Sometimes late at night Dean remembered his first real patrol. Oh, he'd backed up his dad plenty of nights before then, he'd been doing that in one way or another since before he could read, but that was the first night with a mask, a costume matching his father's, the whole thing. He'd even campaigned for a cape but the Hunter had never really been that kind of super.

Dean had just turned thirteen. John Winchester had sat him on a rooftop and pointed him at a nearby alley, crossing his arms as he told Dean to point out every clue he could find, mundane and demon sign both. Passing one of his father's exacting tests had been the highlight of his young life. Just then Dean couldn't imagine a future where he wasn't patrolling the streets of Lawrence City right next to his father, keeping the streets safe night after night. Maybe even taking over the name someday, the way he knew sons and sidekicks had done in other cities. Continue the family business.

Was Dean ever glad his old man wasn't alive to see him now.

Dean pressed one hand against the brick wall, right against the fault line only his eyes could see. "Are you sure?" he heard from behind, the words sliding through the air like an oil slick.

Dean gritted his teeth for a moment until the wave of irritation passed. He didn't know why Alastair even bothered to ask that after all this time. He was always sure.

He took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes as he pictured the fault line in his mind. He hissed the air out between his teeth as he imagined that fault expanding. Dean didn't know where the power came from. He barely knew how to touch it; every time he tried this he hoped this would be the time it sputtered out like a bad engine, this was the time he would open his eyes to find himself just as ordinary and useless as any other human.

He felt something kindle in his chest, sending blue and red sparks in front of his eyes. Like someone trapped in a nightmare Dean opened his eyes and watched a hazy line appear in the brick wall just where his forsaken sixth sense had told him it would. The wind picked up, pulling at his jacket and tearing at his hair; he set his jaw and braced himself, tapping the fire building in his chest until the line widened into a yawning chasm.

Dean lurched forward one step before Alastair's vice grip wrapped around his arm. "Very good," Dean heard, the slithery voice barely audible over the howling coming from the open portal. "Keep it open a few more seconds."

This was when it always started to hurt. He heard Alastair chanting behind him, then there was a bright flash of light and an overwhelming rush of energy. Tendrils of hellfire reached from the edges of the portal and wrapped around his arm; Dean bit his lip to keep from screaming, tasting blood before Alastair tapped his shoulder. "Good boy. Shut it now."

Dean shut the portal with a thought and sank down to his knees, watching the hellfire settle into this veins like black poison. "You've gotten much better at that," Alastair said, as if that was any kind of compliment. "The first time we did this you were out cold for two days."

"You ever gonna tell me what we're doing this for?"

"Do you really want to know?"

Dean didn't. Dean didn't want to know anything about it. He'd managed to get the promise that no people were dying because of what they were doing and he didn't even know whether to trust that. "How long until we have to do this again?"

"Oh, you know how it is," Alastair said, his eyes still milky white the way they always were after a ritual. "It's not an exact science." He blinked, his eyes going now so normal that if anyone hadn't known what he was they would never have guessed. "This year has just flown by, hasn't it?"

As far as Dean was concerned the next two months couldn't go by fast enough. "Show me Sam."

Alastair made a little tsk-tsk sound. "You always get in the mood after an outing. He's in suspended animation, it can't possibly be this fascinating."

"Show me anyway."

Alastair shook his head, snapping his fingers to show a shimmering image of Sam curled up on the floor of what looked like a cave, like the ones outside of town where they used to lay low when Commissioner Hendrickson would get on one of his anti-vigilante kicks. Dean knew Sam was nowhere near Lawrence though; the only way to get to him was through a portal like the one he'd just closed and he'd better open it damn close or Dean knew he'd burn like a roman candle before reaching him.

Dean nodded and Alastair closed the window. "Satisfied now?"

Dean nodded again and Alastair patted his shoulder with the kind of fond, parental approval Dean once would have killed himself to get from his father. "I have to go, no rest for the wicked," he said, smiling hat his own terrible joke. "Unless you'd like to come with me?"

Dean waved him off. "Go, I'm fine."

Alastair smiled like a self-satisfied snake. "Now stay out of trouble. We don't want to have to spirit you away from the police a second time."

Dean shook his head, sick guilt washing over him. He'd give anything to have to worry about Hendrickson breathing down his neck again. "You know I will."

Alastair patted his shoulder again and disappeared in the time it took Dean to blink. Dean crumpled down against the brick of the alleyway, trying to breathe through the stench of sulfur hanging in the air. "Two months, Sammy," he whispered, hugging his knees to his chest. "Two more months and we get you back."

He'd pushed up his sleeves to open the portal and there was a red ring of inflamed skin where Alastair had grabbed him, like a mild sunburn. A demon's touch burned humans, third degree burns if the touch was glancing all the way up to catching fire if the demon held on tight.

Dean's burn didn't even hurt. He closed his hand into a fist and then splayed his fingers, watching as hellfire circled his hand like he'd been born with it.

Amazing how much could change in just five years.

888

Castiel crouched on the ledge of the building and watched his target move far below. He hadn't been prepared for how drastically his vision would be affected by taking a body; the day before he had been able to see the twisting colors of a nebula from star systems away, and now he was having trouble discerning detail from several dozen feet up. "Are you sure?" he heard Uriel say, standing over him and sounding bored by the whole endeavor.

Or at least Castiel thought it sounded like boredom. He wasn't very practiced at tone of voice yet, either. "Of course I am," he said, wondering why Uriel had even asked. "I know my assignment." He looked up. "Or were you joking?"

"No," Uriel sighed, crouching beside him. "Although I'm starting to feel like this mission might be one." Castiel rolled his shoulders, barely realizing he'd done it, and Uriel clapped him on the back in a way he knew was a show of camaraderie. "It does take a while to adjust, doesn't it."

Castiel flexed his hand, his mind still not quite convinced it was his now. "I wish they'd given me a day to acclimate. At least."

"It took us long enough to find the source of all this, no one wants to waste more time." Uriel nodded down to the small form below. "So, what do you think of him?"

Castiel felt his lips purse, a far away part of his mind noting what an interesting reflex that was. "I think Dean Winchester is very dangerous."

Uriel smiled, the expression seeming both grim and approving. "I don't think there's a soul in the universe who would disagree with you, brother."

Castiel wished part of his orders had been to stop the portal. He could feel how much weaker the walls between this dimension and the one the demons called Hell were now, a wrongness that crept up his borrowed spine. He just wished he knew why the demons were doing this. If this was all preparation for an invasion he hoped that more than just one garrison would have been sent.

"At least it's a simple assignment," Uriel said, breaking into his thoughts. "End him and we can all go home."

"Stop him," Castiel said softly. "My orders are to stop him, you know that."

He may only have been in a human body for less than a day but he could interpret Uriel rolling his eyes very easily. "You always have to make everything complicated."

"And you always think brute force is the answer."

"Give me one example when it wasn't the answer."

"Not always the best answer, then." Uriel...smirked, Castiel thought was the word. This was an old argument and he felt this strange world get a little more stable under his feet at indulging in it again.

"Someone who sells themselves to the demons can't be redeemed, Castiel."

Dean was moving. Castiel saw him pick himself up from the ground, looking around furtively with his hands in his pockets as he left the alley. Castiel stood, tracking Dean's movements as he left the alley. "I intend to find out whether that's true."

888

At first Castiel thought this wasn't going to be a very enlightening vigil. Dean had entered a...motel, was the word written on the sign and stayed there for hours, long past midday. The sun had begun to set and Castiel had begun to wonder if this was a waste of time when Dean emerged again, his hood up over a black cowl covering the top half of his face. Castiel crossed his arms over his knees, leaning forward on his perch. The mask looked very much like the one Castiel knew his father had once worn. What are you doing, Dean?

Dean climbed some scaffolding attached to the side of the building until he made it to the roof; Castiel retreated back into shadow but Dean didn't spot him. Not that he'd been looking, which struck Castiel as a bit careless; instead Dean was making a scan of the street below, looking from each side of the building before making a running leap onto a roof a few feet away. Castiel made sure to follow, the task admittedly made easier by being able to fly across the distances instead of scrambling for them the way Dean did. Castiel suspected that Dean would call what he was doing teleporting but being able to stretch his wings was a relief, even as insubstantial as they were in this form.

This went on for the better part of an hour. Castiel realized Dean was moving in a grid across the city, stopping at good vantage points, listening for a few minutes, then moving on. It was clearly something he'd done many times before.

Castiel just couldn't fathom why.

They both heard the shrill cry in the same instant. Castiel wasn't sure what it meant but he saw Dean stiffen, his head turning toward the sound; when it came again, this time wordless and panicked, Dean was off like a shot. Castiel caught up with him just in time to see Dean drop himself down from a window ledge to a filthy alleyway, landing just behind a man standing over a cowering woman and holding an enormous handgun. The man pulled his hand back to strike the woman and Castiel saw Dean's hands clench into fists. "Hey! Scumbag!" Dean said, catching the man off guard.

The man spun around, pointing the gun at Dean. From his perch above Castiel could see the muzzle of the gun shaking; the man wore a cloth mask to obscure his face but Castiel's eyes were still keen enough to see his pupils were pinpoints. Castiel readied himself; he wasn't sure if he could beat the bullet if the man fired now but he certainly intended to try. "The fuck are you supposed to be?" the man said, spitting at Dean.

"Who do I look like?" Dean said, flicking his hood back off his head. Castiel was astonished to see that he was smiling.

The man paused for a moment, then his lips curled into a sneer. "You're dressed like the Hunter but you ain't him. Sonofabitch is dead. Demons ate his heart right outta his chest."

Dean's expression grew very cold. Until now his hands had been in his pockets; Castiel saw Dean raise his right hand and snap his fingers open. Black and red hellfire danced around his open palm and then Dean smiled. "If that's true you should be a little more scared of me."

Castiel could see the man was in fact very scared now. He backed up against the alley wall as Dean extended his arm; before Castiel could even blink a column of hellfire shot out of his palm, reaching out like something living. At first Castiel thought it was going to envelope the criminal and braced to act; the man may be a scumbag as Dean called him but nothing in creation deserved that kind of death. Then to Castiel's astonishment the fire impacted the wall to the right of the man's head, missing him by inches. Castiel didn't even think he was singed.

Dean took advantage of the moment grab the man by his collar. "There's a police station a block away," Dean said, his voice a low growl. "You turn yourself in or the next time I don't miss." Dean let him go and the man took off running. Dean watched him go but didn't follow. Castiel wondered if he was actually going to do what Dean had said.

Dean shook his head, turning his attention to the woman. "Miss? You okay?"

She sprang up and wrapped her arms around Dean's neck, the surprise enough to stagger him back a few steps. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" she said; Dean just nodded, his hands out at his sides and what Castiel could only call acute terror in his eyes.

"Okay, um. You can...you can let go." Dean said, not moving like he'd been frozen in place. The woman did let go but instead of stepping away leaned in for a kiss.

Dean backpedaled so quickly he almost fell. "Don't!" When the woman paused, confusion obvious on her face, Dean shoved both hands into his pockets and backed away another step. "I can't. I...I'll get kicked out of the...um, superhero union. Class A offense."

The woman smiled, although if that was a joke Castiel had to confess he didn't get it. She took a pen and slip of paper out of her bag and wrote something on it. "Well, take this. For if you're ever out of the 'superhero union.'" Dean did take it, albeit very gingerly. "Thank you. Again."

The woman left the alley then; as soon as she was out of sight Dean slumped against the wall and tossed the paper to the ground, letting Castiel see the writing had been some kind of number. He balled his hands into fists and took several deep, slow breaths; Castiel hadn't noticed before but there were still sparks of hellfire circling his fingers, creating a faint sulfur tinge to the air Castiel could taste. After a few minutes the effect subsided and Dean straightened up, pulling his hood back up and making his way back up to the roof to continue the night.

Castiel decided to follow.

888

The only other excitement that night came hours later, and Castiel could tell right away it was of a very different kind. For one thing, this time the source of the excitement went out of their way to find Dean before he could find them.

And to be even more perplexing, they were wearing the most peculiar costumes. For what felt like the thousandth time that night Castiel wished his superiors gave more in depth briefings before sending soldiers out into the field.

There were four of them, all dressed in green suits with purple trim and narrow masks covering their eyes. From what Castiel could see Dean wasn't impressed with either their numbers or their fashion sense. "Oh dammit, not you guys again."

"Boss said he wanted you out of town," one of them said. Castiel supposed he was supposed to be the ringleader. They paced around Dean in a loose circle. "He asked real nice and everything."

"Trickster's got something to say to me, he can come himself. I told you guys already I don't speak goon."

"Lawrence is Trickster territory. No one operates in his town without his permission."

That made Dean's lip curl into a snarl. "I was born in this city. Someone wants to kick me out of it, they'd better come bringing a hell of a fight." With that he summoned the hellfire, making it surround his closed fists. "So what's it gonna be?"

That seemed to give two of them some pause. The other two attacked Dean in a rush; in response the hellfire circled around them, forcing them to pull to a short stop but not actually touching them. Dean tumbled backward to the lip of the alley, gesturing to create a sheet of flame that shielded him from his strange attackers. From his vantage point Castiel saw Dean tug on a pair of black gloves, then he gestured again and the flame surrounded him in a thin circle. "Well, c'mon then," he said, with the second genuine smile Castiel had seen on his face all night. "Bring it."

And they did, if "bring it" in fact meant "charge to attack and then get punched in the face." Dean's technique was unsophisticated but extremely effective; using the swirling fire to keep the...goons, Dean had called them, off-balance he then attacked with quick jabs, making sure to maneuver them so only one or two could directly attack at any one time. Castiel could always appreciate a demonstration of tactics and this was turning out to be a very good one.

It was all too much for two of the goons, who took off running at the first opportunity. When they ran out Dean smirked at the remaining pair, hands up in a beckoning gesture. "Two down."

That had been overconfident. The one in front of Dean punched him square in the mouth, splitting his lip; Dean staggered backward and his partner slipped past, locking Dean's arms behind his back. The first goon punched Dean again, snapping his head back from the impact. "Not so mouthy now, are ya?"

"Trust me, you guys do not want to keep pissing me off."

"Yeah kid, 'cause you're in any position to make threats." He punched Dean in the stomach hard enough to double him over. "Man, look what you did!" he said, showing off the torn and bloody knuckles of his glove. "You made me rip my new gloves, you little punk."

Dean's eyes went wide as he watched the goon pull the gloves off his hands. "Don't do that."

"Shaddup." The man backhanded Dean across the face and let out a bloodcurdling scream. He fell back holding his hand; even from a distance Castiel could see the whole hand was red and blistered where he'd touched Dean. "What did you do?"

"I warned you." Dean almost sounded like he was about to start crying.

The man looked up at Dean, all of his former arrogance replaced by horror. "What are you?"

Dean broke the grip of the man holding him, kicking hard at the goon's shin as he rolled away. The man didn't bother pursuing him, instead going over to assist his partner. Dean summoned his fire again, making it wreath around him. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me what you think I am?" He walked over to the injured man, looming over him. "C'mon. Hit me again. Free shot." When neither moved Dean shot the flames near their heads, just as he'd done with the mugger earlier. "Get out."

The two scrambled to their feet, backing away from Dean toward the open street. The uninjured one was slower and Dean grabbed him by his costume lapels. "You tell your boss I'm not going anywhere. And you tell him what I am." He let the man go and watched them escape.

As soon as the two were out of sight the cold rage faded. With a gesture the fire was gone and Dean crumpled against the alley wall, his head in his hands. After a few moments of silence Dean got to his feet in an explosive burst, hurling one of the nearby metal garbage cans against the wall as he stalked away.

888

It was almost dawn by the time Dean felt like he had himself back under control. He had to be better than that; if his father had seen two completely pathetic goons get the better of him like that he probably would have joined in on kicking Dean's ass. He'd gotten too used to relying on the hellfire to scare people; that was all well and good but an equally big part of patrolling was knowing when you keep your mouth shut and just punch.

Dean tried to put the night aside as he ducked into an alley to cut across town back to the hotel. His lip hurt and he'd pulled something in his shoulder; all he wanted to do was get back to his bed, cover himself in ice packs and sleep for the next twelve hours. He hoped he wouldn't get called for a week or so, at least until his face wasn't a swollen mess. Last thing he wanted was having to explain that to Alastair.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean stopped in his tracks. That wasn't Alastair's voice.

That wasn't Alastair's voice and no one else should know his name.

Dean turned around slowly; the only other person in the alley was a normal looking guy, dark haired and a little shorter than Dean. The voice he'd heard had been a deep rasp and it didn't look like it could come from this guy. "Who are you?"

"Explain your activities tonight."

"What's it to you?"

The man raised his chin, staring Dean down. "Explain."

Dean took a closer look, trying to figure out this guy's deal. He wasn't dressed like a henchman, just in a jeans and hoodie and a...

A small cut crystal vial on a chain that glowed with light.

Oh. Oh, God.

The man...no, Dean corrected himself, the thing narrowed his eyes at Dean. "You know what I am."

Dean nodded. His mouth was too dry to speak for a few seconds. "Yeah. Yeah, you're an angel."

As if to confirm Dean's suspicions the thing's eyes glowed with white light. Energy crackled around him, arcing over his shoulders and casting the shadows of enormous wings across the ground. "My name is Castiel," he said, the power in that voice holding Dean down to the ground like a pair of stakes. "Answer me."

"I..." Dean had no idea what this thing wanted him to say. "I patrol every night. Every night I can."

The light show faded but the impression of power was still there in the blue eyes examining him. "Why?"

"I've been doing that since I was a kid."

"So it's merely habit, then."

"No," Dean said, shaking his head. "That's not what I meant."

Castiel walked up to within an arm's length of him. "You willingly serve the demons. You use your power to weaken the boundaries between your world and theirs to the extent that you're infected by hellfire."

"That's why I do it!" Castiel seemed surprised by that outburst. Even Dean wasn't sure where that had come from. "Look, my dad didn't have any powers but he still went out on patrol every night because he knew what was out there. Because someone had to. If I've got a power I gotta do at least that much." Dean shook his head. "People don't know it's hellfire. Fire control's not that weird a power and I make sure I don't burn anyone."

Castiel seemed to take a moment to consider that. "You could have killed those men tonight. Why didn't you?"

"I don't kill people. That's not how this is supposed to go." Dean swallowed hard. "You're an angel. You guys, you kill demons, right?"

Castiel nodded once. "Yes."

"And you've been sent here to kill me. Right?"

"Yes."

Well, then. Dean felt like they stood there staring at each other for a thousand years. "So...are you gonna kill me or not?"

Castiel tilted his head to the side, studying Dean like he could flay Dean right down to his soul. "Not yet."

Dean heard a strange sound, like the wingbeat of an enormous bird. When he blinked his eyes Castiel was gone.