Not Until We Are Lost

It didn't take long after leaving the Doctor and the TARDIS for Annabelle to feel... something. It was weird.

It felt like a push at her brain. And Annabelle realized that if she let the push through, there was a message behind it.

He's in the park. It's down next to the lake, a few blocks from the police station. It was a woman saying this. Inside her head. Annabelle realized this had to be Phaedra. She told Cavan, and agreed to meet him after finding Simon.

He wasn't hard to find.

The park wasn't very full at this hour of the evening, probably because of the news that'd been in the paper.

Annabelle approached, intentionally cracking a twig or two under her feet, and stopped about ten feet from him. The books that The Doctor had given her were in her bag, hanging across her shoulder.

"I hear you're the man to see," she said.

It'd not been his intention to find the car. At least not entirely. What information Anna had given Cas regarding this Slayer was useful in aiding their investigation, but he felt a desire to seek Dean out nevertheless. He half-expected their meeting to come to blows, if Dean didn't flat out try to hit him in the first place, but he was fast. And if he wasn't fast enough, one punch would be easy to forgive. He didn't wish to justify anything the other Castiel had done. In fact, none of it could be justified. All he knew was that Dean was his friend and as it was, his friend's future daughter was missing. Cas knew where he needed to be, whether or not his presence was actually wanted.

Yet despite everything, Dean was about as easy to find as Piotr had been. There was going to be only one 1967 Chevy Impala in their current time period. Most people seemed to believe that the car was either from outer space or some kind of 'crackpot conspiracy' item, but the boy who had been taking care of it was amicable enough. He'd been told to wait, so he waited. If Dean came by at the time anticipated, then Cas was content to, though...he still felt that every second mattered. The fact that what he and Anna had investigated thus far had yielded nothing was of little comfort and sleeping was not something he'd partaken in. Which he suspected upset his wife-to-be on some level, but Mary was a Winchester. He may not have been an angel anymore, but he still felt responsible for anyone of that name. Protecting them was still very much a part of his mission.

So he leaned against the side of the car and waited. He stared ahead, unmindful of the fact that it was probably unnerving for the passersby. Time was also of little importance and even days still felt insignificant, despite the fact that his vessel was insistent upon informing him how close to forty years of age it was getting. Not that his career of choice had done anything to spare it from the pains of aging - he suspected his vessel contained more artificial pins than most hunters with the exception of maybe Dean himself. Accidents happened. Increasingly often when a hunter was on pills, but he wasn't going to mention that. Not to this Dean, who as far as he was aware, had every reason to be disdainful.

When he heard the footsteps on the pavement, he looked up and sighed. Prepared for the punch, whether it came or not. "Hello, Dean."