A phone rang in a distant room in the back of the Men of Letters bunker. It sounded a bit like tinny ringing of an old 1940s phone.

Honestly, neither Dean nor Sam thought the bunker had a phone, at least not one that worked. Dean heard the ringing before Sam. He couldn't quite tell where the sound was coming from, but a lot of things in the bunker were disorienting for a demon, so he took it in stride. He still could tell Sam was walking down the hall just outside his door.

He got up off his memory foam bed and met Sam in the hallway. He could have teleported, but after his last fight with Sam about his being a demon, keeping the demonic powers to a minimum tended to serve him well.

Dean shot a grin at Sam, but Sam quickly averted his eyes. Dean tried not to let his brother's frosty attitude hurt him too badly. It wasn't like he didn't deserve it. He really should have listened to Cain's warning label. If he'd known about becoming a demon, he would not have taken the mark. Abaddon would've been a problem, but they would've worked it out.

But being a demon had some serious perks. He didn't like it, and it was seriously the weirdest feeling of disconnect he had with his own body, but hunting was so much easier. Being a demon was conducive to killing creatures, other demons, or whatever. It took less time, less effort, and felt pretty good, but he'd never admit that to Sam. Still, he didn't ask for this, but there were enough perks that when Sam insisted on curing Dean, Dean refused. There were several times where Sam and Cas attempted to trap him in order to shoot him up with Sam's blood, but Dean was smart. He'd teleport away, he cold-clocked Sam at least twice now to get him to stop with the human blood thing.

Sam's cold stare at Dean in the hall just served to remind Dean of the tedious state of life in the bunker. They continued towards the ringing.

After checking four rooms, Sam broke the silence by saying, "Where the hell is this phone?"

Dean shrugged in response.

"What, you can't just-?" Sam asked, cutting himself off.

Dean sighed, "No, the bunker has too many freaking wards."

"Well, the wards are there for a reason, Dean," Sam said curtly.

Cas appeared behind Dean abruptly.

"Jesus!" Dean snapped out of surprise at the angel's sudden arrival, "Dammit, Cas, warn a guy!"

Dean had figured that he'd be able to sense Cas after becoming a demon. But no. No, he couldn't. It was like Cas was dead. He could feel Sam's heartbeat, his pumping blood from wherever he was in the bunker, but Cas. Cas was like a ghost. He couldn't feel any energy from him or anything. And it was freaking weird. Dean was just glad that Cas didn't have his wings back. The little dude still walked around in expert stealth mode, but he couldn't just manifest whenever. If he ever got his wings back, Dean was getting Cas a bell.

Cas squinted at Dean's reaction but said, "Why is the phone still ringing? Is that normal?" They had been searching for the phone for several minutes, but the call was still coming through.

"Why can't anything ever be normal?" Dean grumbled as they continued to the next room.

Cas walked down the hall away from the brothers and gestured to a door. Sam opened the door and answered the oldest phone Dean had ever seen. It was a two piece phone with the receiver attached by a wire hanging on a hook.

Dean patted the top of Cas' head and said, "Good boy." Cas grimaced at him while Dean tried to ignore the tingling sensation in his fingers from touching Cas' hair.

Sam muttered into the phone, "Could you hold on for just a minute? Thanks." He held the receiver to his chest and snapped at Dean, "Dammit, Dean. Do you have to be ass all the time? Apologize to Cas and let me have this damn phone call."

Sam returned to the phone.

Dean clapped a hand on Cas' shoulder, "You know I'm just kidding, right, Cas?"

Cas nodded, "Yes, I am quite familiar with your inability to think before speaking."

Dean rolled his eyes, trying not to let his gaze linger on Cas' lips. The first time Dean had looked at Cas while his eyes were still black had been the worst decision he'd made in a long time. Cas' brighter than light angelic form was readily perceived, and Dean had a blinding headache for days as a result. With his trademark green eyes serving as a filter, Cas just looked like he normally did, which was slightly more good looking than Dean was entirely comfortable with.

He focused on what Sam was saying.

"Yeah, you called the right place. The Men of Letters have been disbanded for a while, but I'm Sam Winchester, we can still..." Sam said.

For whatever stupid reason, Dean couldn't hear the other end of the line.

"Okay, I've never heard of that. Have you considered witches?" Sam said, "Uh huh. Well, that's…Yeah, don't worry about it, we'll check it out."

Sam hung up the phone, and Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, waiting to hear the details.

Glancing at Dean but letting his gaze settle on Cas, Sam said, "So, get this. That was a hunter in England. They've got a case over there that they need some help with."

"How are we going to get to England?" Cas asked.

Dean grinned at Cas, "Well, we can travel Air Winchester."

Cas rolled his eyes.

"Not so keen on it now that you don't have the wings, huh, Cas?" Dean teased.

Sam sighed, "Stop it. No one's comfortable with it, and you haven't even heard what the case is."

Dean gave Cas an apologetic glance, and Cas shook his head like it wasn't a big deal.

Sam said, "Apparently, a teenager went missing about a week ago. He turned up in the hospital, dying, about a half hour later. But here's the thing. He died of old age."

"What?" Dean and Cas said in unison.

"They're sure it's not witches?" Dean asked. He remembered when he'd prematurely aged from a stupid poker game. It was witches then.

Sam nodded, "Yep. They've done a sweep for hexbags and the like. Not witches."

Dean grinned, trying to keep his giddiness under control. Maybe after he got them all to the UK in one piece, they'd realize how useful his demon mojo could be. He also really wanted to kill something, and a mystery something was better than most.

Within minutes, the three of them were packing duffle bags, getting ready to travel.

Cas walked into Dean's room with his packed bag, and asked, "Are you okay?"

Dean nodded as he struggled to pack his bag. He had a hard time justifying bringing anything when he could just pop back to the bunker in a pinch and grab whatever he needed. But he had to think about Sam and how upset his little brother was about all of this. He put a couple of shirts in the bag in case whatever they were hunting was able to bleed.

"Does it itch, being disconnected from your body like you are?" Cas asked.

Dean looked at Cas, frustrated. It did itch. And it wasn't something that he could just scratch away. The way Cas phrased the question made Dean feel very defensive.

"I suppose that's something you'd know a lot about," Dean said.

Cas sighed, "Don't look at me like that. I'd much rather see your eyes."

Dean hadn't even realized his eyes were black. He fixed Cas with an apologetic, green-eyed gaze.

"Better," Cas said, "It's disconcerting when I can't see your soul when I'm talking to you."

"What are you talking about, Cas? I don't have a soul anymore," Dean said.

Cas stepped closer to Dean, fully invading any and all personal space, and said softly, "Yes, you do. It's been twisted and tortured, and it is much darker than usual, but I can still see it shining within you."

Dean pulled away from Cas, trying not to show him how much that knowledge affected him. He was gonna be a piss poor demon if he felt so much relief knowing that his soul, while demonic, was still a soul.

"I do know a thing or two about being stuck in a vessel," Cas said, "If you need to talk."

Dean nodded at Cas' offer gratefully. It was nice to know that some part of his family was willing to accept him as is.

Cas left his room soundlessly. Quickly, Dean grabbed the First Blade and tucked it, wrapped, into his bag. He zipped it up and met Sam and Cas in the war room.

"Ready?" Dean asked.

Cas nodded and took Dean's hand. Dean tried not to let the physical contact distract him, but Cas' hand was really warm and comforting. Sam's face contorted into a concerned, displeased, angry, and hurt mess before he went tight lipped and eyed Dean warily.

They didn't have time for this. Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder and transported them all to London.