Authors Note: After much deliberation, I decided to make the teaser bit before this chapter the official first chapter and just leave it at that. I have gone into re-edit mode like crazy on this piece and have decided that even though it may have a couple mild mentions of slash, that it will not be graphic whatsoever. Again, I'm trying to get more into the emotional, psychological and mental state of the relationship between Dean and Cas that's going to unfold and leave the physical to be the most discreet. I know, I know, bummer for some of you but please remember that this is my first time having the nerve to bring -any- form of slash out and I want to slowly ease my way into it. Again, disappointing for some of you who expect it to be straight up thrown in there, but frankly, I just can't see it going that far here. If at all.

Okay, now onto more babble and the reason behind this piece in the first place. So after watching the season 7 promo and having a complete and total freak out, this idea popped into my head that very same night. A warning to everyone, it is absolutely filled with angst (this chapter especially), rage, hurt, betrayal and even death (although a lot has been changing so nothing is concrete yet), so as you can imagine this will not exactly be a happy story, or at least not in my current state of mind. This was originally going to be another installment of my post 6x22 story "Walls" but after much deliberation, I just had way too many different ideas and decided to just make it its own piece. I certainly hope it doesn't disappoint.

Written: 01 September

Soundtrack: Whispers in the Dark by Skillet

Word Count: 3200+

"Our love must not be a thing of words and fine talk. It must be a thing of action and sincerity."

John 3:18 – The Bible

Chapter 2

Everything has changed. Whatever good memories he once had of time before he consumed the souls of Purgatory were now pretty much gone, forgotten, and whatever peace lay there beforehand was only to be consumed by his unrelenting and -unforgiving- guilt. Castiel had been saved from his nightmare, much like he had done with Dean in Hell but had ultimately failed with Sam in the Cage, and his absolution didn't feel anything like one in his eyes. Not really…

Castiel still felt the hollow presence, the millions upon millions of souls reaching out to him and begging him to take them back like a disgruntled group of martyrs. The evils of lives once slain and now stained within his very self. They were a smudge, a disease, a blackened cancer staining his entire soul and a choice that he knew for a pure hearted fact would never allow him to forget. He had made a choice, a desperate choice, and he realized only too late that he had made the wrong one. His life had changed, so much so that he couldn't even recognize it anymore for what it was. He felt foolish, stupid, and he couldn't be sure if it was because of his pride or if it was because he still felt completely alone, and expected that someone would actually be there for him. Or at least he had hoped for that chance; the sign of a reprieve.

He had found no solace in God, not that he expected to anymore, but still, how much he prayed every, single, day to receive some sort of sign. To tell him that he had done the right thing. The only thing. Done the righteous thing.

His pleas were always returned with nothing but silence.

It seemed now that the silence was his only friend, for it was the sole comfort he could find in all the darkness. The silence brought their own whispers, louder than the whispers of his brethren, the Winchesters, and Bobby Singer ever did. That's where he currently found himself now. Feeling shattered and broken and alone, even if he was currently staying with them within their walls, only out of pity he assumed, because he had nowhere else to go. He felt so very far away from them.

He should have felt comfort, joy, happiness, and maybe even love. He should have felt safe, but they had nowhere near that effect with every minute he spent there, each day he had with them. He was alone, and his soul felt it. Every, single day.

Castiel was always tired, tired of the looks, the whispers, even the harsh words they sometimes made sure he was certain to hear. But he was mostly physically tired of himself, his limbs sometimes trembling in response to his thin and weary mind. Where had he gone wrong? Where did it start? Why didn't he see any other options, seek any other paths, other than to work with a demon and the King of Hell of them all? It was too late to even consider that now. Crowley had long since been taken care of, for certain this time, but still that victory felt like an empty one with no meaning behind it. It didn't make him feel any better, only worse, simply because it should have never had to happen in the first place. He should have never had to destroy him, even if he did deserve it, only because he should have never forged an allegiance with him to begin with.

Again, it was far too late for wishful thinking at this point, but still he would try and hang on to it for dear life. Hang on to it like the hope he depended on to keep him strong in his nightmare, before the brothers ultimately rescued him. It didn't feel like such a save however, not anymore, not after learning the truth and what they ultimately thought of him now.

Castiel had broken that bond, shattered it, destroyed whatever little form of brotherhood he ever had with them and could never earn it back. Not how it had been before. He had missed that, still did, but he had stopped trying, trying to repair something that couldn't be fixed. Something that was irreparable. Knowing that all his attempts would be futile, he chose to leave alone what he knew was broken.

And what was broken, for good...

Castiel was currently on the roof sitting down, his face pointed upwards and eyes closed. He inhaled, took in a breath that felt muffled and needed effort while his limbs shivered from the cold that currently blew over the land of Sioux Falls. The rooftop of the Singer home was sometimes his only salvation, his exit, and his one real form of respite whenever he needed one. He could stay out here for hours, sometimes even days. That is until someone came looking for him, either wondering what he was doing or on rare occasion, actually concerned about his wellbeing. Those moments had been rare.

Nothing had been the same after that, since his pull from his own perdition, and he was more than confident that things would never be the same between them. Their actions spoke volumes to him. Their silence just as much. There had just been too much betrayal, too many doubts from both their sides and so many lies, and Castiel couldn't try to look past it even if his mind insisted it of him. He had given it all up to keep them, to save them and protect them, but he had done so in the most desperate of ways, only to ruin everything he had to hold onto in the first place. He had reached out to one person, the -only- one he could think of to actually reach out to in his time of need, and that was someone who hadn't closed their hearts on him. He found his message of help to be delivered through none other than she.

Claire Novak.

Jimmy's daughter and the last generation of his vessel's bloodline had heard his call, had dreamed of his desperate pleas and painful cries, and had ultimately found the Winchesters and given them his message. She begged them, pleaded with them to look past their angers and help him, to save him, and her desperation bled down through her very soul and into theirs as much as her many tears did. She was frantic, distraught and blatantly irenic. She wanted to find him peace, grant the angel absolution, and not because the being had once been her father or carried his face. She wanted salvation most for him, because he felt just as important to her if not more so now.

They asked her why and she replied honestly that she couldn't be sure, had never even asked herself that question, but something about the angel told her different. He had to be saved, in order for them to move on and look past their own hurts and shames.

Castiel had been their savior, her father once, and even though the spirit of Jimmy Novak wasn't around anymore she could still feel him; watching her and protecting her. She couldn't give up, not on Cas, and sure as hell made it known that they couldn't either no matter what the obstacles. They had to look past it, move on, and if they didn't care to then they would be the soulless ones, not the angel.

Even though they listened and ultimately went for it, it didn't feel anything like a victory. Or a triumph. Or even a salvation. It had simply felt, like the right thing to do. The only thing, and he couldn't be sure to what that referred to. He sometimes thought to himself, if they never wanted to save him in the first place, then why did they even bother to? He had asked her that on several occasions, for weeks after finally recovering from his ordeal, and she gave him but a simple answer each and every time. Knowing that he would want to hear it, had to hear it, needed to hear it. Even if it seemed like a lie, in her eyes at least, they spoke only but the sole truth.

"You deserve to be saved."

Her words held so much more meaning to him than anyone else's ever could, and he held onto their meaning more so than the souls ever did to him. She was right. Now if only he could get the brothers to feel the same, and maybe even himself, if not just a little more.

Little did he know that Dean had asked her that very same question, words of hate bleeding through his anger and showing her something she had already suspected. Her reply had been more simple, more straight forward and meaningful, only because she knew that he had felt a different kind of betrayal. One that was deeper, more personal, and hurt more than any other he had ever experienced in his life. Even in death. She knew the truth in him too, saw past the lies he told her and himself, and confessed to Dean the fact that she knew he already felt. The answer she saw that he already knew.

"He loves you."

She hoped that he would listen, that he would look past his pride and fear of acceptance and rejection, but she knew that it would not be easy. She wanted him to listen. Not just to her words, for not all words held real meaning, at least not to her, but to his heart, and to his soul, no matter how damaged it was. For there always laid the truth, and lies held no place in which to hide in them. She only hoped that he would listen, and see the fact for what it was. He loved him. Castiel in return, loved him back.


It had now been a year. A year since he had taken his ultimate fall and the brothers had pulled him out. It had been difficult, both filled with pressures and even more mistakes, but felt longer than a year nonetheless. His first few days, several months in fact had been spent in the panic room, body bruised, bloody and broken and mind seemingly beyond repair. The souls had left their mark on him, their dangerous deeds and ultimate punishments had been scorching and downright brutal. They had broken him, both in mind and in spirit, and nothing else seemed to matter for him after so many years of already feeling it. Castiel had given up, more than long ago as the words and actions of his past lay waste on him every chance it got. Hell was different for him with the souls, 100 years going more like a 1000, and even though it wasn't actually perdition, it still felt so much like it. Castiel had trapped himself within his own greed, and it was paying him back with every sense of dread it could imagine.

Most of it had been blurred out, it was his only way of coping it seemed, but bits and pieces still stuck out to him during his most solitary moments. He remembered the shedding of blood, the sharpness of pain, and even the tortures of words stinging more than any physical act ever did. Even when it was Dean he saw in front of him, inflicting the beatings and lashes of punishment that he thought he deserved, he knew in the end that it was never really him. Not really. He knew better, wanted to know better, but there were days where he wondered, if it had not all been an illusion. The other way around.

He always tried to focus on his memories, remember the times where Dean had been his friend and not his tormentor, but the souls had used them against him. Every single one he had they took for their advantage, and served their meanings for him well in their tortures.

The views changed when the real Dean found him, hanging on desperately to life as he found the former angel beaten and broken, clothing tattered and limbs askew and hanging out in odd angles in some places. The most obvious had been a broken leg, the injury inflicted by a false manifestation of Sam, but still seemed real enough to inflict an emotional scar within him. He saw pity in Dean's eyes, looking over the former angel carefully as he took in his appearance and carefully lifted him from the cold ground, supporting him in his arms like a child as he took him away from what he was sure would be his final resting place. The last words he heard could still be echoed in his brain, long after Dean had actually said them. He still couldn't help but wonder if they were even real, or if the sad emotion behind them was just as so.

"Oh Cas… What did they do to you?"

He had spent months in this retched room, body bandaged and burning, pain shooting through every nerve of his now claimed body and mind entirely a weakened wreck. He was more than certain that Sam's had found itself in a much more unstable state, thanks in partially to him, but he still couldn't help but wonder if everything in front of him was still just another illusion. The fevers his body bore those weeks did not improve the situation any more, and the lack of their usually sentimental words made it even more the harder. He would hear them from time to time, mostly from Dean, but he could never be sure for a fact if the words he would say were true, or if they were just a way to make him feel worse if they in fact held no meaning or emotion behind them.

He felt so tired, so incredibly weak, but his mind still insisted that what he was hearing wasn't in fact a lie, and his fluttering heart insisted that he needed to listen. Even through the pressure mounting in his head, the injuries that had riddled his body, and even the sufferings of torment he endured in his endless hours of nightmarish sleep, he always held onto their words. Much like the hope he had held onto as he waited for them. Waited for their help, in what he thought would be their final hurdle.

He had been wrong, so very wrong. The weeks that followed had been rough, desperate; the days and nights filled with screams coming both from him and the remnants of the souls he once tirelessly possessed.

They had long since left him, but still he felt them there, like a virus pulsing through his blood until they slowly but surely flushed themselves out. Dean was always there, Sam as well sometimes, but rarely did he ever see Bobby whenever he had one of his many countless episodes. The older man would blame it on the fevers, Sam on the nightmares, but Dean on the other hand would never say a word. Why that was, Castiel could never be sure, simply because he never stayed conscious long enough to actually get to ask. Dean would simply give him a nod, as if to assure him that everything would be alright and would lay a hand on his fevered forehead or bruised shoulder to prove it to him. He always relished those moments, hung onto to them for dear life every time he slipped back into the darkness. They seemed to be the only form of light he could find, and he always found that they brought some form of faith in him, even if it seemed like a false one.

The injuries eventually healed, the bandages on his left cheek being removed after just a few days, the ones taped around his ribs just a few weeks after, but the ones wrapped around his left leg and right wrist had to stay on much longer to ensure that the broken bones in them healed correctly. He had never experienced such physical pain before, but figured that it was normal for someone who was human.

That had been another result of his actions.

Once the brothers had found their way in and had pulled him out of his torment, they found that the souls had completely destroyed his grace and left him as nothing but a shattered and delicate mortal being. It was his consequence, but it would seem that they would not be the only ones.

He began to notice it just months after, his lapse of missed moments that would leave him feeling weak, shaky and sick. He had hidden it well, considering that the brothers rarely kept an eye on him after he was finally capable of physically taking care of himself. He had discovered that they were fainting spells, followed by a small occasional nosebleed at times, but were rare and far between. There had only been one instance where Dean had seen it, Castiel walking around the salvage yard and returning to the house only to find the hunter standing on the porch and noticing the small trail of blood starting to seep from his nose. He had asked him about it, Castiel refusing to mention the headache and sudden dizziness he was experiencing at that time, and simply stated that he had run into something because he wasn't paying attention. He left it at that.

He wiped it away with the edge of his sleeve, the dark sweater quickly removing any trace as he walked past him and through the door, making his way up to his room and locking himself inside.

He could feel his heart fluttering a little, almost as if it was struggling to keep a normal rhythm, but after just a few minutes of laying motionless on the bed it steadied, along with his slightly shaky breathing and pulse pounding dizziness that blacked him out for only a few seconds. The small round of retching after that had been the first time, as this latest episode slowly regressed. He had left it at that, but lately similar incidents had been becoming more frequent. He still hid them well, even when he didn't intend to, but it seemed that his time had finally run out and his control over the situation had finally refused to go unnoticed.

So here he stood, staring up at the pentagram currently welded in the panic rooms ceiling and relishing in its simplicity. He could recall the moment the symbol had first been made, even though his memories of millennia's past had slowly but surely started to fade away from him. He barely remembered his days as an angel sometimes, but there was always something to remind him. Unfortunately, today would not be one of those cherished days, but instead, a day that would unfold into another personal nightmare for him to endure, as well as a long awaited test.

He could feel it the moment his heart started to flutter, his breathing start to shorten, and his limbs begin to shake. His mind started to blank on him, the sharp pain creeping up his brow only growing worse with the light from above blinding him. He thought, that maybe it was now his time to finally say goodbye and find his peace in rest, wherever it may be.

It was these thoughts that had led to this event. He couldn't figure out why. Or perhaps, he couldn't figure out how it had taken so long to reach.

He didn't get a chance to ask himself, as his body began to seize.

To Be Continued…

Authors End Note: Wrote this in just 3 hours and couldn't help but wonder what was going through my head when I read through it. I don't think I've ever gotten so personal and mentally into something like this, but I rather enjoyed the challenge to myself. I shall wait patiently for your response and thank you for your support and reviews.