It was dark when Dean pulled up to his house. He got out of the car, a little surprised to see a dull light barely shining out through the curtains. Frowning, he just stared at the window for a moment, unsure if he really wanted to deal with an angel who was probably sulking inside.

Then he remembered how upset Castiel was, how much it had bothered him, and Dean didn't want his angel to feel that way. Ever.

Opening the door, he saw that the light was coming from the dining room.

"Hey," he said, shutting the door behind him. He walked through the hallway, stopping by the table. "What happened?"

Castiel didn't say anything, his eyes drilling holes into the wood.

After a moment Dean decided to sit down across from him. Castiel finally looked up.

"I'm turning human," he said.

"Turning human?" Dean repeated. He furrowed his eyebrows. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know. I'm becoming more human the longer I stay here. I don't understand how this could happen."

"Are you sure this is what's going on? Maybe God's just, I don't know, giving you a run for your money."

Castiel squinted. "Dean, I am very sure that my father isn't giving me human senses just for kicks."

"Maybe it's a prank from one of your angel buddies."

Looking back down, Castiel shook his head. "That's not how it works." Then, quite suddenly, he disappeared from the room.

Dean blinked a few times, making sure his eyes weren't just playing tricks on him. "Cas?" he asked, hesitantly. There was no response.

He sat there, waiting for the reality of what had happened to settle in. He let his fist fall against the surface of the table, shaking his head. "Damn it," he muttered. He looked around the room again, just to make sure that the angel didn't just move to the living room to mope. He still hadn't appeared.

Dean got to his feet, heading for the kitchen to grab a beer. "How often do I have to tell you it isn't socially acceptable to just fly off in the middle of a conversation?" he asked the air. He popped the cap off and paused just short of drinking it. "Cas, come back down when you're less freaked out about all this." He took a swig.

⛥⛥⛥⛥⛥

It took about a week for Dean to become concerned. The days before, he figured that the angel was off somewhere taking a break from the stress of his job. It was just weird not having anyone around after having him there for so long.

But that day, when he got home from work and there was still no sign of Castiel, something clicked in his head. Something wasn't quite right.

He missed him.

"Cas?" Dean warily asked. He waited a minute, standing alone at the foot of the stairs. "Cas, you gotta give me something here. A sign or whatever cliché angel crap you guys like to pull. Come on, man, just let me know you're not..." He swallowed. "Just let me know you're good."

He stayed there, looking around to see if his angel would show up and actually explain something to him. Nothing happened. Dean frowned, thoughts forming in the back of his head about what Castiel could possibly be doing. Was he really just calming himself down? Time for angels probably went by a hell of a lot faster than time for humans. Dean's lifespan was a blink of an eye to someone like Castiel, someone who's been around for eons.

But what really bothered him was the possibility of this being more than the angel needing space. What if Castiel wasn't just calming himself down? What if he was in trouble?

Dean tried his damn hardest to push those thoughts to the back of his head. Castiel was fine, he could take care of himself. Dean was the one who needed to relax. He climbed the stairs, changed out of his work clothes, and tried to just live his life like he used to.

He caved in just a few hours later.

Awake, worried, and a little panicked by this point, Dean reached for his phone from the nightstand. The only thing on his mind was his angel when he dialed Sam's number. Only after Sam answered had he realized his mistake.

"Dean?" Sam picked up on the fifth ring. He sounded tired. "You know time zones exist, right? It's midnight here."

"Right," Dean said. "Sorry, yeah, right. Didn't mean to wake ya, Sammy." He hung up and set his phone next to the alarm clock.

Seconds later it started ringing. Dean waited it out. It kept ringing. Sam called him twice. Then three times. Dean picked up the fifth time.

"Go to bed, Sam."

"Dean, what happened?" He sounded much more alert now.

"Nothing."

"Dean."

"I don't want to talk about it, Sammy. Just drop it. Everything's fine."

"Look," he said, "you need to talk things out. Especially if you're breaking down and calling someone for help."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I didn't break down," he insisted. "I'm the most stable I've ever been."

"Dean, you haven't been emotionally stable since the day you were born."

"Shut up, bitch."

"Jerk. Just tell me what happened."

Dean took in a deep breath.. "It's been days since Cas disappeared and I don't know if he's okay or not and he didn't tell me why he left, and I know I should've gone to Bobby about all this but he's already told me everything he knows which is how to kill him but I don't want to kill Cas, Sam, I just want to know he's doing okay."

There was a pause from the other line. "Hey, calm down. You haven't sounded this freaked out since I broke my arm and you had to take me to the hospital on your handle bars."

That was a reality that hit Dean right in the face. This really was the first time he'd panicked about something so much since then. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Okay," Dean said. "You're right."

"So, tell me exactly what happened," Sam said, his voice a lot more calming than Dean expected. "Starting with who Cas is."

"Castiel," Dean corrected. "His name's actually Castiel." It felt weird to say his full name like that. "He's... an angel."

"An angel?"

"Yeah. An angel." Dean closed his eyes. "He came down from heaven to grant me some stupid wish that I made a long time ago."

"You..." Sam paused, sounding more confused by the fact that Dean had done something like that than by the fact that angels actually existed. Dean wasn't sure how he felt about that, either. "You made a wish?"

"I was sixteen!" Dean opened his eyes, glaring at the wall. "It was stupid and it doesn't need to be fulfilled anymore. The point is that him and I were talking and he pulled a Houdini on me, right in the middle of our conversation. It's been a week since I've seen him."

"Wait, I have a couple of questions."

Dean paused. "Cas could be in danger," he said, "and you want to play Trivia?"

"Fine. Are you sure he didn't just need to take care of... whatever angels need to take care of?"

"Yes, I'm sure! He would've just told me something was up – you don't leave a guy hanging like that."

"How long have you two – um – been associated?"

"I don't know, maybe a month? Why?"

"Well, has he ever disappeared like that before?"

Dean was reluctant to respond. "Once..." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "But that was a different situation."

"A different situation?" Sam repeated.

"Yes, Sam, a different situation."

"What do you mean by a different situation?"

"I mean a situation that's different from this one." Dean rubbed his eyes. "Just find a way to get him back."

Sam's sigh came out loud and clear. "Yeah. I'll call you back when I find something."

"As fast as you can."

"I'm sure he's fine. He's an angel."

Dean hung up. He sat there, in his bed, not doing much of anything for about three hours. Seven days of being without Castiel was turning into eight days as the clock ticked. Thoughts kept circulating. Hypothetical situations of what could have happened to his angel kept nagging at him. He had a few beers, waiting for his brother to call back with something. Anything that might be able to help him. Maybe he just wasn't talking to him properly? Was there a specific intro that he'd need to use? Was he supposed to start off by saying 'Angel of God, my Guardian...' or something else equally stupid? He finished his third beer and decided to try one more time right there in the dining room where he'd last seen his angel.

Dean stared at the table, then closed his eyes. "Castiel," he began. He stopped himself, completely forgetting what he'd had in mind to actually say. He licked his lips. "I'm worried here, okay? It's weird without you." He raised his head, opening one eye to see if he came back. No one was there. Dean opened both of his eyes. "Come on, man, I'm praying here."

No response.

When Sam finally called him back, it was a half past two in the morning. Dean fumbled with the phone, nearly pressing the 'Decline' button in the process. He willed himself to calm down and remember how to answer a damn call.

"What'd you find?" he asked.

"You're going to want to write this down," Sam said.

Dean scrambled to his feet, searching his house for a pen or pencil and something to write on. It took him longer than it should have to actually find these items. When he did, he went back to the table and uncapped the pen with his teeth.

"I'm ready," he said over the cap.

⛥⛥⛥⛥⛥

The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon by the time he got everything in place. With the sigil painted on the concrete, the candles, and the dish full of herbs, it looked like a cult had raided his backyard. Dean could only hope his neighbors weren't early risers who liked to stare out their windows in the mornings, because he doubted they'd be okay with what was happening.

With a deep breath, Dean swiped a match across the striker. He had to do it twice before the tiny piece of wood burst into flames. He tossed it into the bowl, slipping the rest of the matches into his pocket. Then he started chanting in what he hoped was proper Enochian. He was determined to get the incantation right. Castiel was going to appear and tell him what the hell happened.

He didn't get that far.

In the middle of his chant, a loud growl erupted from behind his gate. He hadn't heard it at first, but as it grew steadily louder and more fierce he had to stop his chanting halfway through. Whatever was on the other side of his gate didn't sound too happy.

Anticipating the worst, Dean reached for his back pocket. He took his Demon-Killing knife out, pointing it to where the noise was coming from. Leaves crunched from a direction he hadn't expected, and he turned to that side of the fence.

Suddenly a giant animal leaped over the top of the gate, nearly landing in the fire. It yelped, stepping away from the flames and giving Dean just enough time for his brain to catch up with what was happening. It growled again, charging at Dean claws first. The nail grazed his arm, destroying the sleeve of his shirt and tearing his skin. Dean side stepped to get at a better angle to push the knife into its wing. The creature recoiled into itself with another yelp.

Not wasting any time, Dean lunged forward, managing to tackle it to the ground. He slashed at it, trying to get the one thing he figured could actually damage it in any way; it's wings. However, getting to its back was a little more difficult than it might sound. Every time Dean would try to roll it over or somehow cut at its back, the creature would dodge it with ease. Dean went to stab the knife into the wing just above its shoulder, the creature would stick its claw into his arm. Dean tried to wrestle it onto its back, it would use its wings to boost them both up and fling him off.

Eventually, after a long struggle, Dean managed to jab its left eye. The creature howled, stumbling backward. It raised both hands to cover its face. He used the opportunity to try and run up and grab its wing, but the creature anticipated this. It grabbed Dean by the wrist just as he approached and flung him through the screen door. He dropped his knife mid-flight.

His back hit the floor with a hollow thud. He gasped for air but couldn't breathe. He tried to get to his feet, only to lose his balance and fall back down. The creature lowered itself to all fours and dashed at him. It aimed to jump on him. He rolled out of the way.

He got up, fumbling with the box of matches in his pocket. The creature ripped its claws out from where it had dug into the floors. Dean tried desperately to light the match. He cursed under his breath when he lost his chance.

The box of matches fell to the floor, Dean following soon after. The creature was on top of him now, trying to scratch his eyes out. He held onto its wrists, keeping them as far away as he could manage.

The claws got dangerously close to his face. It ripped its arms out from his grasp, bit his right hand off, and attacked. Dean screamed in pain until he couldn't scream anymore. Until he was just a bloody mess on the floor, half-conscious and hanging by a thread.

The pain became too much. Both his mind and body completely shut down.

To think a little girl's imaginary friend, out of all of the possibilities, had been what got Dean killed.