A/N: Thank you Cruelest Sea and guest Brendielyn831 for your reviews! Possible trigger warning for attempted suicide in this part, but it's not in the typical context.

"Ruination"
Part II

Castiel became aware of subtle vibrations beneath him, the steady thrum of a car's engine. It wasn't the one he'd expected, though. He pried his eyes open and gazed at the unfamiliar interior, then at Sam behind the wheel. Castiel held back a weary sigh. What was it to be this time?

He was in incredible pain, and he glanced down at his arms to find his wrists grated raw. He was also wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, rather than his trench coat.

He was human.

Well, that was different this time.

He immediately patted himself down. "Where's my angel blade?"

Sam flicked him a confused look. "In the trunk. Don't worry, I didn't leave it behind."

Castiel dropped his head back against the headrest. Right, the djinn had started putting him in scenarios where he didn't readily have a weapon so he couldn't just immediately end the dream.

"We're almost to the bunker," Sam said. "Just hang on, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbled. He had little choice in the matter, not until he was able to get his hands on a weapon. Though, that should be easy at the Men of Letters bunker.

Not much later, they rumbled down a dirt drive Castiel knew well, and stopped in front of the secret hideout. He was so tired, though, that he didn't immediately bother opening his door and trying to climb out of the vehicle. Sam came around and opened it for him, then reached in to help lift him out. Obvious concern was written across the young Winchester's face, but Castiel had gotten used to seeing that in the other numerous facsimiles, so he paid little attention. He allowed himself to be half carried to the door and down the steps.

"I don't care how pissed you are, you don't just not answer your phone!" Dean's irate voice drifted up as he stormed into the war room, only to pull up short and gape at them. "What the…" Terror briefly crossed his face before it was replaced with horror and worry. "What the hell happened?" he exclaimed.

"Djinn," Sam spat with uncharacteristic vitriol that made Castiel frown slightly. Also, what djinn? The one that had captured him?

"Had Cas trussed up in its lair," Sam went on, voice still like steel.

Ah, so the djinn was trying to trick him now, make him think he'd been rescued so he would stop fighting back. Well, it wasn't going to work. And yes, his resistance may have been pointless, as there was no escape in the waking world, but his defiance was all he had left, and Castiel was going to hold onto it until his very last breath.

Dean's eyes were wide and shocked as Sam carried Castiel past him. "Um, Sam…"

"Don't talk to me right now," the younger Winchester snapped.

Castiel's frown deepened. Why were the brothers fighting? If this alternate world was based on reality this time, perhaps Dean was upset that Sam had taken off on his own when he was still recovering from the Trials.

Sam led him down the bunker corridor to one of the bedrooms, nudging the door open with his foot before hauling Castiel inside and easing him onto the bed. The mattress foam felt heavenly, and he wanted to sink into it.

"Okay," Sam said. "I'm gonna get a med kit. Be right back."

Castiel almost wanted to tell him not to bother, but it was best to just play along in djinn dreams, as everyone was programmed not to believe him if he said it wasn't real. He started listing sideways toward the pillow, yet caught himself. Even though he was utterly exhausted, sleeping would just waste precious time, which was passing differently in the waking world, anyway.

Sam returned shortly, med kit and water bottle in hand. "Here," he said, passing the bottle to Castiel. "You need to replenish your body's fluids."

Castiel dutifully uncapped the bottle and took a drink. He really did feel parched, and gulped down several mouthfuls.

Sam then reached out to take one of his hands, extending his arm out to rest his elbow across Sam's legs. The young Winchester lifted an antiseptic wipe, but paused. "This is gonna sting," he said regretfully.

Castiel didn't respond, just watched as Sam began to dab at his shredded wrist. He winced at the burning sting, and clenched his jaw against making a sound of discomfort.

"I don't know what Dean's problem is," Sam spoke lowly. "But you are staying here, got it?"

Castiel bristled, almost able to hear the djinn's insistent voice instead. He nodded anyway, just to appear placating.

Sam finished cleaning one wrist and wrapped it in gauze, then proceeded to repeat the process with the other one. Castiel struggled with nodding off, and kept himself busy by sipping at his water.

"We should get some food in you," Sam said once he'd finished the last bandage. "I'll make some soup or something. I know you're exhausted, but think you can stay awake just a little longer?"

Castiel nodded. "Of course."

Sam offered him a wan smile, and then gathered up the trash to remove from the room. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Castiel watched him go, and then forced himself to stand. His legs were shaky, and he nearly collapsed back onto the bed. The djinn was really pulling out all the stops this time, keeping him weak so that committing suicide would be more difficult. Castiel still refused to submit.

He staggered out into the hall, pitching against the doorframe to catch his balance. The corridor was empty, and he started making his way toward the main room. There were display weapons there he could use.

The study area was empty, and Castiel thought he heard voices coming from the kitchen. All the better. There was a katana on one bookshelf, but Castiel honestly didn't feel he had the strength to wield it. But he spotted a ceremonial dagger in a display rack across the room. The djinn had made a gross oversight by making Castiel human in this world, because now any old weapon could be used to kill himself with, not just an angel blade.

He took the dagger off the display, and frowned in consternation at his weak grip when he tried to lift it toward his heart. That might not be successful. Well, he was supposedly suffering from blood loss already.

Castiel set the blade to his wrist instead, right over Sam's carefully wrapped bandage.

.o.0.o.

Dean followed Sam into the kitchen. Shit, this was so messed up. How could Cas have run into a friggin' djinn his first day leaving the bunker? Because that was Winchester luck, was what it was. And it was Dean's fault for having kicked him out like that. But it wasn't like he wanted to do that. Ezekiel had his hands tied!

Oh god, Zeke…Sam…

"Listen," Dean began, "we can work this out…"

Sam whirled from the cabinet he'd been rifling through. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he shouted. Okay, still Sam.

"I know, I screwed up," Dean started, cringing at his little brother's accusation, but also worried about how much worse Zeke's reaction was going to be.

"Screwing up is making demon deals, lying to me. This is…god! Are you seriously that pissed at Cas still?"

Dean's jaw dropped. "What? No!"

Sam thrust his arms out to the sides. "Then what is it? Because I don't get how you could just kick him out like that. With nothing. You know where the djinn snagged him? In an abandoned mall where he'd probably gone for a place to sleep out of the rain."

Dean's throat threatened to close off. He'd never meant for that to happen. Dammit, why hadn't he done more for Cas? Sent him to Garth, or Jody, even?

Because he'd been reeling from Zeke's demand that Cas couldn't stay, and terrified that the angel would leave Sam before he'd finished healing him, and then Sam would die. So Dean had acted rashly and dropped Cas at a bus station as fast as he could. And distance meant he wouldn't have to face Cas's questions and disappointment like he would have if he'd reached out to Garth or Jody. He hadn't meant to leave Cas that vulnerable…but that's what had happened.

And he couldn't explain any of that, because Sam would get angry about being possessed by an angel and evict Ezekiel, and die anyway.

So now Dean was the bad guy, when he'd just been trying so desperately hard to keep his little brother safe.

At Cas's expense.

Dean shook his head in crushing guilt and defeat, not knowing what he could possibly say to make this better. He was spared having to think of something by a loud thud sounding from the library.

Exchanging a wary look with Sam, he bolted from the kitchen and down the hallway, Sam on his heels. They barreled into the study area, and Dean's heart stopped when he spotted Cas—sprawled on the floor in a growing pool of blood.

.o.0.o.

Gadreel watched through Sam's eyes as both Winchesters rushed to Castiel's side. He couldn't quite make sense of what he was seeing, and felt Sam's confusion and shock as well. Castiel had not been so grievously injured when they had returned to the bunker, so how…?

Sam's eyes briefly took in the bloodied knife laying on the floor next to Castiel, and Gadreel felt the hunter's heart seize with horror. But why would Castiel have done this?

Dean grabbed one of Castiel's slit wrists with both hands while Sam clamped his large palm around the other.

Castiel moaned, barely conscious. "No…"

"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed.

"Oh god," Sam choked. "He must still think he's in a djinn dream."

A wave of guilt filtered through to Gadreel from the Winchester at not having been more diligent. Not that Sam could be blamed for the oversight. Gadreel had been aware the entire ride back to the bunker and thereafter, and there hadn't been any indications…

"Cas, dammit, stay with me!" Dean yelled.

Gadreel pushed himself to the forefront, straightening Sam's shoulders rigidly and instantly adding more pressure to Castiel's wrist currently wrapped in his hand. He felt the hot pulsing of blood against his fingers. Gadreel pushed some healing into Castiel's mortal body, but only enough to bring him back from the brink of death.

He removed his hand to find that Castiel's wrist had stopped bleeding, but the deep laceration still needed mending, and the former angel was still suffering from blood loss, his face as white as plaster.

Dean stiffened, eyes blowing wide. "Zeke…"

"I have healed enough to keep him alive," Gadreel responded. "To do more would arouse Sam's suspicions." He hesitated. "And Castiel's, if he is having difficulty recognizing reality."

Dean swallowed hard. "Okay, yeah, yeah. Thanks. But, Zeke, please, don't leave Sam. I swear Cas isn't a threat to you here. He's warded; this whole place is warded!"

Gadreel had to admit he was not happy with the situation, but things had become too complicated to remedy by simply removing Castiel from the equation. Sam Winchester would never accept Castiel's departure, and Gadreel was still reticent to wipe the human's memories.

Also…Castiel's broken declaration that he had to earn redemption had struck a chord with Gadreel. That was all he wanted as well. And Castiel's current state was partially his fault, as he had been the one to demand Dean Winchester make Castiel leave the safety of the bunker. He had been so concerned for his own safety that he had forgotten what it meant to be an angel. And wasn't that why he had answered the elder Winchester's prayer in the first place?

"I will remain in Sam and continue healing him," Gadreel said.

"And Cas?" Dean said, voice cracking.

Gadreel glanced at Castiel lying on the floor between them, still in dire need of help. "He can stay." And with that, Gadreel receded, letting Sam take over once more.

Sam started to find he'd removed his hand from Castiel's wrist, and lashed out to grip it again, but then furrowed his brow in confusion and took a closer look. "Okay, it looks like the bleeding's slowing down."

"Yeah," Dean said hoarsely. "Let's get him stitched up."

"He's lost too much blood between this and the djinn," Sam replied. "There's blood bags in the infirmary, right?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Transfusion. Good idea."

Gadreel tucked himself into a quiet corner, too overcome with regret and remorse to watch the rest.

.o.0.o.

Sam sat in a chair by Cas's bedside, anxiously watching the shallow rise and fall of Cas's chest as he slept. His wrists were stitched up and wrapped in stark white bandages, and an IV line was taped into the crook of his elbow, delivering a steady dose of O-negative from a blood bag hanging from the corner of the headboard.

That had been way too close. Sam was still kicking himself for leaving Cas alone. But…why had he thought he was still in a djinn dream? That just didn't make sense. Yeah, Cas had seemed disoriented when Sam had found him, unsure whether it was real, but if he'd killed himself in the djinn dream in order to wake up, why wouldn't he have been certain it worked?

Dean walked in with a tray holding a bowl of soup and glass of water, which he set on the desk. "Figured you were making Cas something in the kitchen earlier, before…" He trailed off. They both knew before what.

"Yeah," Sam said gruffly, unable to bring himself to even say a modicum of thanks for fixing something for when Cas woke up. If he woke up. The only reason Sam wasn't advocating a trip to the hospital right now was that they'd lock Cas up under a seventy-two hour psych hold.

"I was wrong, okay?" Dean said. "Can we just move on and focus on helping Cas now?"

"He needed our help before."

"Dammit, Sam, I'm trying here."

Sam shook his head. He was still just so angry over this whole thing. And if Cas didn't pull through…

"I'm trying to understand what the hell was going through your head when you kicked our best friend to the curb," Sam said in a low tone. "Right when he really needed us. And I'm not coming up with anything."

A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked. "Yeah, well, when it comes to your safety, I don't see straight. That ain't exactly new."

"I'm not a child. And stop using me as an excuse for your actions. Because that puts them on me, too, you know."

Dean started shaking his head fervently. "No, it's on me, Sam. I know that, and I fully admit it. And- I don't know how, but I will fix this."

Sam didn't say he wasn't sure it could be fixed, at least not between the two of them. Not easily, anyway. Cas…well, Cas never did seem able to hold onto a grudge. At the moment, though, all Sam cared about was Cas holding on to living.

When the transfusion was done, Sam removed the empty blood bag and replaced it with a saline one to keep Cas hydrated. God, he looked awful still, with bruise-dark circles under his eyes and pallor still far too pale.

Sam stayed in the chair by his bed. Dean puttered around the room, sometimes sitting in another chair on the opposite of the bed, sometimes getting up to pace, other times taking the bowl of soup into the kitchen to reheat it, just so it would be warm for when it might be needed.

Finally, after an entire night of worry and waiting, Cas began to stir. First a muscle in his cheek twitched, and then his eyes began moving under his closed lids. Sam leaned forward and gripped his forearm.

"Cas? Can you hear me?"

Dean straightened, but stayed hovering nervously on the other side of the bed.

Cas's eyelids slowly slid upward, and he blinked groggily at the ceiling for a moment.

"Hey," Sam said softly, giving his arm a light squeeze to draw his gaze. "How are you feeling?"

Cas sluggishly lowered his gaze to his prone body, then back up to Sam. "Apparently not very well," he croaked.

Sam grimaced in sympathy. "You're safe, though," he said. "You're not in a djinn dream. You know that, right?"

Cas stared at him dully for a long moment. "Djinn dream?" he repeated.

"Yeah, you were caught by a djinn, remember?"

A small pinch appeared between Cas's brows. "And now you're going to tell me I was rescued," he said blandly, and lolled his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. "You'll have to try harder than that to get me to submit."

Sam's pulse gave a flutter of trepidation, and he exchanged an alarmed look with Dean. "Um, Cas?"

Cas glanced down at himself again. "If you think infirmity will keep me a prisoner, I promise you I will find a way to end this dream."

"Cas, buddy, back up," Dean interjected. "You're not dreaming. You're actually here, in the bunker, with me and Sam. And you're beat up because a djinn had been feeding on you. And because, uh…" He shot Sam an uncertain look.

"Cas," Sam picked up carefully. "Do you remember what happened the last time you woke up here?"

"Which time?"

Sam frowned. "What do you mean which time?"

"All the alternate worlds included you having found the Men of Letters bunker," Cas replied tiredly.

Sam went rigid. All the alternate worlds? "Cas," he breathed. "How many times did the djinn poison you?"

Cas rolled his eyes in lieu of a shrug. "I don't know. This one is number six? I lost count."

Sam's heart skipped a beat. Six times? That he knew of?

"Cas, this is real," he insisted.

"Of course," Cas said hollowly.

Sam leaned forward earnestly. "Don't you remember me coming to get you from the djinn's lair? At the tattoo shop in the mall?"

Cas just gazed at him blankly. "No."

Sam felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. Shit, this was…really bad. What were they gonna do if they couldn't convince Cas this was reality? As long as he believed he was trapped in a djinn dream, he'd be determined to commit suicide in an effort to wake up.

"Cas, you gotta believe us," Dean pressed. "Djinn grant wish fantasies, right? Remember that I kicked you out of the bunker? And now you're hurt bad. Pretty sure that's not on your wish list, pal."

Cas shifted his gaze to Dean. "The fact that I'm here at all speaks for itself."

Dean blanched as though he'd been physically punched in the kidneys, and even Sam felt sick to his stomach at that. This was almost like when he'd been hallucinating Lucifer all the time, unable to tell what was real and what wasn't.

Sam caught his brother's gaze and jerked his head toward the door. Dean looked reluctant, but stood up and followed him out. There weren't any weapons in the room, so they could leave Cas unattended for a short minute, but Sam still left the door cracked so he could see inside from the hallway.

Dean ran a hand over his hair. "God, what did I do?"

Sam bit back the urge to ask the same question. That wasn't going to help.

"Cas was dosed with djinn poison at least six times," he said instead. "Every case we've run into, the victims have only ever been poisoned once. Maybe that's part of what's going on, why he doesn't believe he's awake now."

Dean straightened. "Think the antidote will fix it?"

Sam's jaw tightened. "I don't know. But it's something to try."

"Yeah, okay. I'll go make some."

Sam nodded, and spared a moment to watch his brother's retreating back down the corridor, and then he turned to go back into Cas's room. Or what should have been Cas's room the first time they brought him home. Sam shoved those angry thoughts down for now and went to the bowl of soup on the desk, which was still warm.

"Can you eat something?" Sam asked.

Cas refused to look at him. "I told you, I won't submit. Even if starvation is my only option."

Sam's stomach clenched, and he had to swallow a spiky lump gathering in his throat. "Okay," he said quietly, setting the bowl of soup aside and taking his seat by the bed.

He wished there was something he could say, but words weren't gonna convince Cas of anything right now. And so Sam sat in silence, not knowing what else to do.

Dean came back a bit later with the antidote. Cas was passive as they gave it to him. Sam noted Dean had made it a larger dose, which, given the amount of poison Cas had been subjected to, probably wasn't a bad idea. And because of that very fact, Sam knew better than to expect immediate results.

So now they just had to sit back and wait for the antidote to kick in…and pray it worked.

.o.0.o.

Castiel was having trouble focusing. His vision kept warping, and he was becoming hot and cold by turns. He started to twist under the oppressive sheets, low keens escaping from his throat.

A cool hand pressed against his forehead.

"He's got a fever."

"Maybe it's the antidote working."

"That's not how it normally works."

"This isn't a normal situation."

The hand moved away, but a few moments later it was replaced with a cool, damp cloth.

"Hang in there, Cas."

He was trying to. But he was so, so tired…

Blurred colors coalesced into shapes and contours, and Castiel found himself staring at two very worried faces. He squinted at them. "Dean?" he rasped in disbelief. "Sam?"

"Yeah, hey," Dean replied. "You with us?"

Castiel's brow pinched. "Aren't we in the same room?"

Dean gave a nervous sort of laugh. "Uh, yeah…"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Sam asked, sounding tense.

Castiel grimaced as he tried to think. There were…several strange memories jumbled in his head, but they were all conflicting, and he was fairly certain many of them had never actually happened…

His blood ran cold. "There was…a djinn?" he asked fearfully. Please, no…

"Yeah, and do you remember me finding you and getting you out of there?" Sam asked urgently.

Castiel swallowed against a hard lump in his throat. "I'm…not sure." He had vague flashes of Sam carrying him through a dark room, but he couldn't quite place them with any certainty.

"But you know this is real, right?" Dean pressed. "That you're not stuck in a djinn dream?"

Castiel felt a thrill of fear that that's exactly where he was, but he took a moment to consider it. The djinn fantasies always felt so real, yet there did seem to be a sort of extra weightiness to this reality—pain in his shoulders and wrists, bone-deep exhaustion, yet also an odd mental clarity he didn't think he had previously…

"I…think so?"

The Winchesters exchanged a nervous look at the uncertain inflection in his tone.

"I don't understand," Castiel continued. "How did you find me? Why did you find me? I thought…"

Sam leaned forward earnestly and laid a warm hand on his forearm above the bandages. "Cas, I had nothing to do with Dean sending you away. He told me it was your idea, but I didn't understand why you would just leave, so I went after you. Asked around at the bus station to find out which bus you took, followed your trail and found the mall, thought you might have gone inside. Turns out you did, and I found the djinn and killed it, then found you tied up in the back of the tattoo shop."

Castiel's head was spinning from Sam's ramble, but he thought he got the gist of all that. He flicked an uncertain look at Dean. "Then…I shouldn't be here…"

"Yes, you should," Sam answered fervently, shooting his brother a dark look. "There's nowhere else you should be."

"But…"

"Cas, I am so sorry I made you leave," Dean jumped in. "I was just…" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Nothing I can say will ever make up for what I did, kicking you out like that."

Castiel looked away. "I understand why you did."

"No, you don't," Dean countered, tone oddly desperate and wrecked. "Cas, I- I panicked. Sam had just nearly died, and he almost got hurt again with the reaper chick, but that's no excuse for telling you to leave. You didn't deserve that."

"I made a mess of things, Dean. Again."

"What I did was worse," the hunter replied with full conviction. Dean's eyes wavered with genuine remorse. "Worse than all of it."

"And you don't have to earn the right to come back here," Sam put in. "You're our best friend; you never have to earn that." He let out a sigh and glanced at Dean again with a heavy look. "Family forgives each other."

Moisture glistened in Dean's eyes, and he ducked his head for a moment. When he raised it again, his eyes were clear as he fixed Castiel with a look of staunch resolve.

"Let me start over. This is your home, with us. This is your room. And…" Dean's voice cracked. "And, shit, you nearly died because of me and will probably be stuck in bed for several days recovering, but I'm gonna get you back on your feet, I promise. And then I'll be a better friend, one you do deserve."

Castiel stared at them both, astounded. "Um, alright." He hesitated before asking, "You're certain this isn't a djinn dream?"

The looks of utter horror on their faces instantly made Castiel feel guilty…and oddly reassured him. He figured hallucinations would have casually assured him he wasn't dreaming instead.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I think I'm just…adjusting, still."

Sam nodded somewhat stiffly. "Just, if you ever have any doubts, come talk to us, okay? Don't…don't do anything…" He trailed off, throat bobbing.

Castiel dropped his gaze to his bandaged wrists, a fuzzy memory from the library resurfacing. "I'm sorry," he said again, this time in mortification.

"It's okay," Sam quickly said, then winced. "I mean, we get it. You weren't thinking clearly. But, you're better now?"

"Yes," Castiel said slowly. "I am."

At least, he thought he would be. The ruinations of all those false realities were already beginning to crumble, along with the crushing blows that had actually occurred. And with the Winchesters' ardent declarations, Castiel thought that there was perhaps hope to pick up those shattered pieces and begin to rebuild.