Dean doesn't like people.

In fact, Dean has never liked people.

And, for the most part, people have never liked him back, either.

But Castiel's different. There's just something about him that has Dean really caring what he thinks.

He's not sure why. The guy's just trying to put him in jail, after all. But Dean still finds himself wanting to keep Castiel happy, or as happy as he can, given the circumstances. So if he has to lie and pretend he came out of hiding just because he was bored and not because he wanted to talk to Castiel again, that's what he'll do.

Granted, he would have done it eventually, anyway. His wounds have been getting better, even if they still hurt when he moves the wrong way. That's really the only reason he disappeared — he didn't want that to be his downfall. But he wouldn't have risked coming back so soon if it hadn't been for Castiel.

One would think that, as a serial killer who pretty much hates humanity, Dean had never felt lonely. And, until recently, it was true. He didn't want friends. He had never really wanted to hang out with anyone — other than his brother growing up, of course, but they stopped talking after Sam ditched him for school. That's what having friends is — liking someone until they stab you in the back.

But right now, he is lonely. Part of him wants to be friends with Castiel, though the logical part of his brain knows it won't happen. There's no way an agent would befriend a serial killer. But he at least wants to talk to the guy.

And if committing extra murders is what it takes, so be it.

~~

 Dean decides to drop a line again after another boring couple days. He rings the doorbell of a random house in a small, kind of cute neighborhood. It almost seems fitting that it's a small, kind of cute girl who answers the door.

"Can I help you?" she asks politely, pushing her red hair behind her ear.

"I hope so," Dean replies, a small smile on his face. "I'm kind of new to the neighborhood, and I was trying to make some pie and I realized I don't have my sugar. Can I borrow just a little bit, please?"

"Of course," she says, gesturing for him to come in. "I didn't know we had new neighbors," she remarks. "Where'd you move in?"

"A few houses down," Dean lies.

"Well, I hope to see you around, then." She scoops out a few cups of sugar and dumps them in a plastic bag. "I'm Anna, by the way."

"Dean," he replies.

She hands him the sugar. "That look like enough?"

"Perfect," Dean says with a kind smile. "Oh, hey, one more thing?"

"What's up?" she asks.

Dean rips out this pocket knife, flicking it open and gliding it across her throat. She tries to scream, but Dean covers her mouth, just long enough for her to lose that willpower before letting her fall to the floor.

"Thanks," Dean says with a smile. "Hang on just a couple more minutes, okay? I gotta write a letter to an old friend."

Dean digs through the kitchen for a toothpick, then looks around for the perfect spot on the wall. Maybe right above her bookshelf, over the pictures lined on top of it? That sounds perfect.

He dips the toothpick in the blood streaming out of her throat, and she tries to fight back weakly. It doesn't help her case much. At this rate, she'll be dead by the time he finishes writing.

Dean walks over to the wall, but one of the pictures catches his gaze. He pauses, then picks it up. Is that...

"Cas?" he whispers.

In the photo, Anna is sitting on the back of someone who looks shockingly like a slightly younger Castiel, both beaming at the camera. It looks like they might have been laughing when someone took the picture.

Dean puts it down, and looks at the picture next to it. All the confirmation he needed that Castiel was in the picture before is seeing Michael in this one. There's another picture, possibly Dean's personal favorite, of the two boys holding her up like a chair. He can't help but smile at it. They all look so happy. Dean hasn't seen Castiel very much, but he knows for a fact he's never seen him so happy.

Dean's never going to see him this happy if he kills his friend.

Dean drops the toothpick on the ground. He's never had to save someone before. What does he do? He should probably call 911. An ambulance could help. But it'll also draw the cops over. The cops find him, and he's a goner. But if that's what it takes to save Castiel's sister, it's a risk he's willing to take.

Dean looks around, his eyes finally landing on her home phone. He doesn't notice many home phones anymore. Thank god she hasn't gotten with the times. He grabs the phone and dials 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance," Dean says quickly.

"What happened?" the operator asks calmly.

"Does it matter? She's fucking dying," Dean snaps. "I need an ambulance!"

"Sir, you need to calm down," she says. "Where are you?"

"I —" He pauses. He has no idea where he is. He doesn't check addresses. He looks down to ask Anna, but she's certainly in no shape to answer any questions. "Hang on, I'm gonna go check."

Dean runs out of the house and to the end of the street, taking note of the street name. He quickly names off the street name and house number, and he already knew the city and state. He just came to Sioux Falls a few days ago, after all.

"Okay," the operator says, but before she can keep talking, Dean hangs up and runs back to Anna's side. "Hey, are you still alive?"

Anna doesn't answer, but Dean can see her eyes flicker. She looks vaguely alive. What's Dean supposed to do to keep her vaguely alive? He's vaguely aware that compression is supposed to help. Maybe he should do that?

Dean takes his top flannel off and folds it a couple times, then presses it against her throat. She lets out a strangled groan, but otherwise doesn't protest. She probably can't.

"You're okay," Dean says quietly. "You're gonna be okay. The ambulance is coming, okay?"

God, what does he do now? If the ambulance doesn't get here quicker...

Anna's eyes drift closed, and Dean shakes her gently.

"No, no, no," Dean murmurs. "You're okay. You're not dying. You can't be dying. C'mon, wake up!" He presses the flannel against her neck a little harder, and even though he's folded it a few times, the blood still seeps through and onto his hands.

And there they are.

"I hear sirens," Dean says quietly. "I have to go. Please be okay. Tell Cas I'll sorry, okay?"

Dean drops his flannel and runs out the back door, but it's not like it was last time. Last time he almost got caught, this was a rush. Now, he just wishes he could stay and see if she's going to be alright.