Title: Eyes of An Angel

Description: My take on Castiel's return. Loosely based off the three sentence, official description of the episode. "Castiel slowly opened his eyes, brilliant blue becoming apparent once again. The three single words he uttered shattered Dean's state of anger."

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Supernatural. But Kripke did a damn good job of writing it. And Edlund, and even Gamble.

Dean was getting desperate— no, actually he was way beyond that point. Currently he was at the end of his tether. One more negative response would drive him off the edge. For the past week he'd been calling hunters nonstop; friends of his father, friends of Bobby, friends of Sam, his own friends… and yet not one knew of how to help his Sammy. Not one out of the thousands of hunters out there. Not freaking one.

The moment Sammy snapped, the moment he'd lost all control, the moment he'd let Lucifer get the best of him, Dean knew it was either he try to save Sam, or he'd kill himself. If Sam wasn't with him, what was the point of living? Bobby was dead. Cas was gone. Lisa and Ben didn't remember him. Nothing was left for him.

Except trying to save Sam. He owed him that.

"Tell me you know how to help Sam," he ground out into the phone, his tone full of despair and annoyance.

"I'm sorry," Jean, a hunter Dean had helped out back in 1998, responded. "There's no way I know of helping out your little brother, Dean."

"Yeah? Well thanks for nothing," Dean snapped. Of course, there was no reason for him to be angry. It wasn't Jean's fault Sam was locked up in the loony bin, all coo for CoCo Puffs.

Just as he was about to hang up the phone, Jean shrilly cried out for him to wait. Scowling, Dean pressed the ear back to his phone and waited for the other to speak. "I said I didn't know how to help him, not that I didn't know who might be able to."

Dean's heart flip-flopped in his chest. "Who? Where?"

"I've never met the guy, but I've heard quite a bit about him. He's a healer, up in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Apparently he's got quite the magic touch."

"Cape Cod?" Dean repeated, pressing the location into his memory. "Where?" he demanded gruffly.

"Sandwich. The house by the cemetery. He lives alone. Or so I've heard."

Nodding, Dean swiped his keys off the hotel desk, and hitched his rucksack over his shoulder. "I'm on my way. Thanks, Jean."

"No problem, Dean. Also, sorry about Bobby."

Dean's chest tightened at the mention of his surrogate father. "Yeah…" Then he hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket. Massachusetts was only three states away. If he drove fast enough, he'd reach the peninsula by nightfall.

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean muttered, revving the engine and then peeling out of the parking lot. "I'm going to get help."

Sandwich was small, quiet town in southeastern Cape Cod. Had Dean been on vacation, he probably would have enjoyed its peacefulness and serenity. But now, as he sped through the dark streets at seventy miles per hour, he was everything but enjoying the view. All he cared about was finding the damn cemetery and the damn healer so Sam would be okay.

Rain fell down in sheets, cascading down the Impala's windshield. The windshield wipers whipped back and forth, brushing the water away. Dean's eyes stayed trained on the slick road, flickering every few moments to and fro, keeping a look out for a house with a cemetery.

"Could've given me a fricking address!" Dean growled out, frustrated at the lack of information. Or rather, frustrated at how he'd failed to ask about the address.

Just then, he came across a cemetery. Slamming on the breaks, the Impala skidded a few feet forwards before coming to a complete halt. His eyes scanned the area, narrowing as he zeroed in on a small cabin with a light on near the far side of the boneyard. Hitting the gas again, he sped through the maze of dirt roads in the cemetery to the shack.

The rain was slowing now, drizzling lightly, almost like mist. Dean rolled to a stop, scrutinizing the cabin with his eyes. From what he could see, there was no activity from inside it. Unsnapping his seatbelt, he climbed out if his baby, and hastened to the covered porch, the rain slicking the back of his jacket and lightly dampening his hair.

"Hello?" he hollered, pounding his fist on the rickety old oak door of the cabin a few times. "Is anyone home? Hello?"

No answer.

After waiting a few more seconds, he began to beat on the door again. "Hey! Open up! I know someone's in there! Now open the damn door!"

Okay, so maybe that wasn't the best way to make someone open the door, but Dean didn't have the patience or the time to be Mr. Nice Guy. But after five more minutes of fruitless name-calling and threats, Dean realized the guy probably wasn't even home.

Which meant he was just wasting more time.

In a fit of fury, he kicked the door, earning an alarming crack from it. Swearing under his breath, he turned his back to the cabin and stomped down the steps and back into the rain. "Bastard isn't even home," he grunted, his phone digging in his pocket, his plan to call Jean back to double check that this was indeed the correct place.

"Excuse me."

Dean froze, ice shooting through his veins immediately. Not out of shock though, no— it was because he knew that goddamn voice. He knew that voice all too well. A voice he'd never imagined he'd hear again. The same gravelly, gruff, rasping voice of a certain angel.

With a clenched jaw, Dean raised his head, looking straightforward.

Eyes the color of the ocean at night stared back at him, burning into his soul.

If not for the eyes and voice, Dean might not have recognized the angel standing before him. Not at first glance, anyway. Gone was the beige trench coat— currently sitting in the impala's trunk, stowed away underneath all his weaponry—, gone was the black-and-white, rumpled monkey suit, gone were the polished shoes. Now on the slender body of Jimmy Novak was a gay-looking light blue sweater, over baggy dark washed jeans, and matched with a pair of once-white sneakers.

However, his hair was the same as always. Slightly overgrown and wild, having the air of being windswept all the time. The stubble coating his jaw, while maybe a quarter of an inch longer, was still there. And his eyes, those damn eyes, were the same midnight blue, impossibly blue. And they still pierced the soul with every glance.

A thousand emotions shot through Dean at once: rage, desperation, fury, misery, relief… But every fiber in his body settled on one.


"You son of a bitch!" Almost out of his control, he flung himself at the angel, his hand balled into a tight fist. "You son of a bitch!"

And, to Dean's utmost surprise, the man standing before him let out a yelp of fear and cowered in front of Dean, raising his hands over his head to defend himself.

Dean stopped, his fist inches away from Castiel's face.

Castiel slowly opened his eyes, brilliant blue becoming apparent once again. The three single words he uttered shattered Dean's state of anger.

Who are you…?


So I'm writing this based on all the "official" information that has been released about the episode. Like, the description of 7.17 that was released saying that Cas comes back as some sort of healer. And Misha said in an interview that at first Cas is like, the sorta amnesia type, but near the end he's more regretful (so I'm assuming Cas gets his memory back). And also, in the description is says Dean has a hard time forgiving his former friend, so obviously Dean must be angry with Cas. For good reason too- he did break Sam's wall. I still love Cas though. But anyway... I hope you enjoy where this is going :D

And also, sorry for its shortness! I wanted to write it all, but I'm currently re-watching season three of Supernatural and got a little sidetracked... and now it's late and I need to go to the grocery store haha. So I'll probably write a little later. Please review/comment if you like it! Or if you feel like being nice :D Or if you know any information I might not know. Thank you :D