Inspired by dahliasheng's AU gifset and trailer.

Season 9 episode 23 Do You Believe in Miracles canon divergence from finale. AU

Victory Comes at a price, and a hero falls. But for a Winchester, nothing...is ever that simple.

Dean Winchester was dead. His corpse lying on his bed as his younger brother tried to drink away the pain. That had occurred more than once, but now what?

Crowley said, "It's all become so... expected. He too was willing to accept death rather than becoming the killer the mark wanted him to be. The mark quite never let go. Listen to me Dean Winchester what you're feeling right now is not death it's life; a new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. Let's go take a howl at that moon."

Dean's flashed open. A cliquant blue glow emitted from his irises.

"Oh, Bullocks."

Dean Winchester is saved

Charoum wasn't one to speak often. He was the angel of silence after all, and he preferred it. He liked listening and being a trusted confidante for his siblings through the mental connection they all shared. If he could he wouldn't ever speak at all. His vessel, a be-speckled man with extremely short hair, was almost concerned for how little he spoke. Of course after he voiced it Charoum kept him silent. He preferred the silence, even to go so far as to block out the sounds of his siblings. It wasn't horrible for him. Silence was comforting.

He had been one of many angels who had tried their utomst hardest to stay out of the war. He did not want to join any faction. He didn't care for which side won. Charoum could find much solitude on Earth, but he dearly missed his wings, his home, and his father. He had heard that Castiel had taken down Metatron after they learned of his lies. It made him a little happy. Metatron was quite noisy.

Charoum was sitting in a library when it did a good deed when they invented a place where speaking was frowned upon. It was one of the quietest places he could find in the busy city where his vessel lived. He was simply enjoying the silence when heard it. It had been so long since he had heard the harmonious beautiful sound.

The sound of his siblings singing in enochian; the song of the heavenly host. He stood up abruptly; disturbing the teenager doing his homework. Charoum felt the familar weight, the power coursing through him, and with the minuscule hope he possessed he spread them. He was flying. He was actually flying. He had his wings! As he flew for heaven the silent angel screamed at the top of his lungs for all angels to hear, "I have my wings! I can go home! I can return home!"

Metatron was imprisoned. That was the only thing Castiel was sure of. He had seen the blood on Metatron's sword. It had been Dean's. He didn't want to think of the possibility that his closest friend was dead, even if Metatron had claimed he was.

After everything they'd gone up against, Dean couldn't get brought down by someone like Metatron. The thought of it would have been too much for him, and Castiel knew he mustn't cry in front of the other angels. He had to find the brothers first, even if there was a chance he would only find one. They had a lot of work to do, but Castiel couldn't take his mind from thinking of the Winchesters.

Castiel then heard the cries of his brothers and sisters. Hannah and the others heard it as well, and they stepped outside to see what was going on. The cries became all so clear, "I can fly! I have my wings! Brothers, sisters we can go home! We can all return!" The angels around Castiel begun to fall to their knees.

He watched as Hannah slowly spread her wings with tears running down her face. Many others soon shot off into the air shouting with joy as they became incased in the holy righteousness of their true forms. It was a marvelous sight and it soothed the pain he had been feeling.

He himself did not feel his wings, but he did hear a soothing voice echo in his ear, "Castiel, come with me. I must speak with you." Castiel didn't even have the chance to turn around when he felt a warm hand touch his shoulder and he was pulled to an unknown place. The force was warm and familiar, yet overwhelming and divine. What was it? He did not know, but he was a little irritated it took him without his permission. He needed to see the Winchesters.

Dean had been sure he had died. He remembered Metatron stabbing him. He remembered the intense pain, the scorching of the mark, and his little brothers shouts of anguish. He had been bleeding out in Sam's arms. On the brightside he knew for sure Sammy really cared. It was a shame he had to find it out at his death. He was ready to die. Dean knew the mark was changing him into something he didn't want to be; death was a better option. Sam would be fine without him, and Dean was ready. He had assumed that after all that he had finally died. Until he opened his eyes.

It felt warm, really warm, and like something was alleviating all his pain. It felt odd, but in a good way. To be truthful Dean wasn't exactly sure how he felt, but it felt pretty damn good.

When he first opened his eyes he hadn't been able to see anything, but everything soon came into focus. Everything actually came in 3-D HD extreme focus. He could see the molecules in the air, he could smell every smell, he could hear bugs thousands of miles away, he could hear millions of different voices running about in his head. Dean felt like he couldn't breathe; it was too much. He couldn't control his body, mind, or anything; it was too hard. His head turned only to be met by a hideous monster with piercing red eyes. It was so disgusting, grotesque, and putrid it made in sick to his stomach, and to top it off the damned thing was tied to a chair.

Dean couldn't look away from it, nor could he move to kill the beast. A voice yelled to him, it sounded like it was through a filter, but he heard it nonetheless, "Dean, you're looking too hard! Skim the surface, Dean-o! You won't be able to concentrate on anything unless you just skim the surface! Come on you can do it buddy!"

The voice sounded familiar, but he didn't think he had heard it for a while, the name was on the tip of his tongue, but it wouldn't come to him. He tried to do as the voice commanded. He pulled back from everything; the sounds, smells, sights. Everything started to simmer to a level he could handle. Dean swallowed gulps of air before he realized he didn't even need to breath. The horrible monster strapped to a chair turned out to be the pompous bag of dicks that was Crowley. Dean had always known Crowley was a fugly mofo.

Dean wiggled his fingers and toes a bit to get a hold over his body. He got enough strength to turn his head towards the place the voice had come from. There were three unfamiliar faces, but one of them he hadn't seen for quite some time. Of course it had to be yet another bag of dicks: Gabriel.

Dean's mouth felt too dry to even try to speak. Gabriel was smiling at him in a weird way. The only woman in the room grinned, "Dean Winchester is saved."

He slowly walked over to Dean's bedside. It was weird. Gabriel didn't have his usual mischievous air about it. His stance and aura was almost...comforting with amenity. Dean didn't even feel the need to flinch when Gabriel put his hand to his forehead. He brushed his hair back and smiled before he gently kissed his forehead.

Gabriel spoke calmly as if not to startle Dean, "ASCHANIIS ESIASACAHE, Diniel."

Dean was surprised to know he understood what he was saying 'Welcome brother Diniel.'

Dean's words tumbled out in a mumbled garble, "Who the fu' e Diniel?"

Dean Translation: Who the fuck is Diniel?