Chapter 1

Dean,

Hannah gave me the ultimatum to either kill you and prove my loyalty to my army or let you live and lose the army and ultimately lose the war between Metatron.

I saw the fear in your eyes. Hidden by your own need to prove your masculinity and probably the Mark of Cain as well. Your doubt in my faith towards you hurt more than my army turning their backs on me ever could.

That is why I am writing this. Metatron killed you. When he told me I doubted it, even when I saw the blood on the blade he planned on killing me with as well.

But.

Sam.

His prayers are so loud and so painfully hard to hear. I cannot bear to go to him at the moment. He needs someone to be there for him.

Someone like you, Dean. Where are you? Your brother needs you dammit. Go comfort him. But how do you comfort someone when you are the reason for their pain? Or when you are dead for that matter.

I will go to him. I will. I will watch over him. But how do I tell him?

How do I tell him that I have spent approximately ten heaven years looking for you up here - when it has only been a year on earth? Because when the Angel Tablet broke it knocked everything off balance.

You're not in heaven.

Which only means one thing. You're in hell.

Father forgive me but...

"WHAT THE FUCK DO I DOOOO?... WHAT?!... Please. ANSWER ME! Damn it! FUUUUCCK!"

The angel kneeled on the ground rocking forward with his head in his hands. "Brother. What grieves you so?" Agony was clearly etched on his leader's face for all to see.

The kneeling angel looked at his brother and broke. He cried, as he once cried of Dean Winchester being saved, "DEAN WINCHESTER IS DEAD!" All heard; everyone in heaven, even the dead souls in their private heavens. They also heard the angel break. He cried. For much longer than the short ten years he searched for his beloved. All of his angelic followers gathered round and offered their grace to help soothe their leader. They all knew Castiel wouldn't be able to save Winchester from hell this time. Not with his broken grace and they also knew that Castiel knew it too. That's why he broke for so long.

For two thousand and seven hundred years (twenty-seven years earth time) he cried and wept and screamed for his dear friend to come back on that poor autistic man's heaven ground.

He would have kept going for eternity had it not been for a particularly persistent Bobby Singer.

At that particular moment the angel was lying on his back on the ground looking up at the sky, he was also no longer crying. The grass underneath him was brown and dead and soggy.

"What have you idjits done now?"

The angel didn't twitch. The old hunter sat down beside him.

"I've given you time boy. We all have. We all heard The Cry. It's time you did something."

The angel turned his head. He looked just as he had when Bobby knew him when he was alive. Except for one thing.

His eyes.

'The eyes reflect the soul,.' a proverb says. Well, if that was the case, this poor soul. His eyes, once so blue and shining, were no longer blue. No more shine. They were a dull gray. So very dull. They showed no emotion, whatsoever.

Bobby talked. He talked to the lost soul. Trying to make him see light. He talked about his memories of the boys. All of them. Good and bad. Just trying to get a reaction out of the angel. For fifteen years Bobby Singer talked. Until he ran out of stories to tell. For he had started making the stories of the Winchester boys up a while ago.

One day he stopped. Just stopped talking. And he finally got results after that. The angel's hand twitched. Curling, as if subconsciously, into a fist.

"Oh. I see. You want me to keep going do you? How 'bout a deal? Sit up and talk to me and I'll keep going." Though he had no idea what he would say but he would. He'd keep going. He had eternity after all. The angel's head twitched into a trembling shake.

"Why not?"

He opened his mouth and only air rushed out. He mouthed the words: 'I can't'

"Oh, dear Lord. Do not tell me you've been laying here for so long cause you couldn't move."

The newly gray eyed angel looked up at him pleadingly.

Bobby stood and grabbed under the angel's armpits and pulled him to a halfway sitting position when he heard a terrible ripping moaning come from the man.

A thousand agonies later and a while in the infirmary (the clinic was essential for the wounded warrior angels) Castiel was released. Bobby Singer was waiting on him.

"Why were you stuck on the ground, boy?" the old man asked.

"While on earth I had to steal another angel's grace so I could escape imprisonment. Since the grace was not mine it was slowly depleting. It ran out in the early years of my grief and had I not been in heaven I would have died. But since I was here, it only weakened me to the point of paralysis."

"That is real unfortunate Cas. How'd they fix it?"

"They ripped the remnants out. It has left me human once again."

But that was okay, because now he was healed and ready to fight for Dean. It was all he could do at this point.