This is a continuation of/sequel for Howling At The Moon. If you haven't read that, you might find this a little confusing. If you don't want to read it, but want to read this story, drop me a PM and I'll summarize HATM for you.

So… I told you I knew what happened next, right? Though knew what would happen, I never thought I'd actually end up writing it, but with the encouragement of some amazing friends, I started writing again and found that I wanted to tell this story. Hope you enjoy…

Chapter One

Castiel had thought he would manage Sam's death better that he had Dean's death and following corruption into a demon, as he was better prepared. Sam had shared his plan to close hell in the process of curing Dean after only a few weeks into their search. Castiel hadn't believed it was a real possibility at the time, as he'd not thought they would ever be able to track Dean down. Even when they had found him and managed to wrest him into that chapel, he'd still not thought Sam would do it. He was sure that when he saw his brother human again, he would want to be with him more than he wanted to close Hell. He was wrong. He'd had a moment in which he'd thought to stop Sam, but he couldn't do it. Sam had given so much for the world before, and his choices had been denied him by Lucifer and Michael and his brother, that he had to allow him to make this decision himself. Knowing he'd given Sam the choice didn't temper the pain of loss now. Sam was gone and that hurt Castiel.

Dean slammed the bunker door, almost in Castiel's face, and jogged down the stairs with two duffels slung over his shoulder. Castiel thought his haste was an attempt to outrun him, and he wondered for a moment whether he should leave Dean alone for a while, but he thought better of it. He knew Dean needed him now as much as Sam had for the last two months of searching for Dean, though for very different reasons; the difference was that Sam could articulate that need and thank Castiel for his presence—as he had done almost every day. Dean would not be able to find those words, lost in grief as he was.

Dean dropped the duffels down on the large table in the center of the room and scrubbed a hand over his face. Castiel wondered if he was trying to wipe away the phantom tears that had ceased falling a while ago. He had cried as he'd held his brother's body in that church. He'd cried as he'd argued with Castiel, refusing to follow Sam's wishes by giving him a hunter's funeral. He had cried as he'd dug the grave. He'd cried as he'd laid his brother to rest. He'd cried as he drove home. Now his tears were spent and he was left hollow in his grief.

He crossed to the cabinet at the side of the room and picked up a glass. He filled it almost to the brim with whiskey and gulped at it, gasping as it burned his soft, mortal throat. He turned and locked eyes with Castiel, his eyebrows lifting slightly as if shocked he was still there. "Want some?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Castiel shook his head and made his steady path down the stairs and into the room. There was not enough liquor in this place to impact him, so there would be no point in him drinking. Besides, he had never learned to like the taste the way Dean had. Sam hadn't enjoyed the taste either. On the odd times during their search that Sam had despaired and become drunk, he had grimaced with every swallow. He hadn't been drinking for pleasure; he'd been drinking to drown his sorrow.

"Your loss." Dean picked up the bottle and moved to sit at the table, then he faltered and swayed on his feet.

Spread across the end of the table was a stack of maps and papers, all marked with crosses and notes, notes that Sam had made. It was the detritus of their search for Dean. Castiel hurried forward and picked them up, but Dean caught his arm. Castiel wondered if it was the memory of his brother or the memory of what he had been that made him look so desperately sad.

"Don't," he said in a cracked voice.

For a moment, Castiel thought Dean was going to preserve the papers, leaving them as Sam had left them when he had been alive. Then Dean swept his arm across the table, sending the papers flying through the air to land on the floor.

"Dammit, Sam!" he shouted then his voice dropped to a whisper. "Why?"

Castiel knew the answer to that as well as Dean did. Sam had to do it because it was the right thing. Countless lives would be saved by his sacrifice. He could hear the angels talking already. People that had been possessed were coming back to themselves now, as the demons left them. Some had died, but many more had lived. Hell was closed, and that was because of Sam. That was worth a life.

Dean gripped the edge of the table and bowed over, his shoulders shaking. Castiel placed a hand on he shoulder and was gratified when he didn't shake it off.

"What am I going to do, Cas?" he asked.

Castiel had no answers. He couldn't tell Dean what to do, as he didn't know himself. He had no words that would lessen the pain for either of them. Though Sam had made a great sacrifice and saved the world from terrible evil, he was gone, and that was painful for them both.

Dean stepped out from under Castiel's hand and picked up the whiskey again. He didn't bother with a glass this time; he drank from the bottle, gulping it down.

Castiel could see how this would end as clearly as if it was mapped out for him. Dean would drink himself into unconsciousness, and he would wake and repeat the action all over again. That was how it had been for the first month after Sam had thrown himself into the cage. Castiel had watched him, silent and invisible, as he'd drowned himself in liquor, not caring for Lisa's comforting words. It hadn't lasted forever; after a while, Dean had slowed his descent and found comfort in the Lisa and Ben. He hoped that it wouldn't last forever this time, too, though he wondered. Dean was not only dealing with the pain of losing his brother; he had the horror of his demonic actions to contend with. Castiel wondered if that would kill him in the end.

He acted without thinking, gripping Dean's shoulder as he pressed two fingers to Dean's temple. He collapsed against him and Castiel drew his arm over his shoulder to support him.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said sincerely. He was sorry that he had stolen Dean's will in this, but he couldn't bear to watch him suffering anymore if he had a way of stopping, even if only for a while.

He carried Dean through the halls of the bunker to his bedroom and settled him down on the bed. Dean shifted and groaned as Castiel tugged off his boots and draped a blanket over him. He knew Dean would be angry when he woke, but he would deal with that later. For now, Dean was at peace, and for that, he was grateful.

He turned away from the bed and made his way back out into the hall. The door beside Dean's caught his eye. Castiel knew whose room that was, though he had never been inside. He had always left that place as Sam's personal retreat on the rare occasions he had persuaded him to rest when they'd been at the bunker while Dean was gone. He was curious now though, and perhaps a little something more. The pain of Sam's loss was especially poignant in this place of so many memories. He wanted something to connect him to the fallen hunter. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The bed was neatly made and there were clothes folded tidily on a chair, but other than that there was no sign that this room belonged to someone. There were none of the homey signs that there were in Dean's room: no photo of their mother on the bedside table, no weapons cleaned and polished on the wall. It had less personality than the motel rooms the brothers had spent their lives in. Sam had, Castiel knew, spent more than a year living in this place, and yet there was no sign of his personality here. Had it always been like this, or had Sam cleared the room before they had set out from the bunker for the last time, armed with Dean's location and a plan?

Castiel sighed heavily, laden with sadness, and left the room. He clicked the door closed gently behind him and turned only to stop dead in his tracks at what he saw. Someone was standing behind him.

The figure was tall and broad, and his arms were crossed over his chest. As Castiel concentrated, he became clearer, and his suspicions were confirmed. He blinked and resisted the urge to rub at his eyes. He knew who this was.

"Sam?"

Sam smiled slightly. "Hey, Cas."

Death was supposed to be the end. If the world were as it should be, Sam would have been finished with his last mission the moment he recited the enochian spell. But the world was not as it should be. It was wrong, and so Sam was trapped.

He'd almost been expecting Death to be waiting for him after he finally finished the last trial, ready and able to sneak him past the gates and into Heaven, but he wasn't there. No one was. He came back to awareness in the cavernous room of the bunker and he was alone. Only for a moment though. The door swung open and his brother trudged in. Grief had etched deep lines into Dean's face and his eyes were dark with shadows. Sam wasn't sure how long had passed since his death, time was hard to track in the veil, but it had to have been at least a day as that was how long it would have taken Dean to drive back from the chapel.

"Dean," Sam sighed.

He had no expectation that Dean would be able to see him or hear him, but it still hurt his heart when he came down the stairs and walked right past him without a second glance. Sam was essentially a newborn as a ghost. He would not be able to manifest to be seen for a while yet. He looked hopefully at Castiel, but the angel didn't seem able to see him either. His family were oblivious to his presence.

Dean poured himself a drink and gulped it down, and Sam was reminded irresistibly of himself doing the same thing after he had laid his brother's corpse down on his bed. He hated that Dean was turning to alcohol again, but he understood it.

He watched as Dean offered Castiel a drink and then noticed the pile of papers on the table. Sam should have taken more care to remove them before he'd left the bunker for the last time. Dean didn't need the reminder of what he'd been and how they'd tracked him using demon signs. Dean swept them from the table with a shout. When Dean bowed over the table and sobbed tearlessly, Sam moved to stand beside him. His hand twitched, wanting to rest on his brother's shoulder in comfort, but he didn't have the mojo to do something like that yet. It was going to take a lot of practice. He couldn't touch Dean, but Castiel could, and he did, moving to stand beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"What am I going to do, Cas?" Dean asked and Sam felt his heart break all over again.

"You'll be fine, Dean," Sam said, though no one could hear him. "You're going to be just fine."

Dean reached for the whiskey again and gulped it down. Castiel acted swiftly, pressing his fingers to Dean's temple he sent him into unconsciousness.

Sam smiled slightly. He knew Dean would be furious about it in the morning, but for now at least, he would have a little peace.

Castiel carried Dean through the halls to their bedrooms, and he deposited Dean on his bed. Sam was pleased that he thought to cover him and take off his boots, both things Sam would have done had he been able. Leaving Dean asleep, Castiel moved back into the hall and then into Sam's room.

Sam would have given almost anything to be able to read Castiel's mind as he looked around the room. He wanted to know what it was that had etched such deep lines into his brow.

He turned away and waited in the hall for Castiel to join him again, wondering how Castiel would pass the night while Dean slept. Castiel came out of the room, and if anything, he looked more wrecked than he did before. Sam wished there was something he could say, some way to help Castiel, but he had no expectation that even Castiel would be able to see him, that was until Castiel turned to face him. His eyes bugged and he spoke Sam's name in a shocked whisper.

Sam's astonishment that Castiel could see him lasted a second, and then he accepted it as fact. Castiel was an angel after all. He should be able to see him.

"Hey, Cas."

"But… How…?" In all the years Sam had known Castiel, he had never seen him at a loss for words, but now he had.

Sam smiled and raised his arms at his sides. "Heaven's closed. Hell's closed. What's a guy to do?" He was being deliberately lighthearted about the crap-storm of a situation he'd found himself in, hoping to make it a little easier for Castiel.

"Sam?"

Sam huffed a laugh at the ludicrousness that was an angel at a loss. "Yeah. It's me."

"I can't believe it," Castiel breathed.

"Neither could I at first, but here I am." Sam looked at the door that hid his brother from him and smiled slightly. "Thanks for taking care of him."

"I don't know how well I have done that," Castiel said. "He is inconsolable." Something in his eyes brightened and he made for the door to Dean's room. It didn't take much to work out what he was planning.

"You can't tell him," Sam said firmly.

Castiel frowned. "Why not?"

Sam walked a few feet down the hall and came to stand in front of Dean's room. He lifted a hand and held it out, as if about to rest it on the wood, then it dropped back to his side. "He's sleeping, Cas."

"But not resting. He will not rest peacefully now, Sam."

Sam stared at the door and a wave of longing swept through him. He wished it was his brother talking to him. "Maybe not, but do you think knowing I'm still here is going to help that? He's exhausted and overwrought. He's been through so much lately, too much. Let him sleep while he can. We'll deal with the rest in the morning."

"Okay."

"Good," Sam said, tone full of satisfaction.

"What are you going to do now?"

Sam shrugged. "Way I see it, I'm trapped here for now. Best-case scenario, I've still got my ticket upstairs, so I've got to wait till the gates are open again to move on. I'm going to help you work the case as much as I can. I know the basics of ghostly life from that time me and Dean went after the reaper seal. It's going to take some practice, but it's not like I'm short on time. Give me a few days and I'll be set to join the party."

"Sam," Castiel said slowly. "Did you know this would happen?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Heaven and Hell are closed for business. We knew that already. How did you not?"

Castiel looked momentarily stunned, as if asking himself the same question. Then he bowed his head. "Sam, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Castiel had nothing to apologize for to Sam's mind. He had given everything, abandoned his own fight to help Sam find and save Dean. Sam owed him more than he could ever say.

"For letting you die," Castiel said, looking into his eye with an expression that begged for understanding. "For not being powerful enough to bring you back."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, 'cause that was all your fault. I knew when I went into this that you didn't have the juice to bring me back. That's fine. Besides, it's too late for regrets now anyway. I'm charcoal, right."

Castiel looked pointedly at the floor.

Fear gripped Sam. "Cas… Tell me you burned me." There was a note of pleading in his voice.

Castiel seemed to force himself to look up at Sam to meet his eyes. "I am sorry, Sam."

Sam's fisted hands covered his eyes. "Dammit, Cas! What the hell!"

"I am sorry," he said again. "Dean was determined. We buried you beside that church."

"Awesome," Sam said sarcastically. "That's just… awesome."

Everything he had wanted and hoped for was gone. He was supposed to be salted and burned, out of his brother's reach. He hadn't been suicidal when he finished the trial, he still wasn't now, but he was satisfied with the results of his life. It was supposed to be over. Now, Dean had a loophole to bring him back, and Sam didn't want that; he didn't want his brother's focus split. He wanted his mind focused on the task of opening Heaven and helping Castiel find his grace; they owed him that. He had given up everything to help them time and time again. It was their turn now.

"Okay," he said eventually. "This isn't a disaster. We can still make it work…"

He dropped his voice to a whisper, though why he bothered he didn't know, and told Castiel his plan.

So… Hands up if you can guess Sam's plan. Of course, it's not going to work, but bless him, he's going to try.

This isn't like my other stories in the fact I haven't waited until it completely written before posting. I don't know about you guys, but I am craving any kind of Post Season 9 fic. I will update as often as I can, but can't guarantee and once a week schedule the way I do my other stories.

Also, as this is a post-as-I-go story, I can take on ideas and critique to make it better. If you enjoyed it, let me know. If you hated it, let me know. I am open to all feedback as long as you're not flaming for the sake of it. No one likes that.

Clowns or Midgets xxx

I have just posted the first one-shot of a verse called The Sound Of Silence. If you're interested, it can be found on my profile page.

Summary: Sam risked everything by going back into the burning house, including his life, but he never thought this would be the price. Post Salvation AU.