Dean's ears are still ringing when they climb into Bobby's car.

"How you doin', kid?"

Tones are difficult. High ones, low ones...all of them. Bobby's voice is just barely a mumble. Dean wipes at his cheek with a grimace. "Aside from the church bells ringin' in my head, peachy." He reaches into his back pocket for his phone.

"Where's your brother?" Bobby asks.

"That's what we're about to find out," Dean mumbles, pressing a few keys, then puts the call on speaker. He can't bear having something so close to his ear right now.

Sam picks up after a few rings. "Hey."

"What're you doing?" Dean's voice is low, demanding, full not only of the authority that comes with being an older sibling, but the authority of someone who was charged with raising someone else.

A father figure.

Tears instantly well in Katherine's eyes, and she looks up to the top of the car. Russell lifts his head up.

What's wrong? He asks. Wordlessly, she shakes her heads and uses her sleeve to soak up the tears that haven't fallen yet.

I'll tell you later.

"Couldn't sleep," Sam quickly replies. "Getting a burger."

"In my car?"

"Force of habit, sorry." He says, not sorry at all. Dean rolls his eyes. "What are you doing up?"

"Uhhhh Bobby's back. Me and him and KD and her dog are goin' to grab a beer."

Sam chuckles a little. "She gives her dog beer, too?"

"Horses can have beer, why not dogs?"

"Because dogs—"

"It was rhetorical."

"All right...spill some for me."

Dean's mouth pulls into a 'thought so' frown. "Done. Catch ya later." He snaps his phone shut.

Katherine looks to Russell. "I'm afraid you will not be having a beer."

I could really use one.

"Why the hell didn't you tell him?" Bobby asks.

"Because he's a lyin' mother fucker," Dean says. "And he'd just try to stop us."

"From what?"

"Summoning this thing," Katherine says.

Bobby frowns at her in the rearview mirror. "You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack," Dean says.

Katherine leans forward with a flat mouth. "As someone who's already had one of those, we'd best not invoke it, yeah?" She looks to Bobby. "I thought you knew what my eyeballs were saying back there. Sorry."

"It's time we face this thing," Dean says.

"High noon, baby," Katherine agrees, tapping her fingers on the top of the seat.

"Couple hours ago, you didn't think a damn séance was a good idea," Bobby pointedly reminds her.

"Yeah, well, this thing blew Dean's room up." She shrugs.

"Yeah—this thing," Bobby echoes. "We don't know what it is! It could be a demon, it could be anything!"

"Probably not a demon," Katherine says. "It wouldn't give up its name like that. You know that." Bobby sighs. "But you know what's, like...demon-adjacent? Kind of."

Dean turns to look at her. "You're not serious."

Katherine shrugs. "Patrick said it."

"Who the hell is Patrick?"

"Russell's brother," Dean says.

"Ah." Bobby frowns. "Where's that kid anyway? Last I saw him—"

"Out of town," Katherine interrupts.

Dean reaches into his back pocket and holds up a familiar serrated blade with a grin. "We got the big-time magic knife. You've got an arsenal in the trunk. I'd say we're ready for anything." He looks to Katherine. "Except you. Can you even shoot a gun anymore?"

Katherine gives him a dry look. "We can find out."

Bobby lets out a heavy sigh. "This is a very bad idea."

"Those always kind of work out for us, in some sense," Katherine hums, leaning against her seat.

Russell's eyes flit between the three. What an interesting family dynamic, he muses. Katherine smiles a little. Look—we're about to confront something we only know the name of, and you're smiling. The hell is wrong with you guys?

Wordlessly, she pats his head.

"What other choice do we have?" Dean finally asks.

"We could chose life," Bobby quips.

"Look, whatever this thing is, whatever it wants—it's after me. I got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down again, or we can make our stand."

"We could use Sam for this," Bobby mutters.

Dean waves a hand in the air. "He's better off wherever he is."

Bobby's find is a hopefully-abandoned long shed just off the main road. The paint is peeling on the outside, cobwebs are everywhere on the inside, old straw litters the ground. Katherine was given one of the sawed-offs and told to practice aiming.

"This fuckin' sucks," she muttered two minutes in.

So she read whatever books Bobby was done with and played I-Spy with all the sigils he spray-painted.

On the walls, on the floor...he couldn't get to the ceiling, but she's sure there were more he would've put up. Traps and talismans from every faith known to society.

Dean rubs his head, inventorying their mini arsenal again. Wood stakes, Iron stakes, salt, magic demon knife.

"I still think this is a bad idea," Bobby says.

"Eh, well, none of us said it was a good one," Katherine hums, snapping the dusty book shut, and drops it on the table beside her. "For the tenth time."

Dean sighs, turning his gaze from her to Bobby. "What do you say we ring the dinner bell?"

Bobby moves to the table Katherine's sat on. Russell looks on with curious eyes.

Who the hell is this guy? He muses.

He's the guy you call when you're in a situation. It was impossible to miss the pride in her voice. Hey...back at the diner, that demon...Flo. Russell looks up to her to find her fiddling with something at her side, looking down. She moves her eyes from the unidentified object to his own. She seemed to think you know something about all this.

I think you'd know if I knew something.

He gets up and starts walking around, inspecting all the different sigils. He even makes sure to sniff.

He's right, anyway. How would he know anything?

Russell isn't sure what Latin words Bobby spoke, but when he dropped a pinch of salt into another herb he didn't know the name of, finely ground by Katherine, it sizzled.

And they waited.

They even started humming old songs and seeing who could pick up on it first. Dean started with that Heigh-ho song from Snow White.

Katherine swings her feet, posture worsening with each passing minute.

Dean shouldn't be dulling the magic knife's blade by repeatedly shoving it into the wood...but he could always sharpen it later. So away he shoves.

"Are you sure you did the ritual right?" He finally asks, like a child, as he looks to Bobby. Bobby just gives him a look...and Dean sighs. "Sorry...touchy, touchy."

The wind starts howling a fraction of a second before something clatters on the other side of the shed so loud, it makes Katherine jump.

Jumpy, Russell accuses. She glowers at him for a brief moment before pumping her shotgun—sticking the butt between her boots and pulling the pump with her left hand. Was it safe? Absolutely not. Did she keep her face far from the barrel? Yes, of course.

The clatter they heard is the sheetmetal roof flapping in the wind. Screeching, now. 

"Maybe it's actually just the wind," Dean calls over the racket. Katherine wryly scoffs.

Russell starts growling. Something's out there.

What, you have dog sense now?

No...well, I don't think so.

Then the bulb overhead pops, and sparks rain down on the hunters.

Your summoning ritual failed. It's that voice again. She doesn't know how to describe it, or categorize it. But it's felt in her bones, and it's otherworldly. Powerful. The double doors crack open.

"Not the wind," Katherine says.

Every bulb has popped, and spark showers rain on them every other second. A...man...in a light trench coat and a suit.

The barrel of her shotgun slips down her cast, and she swears under her breath.

"Give me the knife," she mutters to Dean. He gives her a crazy look. "I can still throw!"

Dean grits his teeth and trades weapons. The blown bulbs overhead keep spitting sparks.

The humanoid figure is walking through every sigil Bobby put up. He's of average height, but his posture is quite rounded, and his steps look like a marionette's. Disjointed, like a baby deer.

Dean and Bobby are pumping him full of silver birdshot and salt rounds...and he's still walking. Russell's jaws are snapping, high-pitched bark echoing in the negative space of the shed...it doesn't deter him in the slightest. Didn't even so much as flinch. She would've thought every shot missed, had it not been for the blood blooming over his white dress shirt.

The humanoid man walks right down the middle of them, eyes first on Dean, but then settle on Katherine.

Was it necessary to shoot me? He asks. Katherine nearly loses her grip on her knife behind her back.

His hair is dark and haphazard. His eyes, blue and almond-y, are turned down at the corners, giving him the perpetual appearance of sadness. His face holds a summer tan, even burned on his forehead. There's a ghost of a 5 o'clock shadow above his lip, his cheeks, the cleft in his chin.  

Katherine's eyes dart to Bobby over his shoulder, silently moving for another weapon.

Russell, situated between Katherine's legs, hackles raised, is snarling at the creature before them, all pearly white teeth on display. The man only looks down at him.

The wind has stopped.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean asks.

The blue-eyed man looks up at him once more. "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." He sounds...almost normal. Like a regular Joe.

"Yeah?" Dean hums. "Thanks for that."

Bobby swings at the creature with an iron crow bar, but he anticipates it. Catches it in mid-air, turns to look at Bobby. Crushes and bends the bar in his hand like it's nothing.

Katherine flips the knife in her hand, adjusting her grip, and throws it, burying the blade hilt-deep two inches to the left of his spine. It's like he didn't even feel it. He touches two fingers to Bobby's forehead, and the man's eyes practically roll to the back of his head as he slumps to the ground.

"Jesus Christ," Katherine hisses, taking a few steps back. The black-haired creature-man reaches behind his back, and pulls the knife from his skin. He studies the blood-soaked blade for a few moments before discarding it.

He turns to observe Katherine and Dean. "We need to talk, Dean." He looks to Katherine again. "Alone."

Dean raises an arm in front of Katherine. "Don't you touch her, you son of a bitch." The man raises his hands in surrender. Dean points to Bobby. "What'd you do to him?"

Katherine, he's staring at me, Russell anxiously tattles. He's still snarling at the creature.

At Castiel.

"Your friend is alive," he says, turning away from them. His eyes settle on the book Katherine was holding, and he starts to thumb through it. Casually, like he wasn't just pumped full of bird shot...and caught a knife with his back.

"Who are you?" Dean lowly asks.

"Castiel," the thing replies. Casually. Maybe a little arrogantly, too.

"Yeah, I figured that much," he snarls. "I mean what are you?"

Castiel looks up from the book. Looks at Russell. Katherine. Dean. "I'm an angel of the Lord."

I think I'm gonna puke, Russell says.

Skeptically, Katherine's eyes rake over this supposed angel. Trench coat, suit. The voice he's speaking with doesn't match the voice in her head. And angels...contrary to popular description of cheruby things, harmless, angels are warriors. Frescos depict archangels, for example, as golden-blond crusaders of Heaven. This guy...he looks like he wouldn't survive putting on the armor for a crusade. Positively squarish.

For a brief moment, Cabanel's The Fallen Angel flashes in her mind. The anguish in Luficer's face, the blood-shot, tear-welled eyes. 

Which depiction of angels was true? The bright balls of light and rings of eyes...or the winged humanoids? Both?

Her eyebrows furrow, and he seems to notice the minor twitch. Castiel looks to her again.

"Get the fuck out," Dean scoffs. "There's no such thing." His fingers tighten on her jacket.

"This is your problem, Dean," Castiel proclaims, closing the book before him, and squares his body to the hunter. "You have no faith."

Katherine raises her eyebrows. "You show up and say you're an angel, and we're supposed to take you at face value?"

Castiel's dark blue eyes study her for the briefest of moments. Your father would be sorry to see how far from Him you've strayed.

She jumps like she's been zapped. Dean glances to her. "Get out of my head," she snaps.

Dean doesn't have time to question, only look bewildered. Light shines from nowhere, illuminating the shed. Thunder cracks, seemingly from within the wooden walls, echoes in the negative space...and the silhouette of a pair of feathered wings appears with each flash of light, growing broader with each crack of thunder.

Wings.

This can't be real, Russell says.

"Some angel you are," Dean calmly states. "You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

Castiel looks to the ground. Katherine can't discern if it's guilt or frustration. "I warned her not to spy on my true form. Ask Katherine Louise—I told her plenty." Dean slowly looks over his left shoulder to Katherine, whose eyes haven't left the angel before them. Her face is unreadable, but there's a hint of curiosity. "It can be...overwhelming to humans. And so can my true voice, but...you know that already." He gestures to Katherine. "But we both know you can hear me."

"True voice?" She asks.

"The gas station," Dean says. "And the motel...was you talking?"

"Nothing shattered around me when I heard you," Katherine says.

"You did hear him," Dean accuses. "You said you didn't know anything."

"And I don't."

Only...that demons have been telling her for a long time that angels exist...and they'd be willing to go to war over her, according to Ruby and some other crossroads demon. Scrap the deal she made to save Dean...

"For reasons we can discuss later," Castiel says to Katherine. "But for Dean...well, I didn't know if I had to get to a different...frequency, so to speak."

Dean looks him up and down. "Buddy, next time? Lower the volume."

Castiel presses his lips together. "My mistake. Certain people—special people—can perceive my true visage. I thought you might be one of them. I was wrong."

"And what visage are you in now?" Katherine asks. "Tax accountant? You don't look like the frescos."

"This," Castiel looks down at his body, blood blooming in places he was struck with birdshot. "This is a vessel."

"You're possessing some poor bastard?" She snarls.

Castiel smiles, shaking his head. "He's a devout man. He actually prayed for this."

"And now he's full of silver buckshot," Katherine snaps, gesturing to his bloodied clothes. "Some fuckin' holy endeavor."

"I'll caution you against your tone and your words," Castiel replies.

"Or what?" She seethes. "You'll burn my eyes out? Who are you—really?"

He frowns, tilting his head ever so slightly. "I told you. You know the truth, in your soul. You do." He gives her a look.

Dean leans forward. "Why would an angel...rescue me from Hell?"

Castiel squints, almost mirroring Dean's expression and posture, as he slowly advances for the two hunters. "Good things do happen," he says.

Admittedly, the man's soft voice is comforting.

"No," Dean disagrees, shaking his head. "Bad things, and worse things...but never good things." Castiel looks to him in surprise.

"You don't think you deserve to be saved," he realizes, so soft in tone that Dean could hardly hear him. Katherine glances to Dean...he only lowers his gaze slightly.

"Why'd you do it?" He asks. His voice is becoming softer...guiltier...inferior.

"Because God commanded it," Castiel replies. "Because we have work for you." He looks to Katherine. "All of you." 

And as if Russell didn't have enough red flags around him, Castiel gives him the group's final look before he disappears in a feather-whisper wind.