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Castiel felt his breath catch in his throat, his heart thudded in his chest, as he raised a trembling hand to wipe his burning eyes before the tears could fall. Metatron's words echoed in his mind:
… It was all about saving ONE human, right? Dean Winchester? Well, he's dead too…
Castiel clenched his fists tight, the usually stoic, unwavering angel warrior, fighting for control. No. No. It can't be. He's lying. Metatron's a liar. He can't. No. It's not. He can't be. Dean's. No. He has to be ok. He's ok. He's fine. He's not-
Castiel paused amidst the whirl of torturous thoughts and desperate denial as he recalled Metatron's smug face swimming before him. The former scribe of God who had become the snake in the garden, turning heaven's angels on each other, brother against brother. Brother. Castiel glared in disgust at the very word, at the thought that this angel, the most treacherous scum of the earth, was his brother. A burning hate rushed through Castiel's veins, as his heart beat faster and faster and he felt so sick he could hardly breathe. Every fibre of him longed to run after the angels who had arrested the scribe, his hands curled into the fists that longed to strike Metatron blow after blow, to beat on him until his knuckles bled, until he broke every bone in Metatron's pudgy body, until the scribe begged him for death, for the pain to end. But even that wouldn't be enough for Castiel, if it was true that Metatron had – if Dean was really - … Castiel couldn't even bring himself to think the word – gone. It was unthinkable, unbearable. He had to know for sure. He'd chosen justice, mercy really instead of taking revenge on Metatron … he wasn't sure even now that it had been the right thing… especially now if Dean was, if he- Castiel wrenched himself out of his grief stricken, panicked thoughts and sprinted through the stark white hallways until he reached the door – the gateway between heaven and earth – he had to know the truth!
The brilliant blue light engulfed Castiel as he was transported instantly to earth. Reappearing in the very same playground where he'd stood with Gadreel mere hours ago, though it felt like a lifetime ago now, Castiel rose shakily to his feet, brushing dust and tiny pieces of bark from his trenchcoat. He ran as quickly as his trembling knees could carry him over to his Lincoln and all but leaped into the driver's seat. He'd left the keys in the ignition, but that didn't matter now. Forgoing the seatbelt, Castiel floored it out of the playground car park, eating up the miles between him and the bunker. He tried Sam on his cell phone, but got no answer. Something was very wrong, he could feel it. He contemplated phoning Dean, just in case Metatron was lying, but didn't think he could go on if those last vestiges of hope left him. Castiel's Lincoln tore up the highway, it was fast, but not fast enough. Castiel thought longingly of his wings, before the fall, before this stolen grace, before everything. Back when he could've been at Dean's side in an instant. He pressed his foot to the accelerator harder, blinking back the burning tears he refused to let fall.
Castiel arrived at the bunker, skidding his vehicle to a halt in a cloud of dust. He didn't even turn off the engine, just took off running for the bunker. Swinging the heavy, creaking door open, Castiel clattered down the stairs two at a time.
"Sam?" he called, walking inside. There was no sign of Sam in the war room. Castiel checked the kitchen, hoping against hope, that he would find Dean leaning against the counter with a grin on his face, chugging a beer, maybe eating a slice of pie. Peeking around the door, Castiel sighed, disappointedly, before noticing the medicine cupboard was open and the first aid kit was missing. Castiel's heart leapt, maybe Dean wasn't dead, maybe he was just hurt, maybe – Castiel rounded the corner of the corridor then came to stand in the doorway to Dean's room.
"Sam?" he said tentatively. The younger Winchester whirled around instantly, tears streaking his face, his bottom lip trembling. When he saw it was Castiel, Sam let fall the bandages he'd been using to clean Dean's wounds, mopping up his brother's blood. Sam looked at Castiel, into those piercing blue eyes and shook his head slowly from side to side, answering the unspoken question. So it was true, Dean was dead… Castiel sighed and turned away, unable to look at it anymore. At the bloodied and lifeless form of Dean his best friend, his brother, the man he depended on more than any other for direction and purpose. He couldn't bear to look at the grief and brokenness, the raw emotion in Sam's eyes, the tattered remains of Sam's once pure faith, the beautiful soul of the boy infected with demon blood, plagued by loss and heartache, who yet, somehow still believed in, still hoped for miracles… and Castiel had none to give – his borrowed grace was all but used up, and Dean was gone. The word echoed hollowly, resounding painfully in Castiel's mind and heart. He wanted to comfort Sam, but he had no comfort, no shred of hope or solace to offer.
Castiel closed his eyes, feeling the tightness welling in his throat and the burning in his eyes that signalled the arrival of tears. He turned away from Sam, and left the room, he wouldn't burden Sam Winchester with his grief, not when Castiel's own brother was the cause of all this pain. Castiel retreated to the war room, where he'd often watched Dean reclining at the table, beer in hand with that cocky grin, kicking back after a long day. Castiel stood there a while, he didn't know how long, but after some time, he decided he should check on Sam, there was no telling what he would do in his grief. Castiel pushed open the door to Dean's room, but Sam was gone – and so was Dean! Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Castiel tore around the bunker, banging open door after door – searching for the elusive Winchesters. When Castiel reached the dungeon, he could hear Latin chanting coming from the other side of the false book shelf and the unmistakable sound of a match flaring.
"Sam?" Castiel called. "Sam!" he said more sharply. Then pushing the false bookcase aside where it divided in two, Castiel strode through the divide to find Sam kneeling on the floor – spellbooks and ingredients for a summoning spell strewn around him.
"Sam, what have you done?" Castiel demanded, taking the younger Winchester by the arm and hauling him to his feet.
"Didn't work anyway. He didn't come. Typical." Sam muttered darkly.
"What are you talking about?" Castiel asked confusedly, then with an increased sense of urgency he demanded " Sam! Where is Dean? "
"What?" Sam said, not understanding.
"He's gone Sam!"
"I know that Cas!" Sam snapped. "I was hoping Crowley would-"
"Crowley!?" Castiel repeated
"Yes, Crowley. I was going to make a deal and bring Dean back." Sam admitted tiredly.
"I guessed that." Castiel said sullenly, not even commenting on how stupid it was for the Winchesters to be making the same deal with demons over and over again. " But Dean's gone Sam."
"I kn-"
"No! Gone as in gone, Sam! He's not in his room, I can't find him!" Castiel said desperately.
"Wait – WHAT!" Sam shouted in shock, hightailing it out the door to his brother's room.
"Sam. Sam, wait!" Castiel called, before running after him.
Panting, the angel stood framed in the doorway as Sam bent and picked up a folded piece of paper, wrinkling his nose at the smell of sulphur lingering in the air .
"Sam, what is it?" Castiel asked, with the Winchester's back to him.
Sam turned around and thrust the note into Castiel's hands before stalking out of the room.
Castiel unfolded the note, his heart leaping at the sight of Dean's unmistakable handwriting, so much like his father's… but Castiel's joy was shortlived as he read the words: Sammy, let me go.
"Sam." Castiel said sadly, then realizing the Winchester had left the room, Castiel walked downstairs to the war room where he found Sam packing a duffel bag.
"Sam, what are you doing?" Castiel asked.
"I'm getting my brother back Cas." Sam declared, shoving salt, an angel blade and the demon killing knife in the bag.
"Why would he just disappear?" Castiel wondered aloud.
" It's the mark of Cain probably. I think he's with Crowley – that was sulphur upstairs. Who else would want to get to Dean?"
"I don't know Sam." Castiel said doubtfully.
"Well, I'm going to find out," Sam said slinging the bag over his shoulder. " Are you coming?" he asked.
"No." Castiel said sadly.
"What? Why not? Cas, it's Dean!" Sam exclaimed.
"No Sam. If it Is the Mark, that brought him back, then who or what came back is not really Dean." Castiel said hopelessly.
"You don't believe that. You can't believe that Cas! He can come back. He will! I know it!" Sam declared, his hazel eyes shining with hope.
"I'm sorry Sam, but he's gone." Castiel insisted. "I will of course help if you need me to." He offered.
"No, forget it, Cas!" Sam said, walking out the door. "I'll bring Dean back on my own!"
Castiel could only watch, as Sam Winchester, one of the few truly good friends Castiel had known, ventured out into the dark in pursuit of his brother…