While Dean felt out of place, he consoled himself that at least he didn't look it as badly as Castiel did. Dean saw the some of the interns giving the weirdo wearing the suit and trenchcoat in one hundred degree heat strange looks but no one seemed want to step up and be the one to ask who the hell he was and where he'd come from. They were probably used to dealing with weirdos, for all Dean knew.

It was already almost dusk by the time the heads of the dig took a break from photographing and drawing the wings and trying to match them from anything they knew from Pueblo mythology, letting Dean and Cas finally get an up close look. Dean gave Sam all the credit in the world for that; he knew how to talk to these people and while he didn't know how Sam had explained away Cas, whatever he'd said seemed to have worked.

Dean saw Castiel's eyes go tight as he looked at the wings. "These really what they look like, Cas?"

He nodded. "Yes."

Cas had been quiet ever since he'd seen the wings, quiet even for him, and Dean fought back the worry prickling at the back of his mind. "So, who was the poor son of a bitch? Can you tell?"

Castiel nodded again. "Easily. These markings are distinctive to us. Like looking at a photograph."

Dean didn't like that tone in Cas' voice at all. "So, what? Did you know the guy?"

Castiel's lips quirked up into an expression that in no way resembled a smile. "You could say that." He brushed his fingertips along one of the black lines. "They're mine."

The canyon was too quiet. The heads of the dig were staring at them and Dean dragged Castiel back by one arm. "How the fuck that they be yours?" he said, keeping his voice low. "These things have been here a thousand years."

"I imagine I was time traveling," Castiel said, and Dean fought back the urge to shake him.

"Yeah, I figured that part out, Cas." He had a hard time tearing his gaze away from the wings, he had no idea how Castiel was managing it. "What happened?"

"They're not a chronicle, Dean."

"You're taking this pretty fucking well."

"I've been hunted for most of the past year. I've had to make peace with the idea that might not end well for me." Dean didn't know what look he had on his face, but Castiel furrowed his brow at him. "I don't know why you're so alarmed. There's no reason to believe this lies in my near future. Hundreds of years could go by before this event."

"Or this could go down tomorrow."

Castiel looked back at the wings. "That is the pessimistic view." Sam beckoned them over and Castiel tilted his head again. "We should see what he wants."

"You go. I'll catch up with you."

Cas gave him another look but didn't argue. When he was at a safe distance away Dean stepped forward and took a good, hard look at the wings. They were closer to being lined up with his shoulders than Castiel's, and he had to boost himself on his toes to get that extra inch or so to make it just right. Cas was a couple inches shorter than him. The only way the wings would burn in at this height would be if someone tall had held him up off the ground. By the collar, Dean thought to himself, even though he knew by the throat was more likely.

There was a slight indentation in the rock that Dean traced with one fingertip. He told himself there was no way the rock would still hold a sword mark after how many thousands of years. Then he kept telling himself that the indentation being right over where Cas' heart would be was just a coincidence.