AN: This fanfiction is a little side-journey post-Deanmon, pre-Darkness. Credit to a great Tumblr post for the "flashback." Important: Destiel. (Please give feedback! This is my first story and I want to grow as a writer, so anything helps!)

    It was August... wasn't it? He had lost track of the days, or maybe he just didn't care any more. It had been only weeks since he was human... or months...? No, but it felt like it.

    Crowley had sent him on a basic crossroads deal to "get in touch with his hellish side." He materialized right behind a teenaged boy, crouched in the dirt, covering a shoebox in the center of an intersection between country dirt roads.. Dean shifted his weight onto his right foot and hardened his gaze.

    "Son, just don't."

    The boy rapidly stood and turned around. His brown eyes widened at the sight of the demon. Dean's face went slack his shock. Ben?

    The last time Dean had seen Ben, he was explaining how he caused a car accident where Ben's mother, Lisa, was injured. But Cas had actually altered their memories to keep Ben and Lisa away from the dangerous life of hunting. Of course Ben didn't recognize him, but Ben's face brought back so many memories for Dean... and so much regret.

    "Uh- um- you can help, right?" came Ben's shaky voice, pulling Dean from his more human thoughts. "You can do something for me, in exchange for my-" he gulped "-my soul." Ben took a brave step forward. "My mom is real sick."

    Dean raised his eyebrows, but he could feel his interest slipping from the conversation. What was happening? He had loved Lisa, and he had cared for Ben like his own son, why was he so indifferent? He felt the Mark of Cain on his right forearm tug at his blackened soul. He was a demon now, and he could feel the Mark slowly stomping out any human part of him.

    "... and she doesn't have much time left..." Ben was saying. Dean held up his hand to silence the teenager, who had unsuccessfully choked back a sob.

    "Listen, kid, your sob-story is captivating and all, but I've got another deal waiting. This isn't really worth my time."

    "But, the cance-"
    "That's enough," boomed Dean. Ben took a frightened step back. Dean turned around. The dim, human part of him screamed for him to turn back, to put a hand on Ben's shoulder and tell him-

    The small voice was silenced.

***

    It was the first good night's rest he's had in about... wow, a year. Dean sat up in his bed in the bunker. He rubbed his groggy face with his rough hand, resting his palm over his thin lips surrounded by prickly stubble. The nightmares weren't as intense last night, but they were still here. Images of the people he violently injured and murdered when he was a demon, the screams of the by-watchers, and the crushed look in one boy's eyes...

    Sam was waiting for him in the kitchen. A freshly brewed pot of off-brand coffee wafted to Dean's welcoming nostrils. He tied his signature gray robe tighter and put on a smile. "Hiya, Sammy."

    Sam cracked a half-smile and looked up from the laptop his was furiously typing on. "Hey. How do you feel today?"

    "Oh, like a million bucks," stated Dean nonchalantly as he poured a mug full of coffee. He grunted as he sat across from Sam. "Whatcha looking at?"

    "Well, get this: A couple campers up in Canyonville, Oregon were dragged from their tents late last night. Other campers near by heard low growls and something running fast through the trees. Looks like a Wendigo to me."

    "And?" Dean asked.

    Sam spread his hands in a gesture that said What more do you want? "I don't know, maybe we could check it out?"

    Dean set down his coffee. "I guess. You've been finding alot of cases lately, and most of them have been dead ends. I'd thought that you would rather look for other ways to cure the Mark now that the Book of the Damned is sidelined... permanently."

    Sam shifted in his seat uncomfortably, going unnoticed by Dean. "Well, I just thought that you'd might like to take your mind off of it."

    A loud knocking on the metal bunker door startled the brothers. Sam leapt up and walked briskly to the door. He opened it to find a permanently flustered-looking man with scruffy hair, a five o'clock shadow, a long trench coat, and bright blue eyes. He nodded and muttered something to Sam, then brushed past him. His entrance in the kitchen made Dean's heart leap.

    "Cas," he said.

    Castiel the angel nodded. "Dean, how are you?"

    "Still kicking. Hey, there's a Wendigo case in Oregon, want to tag along?" Dean asked, taking another sip of his coffee while maintaining eye contact.

    Cas's eyes darted to Sam's. "Well, I guess I could."

    Dean stood up and brought his hands together for a loud, brief clap. "Alright. Let's load up and go."

***

    The trunk of the Impala slammed shut with a satisfying thud. Sam hefted the army green duffel bag over his shoulder and surveyed the forest. Dean was carrying a backpack full of camping supplies. "Well, let's get hiking. You have a map, Sammy?"

    "Yeah," replied Sam, opening a crumpled paper. "The crime scene is about fourteen miles north of here."

    "Wait," said Cas getting out of the backseat. "We're going to hike?"

    Dean smirked. "Yeah, what were you expecting?"
    Cas gave Dean a quick one over. Thick denim jeans, muddy boots, flannel button down, and his father's leather jacket. "You're not exactly dressed for hiking."

    "Neither are you," jabbed Sam.

    Cas rolled his eyes. "I'm an angel, you ass." He reached out and grabbed their shoulders. They were instantly transported to the center of the woods where shreds of police tape that were torn off of a tree fluttered in the light breeze. The black, burnt ring shown where the fire had blazed. Cas released the brothers who gawked at their new surroundings. Dean nodded and licked his lower lip. "Thanks," he said quickly yet sincerely to Cas.

    The men trekked about 10 minutes from the crime scene and set up a temporary camp. Sam was studying his map. "Okay, we should probably try to find the Wendigo's hideout before dark. Dean, do you have the flamethrowers?"

    Dean rustled through the dufflebag and held up two homemade torches with pride. He returned them to the bag and lifted it over his shoulder. "Come on, let's head back to the crime scene. We could find a trail from there."

    Cas -who was busy trying to pitch a tent, but rather made something that looked like a tarp covering a bush- stood, grumbling, "If we can just 'gank' it now, then why have I been setting up camp for you?"

    Sam crossed the camp to the duffle bag where he retrieved his father's journal. "Wendigos are notorious for being hard to kill. They are great hunters during the day, but nearly unstoppable at night. If we can't get to it before sundown, it can at least find us at night."

    Dean pointed to the flamethrowers. "And if it does, it gets fried extra crispy."

    "That sounds dangerous," said Cas.

    "Come on, don't be a baby, Cas," said Dean. He shouldered the bag and walked through the trees followed closely by Sam.

    "I'm not a baby," said Cas to himself before ultimately following.

***

    It had been a half and hour following broken twigs and the indentations in the dirt that looked like someone being dragged. The sun was low in the sky, keeping the three on edge. Finally, they found the low entrance of a cave. Sam and Dean glanced quickly at each other and nodded, manning the flamethrowers. Dean glanced back at Cas with a small smile and jerked his head towards the cave, suggesting he follow.

    The cave was dark and damp, and going much deeper than one might have expected. No sign of the missing campers could be seen. Cas nudged Dean's shoulder and pointed near a tunnel. A small beam of light was emanating from it. It was being followed by panicked footsteps. Someone was running their way. The men took cover and got their weapons ready.

    A teenaged girl with long blonde hair and striking blue eyes burst from the tunnel and put her back against the wall, breathing heavily. She peered back into the tunnel. Cas stepped out from his hiding place in shock. "Claire?"

    Claire Novak seized and whipped her head around. "Castiel? What are you-"

    Sam and Dean stepped into the beam of her flashlight. "Claire, what-" began Dean, who was cut off by Claire lunging forward and putting her hand over his mouth. She removed it and shoved them all away. "Quiet! It'll hear you! Get away from the tunnel!"

    "The Wendigo?" asked Sam. Claire rolled her eyes.

    "No, Madonna," she said sarcastically. Another flashlight could be seen at the end of the tunnel. She shoved them against the other side of the tunnel's entrance and prepared a lighter and an aerosol can. A tall, blur of a teenage boy came streaking out, screaming, "NOW! CLAIRE DO IT NOW!"

    A wolf-like creature barely got it's long foot into the cave's chamber before it was burned to a crisp by two flamethrowers and a can of Hannah Montana hairspray. The Wendigo howled in pain before its body became nothing but ashes. Dean stood straighter. "Where did you learn to do that, Claire?"

    Cas frowned with fatherly concern, "Yes, where did you learn how to do that?"

    Suddenly, Dean was being tackled by the teenaged boy. He struggled to keep Dean on the ground, kneeing him in the gut and pinning his hands to Dean's shoulders. "Run, Claire, he's a demon!"

    Cas effortlessly plucked the boy off of Dean, who stood, brushing the dirt off of his clothes with a bewildered expression on his face. "What the hell?"

    The boy in Cas's hands was tall and muscular, with an ACDC t-shirt and deep brown eyes. Both Sam and Dean said, "Ben?"