He ran; he pushed his legs to move underneath him as he hurtled through the crowd, pushing at bodies, shoving violently in his haste. The street was crowded, people spilling out from bars and clubs into the cool night air, drinks sloshing in their plastic cups, letting out yells and hollers to anyone who would listen. More than once Dean felt himself pulled and pushed in retaliation to his own frantic violent shoving. But he didn’t stop, didn’t bother to deck a guy who had decided to use his left cheek as a punching bag. Only got one hit in before Dean was gone but it still hurt and he clenched his jaw, his eyes focusing on the tan trench coat up ahead, the man wearing it turning in all directions, his eyes wide, lost, confused, and scared.

Dean’s heart ached. “Cas,” he yelled, hoping he was close enough, hoping that the terrified angel would stop for a second and just feel for him. He watched as men and women approached the angel who would shrink back only to bump into another body. Dean moved faster, pushing a girl out of his way into the arms of an adjacent man and the next thing he touched was starched fabric. He grabbed and pulled Castiel towards him who turned in his arms, tense and wide eyed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean smiled, and Castiel relaxed, nodding.

“Can we please leave now, I’m starting to smell like excrement and people keep trying to touch me,” he said softly, making Dean laugh for the first time in two hours since he lost Castiel among the crowded street in New Orleans.

“Anything you want, Cas. Anything.”