-That evening at the bunker, a reprieve in the dining/sitting room-

Sam was quick to enter the bunker upon their arrival, escorting Cas who approached it with a contrary mix of relief and apprehension. But Dean beat them both to the door, making sure to carry all the bags. He threw open the door, leaving it open behind him and disappeared inside.

The dining room was empty, the long table bare save for a few discarded texts at its far corner, and a few scribbled upon sheets of paper. The lights were on however, a silent sign of Dean's consideration. It was likely to be his only way of apology.

Cas went to sit immediately, not knowing what to do with himself otherwise. He seemed so small beneath the high ceilings and among the vastness of the shelter around him. The men of letters had created their own functional world, and he wondered at his place in it. He always posed the same question.

"Cas."

He only stared blankly ahead.

Sam shifted, went to sit, hesitated, and then merely stepped forward.

"Do you think me a villain?" Cas posed his inquiry quietly, but with an undercurrent force.

"No." Sam's answer was immediate. And he struggled to phrase his point through his confusion at the sudden question. "You are not a villain any more than Dean or I are."

"I have killed in the thousands, and more."

Sam hesitated. "Then you are no more a villain than I can consider myself to be." He went to the table and sat across from Castiel, "And I have not been allowed to do otherwise, even though I often wish it differently."

"You wish yourself to be considered a villain?"

"I wish to be held accountable for my actions."

Castiel sighed. "Then you have lied, and must figure me a villain, for I have done much the same as you, and then some more quite differently."

"You misunderstand me, Cas." Sam ran his hand through his hair, "I wish sometimes to be thought evil, for I feel I have done a great deal of wrong. But I remember wishing to do good, and have been forgiven for that. I am not a villain. I have recognized my faults and I live to rectify them."

"The greatest evil is often done by those with good intentions, Sam."

"Yes, but the seal of that evil is when you revel in the result. You have not done that."

Castiel slammed the table with his fist and stood up. Shoving the chair away from him roughly, he moved to begin pacing about the room. "But I have done that too, once. I have lost myself in that way before." He continued to pace while his hands wrung themselves in his hair. Sam remained silent, watching him. He could not bring himself to rise from his seat, for fear of upsetting the man before him. Cas' eyes flashed blue, and he hurled one of the forsaken texts at one of the far walls. "And I had wondered – had dared to be shocked – when Metatron professed me to be the villain of his story. I had been appalled at his orchestration. But I should have expected. I was already created to be so. To be ready for him."

Sam's brow furrowed in greater confusion. "What do mean, Cas? Ready for Metatron how?"

"He told me that his plan was all one grand and epic story, he spoke of a hero to rise out of it. I thought he spoke of someone rising against him, I thought it to be me."

"Metatron is writing his own battle? Cas, who does he expect to bring him down?"

Castiel chuckled darkly. "No Sam. He is writing all of our battles to revolve around himself. He doesn't expect to be brought down, but he has manufactured an opponent. Me."

Sam sat up straighter, surprised. He flexed his hands unknowingly, focusing completely on Castiel.

"He hails himself a hero."

"Every narcissist does." Sam flinched as the angel turned to him in rage.

"We were supposed to restore Heaven! He used me. Took my grace from me!" He took a step forward and shook his head, "And you know what? I deserved it. I trusted him. God trusted him, Sam. Gave him His word to take down, and he tainted it to his own means. But he was trusted. In my Father's eyes, he would be a grand defiler. And yet in his story, I am his opposite." Castiel backed up, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. His voice rose to an accusatory battle cry, "I am villain to the third to betray since Lucifer!" Castiel fell then into his chair, utterly spent.

"Cas," Sam faltered, astounded at the angel's outburst. He fidgeted in his seat, distantly noticing a shadow in the doorway to his right. "Who was the second?" He figured that this would be the safest question.

"Myself."

"What?" Sam shook his head, "You know what, Cas? It doesn't matter. It doesn't. You have done much more than fallen."

"I am the villain suited to Metatron though."

Sam scoffed. "No you're not."

Castiel raised his head, eyes narrowing, "Don't you see, Sam? It is blaringly obvious. I declared myself villain to my Father when I rebelled against Heaven years ago. I was already well crafted."

"You rebelled for a hero's errand. This is no different."

Castiel grew more confused as Sam began to laugh softly. It was not rude or condescending, but a relieved merriment. He was tired, and he felt himself relaxing involuntarily. "How?"

"Who are we fighting against?"

"Metatron."

"And why are we fighting him?"

"Sam. We need to restore Heaven –"

Sam smiled widely, "Isn't that a noble cause? Making him the villain of our story."

"But it's his story."

"No it's not. It isn't even a story. Although it may be for him. Of course you are the villain, he would never cast himself as one. You are all worked up over his opinion, Cas. When it means nothing."

Cas sighed. "You're right. And I realize now how foolish my, um, my fit, has been. I should not have let his words derail me. I feel better, but why am I still so heavily weighted?" He was quick to appease, growing uneasy in his depressed state.

"You feel guilt for actions outside of your encounter with Metatron. You are heaping all that on yourself. But you needn't punish yourself further. We forgive you, Cas. I forgive you. You need to forgive yourself and move forward."

Sam stood and walked around the table, wrapping Castiel in a quick hug as he stood. Footsteps were heard quickly approaching and the man in the trench coat stiffened.

"Dean."

The hunter stopped abruptly. Sam stood to the side as he turned around, his arm left out as if he felt the need to protect the startled angel.

"You heard everything."

Dean nodded.

"I was a fool."

Dean shook his head and moved forward. "No."

He continued forward, and outstretched his hand, "Cas, I was wrong to place blame on you for all this. I know you try, you do. And you've done a hell of a lot of good for us too. I know you are trying to do the same thing now." Castiel took his hand firmly, but his gaze shifted, as if he was unsure if looking directly at Dean would reveal a mirage.

"That room you showed me before, down the hall. Am I free to use it now?"

"Yes."

Castiel departed from the room without another word. He looked back once, as if to thank Sam, and paused when he met Dean's gaze, smile faltering as if suddenly embarrassed as he fled the room.

Sam excused himself to the kitchen, grasping his brother's shoulder on his way out. He paused in the doorway however, to observe him. Dean seemed lost in the empty room, shocked by the day's events. He scratched at his right arm absently as he fell back into the chair Cas discarded, resting his head in his hands as if in defeat.