Post S6 AU, beginning about three weeks after the events of 6x22. Don't own, don't profit.

"Dean?"

Sam hesitated on Bobby's porch. Dean was in the junkyard pacing between a rusting pile of car parts and a rusting pile of oil drums, eyes to the gravel, deep in thought. It worried Sam more than anything Dean had done in the previous three weeks; at least then Dean had been fighting, moving, trying manically to find anything that would help them remove the souls from Cas and get him back to something resembling normal. He'd worked day and night, forgoing sleep and subsisting on cereal and Irish coffee, calling up every hunter, psychic, witch, and sympathetic monster they knew to find a solution. He'd moved with a fury Sam hadn't seen since their hunt for their missing father. Eventually, though, the contacts and leads had run out and he had just...stopped. He's starting to give up, Bobby had said to him this morning over breakfast. And to be honest, so am I.

"Dean." Seeing his brother flinch, Sam grimaced inwardly. Dean was always on guard even at the best of times, and this was not the best of times. They'd all spent the time since Cas's power-grab suspicious and on edge. He had made good on his promise not to harm any of them, but trust was running a little short in that relationship. And they had no idea where he was or what he could be planning.

"What? Find anything?" Dean hadn't bothered trying to hide his flat tone, and Sam briefly considered just not answering. That would make Dean angrier than just telling the truth, though. Given the last few months, the truth was the safest bet.

"Nothing. Bobby's run out of phone book." Sam was across the yard and standing next to his brother in a few long strides. "No spells that anyone can find, no rituals. Even if we knew one, the next full eclipse is years away." Dean leaned against an oil drum, rubbing his hands though his hair in frustration.

"And Cas has killed anyone and anything even remotely close to having both the mojo and the will to take him out. The ones that are alive won't talk to us. Fantastic." Dean glanced briefly at the sky. "You son of a bitch." Sam sighed, crossing his arms in front of him. It was getting chilly, and the clouds overhead looked as though they might open up at any minute. He had to wonder if Cas was watching them, right now; no dead angels had been found that day, and all was unnervingly quiet on the demonic front. Maybe they were taking a break from trying to slaughter each other.

"He didn't manage to kill everyone, Dean. We could always-" Dean's head snapped up to face Sam and he stood, fists clenched.

"We are not. calling. Crowley. The next time I have to see that limey bastard, it's going to be during his exorcism." Dean slid his hands into his pockets and clenched his jaw, his hard stare daring Sam to say more.

"I'm just saying, Dean. Even if he doesn't have the power he'll have the knowledge, and we need anything we can get right now." A few seconds of charged silence passed before he spoke again. "Whatever, man. Let's get inside before it starts raining. You need to eat something anyways." Grabbing his brother by the shoulder, he steered him back towards the house. Dean dug his heels into the gravel on principle.

"I mean it, Dean," he snapped in response to the silent sarcasm. "You can't run off of beer and chocolate bars forever. I'll have Bobby fry you some eggs or something." They had been inside no more than a minute when the sky opened and a freezing rain poured down.

"You're not my family. I have no family."

Dean had not expected those words to hurt so much. Losing Cas, on top of Sam and Ben and Lisa, was just too much. And dammit, Cas was right; it was a Hail Mary pass, a last resort to try and save the only family he had left. Immobile with fear, he was losing another loved one and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Worse: he was at least partially to blame for it in the first place.

The ease with which Cas had pulled the sword from his own spine had made Dean nauseous. It was like he hadn't even felt it. He was so punch-drunk on souls that he'd lost his own humanity, if you could even call it that. Sam and Bobby's faces mirrored his own shock, the exact danger and helplessness of their own situation finally hitting them. Dean almost missed Cas's next words due to the sheer mindless panic that had settled into every inch of his being.

"So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord, or I shall destroy you." Dean stood, shaking, for a moment. Something twisted, deep inside him; Cas had the power to destroy half the planet at will, and the first thing he did was ask to be loved. A twisted, dark, and fucked-up love, but still love.

There was nothing else he could do. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, Dean sank to his knees. A soft thump in front of him and the sound of a popping joint followed by a pained groan behind told him that Sam and Bobby had done the same. He looked everywhere but at Cas, his eyes eventually finding his brother's. They held each other's gaze for a moment before Sam broke contact. A hand gently cupped Dean's chin and directed it upward. Dean was greeted with an amused half-smile and what was now a frighteningly cold gaze. There was nothing left of the angel that he knew in front of him.

"Do not be afraid, Dean. I am a merciful God to those who are loyal. Despite our quarrels and shortcomings, you have proven yourself so." The hand moved from his chin to the side of his face, and Cas squatted down to look him in the eye. "You and your family shall remain unharmed so long as you are faithful." He stood abruptly and turned, raising his fist into the air. The wall in front of him crumbled.

"I have matters that I must see to. Go home, my children."

There was a brilliant flash of light, and then Cas was gone.

Dean's gun was in his hand before he was even fully awake, muscle memory taking over out of habit. He surveyed the room for the noise that had woken him from that damn dream. A sudden vibration from the end table told him that his cell phone was ringing, the screen flashing Private Number at him. He reached for it and tapped the talk button, still suspiciously eyeing the doors and windows for any signs of intrusion; Bobby had laid every protective spell and sigil he knew on the place, but they all suspected that a little thing like Enochian warding magic wouldn't trouble Cas for very long. Not after the all-you-can-eat soul food buffet. Dean lifted the phone to his ear.

"Kerry Livgren."

"Dean? That you?" Dean relaxed slightly at the familiar tobacco-tinged drawl: Joey Haiman, a South Carolina hunter he'd worked with several years ago. He laid back down, wincing as his back popped painfully. I'm getting too old for this shit. Shaking off his annoyance at being woken up during a rare night of sleep, he forced his usual cheer and bravado to take over.

"Joey! I thought you were dead, you salty bastard. Didn't your bolt-hole get hit by ghouls a while back? And why are you calling me at ..." He squinted at his watch in the darkness, trying to tilt the face to catch what little light there was. Three-fifteen AM. "...ass o'clock in the morning?" Joey let out a wheezing, rasping laugh that hurt just to listen to.

"I made it out okay. Bastards weren't expectin' a silver-loaded semi-auto. And the reason I'm callin' you at ass o'clock in the morning is that I may have found a solution to that problem you've been callin' around about." Dean sat straight up, not quite believing his ears.

"What you got?"

"Nothing direct. It's a 'know a guy who knows a guy' situation." A soft knock sounded at the door, and Dean looked up to find Sam hovering in the hallway, still half-asleep. Dean waved him in and quickly pulled a pad of paper and a pen out of the bedside drawer.

"Anything's better than nothing, Joey. Give me the goods." Dean flicked the speaker on and laid the phone on the bed between himself and Sam.

"Alright. So I was out at the bar the other night mindin' my own business and this squirrelly little guy walks up. Tiniest man I've ever seen, no bigger than four, four and a half feet tall. Asks me if I'm a hunter. Now y'all know me; I'm suspicious as the night is long, so I say to him, let's go outside and talk about this in private..." Sam's brow furrowed and he pointed at the phone. I thought he was dead, he mouthed. Dean shrugged, tapping the pen on his leg impatiently.

"So after I'd got done doin' the usual once-over, I ask him what his name is and why he thinks he's got business with me. His name is Hector, he says, and he thinks he can help someone named Winchester, do I know any such person?" There was a slight pause, and the sound of a glass being filled. "Turns out he's a daemon." Sam leaned over the phone, eyes narrowed.

"Daemon as in the benevolent Greek spirit or daemon as in 'that's how my redneck ass pronounces the word demon'?"

"Nice to see your smart ass too, Sam. I mean the Greek spirit. Says he knows someone might be able to help you boys out, and he'd be willing to tell you where to find them." Dean scribbled down the words Hector and daymon on the pad and handed it to Sam, who rolled his eyes and scratched out the Y to replace it with an E.

"Did he say anything about compensation?"

"Didn't say anythin' except he knew someone who could help. I sent him your way, he should be there by tomorrow. " Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"Thanks, Joey. This really helps. We owe you one." Hanging up the phone, Dean stood and stretched. "Wake Bobby up. We need to read everything we can about daemons before this one gets here."

"So basically...generally good, standard allergies except to holy water, won't kill except in self-defense, occasionally cryptic, slightly creepy." Bobby shut the dusty book on the desk gently, cursing as the split in the spine grew another quarter-inch. "Nice to have one that doesn't want to kill us, for once."

Dean stood at the window, watching the road carefully. Another quiet, gloomy day had descended, with no more reports of attacks or bizarre natural disasters. The lack of activity was worrisome. What on earth are you up to, Cas? A moving figure at the edge of the junkyard caught his eye; someone was making his way though the cars towards the house.

"Sam. Bobby. I think our boy's here." Sam picked up his shotgun and headed for the door, Dean close behind. Bobby loitered further back in the hall, silver knife at the ready.

For several minutes there was no sound but the crunch of shoes on gravel. Dean listened carefully, trying to judge the daemon's distance from the door, calculating if he was close enough to get a shot off if he had to. Finally, a light knock sounded at the door. Dean swung it open to reveal a small, dark man, hardly bigger than a child, staring at them with large black eyes.

"Mister Dean Winchester?" Dean stepped forward, nodding to the daemon.

"I'm Dean. This is my brother Sam and our friend Bobby Singer." The daemon smiled, revealing a mouthful of small, pointed teeth, and held out his hand as if to shake Dean's.

"I'm Hector." When he received no handshake, Hector lowered his hand and nodded toward Bobby and his silver knife. "I presume you will want to test me in case I'm a demon or some other kind of monster?" Bobby nodded, stepping forward. Hector rolled up the sleeve of his sweater and held his arm out. A slightly dirty bandage circled his forearm where Joey had cut him several nights before.

"Mister Haiman told me to expect this. He seemed to think that the three of you would be unusually thorough."

"He was right," said Sam. "We've got some shady stuff out for our necks. It's just procedure. Gotta make sure you fit the profile." Hector inclined his head gracefully, and Dean and Sam leaned against the doorway as Bobby went to work.

"Won't take but a minute, Hector." Hector smiled another unnervingly toothy grin, sending shivers down Dean's spine.

"Oh don't worry, Mister Singer. I'm very patient."

Several minutes later Hector was perched on the couch, a glass of water clasped in his small hands. Sam and Dean sat on chairs pulled in from the kitchen while Bobby leaned on his desk, all sipping glasses of whatever lighter fluid Bobby had dug out of the pantry.

"The person you're looking for is one of the oldest creatures still walking this planet, Mister Winchester."

"Call me Dean, Hector." Hector considered this for a moment and then stood, his full height just short of Dean's while sitting. He took a small notebook from his pocket and began scribbling in it furiously, speaking as he wrote.

"Certainly, Mister Winchester. Like I said: the person you're looking for is one of the oldest creatures walking this planet. Certainly the oldest still living in the Greek pantheon, and one of the most powerful as well. You need to find Gaia, the Earth Mother." A moment of silence stretched between the four men. Hector continued scribbling in his notebook. When he showed no sign of stopping, Dean finished the last of his whiskey and set the glass on the floor.

"Gaia. The Earth Mother." Hector looked up briefly and smiled.

"Yes. I believe her abilities are sufficient to defeat the angel Castiel."

"What's she gonna do, throw flowers at him? Confuse him with interpretive dance?" The daemon paused, looking up from his writing to stare at Dean. He was still smiling, but the tone had changed; it had slipped from eerily cheerful to menacing in a heartbeat.

"Do not underestimate the Earth Mother, Mister Winchester." Hector snapped the notebook shut and handed it to Sam, never breaking eye contact with Dean. "She may not be a part of your largely paternalistic Christian mythos, but she is mother or grandmother to most of our gods and a fierce warrior in her own right. If she cannot defeat the angel Castiel alone, then she has more than enough allies with strong shields and long swords to manage the feat."

"Hector, I'm sure Dean didn't mean any offense. We're all a bit on edge with this whole situation, as I'm sure you can understand." Bobby gestured to the couch, sending Dean a silent cease-and-desist-you-idjit glare. Hector turned to Bobby after another long, uncomfortable staring contest with Dean. "Do you happen to know where we can find her? Anything you can give us would help."

"Of course, Mister Singer." The tiny daemon hopped back up onto the sofa and indicated the notebook in Sam's hand. "I've written down everything I know about her last known whereabouts there." Sam opened the notebook and squinted at the tiny, neat handwriting.

"Gaia, Earth Mother. Aliases include Rhea, Samara, Shakti, and Joan Crawford. Carries bow of Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. Last known to be residing in..." Sam shook his head, trying to suppress a snort of laughter. "...in Athens, Georgia." He tossed the notebook to Bobby, who chuckled and tucked it into his pocket.

"Athens, Georgia?" Dean shot the daemon an incredulous look. Hector shifted in his seat, a mixture of bemusement and apology crossing his face.

"Yes, Mister Winchester. She left the peninsula some centuries ago for reasons unknown to anyone but herself. We only became aware of her location in the last decade. She is very old and her sense of humor is somewhat...different." Hector stood suddenly, holding his hand out again.

"I must be going. I have neglected my work for too long. I sincerely thank you for your hospitality." He shook their hands solemnly, having to use both of his to fully clasp Sam's. Bobby walked him to the door, but hesitated before opening it.

"Why are you helping us, Hector? What's in it for you?" The little man sighed, a weight seeming to settle on his shoulders, and looked around at them with his large eyes.

"Because I am a daemon, Mister Singer. That is what we do." He paused, considering his next words. "And because this is my world as much as it is anyone else's. I have no more desire to see it destroyed than you do, whether by your gods or ours." Dean nodded and knelt in front of Hector, placing a hand on his thin shoulder.

"Can't argue with that. Thank you, Hector. Let us know if you need any help in the future."

"I will, Mister Winchester." Hector smiled at the three again, and then opened the door, darting towards the road. Sam strode out onto the porch, Dean by his side, as they watched the small figure bound through the junkyard. Bobby scoffed from the doorway, readjusting his baseball cap.

"What a weird little critter." Sam nodded in agreement, rocking back and forth onto his heels.

"I guess that means we're going to Georgia, then." He clapped Dean on the shoulder, then walked back inside. Dean stared warily at the clouds for a few seconds, half-expecting a dozen angels to come screaming out of the sky. Satisfied that there would be no smiting for the moment, he followed Sam into the house and up the stairs.