From the moment he pulled himself from the ground, everything started changing.

Choking dust and filth he scrabbled at the edges of the grave; someone had buried him here but he didn't know who; a friend, maybe, but no one had been around when the hellhounds came for him. Maybe someone had come by his body in the days after he'd died, found it ripped to shreds and thought how sad, and buried him here, unmarked. Either way, it was a strange sight that greeted him when he finally got to his feet.

For miles out there was nothing but flat ground, ground as unsullied as the plain cross that heralded his grave. There was dirt in his eyes; dirt behind his teeth when he coughed, tasteless and gritty on the back of his tongue, but he could see well enough that for miles and miles and miles, there was nothing. He didn't even know where he was.

And then there came a rumbling, a deep, guttural, primal sound that built into a howl, and he threw himself at the ground, no time for thinking about it anymore. Blood trickled from his ears, his hands clamped over them.

What world had this become, since he had left?

Xxx

"So you're the one?"

Castiel stood in his devil's trap; checked the outside of it quickly to make sure it was still unbroken as the creature –for how could it be anything else? – advanced on him. It walked casually past the sigils on the ceiling, and even as the gun sat fat and heavy in Castiel's hands, fist fastened around the barrel and trigger like it chained him to the very earth itself, the creature gave no pause. It looked at him – sadly, a little mockingly - instead, and put its hands in the pockets of its jeans. "I gotta say, I'm a little disappointed."

The gun jerked in Castiel's hands as he fired. One, two, three rounds of silver into the creature's chest; no reaction but the tiniest of smiles, the creature looking… for lack of a better word, impressed. Castiel felt fear grip the bottom of his stomach with a clawed hand. "What are you?" he shouted, though the creature was only ten feet from him now, and still grinning like nothing had happened, blood dribbling slowly from the holes in its chest. The creature lifted a hand to its heart, where Castiel had hit him square, and the wounds were instantly gone. He fixed Castiel with a critical eye.

"I'm an angel of the lord." He said, completely deadpan, and Castiel – for lack of anything else to do – fired again. "Would you stop that?" the creature waved a hand again and the wound, once again, disappeared. Castiel stepped back as the creature drew nearer.

"Bullshit." He gritted out, hands starting to tremble around the trigger of the shotgun, but his aim holding firm. He took care not to smudge the devil's trap as he stepped outside of it – just in case. "If angels are real, how come no one's ever seen one?"

The creature looked at the floor, kicking slightly with a boot, then shrugged. "Guess you're just that special, champ." He looked up at Castiel again. "I'm the angel of lost things." He smiled. "I think you fit the bill pretty well."

Castiel got the distinct impression he was being made fun of. He'd seen the creature in dreams, in flashes; green eyes and freckles and a tan, that same wide, white smile; but he'd thought malevolent, not angelic. Sure there was boatloads of scripture and lore about angels, more than he could ever hope to catalogue in a lifetime, but he'd never thought for a second that they actually existed. Someone would have seen one, surely. He couldn't be the first.

On the subject of lost things, though, the creature wasn't far wrong. Castiel had been wandering aimlessly in the months since his resurrection; he'd travelled from motel to bus-stop to shelter, hitched rides with his fair share of fucking awful human beings, starved half to death. This was one of the first conversations he'd had in months, which now that he thought it, was really fucking sad. The creature in front of him looked at him oddly.

"You still here?" he asked, and Castiel levelled the shotgun again, having let it list to the side.

"If you're an angel, prove it." He said, trying to keep his voice as steady as his hands. His hands were practised; his voice was not. It quavered on the end of the sentence and the creature openly laughed at him, then rolled its eyes.

"Fine." It said, sounding a little bored, at best, and gestured for Castiel to move back (which he did; gladly). The creature stood in the middle of the barn, surrounded by the symbols and sigils that Castiel himself had painted, and for a moment, nothing happened at all. The two of them stood opposite one another, silent; the creature with that infuriating grin on his face, Castiel looking dumbstruck, or just plain dumb. There was a second's pause where Castiel debated firing again, and then –

Wings. Huge, and black; shadows of wings that had to be fifty feet in length, each, at least. They uncurled from the root of the creature's shoulderblades and spread out – Castiel heard the distinct whoosh as they revealed themselves fully, and he couldn't help it; he drew breath so sharply that it was almost a gasp. The creature, if possible, looked even more pleased with himself. The wings disappeared.

He strode towards Castiel, and Castiel – at a loss for anything else to do – let him, until they stood less than a foot apart.

"You can call me Dean." The angel told him, and grinning, thrust a hand out for Castiel to shake.

"I don't understand." Castiel asked him, not taking it, and the creature – Dean – laughed aloud, and withdrew his offered hand.

"Wow, and I thought I was going to be the one with no social skills." He muttered, shaking his head. "I pulled you out of hell, dumbass." He reached over and fit his hand over Castiel's shoulder, over his jacket – Castiel flinched away. His touch flared with heat.

"You did that to me? That's your handprint?"

Dean shrugged. "The hand of my true form, at least. When I'm talking to you, I have to…improvise."

"You're possessing someone?"

Dean raised a hand to placate him, before Castiel could express his outrage. "Calm down, Rambo. Stop reaching for your knife - not that it'll do you any good, anyway –" his expression turned apologetic and he gestured with both hands at himself, head to toe. "Believe it or not, this guy was a volunteer."

Castiel shook his head, at a loss. "But why me? Why not someone else?" he swallowed. "I deserved to be down there, I made a deal, I-"

Dean shook his head. "Just roll with it, okay? We've got plans for you." He touched Castiel's shoulder again, curious, and Castiel let him, shuddering. "I'll come see you soon. Just – keep doing what you're doing, alright?"

Castiel said nothing, thinking, but before he could reply, the angel – Dean, he told himself. Dean – was already gone.

Xxx

"Where the fuck have you been?" Castiel muttered when the angel appeared at his side, and Dean reached over the booth to steal his burger.

"None of your fucking business." He said around a mouthful of beef, as Castiel watched in disgust. He'd thought angels were supposed to be clean, or at least not slobs. Trust him to get the stoner angel as his – whatever the hell Dean even was. They'd met three times since that first time in the barn, and ever since, the angel had gotten more and more familiar, and less and less respectful. He was pretty good in a fight, though, Castiel had to admit. "Angel stuff. Not for the ears of mortals."

Castiel grunted derisively. "Sometimes I think you just disappear to mess with me."

"Hey!" Dean took another handful of fries from Castiel's plate, and shoved them in his mouth. "What, did you miss me?"

Castiel waved at the waitress, giving Dean no response. "Hi, could you get my friend the same thing I just had, please?"

The waitress nodded and left; Dean leant back in the seat across from him, and watched her go. "She was cute." He said, looking her over appreciatively, and Castiel let his chin drop onto his hand.

"Dean, it's been three weeks, and I still don't know what the fuck is going on. How am I supposed to do what you resurrected me for, if none of you will explain?"

Dean leaned forward, interested. "You've met other angels?"

"I met your brother."

Dean snorted. "That doesn't really narrow it down, Cas." The 'Cas' thing had emerged organically, too; one minute he and Dean were barely on first name terms (not that Dean even had a second name), and the next he was suddenly 'Cas'. It was maddening.

"He was tall. Long hair. Nicer than you."

"That'll be Sam."

"Can I request a guardian swap?" Castiel said irritably as Dean finished his burger. "Sam didn't eat my food."

"You wound me." Dean said, his voice expressionless, as he sucked the salt off of the tips of his fingers. "I don't know why you whine so much, man. Being human is awesome."

"How would you know?" Castiel looked down at the meagre handful of fries that Dean had left him, and pushed his plate away. He felt slightly bad when Dean's face fell.

"Well I don't, obviously. It just, you know, seems pretty sweet. Sex, food, freedom; you're not exactly suffering, are you?"

Castiel frowned and made no reply. Dean grinned and thanked the waitress when she brought his burger over, and set about eating it immediately, even though he'd finished most of Castiel's, too. "What, are you mad at me now?" he asked, mouth full again, and Castiel said nothing. Dean made a pissed off noise.

"Look, I'm just saying, you haven't got all that much to complain about. Maybe you should try not being a dick." He took another huge bite out of the burger. "Maybe if you did that, you'd actually get laid once in awhile."

Castiel looked up in anger, from where he'd been staring out of the window, ready to shout at him – this isn't fair, I don't know what you want from me - did you really have to eat all my food? – but the booth was empty.

He growled and slumped back in his chair, then pulled Dean's leftover fries towards himself and ate them, bitterly, alone.

Xxx

Dean showed up in his motel room hours later, appearing in a chair next to the TV just as Castiel was unpacking his things and about to go to sleep. Castiel didn't even spare him a glance; he busied himself looking through his bag for his toothbrush. Dean leaned back, easy, in his seat, and cleared his throat.

"Dude, if we're going to keep this little partnership of ours going, you're gonna have to have much thicker skin than that."

Castiel said nothing.

Dean sighed. "I'm sorry I made fun of your sex life." He said tiredly, and Castiel snorted. He found his toothbrush and went into the bathroom, and sighed when Dean appeared beside him there, too. "No, seriously, I'm sorry. I know it's, uh – a touchy subject."

"It isn't." Castiel muttered, toothbrush in his mouth. Dean sat on the edge of the bath.

"What?"

Castiel took the toothbrush out of his mouth. "It isn't a touchy subject."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Cool. You're just mad at me for no reason, then?"

Castiel spat in the sink, filled the glass next to the sink with water, took a sip and then turned to face him. "I'm pissed with you because you keep showing up and you still won't tell me what the hell you even want me for."

Dean drummed his fingers on the bath. "Okay, look, this isn't within my control, okay?" Castiel left the bathroom; Dean followed him. "I'm sorry, man. I – I'd tell you if I could, but I'm – I'm not the boss. It's not my decision." He sat on the edge of Castiel's bed and scuffed his shoes on the floor. Castiel looked at him and ran a hand through his own hair, sighing.

"I know it's not your fault. It's just – frustrating."

"Just hold out a little longer." Dean promised, imploring. "I'll fill you in as soon as they let me. I promise." He still had that strange, apologetic expression on his face as he left.

Xxx

Dean appeared next to him on the park bench, closer than was strictly necessary, and looked out at the park instead of at him.

"I'm sorry about today." He said quietly, and Castiel looked at him.

"Why? We stopped Samhain from being resurrected. I thought you guys got what you wanted."

Dean put his head in his hands and sighed; he was so human sometimes, so prone to anger and joy and despair that Castiel had a really hard time believing he was as emotionless as all the other angels were supposed to be. Maybe Dean was special; maybe he was different. Castiel didn't know.

"Things aren't really great between me and Sam right now." He lifted his head from his hands and looked at Castiel. "He, uh. He's scaring me a little."

Sam did seem like the darker of the two; less abrasive, perhaps, than his brother, but whereas when Castiel had first met him he was sweet, quiet despite his size, perhaps more similar to Castiel than Dean was, this meeting had gone differently; he'd been secretive, and he'd barely spoken to Castiel at all, preferring to confer with his brother and look disapproving every few seconds. "What's he done?" Castiel asked him, curious, and Dean shook his head.

"It's complicated." He sighed. "Castiel, a lot of people died today. Innocent people. And they didn't have to."

"People die all the time." Castiel said bitterly, and Dean looked at him, face carefully blank.

"You really believe that?"

Castiel shook his head. "No. Not really. But if it's a choice between a few innocent bystanders and the apocalypse, maybe I'd be better off getting a bit looser with my morals."

Dean looked at him, hard. "You don't mean that." He said, voice on the edge of a snarl, and Castiel looked out at the park.

"Why do you care? You're not one of us. If we all die, what does it matter to you?"

Dean smiled to himself, bittersweet. "I love you guys." He said, and then looked embarrassed. "I used to watch you all, you know? When I was younger. Not – young. I'm so old you wouldn't believe, but –" he looked out onto the park, at the children playing, their mothers and fathers carrying them, talking to them, arguing with them. "I've looked down at you guys since I was born, or – made, or whatever and I've never thought you weren't worth saving. Any of you."

He sounded so earnest that Castiel just looked at him. He said, quietly, "After all we've done?" adding silently, All I've done? And Dean just looked at him and nodded.

"You're not a bad person, Cas." He said, with the same surety. "You're worth saving, too."

There was a pause, and Castiel felt every muscle in his body relax. "You're going to go, now, aren't you." Castiel looked at him and smiled, and Dean met his gaze.

"Sam's worried about me, 'cause I like you."

"Is that a bad thing?"

Dean shrugged cryptically. "We'll find out pretty soon."

Xxx

"Anna."

The girl lifted her head to look at him, but her eyes were empty. At his side, Dean stood a little ways from him, face serious and drawn.

"We need her, Cas."

Castiel looked at his sister, then back at Dean. "She's not even here, Dean. She's –" she stared blankly at him, eyes open and unseeing, still his older sister but the shell of her, only. "I haven't seen her in ten years." He whispered, more to himself than to Dean. "I thought – I thought-" he shook his head. Dean put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll make sure they give her back."

Castiel shook his head; shrugged the hand away. "No. You can have me, but you can't have her. I can't make this decision for her." He turned away from her to the angel, and stared him down. "She's my sister."

"Cas, I understand, but-"

"No. No, you don't understand. I've been wandering this country looking for my dad for so long, and now you're telling me that not only is he dead, but you're going to take away what he died for?" He gritted his teeth. "No." he said again. Dean stepped away from him.

"You don't have a choice, man." Dean said; sure but sad. The small hospital room echoed with his words, white on white on white, and still Anna sat silently on her bed, blinking slowly but otherwise unresponsive. Dean looked at her. "None of us have a choice." He said, and Castiel stepped back, towards her, covering her with his body. He was smaller than the angel but if they wanted to take her, they'd have to take him, too. And from the wariness in Dean's eyes, he'd guessed correctly that he was more valuable to them alive than eviscerated.

"I'll rip you apart." Dean told him, eyes fixed on catatonic Anna, still. There was no push behind his words, no truth, no venom. Only the same strange sadness that Castiel heard whenever he talked about his brother. "I put you back together. I could do it again, if I had to."

"You wouldn't." He shuffled back to cover Anna, until her knees touched the backs of his own.

Dean shuffled from foot to foot; his hand clenched at his side and he looked at the floor, then back up at Castiel, eyes hard and his brow tense. "You don't understand." He growled, low, and Castiel remained immobile. Dean could move him if he wanted to, with ease, but he wouldn't. "This is more important than you and your sister." He said, shoulders squared, tensed like his wings would unfurl at any second and the force of them might blow him away. "The things I've done for you." He started, but did not go on. They stood staring at one another for what seemed like an age.

"Fuck you." Castiel spat back, and Dean's hands tightened into definite fists this time, his arms pulled taut. He made as if to move forward; to shove him away, to toss him aside, but instead Dean looked him in the eyes and disappeared.

Castiel paid it no mind; he turned and all but fell down next to his sister, and touched her face with both his hands.

"Anna?" he whispered, but her eyes didn't even swivel to look at him; she stared at the same spot on the floor, mouth hanging slightly open, beautiful but vacant and barely like his bright, strong older sister at all. He'd been more alone than this before, technically, but he had never felt it so acutely as this; he wrapped his arms around her unmoving shoulders, and he held her close. He did not cry.

Xxx

"I'm sorry."

The angel scuffed his shoes on the black parking lot. When Castiel looked up from where he was sat on the hood of the car, he was more surprised to see Dean at all than to hear him apologise. "I thought you were done with me?"

Dean shrugged, grinned, looked away. There was a sad strain in the cut of his expression, something running behind his eyes that wasn't there before. "Turns out I'm not." His voice dropped low. "How is she?"

"The same." They were in Wyoming looking for some mystic Castiel had heard of, someone who said they could restore his sister to what she was; but instead he'd found a strange little writer with a beard, who told him he was the fucking righteous man. He shook his head and looked at his hands. "Is Chuck telling the truth?"

Dean sat beside him on the car, close as always, and sighed. "'Fraid so."

"God." He whined, and tilted his head towards the sky. "Me?"

"Yep." Dean laughed, bitterly. "Surprise."

"So that's why you pulled me out. Destiny."

Dean was silent. His jacket hung forward, collar rumpled, pulled up so it covered his face in profile, so Castiel could only see his green eyes dimly in the darkness, as he turned something over and over in his hands. "Something like that." Dean clenched his fist around whatever he was holding; something small, from what Castiel could see. He looked at Castiel and for a moment Castiel wasn't sure what he wanted; everything dropped out – righteous man, the fucking books, the fear in Chuck's eyes when he'd asked what was going to happen and Chuck had told him 'Sorry, man.' Anna. His dad. Hell.

Everything.

Dean leaned close to him, so close he could smell his skin; Dean smelt of nothing mostly, clean and fresh, but on top of that he smelt of aftershave, of all things, and Castiel couldn't help it; he started to laugh.

"You're wearing Old Spice." He said, and Dean arched a brow at him.

"Yeah. So?"

"You don't even sweat. Or shave."

"You don't know that." Dean said defensively, but the way his lip twitched confirmed that Castiel had guessed right.

"You are so strange." He said, and instead of mocking it came out reverent. Dean grinned wide, moved away, his jeans squeaking against the hood.

"Thanks. I guess." He looked up then, and nodded at the motel as the door to his room creaked open; Castiel jumped to his feet.

"Anna?"

She blinked owlishly at him and came out; she was in bare feet, her long red hair swinging around her shoulders. She looked tiny and cold, even in his shirt and jeans. She said nothing when he spoke to her, and before he could get up, Dean did; he crossed the parking lot and took one of her white hands in his. Then he leaned close to her and spoke into her ear. Castiel watched, perplexed, as Anna didn't acknowledge him; as Dean led her back into the motel. Castiel followed, and when he shut the door behind him Dean had tucked Anna into bed. The angel straightened when he entered, and gave him the barest nod.

"I came to tell you sorry."

"I know." Castiel smiled at him, confused. "You said."

"There's something else." Dean's voice lowered so as not to disturb Anna; he closed his eyes. "It's Sam."

Xxx

Castiel threw himself out of bed when Dean appeared, and went reflexively to Anna, who was lying with her eyes closed in the bed next to his (though this didn't necessarily mean she was asleep). He stared at the angel, and Dean, who was clutching a blade, looked wild and frightening, his clothes rumpled, eyes wide.

"Cas." He hissed, and Castiel shook his head.

"You don't have to whisper. She won't wake up."

Dean looked quickly at Anna, then back at Castiel, his face tightening only briefly in sympathy. "Did Sam come here?" he said, words blurring in his haste, and Castiel stared.

"No. Of course not. I never see anymore, unless he's with you –" he blinked. "Do you not know where he is?"

"We had a fight." Dean said, casting his eyes away. "He said – he said a lot of things. He's going to try to break the last seal."

"But I thought only Anna could-"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, man. Apparently it's possible, I- I don't know. He's going to try to raise Lucifer, he-"

"He hates us." Castiel said, looking him square in the eye, and Dean made a noise, frustrated.

"He doesn't know what he's doing. He's – he's just tired of being treated like shit, Cas, he doesn't really know what it means, he- he's my brother."

"So is Lucifer."

Dean's head snapped up, and he frowned. "Sam's different." Castiel remembered him saying, a while ago, you're different, and it was that that made him soften, and try to understand.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. Chuck will know, though." He looked around the room as if someone was closing in on them. Castiel stepped back towards Anna's bed. "Are you coming with?"

"I can't leave her."

"I'll put up wards." Dean pleaded, looking from Anna to Castiel. "Cas, please, she'll be safer here than with us – please help me."

Castiel closed his eyes, then bent down next to Anna, and kissed her forehead, and brushed the hair from her eyes. "Okay. Okay. But put up all the wards you can."

"Believe me, Cas, I don't want them to get her any more than you do." Castiel took one last look at his sister, her red hair fanned out on the pillow, and then they were gone.

xxx

There was a blinding flash when Dean appeared, and Sam, beside Castiel, audibly gasped. Castiel turned towards the sound, and only dimly registered Zachariah in his peripheral vision, paused where he stood, flexing his fist.

"Dean?" he said, in disbelief more than anything. Last he'd seen the angel he'd said Go, you fucking idiot. I'll hold them off. And Castiel had gone, Dean had sent him away, and he'd appeared beside Dean's brother, beside the other angel, and then – well, then everything had literally gone to hell, and Sam's wings had burned away, and Dean had apparently painted the inside of the Prophet's house (and the Prophet himself) with viscera. "I thought-"

"You should have more faith, Castiel." His voice was mocking, cheerful, a little strained. Castiel was at a loss.

"You died. I saw you die."

"Well – I'm back." At least he sounded as surprised as Castiel was. Zachariah, to the side of them, coughed obnoxiously.

"This is all very touching – honestly, I'm on the brink of tears – but can we get back to the task at hand?" he pointed at Castiel, wagging his finger. "You. Mud man. You're Michael's vessel. You're going to help me – in fact, both of you are." He eyed Sam, disgustedly, and Castiel almost felt the shame cascade off the fallen angel in a wave, his eyes lowering. Dean stepped forward.

"What, no hello?"

"This isn't to do with you, Auriel." He fingered the blade which slid sinuously into his hands, giving Dean a contemptuous look. "You were no match for me before you attached yourself to this filth. What makes you think you'll fare any better now?"

Dean grinned, hands in pockets, and leaned on his heels. "I dunno man, but I'm pretty sure I died, and there's only one guy who brings people back from the dead. Maybe a guy you don't want to mess with."

Zachariah's face visibly fell. "Our Father is gone."

"Yeah, well, the evidence says different."

"I-" Zachariah flapped his mouth uselessly, then turned, again, to Castiel . "You will say yes. You will bring an end to Lucifer. It is written." And then he vanished, leaving nothing behind but Dean's derisive snort.

"Fucking asshole." He looked at Sam. "Hey, Sammy. You okay?"

Sam looked horrified to even be spoken to. He hadn't said much since he and Castiel had appeared, suddenly miles from the church where Lucifer had risen and Sam had screamed in his angelic voice, rending the air like a blade, splitting Castiel's mind almost in two with his agony as his wings became visible, then burst into flames and crumbled slowly to ash, like towers falling down. The two of them had been coated with ash, their skins grey with the remains of Sam's Grace, and all that was exchanged between them after that were looks of horror and disbelief. Zachariah had shuddered in horror when he first saw Sam – had recoiled like he was the vilest thing he'd ever seen – but Dean didn't seem to care all that much.

He reached for Sam's shoulder, eyebrows drawn together. "What – Sam?" he said quietly, reverently, and Castiel felt like he was intruding. "Sam what did you do?"

Sam stared at the ground. "I'm so sorry." He muttered, and shut his eyes, arms dangling listlessly at his sides. "I thought – Dean, I'm so sorry."

"Sam." The shame in his voice was louder than anything else. Castiel looked away – anything to tear himself from how broken they both looked, how ashamed Sam was, how disappointment laced the features on Dean's face.

"It wasn't his fault." Castiel spoke up quietly, and the two angels turned to face him, Dean looking torn in half, Sam pretty much the same as he had since the Church.

"It's nothing to do with you, Cas." And the two of them disappeared, leaving Castiel in the field, completely and utterly alone.

Xxx

"We're going to capture an archangel."

Dean appeared in his motel room, too cocky and pleased with himself by far, especially considering what Castiel had woken to that morning – an empty cot beside him, a cold motel room, no hunts to speak of and no leads on what to do about Lucifer. He sighed tiredly when the angel grinned at him.

"Where's Sam?"

Dean's face darkened. "I don't know." He said, offering nothing else, and Castiel decided to let it slide. "Anyway. Capturing an archangel. You in?"

Castiel looked at him, the halogen lights making the angel's face seem waxy and strange. It was too early for this kind of levity, and Dean's felt false. "How do we do that? And why?"

"We're going to find Dad." Dean's face tightened on the word, his cavalier attitude clearly carefully constructed.

"Look, Dean-"

The angel cut him off. "Castiel, I need you right now. I don't ask for much."

Castiel was tempted to deny that – in fact, since the angel had turned up, his life had been even more of a shitstorm than before, but the guy pulled him out of hell. There wasn't really much that could trump that. He sighed, and resigned himself to being in the angel's debt forever. "Why me?"

Dean looked at him, face honest. "Who else is there?"

An hour and twenty minutes later they were in the parking lot, out of the office of the local police chief, and Castiel was wishing he'd never been born.

Dean was excited, or overconfident, or something, but whatever it was had manifested itself as a terrible impression of Mulder from the X-files, a show Castiel had never even watched until Dean mentioned it to him and he'd watched it late at night on the SyFy channel, if only to see what the fuss was about. So he was feeling a bit resentful – not only because they'd barely made it out of the police chief's office without getting arrested for wasting his time, but also because Dean was enjoying himself way too much for someone who supposedly was desperate for help. They went to the hospital where the archangel's vessel was, and Dean sobered up once he was standing outside the guy's room.

The vessel, once a young mechanic, sat in the middle of the room, drooling onto his metal chair, his entire body slumped. Castiel couldn't help but think of Anna, the way she sat in a chair as if there was nothing holding her up; the way she would list to the side sometimes, if he wasn't there to hold her. And now she'd picked herself up somehow, and left. Or worse. He said nothing of this to Dean, afraid of what the angel would tell him.

"You want to interrogate him?" He said, in disbelief, and Dean elbowed him, hard, in the side.

"Archangels are linked to their vessels." He strode into the room, bent down next to the man's ear – the man gave no indication that he was even alive, let alone in the presence of an angel. "C'mon, Raphael. Breaker, Breaker." He said, loud, into the man's ear, and the silence that came after was decidedly unimpressive. Castiel, standing at the entrance to the room, coughed lightly.

"How long does this take?"

Dean looked at him sarcastically and stood up, again. "He heard me. All we have to do now, is wait."

Dean had decided they were staging their trap at an empty house, just on the outskirts of town. Castiel had no arguments – it was free, after all, and he figured that the angel knew a lot better than he did. He sat in the living room, in the cold, whilst Dean prepared the room for the trap, or whatever it was he was doing. Castiel was interested in language, particularly enochian, and when Dean and Sam spoke it he wished more than anything that he understood, but rituals and rites were more a necessity of his profession than an actual interest. Dean came back, swinging an empty cask of oil from his hands, and put it on the table beside Castiel, then brushed his hands against each other.

"So what do you want to do?" there was something he wasn't saying. Castiel fixed him with a critical eye.

"I thought we'd just – sleep. Or whatever it is you guys do. You could just wait. Quietly." He added, trying to cover all bases. Dean leaned in the doorway.

"Yeah. I guess. Or we could go out and try to get you laid."

Castiel choked. "What?"

"Dude. I know everything about you, remember? I don't want to embarrass you, but I know you're a virgin."

Castiel felt himself flush, and he looked at the floor. "I- that's really none of your business."

Dean rolled his eyes and walked over, and clapped Castiel on the back. "C'mon. It'll be fun."

Castiel slowly looked up at him, eyebrow raised. "Why do you even care?"

Dean tried his best to look offended. "What? We're bros, right?"

"How come you can pull off saying bro, and I can't, and you're not even human?" He muttered, annoyed, but Dean was still looking at him plaintively. He sighed. "Fine. Fine. What did you have in mind?"

Dean just grabbed his shoulder, and they both disappeared.

Once Castiel stopped feeling sick, he managed to take in his surroundings, and he almost ran away. "Dean." He hissed, looking around, and the angel looked so pleased with himself that Castiel almost slapped him. "Dean, did you take me to a brothel?"

"Relax, Cas. I just can't see this happening any other way."

Castiel flapped his mouth at that, torn between being offended and horrified. "You're an angel." He hissed. "Isn't this against the rules?"

Dean shrugged and walked over to the bar, taking a seat on a stool, and all but forcing Castiel to join him. The seat was sticky. He shuddered. "This place is vile." He said, whispering, and Dean scoffed as he ordered them both a beer.

"Calm down. And I already fought archangels for you, Cas. I don't think a cathouse is going to make much of a difference. Besides-" he grinned, and touched Castiel's shoulder again. "I'm not the one who'll be paying for it."

"If you think I'm going to actually pay for a hooker, you're going to end up disappointed. I'm dirt poor as it is."

Dean looked , predictably, crestfallen. "C'mon, man. Who knows-" his voice got slightly quieter. "You might be dead tomorrow, afterall."

Castiel paused, mid-sip of his beer (which, admittedly, was cold and perfect on his tongue). "Dean, are you going to die?"

The bartender turned at that, interested, and Dean flapped his hand. "Be quiet. No. Of course not."

"How dangerous is this thing you're trying to do, exactly?"

He remembered the words from Chuck's book. Archangels are absolute. He felt his heart sink. Dean leaned on the sticky bar, averting his eyes, one hand wrapped around his drink. "You'll survive." He said. Castiel jabbed him, forced him to meet his gaze.

"What about you?"

"Less likely."

"You asshole."

"I didn't want to bum you out." Dean said, feigning nonchalance, looking down into the amber liquid of his beer again. Castiel fumed, no word obscene enough to express his indignance.

"So you thought you'd get me laid before you died? And you weren't even going to warn me?"

"I didn't think-" Dean paused, and looked, briefly, at him again. "I didn't think you'd care."

"You're a fucking idiot." Castiel finished his beer, then got up from the barstool and grabbed Dean's sleeve. "Come on. We're leaving."

Dean followed dumbly, leaving his drink behind, out into the empty alleyway beside the 'club'. Once they were out in the cool air, Castiel let go of him, and strode ahead, out to the mouth of the alley. He leaned on the wall at the end, arms folded, and sighed irritably when Dean joined him.

"I'm sorry." He said, and he nudged Castiel with his elbow. "I'm sorry. I'm feeling a little – weird. Without Sam."

"I can't believe you weren't going to tell me."

Dean said nothing, just looked at the opposite wall, shoulders hunched, his arms folded. After a moment, he spoke. "You want to go back to the house? Get some sleep?"

Castiel looked up at him. "We can go back in, if you like."

"No. No, I don't want to push you. I'm sorry. I don't really think you can't get laid on your own, I was just-"

"Look, Dean. I don't care." He smiled at him, to prove it, and then sighed. "Mojo us back. It's fine."

"Sorry this was such a shitty evening."

"It's fine. Look. We'll sleep, we'll get up, we'll trap an archangel. It'll be easy."

Dean laughs, at that. "Well when you put it that way."

Back at the house things were surprisingly awkward. Castiel never wanted to talk about his virginity – looking for his dad, living on the road, being kind of awkward, there wasn't exactly any time to connect with anyone. He'd never really been interested in that sort of thing anyway, assuming it was for people with time, people who lived normal lives. Not for him.

He was a little nauseous, when Dean zapped them back to the house. Dean picked his way across the dusty floorboards and sat at the table, a foldaway thing, which creaked beneath him – Castiel, despite the fact that for some reason tension was thick in the air like smoke, joined him. "I thought you were going to go to sleep?" Dean ventured, honestly asking, and Castiel nodded.

"I can stay up a little longer. It's your last night on earth, after all."

Dean eyed him carefully, then nudged his leg with a foot. "So how come you never lost the big V, anyway, man? You're – what, twenty five, twenty six?"

"Twenty eight." Castiel corrected him, and Dean snorted.

"I know. I was trying to spare you the shame."

Castiel huffed, and shook his head. "I just never had the chance, that's all. I'm not – scared. Just picky, I guess."

"Real picky, at twenty eight." He held out, inexplicably, a bottle of whiskey and a glass to Castiel. "Sorry, just thought if you were staying up, you might as well be drinking."

Castiel took them, shaking his head, and poured himself a shot. "You are definitely not what I imagined when people said 'angel.'"

Dean laughed at that, too, and nudged him with his foot, again. "So no one? You weren't even tempted?"

"Of course I was." Castiel sighed. "I'm not dead." He looked at Dean, and the angel was eyeing him curiously. "It just never happened. I've had other things to think about."

"you need to let yourself go, man." Dean said quietly. He would have sounded impressed, almost, had his tone not been so sad. "You need to live. You're lucky."

"I'm living." Castiel replied, and Dean shook his head.

"Not like I would be, if I was you." His eyes left Castiel's face and swept over him, instead – the hunter felt the weight of that gaze acutely, balked underneath it, pinned.

"Yeah? What would you be doing, if you were me?"

Dean shrugged, tracing the edge of his glass with a finger. "Everything. Anything. Anyone." He grinned, and Castiel chuckled softly.

"Of course." Dean nudged him a third time with his toe, and Castiel looked at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He clicked his tongue, looked away, then back at Castiel. "Okay, something." His eyes were still heavy, so green, and Castiel had never noticed before, and it was probably the whiskey talking, though he hadn't had much. Then he said nothing else – instead, he stood up, and Castiel just stared at him.

"What're you doing?"

"Nothing, I just-" he shrugged. He moved closer. He put his hand on Castiel's face. "You ever even been kissed?"

"Of course I have." Castiel spat defensively, face hot underneath the angel's unnaturally warm palm. "This isn't a movie for teenage girls, Dean. You know I've kissed people."

Dean laughed, and it ghosted across his face. He really was very much in Castiel's personal space, now. "I was trying to do a thing."

"What kind of thing?"

Dean shrugged, but he was smiling, and looking pointedly at Castiel's mouth, so when he leaned in and kissed him, really, it came as no surprise. The surprise came from Castiel himself – the ferocity with which he kissed back, the way he lifted his hands to Dean's shoulders and pulled him closer, and closer still. Dean pulled away for a second, breathing, and just said, "Shit.", then crushed his lips against Castiel's again.

Dean was standing, leaning down to kiss Castiel, who was seated, but gradually he crouched, so that eventually he was pretty much in Castiel's lap, one knee between both of the hunter's, the other half-leaning on the chair, toes touching the floor. He slid his hand up the back of Castiel's neck, pulled him closer, so his teeth kept rasping against Castiel's lip as they kissed, open-mouthed, almost missing. There was little technique to Dean but he made it up with enthusiasm, the way he kissed as if he was running from something. Or towards it.

Castiel thought suddenly that he had no idea how they'd gotten here and also that Dean's knee was pressing pretty deliberately against his crotch, and there was little he could do but breathe in sharp, kiss back, mark the angel's neck with his teeth. His hands were shaking – from nerves, from the sheer enormity of the whole thing. The only words running through his head were Angel. Angel of the lord. What kind of sin does this count as? Dean could talk about fighting archangels all he wanted, but the thought of being thrown into Hell again didn't exactly fill him with confidence. He pulled back slightly, to speak. "Were you planning this?"

Dean looked at him, slightly sheepish. "Not exactly."

"How did you know I even-"

"Cas." Dean kissed him again and he went with it willingly, closing his eyes, opening them again when he pulled away. "How many times do I have to tell you I know everything before you believe me?" Castiel rose to meet him this time, kissed him slow.

Dean slid his hands under Cas' shirt, over his stomach, brought his hands to rest just over his ribs, thumbs drawing circles on his skin. He could feel Dean, hard against him, and he drew away, stopped – had to breathe.

"Dean." His voice was coming ragged, and he wasn't entirely proud of how this was going; he moved helplessly against Dean, searching for friction and getting only the pressure of Dean's knee between his legs, giving almost nothing. "Dean." He pulled back and the space between them was too far, but he swallowed. "You're not going to die tomorrow." He said, and Dean looked at him.

"I probably will." He said back, pressing very deliberately closer. Castiel's breath hitched.

"No, I mean. You're not going to die tomorrow, and I –"

Dean stopped suddenly and pushed himself away. "You don't want to."

"I do. I just-"

"Not really into the whole 'last night on earth' thing."

"Not really." He sighed. "It was an accident, Dean, waiting this long - partly, but-"

"It was a choice, too." His voice walked the line between flippant and guilty. "Okay." He kissed him again, though – pulled his hand out from his shirt, brought it up to Castiel's face, touched his collarbone with reverence. "Yeah. Okay." He pulled away and Castiel was flushed, sweating through his clothes, head swimming. He looked Dean in the eyes, and they both turned away, then looked back. He let out an uneasy breath.

"I should-" he stood, pushed himself out of his chair, tried awkwardly to ignore the way his cock was straining against his jeans, hoped that Dean hadn't noticed (although he knew everything, after all). Dean touched his arm as he passed; grazed the handprint but said nothing, as he passed Castiel and went to sit in one of the chairs, presumably until morning. Castiel smiled at him weakly as he went down the hallway and up the stairs, to bed.

He was less worried about making things weird than he was about this being the last way they ever saw each other.

xxx

"So – famine. He, uh. He didn't seem to bother you. Like. At all."

Castiel remembered the conversation he'd had in the diner with the withered Horseman, his skeleton-like face taut with glee, his lips pulled back over wide, white, tombstone teeth. The things he had said; how true they were. The ache that had risen inside him like it hadn't for a long, long time, a wide, open chasm of want that pulled at his skin like a serrated blade, nicking at his flesh. Dean appeared beside him in the car, popping in unbidden, as usual, as Castiel turned the second ring in hands. "I suppose I'm just – fulfilled." He said quietly, eyes on the ring, and Dean leaned to look at him. Dean's hunger had been harmless enough – Castiel had known all along, anyway, that Dean was starving to be human, so watching him flirt with waitresses, watching him eat and drink and joke, hadn't been all that bad, even though there had been a frenzied edge to it, an air of unpredictability that was unnerving to watch.

"So you're not feeling it? You're not – hungry?"

Castiel was silent. The Horseman's words were ringing in his ears, over and over – they had been, ever since he'd sliced the ring from his finger.

What a pitiable thing you are.

The sense of emptiness and loss hadn't left him. "He said that mine was harder to …see."

"Huh." Dean looked at him, scrutinizing, as if he could see inside him and figure out what he was missing. Maybe he could. Castiel averted his eyes. "Cas." He said quietly, and sounded suddenly broken. "It's - is that what it is?"

Castiel looked up at him. "Depends what you think it is."

"Is it love?" Dean asked him, barely above a whisper, amused and horrified at the same time. Castiel closed his eyes.

"It sounds foolish when you say it like that."

"I guess. It is pretty 'foolish', though." He said, imitating Castiel's inflection mockingly, and anger rose inside the hunter's gut. He pulled his car keys from his pocket and turned away from Dean, shoved them roughly into the ignition.

"I don't know why I even bother talking to you, sometimes. You never understand."

Dean's hand closed on his forearm. "No, you dick, I mean – I mean it's pretty dumb because there are people who – you know. You're not starving. I mean. Sam made his mistakes, but he loves you. God loves you. I –" he paused. "We're your friends. Anna fucking loves you, man. Even catatonic, she loved you. You could fucking feel it."

Then where is she? But he didn't say it, because Anna's empty bed in the motel still mocked him. That his sister had risen and gone, that she had left him – it stung worse than anything that had happened before, and that, considering his life, meant a whole lot.

Castiel left the engine running but did nothing else. "Sometimes it's hard to remember."

Dean's grip tightened on his arm. "You're not alone, Cas. Not anymore."

Castiel turned to him again, reluctantly, and leaned close. He sighed when they were scant inches apart, and Dean was looking at him, clearly waiting, curious. "It's not enough." He said, truthfully, and Dean nodded.

"Yeah. I know." But the angel kissed him anyway, unreservedly, surging forward with a surety that Castiel was certain he'd never felt himself. He was envious of the way that Dean always knew what to do, where to go, what was right – even if he did some questionable things, sometimes. He opened his mouth and kissed back, and though the void inside him didn't fill – and it probably never would – he clutched the ring in his palm and kissed Dean, the angel, like it was a victory.

Xxx

In Sioux Falls was the house that Castiel grew up in with his sister. His old lawn, his old room, his old garage, where he'd played. He'd left it empty when he was twelve, but the house still stood, and was still home. He'd led Anna in by the hand countless times over the past two years, her dazed and uncomprehending features unchanged as she stepped through the door. Taking Dean here was different, though – it felt like trespassing, but right, somehow, too. Sam was driving that night, out somewhere with the car, as he did, these days. Without his wings he liked to roam, liked to do whatever it was he did when he was alone; neither Dean, nor Castiel, had thought to ask.

The kitchen counters needed dusting; the refrigerator was empty but for butter and baking soda. Dean said nothing; he traced his fingers along the edges of the house, on doorframes and coffee tables, on the couch, the window-sills. It reminded Castiel only of how old he was.

Anna was somewhere in America, worn by an angel. Tomorrow was the last, last day.

He pushed Dean down onto the couch that night and fucked him, finally, the angel's hands on his back, on his shoulders, loud and unrestrained, the heat between them thick as thunder, the whole thing like a culmination, and a little something like love.

Dean said after, laughing a little, that maybe the last night on earth thing wasn't so bad, after all, if it always went like this. Castiel just kissed him and held his face, and kissed him until he fell asleep, and woke and kissed him again in the morning, in the lingering moments before they had to put on clothes, go outside, face the devil himself.

They were different people in the morning, but the night before lingered like a dream as he put his shoes on, as he caught Dean's eye, as he felt the flutter of wings against his arm, and he stepped out into the morning light.

xxx

Anna kissed his forehead and her fingertips were cool on his face, but her eyes weren't hers. The two angels, crouching, flanked him, and Castiel reached back for their arms, wrapped his hands around their wrists, gripped them tight. He looked up at Anna and saw only the Archangel, only the being riding inside her, not his beautiful older sister but a cruel parody, the twist of a lie.

"Give her back." He said softly, his face bruised and bleeding, blood trickling wetly down the side of his face, his lips parted and breathing harshly with the pain that it caused him to speak – to even draw breath. His sister's lips, not his sister, smiled.

"She was gone a long time ago, Castiel." He – Lucifer - said, soft, and his gentle tone hurt more than shouting would have. It dragged across his skin like a curse. Beside him, the angels were still pressed close, still held down by the devil, and their muscles tensed under his fingers.

"She was here. I know she was. She was back." He choked, and the sob came out, shameful, human, and pitiable as it dropped from his lips like an offering between them. Lucifer laughed.

"She was a body, Castiel, nothing more. All we needed was a yes."

"She didn't say yes."

"She said yes, Castiel. In her way. She wanted this to be over, just as much as we did." He slid his hand around Castiel's face, cupped his chin, and breathed a soft sigh. "And now it is."

Tears were streaming down his face, mingling with the taste of blood on his lips, salty and thick and sweet, and he whispered, softly, "Dean. Sam. Please." But they still didn't move, still crouched on either side of him, unable to help. He drew the deepest, shakiest breath of his life. He pulled out of Lucifer's grasp.

And then he stood.

Anna was shorter than him but with Lucifer in her she was terrifying, her eyes hard flint. The graveyard was silent – Castiel could almost believe the world was silent, that everyone except the two of them had been spirited away, leaving him to face his sister, and even as tears continued to stream down his face, he was resolute.

"Let her go. Or I will make you." He said, words quavering, and Lucifer looked actually amused, guessing, and rightly so, that Castiel had no fucking idea what he was doing.

"How, exactly, will you do that?"

The ground was soft and loamy, had been under his knees, and when he took a step forward it was springy beneath his feet, but the grass was yellowed, the sky lacklustre. Anna stood still like a goddess under the dome of the sky, and all was centered around her, like the earth itself could feel the power inside her, could feel how close they were to the brink. Castiel gritted his teeth – he was still crying, still drawing sobbing breaths, and every bone in his body felt broken and twisted where Anna's preternaturally strong fists had slammed into him, over and over, and over and over again. He pressed a hand flat to where his ribs were broken. He dragged himself forwards on his hanging, now-useless foot.

"Anna." He said softly, looking into her eyes, and Lucifer snorted.

"She couldn't even fight before she died, Castiel. She cannot fight me now. She doesn't want to."

The portal in the ground started to open, bits of earth crumbling away, the wind whipping higher as the hole started to suck Lucifer away. Behind him, Castiel heard a shifting, and he turned, expecting to see Dean standing there, but that angel was still on the ground. Sam, instead, was standing, was looking at him and saying, in a thin voice which he could barely hear over the wind, stop. Castiel did, at a loss for other options. Lucifer wouldn't kill him; he wanted his brother back, wanted to push Castiel into a yes, even now. The fallen angel, Sam, that is, started walking forward – he pushed Castiel gently aside, and muttered to him, thankyou, before he faced Lucifer, shoulders trembling but set.

"Let her go." He said, and Lucifer eyed him boredly.

"Oh, Samael. Sam, is it, now? I did you mercy by only burning your wings, brother. This is what you asked for." His gaze was contemptuous and smooth, the same as all the other angels when they looked upon him – disgusted. "We were finished a long time ago, you and I. Stand aside."

"No."

Lucifer shrugged and waved his hand, and Sam, again, crashed to his knees – but he pulled himself up, limbs shaking from the effort, and stared him down. He looked back at Castiel.

"Call him. Say yes."

"What?"

Dean, behind him, raised his head. "Sam!" he shouted, but Sam ignored him.

"Say yes. Please." He said, low, "Please trust me."

Castiel hesitated – Lucifer looked on, obviously confused. Sam spoke to him, soft.

"You'll lose her." He said quietly, and Castiel's heart sank to his knees. "There's nothing we can do. You'll lose her. But you – we don't have to lose you, too."

Lucifer tapped his foot, the expression on Anna's face twisted and ugly. "Well, Castiel? Yes or no?"

Castiel looked back at Dean, whose face was tilted up at him, whose eyes were heavy with loss, already. He mouthed, "I'm so sorry."

Dean said nothing. He coughed and blood dripped from between his lips. Sam, beside Castiel, took his wrist in his hand; there was a blade in Sam's palm but he didn't hand it over. He let go of Castiel's hand and looked at him meaningfully, but Castiel had no idea what he was getting at, and no hope that there was some secret plan up his sleeve.

There was no other exit from this that Castiel could see; the hole was widening, wanting to take something, anything with it, and though Sam said we don't have to lose you, too, there was no ending Castiel could imagine that didn't end with him holding Anna close, and throwing them both into the pit together.

He didn't want it.

Selfishly he wanted peace; wanted to roam and not feel the heavy burden of responsibility settle on him, wanted to travel with Dean, with Sam, too, and to sleep tucked under Anna's arm, like he had when they were children, before any of this began. He wanted normality, wanted to worry about bills and making dinner, not saving the fucking world.

He tilted his face towards the sky, and whispered, "Yes."

And that was all it took.

Michael rushed in and Castiel felt him, every inch of him, from fingertip to the top of his head, in every hair and cell. Michael was rapturous, composed of pure joy, and the elation that Castiel felt when receiving him was a strange mix of glory and endless, unequivocal loss.

As the last of Michael's essence filled him, Castiel almost succumbed – almost let the forced joy overtake him, staring into the eyes of his sister, alight with misery, when Sam grabbed him, hard, and Castiel and Michael, both, turned to look. His other hand clutched at Lucifer's – Anna's – slim, white shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh. His chest was bleeding, strange symbols carved into him, and red liquid was dripping down his frame, soaking the fabric of his shirt black.

Sam looked back at Dean, still trapped against the earth, and Castiel could almost be sure that he smiled.

Then he started to chant.

Words so old that Castiel had never seen them in any text. He heard Michael echoing in his head, vibrating with rage as he almost – almost – fully took Castiel's form, and then was ripped harshly away, as quickly as he had come. He howled as Sam's grip grew bruisingly tight, and then a breath, long, escaped Castiel as Sam ripped Michael away, tore him out of Castiel's flesh, and it burned, like Sam had removed his bones, but he did not fall.

The light was blinding – he heard Dean, screaming behind him, then felt the angel leap on him from behind, covering his eyes with his forearm as he was released from Lucifer's grip, and the light filled the cemetery, whiting out everything, and Sam tore the brothers from their vessels with one final, resolute tug.

Castiel saw nothing, eyes covered by Dean's arm, until it was lowered and he saw Sam, standing with the archangels clutched in his fists, holding their struggling lights in his hands before he looked past Castiel, at Dean, and nodded, then let himself fall. Like the trust exercises Castiel had seen – he fell back into the earth's waiting arms, was swallowed by the hole, eyes closed, Michael and Lucifer in his hands, their light still blindingly bright. Dean pushed Castiel aside, almost knocking him to the ground in his haste to get to the hole, but when he got there he fell to his knees on the unblemished earth, and it was as if no one had been there at all.

Dean sat there on his knees, his hands dug into the soil, for a long time. Castiel, slumped on the ground behind him, had no words, either. He stared at Dean's hunched shoulders, at the way the muscles there wavered, and imagined he could see Dean's huge wings rising; pinions pointed out, beautiful and strange and lost.

It was over, but he could hardly believe it.

They sat there for a long time, away from each other. Dean staring listlessly at the ground; Castiel sitting a ways away, by a gravestone, his whole body aching and empty.

Eventually it got dark, and Dean turned to look at him, bereft. He pulled himself shakily to his feet. He walked over, fit his palms to Castiel's face, bending down, and Castiel felt no more pain, no more bruising. His ribs healed, sealed themselves, and his skin knitted back together. Dean himself looked weary but physically fine, as usual. He looked down and Castiel as he straightened, then offered a hand to pull him to his feet.

The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder in Stull cemetery – the angel and his charge, the hunter and his friend, and contemplated what they had lost.

Then, as midnight turned – as the air grew cold around them, and the sky turned purple, and it became clear that tomorrow would, indeed, be another day – they walked together, wordlessly, to Castiel's '79 Nova, got into the seats – Castiel driving, Dean by his side – and took to the road in silence.

Dean turned to him on the road, and the words came shaky and unsure. "Which would you rather have, Cas?" he said softly, the first words he had spoken since Sam had left himself fall. "Peace, or freedom?"

Castiel looked at him and felt a surge of gratefulness, strange in amongst the grief. At least they hadn't lost everything. At least he still had something left to lose.

"Freedom." He said, without a second's thought, and Dean's gaze on him relented. He turned back to the wide, gray road. It was a moment or two before he spoke again, and Castiel assumed the conversation was over, but Dean turned back to him, and placed a hand on his arm. Not over the handprint scar, but below it, his thumb brushing the edge of where, beneath his skin, beat Castiel's heart.

"How about both?"

They smiled grimly at each other; Castiel raised his hand from the wheel and laid it over Dean's for a moment, before drawing it away.

There was still a road, still an earth, still something to find. There was still a hunt, still the choice to get up or to lie down, to stand or to fall, to give in or to fight until your lungs burned from your chest.

He felt empty and lost and broken, felt like his blood was not his own, and Dean's eyes held only a ghost of himself – but there were still all these things and more, still something to return to in the world.

Still something better than in hell, or even in heaven.