Castiel's Choice

Summary: Supernatural Fan-fic. Metatron escapes jail and he wants Castiel out of the way. Metatron kidnaps Sam and Dean and offers a trade. He will make sure that no one ever touches the Winchesters again in exchange for Castiel giving him insurance that he will never rise to heavenly prominence again. Afterward, Metatron leaves, leaving Sam and Dean to deal with the consequences and suffering as Castiel undergoes the transition from angel to mortal again, far worse than before. But Castiel's sacrifice has consequences that not even Metatron could have predicted.

Chapter One: The Sacrifice

"Well, this sucks." Dean Winchester pulled at his wrists with a scowl. "What the hell? These things don't even have proper locks on them."

"Probably because Metatron knows all about us, including the fact that we can pick most locks." Sam sighed. He'd been watching Dean tug at his manacles for the past hour, with absolutely no result. He sighed again, looking at his own bindings.

Manacles at wrist and ankle, secured by no discernible lock and tight enough that there was no chance that either of them could just slide free. Arms were chained in an outspread position, feet locked together to minimize balance. Extra chains were wound around their elbows, shoulders, chests, waists, and kneecaps. And there were spell wards added, to make the bonds even stronger. "Clearly, Metatron isn't taking any chances."

"Yeah, and what is up with that anyway? I thought Cass put Metatron in jail. I thought he was stuck there." Dean scowled and yanked at his left hand chain again. "How the hell did he manage to escape, find us, and kidnap us in the middle of the night? I mean, even if he could get out, I thought we were both angel warded with the ribcage thing and all."

"You were. But Castiel was the one who spelled you, and he was mortal for a while. Besides, both of you have crossed through...heaven, hell, purgatory...just about everywhere really. And you have the Mark of Cain. It has an effect." Metatron stepped into the room. "When you throw in your housing at that old warehouse Gadreel told me of and your predilection for monster hunting, well, you weren't that hard to find." He smirked.

"Yeah, yeah. We're predictable. Bite me." Dean scowled. "How the hell did you get out of lock-up anyway?"

Metatron shrugged. "I have my ways. There are angels who feel a despot is better than no leader at all. They would have taken Castiel, but given that he's refused the post...they were more than happy to give me a second chance. Besides, even if that weren't the case...there are those who wonder. Whether the whole thing was real. Whether I deserve to be locked up." His eyes sparked maliciously. "It's not that easy to repair a reputation as damaged as Castiel's, after all."

"Okay, fine. You're out. I assume you're aiming to rule heaven again. What do you want with us? We're not part of heavenly politics." Sam tried to keep his voice reasonable, but there was a bite of impatience to it. "You haven't killed us yet, and you're making sure we can't leave. So you want something."

"Yes I do." Metatron smiled, a thin, cold smile. "I want insurance."

"Insurance? What the hell does that mean?" Dean's scowl deepened. "If you're trying to make sure we don't try again to kill you, this is a damn poor way to go about it. Cause right now I can think of very few things I'd like more than to take you apart."

Metatron's smile became a sneer. "You would, wouldn't you? But no. It's not you I want insurance from. You I can handle. Clearly. There's another party in the game. I've sent the ransom message, so he should be here soon."

"Not soon. Now." The low voice behind Metatron startled everyone.

Castiel stood in the doorway. The dark hair was as untidy as ever, but he looked well. The trench-coat was clean (it was always one of the first casualties when Castiel was failing in health), and his body was whole and unmarked by wounds. His white shirt and dark suit were clean. The usual five-o-clock shadow darkened his chin and cheeks, but no worse than was normal for him. Dark blue eyes raked over both brothers. "Are you hurt?"

Dean growled. "Pissed off, tied up, and I'm getting some major-ass cramps in my shoulders and calves. Other than that, no. I'm good."

Castiel's gaze moved. "Sam?"

"The same. Not hurt, just a little sore from being kidnapped and chained to a pillar." Sam shifted his weight. "Wouldn't mind being loose though."

"All right." The dark, brooding gaze shifted again, this time to Metatron. "I'm here. Now let them go."

"Not so fast." Metatron shook his head. "I have conditions for their release."

"Fine. What?" Castiel shifted. Sam and Dean both tensed.

Metatron smiled, a sharp, ugly smile. "It's simple. I'll release the brothers. I'll even guarantee their safety, from the heavenly host at least. And possibly from the demons as well. All you have to do is give me what I want."

"And that would be?" Castiel's voice was low, grating, and one hand flexed in warning. He was on the verge of drawing a sword, and there were storms of power and anger in his eyes.

"Heaven. A second chance to impose order. And you out of the way this time. You're too dangerous and unpredictable. You're too powerful. Castiel, the angel who returned from Death. The angel who can rally humans, and demons to his side, as well as the heavenly host." Metatron's smile twisted into a snarl. "I stripped you of your Grace, made you human and sent you to Earth, and you still revived. Raphael and Lucifer both destroyed you, and yet you keep coming back. I framed you, and you disproved it. I jailed you, and you escaped. I want to make sure you are out of this story. For good."

"If you want me to swear I'll remain neutral, fine. If you want me to die...it's not like it isn't happening anyway." Castiel's eyes glittered with a flash of bleak humor. "A little sooner, a little later...I'm not afraid of death."

"I know. And I'd love to take you up on that." Metatron flicked his wrist, and a shining silver blade slid into his hand. Everyone else tensed. Then he dropped it to clang against the floor. "The problem is, that's already been tried. You've been killed. And you just keep coming back, stronger and better than ever. If I killed you, for all I know, I'd have an archangel on my hands when I turned around. Or a fledgling god. No, killing you won't do."

"Then what is it that you want? I'm at a loss." Castiel watched, remaining in his place as Metatron began to pace the floor.

Metatron watched him a moment, then hissed out, "I want the Grace inside you. That force that's keeping you alive and empowered. And I want assurance, proof that you won't go and find more when my back is turned." He moved, short, sharp strides to Castiel's side, and whispered into his ear.

Castiel flinched. Actually flinched, and trembled as though he had been struck. His face paled.

Sam jerked himself upright, pulling against his chains. "Cas, what's wrong? What did he ask you to do?"

Castiel didn't answer. His face was nearly white, his body rigid.

Dean swallowed hard. He'd seen Castiel hurt, tortured, driven mad, and nearly every other state of poor health he could imagine, and he'd never seen Castiel look like this. Never seen him stand so still, his hands trembling, clenched into white-knuckled fists. "Cas?"

Castiel didn't answer him either. Instead, he turned to face Metatron, eyes burning almost feverishly. "If I do this...you swear...no one touches them. Not even to get to me." His eyes went to the brothers a moment, then back to Metatron. "Sam and Dean Winchester are off limits to everyone."

"Naturally. You have my word."

Dean snorted. "Like that's worth much."

Metatron shot him a contemptuous glance. "I swear it on my Grace. I'll even swear it in a demon deal, if you want. You can arrange that, can't you Castiel?"

"I can. Probably. But I doubt I need to. You'll need every ounce of goodwill you can find, and being proven an oath-breaker and a liar again won't help your cause." Castiel's voice grated and cracked.

"True." Metatron smiled, a shark's smile. "Well Castiel? Do we have a trade or not?"

"Cas, no. Whatever he's asking you...don't do it." Dean yanked at his chains. "It's not worth it. Not for us."

Castiel met his eyes. "Would you agree if that bargain was for Sam's safety, without yours in consideration?" Dean grimaced, and a small smile curved one corner of Castiel's mouth and disappeared. "I thought not. Besides...to me...it is worth it." He turned back. "I agree to your terms."

"Cas..." Sam froze as Metatron gestured.

Chains like the ones binding both of them appeared and snapped around Castiel's wrists, dragging his arms into a spread-eagled position. Another set of shackles bolted his feet to the floor, pinning him helplessly in place. Castiel hissed once as his arms were wrenched apart, but made no other sound. His eyes remained fastened on Metatron.

Dean snarled. "You son of a bitch, what are you going to do to him?"

Metatron leaned down and picked up the silver sword, then gave Dean a cold, cruel smile. "Do you know, what separates an angel from a human? From a man, just another crawling bug on the face of the Earth? It isn't just the Grace you know." He muttered a low, quick spell in Enochian.

Light gathered and flared. Castiel made a low, soft sound that could have been rage, could have been despair, or something else all together. Then the light faded and both Winchesters stared.

Huge, wide wings, each six feet across at least, curled against Castiel's shoulders. Dean shivered. He'd seen the shadow of Castiel's wings on their first meeting, and glimpses once or twice since then, but Castiel usually kept them hidden.

Metatron stroked one wing and Castiel shuddered, head snapping back in pain or revulsion or both. Metatron smiled. "It's the wings, you know. Mark of an angel's celestial status. Reservoir of the power they carry. The key that binds them to Heaven." He stroked the feathers again, enjoying how Castiel winced. "Even if an angel loses their Grace, they still have these. That's how they can reunite with their power. How a fallen angel like Anna, or Castiel himself, can still retain some of their powers, their awareness. But if you take an angel's wings as well as his Grace...well then. Things change."

Metatron circled Castiel slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Angels who forgot to protect their wings in the Fall...those were the ones who died. They lost their celestial status when their wings burned and shredded from their backs, and then they were mortal when they hit the ground."

Sam straightened. "You're going to take Castiel's wings." He swallowed hard.

"And his Grace. Just to be sure." Metatron smiled again. "I thought about just burning them from your back, Castiel, but that can't be done without Holy Fire. At least, not here. And Holy Fire would kill you, which I am trying to avoid. So...we need a different method." He tapped the sword against his palm. "I thought I'd try amputation instead."

Castiel twisted in his bonds to face the Metatron. "Fine. Do it."

"Castiel, no. Don't let him do this to you." Dean wrenched at the chains. "You son of a bitch, if you touch him..."

"You're in no position to do anything about it." Metatron smirked. "Neither of you can do anything. Besides...this is Castiel's choice." He slid the flat of the blade across Castiel's cheek. "We should get started. Any last requests, Castiel?"

"Keep your word." Castiel was ash-pale, but his expression was unyielding.

"Of course. Anything else?" Metatron looked calm, but there was triumph in his eyes.

Castiel swallowed hard but lifted his chin, straightening in his chains. "Make it quick."

Metatron smiled coldly. "It won't be. But you already knew that. However...I can make it a little easier, I suppose." He slid the blade across Castiel's throat.

Blood welled, and the white, pearly light of the Grace. Metatron trapped it in a vial as Castiel choked, pain crossing his features. When the last light was trapped, he snapped the vial closed and laid two fingers across Castiel's throat, sealing the gash. Castiel flinched, and Metatron caught his chin. "I did say I didn't want you to die. A slit throat would kill a mortal." He lifted his blade. "On to the next part." he stepped around under Castiel's outstretched arm, laid one hand on the back of his shoulder, and brought the silver sword slashing down.

Light flared, light and blood. Castiel gasped, a half-scream of pain, choked by his own agony. The sword slashed again and Castiel convulsed, writhing against Metatron's grip.

"Castiel!" Dean roared the angel's name, straining against his chains so hard they cut into his wrists, leaving blood trickling down his arm. Sam twisted his hands frantically, fighting to find some leverage, some way to slip his bonds. There was nothing. He pulled so hard he felt like he was dislocating his thumb, but it wasn't enough.

The sword flashed a third time. Castiel cried out again. Then the sword sliced downwards a fourth time, and the wing attached to his right shoulder fell and exploded into nothingness against the ground. Castiel howled in agony, his torment written clearly across his face. The sleeves of his shirt and trench-coat were crimson with the blood from his wrists, and blood dripped from his back to the ground. Then Castiel's head dropped forward, breath coming in harsh pants as he slumped in his bonds. Breathless, harsh words slipped from his mouth. "Finish it."

"Castiel, please, don't do this..." Sam's words froze as Metatron stepped around to Castiel's other side. The silver sword rose and fell once more and Castiel's head snapped back, renewed suffering slashing across his face as another scream was torn from him.

Dean turned his face away as Metatron lifted the sword once more. His face was white, and he was shaking. Sam bit his lip, hands clenching into fists as he watched Metatron hack away at Castiel's back. Watched Castiel writhe and tremble and scream.

The second wing fell and burned to nothingness, leaving it's charred outline on the ground. Castiel slumped forward once more. Light gathered around his tortured form, compressed, then dissipated, and something went out of his face. Celestial light. Gone from him in a way it had never been gone from him before, even when he'd been human on previous occasions.

Metatron calmly wiped Castiel's blood from his sword. "Well, that's done then." He clicked his fingers, and the chains holding Castiel upright vanished. Castiel fell in a heap against the floor. He moaned, but didn't move.

Metatron looked at him a moment, then raised his gaze to the two brothers. "And now for you two."

"You swore to Cas..."

"And I intend to keep my word. After all, he's right. A broken oath would look bad for me right now. The situation being what it is. So." Metatron moved forward. He seized Deans right hand and traced a quick mark on it. Dean hissed as the mark burned into his skin. Then he moved to Sam and repeated the process. "There. I've healed your wounds and left a mark that indicates you are under protection, not to be harmed. You can duplicate the mark for him later...if he recovers." He gave Castiel a contemptuous look.

"What do you mean, if he recovers?" Sam swallowed hard.

Metatron gave him a wintry smile. "The hard part's just beginning. You see, an angel's wings are protection of a sort. When an angel takes a human host, or a human form, the wings...act as a buffer. Celestial energy, the memories of what being an angel is...the wings help. I couldn't explain exactly how, of course, but they help. They're a power conductor, and a filter of sorts."

He turned, nudged Castiel's prone form with his boot. Dean snarled wordlessly.

"All that Castiel was, all that he is, all that he has seen and experienced, is trapped within him. Within the confines of a mortal mind, a mortal soul. Given his resume..." A sneer touched Metatron's face. "He might not survive it. The assimilation may kill him. But I can guarantee, it won't be pleasant for him."

He turned. "Your chains will vanish once I'm safely away." he smirked. "Do take care of Castiel. He's handed me Heaven twice now. I'd hate for him to get nothing out of it."

"You soulless son of a bitch..." Dean snarled the words. "I swear, I will find a way to kill you..."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." Metatron smiled. "And just in case you were hoping otherwise...what I've done to Castiel isn't something a demon or even another angel can fix. I made sure of that." Then he vanished, teleporting away.

Dean growled again and wrenched at the chains, then staggered as they vanished. Sam stumbled as well, caught himself, then fell to his knees at Castiel's side. Dean knelt on the angel's other side. "Well?"

Castiel's wrists were torn. His back was raw and bloody, trench-coat torn open to reveal where the wings had been ripped from his back. His face was pale. Sam held one hand in front of his mouth. "He's breathing. But it's shallow. He's probably going into shock."

"Yeah. Not exactly a surprise, considering he just got his Grace ripped out of his body again and his wings fucking amputated." Dean cursed again. "What the hell do we do with him?"

Sam swallowed. "We could take him back to the Bunker. Tend his wounds."

"Yeah. And what about the rest of it." Dean's fists clenched, and his eyes were burning with rage and grief. "Sam, you know what he's been through. Heaven, Hell...he's been killed and resurrected how many times? He was trapped in Purgatory, brainwashed, tortured. He had the leviathans inside him, eating him from the inside out. He took your hell memories and your insanity for you. And all that's trapped in there, in his head, where his mojo can't save him any more."

"I know. We'll just have to do the best we can." Sam bit his lip. "Come on. We need to get him back." He reached out and took one of Castiel's arms. Dean stood still a moment, then reached out and took the other.

Together they lifted the unconscious former angel from the ground. Castiel moaned as Sam drew one arm over his shoulders, but he didn't open his eyes. He sagged in their arms, dead weight. Sam looked over the angel's shoulders and into Dean's eyes, seeing the memory there of the first time they had held Castiel like this. When he had sacrificed his strength to take them into the past and prevent the angels from killing their parents. They had found him collapsed next to a car, coughing up blood. And it was one of the less traumatic things Castiel had endured with them.

They stood a moment, sharing their sorrow, then turned. Sam let Dean take the lead as they navigated Castiel's limp form to the door and through it.

The door proved to lead to another room an abandoned office from the look of it. Sun was shining through the windows. Dean led as they crossed the room, careful not to jostle their injured companion, and made their way outside.

The Impala was sitting in the parking lot. The keys were visible on the dash, along with a map. Dean let Sam take Castiel's weight while he reached in and snagged both. He looked at the map, then swore in a broken voice. "Cas...you stupid, stupid, self-sacrificing son of a bitch..." His voice died away.

"What is it?" Sam shifted.

Dean held up the map. A town in the middle of Montana was circled, and next to it was written 'you are here' in Castiel's spiky old-fashioned script. Sam swallowed hard on a knot of anguish in his throat as the implications turned over in his mind.

Cas had brought them the Impala, at who knew what cost to himself. And he had noted their location, so they could get home easily. He had known, or at least suspected, that he would be unable to help them. Incapacitated or dead. He had known. Small wonder he had been so easy for Metatron to convince. He had come willingly in the first place, not for a fight, but for a sacrifice.

Dean cursed again, then wrenched the back door open. "Come on, lets get him in and take him home. Shouldn't take more than a few hours, if we push it."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Sure." He carried Cas over, guided the limp body into the car, laying Casl so that he was facing the seat, his back turned to the front to avoid aggravating his wounds.

Dean opened the trunk and pulled out the first-aid kit they kept with them. "Can you handle it, or you need help?"

Sam shook his head. "I've got it, I think. But these are pretty deep. He'll probably scar."

Dean huffed. "Yeah. If he survives." He scratched his head. "Damn, I wish Bobby were here. Or even Garth."

"Yeah, well, we usually wish that at least once a hunt. But they're not, so we'll just have to do the best we can." Sam bent forward. "Think I should try to get him out of these clothes, or just cut them off him?"

"Might as well cut 'em. They're ruined anyway, and if Metatron's right, he's not gonna be fixing them. And if Metatron's wrong...he can put pieces together just as well as mend tears." Dean shuffled, then flopped into the driver's seat, out of Sam's way, though he turned around to watch.

Sam ripped the cloth down Castiel's back, then used a knife to cut the seams and gently strip the wounded angel. Cas groaned, but remained unconscious as Sam put ointment and anti-septic on the gaping wounds of his back and the slighter ones of his wrists, then bound his wrists with bandages, packed his back with medicated gauze and bandaged Cas from shoulders to the base of his ribcage. Dean watched him finish, then fished under the seat until he found one of their worn blankets and passed it over. "Here."

"Thanks." Sam wrapped Cas in the blanket, then buckled the limp body into the seat and backed out into the morning sunlight. He checked to make sure Castiel's legs were out of the way, then shut the door, walked around to the passenger side and dropped into his usual seat. "Let's go."

"Way ahead of you." Dean fired up the car and took off, pointing the Impala towards Kansas.

They stopped to fill the car with gas and get food an hour out. Dean filled the tank at a convenience store/fast food restaurant, while Sam went inside and bought basic supplies. Water, soda, beer, snacks, and lunch. He came back out with six bags, and Dean stared at him. "You know we'll have to stop again, and you and I can't eat all that between now and then."

"I know. But I bought some stuff Cas might like." Sam held up a sandwich bag. "We know he likes hamburgers."

"Yeah. That's true." Cas had said his human side liked red meat, so it was a valid point. He clicked the handle on the pump, snagged the receipt, and hopped back in. "Let's go then. We got a hurt angel to take home."

Sam didn't bother to remind his brother that Cas was a former angel. He didn't have the heart to. "Yeah. Right there with you."

They ate in silence. The quiet from the backseat was unnerving. Castiel was rarely so silent in their presence. The last time had been when he'd been drained of Grace, right before they'd slam dunked Lucifer and Michael into the Cage. Usually he was full of observations, questions, ideas. There was just something wrong about the silent form, limp underneath the blanket, that both brothers knew no loud music or talking could fix.

They'd been driving for three hours when an unexpected voice broke the silence. "Stop the car."

Dean swore, jerked on the steering wheel, then guided the car to the side of the road and slammed on the flashers. He jerked the parking brake on, then whipped his head around. "Cas. You're awake."

"And wishing I weren't." Cas looked sick. "I think I'm ill..."

Sam shot out of his seat and around to open Castiel's door, then caught the angel's shoulders as he retched twice into the gravel. Cas coughed, then leaned into Sam's shoulder a moment before he spoke. "Help me sit up."

Sam guided Castiel into a sitting position, then crouched by the open door. Castiel leaned his shoulder against the seat, wincing as he breathed. "Where are we? And why am I in this condition?" He was looking at his bare arms.

"We had to bandage your wounds. And we're headed back to the Bunker. Been driving about four hours." Dean turned a little further around. "Can we get you anything? We've got snacks, beer, water, cheeseburgers..."

"Water." Cas grimaced. He took the bottle Dean cracked open and handed to him, sipping at it. Sam leaned back out of the way as he spit blood into the gravel. He sipped some more. "Thank you."

"No problem." Dean watched as the angel drank half the bottle and capped it. "Anything else?"

Castiel winced. "Some...money...for the hotel fare...would be appreciated."

"Hotel fare? I just told you that we were headed back to the Bunker." Dean's hand clenched on the seat. "It shouldn't take us that long."

"I meant for wherever you decide to leave me." Castiel's voice was low and rough.

"Why would we leave you anywhere?" Sam sounded surprised.

"Why wouldn't you? I am...no longer of any help to you...and what comes next...isn't pretty." Castiel's breathing was labored. His head was leaning against the seat, as if he was too tired to hold it up. Too tired even to stop the blanket from slipping down his bandaged shoulders.

"We know. Metatron told us. Still don't see what your point is." Dean turned as far around as he could get in the seat.

Cas sighed. "I don't...wing-taking hasn't been in practice since...well, practically since the dawning of creation. Only Metatron would remember what it's after-effects are truly like. It's considered...barbaric. Worse than barbaric. Practically demonic." The blue eyes closed. "I've never witnessed it. But I've heard stories. Whispers. None of them good."

He paused, then kept speaking, his voice almost a dead monotone. "If rumors are true...I will relive my past from a human perspective. The emotions I was distant from, as an angel, that you once claimed I could not feel...the sensations that my Grace and my status as an angel, even a weakened one, shielded me from, like dying, and...other things...I will feel them. Remember them. I don't know how vividly, or how strongly, or how the situation will progress. Only that it will."

He stopped, and seemed to be curling into himself. Sam reached out and gently raised the blanket to cover him once more. Cas shuddered at the contact.

Dean spoke softly. "Still not seeing the issue here."

Castiel's teeth clenched. "It will be...difficult. For me. Possibly for any that remain with me. How difficult I cannot say but...most certainly traumatic. Can you imagine what an angel's nightmares would be like? Particularly mine? After what I have seen and done?"

"Yeah. I can imagine." Dean watched as Cas curled into the Impala's back seat. "So, you're saying that you're about to go through a horrible, traumatic, nasty experience, and you think we should just leave you somewhere to deal with it on your own?"

"It's already started. And yes. Exactly."

Dean and Sam shared a look. Then Dean snorted. "You know, you've said some crazy things since I met you, but even for you, that is a whole new level of stupid."

Castiel's head snapped up, blue eyes wide open as he stared at Dean. "What?"

"You heard me. And you understood what I meant. If you think Sam and I are going to abandon you while you go through this, you're an idiot."

Cas swallowed. "The last time..."

Sam snorted. "The last time I didn't really get a vote, because I was locked in my head. And Dean had a paranoid angel telling him that if he didn't ditch you, he'd kill me. Or at least let me die. This is definitely not the same thing." Sam shifted, steadied himself on the door-frame. "Dean and I don't intend to make that mistake a second time."

"Yeah. What he said." Dean flashed Cas a small smile.

"You don't understand." Castiel's hands clenched around the edges of the blanket. "When I say difficult..." He stopped, eyes closing, an expression on his face that Dean wished he'd never learned to interpret. Shame. "I mean...humiliating. Traumatic. Ugly. Quite possibly degrading. The memories, and my reactions to them. Even more so because eventually, the two of you will be part of them. I'm sure you understand."

Memories of Castiel's tortured body, of leaving him in Purgatory, flashed in Dean's mind. He saw a similar sorrow in Sam's eyes. "Yeah. We get it."

"Then you understand why you would not wish to see this. And why I might not wish you to see this." Castiel's teeth clenched again.

Dean watched Cas, curled on the seat, hugging the blanket around him for warmth. He did understand. But he understood other things as well. He met Sam's eyes again, silent question in them. Sam nodded behind Castiel's bowed back, shifting his position slightly so that if the angel tried to exit the car, he'd have to ram into and through Sam to do it.

Cas seemed frozen, waiting for their response. Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah. I understand. So does Sam. But...there's something we think you don't understand."

Castiel's voice was cracked ice when he responded. "And what is that?"

"You've been with us for years. Years, man. Through thick and thin. Hell, you've been in our corner at times when literally no one else was. If it weren't for you, God knows where we'd be by now. Probably a lot worse off." Dean reached down and grabbed two sodas, wishing he weren't driving and could grab for the beer. "My point is, you've been with us through a lot. We've seen some heavy shit for you, you've covered for us in some nasty situations. At this point, I think you're practically family. Pretty damn weird family at times, but family. And family sticks together. Even through the nasty stuff." He broke the cap off of his drink and swallowed. So did Sam.

Cas flinched at the sound. "I am not..."

"You are. You're outvoted two to one on this Cas. You've been adopted as an honorary Winchester." He smirked at the angel over his bottle.

Cas shuddered. "You do not understand. When I say...you cannot...the things I may say...the things I may do...the things you may hear of me...you don't know everything I've done."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, well, we've seen you die for us a few times, molotov an archangel or two, go to Purgatory, take on torture and mind blowing insanity for us, including having Lucifer torment you in your dreams, kill for us and a whole bunch of other things."

Dean nodded. "Plus we've seen you go 'Angel Commander' on us, go practically homicidal on us, go practically whacked-out God complex on us, and go absolute pacifist wacko. And everything in between." He took another gulp of his soda. "Sam and I think we can handle the hairy stuff." He shrugged. "We may not have always agreed or been on the same team, but hey, the same can be said of me and Sammy too. And we're still together through hell or high water."

Cas sat for a long moment, still and silent in the seat. When he spoke at last, his voice was ragged. "I should be...furious...with your refusal to leave me."

Dean shrugged again. "Are you?"

"No." Cas curled a little deeper into the seats. "I think...I am relieved." He raised his head to look into Dean's eyes.

"That's good..." Blue and red lights flashed behind them. Dean grimaced. "Great." He sighed. "Make yourself comfortable. Sammy..."

"On it." He heard his brother scuffing the dirt and unbuckled to pull himself from the car.

The officer stopped his approach as Dean emerged. Dean raised his hands in the air. "Officer. Nice day."

The officer nodded. "Got word of a black Impala off the road." He glanced at the car's tires, and the front end. "Mind telling me what the problem is?"

Dean made a face and shrugged. "Friend of ours. Injured in a bad fall. Concussion, you know how nasty those things can get. He said he was about to throw up, so we pulled over so he wouldn't puke in the car. Got a bit of a road trip still ahead of us."

The officer nodded again and edged towards the passenger side. Sam held up his hands with a sheepish grin. Dean watched as the officer's eyes took in the scuffed gravel, and Castiel sitting huddled in the back seat. The officer moved a few paces forward, and Sam obligingly backed up. "Sir, you all right?"

Cas tilted his head back. "No. I feel sick, and my head hurts, and my back hurts, and my wrists hurt, and my mouth feels foul and tastes disgusting."

"You want to go to the hospital?" Dean winced at the friendly concern in the cop's voice.

"No. I want to go home with my brothers. Preferably before I start having nightmares and throwing up again." Sam grimaced at Castiel's blunt honesty.

The cop looked up. "I thought he was your friend?"

"He is. But he's a close friend. We kinda talk sometimes, about how he's an honorary member of the family." Dean smiled.

The cop nodded. "Nightmares?"

Sam spoke up. "The doctor said he might have them. He's...kind of suffering from...PTSD. All the bad stuff that's been going on around the country the past few years...his family got caught in some of it. He lost a lot of them." The cop grimaced in sympathy. "We were hoping to get him to relax, but the accident...The doctor said to be careful, that it might trigger some...memories or something. That's why we wanted to get him home, even though he's not in good shape to travel. We thought he might be more comfortable there."

The cop backed up. "I see. Well then, are you able to get back on the road?"

Dean moved over to his door. "Cas? You up for hitting the road again?"

"Yes. The sooner the better."

"Okay. I'll let you boys be on your way then." The officer backed up and shut Cas's door. The angel winced at the noise. "You take good care of your friend."

Sam nodded. "We will." Both brothers watched as the officer went back to the patrol car, then got back into the Impala. Castiel was sitting leaning against the seat, blanket clutched in one hand, water held loosely in the other. Dean made sure he and Sam were buckled, then turned the ignition switch and brought the car roaring to life.

Two minutes later, they were on the road again, roaring along at almost 70, and the police car was nowhere in sight. Dean chanced a look at Cas. The angel's eyes were closed, head lolling against the upholstery. "Cas, you out?"

"No." One short, terse word.

"Okay." Dean swallowed. He didn't want to ask the next question. "How long before this...thing...starts getting rough for you?"

"It won't get bad for a while." Castiel's voice was rough. "Aside from Lucifer's fall, my first years as an angel were...fairly quiet. Mostly a great deal of watching." He paused, and Dean heard him take a sip of water. "It didn't start getting bad...until just before Anna's fall. Around the time Azazael began his campaign to free Lucifer."

"About ten, twenty years before we were born." Dean nodded. "Gotcha." He found a soothing cassette, one he didn't listen to very often, and slid it into his tape deck. "In that case, get what rest you can. Take a nap or whatever it is you do. Sam and I'll wake you when we get back to the Bunker."

"All right." There was a whisper of a bottle cap sliding on or off the bottle, and a rustle of cloth. "I...thank you. Both of you."

Dean grinned. "No problem. Go to sleep." There was no reply from the backseat, and when he looked in the mirror, Castiel was slumped against the seat.

Author's Note: I haven't seen all of Supernatural, just got a general idea, so some of the details might be fudged. Sorry for any inaccuracies.

I've always found it odd that Castiel (and Anna, for that matter) could get their Grace back. If they're technically human, it didn't seem reasonable. Plus, they retain some awareness of Heaven. Hence the idea that their wings act as some sort of connection. Loss of Grace means they can't actually, use them, kind of like a broken bone or severed nerve would result in being unable to lose a limb for a human. But they are there, and if the problem gets fixed, so to speak, then they're usable again. Or at least, potentially usable. That's my take for this story, anyway.

Next up...the road of memory is a hard one...