"You're alive!" Joy surged into Dean's face; his freckles brightening and smile lines deepening. He ran to Castiel and tried to embrace him, but a vast sea of grassy landscape separated them.

"Relatively speaking," Castiel replied, overjoyed to see Dean even if he couldn't touch him. It was painful to see the man he'd come to love and then betray so happy about seeing a ghost.

"Man, it's good to see you," Dean said honestly, staring into the vast blue oceans of Castiel's eyes as if he was standing right in front of Castiel. Suddenly, the space didn't seem so vast and lonely to either Castiel or Dean. They stayed like that, searching each other's eyes in a comfortable silence. Their wordless conversation seemed endless, neither man acknowledging the time or space surrounding them.

Castiel broke away from their staring contest first to keeled over. Blood came dripping from his mouth and seeping from his trench coat. Dean was confused, but confusion was wiped out by terror as he started to scream and his world started fading to black. The ground shifting from white to bloody red and the sky turned pitch black. It felt to Dean as if someone had tipped the world upside-down and he couldn't tell which way was up. He was swimming in a dark pool of Castiel's blood.

Dean became panicked. He tried to reach Castiel. He couldn't move. He couldn't scream. He was fettered to the ground, though where the ground was was relative.

Dean stared, helplessly, as Castiel, his beautiful angel, was reduced to a bloody, twitching mess, curled up in a ball, screaming wordlessly.

Castiel had stopped moving, and then everything went black.


Dean awoke with a jolt. There he was, in a motel on the side of a highway in Montana which could quite possibly have been the most filthy place he'd ever stayed in. He was breathing heavily, creating swirling clouds in the frigid December air.

Sam lay asleep in the bed next to him, snoring lightly. He must have a cold Dean thought. Sam never snored.

It had been four months since Dean had last seen Castiel alive, and not a day went by where Dean didn't wish he was still there, fighting alongside them. It would make everything a lot easier, knowing someone gave a shit about them.

He'd stopped caring why Castiel had betrayed them. All he wanted was something to fill the gaping hole inside of him, someone with whom he could share the pain and horrors of his fucked up world.

It was cold and lonely behind those walls Dean built and that he let no one behind to see the monster he truly was. The monster that Hell had fucked with and made Dean wake up screaming. The monster that 20-odd years of hunting had created inside of him. There were some things you just can't un-know. There are fears that never go away. And those fears had destroyed the innocent boy that carried his brother out of a fire so many years ago.

He just wanted someone to understand it without fearing him like he feared himself.

Dean glanced at the glowing red clock on the bedside table. It was 1:38 in the morning. His head hit the pillow and Dean tried to orient himself. He was with Sam, on their first hunt together since Sam had insisted he take some time off. They caught wind of a vampire terrorizing a small town, and Sam had thought it was going to be a good idea to start with "an easy hunt". They would deal with the leviathan when they had had a little practice, seek vengeance when the time was right. Dean remembered parking the impala right outside their motel window. Her back right brake light was out, and Dean needed to get that fixed soon.

But his dream, Dean had never experienced one so vivid before. It wasn't like he wasn't used to nightmares like this, but seeing Castiel opened a door Dean wasn't sure he wanted to open ever again. Just feeling his presence so profoundly overwhelmed Dean, almost bringing him to tears. Seeing him again was like seeing home again for the first time after a long time away.

And then to see Cas die right in front of Dean's eyes was painful to say the least.

The moldy, water-stained ceiling was mostly memorized by Dean by the time he fell asleep again. He awoke in the morning with no recollection of the night's pain.


Castiel's head slammed back into the ground, stars appearing in his eyes and gashes starting to reappear in Jimmy's vessel. He lay there, in his corner of Heaven, bleeding yet again. Castiel had never attempted such long-distance telepathy before, and he was just realizing why it wasn't widely used.

Just seeing Dean again was worth it, though. Seeing those freckles that shone when he smiled, those glassy eyes that seemed to be a million colors at once, the permanently messy yet attractive hair, and the millions of other things that made Dean Dean, things Castiel loved about him, had made everything worth it.

Castiel groaned, attempting to sit up as his grace, and the grace in Heaven, poured into his wounds, closing them at a painfully slow rate. He could manage though, he always found a way.

It pained Castiel, this solidarity, more than any physical injury stressing his body ever created for him. He had grown used to the companionship of the Winchesters. Come to love them, in fact.

Castiel couldn't rest. He'd tried for days, but he couldn't stop thinking of everything that went bump in the night on earth. Everything that could hurt his Winchesters, his family. It was too much for Castiel. A gaping hole opened in his chest every time he thought if them, a chasm where he was swallowed in despair and misery.

He was built for war, but this war was one that he wanted no part of anymore. He was so old.

Castiel had betrayed them. He went against Dean's judgement and forewent his trust to take the easy road out. One that didn't have to involve archangels and God's wrath. No, he brought creatures from the darkest corners of the nightmarish world he lived in to wreak havoc on the Earth.

And the worst part was not that he made a deal with Crowley nor the fact the leviathan walked in daylight due to his carelessness. The worst part was that he had left the humans, the Winchesters, Dean, to their own devices to clean up his mess.

If only Gabriel was here. The archangel, always the pacifist, would have got him out of this.

Castiel tilted his head back. The swirling galaxies were one of God's greatest creations, in Castiel's opinion. They reminded Castiel just how small even angels were in God's great plan. What part of his plan was this though? Castiel had abandoned his family, both the one he'd had for centuries and the one he made for himself. They all hated him. He had no home anymore, no family.

And now he is stuck here, waiting for a redemption that would never come.

Castiel was so tired. He just wanted this to be over. He wanted to die.


Black blood pooled at the bottom of the filthy sink basin. No matter how many times Sam scrubbed his hands, the stain of blood and the stench of death never seemed to leave the hunter. He looked up from his hands to the cracked and grime coated mirror to see if he'd missed any leviathan blood that had sprayed all over him when he gave yet another one the wood chipper treatment.

At least now he had an excuse to get rid of the tackiest flannel jacket known to man.

Being alone never suited Sam, he'd always at least had Dean to look after him, even from before he could remember. There Dean was, by his side. His constant companion. The Winchester brothers never left each other's sides.

It had been 2 years now. 2 years since they went on their "easy hunt". 2 years after the hunt turned into the biggest shitstorm Sam had ever seen. 2 years since he heard "Go get these sons of bitches, Sammy". 2 years since Dean had gotten his head ripped off by a leviathan. 2 years since Sam sat there, helplessly as his guiding light took his last breath right before his eyes, his blood spreading rivers across the concrete floor of some unnamed shipping yard and his body falling with a dull thud limp to the ground.

And Sam missed Dean ever single God forsaken day.

Bobby was gone, Cas hadn't been heard from for years, Dean had been taken out. Sam had no one to turn to. Hunting had lost its appeal, other than hunting down and taking out all the leviathan he could get his hands on. It was his form of retribution. For Dean.

He had thought about going back to school and attempting a normal life, but Sam was so tired. He had stopped trying long ago to make anything of his life. He was waiting to die.


Time passed differently in Heaven. Dean had no idea how he had gotten to heaven, much less how long he'd been there. Everything was a haze, like one too many drinks while trying to fly a plane. Disorienting and confusing, but not horrible.

Dean had not been worthy of being saved. After all the shit he'd done in his lifetime, no one should enjoy luxury after that. Hell had been, well, hell, but Dean had been anticipating an encore performance down in the pit.

There was something that Heaven did to you. It gave off... euphoria was the only word that came close to describing it. A blind faith that everything was alright. Like coming home to a steaming hot apple pie and having nothing to do for the rest of the day but eat and relax. Everything seemed to melt away. Dean never forgot Sam or Bobby or Cas, but they just didn't concern Dean anymore. He'd stopped worrying about his ginormous brother. He'd stopped worrying about his angel.

Dean enjoyed peace for the first time, and he got lost in it.


Sam had an apartment. It felt weird, having a home.

He rarely used the Impala anymore, rather used the bus that stopped outside his building to get to the office every day.

Sam had a desk job. That felt weird too.

He also was a vegetarian now. And he drank exactly two cups of coffee every morning. Two sugars, dash of cream, piping hot.

And he stopped wearing flannel, rather opting for a collared shirt and pleated pants.

He listened to jazz and classical music.

He kept a rigorous routine. If he deviated, Dean's memory would take over. He'd had a hard time working through that.

Nothing could remind him of his old life. He never talked about it, he never kept any memorabilia. His co-workers thought he was a little odd, but Sam could handle that.

When Sam came back to his apartment some Tuesday night, he grabbed the mail from his box, waved hello to Jerry the doorman, pushed "4" on the elevator and listened to the end of Bon Iver's "I Can't Make You Love Me" which Dean would have hated. When he got his out his keys to unlock his apartment, his only thoughts were about shoving something in his mouth and sleeping, not necessarily in that order.

He was so busy sorting his bills that he didn't see the (relatively) small body occupying the recliner in his living room. He'd been so busy ignoring disaster headlines, classic rock, and fried anything that when he came home after a long day dealing with irritating people, he didn't recognize the smirking ghost from his past lounging around as if he lived there. He was too busy worrying about what was still good to eat in the fridge that the "Hello Sammy-Boy" shocked Sam out of his dreamy state and kicked in the years of martial arts and combat training and grabbed the closest weapon.

"You're threatening me with a... flower vase?"

"You're dead. I saw you die."

"Kiddo, you'd have to try a lot harder than that to kill someone like me."

"Impossible."

"Hon, You ain't seen impossible yet."