A/N: This was originally supposed to be a simple one shot with whump and no plot. Instead it turned into something somewhere between a whumpy one shot with no plot and…kinda plotty. Erm. So I'll be posting it in two parts. Apologies for the inevitable cliffhanger. ;P

Takes place after 12x11 "Regarding Dean" but before the feels of 12x12.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for the invaluable help and beta reading as always! ^_^

"Banished"

Part I

Castiel frowned at the news article he was currently reading on Sam's laptop. He was supposed to be looking for Kelly Kline, but the story of recent murders in Draxton, Nebraska had captured his attention, particularly since one was described as the victim having been burned from the inside out. The others were stabbing attacks: swift, efficient kills from what it sounded like.

And that, in turn, sounded like an angel. But why would an angel be on a killing spree like this? Unless it was slaying demons. Not many of Castiel's brethren maintained their divine mandate to protect humanity, though surely there were still some. If demons were congregating in that town, then Castiel should investigate. This other angel might need help thwarting whatever evil plot was underway.

But if that wasn't the case…if an angel was ruthlessly killing humans…well, Castiel didn't want to think about that just yet.

The front door grated open, and two pairs of footsteps clomped down the stairs, Dean with a bag of take-out and Sam in his running clothes, as both had apparently returned from their individual errands at the same time.

"Hey, Cas," Sam greeted. "Any word on Kelly?"

"Unfortunately, no," he replied, turning in his chair to face them. "But I believe I found a case that warrants looking into." He slid the laptop across the map table so they could see.

"Yeah, alright," Dean said after a moment of reading. "What are you thinking? Rogue angel?"

Castiel tried to hold back a sigh. He understood why that was Dean's first conclusion—Castiel had considered it, himself, after all. But he hated to automatically lump all angels into the category of "bad" just because the Winchesters hadn't necessarily had good experiences with any of his brothers.

"I don't know. It might be the victims were possessed by demons and an angel has been engaging in battle with them. I think it would be best to find out."

"Yeah, definitely," Sam agreed, leaning over and still scrolling through the article.

"Angel radio not telling you anything?" Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head regretfully. "I have not been privy to most communications since Lucifer. Benjamin was a rare exception, and only because he was desperate." Otherwise, Castiel had been more or less cut off from his brothers.

"Oh." Dean shrugged. "Then I guess we'll see when we get there."

Castiel felt a small knot of tension in his chest come loose. He had been very careful with his wording, not making any assumptions just because Sam and Dean had been ready and willing to accompany him on personal missions lately. Besides, Dean didn't like dealing with angels.

But the Winchesters had accepted the case as their own, which made a tiny balloon of warmth, born of unwavering support, blossom inside Castiel. Though he was perfectly capable of handling things on his own—as he'd so often done in the past—it was nice, not having to need to.

Draxton, Nebraska was only a couple of hours from Lebanon, and they arrived that same day, heading to the morgue first so Castiel could determine if the deaths were truly angel kills since only one had been burned. Castiel didn't bother pulling out his fake badge, leaving that to the Winchesters to handle with the coroner to gain admittance. They were better at it than he was, anyway.

The victims were all laid out on slabs, five in a row. Two women, including the one who'd been burned, and three men. Castiel frowned as he studied them.

"Definitely looks like it could be from an angel blade," Sam said as he leaned over to inspect one of the wounds more closely.

"I'm not smelling any sulfur, though," Dean put in. "Doesn't look like these guys were demons."

"One was," Castiel informed them, standing at the head of the one victim whose eyes were nothing more than burned out cavities.

"The first vic?" Sam clarified, moving closer to get a whiff himself.

"Yes," Castiel confirmed. It did not, however, give him any satisfaction, because it meant the other victims had been human. Castiel's jaw tightened; he hadn't wanted this to be a case of a rogue angel, a case of another brother Castiel would have no choice but to kill.

Sam's mouth was pressed into a thin line, while Dean didn't look all that surprised.

"Maybe these people made demon deals," the younger Winchester hypothesized. "Would- would the angel think that killing them would somehow break those deals so their souls could go to Heaven?"

Castiel could tell by the tenor of his voice that Sam didn't truly believe the theory he was positing, which meant it was more for Castiel's benefit. He appreciated the effort, at least.

"I don't know," he said, because he didn't. Killing the demon who struck the deals wouldn't nullify Hell's contract, but reaping the humans before they could enjoy whatever rewards they'd bargained away their souls for? Perhaps it was a loophole that could be exploited.

"Look, I'm not pro-sending people to Hell," Dean said. "But we can't exactly let this guy continue going around killing everyone who was stupid enough to sell their soul in the first place."

"Perhaps I can convince him or her to return to Heaven," Castiel responded. "They probably think they're doing good. If we can just talk to them…"

Dean snorted, which earned a pointed look from Sam. Castiel's mouth turned down. It was no more consideration than they had insisted on giving Lily Sunder when she'd been murdering angels.

Sam turned to Castiel. "So how do we find them?"

"I could try reaching out," he said. "A broad message sent over angel radio asking the angel in Draxton County to meet with me."

"And if they're not a fan?" Dean brought up.

"I won't be alone." And he wouldn't, not this time. Though he would appreciate it if the Winchesters could wait in the car when asked to…

The door opened and the coroner stuck his head in. "Sheriff called. There's been another stabbing."

Castiel's heart fell. They needed to catch up to this angel soon.

"We'll be right there," Dean said, then turned and lowered his voice to Castiel. "Hold off on the broadcast until we take a look. Maybe we can track this guy down the old fashioned way without having to paint a neon target on your back."

Castiel wanted to argue that was not what he would be doing…but announcing his location like that on a wide channel could potentially draw unwanted attention. With grim resignation, he followed Sam and Dean as they headed out to the Impala to drive to the latest crime scene.

This time there was a witness. Castiel only half-listened to the description of a blond woman in a dark turtleneck and raincoat who had stumbled out of the park's restrooms and into a man walking his bicycle. She'd instantly attacked him, "crazed," the witness said, before running off into the woods.

Castiel swept his gaze over the body, sprawled between the bathrooms and the dumpsters, a stab wound directly through the heart. The kill had been brutal and swift, just like the others. But there was no trace of sulfur, nothing to explain why an angel would have attacked this human. Castiel strained his senses further, trying desperately to glean some hint of what had happened.

He spotted a few drops of blood several feet away from the body, past the dumpsters and leading toward the woods where the witness said the attacker had fled. Frowning, Castiel wove between the crime scene investigators and went to squat down and examine it. There were traces of grace in the blood. So the angel was wounded? Surely not from a fight with this human, or the others, as they would have had no way to harm an angel down to its true form. Perhaps it was from the encounter with the first victim, which was a confirmed demon.

There was something else about the blood, though, something that made it seem darker and more coagulated than it should be. Castiel dipped his finger in it, and immediately sucked in a sharp breath as it burned. He hastily wiped it off on a broken-down cardboard box.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" someone shouted.

Castiel jerked his gaze over his shoulder to see the sheriff storming forward, Sam and Dean trailing behind.

"Did you just disturb the crime scene?" the sheriff demanded.

Castiel stood quickly. "Barbecue sauce," he said, and swept past the blustering man without further explanation. He'd seen enough.

He heard the hurried footsteps of Sam and Dean hastening to catch up as Castiel strode back to the Impala.

"What's going on, Cas?" Dean asked once they were away from the crime scene. "I'm betting it wasn't 'barbecue sauce' that had you looking ready to puke."

Castiel shook his head; his stomach was still churning from what he'd detected in the angel's blood. "This is worse than I feared," he said.

Dean's expression hardened guardedly. "Why?"

"Uh, guys," Sam said before Castiel could answer, nodding to something across the parking lot.

Castiel and Dean both turned, and Castiel stiffened at the sight of Arthur Ketch standing next to a black motorcycle and watching them.

"Great," Dean muttered. "What the hell is he doing here?"

Castiel had a sinking suspicion that it was for the same thing they were here for.

The Winchesters exchanged pinched looks, but nevertheless went over to meet the British Man of Letters. Castiel followed.

"Afternoon, lads," Ketch greeted. "It seems we've both stumbled onto the same case."

"Seems so," Sam replied stiffly.

Ketch eyed the three of them sapiently when none of them said anything more, gaze lingering on Castiel a moment longer than the Winchesters. "I assume you've deduced that an angel is behind it," he said. "Now, normally the Men of Letters don't get entangled with angelic affairs, as they know how to conduct their business discreetly. But this one is making a rather big—and public—mess."

"It's not that simple," Castiel interjected, bristling at the implied threat in Ketch's statement.

The British Man of Letters arched a dubious brow at him. "Are you defending the angel's actions of killing humans?"

"That's not what he said," Sam rejoined.

"And the angel isn't intentionally killing people," Castiel added.

Dean had been glaring sternly at Ketch, but his expression shifted to surprise and he turned to Castiel with raised brows. "Uh, you want to explain that?"

"The angel is wounded," Castiel said. "And I sensed hellhound venom in the blood it left behind at this crime scene."

"Barbecue sauce," Dean murmured. "Wait, hellhound venom? That's a thing?"

"Hellhound saliva," Castiel amended. "It's poisonous to angels. I suspect that when this one fought and killed the first victim, the demon, that a hellhound had been present and managed to bite them. This angel is injured, weakened. These other kills are just instinctive, a means of self-defense."

"Self-defense from harmless humans," Ketch put in snidely.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "They're likely suffering from delirium and don't know that the humans aren't a threat."

Sam let out an audible breath. "Okay, so we have to find this angel and somehow help. Is there a cure?"

"The venom isn't usually fatal," Castiel replied. "Unless the angel is bitten multiple times. It should work its way out of their system eventually."

"And in the meantime it will continue to kill anyone it deems a threat and risk exposure of the supernatural," Ketch said. "That can't be allowed, no matter the reasons behind it."

"Look," Dean snapped, "we're handling this. So why don't you go find something else to kill."

Ketch rolled his eyes. "Your approach is misguided at best. However, you have the lead here. And it would be foolish not to accept the aid of additional resources."

Dean eyed Ketch shrewdly. "You know where the angel is, don't you?"

Ketch's mouth twitched smugly. "Satellite images captured a figure running north through the woods. There's a farm up that way, really the only place one might conceal themselves."

Castiel turned to the Winchesters urgently. "Let's go."

"There's an old road that leads right up to it," Ketch called after them. "I'll lead the way."

Dean scowled as the British Man of Letters donned his helmet and climbed onto his motorcycle, but didn't say anything about it as they strode quickly back to the Impala.

"Cas, I know you want to help this angel," he said instead. "But what if he sees you as a threat?"

"I'm not just going to kill him." Castiel slid into the backseat, the Winchesters up front. "I have to do everything in my power to help them."

Dean turned the key in the ignition. "I get that, Cas, I do. But if it comes down to you or them?"

Castiel turned his head to look out the window as Dean steered the Impala out of the lot to follow Ketch's motorcycle. "I know what this angel is going through," he said quietly. "Being hurt, on the run…burning from something evil and contaminating burrowing through his blood."

"Rowena's spell," Sam said in understanding.

Castiel clenched his fists in his lap. "Yes." He turned back to meet Dean's gaze through the rearview mirror. "I- I have to help them."

Dean gave a measured nod. "Okay."

They followed Ketch down the back road for a few minutes before the British Man of Letters slowed to a stop in the middle of the road, forcing Dean to stop as well.

"Don't want to ruin the element of surprise," Ketch explained when they'd all gotten out. "Farm is half a kilometer up the road."

Dean and Sam checked their persons to ensure they were armed with angel blades. Castiel understood the need, but hoped it wouldn't come to that. He'd do everything in his power to make sure it wouldn't.

They made their way up the road until the farm's structures came into view. There were two barns and a smaller shed, all old and rickety. The place was still and quiet, undisturbed.

"I should go in alone," Castiel said.

"Um, how about no," Dean retorted.

Castiel gave him a long-suffering look. "Too many people will only make the angel feel threatened."

Dean's expression tightened with reluctance, but he finally shook his head in acceptance.

Castiel eyed the three structures, and then picked the barn closest to the tree line to check first. It was where he would have hid when he'd been under the attack dog curse, afraid of hurting anyone who might stumble upon him.

Castiel entered cautiously. The air inside the barn was musty, streaming sunlight highlighting the dust motes that hung like fog. Castiel inched forward slowly, wincing when his footsteps crinkled the hay scattered across the floor. A board creaked, and a blurred figure streaked out from a nearby stall. Silver glinted in a shard of light, and Castiel barely had time to whip his blade out and up and catch the one descending toward his chest. Celestial alloy met with a discordant clang and screech. Castiel shoved the attacker away and leaped back a step, holding his arms up and out to the sides in as non-threatening a gesture as possible while still keeping his weapon in hand.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he said, taking in the angel standing before him.

Or, half standing. With one hand bracing herself on a post, the other was white-knuckled around the hilt of her blade. Her blond hair was tied back in a plait, though wild strands were sticking up every which way. There was a sheen of sweat on her brow and her shoulders heaved with ragged breaths. Her eyes were wide and dilated.

Castiel's chest constricted. "Miriam," he breathed.

She snapped her gaze to him, frowning. "How do you know my name?" she wheezed.

"It's Castiel," he said.

Her eyes flashed with confusion, then fear. "Lucifer."

"No, I'm not Lucifer," he insisted, trying to ignore the pang of grief her reaction caused to spear through him. "Lucifer is back in the Cage. Surely you heard."

Her brow furrowed, and she darted her gaze around nervously. "His demons are everywhere," she whispered.

Castiel's heart ached for her. "There was one demon. You killed it. Do you remember? And there was a hellhound? You were bitten." He nodded to her leg, which he could see bore a set of teeth marks tinged with dried blood, and some fresh. She probably reopened the wound every time she fought or ran.

Miriam glanced down, grimacing at the sight.

Castiel risked taking a cautious step forward. "I want to help."

She jerked away from him, raising her blade, and Castiel retreated.

"Miriam, please, I don't mean you any harm."

She wavered, torn between rationale and fever-induced delirium. It didn't help that Castiel wasn't naturally trusted among his brethren. He tried to wait her out, tried to exude nothing but calm and sincerity while Miriam shifted on the verge of flight. He thought he might have been close, too, but then she snapped her gaze to the side as though something had caught her attention, though Castiel hadn't heard anything.

"You lie!" she hissed, and ran for the back door.

"Miriam, wait!" Castiel started after her, and his heart jolted with fear as she ducked right once outside—straight toward the Winchesters. Castiel caught up when she skidded to a stop, now facing three hunters on one side, and an angel she thought was the Devil on the other.

Dean hated waiting. Especially when stubborn best friends insisted on confronting psychotic angels on their own. But he did get where Cas was coming from. When Cas had been under the attack dog spell and beating the shit out of him, Dean hadn't fought back. He'd never fight back under those circumstances. Because it wasn't Cas trying to hurt him. And if Cas had killed that woman in the warehouse…it wouldn't have been his fault. So yeah, maybe Dean wasn't a fan of angels in general, but he could recognize a victim when he saw one.

He still hated waiting, though.

Ketch looked unperturbed, casually reaching into his pocket and slipping on a set of brass knuckles. There were runes etched into the metal that glowed briefly upon settling into place. Dean narrowed his eyes as he recognized them, remembering that they were capable of giving even an angel a beating.

Ketch caught him looking. "Enochian infused," he said, holding one hand up for inspection.

Sam's brows rose sharply. "Seriously?"

Ketch quirked his mouth. "As I told you before, the British Men of Letters have all the fun toys. This, for example." He pulled out a metal disc the size of a silver dollar with a single ring on the back.

"Nice bling," Dean snorted.

Sam squinted at it. "Is that an angel banishing sigil?"

Dean narrowed his eyes to get a better look. Sure enough, there were small grooves etched in the metal, like a mold.

"Indeed it is," Ketch replied. "Slitting one's palm and painting the wall is so barbaric. Slip this on, and a tiny pinprick draws the required blood to fill the sigil, and then it's simple to activate it." He imitated bringing his other palm up to slap the flat side of the device.

Which, okay, Dean had to admit was pretty handy. "Put that away," he growled instead. "It's no good if you risk banishing your angel allies too."

Ketch shrugged, and slipped the item back in his pocket.

There was a commotion coming from the barn, and Dean stiffened as someone came barreling around from the side. A woman just as the witness earlier had described skidded to a stop, wide-eyed and definitely looking crazed. Her parted lips were bloodless, pallor sickly grey and glistening with sweat. She gripped an angel blade in one hand.

Dean held his palms out. "Whoa, okay."

Cas came running after her. "Miriam, please!" he called. "We're not here to hurt you."

"Demons," the angel spat. "I won't let you take me."

Oh, this was so not heading anywhere good…

"No!" Cas shouted as she charged forward.

Dean dodged out of the way, drawing his angel blade. He knew Cas didn't want to kill her—and Dean was feeling a pang of sympathy, since she was obviously sick—but he wasn't going to stand by and let her skewer them. Still, Dean kept his distance, as did Sam, both of them trying to give the wounded angel a wide berth.

Ketch, on the other hand, surged forward to meet her head on. She swiped her blade at him, but he ducked under its arc and delivered a right hook to her jaw that sent her crashing to the ground. Dean hoped for her sake she stayed down.

"Miriam," Cas said, attempting to approach. She lashed out with her weapon, making him leap backward.

Then she was rolling to her feet, spittle flying from her mouth. Ketch swooped in to punch her in the kidneys while her back was turned to him. She let out a pained cry and went down onto her knees. Ketch swung again, but she twisted around and threw a palm up. He suddenly flew backward through the air, colliding with a tree and crumpling to the ground.

With an enraged shriek, she whirled back to Cas, brandishing her blade in a mad attempt to land any strike she could. Cas parried, but she was too fast, and he took a slice across his bicep as she bore down on him relentlessly.

Dean darted in with his blade and sliced it across her leg, trying just to wound and distract her so maybe Cas could get the upper hand. She threw her head back and screamed as grace burst from the wound. Dean staggered as some of her true voice screeched through like an ice pick through his ear drums. The distraction cost him, and the next thing he knew, his feet were being lifted off the ground by an invisible punch, and he was soaring through the air. The ground rushed up to meet him, striking with bone jarring force.

Dean rolled with the impact, grunting as he hit a tree trunk. He blinked rapidly to reorient himself, and saw Sam lunge, stabbing the angel high in the shoulder. She screamed again, this time without the accompanying jet engine. But she pivoted around, brandishing her blade. A flash of tan knocked Sam out of the way, and metal clanged together with a discordant screech. Cas lost his balance, though, and Dean watched in horror as Miriam slid her blade free and swung it around, right into Cas's side.

"Cas!" Dean shouted.

Miriam wrenched her weapon free, and Cas dropped. She staggered back, chest heaving with wheezes and obviously losing strength. Her eyes were wide and fever glazed, and full of horror, too far gone battling the phantoms of her hysteria. Her lips started moving, and a moment later Dean heard the deep rumble of Enochian spilling from her mouth.

Cas struggled to push himself up. "Miriam—no!" He sounded terrified, and Dean went rigid as static began tingling up the hairs on the back of his neck.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean spotted Ketch pulling out the banishing device and slipping the ring over his middle finger, settling the disc in the center of his palm.

"No!" Dean shouted at him.

Ketch tossed him a baleful glare. "It's us or them!"

With that, he pressed the disc, and crimson fluid started flowing up from a tiny hole in the center and coursing through the lines. Dean tried to stagger to his feet, to get over there and stop him. But the sigil filled quickly, and Ketch slammed his palms together. The world erupted in a blazing supernova that engulfed them all in a deluge of white-hot light.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and threw an arm up against it. The nova vanished in an instant, though it took his eyes a few seconds longer to blink the spots from his vision. When they did, Dean found himself staring at the empty place psycho angel had been standing only a moment before—and the spot where Cas had been as well.

Sam lurched to his feet, whirling on Ketch. "What did you do?" he demanded.

"What I had to," Ketch replied indifferently as he slipped the banishing device off. "It was attempting to cast a spell. One can only imagine how destructive that might have been had it been allowed to finish."

"You probably just killed her, you know that?" Dean snapped. "She was already hurt, and so was Cas! You might have just killed them both!"

Oh god, Cas had been… Dean's stomach almost revolted. He knew the risk of banishing an angel that was wounded.

Ketch's mouth turned down slightly. "Well, that would solve our problem, then, wouldn't it? Though I do regret possibly losing the other valuable asset."

The valuable… Dean swept forward and threw a sucker punch across Ketch's jaw, which sent him sprawling on the ground. The man blinked up at him dazedly, touching the back of his hand to his split lip.

Sam's shadow fell over him. "Stay down if you know what's good for you."

Ketch didn't say anything, and Dean pivoted sharply to start toward the Impala. They had to find Cas.

Dean broke into a run, his brother on his heels.

It wasn't until Dean was behind the wheel and peeling back onto the road that he realized he didn't know where to go. Cas could have been blasted anywhere. He may not have even been in the friggin' country anymore. As helpless despair settled in, Dean eased his foot off the gas, letting the Impala drift onto the shoulder. He looked at Sam, who was doggedly tapping away at his phone.

"The GPS on Cas's phone giving off a signal?" Dean asked.

Sam's shoulders were a coiled knot of tension. "No," he said after a moment. "Maybe- maybe his phone broke in the landing."

Dean's stomach tightened. He remembered the night the angels fell, while Sam had been half delirious from the Trials. He remembered balls of flame careening to earth, and the impact explosions from nearby. He imagined Cas falling like that.

"How about reports of meteor landings?"

Sam made a few more taps on his phone, mouth disappearing into a thin line. He slumped back in his seat. "He hasn't been gone that long," Sam said quietly.

Right, and even though they lived in a world of "instant news," it wasn't instant-instant.

Dean looked ahead toward the Interstate. One direction would take them back to the bunker. But if Cas had been blasted the opposite direction, it would take the Winchesters that much longer to get to him. All they knew for certain was Cas wasn't here, which made this the equidistant point from wherever he'd touch down, but at the same time, Dean just couldn't sit here and wait. Not when Cas could be hundreds of miles away, hurt and stranded…possibly dying.

"There was a motel half a mile back," Sam spoke up, guessing Dean's thoughts.

He nodded grimly, and pressed the gas again to make a u-turn. It wasn't giving up. It was just regrouping and coming up with a plan.

"We'll find him, Dean," Sam said quietly.

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Yes, they would.

Somehow.

But what if…what if Cas hadn't even crashed down on land? What if he'd fallen in the middle of the ocean, just like when Rowena had banished Lucifer? If he was too hurt to make his way back…

"What about Rowena?" Dean blurted. "Maybe she can do a location spell?" He realized he was suggesting the very thing he'd chewed Sam out for doing recently, but dammit, they didn't have a lot of options.

Sam didn't even hesitate before pulling up his contacts and tapping the call button. The other line rang over the speaker.

"Calling for another favor, Samuel?" the familiar Scottish lilt answered. "What mess has your brother gotten into now?"

"We need to know if you can do a location spell for an angel," Dean spoke up.

There was a moment's pause. "Ah, lost your wee pal Castiel, have you?"

"He got banished," Sam said snippily. "Now can you scry for him or not?"

"Oh, I'm sure I could scry for him," Rowena replied. "Shall we say…in exchange for that grimoire you recently acquired?"

"This is not a negotiation," Sam growled.

Rowena made a scoffing sound. "Of course it is, dear. I don't provide services out of the goodness of my heart."

"You're not getting the spell book," Dean snapped. "But we'll owe you another one, okay?"

Rowena hummed. "Fine. I'll conduct the scrying and get back to you." The line clicked as she hung up.

Dean gritted his teeth, and continued toward the motel. It'd probably be a waste to rent a room, only for Rowena to call back in a few minutes and say she'd found Cas. Except she didn't call back after five minutes. Or ten.

They sat in the motel parking lot for almost an hour as the sun started to sink toward the horizon and the battery on Sam's phone tapered down as he continued to scroll through recent news stories across the globe. The search results he was currently looking at suddenly disappeared as an incoming call flashed across the screen. He swiped the talk button frantically.

"And?" he demanded.

Rowena huffed, but instead of saying something snarky in return, there was a brief pause before she said, "I'm sorry, I wasn't able to find him."

Dean's heart lurched. "What do you mean you weren't able to find him?"

"I mean just that. The scrying came up with nothing. Perhaps because he's an angel, or perhaps…" she trailed off.

Dean shook his head. No, he wasn't going to say it. Cas wasn't dead.

"Try again," he snapped.

"I tried three times," Rowena replied. Her voice softened, "Look, I'm sure the feather duster is just fine and cloaked from witches."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look.

"Yeah, sure," Sam said hollowly. "Thanks for trying."

He disconnected, and they sat in silence as dusk descended around them. It'd be cold tonight. In Nebraska, at least. Other places, too, of course, but in others it'd be warmer. Cas wasn't necessarily out somewhere, exposed to the elements.

But what if he was?

Dean felt the weight of crushing defeat bearing down on his shoulders. With no other options at the moment, he and Sam wordlessly got out of the car and went to get that motel room. Because until they knew where to go, they were stuck. Waiting.

A/N: Part II will go up next Wednesday. So, uh, sorry for the waiting! *cough*