"What!?" I enquire, keeping my eyes closed, but instead of replying, Rowena holds my wrist, pries my fingers open, and places a small box and a smooth one foot-long stick in my hand.

"What... "

"Use them well." She says hurriedly, "Don't waste them. There are only four."

"What... " I try again, but she ignores me and patting my shoulder, she continues, "The things I do for you ungrateful boys." She sighs, and before I can reply, pinches my wrist hard.

"What the hell, Rowena!?" I yelp and almost drop the stick and the box, but even before I can think or do pretty much anything else, she pushes me.

"Goodbye, Dean." I hear her voice drift over to me, fond yet distant.

"Rowena?" I call, but she doesn't respond; I feel the air around me still; the darkness in front of my eyelids deepens; the sound of the night ebbs away, and a kind of silence I had never felt before engulfs me.

"Can I open my eyes now?" I demand, but no sound leaves my mouth.

"CAN I OPEN THEM NOW?" I ask, louder than before. Yet, just like the first time, I hear nothing.

"This is not funny, Rowena! Can I open my eyes!?" I yell, and without waiting for a reply, open my eyes; it's dark. Pitch black.

Did I even open my eyes?

I touch them to make sure if I had opened my eyes and poke myself with a stick.

"Son of a bitch!" I bite out; this time, however, the lack of sound doesn't surprise me.

'What the hell am I holding!?' I wonder, turning the items in my hand and conclude that it was a candle and a matchbox.

Who even uses them anymore?

Why am I carrying them?

I light the match, and before it can go out, I light the candle.

It doesn't help much, but at least now I can see my hands. A red, angry bruise stares at me. I brush my thumb over it and wince.

How the hell did I get this!?

Holding the candle higher, I look around; the dark, empty space stretches, unending.

'It's not as brutal as Hell, but it is unending and silent.' I recall the words but fail to put a face to them.

What is this place?

"Dean..." I hear a faint sound and turn towards it. Even though it hardly reaches me, I can feel the desperation, longing, and heartbreak in them.

"Dean, I hope you are living well." The voice continues, and I start following it without meaning to.

I can't stop myself from replying, "I am well." The fact that I can hear myself surprises me, but I don't dwell on it, for I wanted to know who my well-wisher was.

"Dean?" A hit of hope and a pinch of excitement colors the once lifeless voice.

"Yes, that would be me." I reply and press on, "Who are you? Where are you? What is this place?" I quicken my steps. Somehow, I can't shake the feeling that I am here for a reason; and am pressed for time; that it's a matter of life and death, but try as I may, I can't put my finger on it.

"Dean, it's me, Cas." The voice quivers; it's much closer now, but not close enough.

Why does he sound so sad, this Cas? Who is he?

"You are in the empty." The voice continues. Whoever it is, is trying his best to hide the gravity of his words. It's like when an adult gives news to a child that his parents are gone and never coming back.

"Follow the sound of my voice, and you will find me, eventually." The voice instructs. I am not a trusting person, but there is just something about this voice that is so pure that it fills me with warmth. I feel my heart speed up.

Cas. Who are you?

"Alright." I reply, "Man, thank Chuck, you are here. I was feeling kinda lonely in this place."

"You remember Chuck!?" The voice sounds surprised and a little agitated.

"Of course. Who could forget that ass-butt who calls himself God."

"Oh." The owner of the voice chuckles, and I can't help but smile too.

I want to see you smile, Cas.

"What kinda name is Cas? Is it short for something?" I enquire, and he whispers, "Castiel."

I feel my cheeks heat; my heart starts pounding.

"I like Cas better," I confess; embarrassment fills me, and immediately close my mouth.

Damn it, Dean. Stop acting like an infatuated teenaged girl!

"I like it better too," Cas replies fondly and I, unexpectedly feel angry, like I had lost something before even gaining it, like something that belonged to me was snatched away.

"Dean?"

"Yes, Cas."

"How are Sam and Jack?" Cas questions.

"How do you know Sam and Jack?" I ask, but before Cas can answer, a drop of wax falls on my thumb; I yelp and try covering it with a cough, which inadvertently extinguishes the candle.

Damn it!

"Cas, are you there?" I demand, but once again, find my voice stolen.

"Cas!" I call louder. My eyes sting from holding back tears, and my heart sinks, "Cas, don't do this, man!" I beg.

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, everything rushes back to me. The empty, Rowena, the bargain, and CAS!

My breath falters, and with shaky hands, I grab another match and light the candle. I peer into the matchbox and see that there are only two more sticks left.

What the hell, Rowena!?

'Use them well.' The witch's words rush back to me, bringing with it panic as I remember that I had only five minutes.

How much time had I already wasted?

How long do I have?

"Cas! Cas!" I call out. "I am here for you...I... I am here to see you. Where are you!?" I shout and find that my voice had returned.

"Dean, you remember." Cas states, "You remember me?"

"Yes, you dumbass! Now tell me where you are?"

"Dean, you shouldn't be here." Cas states, fear creeping into his voice. He pauses and when he speaks next, his tone changes. "What did you do to get here, Dean!?" He demands, furious. My angel's voice booms through the empty, piercing the dark silent veil.

Shivers run down my spine, but I stand my ground and respond: clear and loud, "I did what I always do. I made a deal."

{Note :- Word count 1079}

To be continued...