A/N: How about an early post to kick off this story? But only because I'm gonna be home late this afternoon (funny how I think that happened for the last one). This is the sequel to my fic Past the Point of No Return, and you'll probably need to have read that for a lot of context here to make sense. Thanks to Miyth for prompting and helping brainstorm ideas for this story, and thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading as always. ^_^

Disclaimer: Still not mine; still having a blast playing in their sandbox. Also, some lines of dialogue from episode 5x21 "Two Minutes to Midnight" will be peppered in a few places; they're not mine either.

Chapter 1

Castiel pulled a long sleeve turtleneck over his head and tugged it down around his waist, careful not to catch a glimpse of the scars adorning his chest. They were lighter now, the new tissue only slightly pinkish rather than hideous red, but he didn't like seeing them, a permanent visual reminder of Zachariah's brutal torture that had carved out Castiel's grace, piece by piece, until he was left human. Death would have been a mercy to any angel put through that excruciating ordeal, but Castiel had survived.

Adjusting to his new…situation, had been a struggle. Still was, at times. But he had found the wherewithal to try, and in fact had spent the past week under Bobby Singer's tutelage on how to become a hunter. Castiel already had a wealth of knowledge concerning supernatural creatures, of course, but he had to learn to fight as a human rather than as an angel. Physical stamina was not something he had ever had to think about before, and though his vessel—his body—was not in poor condition, he had lost a great deal of strength from his time convalescing and recovering from his wounds. Bobby had put him through his paces to get him back in shape. It had been unpleasant, as were so many things now, but Castiel had been determined not to be defeated so soon. Even if the workouts made his chest burn and legs ache for days afterward.

He did happen to excel at firearms training, which made him feel slightly less down on his progress. Becoming mortal hadn't diminished his hand and eye coordination, and Bobby had called him quite the 'sharpshooter,' which had sounded like a compliment. And he still knew how to wield a blade. He could be useful.

Castiel pulled a sweater on over his shirt next, a wool-knit piece that was a size too big and hung loosely about his frame. He preferred that, though. His healed wounds didn't hurt anymore, unless he moved sharply the wrong way and tugged at a section of keloid scarring. But the extra material served as additional protection—both physically and psychologically. The more layers he put on, the more he could hide what was underneath…the more he could pretend he wasn't this vulnerable and fragile thing stitched back together from tattered pieces.

It was irrational, and Castiel knew it, but there were few coping methods he could cling to, as Bobby didn't let him touch the liquor. Not that Castiel yearned to drown his sorrows in drink. The numbness he'd felt after consuming a liquor store's entire stock had been alleviating, but the hangover afterward had been miserable, even with an angel's constitution. Castiel wasn't sure the trade-off was worth it, though it apparently was to Bobby and Dean. The double-standard perplexed Castiel, but he didn't feel like broaching the subject with either of them.

He pulled his boots on last and headed downstairs. Sam and Dean were due back that morning. They'd called Bobby the night before to say their case in Indiana was finished, and that they had important news, but they'd declined to divulge its contents over the phone.

Castiel went into the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker. He carefully removed the bag of grounds from the cupboard and measured out the appropriate amount as Bobby had taught him. In addition to hunter training, the older man had assigned Castiel several tasks around the house, such as brewing the coffee in the morning, doing laundry, and translating obscure texts into English. Castiel didn't mind. He wanted to earn his keep and repay Bobby's kindness for taking him in. And though the tasks were often menial compared to what his duties had been as a soldier, Castiel was grateful to be kept busy. Moping, as the older hunter called it, did not suit him very well, as it was all too easy to fall back on dark thoughts and forget why he was trying at all.

Bobby wheeled in from the den, his clothes rumpled and cap missing, hair slightly mussed. He greeted Castiel with his usual incoherent grunt that was probably meant to be some form of 'good morning,' but Bobby sometimes needed fresh coffee before he could string a complete sentence together. Thus Castiel making sure the pot was ready for him.

He retrieved a mug from the shelf Bobby couldn't reach and filled it with the steaming brown brew. "There are still eggs in the refrigerator," Castiel said as he handed over the cup. "I realize what I did wrong the last time with the temperature and not stirring at precise intervals, if you would like me to try again."

Bobby took a long drag of his coffee, managing to simultaneously arch a single brow at Castiel. "Eh, why not," he finally said. "I'll tell the boys to do a supply run on their way in."

Meaning if Castiel screwed up breakfast again with the last of their fresh ingredients, they wouldn't be forced to eat nothing but beef jerky and dry cereal without milk.

With his cup in one hand, Bobby turned his wheelchair around and rolled back into the den. Castiel heard him a moment later telling someone to stop at the store and stock up.

"Because I ain't teaching your wingman to drive. You boys want to eat when you get here, then pitch in!"

Castiel opened the refrigerator and took out the carton of eggs. It wasn't easy for Bobby to go into town and shop for supplies. Castiel's clothes had been bought online and shipped to his doorstep, which was why the sizes didn't quite match. Part of Castiel wanted to offer to take care of the shopping for Bobby, but there was the fact that he didn't know how to drive. Plus, he became nervous every time he thought about venturing out into the human world. When he'd been an angel, it hadn't mattered to him that he didn't fit in or came across as awkward and strange.

Now, though, now he was one of them, and he wasn't quite ready to experience the degree of ostracization he was sure to receive.

It took him several tries to crack the eggs over the side of the pan. The first time he had attempted to cook, he had been so heavy-handed with the eggs that he'd gotten pieces of the shell in the yolk, which he hadn't known he should then remove. Not that it mattered, since he'd then burned the concoction until it was inedible. However, those were lessons he wasn't going to forget this time, and so he took great care trying to delicately crack each egg. He still managed to get some shell in the pan, but when he tried to pick it out, the blasted piece kept out-maneuvering him. It was rather frustrating, and his fingertips were getting too hot this close to the heated cast iron, while the egg inside was starting to sizzle, and he knew if he didn't stir it soon it would burn.

Exhaling in frustration, Castiel snatched up a spoon and ended up scooping out a huge chunk of egg white in order to remove that minuscule fleck of shell. He dropped the utensil in the sink and hurried back to stir the eggs. The process the yolk and egg whites underwent, turning from gooey liquid to a fluffy, spongy consistency was fascinating. Castiel had noticed from browsing the Internet that many recipes called for a variety of spices to be added, but Bobby had told him not to mess with the basics, and they could salt and pepper it to their own tastes after it was done.

So Castiel maintained a strict vigil over the pan until the eggs were a nice white and yellow. At the first sign of browning, he hurriedly scooped them from the pan onto two plates, and then turned the stove off. That had gone better than last time.

Bobby's wheelchair squeaked as he rolled back in from the den, customary ball cap now in place. "That don't smell half bad."

Castiel couldn't have hoped for higher praise. Now if only it tasted okay…

He grabbed a couple of utensils and set everything at the small table. Bobby scooted closer and picked up his fork to take a large mouthful. Castiel waited for the older hunter to spit it back out as he'd done the first time, but after a moment of chewing, Bobby actually swallowed. Then he took another bite.

Castiel finally took a seat and lifted a tentative forkful to his mouth. The eggs didn't taste anything like Dean's, but they were edible, albeit a bit plain. Castiel watched Bobby reach for the salt container and sprinkle some on, which Castiel then tried to repeat. He'd also learned the hard way not to allow too much salt to get dumped on one's food, as that inevitably ruined it as well. His second bite was better, but not quite as seasoned as he might have enjoyed, but he didn't dare risk over-salting it. Then he'd have nothing to fall back on except the dry Lucky Charms, which Castiel did not see the appeal in. It was something Dean had left in the pantry.

They were almost finished when the telltale sound of the Impala's engine rumbled up the drive. Castiel abandoned his plate as he quickly stood and went to the door. Though he'd known Sam and Dean were alright after their last hunt, he couldn't help wanting to see for himself, to make sure they were, in fact, okay. But then…he had to remind himself that he wasn't their guardian angel anymore.

Sam and Dean exited the Impala, veering around to the trunk where they retrieved several grocery bags full of supplies. Dean straightened as soon as he turned his gaze toward the house.

"Hey, Cas."

"Dean. Sam." Castiel nodded in greeting.

Dean arched a brow at him. "New wardrobe?"

Castiel glanced down at his attire. "Yes. Bobby was kind enough to purchase some additional articles for me." He'd been borrowing the Winchesters' clothing before.

"And he decided to dress you like Mr. Rogers?"

"Dean," Sam chided with an eye roll.

Castiel picked at his sweater's sleeve, suddenly unsure if he should be self-conscious about the apparel. Dean's tone was often difficult to discern. "Who's Mr. Rogers?"

"Ignore him," Sam answered. "We've got news."

Sam's eagerness dispelled Castiel's concern over the sweater, and he held the door open for the brothers as they made their way into the house and deposited their shopping bags on the coffee table in the den. Bobby was already behind his desk, his mug filled to the brim with his second cup of coffee. He looked over what he could see of the supplies they'd brought and nodded in approval.

"Alright," Bobby said gruffly. "What is it you couldn't say over the phone?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and then Sam cleared his throat. "We have a way to put Lucifer back in the Cage."

Castiel blinked in astonishment. If there was a way to do that, surely he would have known…except the angels hadn't wanted Lucifer to stay locked in Hell; they'd wanted the Apocalypse so Michael could win the big battle and usher in paradise.

"How?" he asked, still skeptical.

"Apparently the Horsemen's rings are a key," Sam answered. "We just have to get all four and put them together."

Bobby snorted. "Oh, is that all?"

Castiel furrowed his brow. "How did you come by this information?"

Sam and Dean glanced at each other again, and this time there was a layer of silent communication Castiel could never hope to decipher, but that he felt suddenly wary of.

Dean cleared his throat and looked back at Castiel. "Um, Gabriel."

Castiel stared at him, then at Sam. "Gabriel?" he repeated dumbly, because there was no way his deserter of an older brother would come out of hiding to help the Winchesters defeat Lucifer. Not only was Gabriel a coward, but he had made it abundantly clear whose side he was—or wasn't—on.

"Yeah," Sam said, expression pinched in what Castiel wanted to classify as sadness, though the context didn't call for it.

"Some pagan gods set a trap for us," Dean picked up. "They weren't happy about the Apocalypse. Gabriel showed up, tried to help us."

Castiel was still having trouble wrapping his head around that. "So Gabriel saved you?" But if he was finally willing to take a stand in the war, why hadn't he accompanied the Winchesters back to Bobby's? "And is he going to retrieve the remaining Horseman rings?" Castiel asked.

The brothers exchanged another discomfited glance. "No," Dean said.

"He, uh," Sam wavered. "Lucifer showed up. Gabriel held him off so we could escape." Sam's eyes turned sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Cas, he didn't make it."

Castiel continued to stare owlishly at them. They must be recounting events wrong. Gabriel stand up to Lucifer? In order for the Winchesters to escape? That was a complete reversal to what the Trickster archangel had been advocating before with the brothers playing their roles. And then for Gabriel to sacrifice himself for Sam and Dean? That was preposterous.

"Gabriel has faked his death before," Castiel pointed out.

Sam gave him a regretful look. "I know, but this time…he left us a message, said if we were watching it, he was dead. That's when he told us about the rings."

Castiel still couldn't fathom it. Not only what Sam and Dean were telling him, but he couldn't seem to figure out how he even felt about the news. Castiel had mourned Gabriel's death the first time, and then when he'd discovered it had all been a farce, instead of a heartfelt reunion, his capricious brother had locked Castiel in a pocket dimension to be tormented. The anger and sense of betrayal had been almost too much to bear, and so Castiel had shoved it down deep and focused on the tasks at hand. Now…now he would never get a chance to reconcile with his older brother. And Gabriel had died while Castiel was still holding a grudge against him…

"Cas?" Sam prompted gently.

Castiel gave himself a small shake. "I'm fine," he said automatically. He needed to focus on the issue at hand, not his emotions. "So, we need to procure the four rings of the Horsemen?"

"We have two already," Dean said, flicking a concerned look at Castiel. "Halfway there."

"Yeah," Bobby spoke up, "but I'm betting Death and Pestilence are gonna be slightly more heavy hitters than their pals. And any clue on how to find them? For the first two, you boys just happened into them."

"We'll start with Pestilence," Sam said. "Search for signs of weird disease outbreaks, I'm guessing."

Bobby shrugged in acceptance.

"Sounds like a plan," Dean said, and reached for the shopping bags. "I'll whip up some grub." He handed some of the bags to Castiel in clear instruction to help carry them into the kitchen, which he did.

He'd forgotten about the mess from his cooking that morning, as he'd been distracted by the Winchesters' arrival and hadn't cleaned up yet. The egg residue in the pan had crusted over, which would make it more difficult to clean, and the counter was cluttered with bowls and utensils.

Dean swept an assessing eye over the kitchen. "Bobby made eggs?" he asked incredulously.

"Um, no." Castiel rolled his neck awkwardly. "I did."

Dean arched his brows, but then quickly attempted to cover his surprise. "Yeah? You been learning to cook while we were gone?"

"Some," he replied. "It's…edible." At least this morning's was. Castiel didn't count that as a guarantee his next attempt would produce the same result. "I understand the basics," he continued as Dean unpacked the food. He moved to grab the pan off the stove and wash it in the sink. "My skills are nothing compared to yours, though."

"I can teach you," Dean said casually. "You tried cheese omelets yet?"

Castiel furrowed his brow as he tried to recall what an omelet looked like. "No."

"Perfect." Dean got a clean bowl down from the cupboard and set it next to the new carton of eggs. "We'll even add bell peppers. Just because Sam has this thing about a vegetable quota. But mostly cheese and sausage, because meat is a man's meal."

Castiel wasn't sure how that worked, since females also ate animal protein. He didn't ask, however, and simply finished washing and drying the pan, which he then replaced on the stove. Dean had bought everything he said he'd use in the omelets, along with other items that Castiel put away in the fridge and pantry. Then he moved to observe over Dean's shoulder as the hunter whipped together what looked like, in Castiel's opinion, a very complicated dish.

Dean folded the mixture into the pre-heated pan and watched it cook. "So, how are you doing?" he asked carefully. "I mean with, you know, everything?"

There was a heavy meaning behind that question that even Castiel could detect. He hesitated before answering. The last time he and Dean had had this conversation, Castiel had not been doing well at all. Things were better, certainly, but…they would never be the same as they were before. He would never be the same as he used to be.

"I am…coping," he finally responded. "But…it is difficult, at times."

Dean nodded as he lifted the corner of the omelet to check its progress. "That's being human."

Yes, the human experience seemed to be nothing but one struggle after the other. Granted, Castiel hadn't been human for very long, but based on what he'd witnessed as an angel, there wasn't much evidence to the contrary. Joy, when it could be found, lay in small things. Such as a delicious meal. Or the companionship of good friends.

Dean cleared his throat. "About Gabriel…"

"I'm glad he was able to help you when I was not," Castiel said stiffly.

Dean frowned. "I know you two weren't exactly on good terms."

"He abandoned Heaven, just like God did," Castiel rejoined, hating how after all this time, bringing up those memories could still hurt. His chest constricted, and his throat grew tight. The intensity of human emotions was suffocating.

"Yeah," Dean conceded, and flipped the omelet. "But he turned out to be one of the good ones. And, he was still your brother."

Castiel dropped his gaze to the floor. 'Brother' didn't have the same meaning for him as it did for Dean. To Castiel, 'brotherhood' was synonymous with betrayal, cruelty, and judgement.

"Like Zachariah, Gabriel felt no sense of loyalty out of it."

Dean flinched, and silence fell between them save the sizzling in the pan. When the omelet was ready, he scooped it out onto a plate and poured more egg whites in for the next one.

"It's okay to still grieve him," Dean finally said, looking up to catch Castiel's eye.

Castiel felt another pang in his chest, because on some level, he did grieve Gabriel. Then. Now. It was all so confusing.

Castiel squared his jaw against the emotions, pushing them down. "I am glad to see you and Sam again."

"Bobby's a hard-ass to live with, huh?" Dean joked, graciously accepting the change in topic.

Castiel attempted to produce one of those small smiles he'd seen one of the Winchesters make when they were sharing a secret. "He can be a…drill sergeant," he said, hoping he got the colloquialism correct.

Dean grinned, suggesting he had. "Try some of that omelet before you take it to Sam."

Castiel turned his attention to the plate with a frown. "I can't eat Sam's breakfast. Besides, I already ate."

Dean grabbed a fork and reached past him to cut a corner off. "I can see some of your cold eggs still sitting on the table there. And it's just a taste."

Castiel had to admit the omelet smelled much better than what he'd made himself, so he tentatively poked the fork into the small piece Dean had cut, and raised it to his mouth. The explosion of flavor took him by surprise. He'd known Dean was a good cook, of course, but in comparison to his own mediocre attempts, this was remarkably better.

"Thought so," Dean said smugly. "I'll make you one, too."

Castiel flicked a glance at the eggs he'd left forgotten on the table. Bobby's plate was gone, though whether the hunter had eaten it all or thrown it away remained uncertain. "Perhaps you should make one for Bobby as well. I'm sure he'd appreciate it a lot more than…well, the paltry breakfast I made." He ducked his head ashamedly.

"Bobby's not that picky," Dean replied offhandedly. "Or refined. Take that plate to Sam and you can make the next one."

Castiel stiffened. "Oh, I'm not sure—"

Dean waved the spatula at him. "No time like the present to learn, right?"

Castiel opened his mouth to point out that Pestilence was actually the priority at the moment…but he wasn't very good with the computer and searching for things online, which was what Sam and Bobby were doing. So he supposed that feeding the working hunters was all he could contribute at the moment.

"Alright." He picked up the plate and started toward the den, catching what looked like a happy expression on Dean's face. Perhaps now that the Winchesters were back, and if they were still willing to teach Castiel the ins and outs of being human, things might start to get a little better.