"I'm doing this for you, Dean. I'm doing this because of you."

The memory of the used-to-be angel almost drowned out the one that stood before the hunter, demanding something that Dean had given him long ago. Love, devotion, Dean had readily handed those over to Castiel upon mentally deeming him a Winchester. And Dean didn't hand over that kind of trust over to anyone, which made the monster looking out of his friend's eyes that more sinister. It hurt him that much more.

But then, the angel/god/whatever's more recent words cut through the haze of guilty responsibility. "You're not my family Dean. I have no family"

Dean couldn't even begin to register that statement. He had caused this. Castiel took these measures for him, and now he didn't even know where his friend was, because he sure as hell wasn't the thing with the icy gaze in a trench coat looking at him now.

"Cas…it's not too late we can fix this."

"I've told you Dean," the cold gaze shifted to focus on the hunter he was addressing, "there is nothing broken. I am a God now. It is my job to mend."

Dean felt like he was reasoning with a child. A child holding a hand grenade, but a stubborn and blind to the consequences child nonetheless.

Sam seemed to finally tear his bewildered gaze off the ineffective sword on the ground long enough to find his voice. "Look, Cas, we're you're friends. Obviously we love you but-"

"Friends do not frap friends in holy fire." Cas turned his indifferent gaze to the younger Winchester, long enough for Dean to cautiously move in closer. "Friends do not doubt. Friends certainly do not literally stab one another in the back. But I can see where you would be confused Sam. Thankfully for you, I will be a benevolent God…as long as you swear your loyalty now."

Dean did not have a plan for this situation. He had no salt, no iron, and the usual weapons used to kill angels were clearly out of the question here. But, he didn't have the will to fight either. He was tired. They all were. And killing one of his best friends was not exactly his idea of a successful evening. So, Dean did the only thing his mind was screaming at him to do. He reached out and touched him.

Cas looked at the hand on his shoulder with inhuman speed, and for a moment Dean was almost scared he would follow up on his promise of destroying them. But suddenly a quick jolt of electricity jumped up his hand and arm at the contact, and the angel/god/cookie-jar-for-souls raised his confused eyes to the elder Winchester's, muttering a mystified "Dean?" before collapsed in a writhing heap on the floor.

"What the hell did you do, boy?" Bobby exclaimed, shoving the stunned man to the side as he knelt by the screaming Cas. But before the burly alcoholic could steady him, Castiel was gone, leaving not the slightest trace that he had ever been there in the first place.

"I…I don't know." Dean's bewilderment of his own hands was interrupted by a second sharp cry to his right. "Sammy!"

He ran to his brother just in time to catch him before he fell to the ground, the younger hunter holding his head in pain. "It's fine, I'm fine…it comes and goes." Sam grunted through his teeth.

Dean and Bobby shared the load that was Sam's body weight as the hightailed it out of that place. It was a good thing too, because Dean couldn't tell if it was Sam's body that was shaking, or his.


It had been two weeks since the asylum incident and Dean would be surprised if he had gotten a full four hours of sleep. Between Sammy's frequent breakdowns and the eerie silence on the demon/angel/purgatory front, things had been far too unsettling for Dean to…well, settle enough to actually sleep.

Sometimes Bobby would catch him in the small morning hours pouring meticulously over newspapers and the dustier books in the Singer library.

"Boy, you need to get some rest. Anything that's happening can wait till the morning."

"Dude opened Purgatory, Bobby," Dean would reply without so much as a glance up from whatever article or lore he was studying, "That's gotta have some kind of side effect. Once we kill whatever that is, we'll find that high-and-mighty dick with a god complex. And when we find him, I'm gonna make him fix what he did to Sammy, then kill the sonofabitch myself." No one could deny the anger in Dean's words when he made threats like this, but if Bobby noticed the lack of determination behind the words, he was kind enough not to mention it. He also was kind enough not to question why Dean seemed suddenly incapable of saying Castiel's name.

Only a muffled cry from where his brother lie unconscious could drag Dean from his research and back to Sam's bedside.

And, to his credit, Sam was doing his damndest to pretend he was okay. During the day he would grin and joke and pour over books with his brother. Even the sudden crippling memories seemed to lessen as the days went on. If Dean hadn't been to Hell himself he might have been fooled into thinking the younger hunter was getting better. But Dean recognized the haunted look in his brother's eyes, and there was no hiding the screams when Sam would finally fall asleep for a few hours. Dean knew how much regular Hell could haunt a man, he could only imagine what being in the Cage with Satan himself and one POed archangel had been like.

So a lovely mixture of paranoia, grief, concern, anger and guilt was constantly bubbling in the older Winchester. Sleep was not about to be something he achieved easily anytime soon. The few moments when he did fall into a short state of unconsciousness, it was completely dreamless, as if his mind didn't have the energy to conjure up the nightmares he had been expecting, let alone a peaceful dream to escape into.

It had been two, long, weeks. And Dean didn't know how much more of this he could take, didn't know how much longer his brother could live like this. He may not be college educated, but he could see Sam dying a bit each day. It was exactly a week, and a day Dean supposed since it was now midnight, that he found himself sitting next to his Sam's bed, blinking back tears as he watched his younger brother thrash at demons only he could see.

The feeling of complete helplessness Dean felt as he watched, that was what drove him to bow his head and utter one, last prayer.

"Cas…look Cas if you can hear me, I…I need you to fix Sam." Dean paused a second. Sam's groans and turning filled the room loudly, but to Dean's ears the room sounded silent without the slight flap of wings. "Castiel" his voice cracked, and he found himself folding his hands together and resting his head on his arms as he knelt next to Sam's bed. "Please. Do what you want to me just…fix Sam. I need him to be okay…I need you to…Look, man I just need you here." Screaming. Kicking. Silence. "Damn it, Cas, I need you!" Dean screamed to the nothingness. Still he went unanswered.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, praying to someone that was most likely dead. At some point he must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew he was sitting on an empty dock, fishing rod in hand, watching the calming waters. Part of him knew that this was a dream, knew that he was kneeling by his tortured brother's bedside at Bobby's house, knew he should be a little suspicious at the first dream he had dreamt in 15 days, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

That is, until he caught the quick swish of powerful wings, the sound he had been waiting for all night.

Dean all but jumped out of his chair, knocking the fishing pole into the lake and spinning around to face…well, him.

He didn't know what he expected to see, but Castiel standing before him, in the same rumpled suit and oversized trench coat he always wore, hair in the same state of dishevelment, basically looking normal was not it. The angel/god/dickwad at least had the decency to look shamed. The only problem was Dean didn't know if he wanted to kill the bastard or hug the crap out of him.

"Dean-" The familiar gravelly voice broke his momentary shock, and Dean felt that two-week-old anger rising up in him like bile.

"Where the HELL have you been, man?" He interrupted, knocking his chair to the side and marching up to the angel to glare into the face of what was once his friend. He was so angry he didn't even pause to contemplate that the eyes he was staring angrily into were no longer glazed with icy indifference. "Stop playing dress up in Daddy's shoes and get your feathery ass to Bobby's house and undo whatever the hell you did to Sam."

Cas, for one of the first times since he met Dean, averted his gaze. "I can't, I-"

"What do you mean you can't" Dean hissed, voice full of venom, "You mean you won't, right? I-"

"Shut up for two seconds Dean, I don't have much time." Cas interjected, locking his gaze with the hunter's again, righteous anger and determination burning behind the cool blue eyes. Dean was stunned into silence, his jaw almost audibly snapping shut. Apparently satisfied, the angel continued.

"I don't have control over myself anymore. The souls have…overridden me. It took all my strength to escape long enough to appear to you here, but they'll notice soon and pull me back. I don't have time for apologies or excuses right now," Once again Cas dipped his head in shame. "I suspect I would never have enough time. But that is not of import. Dean, I need you to stop the souls. I need you to stop me."

Dean swallowed down all his anger at the desperate look on Cas' face. This was the Cas who was his friend, he suddenly knew. This was the Cas he could trust. "How." He managed, his face falling grave.

A quick flash of sadness flitted across the angel's face, so quick that Dean didn't know if he would have caught it if he hadn't known Cas as well as he did. "You need to kill me Dean."

All traces of anger were gone now, as if they never existed, and instead the sharp tang of panic filled his mouth. "What? No, there has to be some other-"

"There isn't, Dean. It is okay , I have come to terms with it. Now listen, there is a ritual-"

"I'm not killing you!"

"Dean! You-" The angel suddenly looked behind him, as if hearing a sound only on the angel radar. "They know I'm gone. Find the book in the asylum that Crowley was using. There's another spell to disperse the souls. You have to do this Dean."

The look that Castiel was giving him was giving him was final, sad. Dean could only feel defeated. He had the sudden, crazy, confusing urge to grab the angel and kiss the bejesus out of him. But before Dean could be appalled at the idea, Cas' eyes widened in panic and was suddenly gone.

When Dean woke up, Sam was in a rare moment of silent sleep.

As the tired hunter rose from the floor, the only thing that registered in his mind was that same bitter taste of defeat.