A/N: So I have a follow-up chapter! I'd wanted to write it from the start, but was waiting to see what the show did, and then THAT EPISODE. I had to tweak quite a bit to match their portrayal of Chuck yet still flow from the first part. But I really wanted the Winchesters in this, as I always do, lol.
Dean knew the moment Amara had fled the warehouse, for the strange tug that reached all the way into his bones settled down in her absence. Even though Chuck had told him and Sam to wait outside until called for, Dean nevertheless burst into the building in time to see Chuck pull a fistful of blazing energy from Cas's chest. Dean could only assume based on the high-pitched whine that it was an angel; he just hoped it was Lucifer.
Cas was left gasping for breath, and then Chuck was catching him and lowering him to the floor. Dean watched his best friend jerk as though in a seizure, until Chuck settled his hands on Cas's chest and face, and suddenly the tremors ceased and Cas went limp. Dean's heart stuttered.
"What did you do?" he demanded, finally storming over.
Sam followed more warily, sweeping his gaze around. He didn't have the same instinctual assurance that Dean did concerning Amara.
Chuck rose to his feet. "He's just sleeping."
Dean dropped to his knees next to Cas, reaching out to clasp the angel's shoulder. When Amara had shown Dean how she was torturing Lucifer, he'd gotten a glimpse of Cas burned and bloody, spreadeagled against the rail car like a pinned butterfly. Those wounds were gone now, and Cas looked peacefully asleep.
Except, angels weren't supposed to sleep.
Dean swallowed. "He's okay, though?"
Chuck sighed, and glanced at a lantern-like container sitting on the ground to his right. Inside, Lucifer's grace simmered, patches of the bluish-white grace mottled with gray or dull, pewter knots. "My sister wasn't kind to them."
Dean's stomach twisted, imagining Cas's grace in similar shape. "So fix him," he snapped.
Chuck shook his head, actually looking abashed. "It's not that simple."
"You're God." Dean's voice was rising, and he ignored Sam's nervous fidgeting. He wasn't afraid of Chuck smiting him for insolence. He'd had to talk the Almighty into confronting Amara at all. Chuck was a wishy-washy has-been with one foot out the door on this world, but Dean had managed to convince him to finally take some action and at least save Cas.
"You've resurrected him how many times now? That means you must still care about him."
"He chose this, Dean."
"He was trying to help stop Amara! You know, since you wouldn't show your face."
"You've brought Cas back before," Dean continued desperately.
"From Death. That was easy when he was under my payroll. But Amara's power rivals mine," Chuck admitted begrudgingly.
Dean gritted his teeth, and looked back down at his unconscious friend. Lucifer couldn't have treated Cas all that well, either.
"He'll live, though, right?" Sam finally spoke up.
Chuck stared at Castiel for a prolonged beat. "Yes."
Dean squeezed Cas's shoulder. He'd take it. Weakened grace, no grace, human—as long as Cas was alive and back with them, the rest didn't matter.
Dean bit back a wave of bitterness as he looked up at Chuck again, and tried to put as much sincerity into his tone as he could. "Thank you."
Amara was still out there, and Dean wasn't sure Chuck was up to the fight—or if he himself could even resist the hold Amara had over him—but he had Cas back, and that was a start.
"Uh, mind zapping us back to the bunker?" Dean added.
Chuck was still gazing at Cas, and without responding, knelt down next to the unconscious angel. "There is something I can do, at least. Dean, can you prop him up?"
"What?" Dean blinked in confusion as Chuck started pulling Cas upright and pushing him toward Dean, who suddenly found himself with arms full of limp angel. Chuck moved around to Cas's back.
Dean adjusted his grip, Cas's head resting against his shoulder. "Uh, what are you doing?"
"Just hold him up like this," Chuck replied. He spread his hands out over Cas's shoulder blades.
The space behind Cas rippled like a mirage, and Dean's breath froze in his lungs as the air bent into a shimmering silhouette, two arcing angles extending out from Castiel's back. Dean heard Sam suck in a sharp gasp, but he couldn't even tear his gaze away to exchange a startled look with his brother, for Dean's attention was riveted on the wispy, shadow-like appendages forking out like bare tree branches.
Not branches, though. Bones. Skeletal wings protruded from Cas's back, not fully corporeal, but visible enough for Dean to see the raw flesh and few matted feathers clinging to shafts like the last stubborn leaves staving off winter. Bile rose in his throat, and he almost jerked away from the horrific sight mere inches in front of him, but these things were attached to Cas, were Cas.
Dean tightened his arms around his friend, holding the angel closer.
"Did Amara…?" He swallowed hard. He should have stopped this. Should have gotten through to Cas sooner, before Amara had a chance to take Lucifer.
"No," Chuck said, for once sounding genuinely grieved. "His wings have been broken for a while."
Dean snapped his head up. "What? Since when?" Cas had never mentioned…dammit, why hadn't he told them? Dean mentally cursed his best friend—and himself. He knew Cas had a hard time recovering after Rowena's spell; he should've pressed more.
But he never did. And maybe that's why Cas hadn't volunteered anything. Plus, it was the Winchester way, to hide perceived weaknesses and pain under a facade of bravado. And Cas learned those things from Dean and Sam.
"Since he got his grace back," Chuck replied, running a hand down one wing. "It wasn't whole after what Metatron did to it."
Now Dean glanced up at Sam, whose throat bobbed as he also processed that tidbit. Cas hadn't been okay for a long time, then. And neither of them had noticed. Sure, Dean was well on his way down the dark side with the Mark, but that wasn't an excuse for after. After, when he'd been so overcome with guilt over everything that ignoring was easier than talking about it.
Dean looked back in time to see a golden aura start to glow in Chuck's palms. Entranced, Dean watched the light pour out like water, swelling as it wrapped around Cas's broken wings. Chuck moved his hands up slowly, guiding the warm luminescence. Dean's eyes widened at the sections of wing that began to fill out, flesh and muscle coating brittle bone. Gray shoots sprouted from the bones, fanning out into a mass of onyx black feathers. Though still partially wispy in form, Dean was close enough to see iridescent streaks of indigo and dark teal.
"I made a lot of angels, in the beginning," Chuck said, almost conversationally. "Too many to keep track of, really. But Castiel…I actually took the time to craft his wings by hand." There was an undercurrent of nostalgia and remorse in his tone, so much so that Dean thought it almost genuine.
He held his breath as God's power drew closer to his face, warming his skin like a candle's flame. But Dean didn't dare move or risk jostling Cas as Chuck worked his way up one wing, the halo of light in his hands gradually replacing skin and bone with lush, vibrant feathers and strong limbs.
"You were right, Dean," Chuck admitted softly. "I always knew Castiel was special. I didn't know just how far he would take things…nor was I thrilled with some of his decisions. But he meant well. And I guess I kept bringing him back because I wasn't ready to let him go."
Dean studied Chuck's face in the aura of golden illumination. Maybe Chuck still cared after all. Maybe it would be enough to rally him to stand up against Amara, to defend the creation he used to love. Or at least the few precious pieces he still did.
Finally, Chuck extinguished the light and rose to his feet, taking a step back to admire his work. Castiel's wings were huge and robust and whole, spilling out to the sides with the long primaries curling forward and around Dean, almost like a protective canopy. He could hardly breathe in the astonishment of their magnificence.
Nodding in satisfaction, Chuck waved a hand over them, and the air wobbled as the appendages vanished. Dean stared at the empty space where they used to be, and found himself stupidly wondering how Cas was gonna fit in the Impala with huge, invisible wings like that. Though, back when they had first met, the angel had ridden in the backseat or shotgun just fine. It was one of those earthly plane, ethereal plane paradoxes he couldn't quite wrap his head around.
Dean carefully shifted Cas so the angel was leaning back in the crook of Dean's arms, even as he tensely felt around Cas's shoulder blades for some invisible wing spans. There weren't any, though.
"Cas?" he called, hope clawing at his throat.
"Let him sleep," Chuck said. "He deserves it."
Dean had to bite back a protest. He'd rather Cas wake up so he could tell his friend how stupid he was, and how much he was loved. But yeah, he couldn't argue that Cas had definitely earned some R&R after these past few months.
"What now?" he asked.
Chuck shrugged. "Now I'm entrusting Castiel to your care."
Dean almost snorted. "Not sure we're all that good for him," he muttered, even as the thought of letting Cas go twisted his stomach into knots. He'd do better this time. He had to do better.
Chuck just quirked a knowing smile. "You two are all he's ever needed."
Sam finally moved closer and knelt down on the other side of Dean, placing one hand on Cas's shoulder. The brothers shared a look of resolve, to look after Cas like they should have from the start.
"And Amara?" Dean asked.
Chuck's shoulders slumped a fraction. "She's not finished."
"Are you?" Dean held his gaze for an extra beat, and for a moment it looked as though the all-powerful God was going to duck his head away, but finally Chuck interlocked his fingers and stretched them till they cracked.
"Story's not over yet."
"What…" Sam cleared his throat. "What about Lucifer?"
Chuck's gaze drifted to the dim lantern. "He and I need to have a talk." Chuck sounded almost sad as he picked up the archangel's container. "Uh, tell Castiel…the resurrections were never a punishment."
Dean bristled. "You should tell him yourself. You owe him that."
Chuck just shrugged, and with a snap of his fingers, the warehouse vanished to be instantly replaced with the familiar concrete walls of the bunker. Dean gritted his teeth, an insult ready on his lips. God would probably hear him, regardless.
He glanced at Sam, who gave him a wan smile before glancing down at Cas lying between them. Together, they lifted their angel off the floor and carried him to his room where he could rest more comfortably. Sam went to get more blankets while Dean propped a pillow under Cas's head.
"I'm sorry your dad's a dick," he whispered. "But he came through for us. For you." Dean slowly sank onto the edge of the bed, clasping Cas's forearm to reassure himself they had actually gotten him back.
"Maybe that won't mean much to you, after everything. But Sam and me are still here, and we're not going anywhere." Dean swallowed around a lump compressing his throat. "Promise me you're not going anywhere, either."
Cas didn't respond, of course. Dean didn't know what shape he'd be in when he woke, but they'd deal with it. Maybe God wasn't fully ready to step up, but he hadn't abandoned them, not completely. Chuck cared about Cas, and the Big Man might have tried to deny it or brush it off, but Dean had seen it when Chuck was fixing Cas's wings. There was still love there.
And that could still save them.