Hell is a distillery. It takes the soul, macerates it, then leaves what remains to mature. But what happens when the angels come to take their share and find something worth savoring?

————————————————————
Set in the Supernatural universe this story diverts from the canon. The divergence here is that Castiel has not appeared to Dean after Hell, in fact Dean has yet to learn of angels at all.

I've decided I want some brooding and sweeping visuals told in present tense, and Cas & Dean lend themselves beautifully to the writing style. Thanks for all the support for my first fiction, A Dichotomy of Feathers, I hope you all enjoy this one as well. Let me know what you think!

————————————————————
an·gel's share (ān′jəlz)

n. Informal

The quantity of an alcoholic liquor lost to evaporation during the distilling process.

————————————————————

Another day. Another bar. Another group of women scrambling for a 'bad boy'. Dean is getting sick of it. He gives a silent sigh and twists his bottle around absently.

Not that he minds all of the attention, it makes staying distracted incredibly easy. Maybe too easy sometimes. A wink goes a long way and his reputation practically oozes off him. Plus with his job and lives distractions are necessary on a nearly daily basis. Even Sammy has to cave sometimes and spend a night forgetting, though he tends to have trouble severing those ties. That part is easy for Dean.

Sam likes to remind him that they should have normal lives, should marry and settle down. And as much as he outwardly agrees with his brother, he doesn't believe in that for himself. His father had had that life. A wife, two kids, a house, a normal job. What had that gotten him and his sons? A life of heartache and deep psychological scars. He's firmly a believer in 12 hour love now. But no need to ruin the dream for Sam, poor kid needs all the positive he can get and seems content to fool himself, so he'll keep shut on the topic. He can just ignore the loneliness as he always does, with plenty of drink and company.

Ow. Speaking of that brother, he's nudging Dean hard in the ribs from where they stand at the bar. Sam catches his eye over his bottle then nods to the two women across the bar. The unspoken question in his eyes tells Dean that this is one of those times Sam needs a night of distraction.

"You go ahead man, I'm beat. Probly gonna head back after this one."

Sam snorts, "The hell's wrong with you? You've been acting weird again since that salt and burn yesterday."

O yes, that was a fun job. And not fun in the happy way. Raised way too many fucking questions that Sam of course kept asking for hours. It was an easy enough job, a woman who had spent her life alone and isolated, then haunted the farm house she'd lived in by herself for 50 years. It's one of those fears Dean has developed since Hell. Losing Sam to a woman or the job, then finding himself alone. He'd certainly be the hunter version of a crazy cat lady. Insane gun guy? Doesn't have the same ring.

"Yea well, wore me out, plus that last place had horrible beds. Hardly slept for those 4 hours we got," he says, draining the rest of his beer. It's part of the truth at least, the part that he's willing to share. "But you go ahead, I'll meet you at the motel tomorrow. Don't have anything to head off to yet."

Sam is only half paying attention, making eyes at the small brunette of the two girls. "Yea yea, I'll be there tomorrow if not tonight," she starts walking over, hips swaying just marginally more than necessary, "Definitely not tonight."

Dean gives a small huff of a chuckle, his brother certainly got the cute approachable genes, makes picking up sweet fun girls easy. "You have fun bro, try and stay safe."

Sam isn't pretending to pay attention anymore, and just waves a hand of acknowledgment in his general direction.

Dean plops down some bills and nods thanks to the bar tender then heads out alone.

Of all the things Dean is a hypocrite about it's researching that he tries to pretend hatred for the most. Or maybe just second most...actually no third, but regardless it's one of the top things.

Truth is he loves doing it, but smarts are supposed to be Sam's thing, and the poor kid has always jumped at the chance to use his brain. He even caved to letting Sam splurge on some noise cancelling headphones so he could blast his tunes in the car while Sam read. He'd been letting him do it since he got back from his attempt at college and normal life. Seemed to keep him complacent. If only slightly.

With Sam off for the night he takes a leisurely shower, scrubbing with the cheap motel soap until he feels squeaky. Even takes the extra time to actually use the conditioner. Which for him, is on the same level as a spa day. Which it's not. Spas are for women.

Feeling clean and loose from the hot water he dries off quickly, slips on some boxers and plops down on the little twin bed with the computer. He spends a little bit sifting through news sites. There are a few stories that sound like their kind of thing. Cleaning service out in Minnesota has tried to go viral with their search for missing workers. Looks like their maids are disappearing from their cars along busy roads. Maids would be a good gig, maybe they'd even have cute uniforms. He pulls over a notebook and writes down some of the info.

Possible werewolf in Floria, nothing new there, state's crawling with weird. Some bizarre fires out in Idaho, too far. Haunting in Massachusetts, now that's interesting. He writes down some more notes. Best to call Bobby in the morning and see if he has something near them or if he already has someone on it.

He closes the laptop, it's not really holding his interest tonight, and glances at the clock. Only 11 pm, not yet time for bed. He's bone weary for sure, but there is no quieting his mind. He feels revved up and distracted. But there's another emotion under that he can't figure out. Boredom? Anxiety?

He flips on the TV absently and finds a car show on, but it only lasts til midnight. Maybe he'll call Bobby once it's over, old man never sleeps anyways.

By the time midnight rolls around Dean is fast asleep. TV still playing quietly and casting him in shifting lights. His dreams are restless, dragging from scene to scene with no coherence.

But, one dream in particular plays out vividly in his mind. One of those rare lucid dreams he hears people talk about, where he is aware and making choices.

He's standing in an endless field of knee height yellow wild flowers, they have a sugary scent with a hint of spice to it. Cinnamon? The sky is impossibly turquoise blue, cloudless, and stretching on for miles upon miles. A breeze starts up, rippling the flowers like an ocean and blowing against him with warmth. He turns in a circle, taking in the surroundings, and spots a hill out in the distance. The breeze kicks up and pushes against him, urging him toward the hill.

The moment he tries to take a step he is whisked forward, taking only a few seconds to get there. It is a dream after all.

As he climbs to the top he finds a small girl with wavy golden hair sitting and making chains from the flowers. She ignores his presence, focusing on her task.

"Where's Sammy?"

"Gone."

Well alright then. "What about Bobby? Ellen, Jo?"

"Gone too."

He pauses, wondering who else he could turn to for help. "Dad?"

"Gone."

Just great. He sits down next to her, noticing the blanket she's on for the first time. She pauses as he stretches out his legs. With a deep sigh, he looks around at the fields again. "Well at least I've got you. What's your name anyways?" He turns to look at her but there's just the little flower circlet. She's gone. Gone like the rest of them apparently, and now Dean is sitting in a field of flowers with a small crown placed beside him for company. Completely and utterly alone.

Just as he is when he wakes on the twin bed in their ratty motel room, drenched in sweat and trembling.

The drive the next morning is beautiful. The boys have good tunes, some road snacks, and plenty of good weather. Spring is just turning into summer, the leaves fully opened and the crisp freshness starting to wear off. Still hasn't gotten hot enough to turn on the spotty A/C, so in Dean's book this is perfect.

He has Sam call Bobby once they got out of town. Fortunately he's shut up about 'Jane' by now. If Dean has to hear another minute of his brother gushing like a middle school girl about how fantastic and smart and funny she was he might actually hurl. A key difference between them, lays are a means to an end for Dean but for Sam it's a 'vital human connection' or some shit. Damn kid went hippy in California.

"Yea no it was an easy one Bobby, didn't take as long as we thought. New owners were good about letting us do our thing."

Silence while Bobby talks, broken with a few 'yea's and 'ok's from Sam. Dean rolls his window back up as they hit the highway going east. It sticks a little, might need some work to make sure it goes smooth. Added to the ever growing list of repairs he'll make next time they hit Sioux Falls.

"Oh ok, didn't realize he was out that way, I guess we'll take the other. Not too far from us anyways. Thanks for your help, we'll let you know if anything seems weird," Sam says, getting out the map with the phone held between his jaw and shoulder, "Will do. Thanks Bobby."

"So which one are we taking, the disappearances of hopefully French maids or the haunted church?" Dean asks once Sam puts the phone down.

"Church. Looks like Rufus is training Jeff's kid with the other."

"He old enough for that now? Damn, felt like last year he was in kindergarten. So which way to Quincy, Massacheusets?"

"Not sure yet but it's north of here so...guess start heading that way? Towards Boston, kinda." Sam says, burying his head in the map with his brows drawn together in concentration.

"Will do. Guess we should play some Boston if we're going to Boston," Dean smiles and pulls out the right cassette. The unamused bitch face he gets is well worth the horrible attempt at humor. But Sam can't hold it for long and within a few verses he's singing right along with his big brother.

About an hour out from Quincy Sam starts in on researching the job. An old church has been having some bizarre occurrences recently, choir members seeing benches move, a few apparitions, and the priest swore to the journalists that he'd heard the organ playing, though it had been damaged for years. Nothing terribly concerning or violent, but things have been slow for a while so they can take the time to look into easy cases and relax. It does a man good after hel- nope, not even going there. Dean's in too good of a mood to spoil it with those thoughts.

"I'll look into any weird deaths there but churches are difficult," Sam grumbles, pulling out a notebook to organize his thoughts.

"Yea I know, too many funerals and dead people around. Maybe we should just seance the whole place."

Sam gives a blank stare at the side smile Dean has, which vanishes quickly, "Dude I'm not serious, lighten up!"

A soft sigh is all he gets from the passenger seat and Sam goes back to his research. If he's going to be a little bitch like that then Dean deserves more tunes, so with a flick of his fingers the volume's up and he's belting out verses.

After getting a room at the first motel in the phone book they pull up to one of the diners in town. Hunting requires hunters food, only grease and coffee will do for that, though Sam likes to have rabbit food with his. Dean still hates the sight of it, isn't trustworthy.

While he's deciding on what to order, Sam uses his FBI badge and boyish charms to get the WiFi password from the waitress. Dean's pretty sure Sam would actually cry if he had to go more than 24 hours without the internet. The petite blonde waitress is more than willing to oblige him with the password as well as her phone number.

Halfway through the meal Sam has compiled all of the notes he can get on the case. The church is old, built around 1834, and has been quiet over the years. There was a murder on site back in the 60s, but no hauntings have happened until the past year. The priests assigned to the church have been model citizens, all staying until retirement or death. Nothing that would set off any red flags.

"We should probably ask the priest about what he heard," Sam says, "And wouldn't hurt to talk to the rest of the congregation."

"Sounds good. You handle the priest, I've never been good at acting Godly. It'd be even worse now that I've literally played at being the devil."

"But wouldn't your time down there have made you more of a believer?"

"Ugh don't start on that again. Doing time in Hell doesn't make me a God squader. Just made me more pissed at how shitty the whole system is," he grumbles. Seriously, Sam and his 'aren't you having a life crisis all the time' bullshit. He's dealing, and dealing pretty damn well he might add. Hell of a lot better than he'd dealt with dad dying, so Sam needs to stop being such a girl before he belts him in the backseat with a gag. Dean stands, knocking back the rest of his coffee. "You ready?"

"Yea, right behind you."

Dean had forgotten how much he hates cases that deal with churches. It isn't the building itself or even the ideals and beliefs that really piss him off. It's the hypocrisy of the whole thing. Priests always have skeletons in their closets, usually ones far more gruesome, perverse, and disturbing than your average person. And the other church members? Well, let's just say that the men and women alike all scramble for a piece of handsome firm young ass like his and Sam's.

This one has been no exception. Of the five choir members he's spoken to about the things they'd been experiencing he's received five phone numbers. One lady, if she can even be called that, went so far as to run a hand up his thigh while they were talking. He'd stood up as abruptly as he could before she got too high up, knocking the coffee she'd given him onto the floor. He didn't feel too bad about the soiled carpet.

His only saving grace is that Sam got the same treatment, so they can complain together.

"God it was just so gross. Fucking priests are always trying to get a damn twink. Barely even got any information," Sam whines, flopping down across his bed. The beds are barely big enough to fit Dean, so Sam's extra height is making it look like it belongs in a doll house.

"What'd he offer this time? Money or salvation?"

"Neither! He just outright said he'd be at his office late if I wanted to stop by and 'chat'. Stared right at my crotch the whole time he said it. Licked his lips and everything. Ugh I want a shower, or five," he gets up and slams around into the bathroom.

Dean can't help but laugh. As much as he doesn't like a creepy old man trying to molest his little brother, the kid can easily take care of himself. Poor priest wouldn't even have a chance against Sam with a weapon. Plus Sam isn't a kid anymore, he is more than capable of dealing with things himself, but old protective habits die hard. "Well at least you can say he has good taste!"

Sam groans from the other room over the sound of the shower, "You're so gross! Just drop it."

Dean flips on the TV and waits for Sam to shower off. Nothing on worth watching but he changes between channels to keep entertained. Sam comes out dripping water on the dirty carpet with his jeans slung low on his hips. Dean turns the TV off and asks, "What'd he tell you about the case, anything?"

Sam towels off his hair, tossing it about. Looks like a girl when he does that. "Said he'd been hearing organ music off and on. They have an old pipe organ that hasn't worked in decades. More for show than anything. But I guess it's been several times that he's been working in his office and hears organ music. Goes out to look and it stops."

Sam drops down into the chair across from Dean, "The choir tell you anything besides their phone numbers?"

"Yea I got some out of a few. Lots of random breezes, weird feedback in the speakers when they aren't plugged in, and one saw an apparition."

Sam's eyebrows raise, "Like a full apparition or just some haze?"

"Full. Guy said it was sitting at the organ while they sang then when he went to investigate it disappeared and reappeared up in the rafters."

"Huh," Sam saiys, looking puzzled but not too concerned, "Has it said anything or done anything to anyone?"

"Nope, just sat around and made music I guess."

Sam gives his little barely there laugh he does when something amuses him, "Then are you sure this is even our thing? I mean, why are we investigating this?" Sam moves over to lay back on his bed, yawning.

"I don't know man, just caught my eye is all. Worth checking out though, things have been pretty quiet. You have something better to do?"

"No no, just not sure why you had us drive all this way for some damn music ghost," Sam ducks at the shoe Dean throws at him, then chuckles and turns off his light for bed. He's been far too bitchy for Dean's comfort lately, always whining about something or another and needing way too much distracting.

Dean sits up a while longer checking local reports and brooding. Maybe this really wasn't their sort of thing, wasn't even sure why he thought this was a case. Maybe Sam is right for once and not just being bratty. But they're here, might as well look into it.

When he falls asleep a few hours later he dreams again, everything is just as real as the last one.

This time he's running through the field of yellow flowers, but the sky has darkened, as though as storm is brewing behind him. His feet are sinking slightly into the soft soil with each step. There is a tree in the distance on that hill he saw last time. He runs for hours, never feeling out of breath or energy, yet no matter how much ground he covers it never gets closer.

Organ music plays in his head all the while.