The stars were especially bright tonight, Castiel noticed. He vaguely wondered if the other angels even bothered to notice the beauty of the earth, instead of hating it for catching them in their fall, in the end deciding that they probably didn't care one bit.

It was quiet too, a sound he appreciated. It could be compared to a human's need for sleep. Sometimes, an angel could really use a few hours of silence, to clear his thoughts and ease his soul. He opened his arms a little and turned to face away from the road, watching the wheat fields, stretching as far as he could see, swaying gently in the warm night breeze.

He took it all in. The night, the open space, the crops, the absoluteness of it all. Totally relaxed, he closed his eyes. Everything was okay, for once. Sam and Dean were asleep in the Impala, Cas having convinced them to sleep out in the open for a change. They were in between hunting jobs, but with Cas' powers being stronger than before, it was almost enjoyable.

But of course, nothing in his life ever stayed good long. It happened so quickly, Cas almost thought he had imagined it in his relaxed state of mind. Then it appeared again. And again. He blinked, and looked back at the car. There was no sign of danger.

Cautiously turning back around, he allowed his eyes to flutter shut, trying to seep back in to the comforting starlight. For a moment, nothing else happened. Then he dropped to the ground, clutching his head, and squeezing his eyes shut.

He saw images flashing by. A pair of apple green eyes. Little white flurries swirling downwards. A massive raven feather, contrasted vividly by pure white. The pictures began blurring together, and finally eased into a continuous stream in which he could clearly make out a hill covered in thick snow, with flakes still steadily tumbling down.

Confused, he attempted to move in this vision-scape and was surprised to be able to. He took in his surroundings. Nothing but snow. It was unnerving, to see an entire landscape white. Even the sky was a pale grey. This silence was anything but comforting. He felt trapped, frozen in place by some intensely strong force.

Jerking him out of his musing was a burst of movement spotted out of the corner of his hawk-like eyes, on the edge of a forest. His ghostly form glided to this new observance, but stopped a few yards from the closest tree. At his feet, was a messy stain of red. Blood. Even more puzzled than before, he stooped down to get a better look. Just as he was about to reach out and touch it, a snowflake floated into his eye and he blinked to clear his vision.

And once more, he was staring back at the stars in the wheat fields. Rattled, his first gut reaction was to tell Sam and Dean. Yet something told him that he shouldn't. At least, not yet. He just got Sam's soulless problem fixed and Dean's trust back, and didn't want to worry them more with some weird vision he had one time. It probably was nothing. If it was something, he would fix it himself.

Just when he thought things couldn't get any stranger, he noticed a weight on his back, and the light of the stars gave off a larger shadow behind him than before.

No. He hissed to himself, not wanting to believe what he knew had somehow happened. It is impossible.

Without making any noise, he walked back to the Impala and peered at himself in a side mirror. His turquoise orbs were scrunched up in worry and he gasped when he saw them.

In awe, he flapped the appendages sprouting from between his shoulder blades. Pearly black and powerfully extended, he could only think of how much he missed them, and how much they had healed from flying through Hell. Suddenly, he felt a tinge of panic. What if the Winchesters woke up and saw his…wings? They were not meant for a human to see. His mind began to race in worry, but as he stepped away from the mirror, something changed.

As quickly as they had come, they disappeared, invisible once again. Castiel suddenly had an urge to run away, to get somewhere even remoter than the little patch of dirt on the side of an old country road. He checked on the undisturbed sleeping forms of the Winchesters once more, then vanished with a gentle whoosh.

He appeared in the middle of a field, close to the boys, but far enough away so he could truly feel alone. The moon was big tonight, he noted. It was funny to him how humans took pride in making guesses about the planets and outer space. To him, it served a purpose of peace.

Not thinking of the vision, he closed his eyes again, and was enveloped by the comforting darkness and the moonlight. Everything was the way it should be. He had his family, and they had a job. Nothing else to it. But he knew, deep in his heart, that nothing ever stayed the same for long.

The air around him dropped in temperature and he crouched below the fronds of the wheat plants, dropping his angel blade into his waiting grip. Something blocked out the light of the moon and stars. It was coming closer, dragging something through the fields. Electricity crackled, and the atmosphere seemed moist, like a storm was coming. There was a crackle of thunder, and it started to rain.

This sent multiple alarm bells off it Cas' mind, but he managed to hold his breath as the supernatural being stopped a few yards from his spot. Then, knowing it would be better for him to attack first, Cas leapt to his feet and charged the dark figure. In the nick of time, it turned around, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

It could almost pass as an angel, but it was not. It didn't seem to have a vessel, just existed as a dark humanlike figure with cold violet eyes. And its wings…they were snapped, broken, helplessly hanging off the it's back. Castiel stepped back, but kept the silver blade between the two, using its light to see the figure, as it blocked most of the natural light.

"Who are you?" he whispered gravely. Then, for added measure, with a tint of threat in his tone, "What are you?"

The figure narrowed its purple eyes to thin slits. "I am an Thunderbird. We take no names. But I know yours, Castiel. I know all about you."

Cas took this as a bad sign, and adjusted the knife, preparing to throw it. "I wouldn't try that on me," the Thunderbird advised. "Angel blades do no harm to us. That's better," he added, once Castiel reluctantly drew the blade back up his sleeve.

"Now," the Thunderbird said calmly. "We have much to discuss." Castiel met its gaze with conviction and began glow, his grace ringing as his eyes burned white, clearly displaying his power. The Thunderbird only twitched in amusement at the spectacle. "Angels."