Welcome to my latest story. This wouldn't have got past the outline stage if it wasn't for two amazing women. Gredelina1 and Sandra. They have been amazing both with writing my writing woes and real life worries, and they have beta'd and pre-read this chapter respectively. I don't know what I would do without them.

Chapter One

The cost had been too great.

Castiel finally understood the reason behind his apathy to his return, why he could take no pleasure from the adulation of the other angels, or the triumph in halting the apocalypse; it was Sam Winchester.

When he'd drawn that first breath into his vessel's lungs in that cemetery in Kansas, Castiel had been filled with wonder at his return. Once again, God had reached out and laid a hand on him, bringing him back from the abyss to live again. Full of awe, he had healed Dean of his injuries and revived Bobby. Then, when Bobby's eyes had questioned him—had it worked—he had nodded. Yes. They had saved the world.

At first he'd thought it was Dean's devastation that was infecting him, making it impossible for him to find the joy in their triumph. But even when he'd taken his leave of Dean for the last time—powering down the highway at speed that hinted towards Dean's state of mind and own lack of concern for his safety—the jubilation hadn't come. He'd gone to Heaven, and there he'd been greeted by the garrisons, many of which were elated that he and the Winchesters had triumphed over Lucifer, and still he hadn't felt it.

It was a full thirty days of Earthly time later that the reason came to him. He was sitting on a cool, stone bench by a lake in the heaven of an elderly man who'd lived in the early twentieth century. The sun was rippling across the water like molten gold, and Castiel was thinking of the difference he felt in himself since his return, the vast untapped stores of knowledge he had been imbibed with, and then the answer came to him. It was Sam.

With understanding came a flash of realization. Castiel had been brought back for a reason, and this must be it; why else would he have been given such knowledge of the cage, and the ways in and out, if not for this purpose? He felt disgusted with himself that it had taken him so long to come to the realization. For every one of those days Castiel had spent nursing his confused feelings, Sam Winchester had been suffering at the hands of Lucifer in the cage. He needed to save him. He must save him. It was God's will.

And if it was God's will, who would dare oppose him?

If he had thought about it for more than a moment, he would have had his answer, two angry archangels would dare.

He plummeted down through the levels of Hell in his true form with his wings stretched proudly at his back. To an onlooker he would have been the very image of an avenging angel. And there were onlookers; demons turned away from their play for a moment to watch as he streaked by. A smile curled his lips as he felt their gaze on him. They would know to fear him, as they should; he was a warrior of God.

The cage was not a physical prison in the way humans imagined. It was a series of labyrinthine passages with a nexus at the very center where Lucifer presided. As he reached the lower levels of Hell, Castiel heard great noise, separate to the screaming of souls on the rack and those abandoned. It was like crashes of thunder and great screeching bellows. It was the sound of two archangels fighting in their pure form.

He was surprised that they'd abandoned their vessels, but pleased. It would be infinitely easier to free Sam if he was left unattended than it would be if he had to free him from Lucifer first. There was a way to expel an angel from a vessel, an enochian spell, that had once been used on him by Alastair—thankfully, Dean had saved him that time, but he had already begun to feel the ripping pain of being torn away—but he didn't know whether or not it would work on an archangel. It was a relief to know he wouldn't have to find out.

His wings pulled closed to his sides in a dive as he approached the cage. For the first time in a long time, he felt he was doing God's work, and that was an exhilarating sensation.

The cage existed separately from the other layers of Hell. No demon could penetrate this far, they would perish in the attempt. Only those touched by God could make the journey intact. As he touched down on the final level of Hell, he pulled his wings in tight to his sides and stood for a moment, preparing himself.

There were no bars to see through, no holes in a thick stone wall. The cage was indefinable by human methods of explanation. It was as God created it to be. Inescapable by an archangel but penetrable by a lowly seraph. More than that, it was escapable for him too. Castiel tensed his wings at his back and stepped through the haze that surrounded it. Into the cage.

Icy air swept over him, like the breath of some monstrous beast being exhaled, and he paused for a moment, taking in his surroundings. He had come to the intricate passages of the outer cage. Vast walls that stood higher than his erect form and so thick that they seemed to swallow sound. He couldn't even hear the rumble of the archangels' battle anymore. There was no noise, not even the sound of his wings pulling tight in at his back.

There were three paths in front of him, each of them identical except for the direction it lead, and he did not know which to choose. He spent a moment trying to decide before realizing this was the trick of the cage. He could stay here forever trying to find the right way to go, and his mission would fail. Sam would not be saved. He walked right down the center, his vast footsteps swallowing the distance easily. He took turns at random, not worrying over direction, knowing the touch of God was upon him and that he would find his destination soon enough.

There was no sign that he was approaching the center, no whisper of sound or lightening of the air. One moment he was turning left, the next he was faced with sight of his brothers in battle.

They were beautiful and devastating. Their true forms towered over him and the walls of the maze, their wings spread wide and proud at their backs and their faces glittering with determination as their fists flew and landed, dealing blow after blow but never injuring. There could be no injury here in the cage, not for angels. It was suspended outside of reality. He wondered why they fought at all, if not for entertainment.

For a moment, a second of time in a timeless place, he stood and watched their combat, entranced by the beauty and ferocity they displayed. It was like nothing he had ever seen before in all his millennias of service to the Lord, and he had seen many things.

It was a moment too long. He forgot himself. He forgot his mission to free Sam. He was caught.

Michael dealt a blow to Lucifer, forcing his head to the side, and Castiel saw the look of surprise cross his fallen brother's face as he was spotted.

"Castiel?" Lucifer's voice was soft and soothing, everything it was supposed to be when speaking Enochian in its purest form. It was beautiful to listen to.

For a split second, he considered fleeing. Racing back through the maze until he found the weakness in the wall that would allow him to escape, but responsibility held him in place. He had a responsibility to Sam, and he would not abandon him to suffer alone, even though his staying meant his own torment.

Michael turned to look at him, and a slight smile curved his lips. "Hello, brother."

Castiel felt the human urge to squirm under their intense gaze. They towered over him, looking down at him as if he was a misbehaving child. He supposed, in their eyes, he was.

Lucifer stepped forward. "I destroyed you."

Castiel nodded. "I was returned." He hesitated for a moment. "By God."

Their faces twisted in identical expressions of regret and Castiel wondered what they were thinking. Did Michael ask himself why God had not seen that he would be cast into the cage when he left to fight Lucifer? Did Lucifer feel the pang of God's name as only a fallen angel could, or did he truly blame his father for what he had become?

Michael recovered himself first. "And he sent you to save me?"

He must have known that wasn't the truth, Castiel could no more save Michael than he could absolve Lucifer of his sins, but his look of longing was almost more than Castiel could bear.

He was saved the need of answering by Lucifer's laugh. "Save you, Michael? He cannot save you any more than he can save himself. He came for the vessels."

The vessels. Castiel was ashamed to admit he hadn't thought of the Winchesters' younger brother at all when he'd set out for the cage. His focus had been on Sam alone. But now, as he saw his defeat in Lucifer's dancing eyes, he knew he had been wrong to forget him. He should have saved them both. He could no more save anyone, least of all himself.

Michael's eyes darkened. "The vessels," he spat. "You would risk everything for them!"

"It is God's will," Castiel said solemnly.

"Did you hear that from God's own mouth?" Lucifer asked. "Or is that merely what you believe?"

Castiel straightened. "It is what I know."

The archangels gave him a look of sympathetic pity. Castiel knew there was no escape for him now. He was trapped, and his two greatest brothers would make sure he stayed that way. He had failed Sam and Dean and Bobby and most of all himself.

"And yet God has abandoned you now," Michael said, and Castiel could hear the bitterness shared by another of the abandoned. "And here you are." He turned to Lucifer. "What should we do with him?"

Lucifer smiled cruelly. "He came for the vessels. Let us reunite them."

Michael nodded and swept a hand through the air, pointing to a break in the maze walls opposite. "By all means, Castiel. They will be glad to see you."

Castiel wanted to skirt around them, to cower against the wall as he passed, but he forced himself to remain strong and brave as he walked forward and passed between them. They stepped back to let him through, and though he couldn't see it, he felt sure their faces were alight with amusement at his pretended calm.

The room he came out into was an antechamber of sorts. At the center was a rusted rack with bloodied shackles and chains at the corners of it. The floor below it was stained with coppery blood. The walls were made of unending flames, not as if the walls themselves were aflame, but more as if the flames made the walls. The heat swept over Castiel in waves, making his wings prickle.

At the foot of the rack, leaning against the bars that formed the end, were two figures. There were bloodstains on their clothes and singe marks. Their skin was marred with cuts and bruises, the slightest signs of what they must have endured in their time here.

The smaller of the two was limp against the taller man's side, held within a tight embrace, and comforting words were trickling down to him from the Sam's lips, reassurances and promises of protection. Sam Winchester was trying to comfort his brother the way he had been taught when he had been the youngest.

Castiel stepped forward and his movement caught the eye of the taller man. He blinked twice and then spoke in a cracked and hoarse whisper.

"Cas?"

You would think after writing as many stories as I have that I would be used to the nerves of posting a new one. I'm not. I am as scared posting this as I was the day I posted the first chapter of Breaking Down The Wall. The fact this is my first Sam/Cas pairing doesn't make it any easier.

If you enjoyed this chapter, please take a moment to review. I don't think I can overstate how much it means to a writer to hear that people enjoy what you've spent hours working on. I am also more than happy to accept constructive criticism. I am learning as I go, so any help you can offer would be gratefully received.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx