had to ask again. As if Cas hadn’t made it perfectly clear. Maybe he just wanted to hear it again in case he’d imagined it

“You really want to stay with me?”

Cas smiled, the lines in his forehead creasing and the smile lines around his mouth deepened.

“Isn't it obvious?”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief that might have been part laugh, he was so happy.

He wanted to stay.

Cas stayed partly sitting up when Dean moved back over and rest his head on his abdomen. Cas had always wore varying layers of his suit when he ‘slept’ with Dean. This was the first time since the first time that Dean could feel him, smell his skin and lose himself in whatever it was that was entirely Cas. It had been so long and so much had happened since then, it was almost like the first time.

Once he’d gotten comfortable, Cas brought up the arm Dean was laying on and gripped lightly at his forearm, holding him in place and Dean's eyes rolled shut. This was perfect. Whatever the hell was happening between them, whatever ‘something’ was a mutual ‘something’. He wasn’t forcing Cas. He wasn’t some asshole holding him against his will. However it had happened, Cas wanted whatever this was as much as he did. There was no question of consent or force. He wanted to stay.

With Cas’s fingers lightly tracing over his skin, he fell asleep with a smile on his face and a lingering thought that the bed wasn’t that cold anymore.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

What was he doing?

Each night since the first, Castiel told himself, “Just one more night.” One more time, just to make sure Dean slept peacefully. One more night because Dean would tell him otherwise in the morning. But that moment never came.

Castiel allowed himself this one guilty pleasure. By no means did he deserve it, or have a right to it, but he let himself have it all the same. Dean was such a closed off person. He was always trying to hide whatever he could from Castiel and he couldn’t fault the man. That's was how he was built, but Dean couldn’t hide anything from Castiel while he slept. His dreams, though built by random electrical firings in his brain, helped Castiel to understand who Dean was.

For the most part it had been very informative, if not innocent. He’d dream of is car, of childhood memories with his brother, even some small, faded moments with his mother whom Castiel had never met. It was all moments Dean had shared with him anyway, Castiel was just experiencing it differently.

He knew he had no right to pry into whatever dreams or nightmares Dean was having, but if he was to fend one off, he had to know when it was coming. Any pleasant dream could take a harmful turn at a moment's notice. Castiel had given himself the task of eradicating them before they ever got to that level but in such a way that Dean would never have known there was a threat to begin with. That meant Castiel would always end up, intentionally or otherwise, having an up close insight to the misfirings of Deans subconscious.

But some of his dreams…

Some of them, Castiel definitely had no right to see.

There had been a few in the first month that Castiel had turned from the moment they began. Or at least, when they’d start heading a certain direction which Castiel couldn’t map till a few moments too late.

It had only been a few nights ago at that cabin by the lake when he’d found himself unable to pull away from it. Unable to turn away from the images Dean was offering.

At first, Castiel had been afraid that it was a nightmare caused by him, so he wanted to stay and make sure Dean wouldn’t be dragged into another restless night. He thought it was caused by him testing Dean’s trust and voicing threats he’d never follow through with. That's how the dream started anyway. Castiel had blinked at the change of events. Instead of Castiel stepping back and leaving to wait for Dean by the lake, he watched himself lean forward and kiss Dean instead.

That wasn’t how it happened, Castiel had thought, curiously.

Castiel had watched Dean as he slept, instead of staring to some unimportant crack in the wall. He noted the rise and fall of his chest. The way his breathing skipped and quickened before being drawn out in languid, slow movements.

When Dean had returned to Castiel by the lake that afternoon, there was something different about him that he didn’t pry into. He was much less tense than when Castiel had walked away but he didn’t look into why. As he watched the dream unfold, he knew why Dean had taken a little longer to return than he expected.

With most dreams, the dreamer doesn’t create a specific or linear timeline. That’s what Castiel had to remind himself when he’d only catch flickers of images or moments in time in Dean’s dream. A part of him wanted to watch more, as a whole experience but he was still interested in what little he was given. He was interested in Dean’s alternate interpretation of events.

The images he caught, however, made him think. What would have happened if this interpretation occurred? Castiel had thought about the different variations and what kissing Dean would be like. Would Dean have allowed it or ordered Castiel into the car for the night as to be as far away as possible? Though when he had awoken, Castiel couldn’t sense any regret from Dean. If he was dreaming of it, somewhat pleasantly, would it have been that bad? It may have made their remaining time together awkward and Castiel had grown fond of the man.

He shouldn’t have. That's what got him in this predicament in the first place.

Castiel had decided then that he could indulge in this. When Dean would dream of Castiel with a pink flush across his freckles, he could ‘dream’ too. He let himself watch as Dean held him against the cabin door and pressed his lips against Castiel's fervently. He took the image of him being the one to press Dean against the door. He watched the other version of himself with a clearer knowledge of what he could, not should, be doing.

That had been then. Though this dream hadn’t been as hurried as the last, Castiel was far more cautious.

Castiel had seen the beginning of the dream and it had again started with the events of the evening. Castiel had told Dean that he’d like to stay with him which was true, even though he had no right to ask. He should have stayed with Sam and Jess as Dean was about to instruct but he didn’t want to. He wasn’t entirely sure of the rules of his own sentence, but surely a violation of instruction was to be punished?

Instead Dean had embraced him, as he was dreaming now but in this alternate, Castiel had already removed his clothing, though he couldn’t remember when it happened. That was another interesting thing about dreams. They didn’t have to be logical or sequential.

After the embrace that seemed to relieve Dean as much as it had for Castiel, Dean guided him till he caught Castiel with a delicate press to the lips.

It had been nothing like the seemingly desperate energy of the dream in the cabin. That dream had moved so fast that Castiel barely caught one moment before he was dragged to the next. It was hurried and messy.

This was different.

Dean had kissed him so tenderly, Castiel was sure he could feel it on his lips. He even placed the tips of his fingers against them just to be sure nothing was there. The kiss had lasted far longer than the last and it was much slower. Castiel could hear the slow, breathy moans between them and found himself shifting not quite uncomfortably his vessel.

It was a strange sensation. The owner of his vessel had died a long time ago so now each molecule of his being belonged to him alone. He could no longer fault the strangeness of a human body on its previous host. Even if he was just the grace inside it, it still seemed to react the way a human body would.

That meant certain parts of him were stirring that he hadn’t truly experienced before. Not like he had now.

Interesting.

Watching the rise and fall of Dean’s chest and the way he clung to Castiel a little tighter made Castiel's own breath quicken. He didn’t really need to breathe, but it came in bursts anyway. The same could be said of his heart. Though it didn’t truly belong to him, it still seemed to beat a little faster in his chest the longer he watched Dean’s dream.

Dean had now dragged him back onto the bed and Castiel was lying above him, kissing him deeply. He had started darting his tongue into Dean's mouth both to take control and explore him all at once.

Castiel would never have thought it possible for him to grow jealous of an alternate version of himself.

It was only when Dean had slid his fingers into the waistband of the boxers he was wearing that Castiel had shut himself out of the dream. He both didn’t want to see and had an eager curiosity and it was wreaking havoc in his mind.

Castiel had decided he didn’t want to watch. He didn’t want to experience something that new between them without Dean’s approval. If he was, to one day ask for this from Castiel, he wanted to experience it for himself. Not watch another version of himself enjoy it where he could not.

Regardless, Castiel had been happy with how their friendship had progressed. He hadn’t thought it possible, or even appropriate but the further he delved into it, the more he longed for it. Though it all had to be by Dean’s terms. It was such a fine line and Castiel had gotten it wrong before.

He didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.

XXXXX

Dean had tried, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He knew he must have looked ridiculous with a big, stupid grin on his face but he couldn’t help it. Based off the looks he was given, Dean figured they probably thought he’d gotten lucky. Truth was, he really, really had.

Cas wanted to stay. He wanted to be with him and he’d rather stay with Dean than stay at Sam’s which still made so much more sense. Dean had to keep repeating it just to convince himself it was real. Cas wanted to stay! Dean sure as hell wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth though. Or he’d try not to. He was just too damn happy.

Even if the confession had been followed by another dream fit for the spank bank, Dean barely felt guilty about it which seemed somehow impossible. He had sex dreams about his friends all the time. It was probably the most normal thing about him, when it came to emotional range anyway. It happened so often that he could have the filthiest dream about someone he saw every day, man or woman, and he could still look them in the eye the next day. They were fun dreams and that was that. Nothing was going to come of them so why not enjoy whatever story his brain had come up with.

If Cas fell into that category, surely it meant his warped brain thought of Cas as a friend too.

So what if he enjoyed them a little more than he should. He couldn’t really help that.

Maybe if their friendship progressed….

That was a question for way, way down the line.

Dean knew he had ‘lusty wrong feelings’ for Cas and who could blame him? Cas was all dark, sex tousled hair and bluer than blue eyes that drew you in and held you till everything was warm and right in the world. There was even a kind of charm in the trench coat that didn’t fit him quite right or the navy tie that was always out of place.

Dean would put a bet on Cas being an actual badass too. Admittedly, he did go a little weak in the knees for someone who could hold their own. Dean had thought about taking Cas out hunting purely so he could see how he worked in a combat situation. Ever since Cas had ‘not actually’ threatened him at the Lake and his expression turned to this look that was both blank and utterly fierce. Dean had decided he needed to see him in some form of action. Not that kind.

That face said ‘I’m going to destroy you’, ‘I’m going to enjoy doing it’ and ‘I don’t care what happens to you’ all at once and it was way hotter than it should have been. Dean was sure he’d seen a similar look in the eyes of some male ‘Doms’ in the few adventurous p*rnos he’d seen and the connection there wasn’t at all lost on him.

He was getting too far ahead of himself.

On the fighting thing, not the other thing.

Once Baby was parked back in the underground of Jess’s apartment, Dean grabbed the duffel and head up the elevator.

The long drive back had been much easier than the drive out. Dean was maybe rambling on, getting lost on one tangent that led to another tangent and eventually he couldn't remember where he’d started. He’d meant to say some kind of thank you, though he wasn’t entirely sure what for. ‘Thank you’ for wanting to stay with him, but why? Thank you for making him not feel like an asshole anymore for ’owning’ him. Thank you for, in a major way, showing actual trust in him.

He’d meant to say that, or something along those lines, but he ended up going on about hunting and making space for Cas at home and meeting the gang and pretty much anything that wasn’t actually saying the words aloud. Cas still smiled and maybe that was good enough.

Dean wanted to tell Cas that this serious weight had been lifted off of him and the guilt that was usually coming out of his pores had been given the day off and who knew how long it’d last. He hadn’t felt this good, this happy, in a long time.

By the time they got to the front door, it was just about dinner. Dean could practically smell it wafting through the door as he opened it.

Jess had made some special farewell meal. Dean knew better than to ask what was in it but it looked and smelled amazing. Some kind of savoury pie looking thing and that was enough for Dean. If it was in pie form, it had already won as far as his stomach was concerned. As they entered, Jess left the kitchen to wrap Dean in a tight hug. It was the dinner before they left. She never liked saying goodbye under normal circ*mstances but now there was a big hanging neon sign over it that pointed out they only had a handful of these left.

Dean tried to shove that down for now. No point in ruining a good night with the truth.

Sam had picked up on the change between them quickly enough, but that's mostly because Dean was rubbish at hiding anything from the moose. As soon as he’d seen them come through the door, he darted his eyes between them with a knowing look. Dean must have been less tense or something. He certainly felt it. He’d woken up feeling like he’d just had the world's best massage. Each muscle and joint felt impossibly more relaxed. It was uncanny.

Through dinner, Sam finally brought up the details of his dissertation, like he was trying to convince Cas after he’d already said yes.

“So if it’s ok with you, I’d like to go over your story.” Sam spoke between mouthfuls of food. He hadn’t even swallowed part of it but he was either too nervous or too excited to keep his mouth shut. Dean chuckled to himself. It was just like when he was at school and learnt something ‘really cool’ and wouldn't shut up about it for weeks. “I mean, we don't have to go into specifics if you don't want, it's more how the system worked for you and your transition.”

Dean swallowed thickly around a piece of pastry as he thought back to how Crowley had kept him. He remembered the dark and dank hallway that he took Dean down. The solid wall he had to break through to get to him. The chains. The muzzle. If that's how they were all treated then surely Cas would ‘out’ the system and how sh*ttily Crowley handled them. Or was that just Cas’s bad luck?

Crowley did say that the buyers subconscious build the room. Did Dean do that to him? He’d have to ask Cas himself. Hell, they’d opened up to each other a reasonable amount in the last few days alone, surely it was safe to ask that too? Especially if he was going to be telling Sam anyway.

Before it could show its ugly head, Dean tried to push that jealousy back down where it belonged. It had no place here tonight.

Dean, instead left Jess and Sam to talk shop while he finished his dinner. Though he felt significantly better than he had even 24 hours ago, apparently there was still a decent sized void between the two of them. One that Dean had almost forgotten about and had a new desire to close. He wanted to know everything about Castiel. He wanted to know what happened to him, sure, and it wasn’t just to sate his curiosity. It would help Dean understand him as a person, or as an Angel or something.

At least he only felt a little weird about asking. At least it wouldn't take as much liquid courage and internal bitching as the last dreaded question he had for him. Though this one didn’t have consequences. It was just for conversation and for a better understanding and all that crap. Maybe it would made for a good conversation on the way home. It was almost 24 hours on the road. They’d have to talk about something.

The conversation had taken a slightly better turn after that.

“Maybe you could use Dean’s laptop while he’s working? We could Skype or email? Whatever’s easier for you?” Sam even topped it off with a genuine smile which only made Dean laugh. The visual alone of Cas on a computer after his ‘texting’ in the car sounded fantastic.

“It’s magic, Cas. Just wait till you see it! You can communicate with Sam right here when we’re at home!” The wonders of technology”

Castiel rolled his eyes with the faintest hint of a smile. A couple of months ago, Dean wouldn’t have even known it was there but now he’d mapped all the smiles he’d seen and labelled them as best he could. This was his appreciative smile. Dean took that to mean he was happy to be involved in a little light ridiculing if it meant he was fitting in with Dean’s family and the thought warmed Dean from the inside out.

Dean smiled back before Sam got in a low blow of his own.

“Is he going to be able to find Skype behind all your p*rn?”

Jess just about snort her wine though her nose which only made them laugh harder. Dean tried half heartedly to look offended but he did have a hearty collection of p*rn on his pc. He should probably clean it up. Or not. The look on Cas’s face could have been gold when he saw it. Though it still may have been a little early to breach that topic. Although...

“Yeah, alright. Hilarious. I’m sure Cas has seen it all before.”

He tossed a quick glance over to the Angel and saw him with eyes cast downward. He had seen it before, right?

Before that could be dwelled on and even force Cas to actually blush, Dean steered the conversation away.

They talked and drank through the night with Cas offering a bit more this time. It was all so domestic. Dean wasn’t even sure that could be the right word. He’d never had ‘domestic’ before. The type of domestic that he saw in books and movies with families sitting around a roast dinner chatting and smiling and just having that sense of home. This right here, this was his home. His brother and his soon to be, and the Angel that seemed to fit right in. He wasn’t even sure how.

After Sam and Jess had gone to bed and left Dean and Cas with the lounges again, Dean didn’t even mind that they were apart. Cas wanted to come home with him. He’d have him by his side again, soon enough and it's because that's where Cas wanted to be.

When Dean fell asleep, he’d sure he must have still had that smile on his face.

XXXXX

Morning came and Dean had woken up much earlier than he wanted to. Though it wasn’t from a nightmare for once. They had to be on the road soon to avoid the worst of the traffic on the way out on California.

Dean was up and showered, after Sam and Jess of course, and was pouring himself a rather large coffee. Jess offered him some of her smoothie which he was sure was made out of grass. As tempting as that was, he politely declined. He’d loved to have made them a big going away breakfast but they didn’t have the time. Dean could have been up earlier but he was sure that wasn’t physically possible.

Cas was talking to Jess over by the bookshelves. Dean had heard something about the dissertation and Dean had more or less tuned out. He did catch Sam though as he maneuvered through the kitchen to make his own filthy looking concoction.

Dean didn’t even want to whisper it. With her being in the same room and knowing Dean’s luck, she’d somehow hear and everything would be screwed. So instead, he pulled out his phone and typed a quick sentence into Notes before showing his brother.

Congratulations by the way. I better be best man if I’m still around

Sam just about dropped the handful of veggies he was cramming into a juicer as Dean quickly shoved the phone back into his pocket His sipped his coffee through the smile on his lips as Sam tried to put two and two together.

“AshCam?” Dean smiled and confirmed, taking another sip of coffee.

“AshCam.”

Sam ran his tongue around the inside of his cheeks as if he was trying to find the right words. Dean just watched him, occasionally eyeing Jess and Cas to make sure they weren’t interrupted. Sam eventually just sighed, unable to find a decent explanation.

“I should have known better. Why is AshCam back up? I thought he gave up on it when there was no way to track shifters or demons that jumped vessels?”

Dean had been watching Jess and Cas. At least he was. He actually hadn’t stopped looking at Cas since his eyes had found him. He was hypnotised by the smallest gestures or way his temples and forehead crinkled a little when he smiled. He wasn’t so distracted though that he couldn't answer.

“Ash wanted to track the Angels. See if we could find one and ask them what happened to the people that bought them.”

Cas was still talking to Jess but he’d met Dean’s stare now too. They both talked, still entirely in different conversations but there was something that held Dean in place. There was something in those deep and somehow warm icy blues. Some kind of concern or something Dean couldn’t put his finger on. Could he hear Dean? Did he think he was in trouble with Ash?

That couldn’t be it. It didn’t seem urgent enough, or worried enough. It was something deeper down that Dean wasn’t even sure hadn’t been there all along. Maybe it was the weight of whatever he’d done. Hopefully, Dean prayed that hopefully it would make it easier for Cas if they just talked about it.

“Dean?”

His attention was torn and forced back to his brother.

“Sorry, what?”

“Ash? If he was looking that hard for angels, don't you think he should have looked upstairs?”

Dean knew full well what his tone meant. Obviously Dean hadn't told Ash.

“Yeah we’re doing the whole ‘introduce yourself to the class’ routine when we get back. He’s probably going to be pissed but I had to see if Cas was safe first.”

Dean caught one more glance at Cas who hadn’t turned away yet. Even Jess had now noticed his staring and was now making subtle faces at Sam gesturing between Cas and himself.

“And is he? Safe?”

Cas, through whatever hurt was behind those beautiful but old and tired eyes, still gave Dean a brief smile when he saw him looking again.

“Yeah, man.” Dean smiled back. “Cas is good.”

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Ok. Dean could do this. This was fine. He’d take Cas inside and introduce him and the world wouldn’t end.

This was fine.

Dean was determined to prove to his friends, especially Ash, that Cas wasn’t dangerous. That he wasn’t going to go on some killing spree and most importantly, that he wasn’t a threat to Dean.

It looked bad. Every other Angel owning asshat had gone ‘missing’, though Dean knew now exactly where they’d gone. Where the Angels had gone was another matter, he’d still look into that. But for now, he just had to get from Baby’s comforting interior out to the front door of the Bar. Surely he could manage that much.

He glanced at his watch. It’d be just about evening changeover. If he got in soon enough, he could probably see everyone at once. More importantly, not have to go through this twice. Dean looked back up to Cas who was watching him and not saying a word. He had a slight curve in the side of his mouth and something in his eyes. He was clearly relieved that Dean was finally letting him meet everyone he’d talked about for almost 4 months. But it seemed like he was almost as nervous as Dean was.

Dean swallowed thickly, clenching his jaw and told himself to man up. He pushed Baby’s door open, grabbing whatever stray items and food wrappers that needed to be cleared out. He opened the trunk and pulled out his duffel, filled with clothes that needed washing and threw most of the rubbish in there to be disposed of later. He also threw in the tupperware container now half empty with cookies from Jess. She swore up and down that they were some healthy version of chocolate chip but Dean couldn’t taste the difference. He probably wouldn’t have eaten so many already if they tasted like kale or grass or whatever healthy stuff was probably in there.

Ash loved Jess’s cookies. Maybe if Dean sacrificed some, it could work as a bribe.

With Cas now out of the car and by his side, Dean gave a quick raise of his brow and nod of his head. A gesture he hoped showed Cas how concerned he was. It’s not that he was concerned for Cas’s safety. He was a damn Angel, he could protect himself. Even if Ash or maybe Claire took a swing, would he even feel it? He was more concerned that they may actually upset him. That their rejection may hurt him. If someone said 4 months ago that he’d be worried over an angel's feelings, he’d have laughed in their face.

Dean laced his free hand through Cas’s, giving it a quick squeeze more for himself than for him. He’d opted to not hold his hand or show any signs of closeness just yet. He didn’t think they’d be able to deal. He dropped his hand, swapping the duffel to the hand in between them, he head through the front door.

Luckily, it seemed like only families and general civilians were getting an early meal. Hunters who would recognise Cas from the interview that day wouldn’t start coming in for another few hours. That was a blessing at least.

The first person to spot them was Garth who smiled brightly at Dean then paused when he saw Cas. Garth recognised him, and the smile remained but was much more cautious than it had been a moment ago. Dean grinned, as best he could given his nerves, in an attempt to show Dean that it was ok. Dean guided Cas back towards the kitchen. If there was going to be a scene, best it be done behind closed doors.

Dean pushed through the heavy wooden doors to the kitchen, guiding Cas inside and closing them shut behind him. Ash still hadn’t looked up from the order he was making. Some basic dish that wouldn’t take too long to finish. Luckily, it seemed like the last plate on the last order slip he had. For now. Claire still had her headphones in, cleaning glasses and dishes with a bounce in her step as she danced lightly to whatever music was on.

Dean glanced at Cas briefly before clearing his throat. No time like the present to get his face ripped off.

“Nice of you to show up, boss. It seems we can keep this place running pretty much without -” Ash finally looked up, “ - you.”

Ash dropped the utensil he was holding to put the final touch on the dish, refusing to take an eye off Cas. Before Dean had a chance to explain, Ash grabbed a knife from somewhere next to him and lunged toward Cas. Dean stepped between them, avoiding the blade as best he could. In the attack, he’d knocked a silver bowl to the floor, causing Claire to whip her head around as a reflex. She was the least of Dean’s concerns at the moment. That was, until if she decided to come at them as well.

Dean grabbed at Ash’s forearm, managing to get the knife away from Ash but he was still determined to get past him.

“Ash, Ash!”

With hands up to his chest, Dean tried to get Ash to back off without throwing any punches. Unfortunately, he wasn’t expecting one to connect with his jaw.

Pressing a hand to the quickly swelling area, he kept his other hand stretched out, still desperate to stop him from getting to Cas. Dean raised his voice, but still low enough so he wouldn’t raise any suspicions to his unexpecting patrons.

“Ash, would you calm down?”

Apparently to angry to answer for himself, Claire had decided to add her input.

“Why the hell should he? What is that doing here?”

Dean looked back to Cas who had turned his eyes downcast. Dean didn’t need him feeling like sh*t for something that was his own fault.

“Claire,” he spoke firmly, trying to get across his point through an introduction, “Ash, this is Castiel.” Best not use the shortened version of his name. It only showed how close they were which was a discussion for another time. Ash finally spoke. Some of the rage had died down but in its place there was a definite remnants of him being pissed at Dean.

“We know that. You were there when we looked at the mugshots.”

“I know, but”

“Mugshots we looked at one week after the last angel was bought.”

Dean pressed his fingers around his jaw. Ash had a mean swing when he meant it. Dean just hoped it didn’t bruise. Dean saw the realisation in Ash’s eyes and hoped he wasn’t going to bring up what he was about to bring up.

“So that crap you brought me to decipher,”

Dean cut him off.

“Look, yes, I bought him, ok?” The words were sour on his tongue. Yes, Cas said that he

enjoyed Dean’s company but that was now and he was still technically Dean’s property. Cas told him not to feel guilty but he always would. It was in his programming. Ash’s mouth dropped, whether in disbelief or disgust, Dean couldn’t tell. Hopefully, he could smooth everything over before Ash let slip that he’s been trying to decipher Cas’s brand.

Still clutching at his mouth, Dean continued.

“Castiel is fine, though. He’s safe. He’s not going to hurt anyone.” Claire spoke up so that Ash wouldn’t have to.

“How can you be sure? When he takes you out just like all the others?”

“Cas isn’t going to ‘take me out’, he’s not going to hurt you.” He repeated.

Both their brows shot up but Ash was the one that spoke.

“Oh, and it’s Cas now? Good to see that you’re so close.”

sh*t.

Dean didn’t speak, his tender jaw was already giving him grief and it had only just started to swell. Before he could open his mouth, Cas moved from behind him and around to his side, making Ash and Claire take a noticeable step back. Cas stood too close to him as he raised two fingers, pressing them lightly on his forehead. In a blink, his jaw didn’t hurt anymore. Dean poked at the flesh, noting instantly that it didn’t hurt anymore. He shot a quick smile at Cas.

“Thanks, Cas.”

He immediately turned back to Ash and Claire who weren't convinced. Claire spoke first.

“What the hell was that?”

“I healed him.” Cas spoke for the first time since they’d got back. Everyone turned to

face him, Dean included. Cas hadn’t healed him before. It was a new sensation and one where he still wasn’t sure actually happened. He thought being healed might actually feel like being healed. All it felt like was an absence of the pain that was there a moment ago, as if it had been sucked out through a vacuum cleaner. Either way he was thankful. He didn’t fancy holding a bag of frozen peas on there for the next few hours.

Finally, Ash spoke.

“I knew something was wrong.”

How could he know? Dean had been more than careful.

“How?” Dean asked, trying to hide any accusatory tones.

“You sent an emoji.”

“I what?”

“As you were driving to your gigantor brothers house, you asked me to organise opening up the bar. At the end was an emoji. It was weird as hell. Totally unlike you. But I figure sure, he’s grieving, give him the benefit of the doubt. Whatever. But then a few days ago, your HRM goes nuts.”

Dean had to think of that for a second. His HRM? Heart rate monitor? He checked his watch, thinking back to when it could have been triggered. A few days ago? That had to be …

“The pier.” Dean spoke to himself, which only seemed to confuse Ash even further.

“I thought you may have been getting lucky but it was a panic spike, not a happy spike so again I give you the benefit of the doubt. You were grieving. But hang on, no you weren’t, you were playing Road Trip with your new Angel bitch.”

Now Dean couldn’t help it. He’d punched Ash in the face before he even knew he’d moved. He hadn’t meant to but Ash just pushed a button. Of course he was grieving. And no way was Cas his ‘bitch’.

Ash looked genuinely stunned. It was Dean that deserved the attack here, not Ash. Claire had cupped her hands over her mouth. Clearly she wasn’t expecting it either. Ash pressed his fingers to his mouth, looked at them and repeated a few times, checking for blood. Dean was about to apologise when Meg walked through the double doors. Her eyes went straight to Castiel. After a moment and with a wry, knowing smile, she co*cked her head to Dean.

“Who’s that?”

Perfect. This was just what he needed.

“Meg, this is -”

“Castiel.” Dean turned to Cas who apparently didn't need introducing. He was suddenly capable of speaking for himself. He was also now very interested in Meg which didn’t sit right with him at all.

After a brief pause and an eternity between them, Meg finally spoke.

“You’re an Angel?” Dean watched him, waiting for an answer and, for some reason, fiercely curious to see where this conversation was headed.

“Yes.”

Meg gave a slow nod of approval, eyeing him up and down. Without looking away, she tilted her head towards Dean.

“Can I keep him?”

“No!” Dean, Ash and Claire answered in unison but Cas had barely moved. Ash followed up before Dean had a chance to open his mouth.

“Dean already bought him.” Dean didn’t miss the sour tone in his voice. “You’ll have to fight him for it. He’s pretty defensive of it.” He rubbed his mouth again for emphasis.

He was already growing sick of Dean calling Cas an ‘it’. Granted, Dean wasn’t sure where Cas sat with the whole ‘gender’ thing but in a human social setting it generally wasn’t very polite, even if it may have been technically true. It was another thing to add to the list when they got some time alone and that list had grown somewhat while they were away. It started with asking again about what happened to him, his wings, as well as asking if the angels were really out or just cloud hopping, waiting to come down and smite him if he hurt one hair on Cas’s vessels head. There was another one. Who was his vessel?

He kind of didn’t want to know, but did want to ask if it was his own subconscious that locked him in that seedy dungeon in Missouri.

A few of them could have been hard hitters. Maybe he should space them out.

When he looked back to Meg, she was still eyeing Cas like he was a piece of meat. Dean felt a pang through his ribs that he wouldn’t admit was jealousy and stood in front of them in a desperate attempt to break the piercing eye contact.

“Meg, don’t you have someone you should be harassing?”

Ignoring him entirely, Meg glanced over Dean’s shoulder to resume her annoying ogling.

“You bet I do.”

“Okay, enough.”

Dean spun her around by the shoulders and gave her a somewhat forceful persuasion out the kitchen doors. He turned back to Ash and Claire who still seemed highly unimpressed.

“Look, yes, I did this. I’m not proud but we needed answers. The buyers are gone. We can’t change that but it wasn’t the angels fault.” Dean raised a hand to silence them before they could interrupt. “It wasn’t. They may have been giant, fluffy dicks but the humans, thats on them.” Speaking a little more forcefully than intended, Dean continued. “I’ll fill you in later but this is it.” He glanced a look back to his Angel who wore the faintest hint of a smile. “Cas is staying. He’s helping me and he’s helping Sam. End of discussion.”

Dean left the kitchen, ensuring that Cas was following close behind.

He knew introductions were going to be a little rough. There were no two ways about it. Dean had kept Cas from them for four months. Angels hadn’t been brought up too often. Dean brought it up more often with his enochian scribblings but he had answers that they didn’t. He was shutting them out just like Bobby shut him out. They didn’t deserve that.

Dean turned back, catching the doors before they closed.

“Guys, I’m sorry. But it was a quick decision and I didn’t have time to ask for everyone's input. I’ll let you guys marinate a little then we can talk about it tomorrow, ‘kay?” He shot Claire an apologetic look. “We can even start the hunter training now that I’m back and I’ll make sure Jody knows.”

That conversation terrified him more than any other, to be honest.

With an eyeroll from Ash and a smartass eyebrow from Claire, Dean figured that was as good as he was going to get. He pat the door once on the way out, closing the door behind them.

XXXXX

The duffel landed, bouncing softly as it hit the bed. That could have been worse. It also could have been better, but it also could have been worse. He was expecting the reaction he got from Ash and Claire. He’d hid Cas from them. More out of shame than anything else. It wasn’t that he was trying to hide Cas, it was that he was trying to hide Cas. The fact that he was going to miraculously disappear in 8 months didn’t particularly help as he hadn’t even broken it to them yet. He’d imagine they’d be somewhat sh*tty about that too.

Nancy, Liz and Garth seemed a little more forgiving.

Garth seemed to have as many questions as Dean but wasn’t as subtle when it came to asking. He spewed out questions like how old was he and could he read minds. Easy enough ones to answer but, given his way, would have trailed into harder and harder ones. Best give him the space for now.

Nancy hadn’t surprised Dean at all. She was raised by two heavily Catholic parents. They read bible verses for breakfast and whatever else it is that Catholics do. She wore a neat silver cross around her neck every day so it didn’t come as a surprise when Nancy was overly polite to Cas, if not shy. She didn't know whether to offer a handshake or a hug but smiled nervously when Cas brought out a hand to meet hers. He gripped it softly, and told her it was a pleasure to meet her. Dean smiled fondly as a bashful bright red crept under her freckles.

At least Nancy had been well mannered. He practically had to bat Meg away with a stick to stop her climbing on top of him right there in the bar. This was typical Meg. She saw something she wanted and she went for it. Either a quick fling in the bar (usually secured in the same shift) or information from a hunter which she either flirted out of them or outright paid for, Meg got what she wanted. Dean was now in the unfortunate boat of Meg wanting Cas.

It wasn’t like Dean had a say who Cas could hook up with. He clearly saw something in her when their eyes first locked in the kitchen. The niggling feeling at the back of his head that felt suspiciously like jealousy threatened to show its face but Dean pushed that right the hell back down. No way was he digging into that.

The only reaction Dean was a little disappointed in was Liz. not because she was rude or speciest in some way. Hell, her great grandfather was a vampire. One that barely looked 20 years her senior which must have been weird for her. Or Dean. He wasn't sure.

What got to him was how sad she still was about Oskar. She put up a well enough front. She introduced herself and smiled brightly but Dean knew her better than that. Oskars death was still eating away at her. To be honest, it was still eating at Dean as well.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he just knew what happened. If that hag Rowena gave him more than ‘Oh yeah, he’s gone somehow’, before throwing him out the door, he may have taken it a little better. He’d lost too many people before. It never came easy but when he knew what did it, at least it gave Dean something to hit.

He had a week until the new schedule started next Monday. He still had time to map out a hunting trip for the first few recruits. He wondered if that ghost was still around. That would be an easy first mission for sure. He would just need to get the details from Ash, if he was ever going to speak to Dean again, and take them out to where the remains were to salt and burn them. Easy first trip.

Now that he was home, Dean remembered how much he had to do and wasn’t too sure what order to do it in. He was planning on buffing up on his Lucifer history. Maybe something there could tell him why Cas had his sigil burned into his skin. He may not even have to if Cas felt like sharing. They’d gotten remarkably close. Dean was so utterly thankful that he didn’t want to jeopardise it by pissing him off. Though, now that they were closer, would he be more willing to open up?

Maybe he’d ask once he’d had a few.

He’d also have to speak to Bobby. It had been stuck in the back of his head when Crowley taunted Dean about the ‘asking price’. No way in hell did Bobby sell his soul for a Vampire. He’d still have to tell him what Cas cost him. Maybe that could break the ice.

At some stage, he’d also have to set something up so Sam and Cas could communicate well enough. Dean hoped, deep in the back of his selfish head, that Cas would trust him with his backstory before he trusted Sam but Sam had that whole client confidentiality bullsh*t that he told Cas about. If Cas didn’t want Dean to know, that would be a damn good way to go about it.

That, and he still needed to clean his Baby. Other than the obvious, some ingredients had somehow gotten out of their places and were now deposited wherever they’d fit in her trunk. He was lucky that a random handful of things didn’t smash together in the car and take them to some alternate reality or something. Having the cursed objects and whatnot rolling around like that was, at least in his line of work, an occupational hazard risk.

God, he needed to make a list.

He’d clean his car in the morning. Give her a good soak while Ash and Claire talked about who was going to hit him next. While he was there, he’d have set up a way for Cas to talk to Sam and he could spend the rest of Dean’s life typing up whatever he’d send to Sam. If his texting was anything to go off, his computer typing wouldn't be much quicker.

That was tomorrow. This was tonight.

Dean was a little more excited than he should be to be able to have Cas in his own bed with him again. The hotel in Santa Monica had been good enough, though that was mostly to do with the company. The stop back at the Lake on the way home was fine enough but nothing beat Dean’s bed. Nothing would beat his own four walls surrounding them as Cas lulled Dean into sleep.

Though now that he was home and behind the privacy of his own door, Dean's head had other ideas.

Dean knew he wanted Cas. He wasn’t an idiot. He could play at friends or equals as much as he liked but the truth was, he wanted him. He wanted him in the bed Cas shared with him as he kept the nightmares away. He wanted him in his giant ass shower he built for exactly this, even with the new stupid shower curtain over the glass. He didn’t even care how, he just wanted him and he would make it so, so good for him. He’d run his fingers over sensitive flesh, followed by his tongue, laving and dipping into all the right places. He’d shove the Angel back against the shower glass and he’d let him. Cas could stop him if he wanted, anyone would tell you Angels were strong enough but Cas, in his head at least, let him. Dean could almost imagine the heavy weight of Cas’s co*ck on his tongue, savouring the delicious moans as he dragged them from him, shattering the usual stoic demeanour of the Angel of the Lord.

And wanted to know what it was like when he’d come.

Not just because he was an angel and who even knew if it was a different sensation or a dull one entirely. Dean wanted to know what Cas looked like when he came. The times he’d brought him to org*sm in his dreams felt like nothing at all by the time he was awake. He never saw his face or never heard his voice. It was like that part of him was muted which made sense. His subconscious couldn't pull something out of nothing.

He couldn't even help it when he remembered that Cas said he could see inside him. Was that when he wanted or all the time? Either way, it meant Dean tried to shut that thought train down before it got where it was now. Sighing, Dean opted to have a quick and cold shower before he called it for the night after being legitimately exhausted from the drive.

XXXXX

After drying off and throwing on a pair of boxer briefs, Dean was only somewhat more ready for another night with Cas. They were good, sweet gods of pie they were good, but with Deans newfound attraction, or realisation that the want could be rooted to something deeper, he was somewhat hesitant. Mostly because Cas had said he could ‘see inside him’ which, yeah, was a little weird, but that's just how Cas talked. Dean figured it meant mind reading or something like that. Either way, he had to make a better effort at hiding that certain part of him.

Cas had joined him from rummaging through Dean’s meager book collection. Meager compared to Sam’s, anyway. It was a surprisingly comforting silent agreement between them. They’d had enough nights together up until now but now that they’d had a couple essentially skin to skin, Dean was finding it harder to keep that want that started low in his abdomen in check. Once Dean climbed into bed, Cas would join him. Dean would curl up to him like a domestic kitten and cling to him like his sanity depended on it because frankly, it did. Dean hadn’t gone without nightmares for so long. Even with that one at Sam’s it was still a case of them being few and far between. If Dean went back to the nightly horrors, he honestly didn’t know if he could manage it.

Dean met Cas’s eye as he stripped down, getting ready to join him. In bed. Undressed.

Keep it together, Winchester.

Dean looked away, fully aware a blush was forming and thankful that the, now, dark of the room would be able to hide it. Once he felt Cas go still, he turned back to crawl up beside him for the night but was met with something he wasn’t expecting. Cas was in the centre of the bed, facing him and all too close by the time Dean had turned around. If he didn’t catch himself sooner…

Dean could just about feel Cas’s breath on his skin. Each exhale was a burst of warmth across Dean’s lips and he had to actually tight to not dart his tongue out to greet it. Dean’s heart was racing. Pounding. Cas seemed so calm given that they were so close.

He scanned Dean’s face, as if dedicating the features under a different light to memory. Dean felt the tightening of the only fabric on him and was completely aware of how hard he had to stop himself. Stop himself from grabbing at his face, dragging it to Dean’s so he could finally, finally kiss him.

It had only been four months, how the hell was he already so damn lost.

“Are you ready?” Cas asked with such a calm voice that Dean was actually caught off guard.

“What?”

“For sleep?” Right. “You said you have a busy day tomorrow. You should get some sleep.”

He’d forgotten again. Angels weren’t limited to a single meatsuit. Well, they were after being ‘sold’ but before that, they're just wavelengths of energy or something. How could they have any concept of personal space? Dean exhaled a breath he didn’t remember holding, still fighting the urge to pull Castiel's face toward him and delve his tongue inside.

“Uh, yeah. You’re right.” Dean backed off, now completely aware of how close they’d been and now physically aching with the loss and not just because his briefs were tented.

Cas leant back into the softness of Deans mattress, holding himself up on his elbows as he wait for Dean to join him as he had every other night. As soon as Dean’s fingers brushed the soft skin that awaited him, he sighed audibly at the relief it gave him.

No longer caring how he must have looked or sounded, Dean all but collapsed onto Cas who actually huffed a f*cking laugh as they lay on the pillows beneath them. Clinging tighter than he had any right to Dean fell into sleep dreaming of things he knew he shouldn’t.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

As it turns out, a lot can happen in a month. Or rather, a lot of nothing can happen in a month.

Dean had been kept busy enough. He’d scrubbed his Baby out from boot to engine, even relining some of the trunk where the fabric had pulled away. He even grabbed a few organising tray things with lids to fit in the already moulded compartments. Even they were beautiful. A rich oak with onyx hinges that somehow suit her even though there wasn’t any other wood in the boot to match, unless you counted stakes.

. All in all, she was looking pretty neat and organised. Just how Dean liked her.

He’d spent a little longer than what was perhaps necessary but once he’d set up the laptop for Cas, he wanted to be sure to give him enough time to get used to it and start talking or whatever it was he was doing. Dean wouldn’t admit that he was a little bitter that he was ‘talking’ to Sam and not him. If he actually had manned up and just asked, the sinking feeling probably could have been avoided.

Cas typed a lot though and only part of that could be accounted for by his slow typing. He understood the system well enough, but it still took him three times as long to write something than it would have taken Dean.

Most of his typing took place at night which only slightly upset Dean. Cas would stay with Dean till he fell asleep but at some point, he always managed to sneak from underneath him. Dean would wake either from some nightmare he never remembered or even because of the faint clacking of the keyboard. When he woke and saw Cas focused intently on the screen in front of him, he didn’t have the heart to ask him to come back. Instead, he tried to get back to sleep on his own. He was bitter, but didn’t have a logical reason for it. So he let him be.

Cas was very reserved about typing during the day. In fact, he seemed to avoid it at all costs. He tried to help out downstairs but usually ended up sitting in a booth watching Dean or some customers.

Or Meg.

Dean had grown fully aware of some of their ‘interactions’. He’d even had to leave the kitchen a few times to tell Meg to get back to the bar when there was clearly people waiting for her. She’d lean all over the table and on the edge of the booth itself trying to get his attention, which Cas didn’t hate. He didn’t even know what she could even be talking about that would be that interesting. Nothing she said had to be that fascinating but Cas smiled and listened anyway.

The whole thing sat like a heavy lump in his gut. He hated her. It was childish and he didn’t really but somewhere deep down inside him, Dean hated her. She’d even started looking for Dean, making sure that he was within viewing distance when she leaned over seductively or, even once, spilled a drink on his table. Thankfully that one didn’t count as much as the gesture seemed to be completely lost on Cas. Dean figured that was a one up in his book.

Even if she was acting like a child, Dean still tried to keep his distance. He had other things to do, not sit and watch Meg fawn over Castiel.

In the last month, he’d even taken his first groups out hunting. Apparently Lebanon wasn’t the beacon of the supernatural that he thought it'd be. There was the one ghost then a stray vampire a couple of weeks after. Their training nights had mostly turned into theory homework which was probably for the best. Meg and Garth cleared through the written easily enough, though he knew that was a given. Ash didn’t count. Claire did pretty well too but missed a few easy scenarios. Looks like she may be a little gung ho when it came to the real thing.

Dean had taken Garth, Liz and Claire to salt and burn the bones when he’d gotten back from Kansas. He was going to take Nancy but he needed Claire to start talking to him again. She was sh*tty enough that he’d kept Cas from her but once he offered to take her hunting, she had started to come around. He didn’t bother bringing Cas. It was partially due to not needing him there but he also wanted to give his friends an opportunity to ask about him without him being there if they wanted. Turns out, no one asked.

Ash, on the other hand, was a little harder to convince. Dean couldn’t bribe him with priority hunting lessons. He already knew everything about it, more or less. He’d offered time off but he’d refused. Ash wanted to stay and help and cook. Deano’s was him home away from home. Not that he really had one. He’d always moved around like Dean had.

All he could offer him was space. Dean had done the wrong thing, that was true. It was perfectly reasonable for Ash to be sh*tty. Even if Dean had the best reasoning in the world, he still cut out one of his best friends. Though, it was more the ‘gift with purchase’ that Dean was hiding more than anything else. As the months grew shorter, his chances to spill the beans shrank and Dean grew more and more nervous about it. He’d tell him soon.

Just…

Not now.

It had been about a month since they got back from California and another case had finally popped up. A bunch of mutilations over a few nights, heart missing every time. Right around a full moon. Smelled like a werewolf to Dean.

“Can’t werewolves change at the half moon as well?”

Dean smiled genuinely at Nancy. She’d taken to Dean’s reading material very quickly. He’d typed out a bastardised version of his dad’s journal and gave everyone a copy to study.

“Gold star, Nance.” She gave a shy smile and cast her eyes back to the notebook in front of her. Dean had caught wind of the mutilations a couple of towns over on the Sunday, checked it out, and had the whole gang in the kitchen the next night. Almost everyone else left their notes behind except Nancy. She had come to every training night with a spiral bound notebook and a pen and wrote down almost everything Dean had said. “Up until about five years ago it was pretty much full moon or nothing but that changed and now, yeah, they can pop up on a half moon too.”

Dean had already made a list of the victims, next of kin, autopsy records and local authority for when he and his select team rolled into town.

“Ok so road trip tomorrow evening. We’ll go a few times, make sure everyone can gather some information, see who our suspect is and maybe track them down. Nancy, Garth, meet here around six and we’ll head out.”

“You’re leaving me behind again?”

Yes.

“No, I -”

“Prefer not to have me in your rotation.” Dean sighed, refusing to break eye contact with her. She was right. She was right and she knew it and that made it even worse because she had that damn grin on her face that was smug as sh*t. If he left her behind, it only cemented in the fact that he was sh*tty about her draping herself all over Cas. It wasn’t like he owned him. Only he did, but not like, owned him. He was free to suck face with the absolute bitch if he wanted. That didn’t mean it didn’t sit like a heavy lump in his chest and his throat and his gut but he didn't get any say in it. The best he could do was play nice. If he treat Meg the same as he did before, then surely she’d get bored of waving Cas in front of him. Or at least wave the teasing and flirting in front of him.

If he had to take the high road then he’ll take the damn high road. He hoped Nancy didn’t mind staying behind one more time. He gave a somewhat pleading look before starting. It would work easier if she stayed behind. She was more familiar with some of the back of house and it meant thing would run that much smoother while they were gone, which shouldn't have been long at all. Hastings was only an hour drive each way. They’d be back before sun up.

“Nancy, do you mind sitting out on one more? I’ll bring you on the next run up. Promise.”

Dean held his hands together in a silent plea. Ever the saint, Nancy accepted the offer with a smile.

“No problem. I can buff up on werewolf lore till the next trip.”

That answered another question Dean had floating around in his head. Was he going to bring Cas with them or wait till the next one? He was probably dying to get out of the house but Dean would have to convince him to wait till next time. Dean didn’t take him to the salt and burn, mostly so he could try and win back some points with Claire. It would have been hard with the reason she was pissed off hanging around them the whole time. It had been weeks since then and he actually perked up a bit when Dean said there was a case. Maybe he wouldn’t be so upset if he said it was just the recon trip. He’d need him for the takedown.

XXXXXX

The Impala pulled into the driveway after the short drive home. The local authorities had been surprisingly helpful, offering up what information they could about the vic. He didn’t have any other friends or family in the area except for an ex girlfriend and the police had spoken to her but she couldn’t provide an alibi. Given how viscerally the remains had been, they named it as an animal mauling and more or less closed the case. They weren’t even sure why ‘Agent Collins’ and his band of misfit trainees were bothered with a case so small.

Dean had looked into the ex girlfriend, showing Meg and Garth what typically registered as a red flag. Turned out to be a nice easy one too. After a brief check into her medical records, she was admitted to hospital almost a decade ago with a ‘dog bite’, then had unexplained absences at work around each full moon in the following months with the occasional absence around them since. If that wasn’t a shining red neon flag then Dean didn’t know what was.

Seeing that it was late enough and they’d narrowed down their list of one suspect, it was time for the next team to come in for a more hands on assessment. With picking being relatively slim when it came to the cases, Dean figured it was better to have quality over quantity when it came to practical experience. At least to start. In the next one, he’d swap the recon and the takedown teams. They were just about as keen as the other to do both anyway.

Having dropped Meg and Garth home on the way back, he made his way inside. It was weird having the bar closed at night, even if it was for a few days a week. Downstairs seemed too dark, even with the glow from the fridges and the jukebox in the far corner. Dean closed the door, locking it behind him with a stiff click. Even though the drive had been a milk run, he was still surprisingly tired. Babysitting and trying to play nice at the same time can be exhausting, apparently.

When he finally made it up stairs, all but dragging his feet behind him, he could barely contain the smile when he opened the door and saw Cas sitting and waiting for him. He wasn’t on the laptop. If he was, he’d turned it off before Dean had made it in the door.

“Did you find the werewolf?”

Dean toed off his shoes, eager to crawl into bed. Ash would probably be here in a couple of hours. He wanted to get something resembling sleep before his internal clock kicked in and woke him up for an early start.

“Yeah some woman, Madison. Certainly seems the one. I’ll take the next group tomorrow night. We can either talk to her or something a little more ‘permanent’”.

“Am I in the next rotation?” Dean pulled off the suit jacket he’d out there and back. There was no point in bringing a change of clothes if they weren’t even gone overnight.

“Do you want to be?” Dean was maybe messing with him a little. He knew full well he wanted to come along but Dean liked making him ask. Cas looked to the ground and Dean was certain he saw a blush in the dim glow of the room.

“I’d like to be of assistance. Though I don’t mind being in your room, I’d like to come with you, If you’ll have me.”

Dean linked his fingers through his and gave it a gently squeeze. Touches like this had become quite common since they came back. At least, they had up here. When they were downstairs, Dean kept purposefully away from Cas so no one would pick up on the sick little crush he’d developed on the Angel he’d brought home with him. They hadn’t talked about it like they probably should have. Dean didn’t even know what Angels felt when it came to ‘emotions’ and all that girly crap. He could only be returning the gestures because he thought that's what people did. Who knew what was going on in that head of his. If only Dean was game enough to ask.

“Of course, I’ll have you.” Dean brought a hand up to Cas’s face, cupping his cheek and running his thumb gently across the jaw and noting the barest hint of stubble. In the few times he’d done this, every time he’d thought about leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He’d thought about delving deeper, exploring his mouth with his tongue and melting over the whimpered noises Cas would make but he never did. Even if Cas was comfortable with these touches, Dean wouldn’t ask for more. The never ending waves of guilt would surely drown him and he didn’t want that in his last months. Not when it was still so good just as it was.

Dean took a step back and removed the last layers of his suit. He probably didn’t need to dry clean it. He’d only worn it for a few hours. He gestured for Cas to follow him and call it for the night. Or morning. Whichever.

“Who else in the rotation for tomorrow's hunt?”

Folding the sheets back, Dean figured…

“Nancy. She’s sat out a couple of times too now so it’s time for her to come out.” Dean climbed into the sheets, propping himself up on an elbow as he watched Cas get undressed which he would never get tired of. “I’ll probably bring Claire. She needs to see an actual hunt. She seems a little trigger happy. Might have to get her into an actual scary situation so she doesn’t get too co*cky.

Cas smiled and slipped into the bed next to Dean.

“What about Meg, will she be joining us?” Dean’s heart dropped a little.

“Why?”

“I like her. She seems capable.”

“Capable?” Dean’s tone had turned somewhat. Last thing he wanted was Cas returning the lovey-dovey crap that Meg was pouring all over him. Cas thought for a moment.

“She seems like a good person. I like her.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you mentioned that.” How can he like her? Dean doesn’t even really like her. She just has annoying days and more annoying days. Many more of the latter now that Cas was around. Dean rolled over, pointedly facing away from Cas and suddenly wanting sleep a whole lot more.

A moment of silence passed before Cas spoke again.

“Have I said something to upset you?” Yes, but it shouldn't have. Dean had clearly seen that she was capable, given that she took out a Wendigo less than 6 months ago. That alone should be proof enough that she doesn’t need the training as much as say, Liz or Nancy.

Dean sighed. Just because he was jealous, and he hated that he knew it was jealously, he couldn’t risk not giving her decent training because of it. Not if it got her hurt or killed.

“No, Cas. It’s fine.” He rolled over again to face him, trying as best he could to convince him that it was fine. “I just don’t want her to upset you. She can go from zero to bitch without even breaking a sweat. I don't want her to say something to you that’ll make you unhappy”. Thankfully, that got a small curve in his lips. Lips he, again, couldn’t take his eyes off of.

“Thank you for your concern, Dean, but I’m fairly certain I could take care of myself against a human female.” Hold the phone. Was that a joke? Dean stared at him for a moment before Cas smiled and huffed a damn laugh out. Did Dean teach him that? Either way, Dean laughed back at him, playfully shoving him back with one hand before curling up to him, ready for sleep. He probably didn’t need Cas tonight. Even if he was lucky enough to get three hours before Ash showed up and Dean woke up with him. Ash had a set of keys to get in but the sound of everything starting up may have woken Dean anyway.

Dean didn’t need Cas tonight. He wouldn't be asleep long enough, probably, for the nightmares to strike but it had gone beyond that. Cas didn’t sleep with him just for the protection anymore. It was a second nature to the pair of them and that had more comfort than any Angel juice, that was for damn sure.

XXXXX

Dean knew it. He said last night that he’d wake up when Ash got here. He wasn’t even sure what noise could have done it as sounds are typically muffled up here but it must have been something. Why else was he awake at some ugly ass hour without his alarm. Dean reached an arm out to stretch and was surprisingly happy to see Cas still with him. He hadn’t left to sit at the laptop, yet again. Instead, he was more or less in the same position that he was in a little over three hours ago.

“Mornin’ Cas. Sleep well?” He teased. Cas smiled, his forehead wrinkling like it did sometimes and the sight only served to make Dean smile as well. “Alright let me up, I’ll have a quick shower and help downstairs for a bit”. Cas had pinned Dean’s arm to the bed and was lying on top of it. They hadn’t started that way but during the night, Dean seemed to have a habit of running either arm around Cas in a lazy hug that usually lasted till morning.

Cas ran his fingers through Dean’s hair just once before moving and letting him up. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine and Dean tried to direct it another way before he ended up with another awkward boner. He’d fought off quite a few in the last month, especially given how physically close they were now. Each time Cas touched him, Dean had to physically stop himself from acting on it. It wasn’t getting any easier but his reasoning stood strong.

After a quick shower, Dean dressed before filling Cas in on the plan for tonight. Dean would help around downstairs for most of the day, then at around four he’d come up and get him, then Nancy and Claire and they’d head out. Cas agreed, quite keenly.

Once he got downstairs, he gave a curt nod to Meg who had just started and hoped to beeline for the kitchen.

“Hey boss. Where’s Clarence?”

“Clarence?”

“You’re Angel?” Dean understood the reference a half moment too late.

“Upstairs. He’s working on something before we head out later.” It was mostly true. Cas was probably on the laptop again. Before he could stick around for any fun conversation, thankfully, thankfully, Ash called him to meet him in the back.

Dean pushed through the double doors and was met with Ash and his monster computer in the middle of one of the benches. It was open, facing Dean. Ash stood behind it. Dean looked between them a few times before checking what Ash had opened. Clearly it was important enough to be on display this dramatically.

He wasn’t really surprised, but he felt guilty all the same. Ash had his tracking program open and countless pictures of Dean with Cas in Santa Monica. Most seemed innocent enough, if it could be called that, but there were a few where they were holding hands. Dean sighed and rubbed a finger across the bridge of his nose. He had forgotten about the cameras then. It was just him and Cas.

“Want to tell me what the hell this is?”

“Look man, It’s not -”

“Are you f*cking him?” Dean stood back, eyes wide. Alright, no slowly easing into that question. The best thing he could do right now was be honest.

“No.”

“No?”

“You want me to say it again? No.”

“But you’re holding hands?”

“Yes.”

“Dean.” Ash’s voice had turned dark. This was not the time to mess around with him.

“Look man, it's hard to explain -”

“Try.”

Dean wasn’t sure if Ash was pissed or upset or just betrayed. He was some ugly combination of all three and it made Dean feel like sh*t for lying to him

“Cas …” God, where did he start? “Cas helps.”

“He helps?”

“I don’t know what it is. It must be Angel mojo or something but he fixes everything.”

Ash didn’t respond. He gave the same skeptical face he’d been wearing since Dean came in.

“You know me, man. It’s all horse sh*t and nightmares up here.” Dean pressed a finger to his temple probably harder than he needed to but he needed Ash to get it. He needed Ash to not hate him. Especially with the way this was going.

“So what, you buy an Angel so you have something to cuddle at night, that it?”

“No, I -”

“Will you let me finish?” Dean raised his voice a little but still tried to keep it calm. He needed to explain himself, not start another fight.

“I bought him because we needed info for those missing cases.”

“The ‘buyers’ who all went missing because of an Angel?”

“Yes.” Dean really didn’t want to do this but he’d have to get it out sooner or later. May as well be now while he’s essentially cornered. “I spoke to Bobby about getting one so we could know what happens to them.”

“We were working that case. You’re the one who convinced me to drop it because they were fluttering off back to heaven anyway.”

“I got you to back off because I know what happened.” Dean couldn’t look at him. He spoke, but looked anywhere else in the room. “It’s what they cost, man.” Hoping that would be enough, he finally looked to Ash who seemed to get the hint.

Ash opened his mouth to say something before closing it, repeating it a few times before finally speaking again.

“How long did you get?”

Dean braced himself.

“A year.”

Ash exhaled, tears forming in his eyes. This is what Dean was avoiding. He could barely find it in him to look at him right now.

“Wow, a whole year?”

“Yeah.”

Silence filled the kitchen as the usual morning noises began to form outside. The coffee machine had started and the white noise of customers had started to form, even it it was relatively early. Finally, Ash spoke.

“Why not ten? Dean sighed, still unable to really look him in the eye.

“The asshole demon knew me and Sam. Said we were well known hunters back in the day and ‘I wasn’t just anyone’”. Another silence formed but didn’t last quite as long.

“When?” Dean didn’t want to ask but it was kind of an either or question.

“When did I buy him or when do I-”

“Either. You’ll be answering both anyway.”

Dean pressed his lips together and shuffled in place.

“I’ve got 5 months left.”

Ash nodded, sniffing once and pursed his lips together. He was so closed off, Dean couldn't actually tell if he was upset or still pissed. Maybe he was both. Ash stepped back from the bench, knuckle to his chin and paused for an unsettling amount of time. Dean was about to open his mouth to speak in some attempt to break the tension but Ash had taken care of that. He’d reached under the bench and pulled out a hardly used wok, grabbed it by the handle and threw it towards the fridge door as hard as he could which turned out, had some decent strength behind it. It made a horrible clanging sound, a sound so loud that Meg had come back to see what had happened.

When she’d opened the doors, her eyes immediately fell on the laptop and the images that were still on screen. She’d opened her mouth so say something, but she’d stopped as soon as she’d seen it, curling her open mouth into a twisted grin instead.

“We’re fine, Meg,” Dean started, moving to stand between her and the computer, “We’re good. Get back to work.” With a roll of her eyes, she turned and head back out again. Dean turned back to try and talk to Ash again but he was already preparing for his morning duties. He’d picked the wok up and taken it to the sink to wash, then Dean watched as he went back to the freezer to get out what he needed for the day. His paused, fingers not quite on the handle before he spoke again.

“I get it.” He didn’t look at Dean. Ash kept his eyes on the suddenly fascinating handle. “You saved someone from going like the rest, and now we know what happened to them.” Dean couldn’t find it in him to reply. Instead he waited. “I don't like it, but at least we know, right?” He looked at Dean and gave him the faintest hint of a smile which Dean promptly returned. Ash opened the door to the freezer and disappeared inside.

Dean helped Ash for most of the morning. They resumed a synchronicity that they hadn’t had in a long time. Not since Dean brought Cas back from California. That strain between them that Dean had tried to avoid, seemed to ease, even if it was only a little. It was a start. Ash understood that Dean didn’t have long. There was not point staying pissed at him while he had an expiration date. He could hate him as much as he liked when he was gone.

XXXXX

The hours rolled by and morning turned into afternoon. With Dean giving his full attention in the kitchen, not only did they smash out orders but they got plenty of freezable prep done as well. Not that Dean relied too heavily on anything that had to be defrosted, it was good to have some as a backup. A last resort in case stock became an issue. It was just after 2 when Dean washed his hands, removing various layers of God only knew what, and head back out to the bar.

He dried his hands on the towel over his shoulder before dumping it into a basket to be washed later. As far ahead as the kitchen was, he wanted to be sure the bar was doing alright before his team head back out to Hastings.

Cas had come down about an hour ago to offer his assistance. It wasn’t like he knew what he was doing but apparently he’d grown bored of being upstairs again. He’d been sitting out in the large corner booth where Dean usually did his paperwork and seemed happy enough to converse with Liz or Nancy when they had a moment. Dean had left him to it. It wouldn't be long till they would head out anyway. Maybe Cas was just keen to finally go on a hunt.

When Dean stepped out from behind the double kitchen doors, his heart stopped dead in his chest. Cas wasn’t in the booth anymore but was now standing, or leaning against the wall next to it. In front of him, Meg was close, so close, making moon eyes and talking before leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Before Dean could will his feet forward, Meg leant up and kissed him.

Dean couldn’t breathe.

The air had been sucked from his lungs and lead ran through his veins. He couldn't.. He couldn't move. He couldn’t think. Not about anything except that Meg had her sly, evil grin as she kissed Cas, hands trailing over him and that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that Cas kissed back. Dean wanted to look away, honestly he did, but he’d watched from when Meg had leant in, right up until Cas seemed to catch on to what was happening and f*cking kissed her back.

He was going to be sick. His stomach was rolling and his head spun in circles but he couldn’t look away. Not until they finally pulled apart and Meg looked right at Dean like she knew he was f*cking there the whole time. Before Cas turned to look, Dean forced his feet to start moving and head through the bar. He took the steps two or three at a time before slamming his door closed behind him and locking it.

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, gripping at it tightly till his scalp was sore. Shower. He needed a shower.

In automatic steps, Dean stripped and dumped almost everything in the basket in the bathroom. He turned the shower on at full strength, making it hot. He needed it hot.

He stepped inside, wincing slightly as the water met his flesh. He was still taking short, hurried breaths. Placing his hands on the tiles in front of him for leverage, Dean inhaled deeply, trying to steady his breathing.

It shouldn’t matter.

It shouldn’t.

Cas wasn’t his. He owned him on paper, sure, but it wasn't like Dean owned him. Dean had every intention of still sleeping around when Cas was here. It wasn't Cas’s fault he couldn’t go through with it. Wasn’t his fault Dean had developed some twisted crush on him. It wasn’t his fault that Dean had gotten more than a little possessive since he got back with the entirely unsolicited touches between them. It wasn’t even Cas’s fault that they slept together. Even if he said he wanted to stay with Dean, that doesn’t mean that he wanted to …

Dean was going to be sick.

He scrubbed at his skin, washing it till it was pink and tender under the hot water but he kept going for good measure. That was when an idea popped in his head. He tried to push it back out again as soon as it came but part of him wanted, or needed it so badly.

Until now, if he felt this horrible, this wrong, he’d hold Cas’s hand or curl up to him and sleep like he hadn’t slept in years. Even being in the same room as him just made everything better but now he wanted to be as far away from him as he could.

It wasn’t even him though. Cas barely understood personal space till a couple of months ago, how could he understand the concept of kissing. Did he even understand what was happening or was Meg just manipulating him as she manipulated everything else she ever came across. He was mad at Cas for reasons he knew didn’t make sense. Reasons he had no right to claim but Meg. Meg knew better.

He turned the shower off and forcefully dried his skin, running the towel through his hair and catching it on the fabric.

The steam had only just licked the bathroom by the time Dean got out. He caught his reflection and he hated it. His jaw was clenched too tightly and his eyes were bloodshot. He wasn’t convinced that there wasn’t tears behind them. Tears that threatened to show themselves and no. No f*cking way was he going to let that happen.

He knew what was going to happen. A big part of his head was begging, screaming at him to stop but f*ck his brain. f*ck his bar. They were fine without him. It ran like a f*cking well oiled machine with or without him. Like anyone would actually care if he vanished, even for a few hours.

f*ck Meg. Slimey bitch and her obsession with f*cking Dean over at every given opportunity. It’s not like he could fire her for being a bitch. As much as he wanted to send her packing right about now. f*ck her and her evil grin.

And f*ck Cas.

He left the bathroom, chucking on whatever clean clothes he could find and head back downstairs again. It was the end of the lunch rush so it was practically dead when Dean head for the front door, grabbing his keys from behind the bar. He completely ignored both Cas and Meg who were now back to their opposite ends of the world. Meg was cleaning down tables and Cas was sitting in the same booth as before. It was like it never f*cking happened.

Out of his peripheral, he saw Cas stand and start to head towards him. Dean had to get out.

Dean spotted Garth, thank God, who had started his shift a little early, like always.

“I gotta go. Hunts postponed till tomorrow. Can you tell the others for me?”

With a concerned look that Dean did not want to put up with right now, Garth answered.

“Yeah, sure, Dean. I’ll tell Nancy and Claire. You ok?”

“Fine. I'll be back in a few hours.”

Dean cut it short as Cas was just about next to him and Dean wanted to be as far away from him as he possibly could. He just about barged past him on the way out the front door and he couldn't even care. He told himself he didn’t see the hurt look on his face which was pretty f*cking ironic right now. Who cared if Cas was hurt. He had Meg to turn to now. He could go off and have all the comfort pity sex he liked for being held captive by the evil Dean Winchester.

Dean could finally breathe again once he slid into the Impalas driver seat. He closed his eyes for a second, willing away any emotion that may appear in his voice.

As he revved her engine, all but tearing out of the carpark, Dean had his phone pressed to his ear as he waited impatiently for the other end to answer.

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

It should have been a three hour drive but Dean had managed to shave off a decent part of it. It was really only about 150 miles and mostly on a highway so Dean was able to cut a bit of time off where he could. He was headed to a small town a little way outside of Columbus. It was more or less the ‘middle town’ and they’d met here a couple of times before but that had been long ago.

Dean pulled Baby up to a two star motel. In his experience, the star rating was only a guide. He was practically an expert when a hotel was between one and three stars. Some two star places could have passed as a three on the right day with some good lighting and a little TLC.

This, unfortunately, was not one of them.

The worn down motel was the best that went in the area for three hours notice. Usually, Dean would plan a little ahead and get something at least three stars with functioning and clean amenities. Though it definitely wasn’t the worst he’d seen, Dean figured it was good enough.

Dean barely noticed the young, blonde woman behind the register as he checked in. Usually he’d at least have his duffel and could pretend that he was here for something other than the obvious but he’d left it upstairs, packed and ready for a trip to Hastings. He certainly didn't wake up this morning thinking he’d be in Cedar Rapids again.

Waving a thanks in the general direction of the blonde, Dean took his key and head to his room, the last teal door in a row of equally trashed doors that led to more questionable rooms with questionable folk inside. What else was he to expect with a place that was ‘pay by the hour’?

Dean slid the key into the lock which struggled slightly to open. Once inside, he toed off his shoes and his socks, flung the key to some table and sat on the edge of the bed, dropping his forehead to his palms.

The voice that was yelling at him back in Kansas had died down a bit since then but still remained persistent. Dean blasted some rock radio channel on the way up in the hopes it’d drown it out. It was still there, only niggling and prodding at him now. Good. He didn’t need it. Not now. At least, not in the next half hour. It wasn’t a particularly long wait, thankfully but he waited all the same. It wasn’t like there was much else to do in the room that looked like it may have caved in at any moment.

God, Dean wished he was here already. He wasn’t the best at being alone with his thoughts at the best of times. He hadn’t even been really ‘alone’ in months. He had Cas with him. Cas who had tried to tell Dean that he wanted to be with him. That he was ‘glad they met’ or something. If he was so f*cking happy, why did he run off to Meg?

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, occasionally pulling just like he had back at home. He tried to use the pain to distract himself but it was no use. Cas was still in there, filling him up and every pocket that had been so happy since Cas had chosen him over Sam had turned into an ugly little black hole. Instead of the warmth Cas gave him, the empty pit inside him had reformed and threatened to suck more in with him, leaving him an empty, broken shell.

When the motel door finally swung open, it was like a much needed breath of fresh air.

They stared at each other for a moment too long before he dropped his bag and swung the door shut behind him. He took the few steps towards Dean in quick strides. Dean stood to meet him, fervently meeting him in a deep kiss that had waited far, far too long. Dean practically melted under the growl that consumed him.

“I have to admit,” he spoke between breaths before he caught Dean’s mouth again “I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you again.” Dean wished he’d have shut up, but he couldn't deny the effect the thick Louisiana drawl, had on him. “Once Bobby said you only had a year,” he nipped at Dean's bottom lip, “I didn’t think you’d have time for me.” Dean sighed as Benny moved to his throat, thankfully nipping with his blunt teeth rather than his sharp ones.

“I didn’t think I would either.”

“But here we are.” Dean closed his eyes. Now that Benny was finally here, maybe he could help Dean fix the heavy lump in his gut and for five minutes, make him forget about Cas.

Benny ran his thick fingers up the back of Dean’s shirt, sending a shiver up his spine. Dean let him shrug his over shirt off before pulling the other over his head, letting them land somewhere across the bed.

Dean kept his mouth on Benny’s at every opportunity. As soon as he was stripped of his shirts, Dean was on him again. He was desperate to taste the one person, human or not, that actually wanted him, needed him, as much as Dean wanted him. Benny dropped everything, probably flipped Bobby the bird, and drove over 200 miles because Dean asked him to. Given, he probably sounded pathetic on the phone and he may have come out of concern but he still came. Who else would do the same for him?

Stumbling slightly, they inched back towards the bed until the back of Dean’s legs hit the side and he fell down onto it, forced to break yet another kiss. Though this time, he was rewarded with the sight of Benny slinging off his suspender straps and pulling his white shirt over his head. The sight of of his bare chest was enough to make Dean’s breath catch. It had been so long since he was offered flesh that he was allowed to have. Sure, he’d been with Cas next to every night but there was a line there that he couldn’t cross. One that he wouldn’t cross. But Benny...

Benny was his.

Like the predator that he was, Benny crawled atop of Dean, pushing him back against the bed and began grinding against him. Dean’s head dropped back to the mattress. It had been far too long.

Dean lay panting on the mattress with the vampire above him. Benny thrust against him as he rediscovered the part of his flesh that he’d missed most. He kissed, licked, sucked at his neck and down to his clavicle before moving to the other side, each thrust drawing a different noise from Dean.

It wasn’t long though till Dean was hooking a thumb in Benny’s slacks in an attempt to lower them. He’d usually savour this part as long as he could but he didn’t deserve ‘tender’ at the moment. Didn’t need it. He needed Benny to have him. Especially if it was their last time.

“You in a hurry, chief?”

“Please, Benny.” Dean knew how he must have sounded but he didn’t care “Please, I need you.”

With an actual growl, Benny pulled back, digging his fingers into the hem of Dean's jeans and pulled them down. With little assistance or squirming from Dean, he was soon stripped and waiting for Benny to claim him.

As he undid his slacks and undressed far slower than Dean would have liked, he spoke again.

“I don't suppose you’re going to tell me what this is all about?”

No.

He didn’t have any intentions of going over how broken he was. How he was in -

How he had some crush on an Angel. One that he bought no less.

How he hadn’t come in so, so long and he needed Benny. He needed Benny inside him.

He needed to come around him.

If he couldn’t have Cas, he’d have someone who wanted him instead.

“Would you hurry up already?”

Benny paused and for an honest moment, Dean thought Benny was actually going to

stop and leave him there. Thankfully, he kept going.

Once Benny’s co*ck sprung free of his pants, Dean thought his heart may have stopped. Each time, Dean forgot how big Benny was, or how big all of him was, really. Benny was built thick. Even his fingers were thick and meaty and all Dean wanted right now was those fingers inside him. Then he’d be thinking about them and them alone. As much as he waited in anticipation for the burly vampire, Cas and Meg kept slithering into his head and what if Meg took him back to her place. What if Cas took her upstairs?

They hadn’t really laid out ground rules when it came to that sort of thing but it hadn’t been a problem till now. Cas hadn’t shown any interest. Dean thought for sure that Meg was all talk. That she only flirted to get a reaction but would she really push Cas into something like sex? Did Angels even know or care about it?

When he came to, Benny was suggestively waving a bottle of lube and looking at Dean rather hungrily. Dean slid back to the head of the bed somewhat teasingly, like Benny had to come and get him if he really wanted him. Once his head hit the pillows, Benny tossed the bottle to the sheets and crawled onto the bed after him, encouraging his legs open before moving between them.

Benny met him for another deep kiss, delving his tongue inside and thrust his length against Deans. Dean tried to let himself go as much as he could but he couldn’t get the eyes with the ocean's depths in them out of his head. Closing his eyes tightly shut only seemed to make it worse. He put a hand on each side of Benny's face and pulled him off, desperate to meet eyes that didn’t belong to an Angel. In place of an ocean, he saw ice. Pale and crystal and hard. He saw Benny. And Benny saw him.

“You sure you’re alright brother?” He seemed to be panting. Dean was sure vampires didn’t need to breathe so it must have been out of habit. A human reaction that stuck around after the human part of him was dead.

Dean couldn’t force Benny to listen to his life problems. What he could do, with Dean’s hand on his to guide him, was take Dean in hand and make him forget. Even if it was only for an hour. Benny leant to the side and looked between them and took the hint. He ran his fingers over the head, gathering the precome which had begun to pool on Dean’s stomach and began to stroke him. Dean probably moaned louder than he meant to, but it had been so long, and Benny’s hands were so firm.

It only lasted a moment before Benny’s hands were off him and grabbing the bottle of lube that was somewhere beside them. He put a small amount onto his palm before returning and Dean all but melted beneath him. Dean rolled his hips to meet the too tender strokes from the vampire above him. He didn’t want, didn't deserve tender. He needed it rough. He needed it to hurt.

Dean adjusted himself on the bed until he could reach for the bottle. Once he had it, he shoved it against Benny’s chest, a silent but direct plea. Benny only paused, a look of concern and worry across his features which had no right being here.

“Dean -”

“Please, Benny.” He wasn’t going to get out of it easily. Though Benny had been nothing short of a monster when he’d first met him, he’d changed. He and Dean had grown to care for each other, at least in a sense that they didn’t want to hurt one another. If Dean was trying to weasel Benny into something, he’d know right away. Everything was always on his terms. Not Deans. “I just… I need this, man. I’ve got five months. Everything it turning to sh*t just please.” He wrapped a hand around the back of Benny’s neck, forcing him to meet his eye. “I need this.” Dean exhaled, like it was some great weight off him. It was true. He needed Benny to know it. “I need you.”

Benny growled, baring his fangs. Dean swallowed hard, thinking that Benny may actually bite him. Instead, he turned him over and dragged Dean towards him, forcing him up his knees. Dean heard the click of the bottlecap and only had a moment before a slick digit was pressing its way inside. Dean arched his back, earning him another hand on his co*ck, pumping in slow lazy thrusts as a second finger pushed inside. Dean bucked against the fingers, chasing the sweet burn. Benny was big. He’d need more than two fingers

Dean fumbled at the sheets, searching for the bottle again before handing it over a shoulder to the vampire who took it from him quickly. The two fingers retreated for a moment before they returned, cold, and with a third soon behind. Profanities slipped over Dean’s tongue as the fingers pushed inside and worked him open, giving a tease every now and then to the bundle of nerves which only made him swear louder. Dean pressed his face to the pillows to try and muffle some of the sounds that Benny dragged from him but all the darkness had to offer was more images of Cas and Meg.

As soon as he saw them again, he reached behind him for Benny’s wrist in an attempt to stop him.

“Benny. Benny, I need you.”

Three fingers withdrew and Dean again heard the sound of the bottle opening. With a fire growing in his gut, Dean braced himself on the headboard. He’d need something to hold onto once Benny mounted him.

Once Dean felt the slick head against his welcoming hole, he reached down and grabbed at his co*ck, ready to soothe and convince it that it would be so good if they just waited. Dean needed to get through the burn first. He could hear Benny’s breath hitch as he slowly pushed in before pulling out a little and going in deeper. Dean panted weakly, palming at his erection but trying to savour the hint of pain as Benny slid in.

When he was fully seated, he waited for Deans instruction before moving. Dean almost didn’t want him too. Though he’d made it clear enough that he wanted Benny, he needed what Benny would do to him. He needed that hard f*ck that would leave him sore for a few days. Their first time, Benny had claimed Dean. He was rough and predatory and the very monster Dean would rather gank than f*ck but Benny was different. He wasn’t sure if he came back for the monster or the man but he needed the monster part of him now. So before he was ready, he nodded and uttered,

“Go.”

Dean gripped his co*ck tight, refusing to stroke himself as Benny pulled out to just the head before pushing back in again. Dean wasn’t sure what sound came out but it sounded like a sob, which continued the faster and faster Benny moved. Benny placed a palm on the small of Dean’s back far too delicately, guiding himself in and keeping Dean in place.

Picking up his speed, soon Benny was thrusting into him at a near brutal pace.

Dean tried to lose himself in the rhythmic slaps of their skin but it still wasn’t enough. Not the subtle burn that still lingered, not the pace that punched each breath from him. Even the broken moans behind him weren’t enough.

Dean thought of something. Something, given his recent track record of ‘bright ideas’ should have been shut down immediately but he couldn’t help it. He needed that burn.

“Bite me.”

Benny was breathing hard, though not at all, but he still didn’t say anything. Whether he didn’t hear it or heard it and was ignoring him, Dean couldn’t tell. Either way, his plea was ignored. Each thrust was pushing Dean dangerously close to the edge but he wasn’t ready, not yet.

Dean arched his back, reaching blindly for Benny who took that to mean ‘lean forward and kiss at his neck and shoulder’. Straightening up where he could, Dean tried to position himself so his back so it was pressed to Benny’s stomach. He reached behind him again as the thrusts became more erratic to suit the changed position. Dean finally caught Benny’s head and forced it to the base of his neck.

“Bite me.”

Benny pulled back, stopping the trusts but remaining seated inside him.

“Dean -” Dean looked back over his shoulder to what he could see of Benny. After another pause he spoke again though his words were much more strained. “Let me guess, more bucket list crap?”. If that's what would get him bit then yes. He nodded. He’d need it before the sex endorphins began to wear off. Thankfully, Benny began to move again. He dropped his voice so it wasn’t much above a purr. “I’m only gonna ask once. Are you sure?”

Of course he wasn’t. He nodded anyway.

Benny began to pick up the pace again, reaching the brutal pace they had only a moment ago. The new position had every other thrust press against his prostate and he cried out with something between a whimper and a sob. Once Benny had Dean loose and pliant again, Dean heard the tear of fangs ripping free a split second before Benny buried the teeth into his throat. He couldn't contain the whimper that passed his lips. The feeling of Benny still moving inside him did a little to ease the pain.

Dean screamed. He could hear as Benny drank deep of his blood, the vulgar sound of it was right by Dean’s ear as he swallowed but he couldn’t find it in him to care. It was the sweet pain that he chased.

Dean was awash with the overwhelming sensations. The pressure against his prostate. The sharp bite in his throat and the unmoving hand on his co*ck. It was the devastating combination that ripped through his core and forced his org*sm, painting the bedspread with white stripes. He clenched convulsively around Benny, effectively pushing him over the edge as well. Benny filled Dean with a warmth that was nothing on the warmth Cas had given him. The weird mixed metaphor was no surprise to Dean. Of course he couldn't go five minutes without thinking about him.

When Benny finally retracted his fangs, he grabbed at one of Dean’s shirts from the edge of the bed. Thankfully they were dark colours so the blood wouldn’t be immediately obvious. As Benny pulled out, Dean sank to the bed and couldn’t find it in himself to move, even when his release began to trickle from him. Other than the the hand bunching the fabric on his neck, Dean was motionless and stared into some corner of the room.

Somehow, he’d managed to make himself feel worse. Not only was he going to have to go back and take the kids out to gank a werewolf, he’d probably, no, he’d have to, explain this actual love bite to Cas. He couldn’t suddenly going to bed fully clothed. Cas would pick up on that too

That was assuming Cas would even give a sh*t.

Some time later, Benny had redressed in his slacks and sat at the edge of the bed. Dean still hadn’t moved. Still fixated on that one corner, Dean’s hand followed as Benny pulled the bundled shirt from his neck, peeling it slightly where the drying blood had clung to his skin. It seemed to have stopped bleeding. Benny had retrieved some basic first aid supplies from his bag. He always brought them with him. Just in case. As he cleaned the surrounding area and covered it with gauze, he finally spoke.

“Want to tell me what that was about?” Dean didn’t turn to face him.

“I told you. Time’s running out.”

“Yeah, so you said.” Benny kept at the wound, wiping it over then pressing firmly on the gauze. “Want to cut the horsesh*t and tell me the truth?”

He should have known he could never fool Benny. Not the vampire who was so in tune with a person’s responses. He knew something was wrong during but kept going only because Dean asked him for it. ‘Begged’ was probably more accurate. Any reason he could come up with got immediately shut down again. Benny would know what was a lie. Dean had no reason to lie to Benny before, there was no point trying now.

“It’s Cas.”

“Cas?”

“The Angel. Castiel. The one I …” He trailed off. He couldn't even finish the damn sentence.

“The one you bought.” There was the knife again.

“Yeah. Him.”

“Can’t get your rocks off with him around? Not that I’m not glad to see you but surely there was a closer motel you could have picked up in? Or is yours truly just the best in a 200 mile radius?”

Dean playfully smacked back at him, avoiding the hands that were dressing his wound. Once the tape was down and Benny was finished, Dean turned to face him.

“You’ll think I’m an idiot.”

“I always think you’re an idiot.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“More so.” Benny waited for him to continue. Dean sighed. “He kissed Meg.”

“That feisty thing that works for you?” Dean's stomach turned.

“Yeah. That one”

“Well, so what?” Dean fell back against the bed, closing his eyes and bringing his hands up to his forehead. Benny was going to roast him for this. “He kissed her.”

The silence that followed was deafening. When he finally built the courage to look at Benny again, expecting laughter or to be smacked upside the head, he couldn’t tell which. Instead, he seemed contemplative.

“You mean instead of you?”

Dean wasn’t going to put up with whatever berating came next, opting to visit the probably disgusting bathroom before getting dressed again. He closed the door behind him and turned on the shower, intending only to clean himself up before hitting the road again. He closed the bathroom door behind him but didn’t lock it. Sure, he was repressed and refused to say much of anything out loud but that didn’t mean he was pissed at Benny. He could hardly remember a time when he was.

After a speedy scrub down, Dean got out of the filthy shower and wiped over with a towel that was too stiff from overuse. Once he left, he quickly found his boxer briefs and his jeans before sliding them on.

“Did you catch ‘the feelings’ for hot wings?” Dean cringed.

“Don’t- don’t say it like that.” Benny smiled, teasingly.

“Like what?”

“You know what? No. We’re done. Thanks but I need to get back.” Dean slipped on his shirt before unpeeling the other one from itself. If he could have avoided it, he couldn't have worn it home but he needed the collar to hide his neck where his shirt couldn't. He’d just have to go straight upstairs for a decent shower and avoid Cas where he could. He turned away from Benny and slowly slid it on. The blood patch covered most of the lower back and around to his right. At least it was already pretty much dry.

As he dressed, Benny threw the bloodied supplies in the bin by the bed. Dean had a passing thought that it probably wouldn’t even be the worst thing discovered by the cleaning lady here. Once Dean had his overshirt on, Benny snuck up behind him and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“I don’t know what the situation is, but you need to take care of yourself first, brother.” He placed a too gentle kiss on the hidden gauze beneath the shirt. “I know you don’t have long left. Make sure you spend those months well. Take it from a dead man.” Dean huffed a laugh.

“Dead or not, you’re still kicking. I’m not exactly having a round two after my death nap.”

Benny spun him around and kissed him deeper and gentler then Dean deserved but he clung to it all the same. Dean could taste the lingering hints of copper in his mouth which he would have pulled away from any other time, but this was probably the last kiss between them. Dean ignored it, licking his way into Benny’s mouth which earned him a surprised groan before eventually pulling away, but keeping him in a tight hug. Benny smiled sadly, but broke the silence after a moment.

“I’m going to miss you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean stepped back and exhaled. Not wanting more of a chick flick moment than this already was, he smiled back at him with the same sad eyes Benny wore now.

“You too, Benny.”

He turned to the door but his fingers paused on the handle. He looked back and uttered a quiet thank you before leaving the motel room and the vampire behind. It was time he went home, whether he wanted to or not.

XXXXX

Dean sat in the Impala longer that he should have. It was early, early morning, everyone was home and Deano’s was locked up. No one was there, except for the Angel inside. Hopefully. Dean grit his teeth at the thought of Cas going home with Meg just because Dean wasn’t there to order him not to. At the same time, he wished he wasn’t there so Dean could shower and sleep without him berating him about the blood on his shirt and the bite on his neck. Either way, nothing was going to get done from here. He needed to go inside.

It was only the bubbling mix of guilt, jealousy and anger that kept him in his car. After a little too long though, he finally got out.

As silently as he could, Dean opened and closed the door to the bar, locking it behind him. He barely took a breath before he heard the sound of footsteps coming from the stairs. Dean sighed.

“Dean?”

Cas looked worried. Concerned even. Dean disregarded it and head straight for the bar. Now that he wasn’t driving, he could finally have a drink.

“Dean, what happened?”

Even in the dim glow, Dean managed to pull out a bottle of whiskey from above the fridge. It was only half full and there was another behind it to replace it. Dean figured it was his anyway, why not take it upstairs with him.

“Dean!”

“What?” Dean bit back. Cas flinched a little.

“Where were you?”

“Does it matter?” Dean took a long drink from the bottle before pushing past Cas to head upstairs. He pushed the door open and flicked a light on, squinting his eyes as they adjusted. He took another drink as Cas followed him up the stairs. Now that the light was on him, the blood must have been a little more noticeable.

“Dean is that blood? What happened?” Dean bit back at him again.

“Like you care.” Now that he was here he was far too tired to have a shower. With a few more decent gulps, he may not even be able to stand up long enough, let alone bathe, dry and dress himself. As Dean went to press his mouth to the bottle again, Cas grabbed at his shoulder and spun him around, a move that instantly reminded him of the move Benny pulled not four hours ago.

In the new light, Cas looked hurt. His face was like a physical blow to the gut and brought the guilt back in full force. Even as good as Benny had been to him, he had ultimately made him feel worse. Though that was entirely Dean’s fault. Again.

“Of course I care.” Dean couldn’t meet his eye. He looked hurt enough and Dean didn’t think he could stomach the guilt with the whiskey on top. “Dean, what happened. Please.” Dean took another drink, one that just about finished the bottle. Maybe he could lie.

“Got in a fight.” Great. His words were already starting to slur. It had been almost a month since he had drunk this much in such a short span. There was also nothing in his stomach. Maybe he was losing some of the resilience he once had for it. He toed his shoes off while he could still stand. Dean leant back against a wall and slid his socks off, leaving them in a small pile by his shoes.

“Dean that’s - the blood isn’t consistent with a wound and you don't seem injured where it’s pooled.” Dean finished off the bottle, leaving it on the table next to the laptop before sitting at the edge of his bed. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to this part but he couldn’t hide it forever. Instead of answering, Dean slid off the bloodied shirt, fingers pausing at the hem of the second. He met Cas’s eye for a single moment before he pulled it off. He knew the minute Cas saw it.

Cas stepped towards him in hurried steps. Dean ignored him as he sat next to him, inspecting the dressing with a closer look. He couldn’t even find it in him to move. He could have knocked his hand away or even pretended to resist but he just stared at the stupid shower curtain while Cas peeled back the micropore, removing the dressing entirely. Cas’s breath hitched. His voice was quiet but still dripping with concern.

“A vampire?”

“Yup.” Technically. Cas paused.

“Did you -”

“No.”

Benny wouldn’t turn him.

Now that he was close, Cas must have finally used his ‘Sherlockian’ nose to pick up on the smell of sex that Dean brought home with him. He didn’t shower long or hard enough to wash it all away.

The moment Cas figured it out, he stood and stepped back. Dean still didn’t move.

After a long pause Cas finally asked.

“What happened.” Dean didn't reply. Instead, he stood and kicked off his pants. He flicked off the main light from the switch near him, flooding the room in darkness and crawled into bed to get some sleep. If he was lucky, today didn’t happen and he would get his Tuesday over again tomorrow. When Dean spoke, he tried to fill his words with anger, with hurt, with something so Cas would get the fint and leave him alone till morning. What came out ended up quiet and childlike, though slurred slightly from his drink.

“Just leave me alone.” Dean crawled under the sheets, taking as much bed space as possible, but wanting to curl into a ball as well. When he finally lay still, stomach against the mattress and face in a pillow, he could still hear his heartbeat in his ears and was reminded, again of Benny as he drank from him. The loss of blood, even if it was a little, probably didn’t help with the alcohol either.

Dean was exhausted. So exhausted. When his head hit the pillow he nearly fell asleep then and there but he was brought out of that middle space when he felt a familiar dip in the bed beside him. No way did he leave Cas enough space. Before Dean could protest, Cas gently rest a hand on his shoulder. Dean could have exhaled from the touch alone but did once he felt a familiar nothing. He’d felt the same sensation after Ash had punched him in the kitchen.

Not bothering to move too much, or even face him, Dean felt gingerly at the wound that was no longer there. He wasn’t sure if he was upset or relieved. One part of him wanted to pretend it never happened but the other half wanted the painful reminder that he could dig his fingers into when he next needed a rush of endorphins. He wanted to hate Cas for removing the choice but he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hate Cas. But that didn’t mean he would thank him either.

“Dean…” He pressed his eyes tightly shut at the sound of his name. He was an Angel. No way could an Angel care this much about Dean. Not in the way that his voice clung to his name and wrapped sympathies around it. “Please.” Cas kept his hand on Dean’s shoulder long after the wound had healed. “What happened?”

“Why don’t you ask Meg?” He spat out too quickly. It was a childish response and one that didn’t make sense but the whiskey had pushed it to the front of his mouth. Oh well. It was out now.

“Why would Meg know? You left long before she did?”

Dean was far too tired for this. Though Meg had apparently left on her own. He turned to face Cas purely so he understood. He even gestured somewhat emphatically.

“We’re not doing this, ok? I’m going to sleep and you’re going to do whatever you do.” He rolled over again to face the window. “I can find you a hotel or something closer to Meg in the morning.”

“What does she have to do with Benny? Why would I want a hotel near her?”

Of course Cas knew about Benny. Dean remembered exactly how reserved Cas had been when he spoke of him. Maybe he gave away a little too much when he thought he hadn’t said much at all. Dean turned back again.

“Because you like her.”

That shut him up. Fixing a bitter scowl at the end, Dean rolled over again.

He didn’t realise till too late that he’d left that side of the bed vulnerable. Just when Dean thought Cas may have actually left, he felt the familiar weight of Cas climbing in behind him. Too exhausted and a little too intoxicated to give a sh*t, Dean didn’t move.

“You saw her?” Because it was all her. Sure.

“Takes two to tango, Cas.”

“We didn’t dance, we kissed.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Is that why you’re upset?”

Dean didn’t answer.

“Would you rather I kiss you?”

Dean rolled back over. Was he serious? Dean read his face for a moment, or what he could in the dark of the room.

“You are joking?” Cas didn’t answer. Dean huffed but before he could turn away, Cas stopped him.

“Dean, I don’t know what I’ve done. I know that I’ve hurt you. So much so that you went to Benny.” He spat out the name like it tasted foul. “I -” He sighed. “I keep failing, Dean. Again and again. Every time I think I’m doing something right it always goes wrong.” Dean's brow furrowed. When had Cas failed? “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

A heavy silence sat between them. Surely Cas knew he let out more than he meant to then. He kept ‘failing’? Is that why he was cast down? Dean was hurt. A bitter part of him thought Cas may explain a little if it served to make Dean feel better.

“When did you fail?”

Cas pursed his lips. Clearly he hadn’t meant to say it but it was out now.

“I hurt you. How do I make it better?”

It wasn’t going to be better if he had some side thing with Meg. If he wanted to keep that up when Dean was gone then by all means. But he didn’t want to sit through another five months just to watch them make moon eyes at each other.

“What are you doing with Meg?” It came out more as a beg than the impartial question he meant it to be. Cas chose his words before answering.

“She’s not who I thought she was.”

“Yeah she does that.”

“If it helps, I have no interest in pursuing her. I’d happily avoid her but that may be difficult as she works for you.” Dean's brow shot up. That was a change of opinion from 12 hours ago.

“What changed?” Cas paused.

“She’s different.”

Dean figured that was as much as he was going to get. It seemed like Cas regretted it, especially after seeing Dean’s overreaction. Maybe it should just be one of those things, like Dean’s trip to Cedar Rapids, that they pretend never happened. As much as Dean appreciated and loved what Benny did to him, for him, he did it for the wrong reasons. Benny knew it, but let him have it anyway. They both knew it wouldn’t happen again so they were perhaps a little selfish. That didn't mean that it didn't sit awfully in his gut anyway.

Even though it happened, Cas had no intention of it happening again. That was pretty much the best thing Dean could have asked for and he didn’t even have to ask it. That did leave one question that was still fluttering in Dean’s chest. Thankfully, the darkness in the room would hide him enough. He couldn’t ask with Cas looking right at him. Dean brought a hand to Cas’s chest, resting it over the buttoned shirt and felt the warmth of his skin underneath.

“Were you joking?”

“About what?” Dean sighed, hoping he didn’t have to actually say it. After a silence that lasted too long and with help from the whiskey he managed a whisper.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

Cas went rigid.

Dean tried to fix it before he made it worse, even grasping feebly at his shirt before he could run away.

“No, I didn’t -” he closed his eyes. The whiskey he’d downed a little too quickly wasn’t helping him think rationally. “I only mean -” Dean paused. With the worry and whiskey battling dangerously, he needed to select his words carefully. “You asked if I would rather that you kissed me. Instead of her.”

Cas didn’t answer. When Dean opened his eyes again, he made our Cas in the dim light from the lights outside. He looked pained.

“Is that because you think I want to… Or do you want to?”

Still nothing.

After a few agonisingly silent moments, Cas finally spoke.

“I care for you, Dean. Deeply.”

Dean sensed the ‘but’ before it came. His heart sank and he took his hand off his chest.

“But I’m not sure that it’s what you want.”

“How do you know what I want?”

“Dean, I -”

“How would you know what I want?” That was probably a stupid question. Cas said himself he can see inside Dean but he was growing increasingly pissed off being told what he did or didn't want.

“You should sleep, Dean.”Cas slid off the bed. Dean followed and grabbed at his arm.

“Cas,”

Like he could sleep with that in his head. Did Cas want him as badly as Dean wanted him? Dean already knew he’d developed ‘the feelings’. Thanks, Benny, for that phrasing. Cas had shown every sign of developing them too but Dean couldn’t hope, couldn’t dream that he’d return them. Even if Dean hadn’t bought him home which should have been enough of a deterrent as it was. What Angel …

What Angel could love a human? Especially one as broken as Dean.

Before he could ask any of that, Cas turned around and Dean could make out a heartbroken expression on his face. Before he could speak, everything went dark. The last thing he saw was two fingers on his forehead.

XXXXX

Castiel examined his fingers. He didn’t want to make him sleep but he’d had to. Their conversation had taken a dangerous turn and it was important that Dean not tread further down that path. He couldn’t have Dean form an emotional attachment. Part of him felt sick. At least he thought it was sick. Something was unsettled in him and he blamed it on Dean. Castiel wanted to tell himself that he’d tried to avoid it. That he’d tried to deter Dean’s feelings at every given moment but instead, he’d played into them. He took the touches Dean offered and clung to them. He savoured them at night when he slept and he all but sought them out when he was awake.

He knew that he was lost. Being chosen by Dean was both the best and worst thing that could have happened. Castiel halfheartedly wondered if Crowley had done it to him on purpose through his twisted sense of humour. He had no way of asking now.

Dean lay sleeping on the bed. He looked peaceful. Castiel almost envied him. If he was to wake up in the morning he’d need to be comfortable. He wouldn’t remember why he was strewn across the bed. He wouldn’t want to remember.

Castiel moved him effortlessly before shrugging off most of his clothing and joining him. He may need to be close tonight. The nightmares seemed to be stronger when he drank.

He made a mental note to erase Meg’s recollection of the kiss as well. He was sure no one else had seen it. He hadn’t meant to but she reminded him of someone else. It was a weakness that she played into.

Castiel couldn’t make a mistake like that again. There was only five months remaining. Castiel hoped he wouldn’t have to take another memory from him like he had tonight but Dean would be thankful in the morning. He’d have forgotten the kiss and the heated conversation that followed.

A bitter part of him was also thankful he’d forget about Benny.

Dean curled into Castiel as he slept, just as he’d done so many nights before. Once he’d found a comfortable position with his head on Castiel's chest and and arm across his torso, Castiel, begrudgingly, pressed another two fingers to he forehead. Instead of draining him of the memories from the past 12 hours, he placed new ones in instead. He ran off yesterday to see Benny, that much he couldn’t omit, but instead, Dean was a comfort to the vampire who was feeling the need for human blood again. Dean had convinced him to take the synthesised formula and they parted ways, nothing further between them. He hadn’t seen Meg kiss Castiel, instead, received a phone call from the vampire requesting his assistance.

Once he’d finished the fabrication, he’d clung to Dean a little tighter than usual. Castiel didn’t take pleasure in altering his memories but it was necessary. It left him with an awful, heavy feeling in his vessel but he’d rather carry the burden of their argument than cause Dean pain in his final months.

Castiel had fallen for Dean. He’d fallen for the man he didn’t know and he’d never forgive himself. Though there was no need to cause a rift between them. They could spend their final months enjoying each other's company as they had done before.

Dean didn’t need to know.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

Dean woke with a smile on his face. Yesterday had been a good day. He’d helped a friend and organised a hunt for today. Even if he was nervous about taking Nancy and Claire out but they’d aced all the written and mostly the practice combat. It was time he show them how it’s done.

He only had a moment to realise that Cas wasn’t next to him like he was when Dean fell asleep. He wasn’t at the laptop either. He sat up looking curiously around the room till he heard the sound of the door closing. A moment later, Cas came around the corner with a tray from downstairs.

“Hello, Dean. Did you sleep well?”

Dean was too busy eying off the tray to give much of a response.

“Yeah. Fine.” Dean began gesturing at the tray. “What is -”

“I heard Ash open up this morning. Before he could get too busy, I asked if he could prepare a meal for you.”

That was equal parts fantastic and concerning.

“You mean Ash actually spoke to you?” Cas placed the tray on a flat portion of the bed. The bacon and eggs weren’t likely to slide anywhere but Dean grabbed the coffee mug before it could get too far. He curled his hands around the mug, taking its warmth and sighing pleasantly at the smell.

“Not at first.” Dean took small sips, willing the coffee to cool enough so he could better enjoy it. “He ignored my first request, then denied my second. I then started to explore the kitchen with hopes I could make something myself but once Ash saw me, he insisted he prepare it.”

Dean sipped again. Was that Ash being nice or making sure Dean wasn’t going to get poisoned? Baby steps, it seemed. The image of Cas going through the kitchen was something he’d almost have paid to see.

“Have you ever cooked before?”

Cas darted his eyes somewhat guiltily.

“I, uh -” Dean innocently drank his coffee, amusedly watching Cas try to explain himself. “I, um, Angels don’t eat. I’ve never -”

“Relax, Cas, I’m teasing.”

He turned the tray until he could grab at both handles then maneuvered it onto his lap. Excitedly, he eyed the perfectly cooked bacon and fluffy scrambled eggs. He picked up the fork to dig in.

“I could teach you?”

“Teach me what?”

“To cook.” Dean picked away at his food nonchalantly, trying to pay no mind to Cas’s reaction. When he was quiet a little too long, he finally looked up with a mouthful of eggs. Cas still seemed to be processing.

“You’d teach me?”

“Mphmm” Dean nodded.

It started at the corner of his mouth but a smile painted its way across his face and Dean couldn’t stop staring. Each smile, though they looked almost the same, were entirely different and Dean would never get tired of naming every single one.

“I’d like that.” Dean nodded and swallowed.

“Awesome. After this hunt I’ll pick up some things and I can show you the basics.”

Dean finished his breakfast trying to explain food to someone who couldn't taste it. Or could taste too much of it. He offered Cas some of his bacon and eggs, even some of his toast but Cas denied each one. There really wasn’t much point to teaching him how to cook. It’s not like he needed it as a survival skill or guilty pleasure. He couldn’t taste any of it and didn’t need it as sustenance. Dean wasn’t sure why Cas would even be interested but he seemed more than happy to learn.

If he was honest, Dean was more than happy to teach. He loved cooking and it happened to be the one thing he was good at besides ganking monsters. Well, that and sex but he wasn’t really in a position to show Cas how good he was at that. Cooking was the one safe thing that he could share with Cas. Surely an Angel knew how to kill monsters, but cooking? Dean would make sure he was the only one that knew how to whip up a mean steak.

Though it’d have to wait until after their road trip, if a few hours and a gank could be considered a road trip. He meant to go yesterday but he had that situation to deal with. Benny had gone so long without human blood, it was a little strange that he’d suddenly fallen off the wagon. It seemed a good sit down and reassurance and some coffee between them was all that was needed. Benny left looking far better than he had. It seemed a little strange given how well Benny had been doing but human blood was like a drug. If humans could give into addiction then so could a vampire. Dean was just thankful that Benny came to him instead of some unsuspecting victim.

With Benny back on track, they were free to head back to Hastings and gank the wolf. They’d follow the same plan. Rally the troops and head out at around 4. Be back before sun up.

After lazily picking at his food for almost an hour telling Cas everything he was going to teach him, he figured it was probably past time he finally get up and ready. Dean showered, dressed and head down to thank Ash for his breakfast which he more or less shrugged off. He meandered around the kitchen for most of the day helping out where he could and filling orders that came through. It wasn't till Nancy and Claire showed up that he grabbed his duffel from upstairs. More a habit than anything else. He was used to longer trips.

“Alright Avengers, assemble.”

Claire and Nancy eagerly lined up at the bar. They both wore bright smiles but only Nancy had her trusty notebook in hand. Once Cas joined them, Dean guided them out towards baby and filed them all inside.

Of course he was nervous. He was taking two ‘children’ out to hunt. Given that they weren’t actually ‘children’ he was still worried. They were new, but they’d done well enough in the written. They both understood it’d be mostly them watching while Dean was the one that did the hard work but they’d still be in a dangerous vicinity. He knew Cas could heal so that was another reason he came along. The main one being Dean wanting him there.

Dean knew his little crush wasn’t going anywhere. Cas probably knew if he was able to ‘see inside him’ or whatever it was that he said back in Santa Monica. Whatever was going unsaid was working well enough between them though. There was no point spoiling it by naming it aloud. The comfortable silences and the warm touches would be enough to get him through the next few months.

Once they’d arrived in Hastings, Dean head straight to the last known address of Madison. The sun was beginning to set on a half moon as they pulled up in the alley behind her apartment. Dean had every intention of heading up there, talking it through, making sure she was the wolf but it seemed none of that was necessary. When he’d pulled up, Madison had landed on the road in front of them after jumping out a window several stories above. She even had the decency to bare her fangs.

That was enough for Dean.

Dean slammed on his breaks and dove from the car, as did Cas. Claire and Nancy followed behind, each with a gun and a few silver bullets in each. Dean had taken them out to a local shooting range and everyone seemed to be a well enough shot. Nancy didn’t always hit the mark but she was getting better.

Madison had jumped Dean as soon as he was clear of the car. She’d pinned him to a wall and had her eyes set on his neck. He struggled a little to push her off but before she could take a bite, he pushed her back to the dumpsters on the other side of the alley. She stood with the intention of going back after him but paused, picking up the scent of fear. She’d set her sights to Nancy and Claire, then charged.

Before she could get to either of them, Cas grabbed her by the back of the neck and threw her back towards Dean. She stood and pushed out her chest as if to howl at the moon but her breath caught in her lungs as a gunshot rang out. The white of her shirt turned red and her face fell. Madison dropped to the ground below her.

“Holy sh*t! I did it!”

Claire was all but dancing while Nancy smiling sweetly beside her.

“Good shot!” She offered genuinely. And it had been. Claire was a decent enough distance away that she could have easily missed but she got her right through the heart. A good first gank.

“Yeah, gold star, Claire.”

“Well done, Claire.” Cas offered, somewhat quieter.

Dean had been expecting much worse but at least he hadn’t got them hurt or killed. Not like so many others through his too long a life.

“Alright, Cas can you help me get her in the trunk? We should bury her. We can’t really leave a corpse, people will talk.”

Cas scooped up the limp body of the woman and, with help from Dean, placed her in the empty compartment of Baby’s trunk. It was a bit of a tight fit but Dean figured she wouldn’t mind. Or if she did, she couldn’t exactly say much about it.

Before long, they’d all piled back into the car. Nancy and Claire were chatting away about how amazing she was and how fast Claire had reacted and for a moment, Dean was proud. Claire had defended not only herself but she protected Dean. Given, if Madison had gotten onto him again she wouldn't have been a problem, not with Cas there. But seeing her react so well in a stressful situation gave him hope. If he taught them all to react as well as Claire had, then they’d have no problems.

Dean made the quick drive out to a field on the way out of town. Cas took her back out of the trunk and Dean grabbed the few small, fold out shovels he’d stashed in there a few days ago.

“Next lesson. Disposing of your dead.”

He tossed a shovel to each of the girls and didn’t miss at all how they groaned inwardly. They were still coming off the high of a kill but this was the gruesome reality. They were still burying something that had once been a person. That was just as important to learn as any other fighting skill he’d have to teach.

Once the hole was big enough, Cas lowered her into the ground. As he positioned her in the small hole they’d made for her, Claire watched every movement he made. If Dean were to guess, she was either deciding whether or not she still hated him or learning the proper technique for corpse presentation. Dean decided on the former. They’d been civil enough in the car on the way over and she’d even made light conversation with him. She’d asked simple enough questions, not like Dean had when they’d first met and he’d gone straight for the ‘big secret’. He seemed to enjoy talking to her and she’d behaved herself. Dean was impressed.

Cas was already on Nancy's good side just for being an Angel. Being brought up in a highly religious family meant they more or less worshipped them anyway. Meeting him and all their interactions since always put a smile on her face. Dean couldn’t blame her.

Nancy was a little more reserved when it came to handling the body so instead, she briefly examined her surroundings, looking at anything other than the lifeless body. She inspected the surrounding flowers, selecting some carefully and arranging them in a small bouquet. It was bright and colourful. Whites, yellows and reds, dark blues and purples. She had an eye for creating beautiful things and it showed now. She then lowered it onto the body, dropping it in when it got too deep. Undoubtedly that was for the human aspects of Madison. Dean smiled softly at the gesture.

When Nancy was done, they started packing the dirt back in again. Once it was filled and indifferent to the surrounding area, they loaded up the car for the drive home.

The adrenaline had worn off during the digging and Claire was dozing off in the back. Nancy was filling her notebook like it was a journal and Dean thought back to when he watched his dad fill out his own.

Dean dropped Claire at the apartment Jody and Bobby and rented out for her and waved goodbye before dropping Nancy off at her folks. Dean stayed to make sure she got to the front door safely but before she got too far, she turned around and looked through Dean’s window which he then lowered.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” She smiled brightly, even though she was clearly exhausted. “I know the others appreciate it as well but might not say it. It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing. Keeping us safe?” Dean felt his face blush but hoped it wouldn’t show in the light from her parents front porch. Thats all he wanted. He wanted them to be safe. “Thank you.” She nodded before ducking her head in to kiss Dean on the cheek before stepping back and walking quickly to the front door. Once she waved him off and went inside, Dean drove away.

“I think she likes you.”

“Shut up.” Dean bit back, playfully as he navigated the short distance home. “She’s like a little sister. You’re the Angel, I think she likes you.” That earned him a brief smile.

They teased each other for the rest of the drive till they got back to the bar which was closed up and dark. The adrenaline had long worn off, leaving Dean more tired than he’d like to have been so he head straight for another shower before calling it for the night. As he climbed into bed, it dawned on him that he couldn’t remember curling up to Cas last night. He pushed the thought away as soon as it came. He must have been tired from the drive back from Cedar Rapids.

He was surprised that he and Benny actually managed an adult conversation rather than just diving right into the sex like they had done so many times before. It was nice to just sit down and help him through whatever struggle he was having. He seemed alright by the end of it. Maybe he should text him in the morning and ask if he’s alright.

With a decent yawn, Dean adjusted himself till both he and Cas were comfortable for the night. It came so naturally to them now that Dean couldn’t even remember his last nightmare. Even if it had only been weeks, that was more of a gap than he could ever have asked for. Cas in all his ‘guardian’ness seemed to be doing a stellar job at keeping the sh*t away. As soon as their bodies were innocently interlocked, Dean drifted off into a peaceful sleep

XXXXX

Morning came, and the sun with it. It peeked through the curtains and across Dean’s face at the perfect angle to drag him from sleep. He squinted as he woke, shifting to try and avoid the offensive rays. Cas laughed softly, running his fingers through his hair which changed his mind. He was more than happy to have the sun in his face if Cas kept doing that.

“Good morning, Dean.”

“Mornin’ Cas.”

“Did you sleep well?” Dean smiled, turning from the sun to better face Cas.

“Peachy.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. He didn’t want to but it was the only way to really stop the sun from berating him. It couldn’t have been that late, it was only just peeking through.

“Its early. Ash will be in soon. So will Nancy.” It warmed Dean that Cas knew the roster so well. Dean had been a little slack lately with planning the wolf hunt and with Benny. It was a good a time as any to get back into the swing of an early morning routine.

Somewhat forcefully and with a sigh, Dean forced himself up and into the bathroom. He showered, slowly and sleepily and slid on his boxers before leaving to get dressed. Once his jeans were on and he was tying his boots rather automatically, Cas had come in front of him. Dean hadn’t been up this early and functioning in a good long while so it was only natural that he take a moment to realise Cas was holding a cup of actual goddamn coffee and Dean’s heart skipped in his chest.

“I hope it’s alright, the machine wanted a capsule and you only had the one type.” Dean took it from him eagerly and sipped the hot liquid. He sighed.

“Thank you, Cas.”

Dean finished the whole cup before he bothered moving to finish getting dressed. He thanked him again, running the cup under water in the sink then dressed and head downstairs, Cas right behind him.

By the time he was downstairs, Ash had opened up and was starting on morning prep. He could tell by the music playing in the kitchen but other than that there was nothing. No customers yet which was understandable. They’d be in soon but more importantly…

No Nancy.

Worry flooded through his head. No. Not again. Not like Oskar.

He could have been overreacting. It was only 15 minutes into her shift but this was Nancy. The woman who brought a notebook to a wolf hunt. The woman that literally put tardiness as the next deadly sin. Nancy was late. She was never late.

Dean hurried to the kitchen, pushing open the heavy door in a quick movement.

“Ash! Where’s Nancy?”

Ash looked up from the organised mess he was making on the bench and shrugged.

“Haven’t seen her. She not here yet?”

No.

She wasn’t.

Dean wasn’t going to wait days like last time. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed her cell. As it rang, he paced around the restaurant floor, praying to anything that someone would answer.

Nothing. He dialed again.

Dean’s heart was racing faster and faster. How? How could something have happened between last night and now? She was at home? Dean saw her walk inside.

No answer.

He flicked through again and found her mother’s number. He insist that everyone provide Dean with an emergency contact. Most people asked for them in case of medical emergency. Dean’s was technically the same but for a whole list of other possibilities. It rang out once before he dialed again. After a few rings, she picked up.

“Hello?” She sounded awful. It did nothing to calm his nerves.

“Mrs Fitzgerald, My name is Dean Winchester, I’m your daughter's employer.” She didn’t answer. “Nancy hasn’t been in yet this morning.” He bit his cheek. “Is she ok?”

The silence spoke in volumes.

“What happened?”

She choked back a sob as she tried to form words.

“Nancy isn’t well. She won’t be in.”

The line clicked.

Not well? Not well? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Cas had been eying Dean off since she picked up and his worry was painted over his face. Dean marched back to the kitchen and retrieved Ash’s laptop from its safe space. He heard Ash protest somewhere in the distance but he didn’t care. He had to know what was wrong.

He flicked through local hospitals till he got a match at Jewell County.

Nancy Fitzgerald. Female.

Deans breath caught in his throat and his heart ached. She had been admitted at three this morning. Mere hours after Dean had dropped her home. He kept reading.

Patient admitted with palpitations and severe vomiting. Troponin high and EKG erratic. Abnormal for healthy woman in her 20’s. Additional blood run for substances - all negative. Further bloods show damage to kidneys, liver and heart.

Dean’s eyes stung. He forced himself to keep reading as a new update appeared in the hospital log.

TOD: 8:47 - Cause of death multiple organ failure. Autopsy results to come.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

No.

No.

Ash was staring at him.

So was Cas.

They were waiting.

Waiting for an answer.

Dean tried to say something. His mouth wouldn’t open. He couldn’t move. His eyes were fixed to those few words. Death. Failure. Autopsy.

Someone spun the laptop around but Dean still didn’t move. He was staring at the same spot but the text had gone.

How?

He’d dropped her home.

He’d watched her walk inside.

She was fine.

She was fine.

Dean somehow registered a hand on his shoulder before it turned him around. Someone, Cas he thought, had him in an embrace that he didn’t feel he was a part of. Cas’s arms were around him, sure, but Dean wasn’t there. He was still staring at the words that were front and centre of his brain.

Failure. Autopsy.

Death.

Dean clenched his jaw and stepped out of Cas’s arms. Ash wouldn’t approve. He didn’t like Cas. He wouldn’t like it if Cas was touching him.

Focused on the back of the laptop, somehow trying to see the words through the cables and the plastic, Dean finally willed himself to speak.

“Go home, Ash. Tell the others.”

He didn’t check to see if he agreed or not before he turned to leave the kitchen.

His feet were heavy, yet they moved automatically. They took him towards the stairs. Dean reached out for the newly opened bottle of whiskey on the way past.

He stumbled once on the highest step but Cas was behind him, holding him in place and opening the door for him. Dean wanted to thank him but he’d given all his words to Ash. He opened his mouth a few times but nothing came out.

Dean moved through the door and to one of the chairs. He sat in it. His posture felt strange and upright. Like he’d forgotten how.

He’d managed to place the bottle on the table next to his laptop but anything beyond that seemed too much for him to process right now. His brain was crying out for a drink but his body didn't have the effort to see it through. It hadn’t caught up with the rest of him. So he stared at it longingly till it rose into the air. Cas had picked it up.

Cas opened it and poured a glass. Dean hadn’t seen him get it. He just had it. Cas poured the whisky and placed it in front of Dean before sitting in the chair opposite.

That seemed much simpler.

Dean reached for the glass, taking it in uneasy fingers and downed whatever liquid Cas had poured him. He tried to thank Cas again but only managed to look at him briefly before closing his eyes. He felt the tears prickling behind the lids and tried feebly to stop them before they started. He squeezed them tightly closed for a moment but all he could see was some fabrication of Nancy in a hospital bed.

He opened his eyes again, blinking away the tears to see his glass had been filled again. Cas didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Just being here was doing something. Dean thought. Was he? Dean was a hole. A black pit of nothing and … he couldn’t even come up with a decent metaphor. He wasn’t firing on all cylinders. A good part of them had given up in the kitchen and another probably failed on the stairs.

Dean downed the second glass.

So what if it was early? Even with the breakfast Ash had made, he was already starting to feel the effects of two rather filled glasses of whiskey. Maybe if he kept drinking he’d pass out. If he wasn’t conscious, at least he wouldn’t feel.

Cas hesitated with his fingers around the empty glass. Dean looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since he’d opened the laptop and Cas wasn’t looking too well either. He was probably wishing that the alcohol could have a similar effect on him. Dean felt worse. He couldn’t imagine having to go through this without something in his system.

Cas took the glass and poured a small amount in the bottom. He eyed it for a moment before downing it in a swift movement. He barely made a face at it. Even Dean sometimes winced a little with the really strong stuff. Not like this bottle was anything special but Dean thought the taste may have been overwhelming again. Instead, Cas poured another, heavier glass and slid it back across the table to Dean. He looked at it a moment before raising it to his lips. He briefly caught Cas’s stare and hoped Cas could sense the gratitude that Dean couldn’t place into words. He downed the liquid in a single gulp.

XXXXX

It had been a week. Castiel had watched the varying stages that Dean went through and he hated every one of them. For the first few days, Dean hardly moved except to use the bathroom. Castiel had shared in drinking with him but the liquid didn’t do much to numb the hurt like it did for Dean. Castiel envied him. Even when he slept, he was draped across the table with the glass still in his hand. More than once he’d knocked over whatever alcohol was left inside. Castiel was happy to clean as Dean slept. It made him feel useful.

Castiel had watched over him as the nightmares returned. Castiel abated them as best he could but he wasn’t sure if he was actually helping or not.

Dean hardly said a word to him. How was he to know?

On the fifth day, he’d allowed Castiel to help him into his bed.

Castiel lost track of how long they both lay there. It may have been another day or so. The sun rose and set, then rose and set again. Dean’s sleep was broken and violent, often waking in startled jolts. He’d caught Castiel across the jaw with a closed fist on the second night. Once he’d realised what he’d done, the guilt came off of him in waves. It hadn’t hurt Castiel. He tried to calm Dean and held him till he fell asleep again.

The nightmares, though becoming less frequent, were by no means less tragic. Castiel had watched them more than once. Perhaps, if he watched, then he could understand how to stop them better before they started. Though a part of him felt as though he deserved the torture of Dean’s fabrications. He didn’t save Nancy either. He couldn’t. If he had known then he would have been there as fast as the Impala would carry him and a gentle touch to her forehead would have saved her.

He didn’t know. He didn’t save her. Castiel had failed. Again.

-----------------------------------

Dean had lost track of how much time had gone by. He didn’t remember most of it. He vaguely remembered coming up the stairs after reading the hospital report but much after that was a blur, thanks to a few empty whisky bottles that now littered his kitchen bench. The rest of it, he was sure he slept through. He remembered the nightmares. His brain deciding to replay everyone that had been taken from him too early. He dreamt of them calling out to him before the inevitable dragged them away again. Each night was someone different. Jo, Charlie, Kevin. Even Bela. They’d all been taken from him.

It was then that something in him had clicked.

The sun was just starting to peek through his window when he all but sprang out of bed. Crinkling his nose at the stench of himself, the first thing he did was take a hot shower. He didn’t have time to linger. He scrubbed down long enough to wash off the smell of sleep and stale whisky, then once more just for good measure. He may have even started going red if he bothered to look.

He cleaned his teeth twice while he was in there, making sure to scrub away the rancid feeling in his mouth that had accumulated over God only knew how long. By the time he actually stepped out of the shower, he almost felt like a new man. At least one with a mission.

Dean hadn’t heard him leave, but by the time he was dried and dressed, Cas had come back from downstairs with a plate of breakfast. Or a small breakfast anyway. Dean was slipping into an overshirt as Cas placed the plate on the table. It was only small. Maybe one egg, scrambled, on some toast and a glass of iced water. Dean huffed a small laugh. Whoever helped Cas plate that up would have figured Dean would have destroyed his stomach. Probably best to take it easy.

With some maneuvering, Dean folded the slice in half, trapping the eggs inside and took a bite while fishing out his laptop. It had ended up on the coffee table, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember putting it there. He added to the list of things he’d forgotten in last few days. Perhaps he did go a little overboard. Dean was never good at grieving

When he placed the computer on the table and booted it up, the first thing he noticed was the date. That couldn’t be right. What was the date on the autopsy report?

“Hey Cas?” Cas was by his side almost instantly. It may have been the first thing he’d said to him sober. Picking his words rather carefully, he knew he was going to dread the answer. “How long since -”

“Three weeks.”

Dean sighed in disbelief. sh*t.

So that gives him a little over 5 months. Super. Better get to work.

The rest of the toast and egg went in in a mouthful. He hadn’t realised how truly thirsty he was until he reached the bottom of the glass of water. Dean already felt better. He’d hardly put the glass down again before Cas had refilled it, ice and all. By then, Dean had a couple of local and not so local hospital records up, but he had one more issue he had to clear up before he delved too deep and forgot entirely.

As Cas handed it to him, Dean lightly brushed his fingers against the ones around the glass. Cas smiled softly at the gesture, watching how Dean carefully rest his fingers over the skin. Dean met his eye.

“Thank you, Cas.” Now that he was actually functioning again, a large part of that because of Cas, he needed to get this out. Especially if there was only five months left. “I mean it, man. Thank you.” As hard as it was to get the words out, the thought of them not being said at all was far worse. If Dean had been a less-than-functioning human for the last three weeks, the only reason he could have made it through was with Cas by his side. The Angel who was so much more than that. The one thing that Dean had that made him feel as he was finally happy. Cas just being around him made everything easier. The thought of being without him in a few months, especially given where he was headed, made him want to remember this all the more.

“I feel -” Cas paused, looking for the right word, maybe. “- It hurts. That a woman as sweet and innocent as her was taken.”

There’s that word again.

Too quickly, Dean let out a half grin and turned back to his laptop, downing the second glass of water.

He had work to do.

XXXXX

After fixing the final photo, a photo to the corkboard, Dean took a step back. He was one part proud of himself for digging up so many cold cases and another part for finding as many details as he had. Another part of him was stoked that it looked like something out of a bad cop show.

Now that it seemed he was finished, Cas joined him, standing beside him to look at the final image. After a moment of silence between them, Cas interjected.

“What is it?”

“This -” Dean gestured at it rather proudly, “This is the road map for the thing thats been following me and killing everyone around me.” Though he was still staring at the giant map of the states, dotted with cutouts and photos and copies of reports that spread to the connected wall, he felt as soon as Cas looked from the board and at him instead.

“What do you mean?” Dean began explaining the map in front of him.

“Almost everyone I’ve met or had some kind of relationship with has died or vanished. Don't you find that a little convenient? I mean, how many people can say that at least ten people have died in mysterious circ*mstances or just vanished? Sure, maybe one or two along the line but ten? Ten?! Something’s following me. I know it.” Dean paused. Now that he was saying out loud he was more confident in this hunt than he had been in a long time. He’d find this thing. He’d find it for Charlie, for Oskar, for Nancy. For everyone he’d lost and let down. “I’m going to find it and I’m going to kill it.”

XXXXX

Castiel’s heart sank. Something was hunting Dean. He should have figured it out or sensed something at the very least. Dean hadn’t said much about the people in his past, just that it never ended well. Now, he was on a path and determined. If Dean was to go after whatever it was that was after him, it had no chance. Not with a focused Dean Winchester on its tail. Dean gestured and pointed across the board to some faces Castiel recognised and some he didn’t.

“Bela Talbot. ‘Abby’. We had a -” He hesitated a moment. “We had a thing. Briefly.” He added, as an afterthought and averted Castiel’s questioning glance. He wasn’t sure why that mattered. Castiel knew Dean had had many encounters before. She was just another one. Dean continued. “She vanished into thin air almost a decade ago. Not a text, not a call, no cryptic bullsh*t or whatever. This woman would outlive God trying to have the last word, no way does she just go silent.”

Dean pointed to a few other names on the map that he didn’t recognise. Names and faces with strange deaths or disappearances. The deaths seemed unimportant on their own. A tragic case of bad luck or simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Plane crashes and car accidents. However, as they were compiled and mapped out, each with their relationship to Dean Winchester, admittedly it became rather suspicious. Castiel agreed. Something must have been following Dean.

“Jo and Ellen.” Dean’s voice turned sombre. It couldn’t have been an easy task. Reliving the ways his loved ones had died so horribly. “Mauled by hellhounds.”

“Hellhounds?” Castiel repeated. “They only go after those -”

“Who made a deal, I know. Neither of them would have done that. They know be-” Dean stumbled on his words, eying the photo of them once again. “Knew better. They were hunters. Good ones. No way does either of them make a deal.”

“Are you sure it was hellhounds?”

“Witnesses heard barking and growling. They had Devil's shoestring and goofer dust with them or around them. Pretty sure, yeah.” Castiel could tell talking about each one of his friends pained him. Castiel tried to speed the process along.

“How about him?”

“That’s Kevin. Advanced placement in Michigan. Brilliant kid. Could have given Ash a run for his money.” Dean paused. “He was hit by a bus. Killed instantly.”

Castiel pointed to another image, the only one left unexplained.

“And her?”

Dean paused.

“Charlie. Her name was Charlie.” Castiel saved Dean from having to bring up another loss. Especially as it seemed to have happened fairly recently. Castiel stepped forward, making it obvious that he’d rather read the report than make Dean spell it out for him. It appeared that she commited suicide but Dean didn’t believe the police report for a second. The angles of the slices on her wrist weren’t congruent with that of a suicide. Given that she was found in a bathtub surrounded by alcohol and pills led the small town officials to close the case before an investigation could be made. Dean had looked further into it but couldn’t find anything definitive. Either way, it earned her a place on Dean’s list.

With Oskar and Nancy as the newest additions, Castiel was both stunned and saddened by the loss Dean had been forced to endure. He thought back to what it could have been that was after him. Something that had wanted him for years. Something with patience and determination. Castiel had an idea who it may have been, but he hoped against hope that it would be anything else.

XXXXX

Dean stared at the map on his wall. It had taken the better part of a week to gather all the information. Some of the cases were almost ten years old and weren’t even completed that well to begin with. They were mostly done by small towns and not enough manpower to get much else done. Now that he had all their faces staring back at him, he was determined as ever to find the thing that killed them.

He may not be able to exactly prove that it was something he’d usually hunt. He didn’t have much of anything, really, other than a hunch and a body count.

Over the years, he’d kept light surveillance on Sam as well. A few people he’d met in school had died so they went on the board, for good measure. Brady from college got caught up in some mass shooting on a subway maybe five years ago. He shouldn’t have been there but he had to put his car in the shop that morning.

Amy Pond was another, a friend of Sam’s from when they were kids. Dean heard about her and her mother dying a few years back but he never brought it up to Sam. He was busy with exams and Dean didn’t want to worry him, then there wasn’t any good time afterwards to bring it up. He added them to the list anyway, whether or not they fit the pattern.

Regardless of how long he stared at the board, no link was immediately obvious. Other than the fact they all knew the Winchesters. The deaths were too random. The disappearances didn’t have enough information. He needed more.

A part of him wanted to call Bobby but he didn’t have enough hard evidence, or any evidence really, that this would be something in their line of work. It could have just been a tragic case of bad luck. It could have been a need for an explanation that every hunter looked for when something ‘normal’ happened. Bobby would want, would expect, more than the nothing he had. The only thing he did have, unfortunately, was a death that happened not too far from here.

On a scribbled piece of paper he then pinned to the board, Dean had tried to map out Nancy’s last night. They went on the hunt, Claire killed the werewolf, they buried the body and went home again. There wasn’t room for much else, yet something still got her. But when?

Dean tried to think back. Did the wolf take a swipe at her? Was Madison in a pack that hunt Nancy down as revenge? Dean read the police report again. Vomiting. Erratic heart rate. No, a wolf didn’t do this.

Nancy’s case was as good as any as a place to start. If he could figure out what happened to her, it may give him something on the rest of the cases. He was grasping at straws, but he didn’t have much else to hold on to. At least it was something he could do. Some small way he could help them. Even if it was too late.

“We need to go back. There has to be something in Hastings.” This had funky written all over it. Maybe it was a hex bag? Some witch who Dean had pissed off when he was hunting with Dad however long ago? The deaths and disappearances seemed to go so far back that he couldn’t really pinpoint when it started, but at least a hex bag would give him something to look for. Though if it was, it would probably be in her room somewhere and it wasn’t like Dean could go barging into a house in mourning and ask to see personal effects. Not when he knew the victim.

Giving it some quick consideration, he figured he’d have to make a stop on the way out of town.

He laced up his boots and grabbed his keys, then head out the door.

When he got downstairs, he’d figured the lunch rush should have been about mid peak by now. Instead, the place was deserted. The blinds were drawn letting in thin rays of light, just enough to light the way. The air was stale with dust and it covered the tables and countertops. No one had been here in weeks. Ash must have closed up shortly after Dean went upstairs and, without any direction from Dean and another staff member down, Ash couldn’t really do much else. He hoped that Ash had at least found a way to keep paying them over the last four weeks. They relied on his paycheck after all.

Dean looked up and around fast enough that his neck twinged a little. Something made a noise in the kitchen. It was faint, but something was definitely in there.

Gesturing at Cas to stay behind him, he grabbed the M1911 he kept tucked under the counter. If anyone had found it, thankfully they hadn’t moved it. He knew Cas didn’t need protecting by any means, but he still felt better knowing whatever was in there would get to him first.

Dean inched towards the heavy double doors and peered through them. Something was on the steel bench. Upon seeing what it was however, Dean lowered his gun and pushed through, holding the door open for Cas behind him. He pulled down a metal spoon from the wall and dropped it on the floor. The loud clanging was more than enough to wake him up.

Ash jerked awake, sitting up so fast that he almost fell straight off the bench. Dean smiled.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Ash blinked a few times, as if he was checking that Dean was actually there. It wasn’t like he’d vanished for years, he’d only been upstairs.

“My man! Good to see you.” Shaking off any residual sleep, Ash all but jumped off the steel bench, extending his arm for a handshake. Dean took his hand and pulled him in for a brief hug. Ash didn’t need to be sleeping on a damn bench, but it did make Dean feel better than someone had been watching over the place.

Dean didn’t give Ash the specifics of why they were headed out. He told him he was going to see if something was there but he didn’t link it to the other deaths and the rest of the board upstairs. Ash knew Ellen and Jo, so he didn’t want to piss him off by opening up old wounds. He didn’t want to come off as crazy after hibernating for a month.

“It’s a long shot but I’ll feel better knowing that there wasn’t anything else.” Dean threw in a saddened look or good measure. If he claimed it was a closure thing, Ash wouldn’t worry or think it was anything it wasn’t. Which it may have been. Dean would find out when or if he found something.

Ash had been staying at the bar whenever he wasn’t needed elsewhere. He’d been helping on hunts, tracking information and generally freelancing where he could. He slept in the unused booths or, apparently, the kitchen in between shifts. He said it was easier, given that his laptop rig was here and he didn’t want to risk moving it because of something technical that Dean gave up trying to understand.

“Is Castiel going with you?”

Dean nodded once. He’d rather have avoided an awkward confrontation

“Looks that way.”

“Good. I want someone there to watch your back. Just in case.”

Deans brow shot up. Good? Good that Cas was hanging around? Good that Cas was hanging around Dean?

“He came down a few times to get your food. You think he cooked that sh*t up himself?” Ash gave a knowing smile to Cas, one that he somewhat shyly returned. “I know for a fact that Angel’s don't eat but he was insistent on feeding your agoraphobic ass and making sure you didn’t die. He’s either fattening you up for a meal or he’s making sure you actually get to your end date. If he doesn’t want you dead, I guess he can’t be that bad.”

“I can assure you, I wish no harm to Dean. He -” Dean didn’t fail to notice Cas tripping on his words. “He’s a good friend. I don’t wish his demise any more than you do.”

Ash nodded an approval under all the mullet and stubborn exterior. Dean smiled, both in relief and disbelief. That was as good as Ash was going to give an Angel and Dean happily took it. He felt a hell of a lot better knowing that Ash didn’t want to kill Cas anymore. He gave him an appreciative handshake and left Ash to his laptop, probably hunting for more cases.

On the way out of town, they’d have to make one brief stop.

Once they’d sat inside Baby, Dean whispered an apology. He didn’t even care if Cas judged him, he’d left Baby for far too long. He turned the ignition and an audible sigh passed his lips as she purred to life. He didn’t realise how much he’d missed her until now. It was as if her soft rumble and the roar as they pulled out of the carpark was the final spark that had set Dean into gear. With everything in place, he had a case to solve.

He hadn’t been inside of Foro Mortis since that hag of a woman dropped the bombshell about Oskar. They hadn’t spoken since, unless he counted the heartless text she sent shortly after. Other than ‘dealing with the remains’, this woman clearly didn’t give a rats ass about anything other than herself. But Dean wasn’t here to talk about Oskar. He was here to talk shop.

As soon as Rowena set her eyes on them coming through the door, the redhead stood, disregarding the magazine she’d been reading.

“Dean Winchester,” she purred in her thick scottish accent. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She’d only eyed him a moment before all her attention was focused behind him. “Hells bells. Brought me a present, Winchester?” Dean pursed his lips.

“He’s not -” Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. He didn’t want or need to explain his sordid situation to Rowena, of all people . “He’s -”

“An angel.” She directed at Dean, but waved, innocently at Cas. “Mornin’ Feathers.”

Dean looked in disbelief over his shoulder. Cas raised his hand to wave back at her but slowly and not entirely sure. He wore the confused head tilt that Dean hadn’t seen in some time now. He turned back to Rowena, still looking at Cas like she was going to have him for dinner.

“How did-?”

“Please.” She waved it off, a gesture that instantly reminded Dean of Crowley. God, he’d hate to see those two locked in a room. Rowena lifted the small barricade in the counter and passed through, lowering it gently behind her. She moved towards Cas, slowly, as if approaching a dangerous animal. She was genuinely fascinated by him, it seemed. No way was Dean going to let her anywhere near him. Dean sidestepped, placing himself directly in her path.

“I need a hex bag.” Rowena huffed. She was old, and powerful. She’d probably created some of the more powerful ones. If he asked her to create one which would mimic what happened to Nancy, at least he’d know if it was possible. Dean had stopped her moving, but it didn’t stop her from looking Cas up and down. The whole thing left a dirty feeling in Dean’s gut. The sooner they could be out of here, the better.

“A hex bag?” She smiled, clearly not believing him for an instant. “What for?”

“It needs to be subtle, but effective.” Dean hated to think that someone had put this much conscious thought into creating one for Nancy, if that’s what it was in the first place. “The death needs to be stretched out so a hex bag isn’t suspected.” He clenched his jaw. “It needs to be slow.”

Rowena immediately turned to Dean.

“Slow?”

“The suffering. Could it last hours before she’d die? Could it look like organ failure or something?” Rowena’s eyes gleamed. The moss green in them turned dark and knowing. “Is it possible to drag out a death like that? Over say,” Dean thought back to the report, “Eight to ten hours?” Rowena smiled.

“Who died?”

“No one.” Dean lied. Badly.

“Well it certainly is specific.” She chimed. Dean was usually so good at this but Rowena saw straight through him. Clearly she knew Dean was on the hunt. The question was, did she know anything that would help?

“Sure. If the witch is experienced enough which you are not.” Rowena look at Dean in the same way she had last time he was here. Like she was looking through him, or rather inside of him. Dean didn’t like it. He looked away but didn’t move. He still wasn’t letting her near Cas. Rowena nodded towards him. “This is what you did, then? Well maybe not did.” She smiled, wickedly. “Or maybe you have. Who am I to judge?” Dean rolled his eyes, unsurprisingly growing frustrated. He tried to stay on topic.

“How about the time?”

“Of what?”

“Death?”

“What do you mean?”

“Once the victim is in contact with the hex bag, can the witch choose how long it takes to kill them.”

Rowena frowned before seemingly giving up on stalking Cas. Cas seemed thankful, but still interested in who this woman was and, more importantly, how she knew what he was.

“Not with much accuracy. A hex bag is almost immediate. Even if it takes the subject an hour or two to develop the symptoms, the death is usually minutes after. ”

“So if couldn’t cause prolonged suffering? Hours of it?” Rowena sighed, growing increasingly frustrated.

“Of course you can, with the right experience and proper technique. I haven’t met a witch who would though. Hex bags are meant to kill. Thats it. If they wanted suffering, they’d opt for a different spell or a curse.” Rowena slid back behind the counter and sat in front of her magazine, paying Dean one last glance. “You’re not looking for a witch.”

As she started reading, returning to her default position of her head in her hand and tangible aura of disinterest, Dean figured that was enough to rule out a witch. He left the store without another word and Cas close behind him.

“If it wasn’t a witch, then what was it?” Dean didn’t have an answer. But he would. He was determined in a way he hadn’t been in a long ass while. He was going to find what did this. He just hoped there was something in Hastings. Dean really didn’t want to be forced to search Nancy’s home. He wasn’t even sure if her parents would let him. If he had to, he’d deal with that when it came to it.

XXXXX

It didn't seem like an hour to Hastings. It felt like much more than that. Dean was maybe placing too many eggs in one basket. He kept running that day over and over in his head. The drive, the hunt, the kill. Nancy had seemed fine. The was no blood on her, Dean was almost certain. If he didn’t drink himself into a useless heap afterwards, he may have even seen her before the funeral. It wouldn’t have been pleasant, by any means but he could have checked for markings or injuries. The hospital didn’t list any in the final report or autopsy, which was as good as he was going to get but they didn’t look for the things that Dean did. They didn’t check for the scent of sulfur or for an extra retractable set of fangs. Maybe they missed something. Even if they did, it wasn’t like Dean had a chance of finding it. He didn’t even make it to the funeral. How could he have been functioning long enough to check with the M.E.?

After an eternity, They finally pulled into the alley where they’d run into Madison and it was like they hadn’t been there at all. There wasn’t any sign of a struggle, really unless you knew where to look. Which Dean did. Nothing stood out at him right away and a thorough search didn’t turn up anything, either. Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find but whatever it was -

“There’s nothing here.” Cas had finished his thought for him. He reached an arm out just in front of him, as if he could feel the air around him. “There’s no disturbance or any interruptions. No spell has been cast. Nothing has teleported or materialised here in quite some time. Long before you were here. Years maybe?” Well that was helpful. Dean nodded, more annoyed than he should have been. It was good, he guessed, that nothing bad had happened but it didn’t exactly give him anything to work with either. After another quick look around, making sure no stone or rubbish pile was left unturned, they head for the field where they’d buried her.

If there was nothing there, Dean would be forced to check out her home and he all but refused to make it more painful on her parents. He didn’t know what he’d hoped to find. He just hoped that he found it.

It was a small walk to the burial site from where he’d parked the car. It was well enough away that no one would see what they were doing day or night. Dean had enough experience in burying all manner of things and he’d remembered exactly where the wolf had been buried.

Dean searched the surrounding area but there wasn’t much to go on. Other than a few trees and some flowers. Dean remembered Nancy had walked off a little to make bouquet. Not too far. Dean never lost sight of her. Perhaps if he found the flowers, there would be something nearby. It was fuzzy, but Dean remembered them. White. Yellow. Red. Dark Blue. Maybe it was Purple. He described them to Cas who seemed to remember each one. After a brief search, they found each cluster of flowers and none of them seemed particularly remarkable. Some were red in the centre with yellow around the edge. Some were white, the petals looking as thin as paper.

The only one Cas couldn’t find immediately was the dark one. Dean described it as best as he could but nothing around them seemed to match it. The fact that it wasn’t there made it the biggest clue they had. It didn’t take too long to find the remains of it. Amongst the flowers and the lush grass, except for the one mound that had only started to grow over, was a single small plant that lay dead where it grew. It didn’t look like any other plant around it and the dying colours seemed to match what Nancy had found. Dean reached out to pick it up, but instead found himself shoved back heavily to the ground.

“Cas, what the hell?!”

“Dean, don’t touch it!” He stood, brushing the dirt from his hands and his pants.

“What? Why not?” Cas picked it up gingerly and examined from every angle. He sighed and his voice had turned sombre.

“Because it’s aconite.”

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

“What the hell is aconite?” Cas gathered the withered plant and held it in one hand. He moved past Dean and head back to where the Impala was parked.

“Poison.”

“Poison?” Dean repeated. Dean had never seen anything like this, or even heard about it. He knew the general ‘bad plants’ or at least what they looked like. Granted, he knew one was a p*rn star before he knew it was a plant but at least it helped him remember the name Belladonna. Out of all the ones he knew about, none of them looked like this one did. “Why haven’t I heard of it before?”

“It’s not native to America. It grows in the mountainous regions of Central Asia, Russia, Europe… There’s no way a single flower could have sprouted here unassisted.” As they left the grassy area, Cas took the bundled plant to the nearby public barbeque area. It was filthy. No one would have used it in years. Quickly enough, Cas had placed the pile on the coals beneath the metal slab. Dean offered his lighter and soon after, the ball of fire had burned through to nothing. Cas assured him the remnants couldn’t do any harm.

Dean led Cas back inside Baby, eager to head home and see what he could match to his other cases. It was easier to talk in the car. They might have had some raised eyebrows if a local heard two strangers talking about the effects of poison.

“So what does this aconite plant do to people? Wouldn’t she have had to eat it or something? I doubt she was snacking on nearby flowers while we were burying a body.”

“Not necessarily. Though there have been multiple deaths from ingesting the plant, there have also been reported deaths simply from handling the flowers. Ingesting it can cause an almost immediate heart attack but handling it -” Cas paused and Dean didn't miss the sympathetic look he gave from the passenger seat, even if he was focused on the road. “Handling it without protection can cause vomiting, diarrhea, dizziness. Then it progresses. Palpitations. Paralysis of the airways and heart, then the rest of the organs.”

Deans grip on the steering wheel tightened as he imagined how Nancy suffered. She must have been so scared. He cleared his throat and willed the stinging behind his eyes to subside.

“Wouldn’t that have shown up in tox screen or at least the autopsy?”

“Aconite is a natural substance it wouldn’t have appeared as a toxin. It also fades very quickly. Even if they knew what they were looking for and found it before it disappeared, it’s still incurable.”

So that was it. As soon as she’d touched the flower, she was gone. The part of her that was so sweet and so kind, that wanted to honour the human side of the monster, got her killed.

Cas flinched at the first hit to the steering wheel. Dean hadn’t meant to but he kept hitting it and hitting it and he couldn't stop. The tears welled behind his eyes and the road blurred in front of him. In a snap decision, he beared across two lanes of the highway to pull over and grind Baby to a halt.

Someone did put it there. Dean didn’t know what he felt. On one hand he had something! Something tangible that proved that Nancy was killed somehow. That something put that flower there knowing that she would take it. But that left another feeling that was much, much worse.

It knew. It knew Where Dean would be. It knew that Nancy would pick the flowers. How the hell did it know? It was watching him. Whatever it was. It was following him. It knew him. It knew what he was going to do. It knew what the people around him were going to do.

Dean sucked in ragged breaths and clung to the steering wheel.

“Dean?”

Cas had a hand on his shoulder and had slid across the seat to comfort him.

“Dean?” He repeated. His voice was what grounded him. That familiar and distinct honeyed gravel that belonged to Cas, alone. He needed Cas more than ever. He needed the safety and the warmth. His voice and his hand on his shoulder. Dean finally met his eye and the concern radiated from him. Dean had dragged Cas into this sh*t too. How long before whatever this was found a way to take him out purely because Dean ‘bought him’? He didn’t know what he’d do if Cas wasn’t here. Not when he needed him. Not when he was the only thing keeping him sane.

It was another thing he hadn’t meant to do. He’d meant to smile, return the gesture, anything other than what he did. Too quickly, he surged forward, crashing their lips together.

It was desperate and frantic but it was perfect. Cas didn’t pull away. Though he did freeze for a half moment, pausing before he kissed Dean back. Dean’s eyes slid closed. It was a shock to them both it seemed, yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Dean dropped a hand to Cas’s waist in an attempt to draw him closer which was somewhat difficult sitting inside his Impala.

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, willing himself not to think how or why they were on the side of a highway fifty miles from home. He didn't want to think about some monster taking Cas away from him purely because it could. He didn’t think about all the reasons he shouldn’t be kissing Cas but Cas was kissing him too. Dean’s mind just about went blank. Every hungered kiss Dean gave to him, Cas returned.

Dean moved on instinct. He wasn’t thinking about kissing Cas. He was lost in this bubble in time where there was nothing in the world except for them. Thats why it came as a shock to them both when Dean traced a tongue along the bottom of Cas’s lip. Without missing a beat, Cas parted his lips, allowing Dean’s tongue to slide inside. It’s the single best thing that he’s felt in years. As he withdrew his tongue, Cas seized the moment to follow it with his own.

An audible groan fell from him and he all but melted.

Just as he was about to slide closer to him, a passing car honked its horn and startled them apart.

They both took heavy breaths.

They both scanned each others features, darting between eyes and lips and did Dean really just kiss Cas? Granted, he’d been thinking about it for forever but he didn’t think he actually would, or could. He knew he shouldn’t. The one thing he didn’t plan on was Cas kissing him back.

Cas seemed as lost for words as Dean was. He kept parting his lips and closing them again like he meant to say something but nothing came out. He glanced out the window a few times, like he was making sure that no one had seen them.

Dean blinked a few times, just to be sure he hadn’t dreamt the whole thing. Or even brushed up against one of those poison plants and was maybe hallucinating.

The only way Dean could tell that time was actually moving was because cars were still flying past them on the highway One he should probably get back on. The longer they stayed silent, the further Cas’s face fell. Dean knew before he spoke that he regretted it.

“Dean, I-”

“No.” Cas tilted his head, brows furrowed.

“No?”

“Whatever bullsh*t excuse you’re trying to think up, no.”

Cas looked away. Dean had had enough. The lingering touches. The eye contact that lasted a little too long. The nights. Dean couldn’t get him out of his head and Cas had made it more than clear he felt something too. He’d all but said it in Santa Monica. He was happy they were together. Wasn’t that enough?

“Dean.” His voice was full of something that tore at Dean’s heart. After a pause, he spoke. “There are rules about Angels and humans.”

“Like what?”

“Any connection between them is forbidden.”

“Why?”

Cas sighed. His tone turned clinical. It reminded Dean of the Angel he met at the crossroads, not the one he’d come to know and -

The one he’d come to know so well. Though come to think of it, he still didn’t know much about the Angel at all. He didn’t know what he’d done to be in that cell to begin with. He still hadn’t asked about his brand. All he knew from him was what they’d done together in the last seven months or so. The realisation hit Dean harder than it should have.

“When an Angel and a human come together they have the potential to create a Nephilim.”

Dean burst out laughing. The first decent laugh he’d had in a while. That was the best he had?

“Dude, I’m not an idiot, I know how to make a nephilim and in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not really packing the required equipment.” Cas rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated.

“The laws still apply, Dean.”

“Why? It’s not like anyone up there gives a damn? They’ve packed it in. There isn’t anyone left.”

“But the rules-”

“What rules, Cas? You clearly didn’t give a damn about the rules when you got booted out and sent to Crowley, why do you care about them now?” Cas didn’t have an answer. He was grasping at straws to begin with and the lack of anything tangible was both amusing and annoying as hell. Cas kissed him back so why the hell was he so determined to derail whatever the hell it was growing between them? Cas had swallowed whatever excuse he had. Dean wished he didn’t feel guilty for bringing up his fall again but he was sick of excuses. Sick of dancing around it. There was something here. Something real. Why the hell was Cas backing down? Too cautiously, Dean reached out to cup his face in his hand. Cas didn’t recoil. That was something, right?

“Look man,” Cas looked at him, so full of hope. “All I know is I got maybe 5 months left. I know there's something here. Can’t we have a few months? Who could that hurt?”

“There is something here, Dean.” Cas replied. Dean’s heart started pounding. He knew Cas wanted something too. He knew it. “I have feelings. Emotions. Dean, you have to understand Angels are absolute. They have no wants. No desires. All they know is following orders.” Cas sighed and looked away, breaking the contact between Dean’s hand and his cheek and Dean was almost upset, But Cas was giving more than he’d asked from him in months.

“Angels were sent to Crowley for disobeying. For forming a will other than that of God. He is given the angels that fell. Some rebelled, refusing to serve an absent father. Some acted out of vengeance, an emotion no Angel should have.”

“And you?” Dean barely got out the words and when he had, they were barely above a whisper. Cas answered so easily, like it hadn’t been anything at all.

“I fell in love.”

Dean retracted his hand, sitting it uncomfortably on his lap. Cas was in love. He loved someone and they made him suffer for it.

“So… your wings?”

“Were damaged in the fall. The Angels forcibly ejected from heaven all have broken wings.”

In some way, it all made sense. That first week when they talked about so much and nothing all at once, Cas had entirely shut down when he asked if he’d had anyone before the fall. The heartbreak was written all over his face so Dean had dropped it.

Hell, when he first saw Cas on that stupid mugshot, the guilt was coming out of his angel-pores. The defeat was right there in his bluer than blue eyes and he was so utterly broken. What else could it have been, but love?

Dean positioned himself back at Baby's wheel and flicked over the ignition. They were still almost an hour from home. If they were going to have this conversation it may as well be heading there. As much as Dean wanted to know everything about Cas and whoever it was he fell in love with, he was equally determined to find the thing that had spent years torturing him. Even if he had only a small lead, it was better than nothing. Once he’d merged back onto the highway and up to a decent speed, Dean tried his luck.

“So you really didn’t have a hand in the apocalypse?” Not like Dean thought he did. Not after coming to know him. Cas gave the faintest hint of a smile, instantly making Dean feel better. It meant he wasn’t so reserved talking about this anymore. Not only did it feed his curiosity, It meant Cas trusted him with this. With his biggest ‘sin’.

“The only part I had was helping the few who stopped it. Most angels were determined for it to go ahead but there were some who didn’t want to see the end of the world. Not yet.”

Well that was different to what Bobby had. Angels must have had the best press liason or something to convince the masses that they were the innocent party. Assholes.

“And this woman you loved,” Dean probed, “Were they the reason you saved it?”

“Yes.” Cas replied, staring out a window. “She was.”

“Did she survive?” Cas thought long and hard. They’d travelled a good way down the highway past Blue Hill and they were closing in of Red Cloud before he answered. Dean wasn’t sure if it was because it was painful for him to talk about or it he was fishing out the details he wanted to share. Either way, Dean was happy for any answer Cas would give him.

“For a time. For years, actually but I -” Cas paused again. Dean felt sorry for him. He’d never been in love like that. Cassie didn’t stick around long enough to form anything real and Lisa…

Lisa was great, but he couldn’t love her like she loved him.

“I failed her. They - She - was in danger and I failed her. I was sent to Crowley before I found out what happened. I didn’t even know if they survived.”

“We could find her?” It would probably kill Dean to see him with anyone else at this stage but he wanted Cas to be happy. If he could help find her, Cas could go back to her once Dean’s contract had ended. “I could have Ash check the facial recognition software? If I have her name, we could easily -”

“Thank you, Dean. That won’t be necessary.”

Cas looked over to Dean and gave a small but genuine smile. He wasn’t sure if he was just happy to have all that off his chest. Cas slid his hand across Baby’s seat and thread his fingers through Dean’s. It was only about ten minutes till they got home but Dean was more than happy to have their fingers intertwined for the duration. The rest of the drive was spent in silence, but not an awkward or thick silence that hung in the air uncomfortably. Dean thought about this mystery woman and who she might be. Maybe if he had Ash track video footage from years ago, Dean might be able to find her and find out if she was alive or not. If she was, then she could be a final gift to him. A thank you for making his last year not as horrible as it could have been.

Dean thought back to Cas’s brand. He still hadn’t really figured it out. Sam refused to tell him, asshat that he is. Maybe it was because he was in love and Sam didn’t want him getting jealous or something. He’d withheld more for less.

Now that Ash was on speaking terms with them again, he might have found it by now. Dean would have to ask him about the tracking thing anyway. Maybe he could get two birds with one stone if Ash was feeling generous enough. He’d owe him. Big time.

‘Obey’ was easy enough. He had the ‘guardian’ part. That had to be Dean and that his punishment or whatever was guarding his ‘buyer’. The Lucifer sigil had to be the emotions. An Angel falling for love. He was pretty sure Lucifer fell because he loved God more than humans. He still needed to buff up on that at some stage. That just left the last part. Surely a few tiny symbols in Enochian couldn’t be that difficult.

They pulled into the carpark, parked Baby around the back and head inside to find Ash was still there.

Perfect.

“Hey man, can you give me a minute with Ash? I need to run something by him.” Cas didn’t seem phased. Good. “Think maybe you could start adding what you know about Aconite to Nancy’s file?”

“Of course.”

Dean locked the door behind them and tossed the keys to Cas. Once he was at the top of the stairs, Dean head for the kitchen.

“Ash?”

Dean opened the kitchen doors to find Ash cross legged on a steel bench. He half heartedly rolled his eyes. Good thing they weren’t being used for food anymore.

“Sorry man, haven’t got any cases.” Ash didn’t look away from the laptop but kept typing away. “Everythings a bit pedestrian in a 200 mile radius. I might have a ghost in Oklahoma if you want a drive?” He really didn’t.

“Nah, give it to Cesar and Jesse.” Last he heard, they were around Texas. It wouldn’t be too far for them. May as well dive in. “Did you ever get to deciphering that Enochian?”

“Your Angel boyfriend’s brand?” Dean sighed. He wasn’t going to take the bait.

“Sure.” Ash gave Dean a passing glance before returning to the computer in his lap.

“Why don’t you just ask him?”

“Can you read it or not?”

“Sorry. It’s too vague and without context the single letters can mean any number of things.” He types away at the laptop again before turning it around with a list of words starting with the ‘U’ symbol. The list was pretty extensive. “Clothes. Creator, Time, Olives. It’s got any number of meanings. There's even a number. 1636.”

Dean nodded, darting his eyes over the list. There was a few words, sure. But none of them had the single letter. It was all words with multiple symbols around it. Ash wasn’t looking in the right place. He would have known better than that. He was lying to Dean.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for trying, man.” Dean wasn’t going to get anything from him. Though why, he wasn’t sure. He’d have to find someone else. Someone that didn't give a rats ass about the angels or their brands. One that didn’t care about how close Dean and Cas had become. At least Ash could help him with something else. One he may be a little more happy to attempt. “Can I ask another favour? It’s kind of important.”

Ash turned the laptop back around.

“Important how?”

“I’ve only got -” Dean had lost track. 4 months and change, maybe? “Say four months or something left. Once I’m gone. Cas doesn’t really have anywhere to go and he might hang around here without a better alternative.” That caught his attention. “I think Cas had a friend before he fell but he wont tell me who. I thought, If I could find her, reunite them before I’m dragged downstairs, then he has someone afterwards. He won't have a reason to stay.”

Ash smiled, before starting away at the computer again.

“Got a name?”

“If I did, I’d have done it myself. I thought we could use the facial recognition to find Cas and any human he hung around with. Maybe find a match off that and we can track her down, see if she’s still alive?”

Ash looked increasingly happy. He’d accepted Cas sure, but that didn’t mean he was ecstatic with the idea of Dean and him getting so close. Maybe if Dean offered him someone else, he’d take it as a way to get Cas out of here faster.

“Alright. You got it. She's human?”

“Pretty sure.”

“I’ll find her.”

“Thanks, man.”

Dean left Ash to it. Once he had a job, his entire focus was centred on that. There wasn’t any way he’d offer up a coherent conversation until he either failed or had all the information he’d need.

He joined Cas upstairs who’d made a note next to Nancy’s detailing what he could about Aconite. Unfortunately none of the other cases had any magically appearing flowers near them, at least from what Dean remembered or was listed on the reports. None of them died in the same way she had either so it ruled the Aconite out. What they needed was someone or something that was powerful enough to either see the future or timehop or had some way of knowing where Dean and Co. were going to be.

Dean checked each file.

Bella went missing. Same as Oskar. She travelled around almost as much as Dean did. Literally anything could have happened to her. Last he heard from her, she was in Erie, Pennsylvania. He checked with local authorities and did a search way back when but nothing had turned up. He had nothing to go on with Oskar either.

Kevin was hit by a bus. If he put his theory to it, it would be easy enough to kill someone that way. There were no witnesses, other than the bus driver who died at the scene. Apparently he had a medical episode behind the wheel and rammed up onto a pedestrian footpath. Kevin had the unfortunate luck of being in the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time. If this thing could manipulate time, that would be easy enough

Ellen and Jo… No way in hell did they make a deal with a demon. Not one of them and sure as hell not both of them. Only high ranking demons had a hellhound on a leash. Maybe that was something to go off?

As for Charlie…

The memory alone was too painful to relive. He was the one that found her after all.

All he knew was that it wasn’t a suicide.

He didn’t have much to go on but he knew something was killing them.

If only he could convince Bobby. Bobby would know what it was, if anything.

Dean reached into his pocket for his phone. He knew this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. If Bobby didn’t believe him, he didn’t know what he was going to do. He needed more to go on. He hoped against hope that Bobby would pick up.

“Well ain’t this a pleasant surprise.” Dean sighed pleasantly. That damn vampire.

“How are you Benny? Keeping your nose clean?” Dean shot an eye to Cas who’d turned tense. He knew Cas wasn’t a fan but he couldn’t just not talk to him if he answered the phone. It was a good thing actually. Dean had been meaning to check in on Benny and make sure he hadn’t had any more urges.

“Always. You know me.”

“Yeah, yeah. You let me know if you get in any more trouble.”

“You got it, chief. I assume you want the boss man?” Dean smiled.

“Please. Thanks, man.”

“Uh, one last thing, Dean.” Benny lowered his voice. “About the other day -”

“Don't mention it. If the boot was on the other foot, you’d have done the same.”

“What’s that?”

Dean eye’d Cas again, hoping that the prolonged conversation wouldn’t upset him too much.

“You know. Talking you down. Having coffee. Making sure you didn’t go on a viscious bloodsucking spree?”

Cas’s eyed widened. The line went quiet.

“Dean, you know I’m clean.”

“Yeah I know, thats why I appreciate you coming to me when you get a little blood thirsty.”

Quiet again.

“The other day, I didn’t come to you because I was hungry. You asked me there?” Dean didn’t say anything. Cas had turned to face the board but it was obvious he was still listening. He just wasn’t sure what Benny was on about. “You called me, upset about something, we met up in Cedar Rapids and we…” Benny chuckled “- for old times sake?”

Dean was sure he would have remembered that. If they did, Dean would have remembered it. So why didn’t he?

“Uh, yeah.” Dean lied. “I know, I just meant I appreciate it.” The line went quiet again. It was almost too long before Benny finally spoke again.

“Anytime, Dean.”

Dean heard as the phone changed hands. Though he now had an unsettled feeling in his gut. Not only because this thing had been killing off everyone he knew but he’d apparently had a memory taken from him as well. How many other memories had it messed with? It was trying to drive Dean insane, he was sure of it. Maybe it was succeeding.

“S’the matter, idjit. Need someone to tie your shoes?”

“That’s funny.” Dean returned. Deadpan. No time like the present. “Ellen and Jo...” Dean started but didn’t seem to finish. Bobby went silent. He knew them longer than Dean had. It was as much a sore spot for Bobby as it was for him.

“What about them?”

“Are you sure it was hellhounds?”

“‘Course it was. Why the hell are you bringing that up?”

“What if it wasn’t?”

“Wasn’t what?”

“Hellhounds.” Dean all but heard Bobby's gruff turn sour.

“What are you on, boy?”

“I think somethings after me.”

“After you?”

“Think about it! People around me keep dying or going missing. Somethings hunting the people I love or even have an association with. Bela, Kevin, Ellen, Jo.” He paused. “Charlie. And now Oskar and Nancy.”

“I heard about Nancy. My condolences.”

“Do you know how she died?” No answer. “Organ failure. What girl her age up and dies of organ failure?”

“Believe it or not, Dean, people can die. You should know that in our line of work.”

“Exactly! In our ‘line of work’ it’s not always natural or circ*mstance or whatever. In fact when has a hunter ever had a natural death?”

Bobby was quiet. More quiet than Dean would have liked. Was he contemplating it or did he just think Dean was finally going mad? It left an unsettled feeling in his stomach. He glanced to Cas who had turned back to face him. The expression he wore was one Dean wasn’t used to. Something between worry and concern but with something else underneath. He thought he knew each face by now. Apparently not. It may have come off as staring by this point but he didn’t really care. He was still waiting for Bobby to say something. He wasn’t sure Bobby hadn’t just hung up on him entirely. That was until he finally spoke.

“It’s a hunter's job to look into anything that might be suspicious -” Dean’s heart sank.

“Bobby..”

“And when you’ve done it this long, those details are the first thing you see.”

“I'm not -”

“So it’s only natural that you look for them when someone you love -”

“I’m not making this up, Bobby!” Cas had turned away again with a look of defeat about him. “Just… Just please, can you get here and see what I mean? I’ve pulled the cases and -”

“Is there anything linking them? Cause of death, evidence at the scene, anything?”

“Me. They all knew me.” Bobby didn’t believe him. He knew it sounded a little crazy but Bobby had to believe him. His voice had turned quiet and perhaps a little defeated but it was the only lead he had. “Nancy was killed by aconite.”

“Dean, -”

“It doesn’t even grow here! It only grows in Europe or something. How the hell could she have gotten aconite poisoning in Nebraska?” Silence again. “Come on, Bobby. I’m on to something, I know it.” Nothing. Dean had to check this time to make sure the line hadn’t gone dead.

“Let the dead rest, Dean. You’re looking for something that isn’t there.”

“Bobby…”

“Leave it alone, Dean.” The line clicked.

Dean threw his phone against the wall. Luckily, it didn’t shatter like he was half expecting it to but it did earn a nice crack across the screen. Bobby didn’t believe him. He wouldn’t even come down to see what Dean did have. He knew there was something there but didn’t have a way to prove it and now the only person who could have seen something Dean didn’t, didn’t even believe him.

The hand on his shoulder wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been. Not now that he knew he was more or less alone in this, except for Cas. He couldn’t drag Sam into it. Not with his dissertation. It was his final year of college then he’d be out in the world like a real boy. Even if Dean’s clock wasn’t ticking, he couldn’t ask that of him.

“I think whatever this is can do more than just pop up and sprout flowers.” Dean took a step towards the board, as if moving closer would make something magically appear that he hadn’t seen before. “I spoke with Benny.’ Cas faced him and struggled to form on his words somewhat. He never liked hearing about Benny. It wasn’t like he’d start now. “He uh - seems to have a different understanding of what happened in Cedar Rapids.”

“What do you mean?”

“What he remembers happening and what I remember happening are two very different things.”

“You think it was whatever is killing these people?” It may have been. Something was messing with him, that he already knew. But why would it go from death to death before changing a couple of memories? It clearly had no problem taking things from him but why a single memory? Why not just take Benny and be done with it if thats what it wanted? Did it take more than one memory? Was there a clue there that it had tried to wipe clean?

If Bobby wasn’t going to give him any answers, he’d need to ask someone who would. Someone with an extensive knowledge of all things supernatural.

“Cas, stay here, I need to pick up a few things.”

“Where are you going? Perhaps I could assist you?”

“It’s fine, I think I know who can help, but it may take convincing. She may be less inclined to help if I show up with a ‘distraction’ though.” Cas rolled his eyes.

“Rowena? You’re going to Rowena?”

“Haven’t got a choice really. My friends keep dying.” Dean had to get answers before something happened to Elizabeth or Ash or, God help him, even Meg. He wasn’t going to lose anyone else. He refused to. “I won't let them have anyone else.” Dean grabbed his keys and head for the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

XXXXXXXX

Dean’s hand rest on the door frame for a moment. There was no reason for her to help him but she was all he had left. He wanted to ask her about possible suspects sure but he had something else at the back of his mind. Hopefully he could score a two-for-one. He knew she’d want something in return. The only question, was what? Dean entered, closing the door and locking it behind him. Any other customers could wait.

“What do you want, Winchester?” Rowena had her back turned, stocking the confectionary shelf at the far end of the store. “I’m a busy woman.”

“I need your help.” Rowena huffed.

“You need a locator spell. You need a hex bag. You need my help? What could you possibly want this time?” She put the last items on the shelf before clicking her fingers, disintegrating the box they had come from. Surely that wasn’t necessary. “I’m not a charity, you know.”

“Can you read Enochian?”