Archive of Our Own

“ ...The voice wants to be 

a hand and the hand wants to do something

useful. What did you really want? Someone

to pass this with me. You wanted more.

I want what everyone wants. He raises

the moon on a crane for effect, cue the violins. ”

 

--“Unfinished Duet”, Crush , Richard Siken

Lebanon is boring as shit. Especially when your roommate brother is being a drag.

“So,” Sam ventured, shooting a glance across the table. “Wanna get outta here for a bit? I got a quick case, right here in town--should be open and shut.”

Dean rolled his eyes and finished off his beer with a hearty swig. “It’s like you’re tempting Chuck, saying that.”

Sam ignored him. “Here,” he flipped his laptop around. “‘Local youth choir director loses voice--for good’. Melody Bass, twenty-nine years old. Found her last night, throat ripped out, in one of the classrooms of the local Christian school where she worked.”

“Werewolf?” Dean asked, clearly more interested in spinning his now empty bottle on the table.

“Nope. Talked to the coroner this morning--her heart was intact. He showed me the body, and it was like something had gone directly for her vocal chords. The flesh in front of them had almost been burned away. The vocal cords themselves were snapped clean in half, but the blood vessels around them were fine. She bled out slowly on the floor for hours before they found her.”

“And of course, she couldn’t call for help.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s new. Well, if you’ve already got a head start, what do you need me for?”

Sam looked at his brother’s sullen face, eyebrows knit tight. I’m sick of looking at your sad-sack face all day, dickhead.  

He held his tongue. That wasn’t something Sam should say to the brother who raised him from birth after their mother died. Especially when said mother was raised from the grave by God’s sister like a month ago (?) and just disappeared again to “find herself”. And not when his brother’s best friend is on a harebrained quest with the king of hell to find and kill the literal Biblical Satan. But, I mean, it’s not like sitting here fucking up his liver is helping.

“Look, man. Cas is out there doing his best tracking down Lucifer. And Mom’ll give us a call when she’s back in town. We can’t just wait ar--”

“--okay, save it. What’s the situation?”

“So I’ve been poking around the police department. This school, the Eden Christian Academy, wasn’t the paradise they advertised.”

“Shocker.”

“They’re really trying to keep this under wraps--refusing interviews, denying evidence requests, that kind of stuff. Throwing religious exemptions at the wall and hoping anything sticks. By the time the cops got in the door, the crime scene was clean as a whistle. Not a fingerprint or a scrap of clothing to be found.”

“So it’s an inside job. Did you--”

“--try to visit the school? Yeah, they shut the door in my face and told me to come back with a warrant.”

“It’s shocking how often we can get away without one.”

“Since this place is also a church, it’s tied up in all this red tape. Whatever is doing this, it might strike again. We need to move faster.”

Dean winked. “Ah, you need me with the charm offensive. Sure.”

“Great,” Sam replied, passing Dean his new documents. “The school is hiring a new choir teacher. Mr. Julius Andrews has already sent in his resume and has an interview with the headmaster the day after tomorrow, 9am sharp.”

There was a bit of satisfaction from seeing his brother’s pained expression.

“What’s wrong with Julius Andrews? I thought it would be fun.”

“Yeah, well, don’t expect me to put on the blue dress and give ya a twirl.”

Dean was skeptical that he could pull off “Julius Andrews”. He could do priest. He could do cowboy. He could do fish and wildlife. Hell, he could do businessman--if he really had to. But some uptight, shined-shoes softie who taught choir ? Dad would kill him, first of all, but on top of that, Dean knew that wasn’t his style. His vibe was more like this greasy Gas-n-Sip he was perusing than the Men’s Wearhouse a block down. 

At the very least he could sing half decent. That would secure his cover. Give em a little Bon Jovi. Living on a Prayer was religious, right? He’d have to Google the lyrics to be sure when he got home.

Actually, what was he talking about? Of course he knew all the lyrics. Any uptight asshole who thought Bon-fucking-Jovi was too crass for church could shove it up-- a hand on his shoulder interrupted Dean’s assessment of the pie selection. He met the eyes of an older man wearing a fancy watch and a smart suit. In the middle of the damn Gas-n-Sip. He must’ve come from across the street.

Dean’s hand moved towards his hip for his knife instinctively. Usually this getup in this context meant angel smackdown. But his stance seemed relaxed and his expression genuinely amused.

“Julius, right? Applying for the choir position? I almost didn’t recognize ya--your look is nothing like your picture!”

Dean froze. In his many years working as a hunter, he had never been found out this quickly. And he wasn’t going to start now. But before he could respond, the fancy-watched hand reached out.

“Don’t take it the wrong way, now! You look quite slick. Just… a little different than what I expected. Donald Hendrick, headmaster at Eden Christian Academy.”

“Julius. Andrews. Just call me Jules.” Dean grinned. “What can I say? I like going casual on my days off.”

Headmaster Hendrick returned the smile. “For even the Almighty rested on the Sabbath. Which is why I wanna get my hands on one of these treats. Oh, while I have you here--something in your resume piqued my interest.”

Dean’s stomach dropped. Dean was planning to do his homework after he’d filled his belly. Dean was, evidently, an idiot.

If the headmaster was suspicious, he sure didn’t show it. “You toured around the country with the Tabernacle Choir, if I recall. Mormons not your style? What’s a class act like you doing out here?”

A dozen ways for Sam to pay flashed through Dean’s mind. He tried to push those thoughts aside for a moment (replacing his protein powder with cornstarch?) and reached for the next words to say.

“Don’t get me wrong--I loved being able to travel around. I could tell that I was helping people, sometimes. Other times I was just some after-dinner entertainment. But it all seemed so worldly. It’s not really about the performance for me, you know. It-it’s faith. And I found that my faith was just a little different from theirs.”

Hendrick nodded Protestantly. He grabbed two peach pies and motioned for Dean to go ahead of him in the checkout line. Dean smiled and obliged. Of course, that was when the guy at the front decided to argue about slushie sizes with a bewildered teen cashier in braces. Something about “fill your own cup doesn’t include kegs”. Eventually, the worker left, probably to find a manager. What was the craziest container Cas saw when he worked here? Although, Cas’ view of what was crazy isn’t like everyone else’s.

“Say, Jules, why don’t you sing a few notes?”

Dean’s eyes darted towards the exit as he shifted from one foot to the other. “R-right here?” He wasn’t warmed up or anything, what would he even sing--

“Just a few notes, you know? Think of it as a test of your faith.”

For some god-awful reason, Dean actually started belting Living on a Prayer. Belting isn’t the right word-- it sounded more like a horrible whine. Fuck, I’m not even a tenor…what the fuck am I doing? Why does my falsetto sound like a duck dying? Where did all of the air in my lungs go? As Dean sang, he watched as the waxy smile on the headmaster’s face melted, drip drip dripping into a slightly confused frown. Hell, Dean was shocked, too. I guess I really do lack faith. 

“Next, sir. ” An exhausted manager had taken the place of the teen, who was cowering behind her as the keg guy walked out the door, middle fingers blazing. 

Dean muttered something about recovering from a cold, grabbed two ibuprofen off the shelf nearby, and raced to the counter to pay for his stuff. 

It didn’t take long for Sam to find Dean in the kitchen, eyes fixated on a single tile on the wall opposite.

“Hey man, you didn’t tell me you came back.”

“Eh.”

“Thought you just went out to get some food?” Sam reached over the table and held up a plastic wrapped pie between two fingers for emphasis.

“Ran into the one guy that I didn’t wanna see. That headmaster guy.”

“What’s he like?”

Dean finally meets his brother’s eyes. “Have you ever talked to a guy, and he’s smiling the whole time, but you know he’s paying close attention to every word you’re saying so that he can pick you apart later?”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, Dean. I went to college.”

"Oh, look at me,” Dean mocked, shaking his head, “I’m Sam. I went to college.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Sam was pinching the bridge of his nose, which meant Dean had gotten his payback. At least a little. (Hiding his running sneakers in the library?)

“Anyway, I think my cover’s blown. Dude made me sing, right there in the Gas-n-Sip. Why did you never tell me I can’t sing?”

Sam froze. “I-I mean, your singing voice isn’t bad, you just can’t sing falsetto…anyway, I didn’t think he was gonna test you! It can’t be that bad. Right?”

“Dude, the employee there stared a hole right through me. I can never go back there again--and you know they have the best taquitos!” He wagged a finger accusingly at Sam.

Dean saw his brother consider something for a moment, then shake his hair a bit before continuing.

“Wait. Actually, this could be okay. So I interviewed the husband of the deceased, Lenny Goddard. Lenny told me his wife Melody heard a beautiful voice calling out to her, so she followed it out of the house that night. He tried to reason with her, but it was like she had forgotten who he was. She got in their car and drove off. Evidently, to the school, where she later died.”

Sam picked up a well worn tome in front of him and flipped it to a page with a large medieval illustration of a bird-woman, wings outstretched with feathers the color of autumn leaves. She had a halo, but Dean thought the expression on her face looked almost devious. She also had chicken feet.

“So we’re dealing with a siren? This doesn’t seem like their MO.”

“Not quite. Sirin--two i’s. An old Eastern European creature that’s supposed to guard paradise. According to the local Christian lore, she foretells good futures to saints by singing to them. But if you follow her, you end up forgetting everything and eventually, you die. It doesn’t say exactly how, but I’d say this matches up well with what happened.”

“Hmm…maybe. How do we gank this diva?”

“Still working on it. But here’s probably the best shot we have. In a couple days, it’ll be the Apple Feast of the Saviour--and in the morning, it’s said you can find her crying in the apple orchard. And whaddya know? Eden Christian has an orchard on its campus. In fact, according to this map, it’s right outside the music building.”

“I should give Cas a call. Maybe he knows how to deal with this sirin thing.”

“Ask him if he’s willing to sing. You could be like his ventriloquist dummy.”

“Cas sings?”

“You’ve never heard Cas sing?”

“Why have you heard Cas sing?”

“I don’t know, sometimes I’ll walk by the TV and he’s just singing the theme song of some sitcom to himself.”

That’s fucking adorable. Dean made a mental note to ask Cas about it later. 

“Also, he has this tape of old Zeppelin songs that he hums along to. Wonder where he got that from?”

Dean pivoted. “Wait, why do we need to know if Cas can sing again?”

“I have an idea, but I don’t know if you’re gonna like it.”

“You’re not joking about the ventri--”

“--Dean, you know that I, of all people, wouldn’t choose possession if it wasn’t our best option.”

“Still!”

“You do the math, Dean. They’re only hiring one teacher, it’s probably gonna be you because no one wants to work at the murder school, and you can’t sing for shit. Plus, if this thing decides to go all Biblical on us, we could use some angel mojo.”

“I’ll call. We’ll talk about the other thing later.”

If Dean’s being a little honest with himself, he hated when Cas said he was working with Crowley to find Lucifer. Last time they teamed up, things got real apocalyptic real fast. Dean hates how Crowley loves to revel in pulling Cas down to his level. And if Dean pushes a little more, he can admit that he hates that when Cas is working with Crowley, he never keeps Dean in the loop. So yeah, Dean is happy for an excuse to call up his buddy.

Cas picked up on the first ring. “Dean! Please tell me you have good news.”

“I wish I did, too, man. Listen, we’re working a case in Lebanon and I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Of course. I always enjoy helping you.”

A muffled voice called out from the background static. “Kiss-ass!”

“Ignore Crowley. What is it?”

“We’re chasing what we think is a sirin. Uses her voice to lure people to their deaths, but like actually has the whole shebang--bird wings and the woman face. It’s in Slavic Christian lore so I was wondering if you knew how to handle it.”

“Hmm. The sirins were one of God’s side experiments--an offshoot of the angels tasked to guard paradise. That obviously didn’t go well, but they sort of fell off the map after that. They’re not dangerous creatures. I don’t understand why this one would hurt humans.”

“Normally, maybe. This one’s gone off the rails. That’s why I wanted to ask for your help.”

“I will be there.”

“Wait, no, Cas--I meant ‘that is why I wanted to ask if you had any information’. If you’re chasing down--”

Cas sighed. When he spoke again, there was a quiet desperation. “Dean, Vince Vincente has seemingly dropped off the map. The leads have all dried up. Now, I’m stuck in a hotel room with a sentient gargoyle who brings back humans to our domicile and fornicates with them in front of me while joking it’s “above board” because an angel is watching.”

“Par for the course for Crowley. Be glad he isn’t having you participate.”

The familiar accent chimed in again. “I don’t recall you ever complaining, squirrel.”

“Dean.” Dean could almost hear the unsaid “please” in Cas’ resigned tone.

“Fine. Can you sing?”

“What do you think the first choir was?” Damn, Crowley must really be wearing him down. Dean had never seen--well, heard--Cas so…snippy.

“Great. Swing by the bunker when you can. You’re going in me.”

“WHAT?” Over the phone, the king of hell pushed something over with a loud crash.

“Fuck off, Crowley. Not like that. Cas, you can take me--I mean, you can have my body--no. Shit. I need someone to sing in my body so I can sneak into a creepy Christian school. And you can possess vessels. And you have angel powers.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You don’t wanna ask any clarifying questions? Nothin?”

“You wouldn’t ask this of me for no reason. You and Sam are both strong vessels. That’s why Michael and Lucifer wanted you. No need to worry.”

“Weird way to phrase that. That’s not--that’s not what I was talking about. Whatever, let’s discuss this in person.”

“Goodbye, Dean. It was good to speak with you.”

In the second or two before Cas hung up, Dean could hear the mad ravings of an incensed, tiny Irishman furious that he had been uttah-ly abandoned by the Winchesters and their pet to lock Lucifer away in his cage himself. Well, if you want something done, you have to do it yourself! Can you believe it? A king, reduced to this!

A moment later, Cas appeared in the bunker. His gaze fell first, as always, on Dean, forehead wrinkling as he studied the papers strewn about him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas!” Dean seemed nervous, like he wasn’t sure how to start the conversation. “So, uh. Did I mention all the details? Sirin ripped out the vocal cords of this choir teacher at Eden Christian Academy. I’m interviewing as the new teach to get into the school and investigate.”

“Which is why you need someone who can sing.”

“Yeah.” Why did Dean look sheepish there?

Cas pulled an armful of books out from behind his back. “Picked these up in Eastern Europe on my way here. The information should be better than what you can find here.”

Taking the stack from Cas’ hands, Dean quickly flipped through the pages. “Yeah, it’s Cyrillic. No problem-o for Google Translate, though.”

“I can also read them tonight, after you and Sam have gone to bed.”

“No need for that,” Dean assured. “I’m gonna need you to possess me before tomorrow’s interview, and you’re not making my body pull an all-nighter.” So that was how Dean was going to approach the subject.

“Shall we start now?”

Dean chuckled awkwardly. “Not gonna give a girl some time to change into something else?”

Cas shook his head. “No, what you’re wearing won’t affect the possession. Just sit down and listen carefully. Close your eyes.”

Dean did, though Cas could still see his eyelids twitching.

“Do you accept the angel Castiel to take possession of your body?”

“Y-yes.” Dean’s lip trembled a bit. “I do.”

With that word, Cas pushed himself past that invisible barrier, feeling his former body peel away like an old chrysalis before he entered Dean in a flash of white light. With the last of his grace in Jimmy, he could feel his old vessel crumpling in its chair. The noise startled Dean, as his eyes flew open. Well, their eyes now.

It had been so long since Castiel had possessed a live, breathing human. He had gotten used to it, of course, but being in Jimmy Novak these days was like living in a mansion all alone. He missed being able to sense everything that a human sensed, feeling all their feelings, thinking all their thoughts. He supposed it was why he had been able to adjust to his short stint as a human. It all feels so…complete. Dean was all warmth and bear hugs and “don’t you touch a hair on their head”. He was also hellfire and hot blood and the aching burn of the Mark. Cas could sense it all. A human soul forged from passion lit aflame.

This was how it felt when I pulled you out of Hell, Dean.

Ew.

I will take care of your body and return it to you as if it were new. Cas had already started linking tendons, mending nerves, padding ligaments. Dean felt pain release in places where he'd forgotten were hurting.

I mean, you really don’t have to. All this proves that I lived, right?

If that’s what you want. Cas tried to tamp down his disappointment.

Well, if you’re done digging around in my head, let’s figure out a plan, yeah?

Of course.

There originally was nothing. Then, in a moment, they were in the bunker, except there was a minibar there, and Dean’s most nostalgic rock classics playing softly from…somewhere. Dean stood behind the minibar, towel on his shoulder. 

Cas smiled, patting down some imaginary wrinkles on his trenchcoat. “This should be better--more palatable to your human brain.”

“Thanks.” Cas knew Dean was not feeling thankful. “So how’s this gonna work? You gonna pilot me like a mecha? Do I just stay here and chill?”

“It’s up to you.” At this, a small TV monitor appeared on the table next to the bar. On it, a miniature Cas (or rather, Jimmy Novak’s body) was sitting bent over the left arm of the chair, almost toppling over. 

Sam entered the room. “Jesus fucking Christ, Cas! Are you okay?” He began shaking the corpse and checking for a breath.

Dean could hear his own voice responding. “Yes, Sam. I am in Dean’s body now. We are currently discussing our situation.”

The Cas inside Dean’s head--the one talking to Dean now--placed a hand on the TV. “You will sense everything as your body senses it, but duller. If you want to take control, just tap on the screen and you’ll be back as before.”

“Where will you go?”

“This space, of course,” Cas said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He put his head up almost haughtily. “After all, this is the best way for me to truly share control of a body with a human without driving them mad. Ask Lovecraft.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He tapped the TV screen, and a jolt of static electricity sent him barreling back into his body. All of a sudden, it was sights, smells, sensations, pain, light--like he was waking up from a coma all over again. Sam was hunched over him, an understandably confused and worried expression on his face.

“Hey, Sam. It’s Dean here. We got this tag team thing going. This has got to be confusing for you.”

“Actually,” Sam smirked, “it’s pretty easy. You’re still Dean, and unfortunately Lucifer was right about that ‘look of angelic constipation’ thing.”

Dean could feel Cas’ outrage in his head. He felt a tap at his shoulder. Fine.

Cas narrowed Dean’s eyes. “Sam, you seem to forget that I am currently possessing your brother. I would be careful with my words.”

Dean tapped back in. “I got like a weird Pac Rim mind link thing with him right now and he’s 100% right. All I’m hearing right now is “smite” over and over again.”

“Yeah, I’m done. You two crazy kids have fun.” Sam made a face and left. Dean heard Cas think, neither of us are children.

Hey, Cas. I gotta do laundry. Gimme my body back.

That’s one thing about being a human that I definitely don’t miss.

Dean went to his room (laying Cas’ body--Jimmy Novak? Yes, that body has his DNA -- in a sleeping position on the couch first) and brought in the laundry basket, filled to the brim with flannels. He would put these away, of course, but he’d have to dig a little deeper to find something appropriate for the interview.

Well, might as well chat with Cas while I do this.

I heard that.

“Can I talk out loud? I feel both better and worse talking out loud.”

Why?

“Better: I’m not sitting here silently staring at my laundry while making faces. Worse: I’m talking to the literal voice inside my head.”

Back in heaven, when me and my siblings didn’t have vessels, we would always talk like this.

“What’s the point of talking when you got a hivemind? Just read each other’s minds.”

You’re talking to me right now.

“You got me there.”

Dean folded a couple more shirts. Barely a dent in the pile.

I don’t like this Pastor Hendrick.

“Me neither, bud. Something about him’s just too polished.”

Anyone who would hypocritically teach the word of God should be stripped of his title.

“Cas, you don’t gotta say that. I can tell you wanna smite the bastard.”

Trying harder to solve problems without violence these days.

“You and me both, buddy.”

A couple more minutes passed as Dean put away even more flannels. Kind of embarrassing, now that someone’s watching.

There’s no need to be embarrassed.

“Could you stop reading my mind?”

It’s very hard not to. I’m already holding back by not completely taking over your body right now. Also, you can read mine, so it’s fair.

“Right--about that, why were you so happy to be in me--be in my head?”

Now it seemed Cas was the one that was embarrassed. Dean, raising you up from hell changed me. When I laid a hand on you, I saw in you all the love and goodness that humanity could do. It planted the seed of doubt. It led me to question if The Apocalypse was good, or even necessary.

Dean knew Cas rebelled from heaven for him. God knows Cas’ shitty angelic relatives had really hammered that one in. It felt completely different, though, for Cas to say it himself.

“Nah, Cas. I feel like there was something about you that made you change. You weren’t like the other angels--your programming made you feel things. That’s not something those dicks can usually do.”

This is true. But being surrounded by your soul again felt good. Felt pure. Why…why were you feeling upset when I arrived?

“Isn’t it obvious? There’s a guy in my head! And last time, and last last time that happened to Sam, he didn’t seem to like it! And neither do any of the possessed motherfuckers we have to get rid of for our job!”

Cas didn’t respond, but Dean could feel him shrinking a bit.

“No, I mean, Cas, you’re different. I know I could trust you. It’s just--I like to keep things to myself, you know? Don’t like people messing around in my head.”

The angel seemed a little less upset, but still no reply.

“Listen--it’s not personal, but Sam’s always asking me how I’m doing, and you’re always asking me how I’m doing, and sometimes I don’t wanna talk about how I’m doing! I’m doing bad! If you gotta ask, I’m not doing good! But talking about it doesn’t do anything!” Dean paused to take a breath. “You gotta-you gotta actually do something about it.”

But you do actually feel better now that you've been able to talk about it--I can sense it.

God, having Cas in his head is fucking with Dean so bad. He’s always right about him, and Dean can’t even shoot off a snarky reply because he knows Cas knows what he’s doing.

“It just doesn’t feel right. My head is only supposed to have one voice--mine--and I’m supposed to be the only person controlling my body. And that body on the couch in the living room isn’t just some sack of flesh, it’s--it’s supposed to be you!”

This is just a vessel, Dean. I’ve had other--

“--Cas, I know! But it’s still how I met you, and there’s so many memories you’ve had with that body. I know it’s not what you actually look like, but in my mind, that’s the only way I can picture you! And that ‘you’ is right now slumped over, not breathing, probably already decomposing!”

I left some of my grace in there. It should keep it preserved for the next week or so.

“Not the point.” Dean slammed the clothes hanger on the rack, a pair of jeans in his other hand. I miss you , was the thought that Dean pushed down.

Cas couldn’t help himself. He probed a little deeper into that notion. Little whispers flew by him: Cas’ clear blue eyes looking into Dean’s; Cas’ weathered, glowing hand healing Dean’s arm; Cas pulling Dean into a strong, solid hug; Cas breaking out into a crinkly laugh, crow’s feet coming into focus. Cas’ light spilling out of his body as the angel blade comes out of Cas’ chest; Cas’ shirtless torso oozing blood from April’s stab wound; Cas’ head tilt as ‘Emmanuel’ said he didn’t know a Dean; Cas’ fingers digging into his arm as he pushes Dean away into the portal out of Purgatory. Cas, Cas, Cas, not Jimmy Novak.

Dean’s face flushed red. This was way too embarrassing. Like that just made Dean sound like some teenage girl or something. “Dude, what did I just say about not wanting people to mess around in my head?”

But I am sensing some happiness?

“W-well, you’re a great guy, and you should know it. Nothing weird about that at all.”

I did not say that.

“Anyway, which do you think looks better--the green sweater or the blue button down?”

Either is fine. It’s your choice. (Green would bring out his eyes.)

Seems someone forgot that the mind link goes both ways.

Sam crawled out of bed. His bed, not some motel mattress. Life can be good. As he got ready, he registered that he hadn’t seen his brother since their conversation yesterday. That in itself wasn’t unusual--Dean always had something going on that he had to work through. Sam was just glad his brother wasn’t taking it out on the furniture anymore: he was sick and tired of replacing broken mirrors. Maybe that’s why we have such shitty luck , he surmised.

Sam decided to give Dean space on this one. He supposed it was a marker of their growth as brothers, that Sam no longer worried that Dean was going to do something extremely, profoundly stupid by himself. Now, when Dean wanted to do something extremely, profoundly stupid, he talked to Sam first. Usually. In any case, Cas was watching over him now--not just watching over him, but literally monitoring his every move. So not much could go wrong. Yeah , Sam assured himself. He’s fine.

Fine might be overstating it a bit. Sam could imagine how furious Dean probably was now, having a literal angel voice in his head nosing around and telling him what to do. But it kept Dean busy enough to not mope around all day. And just the mention of Cas perked him up yesterday. It was good he had a friend around.

Enough about Dean. Sam had put the books Cas brought through Google Translate and he’d discovered a couple of useful facts. He fished out his notebook from under a pile of papers on the table, flipping through it proudly. It was nice, being able to use his tolerance for boring prose to get some important information. It was one of his greatest strengths in college, and God knows this is much more interesting than law books.

And finally, the police had completed the paperwork for a complete search of the premises, so Sam could investigate the perimeter. If Dean and Cas could tackle the interior of the school, they’d be set.

Sam looked up as Dean entered the kitchen, with his hair slicked down and a formal-ish outfit: an emerald argyle sweater and grey slacks, glasses perched on his nose. Sam scanned his face for a second, trying to see who was in charge right now. Then, Dean rubbed the back of his hand, almost cat paw-like, across his eyes, and Sam knew his brother was back.

“Argyle?” he asked, not holding back a grin.

“What?”

“The sweater--the pattern is an argyle pattern. Whatever.”

“Nerd. Let’s get going, yeah?”

“It’s just not your usual style.”

“None of this is my usual “style”, Sam.” Sam noted with amusement that Dean was doing air quotes in the same stiff way Cas did.

“Oh, how is the situation with Cas? Did you two figure it out?”

“Yeah, basically I’m in control until we get into the interview. When the man asks for me to sing, Cas will take over. Then it’s back to me. After the interview, we’ll take the opportunity to snoop around campus for a bit.”

Dean’s face stiffened as his eyes widened. “And as we investigate the campus, I will use my grace to allow Dean to sense the trail of the sirin. As well as my combat abilities, if need be.”

Sam stared, at a loss of words for a second. It was still so weird to see his friend in his brother’s body, using it so…Cas-ly. “Y-yeah. Sounds great. I also went through the books you brought--thanks for that--and found some stuff we could use.”

He thumbed to the relevant page in his notebook. “So sirins are typically a lucky sight, since they’re supposed to live near paradise. I guess this one must have gotten the academy mixed up with the name. They’re hard to catch, since only people who are truly happy can see them.”

“Rules out us, I guess.”

Sam gave his brother The Look and continued. “Well, to scare it off, it seems you can spook it like any other bird. In the past, they’ve used cannons, bells, stuff like that.”

“Sweet. I’ll get some firecrackers. A little flash grenade action, too.”

“Hold on--I can bring them, but teachers can’t carry weapons onto the premises.”

Dean made a face. “And who’s gonna--”

“They have metal detectors, Dean. Try not to get yourself escorted out the door by security, please? Took me half a day to photoshop your wrinkles out so you look like a proper 27-year-old on your ID.”

“Oh, screw you.”

“Screw you!” Sam fired back, after dodging the tea towel thrown in his face.

“Sam, so it seems like you want me and Dean to use the noisemaking things in the school to fight the sirin, right? We’re interviewing in the music building, so there should be plenty of instruments to use.”

“Thank you, Cas.” At least someone gets it.

“Is that where the interview is?” 

Dean’s eyes rolled into the back of his head in annoyance while Sam just sighed. “Yes, Dean. In any case, we shouldn’t bring the firepower out yet. The festival is in two days, so we need to find the sirin first.”

“And just as important--we gotta find out why Melody was targeted, and which poor sucker is next.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I’m gonna make some bacon. Gotta remind Cas of the good stuff about being human, right? You want some?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, but sure.”

One thing Dean had to admit, as he walked up the steps of the academy, was that Cas was taking good care of his body. Though Cas didn’t need to sleep himself, he made Dean go to bed early. He hadn’t felt this alert and at ease in a while. It was nice to let someone have his back. Literally.

The music building was made out of humble red brick with white trimming, just like the rest of the academy. A metal awning connected it to the chapel, which was made of the same brick. The whole complex was tucked away in the quiet northwest side of campus, with rows and rows of trees wrapping around the back. He hoped that Sam, working with the police team scouring the premises, would be able to check it out. For now, though, it was time to put his game face on.

He swung open the door and sauntered in, whistling tunelessly. The sound echoed off the linoleum floors of the long hallway. Creepy.

Dean felt Cas tap his shoulder, and he let him take control for a bit. Cas looked around, and Dean realized that Cas could now hear the whispers of prayers through his ears. There were some real useless ones (“Lord have mercy”, “Jesus fucking Christ I hate this”, “Oh my god”, etc.) Actually, most of them were about as helpful as, well, thoughts and prayers. Maybe those fundies had a point about not taking the Lord’s name in vain.

But there were a few more significant ones. A group of teens carrying heavy instrument bags pushed past Dean, chatting and laughing away. But he could hear what they were thinking. Dear God, I don’t want to move schools like Mom wants us to. I don’t want to say goodbye to my friends. Lord, please don’t let me be next.

A custodian, begging God to let her forget the stench of blood on her mop after she had to clean up a scarlet snail trail leading from the chapel into the choir room. 

A teacher two rooms down, worrying that the police on campus would ask him about his immigration status. He was praying to God not for his own sake, but for his two children, who they could afford to send to this school only as long as Daddy kept his job.

And further, in the chapel, another voice was heard, begging for forgiveness. I shouldn’t have asked that woman to do it. I didn’t know it would go this far. Please, Lord, I only wanted to warn her. I was foolish, Lord. Punish me if you must, but please, all I ask…

Dean immediately turned and ran towards the chapel. He felt Cas trying to listen, but all they could hear was Amen. Amen. Amen. And then nothing.

Dean was in the mind bunker again, and he could see himself stepping back into the hallway, away from where they had heard the voice.

Cas appeared, but without the typical swoosh of his wings.

“It’s too late, Dean.” Cas looked disappointed.

“They’re not praying anymore?”

“If I was at full power, I would be able to hear. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, we still got a lot of good information.”

“I should be stronger.” For you , Dean could hear Cas think.

Dean placed a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “You’re more important to us than just your powers, you know that, right?”

Cas didn’t reply. After a moment (was it just a moment? On the TV screen Dean’s body was taking the slowest steps in existence) he looked off to the side.

“All of this, it shouldn’t be happening. This is supposed to be a House of God, but all I hear is pain and suffering. And I can do nothing to help.”

“You are helping. We get the sonuvabitch who’s doing all of this, and we can help all of those people. You’re just one angel, Cas. The fact that you want to help people and not just sit up in heaven fighting civil wars puts you above most of your family. No offense.”

Cas was still avoiding looking at Dean. He sighed. “I will keep listening. We’re about to get to the office door. It’s best if you take it from here.”

Dean squeezed Cas’ shoulder. “Hey, Cas, man. Look at me.”

Cas darted his gaze quickly and found Dean staring intently back at him. Sincerity emanated from his face, but that was like a splash compared to the tsunami of trust bursting forth from Dean’s soul. Cas could reach out and touch it, if he wanted. He knew Dean would let him. He didn’t. He met Dean’s eyes.

“I don’t--I don’t say this enough. God knows we haven’t had the time, since you were possessed by Lucifer for a while there before running off with Crowley.”

“Sorry.”

“Not the point. You literally have my life--my body, right here in your feathery angelic hands. And I’d much rather hand over the reins to you then any of the archangels, or God forbid, the big man upstairs himself. ‘Sorry, but I’d rather have you’, right?”

“Thank you, Dean.” Oh god. The crinkle in his smile.

Dean removed his hand from Cas’ arm. A bit awkwardly. Really awkwardly. Whatever.

He was back in his body, and just in time, too. As Cas moved his feet up to the door, Dean knocked.

After greeting the eternally jovial headmaster, they sat down for the interview. Cas tore his attention away from Dean’s rumbling voice, chatting about some fake anecdote or another, and tried to sense anything strange in the room.

On the desk, there was a picture of Hendrick with his arm around a brunette woman and two children. His family? Other than that, it was quite spare--a desk lamp, a computer, a few folded files in manila envelopes. Almost too clean.

He turned his attention to the rest of the office. On the wall were awards of some importance. But what interested Cas were the two green metal filing cabinets behind the desk, like two stoic knights in slightly rusty armor. Something in there was fishy--Cas could smell the sin coming off it (wet pennies, the gunk around the spout of a gas station bathroom, burnt toast). But he didn’t dare to try reading the headmaster’s mind. He could tell that Dean’s poor brain wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Hey, buddy. You’re up.

Oops. Cas had not been paying attention.

He just wants you to do a couple notes. A few runs.

Cas lifted his head up, offering a few notes. As he went on, he realized the tune had drifted towards something that Gabriel had sung to him, eons ago. He was always the musical one.

Dean wasn’t a big church music guy. You know: organs, folks in long dresses on risers, notes that they hold for what seems like an eternity. That music was always stuffy, serious, boring. But listening to Cas sing-- it clicked for him. It was like his voice was a light breeze carrying Dean like a leaf somersaulting through the air. Those guys -- Handel, Bach, and the rest-- must’ve heard some angel sing ages ago and have been chasing that high ever since. They weren’t even close to the real thing. Not at all.

Headmaster Hendrick’s eyes had glazed over, mouth agape. His hands unwittingly went to the cross necklace he had at his neck.

The interview was basically over after that. Hendrick patted “Jules” on the back good naturedly as he led him out of the office, saying something about how he had gotten the job. Fantastic. Cas shot one last furtive glance at the closed filing cabinets as they came back out into the hallway.

Yeah, Cas, we’ll get the files later. But right now, let’s talk to some folks and get some information.

Young brunette woman (not the headmaster’s wife) at 4 o’ clock, heading our way.

Dean whipped his head around to see a small but cheery woman at his side. She had a long, brown braid all the way down her back, with a delicate nose and a friendly smile. Still, there was some urgency in her eyes. He shook her hand.

“Jules Andrews. I’m the new choir teacher.”

“Ashley. I do handbells, right next door!” She points to a room that Dean presumed was next to his. “Well, it says Mrs. Faydel--that’s what the kids call me.”

“Faydel is a pretty unusual surname.”

Ashley’s eyes crinkled as she beamed. “Yeah, my husband actually has a more typical last name, so when we got married he said I should keep mine for style points.”

Cas liked Ashley, he decided. Radiating from her was a sense of pure peace and happiness, like the sun was shining on her even in this windowless dingy hallway. But there was just one thing weighing on her mind, it seemed.

“So, uh, have you heard of anything weird going on at the school? I mean, I’ve heard what happened with the last choir teacher.”

Ashley’s face fell. “Melody and I attended this school when we were kids. We were in the same grade, and we eventually found ourselves back here after we graduated. She was really nice.”

“I’m sorry. Was there anything unusual that maybe I could watch out for?”

She reached into her purse, pulling out a long feather. It was a light tan color, but it was stiff. When she handed it to Dean, it felt cold and heavy. A metal feather?

“The night she was killed, I heard a loud flapping noise and saw something whoosh past my door. I was here doing some paperwork--prepping for the beginning of classes. I opened the door, and there was this…I don’t even know how to describe it. I thought it was a giant gargoyle at first, with huge wings, but it moved like the wind. It headed down to the chapel, and I heard its strange, echoing voice singing.”

Ashley shook her head. “I-I know you might not believe me, but it’s what I saw. It left one of its feathers in the hallway, so I just grabbed it and ran. I should’ve stayed.”

“I’m sorry, Ashley. But I believe you.” He flashed his FBI badge. In a hushed voice, he admitted, “In all honesty, we’re here to discover more about the murder.”

Ashley gasped. Dean motioned for her to keep her voice down. “Can I borrow this?”

She nodded numbly and led them (him?) into the office, a charming little space with succulents and cards from former students taped to the wall. She laid the feather on the table with a light thunk.

Dean scooched his chair closer as he bent over it. Cas reached out with his grace, and he heard a ringing noise coming from it, like one of those Tibetan singing bowls on Youtube. Well, that Dean had seen before on Youtube. This was a sirin’s feather for sure.

Dean cleared his throat as he sat back down. “Like I was saying, Ashley, we--the FBI--believe you. There are things out there that are, let’s just say, beyond the scope of what is normal and human. Could you tell us more about what you’ve seen?”

“It-it’s not the only time I’ve seen her around,” she offered, eyes darting. “It started earlier this week. I would just see her at the front of staff meetings, or near the headmaster’s office, or near the chapel. Near the apple orchard at the edge of campus. She would just stand there--like she was judging us. I thought…I thought she might’ve been an angel, until…”

“...she ripped your coworker’s throat out?”

Ashley winced. “Yeah. I thought for a few days that I was chosen,” she chuckled sadly. “But I really don’t know what God has in my path anymore.”

“Well.” Dean chewed over his words before continuing. “You are chosen, in a way. That monster you saw--she’s a sirin. She can lure people to their deaths by singing, which was probably what you saw. Supposed to guard the Garden of Eden.”

“Well, she’s doing a shit job of that.” The words seemed to tumble out of Ashley before she placed a hand over her mouth, wide-eyed. Like she was trying to stuff the sounds back in.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. It’s just--how can something like that hurt such a nice woman like Melody? She was the nicest of us all--she’d never do anything to hurt a soul. I mean, just a few days ago she even stood up for us at the budget meeting when admin told us about the new salary cuts!”

Dean shifted in his seat. He gestured in Ashley’s direction.

“Hold on--when was this meeting exactly?”

“It must’ve been the day before Mel--oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! I saw the sirin there too! At the meeting! She was standing right next to the admin table!” Ashley had gotten up now and had begun to pace. “Do you think--?”

“Yeah, maybe, if you wanna fill the rest of us in.”

“Of course--yes, sorry, yes! So, the day before Melody d--got attacked, we had a meeting about the budget. They said that we had even less money this year than last year, so they had to reduce all of our wages.”

Ashley continued to walk laps around her office, eyes squeezed shut.

“So Melody objected--she said that there was no way that was true. See, she organized the bake sale fundraiser this spring, where we made double the amount that we usually did. She said Pastor Hendrick himself promised her that the money meant that we could make building repairs and give everyone bonuses this year.”

“Lemme guess--it wasn’t going into church coffers?”

“Well, she didn’t outright say it, but she brought up that maybe the Hendricks should return their thoroughbreds so that us staff wouldn’t have to go hungry this year. It was pandemonium after that, of course.”

Dean had stood up now too, pointing his finger at Ashley as Cas flashed that picture of Hendrick with his family over and over in his mind’s eye. Chill! I get it--snooze notification, okay?

“You said Hendricks--plural.”

“You know Pastor Hendricks. His wife, Marjorie, is our accountant.”

Dean reached for his pocket. He had to call Sam.

“Ashley--I’m going to contact my associate. This is a major lead, thank you.”

“I’m happy to help any way I can. After all--”

“--hey. I said you were chosen, right? Only happy people can see the sirin. That’s gonna sound like a sick joke, but I’m going to need your help to locate this thing later.”

Ashley wrote down her number and slid it over to Dean.

“Also, does this church school have any bells we could ring to chase it out and lure it into the orchard, maybe?”

“Tomorrow morning is our first handbell practice of the year. I can move it to the courtyard outside. Does that work?”

“Sounds good. I’m counting on you, Ashley.”

She nodded, relieved, before she froze. “Wait, no, I don’t want to put the kids in danger.”

“I understand that, but that’s our only way of getting that sirin to stay away from the church. And remember, those kids can’t see her--only you can. Probably.” Dean tried to make eye contact, but she refused to look his way.

He tapped on the ajar door as a goodbye, but not before catching a final glimpse of the woman. She had collapsed into her chair, hands in her lap. Her eyes stared blankly at the feather still on her desk, face tilted to the side like her right ear was straining for a sound it would never hear.

At the parking lot, Sam picked up on the first ring.

“It’s the Hendricks, Sam. The embezzlers. Our victim calls them out at a staff meeting for cutting pay and the next night she’s silenced forever.”

“Yep, that was pretty obvious. We just got access to their electronic records, actually. They’ve been sending huge payments for “maintenance” into a bank account that was opened by. Surprise surprise. Their 14 year old son. Looks like they accidentally sent their financial records in the same zip file as the security camera footage. So the authorities are doing a surprise raid on the school tomorrow. Try to get them before they shred the evidence.

“Fantastic. We can use all the chaos to gank the sirin.”

“I don’t know, Dean. If one of the Hendricks is using her to kill people, putting her into a buffet of possible victims might not be the best idea.”

“But trying to get at her after the Hendricks have been locked up, or even worse, if they flee, is gonna be more difficult. It’s gotta be tomorrow.”

“Fine, yeah. You head out earlier, get to a stakeout spot. I'll go in with the feds and text you if anything comes up.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Umm…and is the body-sharing thing with Cas going okay? No weird cracks over your skin or anything?”

“I can hear every one of your brother’s thoughts. A lot of them are about ranking cowboy characters.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I guess?”

“Okay, you’re done. Bring Cas’ vessel with you. The real one.”

“You want me to lug a dead body to the school during a police raid.”

“Hanging up now.”

In the morning, Dean picked up Ashley at her house. Light yellow exterior, white siding, a cute little garden in the front yard. A young man already weeding at 7am waved cheerily at him before getting distracted by a rattle at the door. It was Ashley. They kissed. As they separated, he snuck a freshly picked rose in the back of her braid. Smooth.

The drive over was quiet. Ashley spent it on her phone. Millennials. The only thing that drew her attention away was when Dean opened the trunk to grab a couple weapons.

“Those aren’t going through security,” she murmured. Her uneasy tone suggested that wasn’t her only concern.

Dean closed the trunk, throwing her a sheathed knife. “Yeah. No. We’re gonna park here and then go the long way around to the orchard.”

“Okay.” Her tone didn’t get any less uneasy. Whatever.

They set off through the browning grass, which was just beginning to collect red and yellow leaves. The nice crunch of them under Dean’s feet was the only thing keeping his mood tolerable. Turns out that angels don’t need sleep. But the human souls in their vessels really, really should. He did his best to get some rest last night. But going to bed with an angel in your skull feels like trying to sleep with a spotlight shining right over your closed eyelids. But, uh, how do you politely tell your mind-reading best friend to leave?

Do you want me to leave, Dean?

I mean, you know how I feel about all this, man.

Your vessel will be fine. My grace is keeping your circadian rhythm running the same as usual. You just feel this way because the amount of coffee that would have an effect on me would sell out every Starbucks in a five mile vicinity.

So my morning cup was--

--like a light breeze during a hurricane.

Whatever. I know you just don’t wanna leave because I’m just cooler, younger, and hipper than Jimmy. Superman gets a suit upgrade.

Yes. That is the reason. Definitely.

I’m so glad I taught you sarcasm.

“Mr…um…what’s your name, sir? I’m so sorry. It’s probably not Andrews.” Whoops.

“Winchester. Don’t apologize, I never gave it.”

Ashley stuck her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Mr. Winchester, I wanted to thank you. Melody’s passing really caught me off guard. When you told me only happy people see sirins, I was actually mad. Happy people don’t get stuck in low paying teaching jobs. Or work under bosses who hurt others and twist the Lord’s words. Happiness isn’t knowing that your friend got ripped apart by something that you literally saw coming. Not that you could do anything anyway.”

She worried at her lip a little as she kicked a stray tree branch off the path.

“But the more I thought about it, the more you were right. I have a husband that loves me, I have a home, I have a job where I get to show kids the purest joy of them all. My life isn’t bloody, or dirty, or dangerous. And that’s how I want it to be. No offense.”

“Nah, none taken. We do our job so that you can live that, you know?”

“You keep saying ‘we’. Your car’s not giving off ‘FBI royal we’ vibes. What is your…why…what’s the situation?”

“Yeah, so we’re not real FBI.” And the ‘we’ is because my angel pal is possessing my body and it’s confusing the hell outta me.

Your confusion is confusing me, Dean.

Dean ignored that. “My associate is my brother. We hunt monsters, creepy-crawlies, and the like. Usually we can see the target though. Like with hellhounds, I have these dorky lookin’ glasses dipped in holy fire.”

“You’ve killed hellhounds?”

“Well, just one. We live a weird life. You’re good to not want to have our lives.”

They rounded the bend, coming into the top of the hill above the apple trees. Ashley dug her feet in and raised her head, feeling the early morning sunlight. Her braid danced slightly in the breeze. Below them lay the curled cat shape of the music building, with the metal awning making something like a collar connecting it to the small chapel at the end. Between the rows and rows of apple trees and the premises was a modest square courtyard with some plastic foldout tables left out on the concrete.

“It all looks green now, but it’s a sight to see in May. A sea of pink flowers make the perfect backdrop to our spring concert. And in the fall, the cafeteria bakes apple pies with the fruit the kids harvest.”

“Sounds like heaven.” Dean came up next to her.

Something flashed in her eyes. “Hmm.” 

“How you feeling about today?”

“I’ve got to admit, I’m a bit nervous. But when I see those flapping wings, I’ll sound the alarm. Probably ring a handbell like mad. Speaking of--mind helping me set up practice? The kids will get here in 30.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Dean first set up the tables (loud and annoying, like an excavator) before Ashley handed him some black leather cases. When he flipped the latches on the sides, he could see what must be the handbells inside, shined to a polish.

“Oh, so they’re like sleigh bells, kinda.”

“You’ve never heard a church handbell choir before? Actually, I shouldn’t have assumed that you go to church and all…”

Dean shook his head. “My friend used to say my problem was always that I ‘lacked faith’. But the way I grew up, we were always busy hunting monsters one night and then moving to the next town the next morning. Before the last couple years, the only time I spent in a church was banishing ghosts.”

Ashley considered that for a moment, then nodded. “That’s fair. Well, here’s the handbells--each bell plays a different note, and we assign each kiddo certain notes that they’ll play in the piece. Teaches them teamwork and makes them feel like they play an important role in the song without it being too hard.”

Dean slid his fingers in the leather loop attached to one of the handbells and let the curved brass hang down. The bell tinkled merrily.

“Oh, hold on.” Ashley smiled awkwardly before grabbing one herself. “This is the proper way, with the bell above your hand. That way, it doesn’t ring unless we shake it.”

Dean flipped his around and gave it a flick of the wrist. One clear note rang out. B flat, tuned to 440 Hz, by the way.

Thanks, nerd.

“Nice! Yeah, if you want feel free to give them a go. Just put them back in the case--I want to teach the students how to properly take them out and care for these beauties.” And with a nod, Ashley (now fully in Mrs. Faydel mode) went to set up music stands.

“So,” Dean whispered, “you want to try these out?”

The next thing he knew, Cas had swapped them out, and Dean was watching himself study the largest bell in the case.

A tool we could use later. Dean agreed, although he wished Cas could turn off his “ready for fighting mode”. He could feel Cas scanning every tree in the orchard for a whiff of wayward wings, grace wrapping around every branch and whisking by every blade of grass. It was overwhelming. But he knew that Cas couldn’t turn off his work brain more than Dean could. After all, Dean had already thought of three different paths to sneak up on this bitch once they found her. 

“Mrs. Fa--Ashley. Could I borrow this bell? For the sirin.”

Across the way, she gave them a thumbs up. “Just give it back!”

Everything was finally set for practice, just as the first cars carrying excited kids started winding up the main street. And only then did Cas begin ringing the bell, just as Ashley had demonstrated, in perfect rhythm. They began to stroll around, just the two of them. Cas hummed along--that same song Dean had heard him sing to Hendrick.

“Actually, Dean, I lied. I was never in the angelic choir.”

Where are you going with this?

Cas stopped walking. “I mean, I was never good enough at singing for the other angels. They always said my style of praising the lord was too wooden. Lacked passion or…grace, funnily enough.” He examined the bell, holding the clapper between his fingers so it wouldn’t ring.

“We angels don’t have much of a distinction between singing and speaking--especially not one that most humans can distinguish. This song Gabriel sang was more like a comforting phrase you would tell a child. Translated to English, it means ‘all birds have wings, yet not all were meant to sing. Your beak is meant to rend’... and then it goes on describing various glorious violent acts.”

Not very comforting to me.

“Let’s just say it’s untranslatable then. But when I heard you wanted me to sing, I felt like I had finally been given an opportunity. So thank you. It’s been nice to work on something so…low-stakes.”

We’ll see how low-stakes you feel when you’re running through the grounds with my bad knees.

“Despite your snark, I sense tenderness here. Thank you, Dean.”

Tender? What am I, rare steak?

Halfway through stuffing Cas’ body into a double bass case, Sam decided maybe he did hate his brother. Hauling that body there served absolutely no purpose except to get in the way. Just like Jimmy Novak’s arm that won’t fucking fold in--oh it snapped. Hope that wasn’t important.

Of course, Dean had taken the Impala, so Sam had to bike. Normally, not an issue for him (he likes the cardio!) but this case was just too heavy to carry that way. Shit.

Well, maybe Sam could find a cart or something he could pull it with. Pulling the case along, he plodded down to the garage. It was an aircraft hangar sized space glinting with the polished chrome of classic vehicles. Unfortunately, Dean stashed all his mechanical junk down here too. After rifling through his entire makeshift workshop (and sorting out all the used beer bottles for recycling), Sam found…nothing. Okay, maybe this tow rope could work, but there were no wheels on the case to move.

He checked the time (45 minutes until the raid) and cursed his brother. Fuck the body. He’ll bike.

“Sorry, Cas,” murmured Sam to the case, propped up against an old bumper. As he turned back around, he spotted exactly what he needed. A mint green vintage motorcycle -- with a sidecar.

So Sam may have shown up late to the raid, but at least he showed up in style. Or something like that, considering the strange looks he got from the cops at the perimeter. If the feds were suspicious of why an FBI agent was bringing band equipment to a police raid, they kept it to themselves. Thank god, because Sam was straight-up out of patience. It was okay. Sam had a job to do, so he’d better focus. He flashed his FBI badge.

He turned to the cop next to him. “Hello officer, they get in yet?”

She frowned at him. “They gave us the go-ahead ten minutes ago. Where were you?”

Before Sam could fake his answer, she continued. “Whatever. The principal came to greet us at the gate and let the rest of the squad in. They’re in the front office now. We’re just here to see if anyone else comes in. You’d better hurry if you’re going in there in that…thing.”

“You see anyone else?”

She shrugged. “Not really. The accountant came by to drop off some documents, but other than that it’s been quiet.”

“The accountant? Do you know where she went?” She didn’t drive in with her husband?

The officer gave him a weird look. “Same way she came--down the road.” She pointed behind Sam.

He turned around. But wasn’t there a road that merged into this one? He peeked at the cop, who had already lost interest, then pulled up his phone. It seemed that this road led back to town, but it also looped around the premises and entered the school again through the orchard. He shot a quick text to Dean.

As he got back in the motorcar and continued towards the school, he felt a rush of embarrassment wash over him. Wait, if he was gonna drive anyway, why didn’t he just take one of the dozen other cars in the garage? Today’s gonna be a long day.

Dean kept thinking every flutter of apple leaves was the damn sirin. No, Dean, you’ll hear it when it gets here. Trust me. This creature, knowing it is invisible to most, doesn’t bother much with stealth. Unfortunately, Dean and Cas weren’t so lucky. They were crouched behind a pallet of dusty apple crates, bell in hand. The students had already arrived in a chattering shuffle, and Ashley was leading them through warmups. Between laughter, the ringing of bells, and the creaking of music stands, there was plenty of noise for them to hear from this distance. Then, all of a sudden, the children stopped playing. From Dean’s short stint as a gym teacher, he remembered one lesson: a bunch of kids falling silent all at once was a bad sign. Emerging from the building, a pantsuited brunette figure marched right up to the podium. She vigorously shook her head, but they couldn’t hear what she was saying to Ashley.

Cas tapped Dean’s shoulder, and he obliged. He did need a break. And through Cas’ supersenses, they both heard the two women arguing.

“Mrs. Faydel, you need to clear out this racket now!”

“What do you mean, clear out? The choir room’s been closed off from the police.”

“Well, they’re here right now! You’re in the way of a raid.”

“I didn’t know that, Mrs. Hendrick, and I’m very sorry, but unless an officer talks to me about it, I’ll let the kids keep playing.”

The brunette woman scowled. “Is that what you’re calling it? Because it sounds like a mess and it’s giving everyone a headache. Pack it all up.”

Ashley’s voice shook. “It’s been so hard for the kids recently, and they’ve been looking forward to this. We’re not in the music building. We shouldn’t be in the way. With all due respect, ma’am, there are other places to be if you wouldn’t like to be here for practice.”

A sudden storminess overcame Dean, and his legs seemed to tilt and shake as if he were at sea. And Ashley’s eyes had widened as she slowly backed away from the other woman. She reached for one of the handbells on the podium in front of her. It’s almost time for us to hunt.

Marjorie Hendrick’s next words pierced through them. “Be careful, Mrs. Faydel. We wouldn’t want handbells to be cut from the budget next. Times are getting tougher…it might be your neck next on the chopping block.”

“Mrs. Hendrick, we will keep practicing loud and proud until Headmaster Hendrick or the police ask us to stop. As far as I’m concerned, he is the headmaster, and you are his wife, not our headmistress.” 

Ashley rang the handbell. “Alright, class. Our first song ‘A Gentle Presence’ is in three-four time. A one, two, three, one, two…”

And that’s our cue. Yeah, if only we were looking for a gentle presence too. Cas placed a hand on the angel blade they’d coated with Hellish brimstone, courtesy of Crowley. Worst case scenario, they just needed to get close enough to finish it off that way. But Dean knew that wasn’t how Cas wanted to do things, even if he wouldn’t say it.

Before long, they heard the wind picking up as a mysterious sounding melody flowed from the courtyard. Against the clear sky and the ripening Red Delicious apples, things felt almost idyllic. But the way the air whistled past the trees sounded more like a lament. As the draft grew stronger, tiny droplets of something grazed Dean’s cheeks. Tears? Morning dew?

He didn’t have time to react. A gust of wind pinned Dean to a nearby tree. He felt an invisible feathered wing press on his windpipe. “Filth that sully paradise must wash it clean with their blood.”

“Hhhhreat…hhreat alk. Eeel eelphal.” Great talk, real helpful. Made less helpful by the fact that the feathers were getting all up in his nose.

He felt Castiel strain, and the wing jerked back.

“You are not…what are you? A vessel?”

Cas lifted his chin. “Sirin, this is not Paradise. You have no reason to kill for it.”

A voice trailed from behind his head, and he whipped around.

“You’re off, brother. You must’ve let that ape get to you, if you can’t even see me anymore. You must think I’m stupid! Obviously this isn’t heaven. But what else should I protect but a school for the young, innocent, and faithful? What else would I do in this wasteland, Castiel?”

A gale charged towards them. Cas dodged. The right side of the tree behind him crashed to the ground with a sickening creak. This vessel was a bit more nimble than his old one, he had to admit.

“What else, Castiel?” The voice was howling now. “Where is heaven, now that you’ve ruined it for us? Where? WHERE?”

An invisible talon slammed into Dean’s stomach. He spewed some blood.

Cas wiped it away and narrowed his eyes. “Are you really protecting the young, the innocent, the faithful, sirin?”

“What can I do, but follow orders?”

With a whip of his arm, Cas grabbed onto something limblike.

“Your only master is God. Not a mortal.”

“We know God has left us. Again. And I will hear nothing from the angel who can’t even get a grip on the monkey in his vessel.” Both Dean and Cas saw stars as she twisted Cas’ shoulder. He crumpled to the ground, arm swinging. The handbell in that hand clanged as it fell, and the sirin took to the sky with a screech. 

Cas bailed (somewhere) so quickly to heal his (their?) wounds that Dean found himself suddenly in the reins. This was not going to work. Not at all. He rolled himself into the hedges, gasping for air as Cas sewed bone and sinew and muscle back together.

As soon as his arm was working again, he pulled out his phone. His texts were already open. Marjorie orchard now! Thanks for fucking nothing, Sam.

dude bring Cas to orchard she’s already here idiot

“Cas, what the fuck do we do?” Dean hissed. “We’ve got to be able to see her, or we’re done for.”

“Only happy people can see her. We can’t.”

“Don’t do this fucking thing where you speak using my body at the same time you know it freaks me out--”

Oh, fine.

They were back in the bunker, but the one in his mind. Mind bunker. Yeah. Cas was Cas again. As a person he could emote to and interact with like a normal person.

Well, mostly. Dean could feel Cas’ sadness that Dean called him a not-normal person. So their emotions were still linked. Great, now he felt even more like shit.

“So what can we do to make ourselves happy?”

Cas looked off to the side. His averted gaze was on some dark void with nothing in it because once again, this wasn’t actually the bunker, it was his brain. Dean tried not to think about it too hard.

“I’m actually quite happy being with you like this.”

Dean tried to be super cool about the little sprig of hope rising within him.

“Why? Pfft--I mean, clearly not that happy, if you still can’t see her.”

“I would be happier if you were willing to let me stay in here,” Cas suggested. “I like it here.”

Dean chuckled awkwardly. “Oh, spun a Ferrari round the block and now you can’t go back to the ol’ Kia, huh? Kia’s reliable. I see that Kia and I think ‘oh my pal Cas drives that Kia!’”

“You know it’s not just the…equipment upgrade I enjoy, Dean.”

Dean flicked his tongue over his lips. “Then what is it?”

“Here, I can be with you all the time. I can feel your strength in your arms, I can feel the burdens you carry on your back. I can see firsthand how you love and care for others. It makes me happy.”

He paused. “But, I know you find my constant presence here annoying. Even when I was in my other body, you would tell me to leave. What confuses me is when I leave on my own, you tell me to stay,” Cas added. He tilted his head, fixing Dean with his gaze. 

“Uh, us-us humans are just weird. I can’t explain it. You’ve been a human, so you already know what it’s like to feel human things. I mean, you don’t need me to show you that anymore.”

“Don’t I?”

Dean couldn’t respond. He continued. “I’m sorry I made you leave. Multiple times, actually. And in this case, it’s not that I want you to leave, I just can’t see--you’re just best as you and I’m best as me. Being able to read your thoughts and stuff has been interesting, but I miss little stuff. Movie nights, eating out, taking drives. It’s not the same. When we drove here, it felt so weird. Sitting there, feeling like you’re next to me, but when I look over, the passenger seat’s empty.”

He sat down at the table, looking up at the angel. “I know you just see that vessel as a change of clothes, but I’m no angel. I can’t see what you actually look like, so to me, that guy is you. Anything else just feels wrong.”

Cas took the seat next to him. “So you’re saying that you enjoy my company when you can interact with me as a separate entity?”

“It’s more like…” Dean stirred the ice cube in a whiskey glass that had materialized in front of him. “It means a lot more when I can learn about you and listen to you, not when I already know everything.”

“I suppose you’re right. It’s true that I see my vessel differently than how humans see their bodies. But I was human too, and during that time, I felt more connected to it. And the longer I spend in that skin, the more I see those traits as ‘me’. I’m sorry for asking you to give your body to me.”

“I mean, that’s not--”

“--so you are?”

Dean shook his head. “Dammit, Cas. If you like spending so much time with me, and I’m not making a horrible mistake, there’s something I can still do. Something that’ll make us both happy and prove that we’re better in separate bodies.”

“And that is?” 

A lightbulb had flashed in Dean’s mind a few seconds ago, but he dared not think about it. That would ruin a good idea, a good surprise. Frankly, the answer to a question he’d been too scared to ask all along. And it seemed that Cas had come to the same conclusion as well, though he was too respectful to probe into Dean’s mind for confirmation. 

Well, there was nothing to it. Dean leaned in, drawing Cas into a kiss with a hand on the back of his head. A pity he couldn’t gather enough brain cells right now to stick a rose behind his ear though. He could feel Cas’ shock and joy all at once--what a strange situation he was in! To be able to feel everything your love is feeling, and know all that he is thinking, but not feel their lips on your own! It felt like he was kissing air, but he was happy anyway.

The scene around him seemed to blur, and then fall away.  

Dean…can’t…concentrate…sorry…

Hehe. Still got it, baby.

“Jesus Christ, Dean, wake up! What the fuck are you doing? I see you breathing! We’re in the middle of a battle, man!”

Okay, maybe Sam shaking his brother like a ragdoll wasn’t going to do anything, but he was out of options. He had raced up that hill (thank you daily cardio) carrying Cas’ limp corpse before finding Dean passed out in a bush. Well, passed out wasn’t the right word, since his eyes were very much wide open. And glassy. All while vortices of dark clouds swirled overhead. It seemed like the sirin had already struck, and she was could be back any time.

Sam sighed. He grabbed Dean’s armpits and started dragging him closer to the cacophony of children just slamming those handbells. As he looked into the upside down, empty face, he considered just leaving him here. He brushed off his knees, turning to go.

Just as he rose, a flash of light in his periphery made him whip his head back. It was Dean’s eyes. One was the expected green. The other glowed a piercing white-blue.

“Sam. We’ve got this. We can see her. She’s coming for you 3 o’clock. Run!”

Sam hightailed it about twenty feet before he realized that he couldn’t tell whether that was Cas or Dean speaking.

Following the trail of feathers falling from the sky, Dean and Cas tracked down the sirin quickly. She was right outside the stable.  Just like the myths, she was a young looking woman with long brown hair, except with the wings and the legs of a raptor. She was crying, perched on a bough. Clutched to her chest was a mounted woman's head with feathers framing the face like a halo, with a wooden beam still attached to the back. She must have ripped it out from some wall in there. When she saw them coming, she glared at them. A second translucent set of eyelids wiped away her tears.

Dean couldn’t help himself. “You apply eyeliner on those too?” He made a wiping motion with his hand.

“Well, aren’t you two a happy couple.” She sneered, ignoring his jab.

“You know, you’re not as scary when we can see you.”

“Most things are less frightening than they first appear. But believe me, I am still as lethal.”

With that, she launched herself at them. Her mighty wings almost grazed his nose, and her powerful legs almost kicked his insides out. But Dean was able to bob and weave out of all of her moves. Angel powers aren’t half bad in a fight--it was as if things were moving slightly slower. They could tell, too, that her heart just wasn’t in it. She kept looking at the taxidermied head. Worries, frustration, and fear all seemed to be pressed right up to her sternum, beating right with her heart in her chest cavity. It was almost hard to concentrate, sensing so much. Well, that is why I’m here. God limited humans for a reason.

After a few minutes, she just flew back to her perch. Cas could feel her pain--she was like a cornered stray, confused and fearful. The two of them took a seat at the foot of the tree the sirin was on.

Cas noted a lull in her ruminations. This was his opportunity. “Did you fall with the other angels? When Metatron cast us out?”

“Not just me--my sister, Alkonost as well.”

“Alca--Alkonost. We read about her in the lore. In the myth, on the afternoon of the Apple Feast of the Saviour, she flies in after you. Singing a happy tune, giving the fruit healing properties.”

“Yes, she was always the optimistic one. We’re different from the other angels: our Father imbued us with animal spirits and bound us to this physical form. We feel hunger, pain, sadness, and fear. To everyone else, we were a liability to keep around on Earth. But Alkonost found a place for us to live here. For a few years, things were good. There’s a lot of space for us, but a lot of music and a lot of faith too. We got too complacent.”

The sirin pointed to a fenced enclosure off in the distance with a stable. “This spring, she was in the rafters of that building there, weaving a nest for her eggs. The horses spooked, and soon that woman arrived in her car. She saw a beast and put it down. And that was when I lost my happiness.”

“I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to lose a sibling. Like losing your other half.”

“I see both of you understand. But what’s funny is, I can’t even see myself very well anymore.” She lifted up a feathered hand and turned it over, eyes glassy and unseeing. “I’ve been spending so much time in the mundane world, I’ve lost all perspective. Every year since we came into being, Alkonost is supposed to arrive in a few hours--she is meant to wipe away my tears and turn them into a healing dew. But instead I’ll cry and cry and cry.”

Dean and Cas squared their shoulders and looked up at her. “I just have one question. How did Marjorie see your sister in the first place?”

She sniffed. “That woman is the happiest human in Kansas. Her family is picture perfect, she’s seen as a leader in her community, and she uses this school as her own personal money purse. Every one of those horses out there is hers.”

“Sirin. We won’t mince words with you. Did Marjorie Hendrick make you kill that woman?”

At this, the bird began to wail. “I’m sorry! I was grieving, and she had told me that the choir teacher was the one to kill Alkonost. I believed her, because I thought her ability to see me made her righteous. Today, I came down to the stable again--because I knew you two would kill me and I wanted to see our old home. I trusted that woman, and I found my sister’s head mounted up in there, like a hunting trophy. What can I even do? What’s the point?”

In response, Cas blinked. In a flash, they appeared again on the same bough as the sirin. In his mind, Dean felt his head spin, like he’d just woken up with a hangover.

“You know what you should do. Make her face your judgment.”

She nodded, and took off into the sky. 

Well, looks like it’s time for us to get you back in your body, huh? Gearing up for a fight soon.

Cas was slightly disappointed but agreed. They headed back to the clearing with his body, luckily undisturbed. Dean watched as a trail of white smoke floated over reluctantly, sliding between Cas’ lips. Those beautiful blue eyes fluttered open. His angel was finally back.

He tilted his head over towards the thickest area of the orchard, where a screech just rang out. “Sirin caught her prey.”

Dean nodded. As they rushed over, thunder started rumbling as the winds picked up even more. Heavy clouds drew over the canopy of trees like a curtain, shutting out the light save for the electric glow in Cas’ eyes. A crack of lightning revealed the silhouette of wings and outstretched talons about to sink into a woman’s back. The men leaped into the fray.

Marjorie’s shoulder was bleeding, likely from when a giant bird picked her up. For a civilian, she was holding up pretty well. She was wielding nothing but a small hunting knife--after all, she couldn’t have guessed her own attack dog would turn on her. As she whipped around to face the talons, she raised her arms to sink the blade into the sirin’s chest. But Dean slammed into her, pushing her onto a tree--but not before she had slashed across his lips. He wiped away the blood with a wince.

As she started to scream, Cas placed a hand over her mouth.

“You never should have come here today,” he hissed into her ear. “You could’ve gotten off scot-free for murdering that woman, but you had to see it. You had to be there to gloat.”

Dean looked up from a text from Sam. “Yeah, turns out they found all the real accounting you kept stashed under the fake bottom in the filing cabinet drawer. Nice trick, but it won’t save you from going to jail for a long, long time. You and your lame-ass husband.”

Cas motioned towards the sirin. “We should let her claw your heart out for what you did to her sister, and what you made her do to that woman. But she’s already been forced to kill already. I think I’ll just do this, and let law enforcement find you.” He pressed a finger to her temple.

Marjorie Hendrick collapsed to the ground. Her knife followed with a clang. The sirin, eyes cast upward pleadingly, sighed. The sky cleared up. As she blinked her large brown eyes, fallen branches returned to the trees, rubble floated up to the walls they had fallen from, and all the dirt and dust and blood blew away. A flutter of feathers and she disappeared, leaving a swirling trail of fallen magenta flower petals in her wake. Huh. Some late bloomers, getting their moment to shine before summer cools off.

Dean braced his knee with his right arm as he stood up. He wiped his mouth and grimaced.

Cas sighed. Only Dean would poke at a wound he knew would sting.

“Let me,” he murmured, closing the distance between them. Cupping Dean’s cheek, he leaned in. Finally, for real this time, he pressed his lips to Dean’s, feeling the gash across Dean’s mouth sew itself up underneath his own. And he didn’t need to be in Dean’s head to know he liked it.

They were interrupted by a camera shutter clicking. Sam was sporting the biggest shit-eating grin as he held up his phone. “Wow, can’t believe I almost slipped a disc bringing Cas here so you two could do this. Get a room!”

“The fuck you smiling about?” Dean demanded.

Sam lowered his phone, where he was beginning to type oh-so-nonchalantly. The grin only grew bigger and uglier, stretching across his face like a rubber band.

“Nothin’.”

Cas teleported behind Sam, a frankly unnecessary move (they were only about five feet apart). He narrowed his eyes.

“Rowena.”

“Wait, isn’t she literally with Lucifer right now? Please tell me you’re trying to get information and not being stu--”

“--we had a bet going. On whether y’all would--you know. I had faith in you, Dean, and I’ve just won Rowena’s perfect hair spell from the Book of the Damned.”

“One. Why the fuck does The Book of the Goddamn Damned have a hair spell. Two. How long have you two--never mind, I don’t want to know--three, you had better be getting some clues from that witch ‘bout how we can get Satan back in the kennel. Got it?”

Sam pursed his lips and not-so-surreptitiously pocketed his device. “Yes, dad.”

Dean chose to ignore that one. He took the angel’s rough, solid, physical, scarred, beautiful hand. “Cas, come on. I’m taking you on a date. Put on some nice clothes. Now let’s get outta here before we get charged with something.” Mental note: put the protein powder back in the container. Thanks, Sam.

Cas considered his wardrobe as he followed him back to the Impala. Would fake FBI suit 1 or 2 be nicer?