Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I got you Pete Wright's old locker." Dad said it like it was a gift, like Sam should be grateful for having a dead boy's locker in the third high school he'd attended since September.

"That's awesome, Dad," Dean said before Sam could speak up. Sam looked out the backseat window of the Impala and held his tongue. There'd be another assignment, something probably even more unsavory and dangerous for Dean. The locker next to their prime suspect, perhaps. Only they didn't have one here, just a vague theory based on who had access to all the kids (too many people) and who could cover it up (still too many people, in Sam's opinion). They were flying in blind, which was stupid, stupid, stupid. Not that Dad cared for Sam's opinion.

"You're directly across from Vice Principal Mulligan's office," Dad continued, addressing Dean now as he looked for a space in the faculty parking lot. "If he's our shtriga, I want you close."

Sam clenched his fists. Of course Dean was nodding his head in the passenger seat, all proud that their father trusted him with the role of live bait. Not that he saw it that way.

"When we're not in classes, you mean," Sam interrupted. "You remember that little thing called high school, right, Dad?"

Dean snaked a hand back between the seats and whacked him on the knee.

"Your education is very important," Dad said vaguely, for once not jumping on the implied insult. He finally found a spot and put the Impala in park. "After all, I'm a guidance counselor now."

Dean snorted, amused. Sam snorted, disgusted. Dad pulled a pair of wire rim glasses out of his tweed jacket with the elbow patches and turned to address both his sons.

"Okay, men, our target is live and unaware," Dad began. A shiver ran down Sam's spine and he hated himself a bit for getting caught up in the quasi-Army speak, though it happened every time. "Be on guard. Four disappearances in one high school, two bodies found, and don't forget those truckers on Highway 9. Just because they had no connection to the high school, doesn't mean we should dismiss them. That's an awful lot of deaths for such a small town."

It really was. Vice Principal Mulligan was one arrogant prick if he thought he could feast on high school kids and truckers alike and have no one notice. Which was why Sam had pushed for more research. The two missing bodies were why Dad hadn't even listened to him.

Grover Cleveland High School wasn't all that different from the other two high schools Sam had attended thus far his freshman year. Same cream colored paint on the walls, same cheap tiles on the floors, same jammed locks on the lockers. It took a good five minutes of tugging and twisting, and finally the clandestine application of his lockpick, before Pete Wright's old locker opened for Sam. He had to stand on his tiptoes to see all the way in. Of course it was on the top row.

It was empty, and smelled vaguely of rotten banana. Awesome. Sam carefully took out his lunchbox and placed it on the shelf. There was no lunch inside, just an EMF scanner. He should be able to tell if it had picked up on anything while he was at classes, not that he really expected it to. It was good to cover all bases, at any rate. He slammed the door shut and adjusted his bag on his shoulder. He hadn't taken one step before the hair along the back of his neck stood up.

He knelt down and fiddled with his shoelaces, glancing up and down the hall from beneath his hair. Dad was always on him about getting a haircut, but it was coming in handy now, wasn't it? He couldn't tell who'd been staring at him, though. The EMF scanner was covered up anyhow, so why would anyone stare? He was about to give up when he spotted her.

She was taller than him, on the skinny side, and had long dirty-blonde hair in a braid pulled over her shoulder. Her leather jacket made her look badass. She wasn't watching him anymore, but Sam was sure she had been, just a moment ago. Maybe she'd seen him pick his lock. Surely there couldn't have been any other reason for her to notice him.

He picked up his bag once more and headed to class.

***

"Two new students on the same day. I must have pissed in someone's cornflakes." Dean raised a brow at that, but his new homeroom teacher just carried on in the same flat, dry voice. "You can sit next to him in the back."

The rest of the class either ignored him while surreptitiously cutting their eyes at him, or downright stared (a few of the girls and one boy - great, his new buddy). Dean slid into the seat next to the starer.

"Hey man," he said. "I'm Dean." He held out his hand. The other boy stared at it. "Uh, so, usually I'd ask which teachers are trolls and where I could get my hands on some cheese fries, but..." He let his voice trail off.

The teacher began a slow recitation of the roll. The kid kept staring at Dean with piercing blue eyes. It was starting to get under Dean's skin.

"Look, man, you don't want to be buddies, I get it, that's cool, but will you stop with the damn staring?"

The bell rang for first period. Dean was never happier to go to an actual class and shot up from his seat. Or tried to. The starer grabbed his wrist; he had a deceptively strong grip.

"None of the teachers are trolls, but there are perhaps a couple of demons hiding amongst them," he said in an unusually deep voice. "And I am not your 'buddy'; I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord. And I have work for you, Dean Winchester."

Dean gaped at him. That hadn't just happened. For starters, there were no such things as angels, and secondly – demons? They were hunting a shtriga. But what really chilled him to the bone was the fact that he couldn't get his wrist free, not until the Castiel creature released him and took a step back.

"What?" Dean croaked.

The so-called Angel of the Lord pushed past him and into the hall. Dean's head was spinning.

"Wait!" he hissed. "Wait, damn you!"

Castiel stopped abruptly, causing Dean to collide with his back, an oof escaping his lips. Dude or Angel or Psycho, Castiel was solid, and when he turned to face Dean, his eyes were too intense to be sane, surely.

"What do you mean, you're an angel?" Dean demanded, quelling the surge of fear that seemed to shoot up from his wrist. He just needed to do even more push-ups, that was all. "How did you know my last name? There are demons here? How can you tell? What do you mean, you have work for me?"

"I know everything about you," Castiel replied, taking a step forward. "You are Dean Winchester, brother of Sam, son of John and Mary. You are training to be a hunter like your father, and this high school is a job to you, not an opportunity for academic betterment. You are looking for the creatures responsible for the deaths and disappearances in this town." Dean's back slammed into a locker. He'd had no idea he'd been walking backwards. Castiel did not pause, crowding even closer. "I am here for the same thing. I will help you, and then you shall help me."

"You're insane," Dean managed.

Quick as lightning, Castiel dipped his hand into the pocket of Dean's jeans and pulled out Dean's Swiss Army knife, flicking it open. Dean didn't even have time to gasp at the uninvited intimacy, the bared blade or the fact they were still in a high school hallway with a handful of students passing by. Castiel sliced open his own palm and held it up for Dean to see.

"What the fuck, dude?" Dean protested. "You're fucking–"

He choked on the thought as the wound closed up before his eyes. Castiel wiped the bloody knife on his own shirt, and that stain also faded as he calmly closed up the knife and slipped it back into Dean's pocket. Dean shivered.

"Now we have a class called World History for first period. I will be attending all of the same classes as you. This will make it easier for me to help you. Come along."

And then he took Dean by the hand and tugged. A couple of guys in Grover Cleveland High athletic wear catcalled. Dean yanked his hand away.

"Don't fucking hold my hand, are you nuts?" He pushed Castiel out of his way and grimaced at the group of jocks. "Foreign exchange student," he said, jerking his thumb at Castiel.

"Really? Are you from France? I'd like to meet a French girl, if you know what I mean!" One of the jocks said, the others laughing quietly, already moving down the hall.

"I don't know what you mean," Castiel answered, frowning.

"It's cool, man. Welcome to Grover Fucking Cleveland!"

The jocks turned the corner. Dean let his breath out. That could have gone much worse.

"Rule one: no hand-holding. Rule two: no taking things out of my pockets. Got it?" Dean waited expectantly. Castiel gave him a flat look.

"World History is at the other end of the school." He pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead and Dean blinked. They were in the back of a classroom. How the hell had Castiel managed that?

"All right, everyone take a seat," the teacher said. Dean tuned her out as he watched Castiel. His father was going to flip his shit when they met.

***

John rifled through the files on his desk. They could all do with a stint in the army, he decided. Especially the pierced and tattooed juvenile delinquent in front of him.

"So, Marcus," he said, essaying a small smile. It was the one he'd used on Dean's last girlfriend, a blonde bombshell who'd suddenly begged off with an upset stomach, leaving Dean free for target practice with his old man and kid brother as nature had intended. It made Marcus shift in his chair and eye the door. "Word is you pantsed a kid in your gym class last week. That true?"

Marcus tried to play it cool, but John could already see the flop sweat. "Heshwafuete," Marcus mumbled.

"Didn't quite catch that," John said. Who the hell taught kids how to speak nowadays? Some days he thought his sons were the only teenagers with decent elocution.

"He was an asshat," Marcus said clearly.

"See now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Marcus gave him a sullen look. "I was just reading through your file, Marcus. It says you were good friends with Pete Wright and Jacob Marsh."

"Am," Marcus whispered, his fingers clenching on his armrests.

"Hmmm?"

"Am. I am good friends with Jacob Marsh."

John paused. After one quick defiant look, Marcus's eyes skittered away, his eyelashes fluttering as he tried not to cry. "The kid you pantsed – he say something about Jacob?"

"Jacob's missing. He's not dead." Marcus's voice hitched on the last word, a flush crawling up his neck to stain his cheeks red. In that moment, despite the tattoos and piercings, he looked just like Sammy had, the first time they'd been on a hunt that hadn't worked out right in the end.

"Tell me about him, Marcus," John urged. "What was he into? What do you think happened to him? Was anyone hanging around him who gave you a weird feeling? Did you see anything strange the day he disappeared?"

Marcus stared up at him, his mouth hanging open.

"Well? Come on, kid."

Marcus closed his mouth, swallowing. "So… you believe me?" he asked after a moment.

John gave the kid his most charming smile. "You ever see Ghostbusters? 'We're ready to believe you.' That's my motto. So tell me what you know."

Marcus took a shaky breath and began to speak.

***

Sam flopped his backpack onto the table. An hour, and then the school would clear out enough that they could snoop without interference. Across the library, the badass girl with the dirty blonde ponytail and leather jacket spread out the contents of her bag and frowned fiercely. Sam eyed her curiously as he unearthed his geometry homework. They were doing proofs in this school, which he hadn't started in his last, but the concept was clear enough.

Girl A wears a leather jacket. Dean wears a leather jacket. Dean is a badass. Therefore Girl A is a badass.

He snorted to himself. He was missing a rule in there, something to exclude non-badasses from wearing leather jackets. It was a waste of time anyhow; he should get his homework done while he had the chance. He'd moved on to biology, and the girl was flipping angrily through a massive tome, when the silence of the library was broken by a gravelly, deep voice.

"That was not a good class, Dean. It is impossible to condense the history of the world into one single class. They were quite foolish for trying."

Dean? Sam turned in his seat. Sure enough, his brother had just come into the library, trying to shush his companion, a dark-haired boy about Dean's height. Had Dean made a friend? Stranger things had happened, Sam supposed, but not many. Dean caught his eye and led his companion over to Sam's table.

"Squirt," Dean greeted him, and Sam bristled. He'd grown a quarter of an inch in the past year. It wasn't fair.

"My name is Sam," he said instead, addressing the other boy. Who was staring at him like he was surprised Sam had the power of speech. Great.

"Don't mind him, Sam, Cas here is an Angel of the Lord." Dean's words and tone might have been flippant, but the look he gave his little brother was anything but nonchalant. Dean looked freaked, the crazy glint in his eyes even more pronounced than the time a ghost had burst through their father and wrapped its ethereal hands around Dean's throat. But still…

"You're an angel?" Sam asked, eyes narrowing. It would be so cool if he really was. Dad said there were no such things, but Dad was hardly infallible, and again Sam thought of that ghost attacking Dean. The angel looked at him for a long moment.

"I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord," he said finally.

"Nice to meet you," Sam said politely and held out his hand. The angel glanced at Dean, back down to Sam's hand, and back to Dean before he clasped Sam's hand in both of his. Sam resisted exchanging looks with his brother, but only just. If Castiel wasn't an angel, he was the most socially awkward kid Sam had ever met.

"You seen Dad yet?" Dean asked, looking around the library.

"No. Have you introduced him to Castiel yet?" Sam cut his eyes at Castiel. Maybe they didn't have biology in Heaven, as Castiel was frowning down at Sam's homework.

"Haven't had a chance yet," Dean muttered.

"You gonna tell him your friend's an angel?"

"Maybe it won't come up?"

Sam gave him an incredulous look as Dad marched into the library and spotted them.

"Dean, Sam," he greeted them curtly, coming up to the table. He gave Castiel a sidelong glance. "I'm afraid I have to steal my sons back now," he said, and bared his teeth in a smile that he clearly thought was charming but which Sam knew for a fact made him look like a thug. (A really hot thug, according to a waitress at a truck stop in Idaho, leaning across the counter to watch Dad walk back to the men's room, and Sam had lost his appetite.)

"Uh, I think it'd be good to take Cas with us, sir," Dean said, shifting on his feet. Dad gave him a sharp look.

"Take him with us?" Dad asked. His eyebrow twitched and Sam braced himself for the inevitable explosion.

"I think you'll find that I am well-suited to the task, John," Castiel interrupted. Sam's jaw dropped, Dean flinched, and Dad's eyebrows went from twitchy to escalating. "The creature you believe is hunting children in this school is no match for me. Of course, that is not the creature you should be worrying about."

"Sam, Dean," Dad said quietly, "I want you to step away from this thing right now."

Sam gulped. Dad was serious, and freaked. Sam scrambled to his feet, clutching his homework to his chest, and took a step back. Dean stood rooted to the spot.

"Sir, he's…" he whispered, a bit at a loss. Sam narrowed his eyes at Castiel. He must be an angel. Dean would never defy Dad. Everyone else, all the time, but Dad? When Dad said "Jump," Dean said "How high?"

"I am an Angel of the Lord," Castiel intoned. He laid his hand on Dean's shoulder and suddenly the room grew dark, and everyone except for Castiel and the Winchesters froze. Sam blinked. A page in Badass Girl's book stood straight up, suspended in air. A kid crossing the room stopped, foot in the air and head turned to talk to a buddy. Thunder rumbled in the school library before a flash of lightning lit up the room.

"Oh my God!" Sam gasped, his heart swelling as the outline of two gigantic wings appeared behind Castiel. Dean swiveled his head to stare, awe widening his eyes. Beside Sam, Dad was, if anything, even more tense.

"Fine," he spat out. "Fine. You're an angel. That doesn't mean I'm letting you near my sons."

Castiel cocked his head. "It's not up to you, John. I have my orders."

"Orders. Right." Dean shook his head, like a diver breaking the surface, and shrugged Castiel's hand off his shoulder. The sky cleared and people began to move again, none the wiser. "Sir, we could use the added protection. He doesn't get hurt."

Dad was going to refuse again, Sam could tell. Which was stupid; who would turn their noses up at help from an angel? It wasn't as if Castiel was going to listen to Dad anyhow. "I think Dean's friend should stay," he heard himself say.

Dean frowned at him over his choice of words, but Castiel gave him a solemn nod. "Thank you, Sam."

"Thank you, Sam? I'm the one you have to convince here," Dad grumbled. His hands were shoved into his pants pockets. Sam had no idea what were in those pockets that could hurt an angel, but there was probably something there. He caught his brother's eye.

"He says there are demons here," Dean said, pitching his voice low. Sam glanced nervously around the library as Dad went absolutely still. No one was paying them any mind, thankfully.

"Demons?" Dad asked roughly. Dean nudged Castiel in the side, the universal symbol for 'tell him,' but Sam noted that Dean did it wrong. His hand slid down Castiel's side and rested for a moment on his hip before Dean let go.

"Of course there are demons here," Castiel said, "and not the one you're looking for."

Dad rocked back on his heels as if slapped. "What... how... could you find him?"

"If he left Hell," Cas replied.

Sam watched the exchange through narrowed eyes. Dad was looking for one specific demon? There was only one thing that put that look on his dad's face – Mom. If Castiel could lead them to Mom's killer, then he was in like Flynn, despite any reservations Dad might have.

"Okay," Dad said, sitting down at the little table. Sam scooted over a bit to accommodate him. Dean quickly sat down across from them, and, after another nudge/half-squeeze of his hip, Castiel joined him. "Okay," Dad said again. "That's why you're here, to fight the demons?"

"Your son is very important to my plans. I will help him with these demons, then I will need him to come with me," Castiel replied.

"Wait, what?" Dean twisted in his chair to glare at Castiel. "You didn't say anything about leaving!"

Sam fought back a whimper. Dean couldn't go away. Leave Sam alone with John Winchester? It was untenable.

"There will be no leaving," Dad said firmly. "Winchesters are a package deal. This is what's going to happen: we work together to find what's been killing the students here, be it demons or a shtriga or something else. And then we have a nice long talk about demons and we decide what we do from there."

And by 'we,' Dad meant 'John Winchester,' but Sam was still heartened. Dad wouldn't let Castiel take Dean away. Sam glanced across at the angel. Castiel was staring at Dad with an inscrutable expression on his face.

"We will talk when this is done," he said finally. It was the best they were going to get.

***

They didn't find anything that afternoon. John sat in the front seat of the Impala as the sun began to set. It acted as his office more often than not, and had a further advantage that evening. He could observe the angel through the parted motel curtains where he sat on his sons' bed, awkwardly holding a slice of pizza. Dean was sprawled out on his stomach next to Castiel, his feet up by the headboard as he leaned over the foot of the bed to snatch another slice of pizza out of the greasy box on the floor. John could just see the side of Sam's face where he sat in one of the room's three chairs. Both of his sons were smiling and laughing as they watched Castiel try to eat. John wished he could let his guard down enough to go in there and laugh with them.

Instead he pulled out his cell phone and placed a call.

"Singer Automotive."

"Bobby. What do you know about angels?"

There was a snort on the other end of the line. "Nice to hear your voice, Bobby," Bobby said in a sing-song tone at odds with his gruff speech. "The boys are doing well. Lookin' forward to a visit. How are you?"

"Mmm, sorry, forgot you were Ann Landers there for a minute," John said, smiling naturally for the first time that day.

"Idjit. It's called common courtesy," Bobby said in his normal tone of voice. "Now what's this about angels?"

John sighed and filled Bobby in on his impressions of Castiel, Angel of the Lord. Bobby was silent for a full minute, processing.

"What does Dean think of him?" he asked finally.

"Dean? Dean thinks he's found a new best friend." Inside the motel room, Dean leaned over and stole a piece of pepperoni off Castiel's slice of pizza. He was grinning, and looked his age for once. John's stomach gave a strange quiver.

"I've never known Dean to take well to a stranger before," Bobby remarked.

"No, that's usually Sam's raison d'être. But anyhow. He knows things about demons, Bobby. Demons. So what I need to know is—"

"If he knows what he's talking about." Bobby sighed, and John could hear something in the background – the desk chair squeaking, perhaps. "Yeah, sure. If he's an angel, better believe he knows about demons. Now I ain't ever met anyone who's ever met an angel, and I know you've never thought they were real, but… it's logical, ain't it? If there are demons, shouldn't there also be angels? I think your question shouldn't be 'is he an angel?' but 'what is an angel doing here?'"

John's eyes were drawn to the window again. Dean had slung an arm across Castiel's shoulders and both were leaning down, heads touching to look at something in Sam's hands. "I can't lose Dean." He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. "I won't."

"You won't," Bobby agreed.

They talked about the case then, pushing John's fear aside for the time being. Bobby even had a good chuckle at the idea of John as a tweed jacket-wearing guidance counselor. All trace of mirth vanished as John reviewed the facts of the case with him: dead teenagers, missing teenagers, dead truckers, all somehow connected to Castiel's supposed demons – who had somehow managed to hide from an angel that afternoon during their search. John got the impression that was unusual.

"It'd have to be, if he can track a demon outside of Hell," John mused. "Maybe they're biding their time, waiting for us to leave."

"Hrm. You'll have to invest in tweed."

"Cheery thought." John was still looking in the window, and caught the second Castiel stiffened and rose, face blank and turned toward the corner of the room. He disappeared in a blink of John's eyes. "Shit!" John exclaimed. "I have to go, Bobby, call you later," he said hurriedly, already getting out of the car.

"Dad!" Sam yelled, flinging open the motel door as John reached it. "Dad, he just—"

"I saw, Sam. Where did he go, what did he say?"

Dean was still crouched on the floor, blinking at where Castiel had been standing.

"Dean?" John asked.

A whoosh, the slight but distinctive smell of ozone, and then Castiel was back. But not alone. A teenage boy, bleeding profusely from a cut on the head, stumbled out of his arms the moment they appeared and collapsed on the stained motel carpet.

"Cas, what the hell, man?" Dean said angrily, even as he moved closer to the boy, pulling off his own t-shirt to staunch the flow of blood.

"Is this one of the missing teens?" John barked, flipping open his cell and holding his thumb poised over the keys. He needed medical attention right away, but at the same time… This was really going to mess up their investigation. "Were there demons?" he asked instead.

"Please step aside, Dean, I can heal him." Castiel pushed at Dean's shoulders and knelt by the boy's head, ignoring John's questions.

"Dad, it's Jacob Marsh," Sam said, tugging on John's sleeve. "I looked the missing kids up in the school yearbook."

"Smart thinking," John told him. Sam positively beamed. "Now, did—"

John forgot what he was going to ask. As Castiel moved his hands over Jacob's face, the wound closed and the blood disappeared. Jacob Marsh took an unsteady breath and passed out.

"Wow," Sam breathed. John could admit to himself that he, too, was a bit impressed, though he wasn't going to say anything. Dean looked like he'd seen it before. In fact, Dean looked furious.

"What the hell were you thinking, rushing off alone like that?" he snarled, getting up in Castiel's face. "You don't go off on your own! You just agreed we'd do this together, you just said you needed my help! What gives? You could've gotten your ass killed!"

John almost laughed at the strong sense of déjà vu he got, hearing his own admonitions in his son's mouth, but Castiel frowned. "My ass was in no danger. It was just one demon, and he fled Jacob's body the moment he reappeared in the town. You would have slowed me down."

"I would have – excuse me? Who asked who for whose help?"

"Who's on first?" Sam muttered under his breath.

"All right, before this gets out of hand," John interrupted as Dean's face turned red. "Jacob Marsh." John pointed to the unconscious kid. "Is he going to remember anything?"

"Not with that head wound," Castiel said. "I believe that was its purpose, or else he would retain the memories of what the demon was doing while it wore his skin."

Sam shivered at that, and even John felt a bit uneasy. Damn demons.

"Okay, then we need to get him out of here."

Castiel immediately knelt to scoop Jacob up into his arms.

"Wait, wait, wait," John admonished. "Where are you taking him?"

"Home," Castiel said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and they both vanished, leaving the Winchesters with a sticky red stain on the carpet.

"Fuck!" Dean swore.

John raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, sir," his son muttered. Dean picked up his bloody t-shirt and strode angrily to the bathroom sink to rinse it out. John watched him go with a frown.

"I guess that leaves me with carpet duty, huh?" Sam asked, wrinkling his nose at the stain.

"Hmm? Oh." Really, the carpet was littered with such stains. Even by Winchester standards, the motel was nothing to write home about. "Let's just pour a little bleach on it to disguise the smell and call it a night."

Sam gave him a grateful look and went to get the bleach out of the trunk. By the time they were done cleaning, and Dean's wet t-shirt was hanging in the shower, Castiel still hadn't come back. Sam went to bed, and Dean soon followed. John wrote a bit in his journal, double-checked the salt lines, and was about to turn off the lamp by his bed when Dean spoke up.

"Do you think he's mad at me?" he asked softly.

John looked over at him. He was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, hands clasped above the blankets, jaw tight.

"He's got no right to be mad at you."

"Do you think he's in trouble?"

"He's an angel."

Dean took a deep breath. "Do you think he'll come back?"

"He'll definitely come back."

Of course he would. And he'd try to take Dean away. John's gaze lingered on Dean's face for a moment before turning out the light. At eighteen, Dean didn't ask for assurance from his old man for much anymore, but when he did, John could still see the toddler he'd been, and his heart ached for what was coming.

***

Dean woke suddenly the next morning after a fitful night of dreams both bad and just plain weird. One moment he'd been dreaming he was stuck in a fun house that was the antithesis of fun while searching for Sam's Transformers tennis shoe (which Sam had last worn in 1986), and the next moment he was sitting up, fumbling for the gun beneath his pillow.

"You don't need the gun right now," Cas said.

"What the hell, Cas?" he said, a deep yawn causing him to sound much less put out than he intended. "Why didn't you come back last night? And where are Sam and Dad?"

"Your father went to get sustenance for you all, and your brother is in the shower." Cas sat back against the headboard on the bed Dean was sharing with Sam. He was fully dressed, looking calm and put-together, but the sight just irritated Dean. How long had Cas been watching him sleep before it finally sunk into him that he wasn't alone? Some hunter he made. And what, they weren't going to talk about how Cas had flitted off last night?

"And? What do you want?" Dean asked, gesturing angrily with the gun. It didn't faze Cas one iota.

"I am merely waiting for you to be ready to continue our hunt." If the situation with Jacob Marsh was still bothering him, Cas wasn't letting on. Well, fine, two could play that game.

"That eager to go back to school, huh?"

"No, that school is quite useless. The teachers speak down to you and do not expect you to pay attention. You are too intelligent for a place like that, but as the demons are hiding there, we must put up with ridiculous conventions and act like we belong there."

Dean gaped at him. Cas thought – and wait, Dean was 'too intelligent'? No one had ever called him that before. Cas truly didn't even sound like he was mad at Dean anymore.

"Cas," he started.

"Shower's free and I even left some hot – um." Sam stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam and stopped, blinking at Dean and Cas. Dean's face grew hot as he realized how into his personal space Cas was leaning, and that his own hand was resting on Cas's knee. When had he done that?

"Doesn't look like you left any hot water, Squirt," Dean said, recovering his aplomb.

"Well, I did," Sam said, scowling. "And you better get your rear in gear; we need to get to school early since Dad's staff."

Dean rolled his eyes, but pushed the covers aside and got out of bed, stretching.

"You have a very nicely-formed chest," Cas said, in the same tone of voice anyone else would say, "And by the way, the sky is blue."

Sam snickered, and Dean felt his face grow hot. "Of course I do; I'm a hunter," he said, trying to downplay it. If his shirt hadn't been used to sop up blood last night, he wouldn't be in this predicament.

"Your face is also quite pleasing."

"Okay, Cas, no," Dean said firmly as Sam started cracking up. "Dudes don't say those things to other dudes!" At Cas's frown he hurriedly amended his statement. "I mean, people don't say shit like that to other people unless they're together, and we're not together, so don't say it."

"I see," Cas said, though it was obvious he didn't see at all. Dean sighed.

"Just, stay out here while I take a shower, okay? We can talk about it at school," Dean said, hoping Cas would forget about it by the time they made it to school.

All in all, it made for an awkward drive into school. Dad took one look at Cas and asked why he didn't just fly and meet them at school, which of course made Cas all the more determined to accompany the Winchesters in the Impala. Sam decided to cover the frosty silence by asking Cas question after question about Heaven and angels and God. Cas was close-lipped about most of it, which caused Dad to tut and shoot meaningful glances across at Dean.

It was the first time in his life that Dean was happy to get to school.

The relief didn't last long. Castiel narrowed his eyes during World History, and hissed corrections of the so-called facts to Dean. That teacher was really starting to hate them.

"You know, Cas," Dean said as they walked – not flew or teleported or whatever Cas had done for them the other day, Dean insisted – to their physics class. "This whole school thing and fitting in would go a lot smoother if you let shit like that slide."

"Please, Dean, which of us has visited Ancient Babylon, your teacher or me? I believe I am a better authority on their political structure!"

Dean gaped at him for a second – Ancient Babylon, for real? – before shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. We have to at least attempt to fit in here, else we'll get kicked out and we won't be able to find those kids."

Castiel was silent after that, and all through physics.

"I have thought on what you said," he announced as they made their way to English, "and you show remarkable insight."

"I don't know if I'd go straight to remarkable," Dean said, pleased.

"You are remarkable. And physics comes naturally to you. You should participate in class; you're much smarter than that boy who tried to answer all the questions."

He entered the English classroom first, leaving Dean staring after him with a strange heat in his chest.

The rest of the day continued in much the same vein, and once again they all reconvened after school to look for signs of the demons. Dad had a list that one of Jacob's friends had given him, places around town that were popular with them, and also with the deceased Pete Wright. Dad and Sam drove in the Impala and Dean consented to letting Cas whisk them around in the angel way, but once again, they came up empty. Cas joined them at their motel again, and got into a lively discussion with Sam over Sam's homework while Dean cleaned the guns with Dad.

Dad didn't want Cas to stay the night with them, Dean could tell, but Cas seemed oblivious to social cues and settled into a chair at the little table despite Dad's epic scowl.

They started to develop a routine: Dean woke up to Cas watching him, Dad looked pissy, Sam peppered Cas with questions, and then they all went off to school and hunting and found nothing. It went on that way for a week, and then on Friday morning the school was abuzz because another trucker had been found off Highway 9.

Dad wanted to take off right away and check it out, but he was caught by his false identity – Jacob Marsh was returning to school that day, and Dad had been asked to 'make himself available' in case the kid had a breakdown. Which left Dean, and consequently Cas, the task of skipping English and lunch to bluff or break their way into the morgue and examine the body.

Cas did not approve, that much was clear from the expression on his face as Dean rifled through his backpack, looking for his lockpicking kit before stowing the bag in his locker.

"It has to be done, Cas. I don't even really attend this school; it's no big deal."

"You were enjoying the book we were discussing in English," Cas said stubbornly.

That was true, but Heart of Darkness was a short book. Dean could finish it on his own. If he felt like it.

"Yeah, well, them's the breaks. Now it's time to play a little hooky." He glanced at Cas out of the corner of his eye. "I guess that doesn't fit with your orders, huh?"

"You are… not what I expected," Cas non-answered.

"Sorry to blow it for you, Cas, but humans are dirty and mean and chicken-shit, and I'm right there in the mud with the rest of them." Dean slammed his locker shut, only to find himself pushed back into it. "Ouch!" he protested as his head thunked against the metal.

Cas held him firmly in place, hands on Dean's shoulders and blue eyes blazing, quelling Dean's struggle to get free as soon as he started it.

"You are more than I expected. Beautiful and contradictory and pure of spirit. I was not expecting to find such grace here."

He closed the bare inch of space between their lips with a kiss. Dean had never been so overwhelmed or off-balance in his life, and his mouth dropped open of its own accord. Cas kissed him thoroughly, breath mingling and tongue sweeping in like he owned the joint. Dean would have slid to the ground by the time it was over if Cas hadn't still been holding him up.

"Now stop trying to cast aspersions on your character," Cas said crisply once he broke the kiss. Two spots of color reddened his cheeks and his lips glistened, the only signs that Dean hadn't just hallucinated that kiss. "Come along, Dean, we have evildoers to find."

Dean couldn't wipe the silly grin off his face, despite the urgency of the hunt. He was smiling a lot, actually. All week long, wandering the halls with Cas at his side, Dean kept finding himself grinning and laughing. Even on the hunt, in front of his father, he was loose and easy-going, as if Cas being a tight-ass gave Dean permission. He stopped protesting Cas's personal space invasions and began to feel bereft on the few occasions Cas was not right there.

It was dangerous and stupid. The other shoe was going to drop. It had to. No matter that he was able to coax a smile from Cas now. No matter it made him feel like the king of the world. The good times were going to end.

Cas raised his fingers to Dean's forehead, stepping close enough to kiss him again if he wanted to, and then they were at the morgue.

***

"So."

Sam looked up from his tray of macaroni and cheese, a noodle plopping wetly onto the table as his mouth dropped open with surprise. It was her, Badass Girl A, looking all badass and hot. Why did Dad have to send Dean to the morgue during lunch?! How the hell was Sam supposed to talk to Badass Girl A on his own?

"Um," he said, and swallowed. How gross would it be if he showed her bits of masticated noodle and gummy cheese? "Uh, hi?"

She sighed and sat down across from him. Sam half expected for the cafeteria to go silent, or break into the Hallelujah Chorus, but no one paid them the slightest bit of attention.

"You're Sam, you've been here a week and you don't have a partner for your bio project yet. I'm Amy, I'm pretty new and I also don't have a partner for bio. Do you see where this is going, kid?"

Kid? Sam knew kung fu, and how to assemble and take apart a firearm, and the best way to deal with a poltergeist. He was not a kid. But then her lips turned up in a tiny smile and Sam completely forgot what it was he was going to say. He nodded dumbly, and felt pretty good for managing that much at least.

"Good. We'll meet after school, take my bike, and go to my house. My mom has the afternoon shift. She won't get in the way."

Sam blinked. Dad would surely want him for another search of the school or some other torture designed to ruin Sam's attempt at a social life. Amy's eyes narrowed.

"That sounds good," Sam said, floundering a bit. "But ah, my dad, he's kind of a hardass about who I hang out with…"

"It's the glamorous trailer park off of Highway 9. He have a thing against whi—poor people?" she asked aggressively.

Highway 9? That was perfect; they should really look at some of the surrounding location. Dean and Cas had the morgue, and Dad would surely want to snoop around the crime scene. If he presented it right, Sam could pass off his study date as research on the dead truckers, and go with Dad's full blessing. Maybe even a weapon!

"No, of course not! He's just a guidance counselor, you know, he sees a lot of weird shit so he's super careful with us. It'll be fine, it'll be fine." Sam abruptly realized he was babbling and closed his mouth with a snap.

"Cool," Amy said. "Meet me at my locker after school." And with that, she was gone as quickly as she'd shown up. Sam stared after her, then slowly pinched himself. Yup, that had just happened.

The rest of the day passed in a bit of a blur for Sam. The only snag was getting permission from Dad, who seemed to have grown a hitherto unknown aversion to putting his son potentially in harm's way. Sam had to promise to call him or Dean every half hour, and then Dad didn't even give him a weapon. He got the camera instead. It rankled… until he saw Amy's bike.

When she had told him they'd take her bike, he'd imagined riding the handlebar – not his favorite mode of transportation, but he'd done it plenty whenever Dean had managed to get his hands on a bike. Amy's bike, however, was an honest-to-God motorcycle. Sam stopped in his tracks.

"It's cool, I have a spare helmet," Amy said, stuffing her backpack in a cavity under the seat.

His dad would've flipped. Sam couldn't hold back his grin as he got behind Amy. Even the spare helmet was cool, black with silver racing stripes. He felt like a rock star as they peeled out of the parking lot and zoomed down the road. He had to remind himself to be on high alert as they turned onto Highway 9.

It was just an ordinary highway. The Winchesters had already driven up and down it several times, and nothing had jumped out, literally or figuratively. There wasn't even good tree cover, just some low drainage ditches. All of the trees in the area were clumped around the trailer park, and that was where Amy pointed the motorcycle, coming to a stop outside a trailer with a hummingbird wind chime hanging by the door.

"My mom's a nurse," she said as she led him inside, "but don't worry, we still have stuff like soda here. You want a Coke?"

"Uh, sure," Sam said.

He looked around, eyes instinctively flitting over a couple framed pictures and piles of magazines and catalogs to note the placement of windows and doors, before focusing on the kitchen. Specifically, on the knife block in the kitchen. The rest of the décor looked old and worn, but the knives were sharp and clean.

Amy hurriedly closed the fridge door when he followed her into the kitchen. "One Coke," she said, handing it over. "Want some chips?"

"Okay." Lots of people had sharp knives. Maybe Amy's mom was into hunting, animal-hunting, or… squash. Squash took sharp knives, didn't it? Sam had only ever had it from a box from the frozen foods section. Speculation was stupid, anyhow, he was on a date (kind of, sort of) and really needed to turn his own hunter-brain off. It was time for a Dean-worthy line.

"So… nice couch." Nice couch? Nice COUCH? He had never wished for anything more than for Castiel to come whisk him away right that second. How could he have mangled it so badly, so quickly? Amy was giving him a look like he'd grown another head, and that head had spit on all she held dear. She probably thought he was making fun of the damn thing (large and clunky, in big orange and olive 70's style flowers and paisley). But Dean had told him once to bring up the couch early in the conversation, because that would lead to sitting on the couch, which would lead to getting to second base. "I meant, um, where should we sit to go over the project?"

"Floor," Amy said firmly. "We can use the coffee table."

"Okay, cool. Isn't it weird how they call it a coffee table? The only thing we put on the coffee table is our feet. I guess 'feet table' doesn't sound as good, huh?" Ground Control to Major Tom: send backup. There's no sign of intelligent life down here.

"Let's just get started on the project."

"Right."

Biology was easier, and logical, and Sam soon found himself getting completely absorbed in DNA, chromosomes and genes. He even managed a couple of witty rejoinders that, though totally geeky, made Amy smile.

"So who's 'we'?" she asked after awhile.

"What?"

"You said 'we' put our feet on the table. Is it just you and your dad?"

"Oh, no, I have an older brother. Dean. He's eighteen."

"Which one is he? There's two new seniors, and they're, like—" She stopped abruptly.

"They're what?" Sam asked, frowning. No way could she know that Castiel was an angel.

"They're… totally into each other. Did you… not know that?"

Sam opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out. Castiel was Dean's angel. Of course they were around each other all the time. That's what it was. Amy gave him a sympathetic look.

"I should have kept my big mouth shut, shouldn't I have?"

"No! No it's fine. Dean, my brother, he's the taller one. Castiel is the foreign exchange student we're sponsoring. He has a hard time with American customs."

It was a good lie, and Sam was sort of proud of it, but he didn't have time to wonder if Amy fell for it, because a lock turned in the front door and a middle-aged woman walked in, stopping abruptly at the sight of Sam.

"Mom!" Amy exclaimed.

"Amy!" her mother said in the same tone of voice. "Who's your friend?"

"Sam, bio project partner," Amy said. Sam tried not to be bothered by Amy shifting away from him on the floor. "He and his brother go to high school with me."

"Nice to meet you, Ms., um, Amy's Mom," Sam said, feeling heat in his cheeks as he realized he didn't know Amy's last name.

"So polite," Amy's mom murmured. "And there are two of you?"

"Mom!" Amy said sharply.

"Relax, Amy." Her mom wasn't looking at her. In fact, she hadn't looked at Amy since she walked through the door. She was focused entirely on Sam. That was odd. And just like that, he was thinking with his hunter-brain again.

Amy's mom smelled of diesel and blood, not antiseptic like he would expect from a nurse. Her nails were long and there was a suspicious stain on her scrubs, the kind of stained shirt a hospital worker would toss in the hazmat trash.

Sam swallowed. His phone was in his backpack at his feet. His eyes darted to it, back to Amy's mom, to the door, and then she was leaping across the coffee table at him. He scrambled back, hands scrabbling for something, anything to throw and coming up with his mostly-full can of coke. She swore as it hit her in the forehead, Coke spraying across the floor, and Sam was almost able to get his feet under him, but she made a wild swipe and managed to hook his ankle. He stumbled down again, blood rushing in his ears, drowning out the sound of Amy screaming, her mother cursing, and then she was practically on top of him. Her nails really were incredibly long.

He wished Dean was there.

A gunshot rang out.

***

"Mr. Winchester?"

John looked up from his desk and casually closed the book he'd been reading, a loaner from Bobby on angelic lore. Finally.

"Marcus." He let no hint of impatience creep into his voice. Marcus had been back twice since Monday, but this time he hadn't come alone. "And Mr. Marsh. Please, come in, have a seat."

He studied Jacob Marsh's eyes for a hint of recognition, and didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed when there was nothing there. Nothing, that was, except nerves and more than a fair share of terror.

"This is your first day back?" John asked, though he knew the answer, had been on high alert all day.

Jacob gingerly lowered himself into one of the chairs and looked at Marcus, as if for permission. The other boy gave an encouraging nod and sat in the other chair.

"Marcus says you'll believe… stuff," Jacob said finally.

"I like to think I'm an open and understanding guy," John said. Mostly, he amended silently. "Is something coming back to you? From when you were missing?"

Jacob nodded violently, squeezing his eyes shut. John moved out from behind the desk and over to Jacob's chair. Sam had told him time and again in his "I am a teen and therefore know everything" voice that he loomed too much and it scared off witnesses. Advice which John tended to dismiss, but as Jacob cowered back from him, he slowly lowered himself until he was kneeling by the chair.

"Jacob. Jacob, it's okay," John said soothingly.

Jacob turned pitch black eyes to him, and smirked. "It's never okay." His fist closed around John's throat.

John could hear Marcus screaming and he willed him to shut up before the demon made him. The noise cut off with a sickening crunch. John's hands pawed uselessly at Jacob's forearm as pain and rage and terror clouded his vision.

The door banged back against the wall in a mighty thunder clap and John was released, flung back and over the desk.

"Dad! Dad!" Dean exclaimed, rushing around to him as he gasped and coughed and breathed in blessed, blessed air.

"Dean, get out," he managed, but Dean shook his head and helped him stand.

"It's okay, Cas has him trapped."

John blinked, vision clearing. Jacob knelt on his hands and knees amongst the overturned chairs. Castiel stood over him, palm raised and blue eyes blazing. The power in the room was a palpable thing, forcing John to take a step back even as Dean tried to move them a step closer to Castiel.

"Demon." The angel's voice came in a guttural growl, all the disdain in the world captured in those two syllables. "You will tell us now. Why are you here? What are your plans?"

"And where are the other kids, you son of a bitch?" John glared at the crouching figure, a fucking demon using this poor kid's body like it was the Gas 'n' Sip.

Jacob sneered at him. "I don't answer to humans, shit-for-brains."

Castiel crooked a finger and the demon roared in pain, his eyes opening wide. "We were just having fun! Stop it, stop it, it was just a bit of sport!" He began to foam at the mouth, and Castiel spread his fingers wide. Jacob collapsed against the floor, sobbing.

"That's not a good enough reason," John said, his lips twisting into a grimace. This time he moved forward as Dean tried to pull them back. John spared him a glance. He was staring at Castiel, eyes wide, as if he'd only just now realized the awful extent of his power. John couldn't help the vicious surge of satisfaction, and he turned back to the demon and loomed. "You tell us where the kids are, now, or we leave you to the angel."

"We just thought… being in kids would be FUN," Jacob mumbled into the carpet. "Let me go, come on, let me go. I'll stop his heart if you don't."

"No. You won't," Castiel said. Jacob whimpered. "There are more demons on earth in recent weeks." John and Dean exchanged glances. That was very bad news, to put it lightly. "Why?" Castiel continued. "It's not to ride around in teenagers."

The demon seemed to summon up his last shred of defiance and spat at Castiel's feet. "We're building an army! Demons and monsters from your worst nightmares. If the likes of you are even capable of dreaming. We already got the kitsune to join us. Better watch your back, angel. We're coming for you… and your pets."

Castiel's hand closed into a fist. Jacob's eyes bulged, his hands going to his throat as his feet drummed the ground. Castiel was choking him without laying a finger on him.

"Enough, Castiel!" John barked. "I still have questions!"

Castiel ignored him. He was good at that. John wanted to crush the demon for threatening and insulting Dean, and possibly him and Sam, but they needed to be able to find those other kids. And this army? What was that about?

"Castiel!" John raised his volume and employed the voice that struck fear and discipline into the hearts of his sons. Castiel just took Jacob's head in his hands and looked deep in his eyes.

"Dean, make him stop!" John nudged Dean forward. Dean gave him an incredulous look, but did as he was told.

"Cas!" he hissed. "Cas, come on, we need to find the other kids."

"I am doing that, Dean. Don't interrupt."

"Well, excuse me!" Dean huffed, sounding almost normal again, before gasping and stepping back when Castiel laid his hand flat on Jacob's forehead and white light momentarily filled the room.

His eyes burned, and John blinked quickly to regain his vision the second the light faded. Jacob had collapsed, Castiel abandoning him to kneel over Marcus. Who apparently wasn't as dead as John had thought, as he sat bolt upright after Castiel laid his hands on him.

"Wha—wha—what—?" he stuttered.

"Marcus. I am looking for a small structure with a tall post out front, featuring the initials 'D' and 'Q.' Where is it?"

"Huh? Jacob?" Marcus asked, bewildered.

"That's the DQ, Cas, I know where it is," Dean said.

"The others…like Jacob…are there," Castiel informed them.

"Great, let's go!" John said. "Marcus, take Jacob to the hospital and tell them—"

"He tried to kill you, Mr. Winchester!" Marcus cried, his eyes growing big as saucers.

"Well, not technically," John hedged. They didn't have time for this nonsense. Couldn't the angel have brought him back and knocked him out again? "He was in a fugue state, brought on by the stress of his recent ordeal," he lied glibly.

"He also tried to kill me!"

Castiel sighed and brought two fingers up to Marcus's forehead. He collapsed like a ragdoll.

"Good, now let's go get those demons and that damn kitsune!" John was only able to take one step before Castiel's hand stopped him, hard and unyielding as iron.

"No. They're not together. Dean and I will go after the demons."

It made sense, in a way, but it'd be better for them to take out the demons, and then mop up the kitsune together. How could he have missed the signs for a kitsune? They usually preyed on… "Where's the kitsune? What did you see?" John asked, dread settling into his stomach.

"Highway 9."

Sam.

***

"We should've gone with Dad," Dean protested. Quietly. Light leaked from beneath the back door of the Dairy Queen, despite the closed and shuttered front. Someone was inside.

"Your father can handle one kitsune," Cas argued back. "And Sam does not fit the profile of its attacks. We don't know how long the demons will stay in this location. This was the most logical plan. Now hush."

Dean scowled at the back of Cas's neck. From kisses to commands in twelve hours, the Dean Winchester guide to human-angel interaction, he thought bitterly. Cas had damn well better be right about the kitsune. It must have had some kind of medical background or access to the morgue or something to leave off the fact the brains were missing on all those dead truckers. If they'd known that little detail…

"And you can stop beating yourself up about the kitsune," Cas whispered.

Dean startled. "Stop reading my mind. It's not fair, Cas."

"Get ready. I'm going to blast the door open. Stay behind me. You are…" Cas paused, searching for the phrase.

"On clean-up duty," Dean supplied. "I got it."

Cas didn't wait any longer. The door blew in as if from a gale-force wind and Cas stepped through, practically glowing with power.

The demons were waiting for them.

Dean leaped backwards as a ring of fire flared up around Cas, singeing Dean's jacket. The two remaining demons stepped out from behind storage shelves and upright freezers, cackling, wearing the bodies of high school students about Sam's age. Dean's blood boiled with rage and his heart clenched in fear, but even as he raised his bottle of holy water (just in case, for clean-up) he wasn't sure if he could throw it at a kid who looked like Sam.

"Dean!" Cas exclaimed, a note of panic in his voice for the first time. "Break the circle!"

There was nothing else for it. He feinted tossing the contents of his bottle in the face of the demon wearing a Nike shirt and holey jeans, and dumped all the water on a tiny patch of the circle instead.

The other demon slammed into Dean from the side and he went down swearing, the chorus of profanity changing to yelps of pain he was pushed into the holy fire.

The pain was unimaginable. Dean could feel the flames sear through his clothes and into his skin, burning away tissue and muscle and nerve endings until he thought that surely he didn't have a back anymore. He fell to his knees, dry-heaving and crying, falling forward into flames… that ceased to exist. White light filled his vision, a furious roar rang in his ears, and the demons were obliterated. Dean passed out, for ten seconds at the most, and when he came to it was just him and Cas and a couple of unconscious teenagers in the storage room.

"Dean, Dean," Cas murmured, over and over again. He was holding Dean up, or else Dean would be a pool of melted jelly on the floor. The pain was lessening by slow increments. Maybe. Or else Dean had gone round the bend from trauma to his back.

"Wha hay-pen demonssss?" he slurred. His vision was blurry and his mind was in a vise, clamped in on all sides by pain. Holy fuck.

"I destroyed them. Dean, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't heal the holy fire burns all at once, I'm trying to take your pain away, but I'm so sorry."

Dean reached up and batted at Cas's face with a clumsy hand. "Babbling. Came in handy, dinnit I?"

"Of course you did. But I'm supposed to protect you."

"Yeah, you gots orders."

"It's nothing to do with orders. I just always want to protect you."

He leaned down and kissed Dean's forehead. Dean went still. His back felt like a lake of fire and Cas was a cool rain.

"Kiss me for real. Come on, Cas. Get me out of here and kiss me again."

***

Speeding and missing something wouldn't help matters one whit, John had to keep telling himself. Like the entrance to the Highway 9 trailer park, where Sam had said he'd gone. John nearly fish-tailed turning into it, his heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. The Impala took up the rhythm, bouncing on the pot-holed dirt track.

Movement appeared between the trees, and John's hands tightened around the steering wheel. He leaned forward as far as he could, eyes peeled. And then—

"Sam!" he yelled. He slammed on the brakes, put it into park and leaped out the door, stumbling over his feet to get to his son. "Sam, thank God!"

Sam gaped at him. He was covered in… something wet and brown, not blood, definitely not blood, but John had his gun drawn anyhow. The sun was starting to set, and it was darker beneath the trees. The kitsune could be anywhere, waiting until they were distracted with their reunion to spring from the underbrush and attack.

"Sam, is it here? The kitsune, Sam, have you seen it?" John circled Sam slowly, facing out, gun raised.

"She's dead," Sam finally managed to get out. Jon whipped around to look at him. Were those tear tracks on his face?

"Are you sure? What happened to you?"

Sam took a shuddering breath. "I'll tell you about it in the car. Can we please just leave?"

John wanted to check out its lair, examine the body, burn the whole thing to the ground, but Sam was swaying on his feet, and Dean had gone off with Castiel to hunt the demons. John was needed elsewhere. He'd come back later for clean-up.

"All right, get in the car. What are you covered in?"

"Coke," Sam said tersely, and climbed into the passenger seat.

John scanned the area once more with his eyes before following.

"Start with how you know it's dead," he said, attempting a three-point turn. The road hadn't been made with the Impala in mind.

"She. She's dead. The kitsune was my friend Amy's mom."

"Wait, what?!"

"She was a nurse, and she came home from the hospital early today. She attacked me." Sam's voice was clipped and composed, his hands clasped between his knees. "She was going to kill me. Amy shot her instead, and she died."

John glanced over at him. "Your friend shot her own mother?"

"She was going to kill me," Sam whispered.

"Where's your friend now?" He should be more sensitive with his questions, Sam was obviously still freaked out, but there was something comforting in treating this like any other case, getting the facts out there and dealing with the emotional fallout later.

"She kissed me," Sam said dully. "She kissed me and I let her go."

John almost turned the car back around right then. "You let a young kitsune go?"

"She's not like her mom."

"Sam—"

"Dad! You weren't there, it was my decision! Amy's a good person!" Sam protested, his hands now clenched in fists.

"That's the thing, Sam – she's not a person. She will kill. Jesus. Have I taught you nothing?" Cold fury gripped him. He should really turn he car around.

"Why won't you listen to me? Amy's different! She promised. She killed her mother to save my life!"

"She killed, Sam! Don't you see that?"

Sam crossed his arms and stared mulishly out the window, face a thundercloud.

"And you didn't call. Trying to cover for Amy? You don't keep this stuff from your family, Sam. We're your backup! What you did was stupid and immature and could've gotten you killed a second time!"

Sam just stared out the window, jaw clenched, and John swore in frustration. Were they ever going to be able to have a conversation that didn't devolve into accusations and verbal fisticuffs? Why was it so hard for him to talk to Sam?

John breathed through his nose and counted to ten. It was something Mary had always done, back before they were married and her temper could flash white-hot in an instant. John had been the patient one. That had changed, along with everything else, the night Mary was killed. What would she think of him now, speeding along with their baby boy, berating him over a lapse in judgment while he was probably crying over a broken heart?

"Sam," he said, abruptly changing tack. "I'm sorry things didn't work out with… your girl."

He looked over at Sam. His son was gaping up at him, and hurriedly smoothed his expression under John's gaze.

"I guess she only wanted to be around me to keep an eye on me," he said finally.

There wasn't a whole lot he could do to make it better, but he could throw Sam this one bone. "You just said her mom came back unexpectedly. She didn't know you were a hunter, kiddo. She just wanted to be around you." He reached out and ruffled Sam's hair.

"Dad!" Sam protested, trying to pull away, but John could see the slight smile, the lessening of tension across his shoulders, and breathed his own sigh of relief. He had not completely fucked up as a father this afternoon. No, that could wait for when they revisited the topic of Amy. They would have to, eventually, no matter how much it would hurt.

They drove the rest of the way in an almost companionable silence until the motel's 'V-C-A-N-Y' beckoned them to their temporary home. John caught the glint of light from beneath the door of their room as he pulled into their spot and felt some of his own tension seep from his shoulders.

"Look, your brother's back." Thank God.

He pushed open the door to their room, Sam hot on his heels, and froze.

Dean was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, topless, his face pressed against the stomach of that angel, standing in the vee of Dean's legs and running his fingers through Dean's hair.

"Cas," his son whimpered – HIS SON! – and then the angel was leaning down, lips on Dean's lips and John shook off his paralysis, slamming the door with a violent crash.

***

Dean started violently, his hands closing convulsively around Cas's hips as his father and, shit, Sammy, Sammy was going to have to be present for this disaster—

"Get the fuck away from my son."

Dean had seen Dad mad plenty of times, the worst always being when his voice went low and cold. He'd seen Dad in full-on Papa Bear mode, too, in a protective crouch with fists flying. This was something completely different; something had already happened to set Dad on edge and now he was exploding, no holds barred. Dean swallowed hard. He was scared. Of Dad. And when Cas turned in the circle of his arms and looked at Dad, Dean was scared for him.

"Dad, don't –"

"Be quiet, Dean," Dad bit off.

"You should listen to your son more," Cas said, his tone deceptively mild, but Dean could feel the power in him through the cloth of the vintage tee he'd given Cas to wear just that morning.

"Don't you fucking tell me what to do!" Dad snarled. "That's my son! He's not yours to – to –"

"We should leave them alone," Sam interrupted quietly. Dean stared at him. Dad's eyes bugged out.

"What the—"

But Sammy didn't let him continue. "Are you pissed because Cas is an angel, or because he's a guy? Or because Dean worked with someone who wasn't you?"

"You're over the line, Sam." Dad's nostrils flared, but Sam just squared his shoulders and met him glare for glare. The last barb had hit, Dean saw with a sudden flash of insight. John Winchester wasn't a homophobe, and he wasn't scared of angels, hadn't even thought they existed. Whatever reticence he had over who Dean was kissing was nothing compared to the idea of losing his son. And if Dean didn't do something fast, Dad was going to risk losing Sammy.

"We found the demons!" Dean said quickly. "They were expecting us."

His back throbbed in pain, and Cas rested a hand on Dean's shoulder, sending another soothing wave of grace or however he'd been healing Dean's injuries into his skin.

"We destroyed them," Cas said simply.

"'Destroyed'? We needed to question them!" Dad argued.

"I was perhaps carried away in my anger over the harm they caused Dean," Cas admitted, and Dean felt a wholly unbidden jolt of desire surge through him. It was a little embarrassing.

"What harm?" Sam asked, stepping around their father. Dean finally got a good look at him.

"What the hell happened to you, Squirt? Come here."

Sam collapsed into the hug, arms around Dean's neck, his Coke-stained shirt sticking to Dean's bare skin.

"The kitsune is dead," Dad said roughly. "And the demons are destroyed. So what's your next move, Castiel?"

The tension suddenly shot sky-high. Everyone was staring at Dean, Sam still clinging to his neck, Cas still with a hand on his shoulder and Dad… Dad building walls, whether to keep Cas out or protect himself if Dean left, it was impossible to say. But how could Dean survive if he was on the outside of that wall?

"I have orders, Dean," Cas said quietly. "We have important work."

"And what we did here wasn't important?" Dean asked, a humiliating hitch to his voice. "We found out about the army, didn't we?"

"And your father will spread the word," Cas confirmed. "But we have our own tasks."

"No," Dean whispered. His dad sucked in his breath with a hiss, a reaction tantamount to gasping and falling on his knees from any other man, and Sam squeezed his neck.

Cas just looked at him, cool and aloof, before taking Dean's head in his hands and letting the mask of angelic power fall from his face. He looked so young and needy, and Dean disentangled himself from Sam to stand up and pull Cas into his arms, regardless of his family watching.

"Cas," he murmured. "Come with us. Think of what we could all do together. Come with us."

An eternity seemed to pass before Cas nodded.

***

It was eight paces down to the next room door. John felt he'd worn a trench in the dirty pavement, back and forth, back and forth, turning over the events of the day in his head. When he went back inside, he'd probably find his eldest son passed out in a bed with an angel. He choked back a hysterical laugh and reached into his coat pocket for his phone. And to top it all off, the demons were forming an army. He placed the call.

"Singer Salvage."

"Bobby." John sighed. "You busy for the next forty-eight hours?"

"Depends on what you ask me."

"Get on the horn to every hunter you know. Tell them demons are making a power play on earth, and they're recruiting – humans, kitsune, whatever creature will have them."

Bobby was silent for a second. "Well, crap."

"Yeah."

"What's your source?"

"Demonic and angelic."

Bobby paused again. "You… want to tell me about it?"

"Hell, no."

"It's not like I really want to hear, but if it's about this demon insurgence… There's something more bothering you."

"It's…" John sighed. "Castiel. He's more than a match for a handful of demons. He doesn't need help."

"And yet he showed up asking for help," Bobby said slowly. "And I take it he didn't know about this recruiting before?"

"Exactly."

"So what the hell does he need help with?"

"Something huge, bigger than anything we've ever faced before. And Dean's going to help him." John looked down at the ground, scuffing his feet through the gravel. Dean had spent his entire life trying to emulate him, but John had known from the first time he'd looked into his infant's eyes that Dean was Mary, through and through, pig-headed and quick-tempered and loyal and so full of love. Sam was the one like him, God help them both.

"And what are you going to do?" Bobby asked at last, cutting through his thoughts.

"Support Dean," came the instantaneous response. "Maybe Castiel can break the cycle," he muttered beneath his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I just – this is gonna be rough, Bobby. If I fell, you'd—"

"Don't even have to ask."

"Good. That's good." He licked his lips, coming to a decision. Really, it'd been made for him the first time Castiel touched Dean, but now… "I have one more favor to ask you, old friend."

***

Castiel chose his shirt carefully. He had five shirts, all his: two button-downs and three t-shirts. He wore one of Dean's old shirts at nights, when he bothered with the pretense of sleeping. Most nights he spent on his own, doing what John called demon reconnaissance but more often than not became simply learning the world. For all his thousands of years roaming the heavens and observing the earth, Castiel felt like he was only just now truly gaining an understanding of humanity.

For instance, the shirts. Dean and Sam had picked them out, and insisted he change them every day, though he could easily clean them with a thought. The shirts, like the rest of his clothes and his own duffel and toothbrush, symbolized to them Castiel's acceptance into the family. A strange member of the family, for sure, but one of them nonetheless. Newly estranged from his own family, Castiel took the ritual of deciding upon his shirt for the day very seriously.

Today was a very important day, and he would be spending it with Dean, doing something Dean loved. Therefore he zipped up his bag on his new shirts and chose the vintage Led Zeppelin concert t-shirt, one of Dean's well-worn hand-me-downs. Sam gave him a thumb's up from his place at the tiny motel breakfast table, and even John looked vaguely approving. The motel room door opened.

"She's all gassed-up," Dean announced, stopping, lips parted at the sight of Castiel in his old shirt. He gave himself a shake. "So… you ready for this?"

"Of course I am, Dean. I am quite familiar with the mechanics."

"I'm sure you are," John rumbled. "Don't break anything."

As always when John Winchester spoke to him, Castiel listened for the second meaning. This one was easy to decipher – don't break anything, be it Dean or the Impala. Castiel merely looked at him until John's eyes slid back to his son.

"I won't let him wreck her," Dean promised, and reached out for Castiel's hand, which was considered a daring gesture, especially in front of John. Dean was doing more and more of such things, working himself up to something. Castiel had refrained from telling him that John had walked around the corner at an inopportune time last week and had seen Dean, oblivious to all but Castiel, grinding down into Castiel's lap while frantically shoving his tongue down Castiel's throat.

"Good luck, Cas," Sam told him, and then Dean was pulling him out the door and handing over his set of keys.

Today was a very important day, free of demons and monsters and things that go bump in the night. In his back pocket was a wallet that had once belonged to John Winchester, and in that wallet was a new driver's license belonging to Castiel Singer from the state of South Dakota. Today, he was going to learn how to drive.