"The bunker felt empty. It was often like that when Sam and Dean weren't around. They had important stuff to attend to, hero stuff. Cas had grown used to it. They were important. They were the ones that threw their lives on the line whenever the need arose. He was just there for support.

He could hear his footsteps echoing through the halls as he explored them. He often didn't know what he was looking for or even why he was doing a single thing. There seemed to be some itch at the back of his mind that propelled him toward action, but the actions all seemed pointless. Once he felt an itch to look for the First Blade. It was odd feeling like he needed to go retrieve it. He didn't want to think about it. He certainly didn't want to retrieve it. Instead, he wanted to push it aside.

Cas did let a little thought swirl around the blade though. He pictured himself walking into one of the rooms that they rarely used. It had papers and files dating back to the dawn of the Men of Letters. He had gone there before hiding the weapon. Thoughts on this path turned to distraction. Dean had trusted him. Dean had handed him the First Blade.

Crowley had expected to get it back. He had expected Dean to have faith in him above all else. He had trusted Dean. Cas had pushed aside the quiet pleasure that came over him when Dean had pressed the weapon into his hand. Cas had felt the slight brush of Dean's finger over the back of his own hand at the moment that he had handed the item over. He felt Crowley's displeasure at the confirmation that Dean had made his choice.

The pleasure could not last though. The moment that Crowley departed, in a whirl of demon irritation, Dean let go of his reserves of strength, and it became his and Sam's duty to catch him up and bring him home. He remembered the weight of Dean in his arms, the brokenness and vulnerability. He wished that he could clear Dean's mind of the troubles that always seemed to fill it. He wished that with the gentlest of touches that he could just give him the fresh start that he deserved. Dean wouldn't want that though, and he was not interested in violating Dean's trust to give it to him without consent.

Instead he would just be gentle with him. He would brush healing into him whenever Dean would let him. He'd stand near him radiating strength. He'd come when he called, and stay if Dean would let him. He'd live for him even when he didn't really want to live. He'd fight for him, and he'd never regret a moment or sacrifice connected to Dean Winchester.

He felt something new. It came on him suddenly, like hearing a distant shout from several miles away. The tone of the sound gave him the feeling. He looked around the bunker. He wandered out to the war room. There was nothing there. "Sam?" he called out into the emptiness. No one responded. His own voice was all there was to be heard.

A noise rang in his ears and the room seemed to vibrate with too bright light. Cas gripped his head against the piercing sound. A sound of someone in agony, Sam, crushed in on him. Someone was hurting Sam. He felt suddenly very powerful. He focused on the place where Sam seemed to be. It wasn't in this place, but it was. Sam's agony increased. Cas could feel it. And he suddenly knew why.

With that knowledge, he burst from the confines of his mind and took control of his vessel again. "Sam, it's me." It took all of his strength to hold back Lucifer. You will not hurt Sam. He did not receive a reply in words, but he felt the way that Lucifer was scratching away at him, trying to tear him apart. A coldness coursed through him, and he felt himself shaking uncontrollably for a moment.

"Cas, why?" Sam groaned through the question.

"I wanted to be of service to the fight." The memories of what he had done flooded his mind. He was fighting to hold back Lucifer, and at the same time he wanted to just expel him entirely. Lucifer let him see though, all that had been happening since he had taken over. He showed him Dean cast back in time on some nebulous mission. Cas felt himself crumble in grief stricken defeat. Lucifer would control him again or Dean would be lost. He looked down at Sam still hurt in front of him, and added, "And only Lucifer can beat her."

"You chose this?" Cas felt like he needed air. He was desperate for it like he was drowning. "You have to fight, Cas, eject him now."

"I can't. It's taking all of my strength just to keep him from killing you." He struggled against the pull of Lucifer, the frosty chill that he sent through him. "And besides, we need him."

"No, Cas, we don't. We'll find another way to stop Amara."

He felt like he was cracking into a million pieces, like thin ice on a vast lake with too much weight set on it. "We need him to save Dean."

"You can't time travel?" Cas shook his head.

"Only Lucifer can." And with one look from Sam he knew that he had to let go or never let go. Dean needed to be saved, so he closed his eyes and fell back into the empty bunker.

Cas was laying in Sam's bed. His shoes were off and his sleeves were rolled up. His coat was tossed over the chair near the bed. He had decided to watch a movie. The Fugitive. Before that he fiddled with Dean's computer and looked at old pictures and files.

"Alright, listen up, people. Our fugitive has been on the run for ninety minutes. Average foot speed over uneven ground barring injuries is 4 miles-per-hour. That gives us a radius of six miles. What I want from each and every one of you is a hard-target search of every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse in that area. Checkpoints go up at fifteen miles. Your fugitive's name is Dr. Richard Kimble. Go get him." The Marshal on the television was in fine form. His speech reminded Cas of Dean when he tried to make rallying speeches.

He finished up the movie and felt satisfied. He felt the urge to roam around and look at things in the bunker. He thought about Crowley a bit and Dean and also Sam. He wasn't sure why he thought of each of them in that moment, but he felt like the reason was almost apparent. He just needed to focus a bit. Then he found himself back in Sam's room. No, it was Dean's room. He turned on Netflix again, this time on Dean's laptop, and watched The Simpsons.

Occasionally, he felt something pulling at him. He felt something like longing, a melancholy that swept over him. He couldn't latch onto it, but it was a sadness so profound that he almost wanted to run from it. Instead, he laid in Dean's bed and let his mind bleed out via too much cartoon viewing.

The kid that was supposed to be mean, a real bully, was saying something about bleeding. Cas knew that he was supposed to laugh at the line so casually tossed off, but he instead felt pity. Nelson, the bully's name, deserved to be loved too. His character was foolish, but he meant well. Cas turned off the show and went back to poking around Dean's files again.

There was a folder labeled just "Charlie." He clicked on it and scrolled. There was information on The Book of the Damned and The Codex. He felt an urge to look at them more closely, but he chose not to. He scrolled to the end of the folder and saw a screenshot of a text message that Dean had saved from her. He opened the file and read through it. He remembered doing this before, when Sam and Dean had made him stay home to heal after Rowena's attack dog spell. He didn't know why he was snooping again.

He hoped that Dean wouldn't mind. He pushed aside the thought that Dean would mind a great deal, given what was said in the message. He read it again anyway. I like him, Dean.

Good for you.

No really. He's actually dreamy.

Wow, Charlie. Didn't think he'd be your type.

I mean for you, Dean.

Cas and me, we're friends.

Sounds like a good foundation. And don't say it's not. I see how you look at him.

Enough.

Talk to him, Dean. When all of this is done. Promise me you'll talk to him.

We'll see.

Cas read it over a couple more times and let out a sigh. He couldn't attach meaning to it, but he wanted to think that maybe there was something there. An itch at the back of his mind told him that he needed to be doing something. What was it? There was a voice tickling at the edge of all things. It was constant and not unlike a song. You don't know it, but we need you here. I need you, man.

Dean. He could focus on that. He liked focusing on Dean. Why does he sound desperate? He knows I'm at the bunker. And yet, something did not feel quite right.

Then he felt the pull to other things. His focus was wavering. Dean's prayer came through though. This time it was quieter than the last, like it was passing through a great distance. You think this is helping, that you have to do this. You don't. Just expel him. Come back to us. I'm trying to save you, but you gotta help me. You gotta want this. I'm gonna need you to hold on this time. No letting go, Cas. Not this time.

His mind felt cold. Cas stumbled to the bed and settled onto the edge of the mattress, clumsily pulling the blanket up onto his shoulders as he sat there. He looked smaller now and not like the angel he had once been, all power and righteous might. He tried to hold onto Dean's words, but they were slipping away. Then he heard someone walking down the hall. The footsteps became a new point of focus as he rolled back onto the mattress and fully under the covers.

The door to Dean's room opened and in walked Dean. He stopped at the foot of the bed and just stared down at Cas. The cold fell away a little. He knew there was something that he needed to remember, something he needed to do. "Cas."

He focused on Dean at the foot of the bed, Dean that was speaking to him, Dean who was here, right here in this room, Dean. He was tangible and he looked like he cared. And Cas cared right back. "Dean."

Dean came to him, and he wedged himself into the curve of Cas' body, snaking an arm around his waist. "I've got you. Don't you worry. Just rest," Dean said as he smoothed a hand over his cheek and back into his hair. "Just rest."

Cas gave him a tiny smile. Something wasn't quite right, but truth be told, with them nothing ever fully was. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Dean's chest, letting the comfort wash over him. It was still a little cold in Dean's arms, but at least now he wasn't afraid. He wasn't even searching for anything anymore. He had what he needed here, trapped in Dean's arms.