A/N: I wrote this shortly before the season 8 finale, but completely forgot to post it here. Much thanks goes to my beta, Meinarch. I hope you enjoy and share your thoughts.

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It feels... awkward leaving Cas standing there with that crushed expression on his face. Sam remembers with such clarity a time when the angel's face had been mostly impassive that it's jarring now to see his friend's emotions displayed so clearly.

Dean just stalks off to pack. Sam lingers, makes a show of gathering the information they have, because he feels like he should say something, anything, but he doesn't know what. What he does know is that no matter what he says, he's not the person Cas wants to hear it from.

The room spins, and he braces himself against the table. Suddenly, Cas is beside him, helping to steady him, and when those hands grip his shoulders firmly, the words just start spilling — he can't help it.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispers. "Y—You know what Dean is like. Look. Look, I know... I know you only did what you thought you had to do, a—"

"Sam," Cas interrupts. "Don't. I..." He nods, as if accepting some truth. "I deserve this."

"No." Sam grabs the angel by the shoulders. "No, you don't." Blue eyes flick up to meet his own, hurt and confused. "You were probably right. Naomi found us long before anyone found you. You... You protected us too, not just the Tablet. And Dean will see that. Maybe not right now. But he will, okay?" Or I'll make him somehow, he thinks, but keeps that thought to himself. "So just... just get better, okay?"

"Sammy?!" Dean calls from around the corner, and Sam turns to look as Dean heads over to the door with a duffel bag.

He turns back to Cas and offers a reassuring smile, squeezes his friend's shoulders one last time, then hurries after Dean.

Castiel's understanding of forgiveness is that it comes eventually. You can apologize and do penance and try to right the wrongs you've caused, but it is ultimately in the other's hands whether or not to forgive you. So he's resigned to the notion that he can't make Dean forgive him, but he can probably make Dean less angry. He'd ask Sam, who is quite the expert by now on working his way back into his brother's good books, but the Winchesters are presently heading to a church in St. Louis together, so that option is closed.

So he watches. Like he has done for thousands of years, he watches. Humans do things that upset each other all the time. If he observes them, he will probably find some method of starting to mend things between people who have wronged each other. It doesn't take long before he notices that things haven't changed that much over the millennia. The prevailing solution appears to be some form of peace offering.

That he can manage. He's been with the Winchesters long enough to know what Dean likes. They also mentioned they were running low on supplies. Since they are otherwise preoccupied, he will make the grocery run for them.

It's a seven-hour drive to St. Louis, and that means seven hours alone with Dean in the Impala where his brother can't escape the conversation. Sam squares his shoulders and braces himself.

"Dean."

Green eyes flick over for the barest of moments, and it's probably his expression, but Dean's lips thin as if he knows what's coming. Sam gestures helplessly because there's no good way to broach this. He opens his mouth and closes it again several times before deciding to just barrel ahead.

"Look, man, I know what he did was big, okay? B—"

"Big?" Dean faces him to give him an incredulous look before turning back to the road. "Big doesn't even begin to cut it, Sammy. He got us all in this mess because he didn't trust me. After all we'd been through, Heaven and Hell and fucking Purgatory," his voice cracks a little, "and he doesn't trust me. No, Sammy, sorry ain't gonna cut it. We did sorry the first time. Now we've got bigger things to worry about, you, and he can just..." He waves his hand vaguely. "Do whatever the fuck it is he does when he's not... making stupid plans with WMDs."

Dean's hand drops back to the wheel loudly, and he's tense where he sits staring straight ahead at the highway — classic Dean-speak for "I'm not dealing with this right now." And Sam knows Cas has really hit Dean where it hurts this time —trust is something that doesn't come easily to his brother— because they're family, and if it doesn't go both ways, then well, you might as well just stab Dean in the back for all the difference it makes in principle. Sam's been there. He knows exactly what it's like. And because they're family, it's utterly wretched watching Cas and Dean like this. In hindsight, he wonders if this is how Dean felt watching him fight with Dad over everything. But they're family, and no matter what happened or how bad it got, Dad was Dad. And Cas is Cas. They'll always be family.

"Dean, h—"

"Look," Dean cuts in sharply, holding up a hand. "Just stay out of it, okay? This is between me and Cas. You just... watch yourself and stay focused."

"De—"

He coughs. He can taste blood in the back of his throat, but the cough itself is dry. He swallows and clears his throat. Dean levels a pointed look at him, but he ignores the warning.

"Fine," he says when he can speak again. "Fine. But just... listen, all right? Just listen." When Dean doesn't interrupt, he continues. "I know what Cas did was terrible. He should have trusted us, on both counts, I get it. But Dean, he's... He's Cas. When has he not pulled through, Dean? For us. When we really needed him. Not the rest of the world, us. When has he not dropped everything to help us when it really counts?" He runs a hand through his hair. "And man, he was just trying to do the right thing. Heck, Naomi found us fast. Cas was protecting us. Both times. Tried not to risk our lives in that shit show his family's fallen into. Those are his people, Dean. And he's chosen us every time."

He sighs, glad that Dean isn't even in an arguing mood.

"So, look, I know this doesn't change what he did, but just... go easy on him, okay? We've all done our share of unforgivable things. Just..." He flails. "Just don't make things any harder."

Dean doesn't answer, just keeps staring straight ahead as if Sam were a DJ on the radio, but his knuckles are turning white where he's gripping the steering wheel, so maybe, maybe, there's some hope of fixing this soon.

The Impala is parked outside, which means the Winchesters are back. Metatron says they need to cool off and get back under the radar, so they have temporarily parted ways. He left the groceries in the car earlier before going to Metatron's chosen café, and looking in the backseat now, Castiel finds that the bags are still where he left them. The possibility that Dean may have ignored them on purpose crosses his mind, but it is more likely that the brothers simply hadn't noticed — Dean wouldn't waste food regardless, and Sam would take them without hesitation. He grabs the bags from the car before realizing that he can't enter this bunker the normal way. Interesting. He hadn't tried the last time.

He fishes out his cellphone and is halfway to calling Dean when he stops. Dean... probably wouldn't pick up. He clears input and decides to call Sam instead before realizing that it'll be awkward. He's essentially asking Sam to bring Dean his peace offering, and in retrospect, he should probably have acquired something for Sam as well. He's seen that humans often bring gifts when asking for favours, and yet... It hadn't occurred to him. He's never... Sam never expects anything. He hasn't even been on the receiving end of Sam's anger since that time with Alastair. And after everything he's done, after all the ways he's hurt the younger hunter over the years, instead of being angry or resentful, Sam apologizes.

He's never felt like he has to earn anything with Sam, and now it feels... wrong. Like he's taking his friend for granted. And although it seems disingenuous, he goes to a restaurant on the other side of the world where it's daytime and buys a raspberry chicken salad. Conveniently, they also have cherry pie.

It's seven minutes past one in the morning when Castiel returns to the bunker, and he still hesitates a fraction of a second before calling Sam. Sam's familiar voice, when he picks up, is hoarse.

"Cas?"

"Sam, I'm... I'm outside."

"Ou— Oh. Yeah. Hang on. I'll be right there."

Sam hangs up, and seconds later, he's at the door, looking disheveled and worn out and like he ran to open it. He sways, and Castiel has to help him remain standing. Finally, Castiel can truly relate. He's only done one Trial of his own, and he can feel the effect already. It's a dull ache throughout his entire being, nothing he can't ignore for now, but he looks at Sam and knows it will get much worse.

He doesn't know what to say. Asking if Sam is all right is redundant. So he simply holds out the bags. "I bought supplies. I left them in the car earlier, but I assume you didn't notice."

Olive green eyes are confused when Sam takes the bags, but he opens them and looks through the purchases. "Let's see... What have we here? Jerky..." He smiles knowingly, leaning against the door jamb. "El Sol beer..." He nods. "Toilet paper..." He chuckles, then raises an eyebrow. "And Busty Asian Beauties." He looks up, at once amused and impressed. "Wow, Cas, I think you've got this covered."

The angel holds out the paper bag from the restaurant. "I got you a salad. They also had cherry pie."

And he wonders if it seems like such an obvious afterthought, if Sam would notice, wonders at this strange compulsion to apologize to the Winchesters when his Father's forgiveness was the only one he needed all the thousands of years before, but his friend only smiles fondly and steps aside.

"Come on in."

And he should probably get back to Metatron to start on the next trial, but Castiel follows Sam inside anyway. He doesn't know if he'll see them when everything is over, and he should tell them he's doing the Trials; if they find out any other way, Dean will most likely get angrier.

"Dean's already asleep, but I'm sure he'll have the cherry pie for breakfast," Sam says as he closes the door. "Let me put these in the kitchen."

Castiel follows the younger hunter into the kitchen, and when Sam takes the eggs out, it occurs to him to inspect one. They don't seem to have gone bad from the hours outside refrigeration.

"I believe these are still edible."

Sam chuckles a little as he puts them in the fridge with the beer, salad and pie. "That's useful."

Once again, as they head back out to the central area, they fall into an awkward silence because neither of them can think of anything to say. Finally, Castiel settles for asking, "Did you figure the third Trial out?"

Sam stops. "Yeah," he says after a moment, and Castiel wonders at the hesitation. "Yeah. Apparently, demons can be cured of demonism. So that's the Trial. Make a demon human again."

"So you just need to find a demon and perform the ritual?"

"Yes, and you know what's ironic?" Sam turns, spreading his arms. "For the first time, we're looking for them, and they're all gone. Not a single sighting anywhere." He lets his arms drop to his sides. "Crowley's figured it out. He's keeping them all on a leash. And meanwhile, he's—"

Sam coughs, violently, and his hand comes away from his mouth covered in blood, so he goes to the sink and rinses his hand and mouth. Castiel goes to stand beside him. Sam is clearly upset, but it's not the frustration Castiel expects from the story.

"What happened?" he asks as Sam turns the tap off.

"He's k—"

Sam makes a choking sound, head hanging, and his knuckles are white where his hands grip the edge of the basin. He takes a shuddering breath and tries again.

"He's—"

And this time, Castiel just pulls his friend into his arms —doesn't ask, doesn't give him a choice— as Sam, for the first time since Dean was torn apart by hellhounds five years ago, folds his larger frame around Castiel's vessel and cries.

It's... strange how comforting a hug is. Although his intent was to console Sam, Castiel feels oddly better for it as well. Beside him, Sam shifts tiredly on the bed and settles against his side, as if this isn't the first time they're lying in Sam's bed together, and that is unexpectedly comforting too. He's gleaned the story, and while he doesn't have any solutions, he also doesn't doubt that Sam and Dean will find a way to beat their impossible odds. They always have, and his confidence seems to reassure the younger hunter.

"I'm doing the Trials on the Angel Tablet," he says quietly at last.

Because that was why he came in, because the... mood finally seems right for the announcement, because it's suddenly all right if Sam's the only one who hears it.

His friend faces him, eyes still bloodshot and puffy. "Does it... I mean—"

"Yes. It will, as Metatron puts it, slam the pearly gates."

Sam frowns. "Doesn't that include you?"

"Yes." He's thought of that. "I expect it does." He smiles wistfully. "It's time I faced my mistakes back in Heaven. This world was better before we angels returned. There is no place for me here."

"Cas. You're not—" The arms around him tighten. "You're not like them, okay? There'll always be a place for you here. Uh. I mean. If you want it. Um. Oh God, that... That came out weird."

When he turns his head, Sam is blushing, and the sight fills him with a pleasant warmth. It's a feeling he's come to associate with the Winchesters. He lifts his hand tentatively, reaches out to run his fingers experimentally through long brown hair, and Sam smiles, welcoming the affection.

"Sam, I... I understand Dean's anger," he admits softly, "but not your kindness. My actions have hurt you most of all, and yet..."

"You're family," Sam says simply.

Castiel thinks back on earlier days, remembers watching Dean and Robert Singer, remembers hearing that family is meant to make you miserable, and it don't end with blood. He smiles. Robert was a wise man. Sam wasn't there, but maybe Sam never needed to hear it.

"Thank you," he says. "But I—"

"Have to do it. I know." Sam nods. "I'm just... I'm just saying. Don't... Don't talk like you won't be missed, all right? I— We'll miss you." He chuckles. "Dean won't admit it, but he will. You know, when he's cooled off and all?" He squeezes Castiel's shoulder. "So... Try and make it back to us, okay?"

Castiel nods. "That... That is the plan."

And for a few moments, he closes his eyes and just enjoys Sam's presence beside him. He doesn't know what the Trials are doing to Sam's body, but they have made his soul even more beautiful. Being here reminds him of the early days, before Father left. Thinking about it now, Castiel can see when it was that they should have noticed Father was gone, when it was that things started to break. With sudden clarity, he recognizes when love in Heaven ceased to be unconditional, ceased to be divine, and he knows now why he'd needed clarification when Metatron spoke of home earlier. Heaven hasn't really felt like home in thousands of years.

Reluctantly, because he can put it off no longer, he says, "I can't stay."

Sam's face falls, but he only answers, "Of course. The Trials are waiting."

On impulse, Castiel leans in, presses his lips to his friend's forehead and whispers an Enochian blessing that likely hasn't been in use for millennia. "Sleep, Sam," he murmurs. "Let me watch over you till then."

For once, Sam doesn't protest, just smiles and closes his eyes obediently.

It occurs to the angel then that he'll be gone before Dean wakes, that Dean will likely add that to the list of little things that contribute to his main source of rage, and it saddens him. "You'll... tell Dean that I came?" he asks, and it sounds inexplicably meek.

Sam huffs in fond exasperation. "Of course. God forbid he thinks I bought the skin mag."

This. This feels like home. And even though he knows it's unlikely that he can, Castiel wants to come back. "I'll come back," he promises suddenly, and whether it's to Sam or to himself, he's not sure. "Someday."

Sam's smile widens, and he shifts closer. "Mm. Just... don't keep us waiting too long."