A/N: Hello, friends. This is my second translation, and my first out of German! The original fic is called Ausbruch by the lovely Velence (who of course gets all credit), and if you speak German, you should definitely check it out!

My problem with this translation was the title. In German, 'Ausbruch' has quite a lot of faceted meanings. It can mean a jail-break, or an eruption, or raptures, or an outburst or whatever. I thought the English word 'Escape' was best-fitting for this fic, but just mentioning that to give due credit to the very subtle and intelligent original title!

Hope you enjoy!

Part One: By the Trail

He had taken the Impala and gone.

Dean had said goodbye to the world of the hunters. He'd left a note for Sam on the bedside table of his motel bed. He hadn't waited for his return. Only lied when Sam asked what was wrong. The lies fell easily from his lips, because it didn't matter.

Physically, things were looking up, even though the wounds inflicted upon him by Alistair had not yet all healed. The mental ones wouldn't heal at all; maybe they'd look better superficially, with a pretty façade. Alistair had broken him, again, or perhaps simply torn open the scabbed wound. There wasn't a difference.

As if on autopilot, he drove aimlessly through the country. South seemed like a good direction to him; in any case it was warmer than the dull weather here. If he'd thought about it, a destination might have occured to him, but he didn't want to think. Dean had stopped once, to get himself something to eat and drink.

At some point, Sam called. Dean threw a quick look at the screen and pushed it away. After Sam had tried a few times, he turned the phone off.

He stopped by a Motel 6, parked his car round the back, booked a room and lay down to sleep.

In the middle of the night, Dean woke with a start. He sat upright in his bed and breathed heavily in and out. A nightmare. A damn nightmare. He rubbed his face. His mouth was dry.

The room was grey and drab. He'd forgotten to close the curtains. In the pallid light, Dean staggered to the window, shut the curtain and sat himself on the edge of the bed. He took a large swallow of Jack Daniels and lay down. The alcohol burned pleasantly. His body felt so heavy that he quickly fell asleep.

Dean slept through nearly two days. Between times, he drank, ate and pissed.

After a few days, Sam had tracked him down. He'd driven around the parking lot and seen Dean's Impala.

Sam hammered on the door. He tugged on the doorknob. It wasn't locked. Sam stormed into the room.

"Dean! Dean, what are you doing here? You left without a word," he snarled at him.

Dean squinted at him, rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up in the bed. He leaned against the headboard.

"Didn't you read my letter?"

"Of course I did. I don't understand –"

"I'm done." Dean scratched his neck, disinterested. He had a dull grin on his lips.

"'I'm done'?" echoed Sam, shaking his head. He gazed at him in complete disbelief.

"That's what I said."

His brother stretched out his hands. "You can't just stop being a hunter. An angel pulled you out of Hell to stop the Apocalypse. They're not going to let you go so easily. I'm not going to let you go so easily!"

"What does the end of the world interest me? I was replaced by a brunette demon skank. And Sam? I don't know who he's been replaced by. Maybe demon's blood leads to personality changes, what do I know? You've said I'm not strong enough. I'm not cutting it. Yeah, you're right, I'm not strong enough. No game, no lies, I can't do it anymore." Dean said everything without poison or fervour in his voice.

"I said those things under the siren's influence. We said things that we didn't really mean."

"Spare your words for someone who believes them." Dean took the bottle from the bedside table. He slowly unscrewed the lid and unashamedly drank.

"And this is your solution," Sam snorted.

"Do you know that song from the Toten Hosen? Never mind." Dean waved him away. "I've had enough of burying friends. I've had enough of fighting a fight that's already lost." Dean thought of Pamela's burial. He'd felt deadened, unable to cry – not that he enjoyed crying in public – but he was weary, done, not sad.

"Do you want the Apocalypse?"

"You want Lilith's head, nothing more. That reminds me of Dad, who you always looked down on because of his craving for revenge. Why are you hunting her again?"

"Now I'm being put into question?" Sam proclaimed.

"Sam, enough is enough; if I didn't know you, I would hunt you. I don't know who or what exactly you are anymore." He let his hands fall onto the blanket. "But that doesn't matter to me either. I've given up. Is that not clear?"

Sam growled something. "So you want to stay here, then?" he asked brusquely.

"Here. Somewhere else."

"Call me again when you've come to your senses," grumbled Sam. He regarded his brother as if he were a riddle. "At least turn your phone on."

With these words, he left his brother behind. The door hung open. Dean had to move in order to shut it. Dean had expected more, more from Sam, but his appearance had in fact proven what he'd thought about Sam. The Sam that he knew was gone.

He did Sam the favour of turning on his phone. He'd missed several calls. They were mostly voicemails from his brother; he listened to the two from Bobby and then deleted them all. He couldn't help him.

Dean drove on and looked for a new motel, so Bobby and Sam wouldn't be standing at his door again. He bought himself something to eat at a fast food chain. His appetite was rather thin. He avoided listening to the radio or reading the newspaper. He changed channels on the TV as soon as the news appeared somewhere. He didn't want to know what it was like around the world.

Alistair hid in every one of the gyri of Dean's brain. His dreams were gaudier than his days and nights. Dean had suffered enough, now he was done. It was a miracle that it hadn't happened earlier. He didn't manage to break out of his depressive mood. He didn't fight it once. He'd had enough of fighting.

It was as if Dean was trying to escape through sleep into a different world, until in his dreams, Alistair shooed him back into sobering reality.

Dean had a definite feeling of lost time. Occasionally he thought Castiel was in the room, but as soon as he was really awake and looking around, there was no one there. He was alone.

It was in the early afternoon when he got up and shuffled into the bath. Bent over the sink, Dean sprayed his face with cold water. Afterwards he inspected his face in the mirror. The purple-coloured bruise around his right eye was barely visible anymore; on the other hand, the cut on the bridge of his nose was healing as slowly as a snail. He touched the forming scar with his finger.

At least he wasn't feeling any more pain.

He supported himself with his hands on the washbasin and flashed his reflection a grin that more resembled the Joker than a Disney film. His superfluous alcohol consumption was gradually showing itself outwardly, too. He looked worn out, even with the hours spent sleeping. Dean's heart twisted as he thought of what he'd done in Hell. His own gaze scared and simultaneously disgusted him. Towards what he had been capable of. He almost expected to have to see black eyes in his reflection.

Dean took his towel and quickly dried off his face.

"Fuck, Cas!" spat Dean. In the mirror he saw Castiel standing behind him. "You really need to break that habit, or one day I'll piss my pants."

"Apologies," responded the angel seriously.

Still tired, Dean traipsed back into his room. Castiel followed him. He went to the window and pushed the blinds slightly to the side to let daylight in. The light blinded Dean at first. He held a hand before his face.

"Cas."

The angel let the blinds drop and turned around. He looked the same as ever, in his trenchcoat.

All of a sudden, Dean was sure that his feeling hadn't deceived him. Castiel had already been here once, without allowing himself to be seen. As toneless and immobile as Castiel stood there, he thought for a moment he had succumbed to a fantasy.

"I expected you earlier," Dean said finally. He sauntered the last steps to his bed and sat down cross-legged. He grabbed for the bottle on the bedside table with one hand. He leaned on his bare legs but drank nothing. "Recite your lines already. I'm to blame for the disaster, the Apocalypse. I broke the first seal. Come now."

Castiel directed his attention to him. "You are not at fault for that. It is your fate."

"I hate fate."

Castiel approached the foot of his bed. "I need to talk to you."

Dean shook his head defensively. "That's gross."

"I..." He remembered what he'd said to Anna. He was considering disobedience. No – he was already one step further. "I spoke with Anna. I have doubt. One does not doubt God."

"You don't believe in the mission anymore? Does that mean...what does that mean?" Dean asked, genuinely surprised.

"I could be cast out of Heaven." The otherwise so certain Castiel appeared suddenly troubled.

"Cast out?" echoed Dean.

"They will kill me. Or worse. In times like these, it is high treason."

"Guantanamo behind Pearly Gate 66? But... you're Teacher's Pet Number One. As pernickety as Uri – was."

"I wanted you to know," answered Cas, now more self-assured once again.

"Can't you do something? They can't just kill you!"

"I am an angel. If I don't do what God wants, then I am not an angel." Castiel went to the table and sat on a chair. He absent-mindedly smoothed his coat over his knee. "I was happy that we didn't have to destroy the town on Hallowe'en. If that had been my assignment, I would have destroyed the town with Uriel's assistance."

"Not before we'd tried everything..." Dean objected.

"Yes..."

"Do you know Lost in Translation? 'Can you keep a secret? I'm trying to organise a prison break. We have to first get out of this bar, then the hotel, then the city, then the country. Are you in or you out?'" Dean quoted the film. Cas' eyebrows rose in mild question "Okay, the film was boring, but Scarlett's hot."

"I do not understand."

"You could escape, hide."

"They will find me. Anywhere."

"Don't tell me you don't have any tricks on hand." Dean snapped his fingers. "You sent me into the past. You can beam yourself. Come on, Cas..."

Castiel stood up. "An angel will always be able to find another angel."

"So what do you do?" Dean looked at his bottle of alcohol. When he looked up, the angel had – not unexpectedly – disappeared. "Cas!" yelled Dean. Sullenly, he grumbled, "The angel that you have called is currently unavailable."

The following night, Dean dreamed of Graceland.

"Simply inspired. Look at the Cadillac. Not my colour, but awesome. Or the Thunderbird!" Dean gazed enthusiastically at Elvis' car collection in an outhouse. He turned to his companion on his right. "I'm dreaming."

"I wanted to speak with you alone. They're spying on us where possible," answered Castiel.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "So much for alone. Should I think of something dirty as a diversion?"

"My superiors are monitoring my relationship with you with wariness." Castiel ignored Dean's comment entirely. "Uriel said I had a weakness for you."

"What a sneak..."

"It's true. I listen to you. I learn from you, from your ways of seeing. You are courageous, you don't let yourself be intimidated and try to help people by all available means. I am beginning to experience...feelings. Humans, God's creations, are important to me. But my feelings are making me doubt God and His plans." Castiel looked insecure.

Dean regarded him ponderingly.

"I watched you and Anna." The angel wrinkled his nose, as if he wasn't enjoying the thought. "She persuaded you to talk about Hell. Anna forgave you. I saw how you..."

"...had sex on the back seat? Stalker!" Dean interjected.

"...how you kissed each other. Anna was really a human. She understands God's work. I want to know what it is to be human."

Castiel looked him in the eye. Dean had the feeling that the angel could look directly into his heart. But after his confession he was sure that he got under Castiel's skin as much as Castiel got under his.

"I have decided to give up my Grace. I want to fall from Heaven and become a human," Castiel said decisively.

"Cas."

"Nobody knows yet."

"But won't they find you?" Dean asked, worried.

"They didn't pursue Anna until she became aware of what power she possessed," answered the angel. "I came to say goodbye."

"Wonderful. When it gets really fun, Castiel leaves the stage."

"I'm making my own decision, before someone someone takes it away from me," answered Cas. He looked like he was entirely resolved.

Dean closed the small distance between them and hugged Castiel like he had hugged only Sam before, with his arms around the slender body, pulling it tightly against him. For a moment he asked himself whether a dreamed hug was just as real as one in reality. Only seconds later, the angel laid his hands on Dean's back and returned the gesture. For his first hug, he was doing everything right.