AN: This is new for me. I've never written anything this long before, as I seem to lose interest after some time, but now I actually have a plot, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Please R&R, and inform me if I've made any mistakes. English's not my first language.

Warnings: Rated T for language (will later be rated M for sexual content) ;D

I claim no ownership of nothing but my imagination.

ALLONS-Y!

Chapter One

The buzzing sound of Dean's phone slowly pulled him out of his dream. Still half asleep he stretched out an arm and fumbled across the nightstand. Finally he pressed the small object to his ear and grunted a 'what'; not caring who was at the other end. At first no one replied and Dean considered just hanging up, but then the unnerving sound of a shallow breathing caught his ear and made him sit up, alerted.

"Hello?"

"Dean," a raspy voice slowly replied.

Dean froze. All thought was put on hold instantly. His tongue felt like sandpaper as he forced out a single word:

"Cas?"

…

It had been three days since Sam had almost done the third trial and killed himself. Three days since the angels had fallen. Dean had been sitting pressed up against the Impala, clenching Sam's shoulder with a shaking fist, staring at the fall of a species he held nothing but contempt for. But it had felt wrong. That had not been supposed to happen. That was not what he had wanted. That was not what Cas had wanted. At the thought of Castiel, something flamed up inside him. He couldn't quite determine if it was anger, dread, sorrow or hate. Or maybe all of them. He knew, this was Castiel's doing and he could only imagine the ache the angel must have felt, seeing the fatale consequence of another one of his good intentions. But at the same time he didn't give a rat's ass for his friend's heartache. He had left. He had left Dean when Dean had needed him the most, when Sammy had been so close to kill himself, and he had left them to meet up with a guy, they both knew had tricked him more than once.

Dean had stared at the falling lights wondering if one of them were Castiel, and what happened to them when they hit the ground. Were they already human enough for the impact to kill them? Dean had closed his eyes and waited for the sky to darken once more. Suddenly Sam had had another fit and started to shake violently. Dean had been with him in a second, but his brother had not reacted to him at all. "CASTIEL!" Dean had screamed again in pure desperation, knowing too well Cas could not hear him nor come to his aid anymore.

He had thrown his half unconscious brother on the backseat before hitting the road and calling Kevin, quickly filling the confused prophet in.

"I need you to read the Demon Tablet and find a way out of this for Sam," he ordered.

"Dean, if Metatron's fallen too, I don't think I'm a prophet anymore," Kevin must have suddenly understood what he had been saying, for his voice had sounded relieved at the end of the sentence. Dean had felt a sudden urge to punch him in the face. "Besides, you have both the tablets."

"Dammit!" Dean had sworn, "I'll be there with them as fast as I can," He had thrown the phone in the passenger seat before Kevin had had time to answer and sped up.

Already the next morning after the fatale night, Sam had been up and walking around the bunker. He seemed to be doing much better already. It took the top of Dean's worries and made him act less like a caged lion, biting and growling at everything daring to get in his way. Though, Dean's experience told him that nothing ever went easy for the Winchesters, so he had kept a watchful eye on his little brother anyway, asking him how he was doing and how he felt. And of course he made Kevin translate the tablet anyway; to make sure they had not missed anything.

Dean had tried to get in contact with Castiel a few times. He had tried to call his phone a few times, but each time he had been told the number had been out of reach. Though he knew the angel had fallen, he had tried calling Castiel's name in frustration anyway. He had even prayed to him. Dean knew that this time his friend had a reasonable explanation for not reacting to Dean's calling, but the hunter could not help thinking Castiel was just too ashamed to stand by the shit he had made, and he was all ready to strangle the idiot at sight. Or maybe he had died, but Dean had refused to even consider that a possibility.

…

As Dean put his car to a hold he didn't find himself to just jump out of the vehicle as usual. He didn't know what was holding him back; he could just feel something akin to nervousness stir inside him. Before he could contemplate further, he pushed it aside and hurried out the car. He had driven to a small, remote town that seemed to consist of nothing more than maybe a score of streets and the bar, Dean now approached. He opened the door with cold hands and quickly scanned the room. It was mildly crowded and he slowly made his way to the bar, eyes and ears open. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. In the far corner a person sat huddled over a small round table. Head bowed, dark hair ruffled and the once light trench coat covered in dirt.

Without Dean realizing he moved over slowly until he stood in front of the small table. Finally the man lifted his head and blazing blue eyes bore into his with a familiar pressure.

"Hello Dean," Castiel said.

"Cas?" Dean said with a breath he didn't know he had held and a relieved smile spread across his face. Castiel stood up and returned the smile with a small, ghostly lift of the corner of his mouth. Dean put a hand on his shoulder. As he felt the warmth radiate through the fabric of the coat under his palm, he finally understood that the friend, he thought he had lost again had come back to him. He looked at the smaller man almost in awe before he pulled him into a hug. Castiel let out a small sigh and returned it.

"I'm sorry, Dean,"

The quiet words pulled Dean back to reality. He suddenly remembered everything: Castiel putting a lying, manipulative angel before Dean and Sam, eventhough Sam had been dying. The next thing Dean knew Heaven seemed to be collapsing. Dean pulled away and starred at him. Castiel could clearly sense the changed mood and avoided his piercing look, shame lingering in his eyes. Dean felt his anger falter slightly, but he refused to give in to those damned puppy eyes.

"What the hell did you do?" He asked sharply.

Castiel seemed to struggle with the answer, but finally he looked straight at Dean. It felt like a wall had been build behind the blue orbs.

"I just eradicated my kind and doomed my entire family and myself to mortality, weakness and despair, and Heaven and Earth to the mercy of demons. That was what I did. But that's roughly what should be expected of me by now." The contempt in his voice made the man in front of him loose his composure for a short second. He didn't know how to respond.

"What exactly happened?" Dean asked after a short, tense pause, and sat down.

Cas sighed and followed suit, folding his hands on the table and looking at them for a bit.

"Metatron, he... everything Naomi told us was the truth. And I wouldn't believe it. I just couldn't bear the thought that my attempts to repay my previous mistakes would fail. So I went to Heaven; to help Metatron further or to confront him, I'm no longer certain. But the second I arrived I knew I shouldn't have. Naomi was dead. He strapped me down, slit my throat and..." Castiel paused. He was now wringing his hands, "… and stole my grace. He told me it wasn't really trials, but a spell, and my grace was the last piece he needed to complete it."

"So. You... didn't do it? Your actions didn't make the angels fall?" Dean asked slowly, feeling a short-lived relief wash through him, before he remembered that maybe Cas had not completed the finale trial – or spell as it now turned out to be – but he had once again left Dean, when he had needed him the most. But he had done it because he had though he could still save his home. Dean knew how much he would do for his family, for Sam. He would literally let every demon in Hell walk the earth, if that would save his little brother from dying. But what was Castiel's excuse? Dean had treated this freaking angel – man more like family than Heaven ever had, he had been a brother to him, and still he had left him behind. He had left Sam behind, knowing that he maybe was seconds away from dying. Under the table Dean's hands clenched into fists.

"Dean, I did bring him the other two ingredients to his spell and thereafter I literally delivered myself as the last piece. Once again I blindly, naively threw all my hopes in the hands of a man I have had no reason to trust. This. Is all. My fault, Dean. Do not try to say otherwise," Castiel' eyes were glazed with fury and his voice heavy with self-loathing.

"I'm not," Dean answered impassively. Castiel sat back with an indefinable expression and shadows hunting his eyes.

They sat there for a moment staring at each other, before Dean sighed and covered his face with his hands. You fucked up, Cas, big time. Again. And again it wasn't your intention. And again I don't know if I can forgive you.

Dean sat back and looked at the bar instead of his friend. It seemed so much easier. "Beer?"

Castiel didn't reply. He just kept looking at Dean with sorrowful eyes, as he left the table.

A moment later, Dean placed an El Sol in front of him nonetheless. He took a swig of his own just to distract himself from his inner discussion. Castiel stared at his beer as if it was mocking him, but then he resolutely grabbed the bottle and placed it to his lips.

They drank in silence for a few minutes. From time to time Castiel would just look at Dean as if he knew the hunter was struggling with more than he let on, and he was somehow able to read what it was on his face, if he just looked hard enough. Dean just handled that by not looking at the angel at all.

Human, Dean reminded himself for the 6th time that night. Cas' just a human now. Each time the thought had felt heavier and heavier, as if did he slowly realize the truth of it with every return it made. He drank again to wash away the bitter taste in his mouth.

"How did you get my number? Your phone's out of order," Dean wondered, not explaining how he knew that.

"My phone broke shortly after your last call, but the lady behind the counter," Castiel nodded at the bar, where a red headed woman, a bit older than Dean, but still decent looking, stood chatting with some of the regular customers, "she fixed it for me. Apparently it needed to be 'charged',"

"You didn't know how to fucking charge your phone? Fucking angel," Dean mumbled into his beer, taking a large gulp, ignoring the way the other man moved in his chair, staring at him with almost painful eyes.

"How did you escape?" Dean asked after a minute of heavy silence.

His friend didn't answer straight away, but took his time to look thoughtfully at nothing.

"Metatron just sent me away," he finally mumbled, "he said that I should go live a normal life, and when I die and go to Heaven I should find him, and," Cas suddenly stopped, staring straight ahead. Alarmed Dean sat up properly, looking between the point of the other man's gaze and the man himself.

"What?" he asked.

"Metatron is in Heaven. Dean, Metatron's still in Heaven. We have to get him out of there."

"Ok. And why would I help you?" Dean asked. Castiel looked at him for a second, and Dean suddenly felt like he was very close to being slammed up against the nearest wall.

"Because your current feelings towards me are insignificant compared to the danger at hand. All the angels may be gone, but it's still Heaven, Dean, one of the most powerful places in the universe, and an angel like Metatron controlling it can only end in catastrophe. You have once before witnessed what the power over souls can do to an angel." For a moment grief took hold of the blue eyes, "I cannot risk him achieving such powers. He cannot be allowed to stay there." Castiel finished more silently.

The urgent tone, the pain and desperation in his eyes and the memory of "Cas the God" were more than enough to convince Dean that this was something he couldn't ignore.

"How do you plan on getting into Heaven?" he asked, sounding indifferent, not wanting to just give in to Castiel's request of help, or at least not wanting him to think he would help him just like that.

Castiel's eyes flickered before he stared hard at the table, trying to remember the answer.

"I can't fly there anymore, so we need another way, but I don't recall ever having heard of a secret passage in," he said with remorse.

In that moment Dean's phone started buzzing around in Dean's pocket. He fished it up and looked at the screen: Kevin. Why the hell would he call at... 3:46 in the morning?

"Kevin, everything ok? Is Sam alright?" he asked as he answered.

"Sam's fine Dean. Still sleeping. That not why I called. No, wait, that is actually why I called. I woke up when you left, and couldn't fall asleep again, so I decided to translate a bit more of the tablet. Usually helps me sleep. But suddenly I found it: The part about ditching the trials. Sam's not ok, but he doesn't know. It hasn't broken out yet, but Sam's sick, Dean."

Dean's entire face hardened. He could feel his jaw twitch as he asked: "What's wrong with him?"

Kevin seemed to falter before he answered: "I'm not sure. It just says that the trials will posses his mind and slowly... drag it to hell - I think. Listen Dean, I'm not sure what this means," he quickly added, "but I think that as soon as Sam did the first trial he had sacrificed his soul to Hell, no matter the outcome."

"I will not let him go to Hell. Not again," Dean almost croaked, feeling ready to march directly into Hell this very instant and destroy it and every one of its wretched and disgusting inhabitants. "There must be a way to stop it, or I swear to God, I'll find one myself."

"There is a way," Kevin said slowly, "Sam's soul can be healed..." Dean closed his eyes feeling a spark of hope, "…by the purest of angels."

Dean stopped breathing for a moment. He briefly considered throwing the phone across the room, but figured there wouldn't be any advance in loosing contact with Kevin.

"Nothing else?" he asked.

"Nothing that I've found yet,"

There should be an expression saying; 'Lucky as a Winchester', Dean thought darkly.

"Alright, we-I'll be heading home soon," Dean felt no great need to fill Kevin in on Cas' recent reappearance. As he had put his phone away, he buried his face in his hands, not carrying that Castiel was sitting right across the table, observing him. The hunter lifted his head, meeting the gaze of his friend. He could tell Castiel wanted to know what was going on, but didn't dare ask.

"There's no angels left, is there, Cas?" Dean sighed instead.

Castiel furrowed his brows for a second, but then quickly accepted Dean's change of subject, and said; "No one besides Metatron, I guess." He made a small face.

"Would you say that Metatron is now the... purest angel then?"

Castiels's eyes darkened, "Metatron is a traitor and worth even less than Lucifer himself. He is the most unholy, tainted, disgusting being to have ever called himself an angel," he stated coldly.

"It's just, we have a new problem, Cas," Dean said meeting the blue eyes with a serious expression. Castiel leaned forward in his chair, listening, as Dean told him everything Kevin had told him.

"I don't know if Metatron will count as 'the purest of angels', Dean," Castiel sighed, "he is the last one in existence and can therefore theoretically be seen as the purest, but I don't think that's what God meant."

Dean bit his lip. He doubted his own theory too, but it was his only hope. "Fuck!" he slammed a hand to the tablet. Castiel eyed him unaffectedly. "Maybe Kevin will find something else on the tablet, but until then I'll be looking for Metatron."

"You know, I'll help you. We are after all looking for the same angel."

Castiel smiled searchingly, and Dean found himself returning it, although a bit forced.