Pure, white energy crackled along his fingers. Her skin bubbled and peeled, melting under his touch. The smell of roasting flesh, the dying light in her eyes. The way her mouth opened in a silent scream of horror..

Castiel fell back with a cry and stared at his hands. The blinding light faded from his fingertips, leaving his skin electric, warm, energy pulsing throughout every nerve in his body. He couldn't understand what was happening to him or what he was. They were the questions that never found any answers. Answers that always seemed to elude him.

Castiel tore his eyes away from his hands and looked into the eyes of the nurse's corpse. The agony he felt in his chest crippled him and he found it hard to breathe. He had taken her life without a second thought like it was natural. Instinct and beyond his control. Something.. deadly that always seemed to ripple beneath his skin. The constant buzzing in his body, this unearthly yet excitable energy, wasn't strong enough to cancel out the sheer weight of guilt that left him lethargic. Guilt that he could never seemed to shake from his bones.

With a whimper, Castiel cradled her head in his hands and touched his forehead against hers. Tears sped down his face in hot torrents against his skin. It had been an accident. All of this.. an accident.

He caressed her golden hair and brushed gentle fingertips against her cheek. With a kiss to her temple, he whispered—

"Please forgive me."

The garden around him hissed and an incredible warmth blazed against his back. In the distance, he heard voices. Pain, suffering.. burning. They called to him. Incessant. Desperate. The voices begged him to save them and their sobs battered against his skull. They wouldn't stop. Castiel couldn't make them stop.

Castiel covered his ears with his hands and cried out, dropping his head between his knees. He could still hear them, calling to him, pleading with him. He couldn't escape. When he dared to look up, he saw the hospital blazing with its insides carved out. Half of it collapsed. Rubble all around him. Bodies.. everywhere.

"What have I done?"

:::

Dean couldn't even remember if he had stopped at that red light. Without thinking, he blazed through one of the stop signs just on the outskirts of town. The honk of a horn broke him out of his daze.

"Dude, slow down," Sam complained.

Dean didn't know how to explain it. He felt it. Something was incredibly wrong. He just couldn't put his finger on it. Another stop sign got the same treatment; a two-second jerk-stop before he put petal to the metal, making the car squeal.

"Dean! Come on, man."

"I got a bad feeling, Sammy. Something's wrong."

"—shit."

Dean snapped a quick glance to his brother.

All Sam did was point to the horizon. There, against the city's uneven skyline, was a thick billow of smoke. A cop car whizzed by them on the road, followed by an ambulance. Whatever was causing all this commotion, Dean could feel it all around them. The thick buzzing in the air, the thrill of danger, the song of sirens. All of it turned Dean's gut into a soup of dread, kicking around his nervousness with a vengeance. Dean prayed that all this shit—the smoke, the sound of the fire trucks—wasn't coming from the hospital. Obviously, God wasn't listening.

As Dean drove closer to the hospital, skipping stop signs and blazing through a slow intersection, all he could see was fire. Angry reds and oranges licked the night sky, creating its own sunset of devastation and anguish. Dean's insides were twisted and he could barely breathe. All he could think about was Cas. All he could see was Cas, broken and twisted in his mind. Dead. Again.

Dean choked back his pre-emptive sense of loss and swallowed down the thickness of his worry. No. Cas would be fine. He knew it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Dean knew Cas would be all right. Safe. He had to believe that for his own sanity's sake. Dean couldn't lose him. Not again. He couldn't handle that.

The Buick jerked to a stop a short distance away from the hospital. Even here, safe in the car, Dean could almost feel the heat on his face. Dean didn't even take a breath before whipping the door open, spilling out into chaos. Cops and firemen, patients and doctors littered the street. Some of them had ash all over their faces, some of them burned. Dean felt nauseous. Behind him, Sam called out to him, but he didn't care. He was running as fast as he could toward the burning building. The only thing he could think about was finding Cas, clawing through the rubble and dodging the flames just to find his friend. To know that he was okay.

Dean flew by someone in uniform, a man who tried to stop him from getting closer. Even in the dull haze, he could hear Sam behind him, mentioning something about the FBI. He didn't care to hear the rest of it.

Ahead of him, the building groaned and another chunk of the roof slipped free, crashing below. There were screams of surprise, a scattering of people. Someone knocked into Dean's shoulder as he raced by, setting him off course. He stumbled two steps and quickly regained his balance. Dean had skinned his knee and the slight pain raced up and down his leg, but it didn't distract him from his mission. He had a full mind to enter the building itself, to find Cas and rescue him. But.. something didn't feel right. Something—his gut instinct, his conscious—told him that Cas wasn't in the building. That Dean would find him where he always seemed to be.

The garden.

Dean headed toward it. Just like everything else, the canopies of trees and once-lush plants were on fire, raining down ash and fire-fly sparks. The flutter of fire-lined leaves would have been ethereal, beautiful even, had this not been a gruesome scene. Bodies peppered the charred ground, their faces warped in horror. And in the middle of it all knelt Cas, hunched over with his hands over his ears. He was the only thing untouched, white scrubs still pure despite the carnage all around him.

Dean didn't even hesitate. He ran toward him and plopped down on his knees beside him. Cas didn't even react, hands still over his ears, whispering something Dean couldn't hear. As gently as he could, Dean peeled Cas' hands away from his head.

"Cas.."

"What have I done? What have I done?"

Cas kept mumbling and tried to pull away, but Dean wouldn't let him. Cas seemed lost inside his own head, shocked with grief. Tears were in his eyes, his face contorted in agony. It wasn't pain from anything physical, Dean quickly learned. He had no cuts or bruises on his body as far as he could tell. It was a mental anguish, crushing guilt. Dean knew the signs of guilt like the back of his own hand.

Suddenly, Cas jerked his body, struggling as if he were trying to get away. Dean hugged him close, whispering in his ear. "Cas, it's me! Dean. Come on, buddy. You're safe. I got you."

"Dean..?"

Dean looked down into those wide, blue eyes. "Yeah, it's me."

"You came back?"

"Yeah, o'course. I wasn't going to leave you."

Right then, Cas melted into him and buried his face into his chest. Dean exhaled hard and pulled him in tighter. Thank God, he was safe. He felt incredibly relieved, but it was short-lived. Around them was a circle of bodies. Patients, nurses, doctors. For a second, Dean feared that Cas had gone on a wild killing spree, fueled by psychosis or something worse. Then he smelled it. Sulfur, thick and rank, filling his nostrils and almost making him gag. These.. people had been demons before Cas had burned them out, leaving smoking hulks behind. It didn't make sense that demons had been behind all of this, targeting a mental hospital filled with people who were.. worse for wear. Easy vessels? Maybe they had been looking for Sam or—

"I can hear them, Dean. They're in pain. So much pain."

Dean swallowed hard.

"I have to help—"

Dean didn't have a chance to stop him. With a burst of strength, Cas jumped up out of his arms and ran… toward the building. Dean's heart punched against his chest and he struggled to get to his feet.

"Cas!"

But he was gone. Just like that.

"Shit!"

Without hesitation, Dean started in after him. Sam's voice called out to him and he stopped, whipping around to see him run up. Dean didn't even let his brother breathe before he said—

"Cas just went in there. I'm going after him."

Sam nodded and turned, taking a step toward the building himself. With a flash of his hand, Dean jerked him back. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm going in with you—"

Dean glared at him. "The fuck you are. No. You're staying right here."

"I'm not gonna to let you go in alone. No way."

"Sam, I'm not fucking around here. You can't go in there. I mean it, man."

Sam wasn't listening. With all his sasquatch strength, he jerked away and ran off.

"Fuck!"

Dean growled and headed in after him, quick on his brother's heels. The heat of the flames and the sting of thick smoke rose up to greet them. Dean felt like his lungs were in a vice-like grip, squeezed until he had no choice but to let out a ragged cough. It shook his whole body and left him weak. Goddamnit. He had to try and keep the smoke out of his lungs as best he could. Quickly, Dean shrugged out of one of his shirts and held it over his nose and mouth. Sam quickly followed suit, doing the same, before they both headed off down one of the main hallways. Here, the fire leapt out at them, trying to claw and grab with scorching heat. The smell of burning flesh, the screams of agony from those still stuck in the building..

Dean's chest constricted with anxiety. All he could think about was Hell; the flames, the screaming. It ate at his conscious and left him weak in the knees. Dean expected to see Alistair around every corner with his haunted smile and black, cadaverous eyes. But he wasn't there, hiding in the shadows, waiting for Dean to carve into the next soul on the rack. It was just Sam, his pain in the ass little brother. Dean took solace in that. He wasn't in some.. fucked up nightmare or there, back in Hell. He was here; on the surface, on another job with Sam.

Just as soon as Dean regained his mental stability, Sam waffled on his feet. His little brother pitched forward and caught himself last minute on the doorjamb. Dean was there in a second, by his side when Sam called out in pain. Whimpering, Sam held his head in his hands.

"Whoa, whoa. Sammy, you okay?"

Dean put a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder. Sam took an adverse reaction to that, thrashing as if a demon had dug into his flesh. The memories of Hell were happening to him too, Dean thought. He rushed forward quickly and grabbed Sam's face, jostling him just so that his brother could concentrate on something else. Not Hell. Not flames. Just him.

"Sammy, Sammy!"

Sam growled. The sound died down into another painful groan, his eyes pinched tight.

"Come on, Sam! Look at me!"

Reluctantly, as if he were scared, Sam peeled open his eyes slowly. Dean tried to give him a proud smile as if to let him know he wasn't alone.

"It's me. Your big, awesome brother Dean. Okay? You're not in Hell, dude. You're not back there. Okay? Come on. Look at me."

Sam blinked several times, nodding slowly, jerked motions that were more forced than anything.

"I need you to keep it together. Keep it to-fuckin'-gether. Come on, dude. I need you stay with me."

Sam nodded again, more confidently and spared a tiny smile. "Yeah."

"You good?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Let's find Cas and get the fuck outta here."

Together, with shirts reapplied to their faces, they started moving down the hallway. Again, something in him, something like a sixth sense, guided him in a specific direction. He wasn't about to question why or how, or even try to explain it. Maybe it was some profound bond bullshit Cas had mentioned a while ago. Maybe they were linked. Dean didn't care. It had worked before and Dean didn't have anything else to go on. They needed to get out of here as fast.

They came to a hole in the floor, black and deep, yet easy to jump over. It reminded Dean of a monster's maw, jagged and broken floor tiles like teeth ready to cut them to pieces. Dean looked back at Sam and nodded, shouting out for Cas before sailing over it in one leap. The fragile flooring on the other side groaned and dipped down an inch, making Dean yelp out in surprise. He stumbled, catching himself on a discarded gurney, before righting himself and turning to look at Sam. Except.. Sam wasn't looking at him. Instead, his brother stared down another hallway, face glazed over like he had been hypnotized.

"Sam!"

Sam didn't listen. Without a word, without looking at his brother, Sam walked off and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.

"Sam!"

Dean yelled until his lungs hurt, nearly frantic. He couldn't lose him here, not in this goddamn place. With how everything was falling apart around them, with how delicate Sam seemed to be, losing his brother here was not a fucking option. Dean stepped back once, twice, and readied himself to jump back over and chase after his brother. Another voice made him stop.

"Dean!"

It was Cas and he sounded close.

Dean teetered unsteadily between his choices; go find Cas because he was nearby or take his chances and go find Sam. The guilt of both choices mounted inside his head. His heart told him to go find Sam, but the logical streak in him demanded that he get Cas because he sounded closer.

"Dean!" Cas' voice again.

"Sam!" Dean screamed out, choking back another ragged cough. No answer.

"Fuck," Dean hissed, feet stuttering a few steps. Angry, he pounded his fist against the wall. "Fuck!"

He couldn't waste any more time. With a growl, Dean turned away from the hole, away from Sam, and charged toward Cas' voice. The crushing guilt almost stole his breath away, filling his lungs with the quiet burn of rage.

"Cas!"

The name was a hiss of vehemence. Somewhere in the distance, in one of the rooms off the hallway, Cas called back. Dean followed the call like sonar, rounded the hall and ducked into one of the side rooms. There, in the corner, huddled Cas.

Without hesitation, Dean headed toward him, his anger pounding out a hurried tempo against the floor. Cas looked up at him and whispered his name in the same way he always did; with more emotion and love than an angel had the right to feel. Dean grabbed his arm tightly and yanked him up. Cas yelped in pain and stumbled to his feet. The angel struggled against him when Dean tried to lead him back into the hall. It just pissed off Dean more until—

"Dean! The child!"

Dean looked back to see Cas pointing at the small, slumped form. It wasn't moving, covered in a thick blanket and laying prone. With a soft exhale, Dean let Cas go and went for the kid. The child was a little girl with sandy blonde hair, green eyes and freckles. He stooped low, covered her face with his shirt, and picked her up to hold her close.

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

Cas nodded and turned, leading the way into the hall. It didn't take more than one or two steps before he stopped dead, staring ahead. When Dean rounded the corner, he saw why.

"Well, hello, boys. Fancy meeting you here."

In the dim haunted light, a woman with brown hair, eyes and bright lips stood, smiling like the cat that had caught the canary. Dean knew that smirk, that face, anywhere. Of all the shit—

"Hello, Deano," Meg crooned. She looked at Cas hungrily, raking her eyes all over him. "Clarence.."

Instinctively, Cas took a step back.

"I should have known your stink was all over this shit."

"Now, is that the way to greet an old friend? Come now. Show a little respect."

"Fuck you," Dean hissed.

Meg licked her lips, smile slowly crawling onto her face. "You'd like that, wouldn't you. Sorry, Deano. You're not my type." The demon slid her eyes to Cas. "Your boyfriend on the other hand.."

Dean's boiling anger made him tremble. "You lay a finger on him and I swear to God, I will break every bone in your body."

That fucking smile again. "How kinky. I didn't know you cared." Meg laughed lightly. "Don't worry, darling. I'm not here to break him. Just.. use him a little. I promise to return him.. in how many pieces, I don't know."

Dean clenched his jaw when she advanced forward, swaying her hips.

"Here, kitty, kitty."

Dean kept his eyes on Meg. "Cas.. listen to me."

Cas took another step back from her.

"That thing you did before, with those people and the light—"

Cas trembled like he was afraid.

"I need you to whip out that mojo—"

"I don't know how—"

"Cas! Just listen to me. It's inside you. Find it, whatever you gotta do—"

Meg was too fucking close.

"I don't—"

"Just trust me! Do it!"

Cas lifted his hand and whipped his head away. Dean bent his head low, covering his eyes and the child's face before blinding white light could burn out his retinas. He heard Meg scream in agony, the sound of a body hitting the floor. When the light faded, when Dean opened his eyes, he saw a trail of black smoke slither its way up into the ceiling and disappear. Cas was bewildered, looking at his hands with wide eyes. The angel turned to Dean for explanation.

"What—what am I..?"

"No time for that, Cas. We need to get out of here."

Urgency quickened their steps. With team work and tricky maneuvering, Dean and Cas were able to get the little girl across the devastated flooring. The heat was suffocating, the fire nipping at their skin. Soon, it all fell away in favor of the open sky and cleaner fresh air. Firemen were there immediately to take the child from Dean's arms, throwing a blanket over his shoulders. Several nurses—not demons as far as Dean could tell—stared at him.

"You're a hero," one of them whispered to him.

"Fuck that."

Dean shook his head, nearly insulted. Heroes didn't torture souls in Hell. Heroes didn't let down everyone around them. He wasn't a hero. Not at all.

While a paramedic came to his side, tried to tend to him, Dean growled and shrugged away. His eyes searched the crowd for his brother, the only person he cared to see. But he didn't see him. Dean panicked.

"I'm going to go look for Sam," Dean said to Cas quickly. He didn't even wait for an answer before turning toward the building again. He didn't give a fuck that he felt like collapsing or that his lungs burned every time he took a breath. He'd willingly die if he had to, just to find Sam. But he didn't have to go back into the inferno, into his memories of Hell. Ahead of him, Sam came out of the building carrying a fragile woman in his arms. Sam.. he was fucking hero. Dean swallowed down his relief and pride, watching Sam pass off the patient to one of the paramedics. Dean met him half-way.

"You okay, Sammy?"

Sam looked at him and nodded. "Yeah."

"Good because the next time you run off like that, I'm gonna break your fucking kneecaps. You get me?"

Sam tightened his jaw and looked away.

Dean grabbed him by the shoulder, drawing Sam's eyes back. "I mean it, man. Don't scare me like that. It's bad enough I have fucking Cas to deal with."

Right then, Sam looked past him. Dean turned to find Cas staring at him. His face didn't reflect his hurt, but those blue eyes seemed to drown in it. Dean didn't apologize. Instead, he turned away and headed for the car. In was a short, heated walk to the Buick, fueled with anger that Dean had difficulty getting a handle on. He threw the blanket aside and threw open the car door before slipping inside. Two car doors closed, indicating that Sam and Cas had gotten inside; his brother in the passenger seat and the angel in the back. No one spoke.

Everything was quiet. Too quiet. Dean sat there, staring at the steering wheel. He could still feel the heat on his face, the screaming in his head. He shivered in the dark, trying to get rid of those haunting memories of Hell. All of this.. had been too close for comfort. The carelessness, the unnecessary risks.

Dean put his hands on the wheel and gripped it tight. That anger was his passenger, stuck on his shoulder with no hopes of getting rid of it. It boiled under his skin, seared his veins. Dean could only think about how Cas had almost got them killed again. He should have let it go. Dean should have shrugged it off. But this wasn't the first time the angel had been incredibly stupid. Purgatory, the fucking souls.. Dean exhaled a hard breath and turned to look at Cas. In the back seat, the angel stared out the window, slowly turning to stare at him. Dean could see the regret in his face, the apology that was already forming on his lips. Cas looked as if Dean had kicked him or scolded him for peeing on the carpet. And that was without Dean having said anything at all.

Dean didn't fucking care if Cas felt terrible or knew that he had done wrong. He wanted Cas to know that this type of heroic, stupid bullshit wasn't okay. "What the fuck were you thinking back there, Cas?"

Cas didn't say anything. He did the opposite. Like a bratty teenager, Cas looked out the window and tightened his jaw.

That was fucking it.

Dean lunged back and grabbed him by the arm. His fingers were tight against his flesh, blunt nails digging into the underside of his arm. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

When Cas finally did, Dean could see his blue eyes and how they glistened with whatever he was feeling. Hurt. Crushed because Dean was disappointed in him. Maybe even a little bit of fear.

Dean didn't stop. "You almost got us killed back there!"

"Dean, I'm—"

"No. No. You don't get to talk. You don't get to apologize. Nothin'."

Cas closed his mouth.

"I swear to God, if you do something like that again, I'm gonna let you burn. I'm gonna let you burn, Cas, and do nothin' about it. That was careless and stupid. I don't do careless and stupid anymore!"

"Dean, come on, man," Sam whispered.

Cas never once looked away. His face did all the talking. The delicate lines twisted into a painful grimace and his voice was so small, so quiet that Dean almost didn't hear him. "You're hurting me."

Dean looked at his hand and jerked it away. His grip had left a red mark around Cas' arm, fingernails undoubtedly bruising his skin and leaving bloody little crescents. Despite all the anger, Dean felt guilty. He dropped his eyes and licked his lips. He wanted to apologize but thought better of it, turning away and starting up the engine instead. Cas had to learn his lesson. Immediately apologizing after the fact wouldn't do anyone any good.

Dean stepped on the gas and put as much distance between them and the hospital as quickly as he could. The city streets stretched into miles of highway, bleeding into hours on end. The sound of soft rock kept him company while Sam slept. Somewhere between Hastings, Nebraska and Bridgeport, Dean stole a glance at Cas. The angel was sleeping in the back seat, Dean's jacket between his face and the window. No matter how angry he had been at Cas, no matter how careless the angel had been, Dean couldn't deny that he cared about the son of a bitch. Enough to keep him neck-deep in trouble.

For hours, it was just he and the road. Dean tried to keep his singing to a hushed murmur and took a peek each time either of them fidgeted in their sleep. After a heart-filled yet quiet rendition of Sweet Child o' Mine by Guns N' Roses, Sam stirred and finally woke up.

He rubbed at his eyes. "Dude, are you singing?"

Dean scoffed and said, "No," while simultaneously clicking off the radio.

Sam smirked. "Where are we?"

"Just passed Casper."

"The ghost?"

"Wyoming, smart ass."

Dean flashed him half a grin. Sam smiled small in return before twisting in his seat to glance back at Cas. His little brother said nothing, turning back to look out his own window. Neither of them said anything. Dean kept his eyes mostly on the road, snatching quick glances at Sam when he could. Right then, he wondered what Sam thought about all this. Dean hadn't, for one second, forgotten what Cas had done to him. He was still fucking angry at him for that. Rightfully so.

"Hey."

Sam turned to look at him.

"You gonna be okay with this?" Dean tilted his head back to indicate Cas.

As if to make sure they were talking about the same person, Sam looked back at him. His eyes found his brother again. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"And if I'm not? You gonna dump him on the side of the road?"

Dean flinched like he had been hit.

"Look, Dean, I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

Dean tried to study his face, to read the riddle written there. He honestly couldn't tell if his brother was okay with Cas being here or if he was trying to hide how much he hated the angel. Sam looked away before Dean could get any answers.

The long, winding highway set his frayed nerves at ease. Only the hum of the Buick's engine disturbed the silence. It was an irritating noise that reminded him that this piece of shit car wasn't his, wasn't his baby. God, he missed her. The sleek black curves, the purr of her engine. He could listen to her all night given the chance again. The longing for his baby made him hate this pile of junk even more.

"Ran into an old friend," Dean said just to keep his mind off his car. The thought of her collecting dust.

Sam looked at him quizzically.

"Meg."

"Fuck," Sam hissed.

"Yeah," Dean smirked. "She wanted Cas.. well—wanted him, wanted him. Said something about using him. For what, I don't know."

"Can't catch a break."

Dean silently agreed. "Thought we'd lay low for a while. Go up to the cabin. Rest up and then figure all this shit out. We could all use some R and R."

"Yeah," Sam whispered before looking out the window again.

Quiet moments like these between the brothers were getting increasingly rare. Dean wanted to ask how Sam was doing, how he was feeling, but didn't want to impose. He didn't want to be that big brother, the one who didn't let the younger one breathe. Dean didn't want to mother him. Instead, he'd let Sam figure out his own shit. Dean would step in when things got tough, just like usual. But to see Sam hurt like this, to struggle being in his own skin.. it ripped him apart like nothing else could.

Dean swallowed back the urge to tell Sam that he loved him, that he'd be there if he needed anything. He wasn't about to grow lady parts, as Bobby often said, and start talking about feelings. No chick flick moments for the Winchesters. Dean opted for silence and just gave the back of Sam's head a hidden, appreciative smile.

The next day, they stop for lunch at an old diner. Dean spent most of the time biting back a grin each time Cas bit into his burger. Cas looked so goddamn happy eating it. He had to stop the angel from ordering another one, threatening that, if he got sick in the car, he'd throw him out of it.

Sam took over the driving once they got back on the road. The blurry line of trees outside the window acted like a lullaby. It hadn't taken long for Dean to pass the fuck out, drowning in a sea of distorted images. Some of them were of Hell; red and oranges, heat upon heat. He vaguely remembered a flash of Sam burning, calling out to him, screaming for help. Those terrible, frightening images had faded, replaced by a smiling Cas, eating burgers. They were in a park together, a green field surrounding them. That part of the dream had been peaceful. It warmed his heart, a feeling that lasted when Dean finally woke up to—Someone shaking him.

"Dean."

Dean jerked awake, tossing his head to look wide-eyed at his brother. Sam looked calm and wasn't in danger. It made Dean relax immediately.

"We're here."

Dean frowned and looked outside the window. The small cabin, Rufus' cabin, greeted him quietly, swathed in darkness. The starry sky stretched above him, accompanied by a sliver of the moon.

"What the fuck? I passed out for eight hours?"

Sam half-shrugged, half-nodded. "About six and a half." He grinned. "Not all of us drive like old women."

Dean snorted and opened the car door, stepping out into the clean air. His lungs appreciated the change from the stuffy car, the lingering hints of smoke. To the side of him, another door opened and closed. Dean could feel Cas slide up next to him, brushing arm-to-arm. It set Dean's teeth in a tight line. Too fucking close. As if Cas could feel his irritation, the angel stepped away from him, toward the cabin, and didn't look back. Not at him at least, but to Sam.

"Why don't you go inside, Cas?" Sam offered softly.

Dean watched him nod and then drop his eyes back, as if he were trying to sneak a quick peek at him. Saying nothing, he did as he was told and walked up the stairs and into the cabin.

Dean turned, moving to the trunk of the car. There was something he had to do. He popped the trunk and rummaged around, stopping when his eyes hit something tan and familiar. The trench coat. Gently, Dean brushed his fingers over it, savoring the feel of worn material. He fully planned to give the coat back to its rightful owner.. just not yet.

Forgetting it, Dean moved on, digging deep beneath the duffel bags of supplies. Cold metal danced along his skin when his palm slid over the sleek handle. By the time Dean had pulled out the angel-killing blade, Sam had poked his head around the side.

"What are you doing?"

Dean held it up for him to see. The moonlight caught it and shimmered down the blade.

"Uhh—"

"Look, Sam. We gotta make sure it's him."

"Dude. I thought you said you saw—"

"Forget what I saw, okay?" Dean stepped close to his brother. "We always make sure."

Dean left Sam behind with his confusion and headed into the cabin. Cas was still standing two steps into the main room as if he didn't dare move anywhere else without direction. He stood still, quiet, and didn't even turn around to look at Dean.

"Cas," Dean began sternly. "Give me your hand."

Cas turned slowly to look at him. His face was unreadable, but his eyes.. they were filled with a sadness that Dean couldn't place. A part of him wanted to reach out to the angel, hold him until he felt happy. The other part.. still wanted to punish him for everything that he had done to them. The latter part won out.

Without question, without hesitation, Cas held out his hand. He was so trusting, so unfailingly obedient that it made Dean ache inside. Dean swallowed it down and roughly took his hand, sliding the blade against his forearm. Hard. Too hard. Way too fucking hard. His own viciousness shocked him. And Cas bled, oh how he bled. The blood ran freely down his arm, splattering against the wooden floorboards. Quiet blue light pulsed beneath red, indicating that Cas was still Cas; an angel, his friend. Half an angel, Dean corrected. The light, his Grace, was too dull to be full-on. Somewhere along the way, Cas had lost some of his angel mojo.

When Dean finally looked away from the wound to Cas' face, his heart literally fell to his gut. Cas had never uttered a cry of pain, not even a whimper. But his face.. God. The angel just stared at him with a slight frown, more hurt than angry, while a single tear fell down his cheek. Cas didn't even make a move to stop the bleeding, letting the blood fall freely in a way that said; look what you did. Except with none of the vehemence behind it. Dean felt.. so fucking guilty. He wanted to drop the blade, get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. But Sam's sudden presence behind him threw everything off.

"Jesus, Dean."

Sam pushed past him and rushed to Cas' side, grabbing the arm and pulling. Cas stared at Dean as long as he could while Sam dragged him over to the small kitchen sink. Dean was the first to break the stare, moving off in the opposite direction, toward the back door. His guilt was the only thing that followed him into the cold night air, hanging over him like a death shroud. Even under the open sky, he felt as if he were suffocating, dying under the weight of all these fucking emotions. They hurt, every single one of them, and he couldn't escape. Not even for a second.

Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out Bobby's flask, putting it to his lips and taking a long, long drink. The alcohol buzzed in his throat and burned all the way down. It helped take some of the edge off, but did nothing to bury everything he was feeling. Not even close. The confusion continued to whittle his brain, the hurt rotting his bones. No matter how hard he tried, Dean couldn't forget the things Cas had done. Betraying them, taking down Sam's wall.

Dean took another long drink and walked down the back steps. There was only one thing that had always given him some sort of solace in the shit storm of his life. Now, in the thin sheet of snow, she was hidden under a tarp, protected from the elements. Dean grabbed a corner of the tarp and lifted it up and over her front end, revealing the black curves of the Impala. She felt cold to the touch, but that didn't matter. She was here.

"Hey, baby. Y'miss me?"

He ran a calloused hand over her again while the other encouraged his alcoholism. More burning, a little more oblivious to his pathetic life. Dean didn't have a whole lot of time to himself. Soon, Sam was exploding through the back door, trudging through the shallow snow to stand heatedly behind him.

"What the fuck is your deal, man?"

Dean clenched his jaw and said nothing. Instead, he occupied his lips with the flask and took another hard drink.

Sam grabbed his shoulder hard and whipped him around. "I said—"

Dean used the momentum to hit his arm away. "What's my deal? You want to know what my deal is. I'll tell you my deal." Alcohol had a way of loosening his lips. "It's fucking Cas, man. I don't know whether to.. be happy he's alive. Or.. kill 'im for all the shit he pulled!"

"Dean, he doesn't remember—"

"Yeah? Well that don't get him a clean slate," Dean said, a bit calmer. He took another drink.

Sam stared at him, bewildered. "Listen to you."

Dean said nothing, licking his lips.

Sam crossed his huge arms over his chest. "This is Cas here. Our friend. Don't you remember? What happened to the brother that stood up for him? That had a hard time believing he was in league with Crowley?"

"I got burned, Sam. I'm not getting burned again."

"A couple of days ago, you didn't even think he was alive. You were sick with grief, Dean. And now you want to forget all that and go back to not trusting him? Being angry about what he did?"

Dean clenched his jaw.

"Sometimes I don't get you, man," Sam shook his head and huffed out a breath.

A few seconds of silence and then—

"Look, Dean. You and I.. we've done some fucked up shit, okay. And so has Cas. I'm not discounting that. What I'm saying is.. none of us are perfect. I mean, we wouldn't even be here if it hadn't been for Cas."

"If he'd got you outta Hell right—"

"Dude, accidents happen. Getting me outta Hell right? That's not even the point—"

"Yeah, well. Him lying to us, working with Crowley—your wall. That is."

"Dean. Remember when I started the Apocalypse? When you said 'yes' to Alastair?"

Dean flinched.

"Yeah. Fucked up shit," Sam shrugged. "You know, do what you gotta do, but I'm not gonna hold anything against him."

Dean stared at him.

"Yeah, sure, I'm still angry. Every time I see.. his face, I'm reminded what Cas did, but." Sam shrugged again. "I don't know, man. A part of me thinks that this would've happened anyway. Sooner or later, the wall would've come down. Cas just helped it along."

"Doesn't excuse what he did."

"Yeah. Well, he deserves a second chance. You know that."

Dean looked at the ground.

"If you're worried about me, what I think about all this.. I'm okay. I really am. I forgive him, Dean. You should too. Don't be mad at him for my sake."

Dean didn't say anything. What was there to say? He couldn't just flip a switch and forgive Cas for everything, for hurting his baby brother. It would take time. A lot of fucking time.

They were quiet for a long time. Dean took another drink while Sam stared at the stars. Sam was the first to break the silence.

"What are we gonna tell him?"

"Nothing," Dean snapped.

"Dean—"

"No, look. We tell him nothing, all right? Not what he is, where he's from. Nothing."

"Dean, he has a right to know," Sam reasoned.

"He gave up that right a long time ago."

"That's unfair."

Dean glared at him. "What are we gonna say, Sam? 'Oh hey, by the way, you're an angel. Thanks for melting my brother's brain. You're a real pal!'?"

Sam couldn't open his mouth to reply before—

"There's a whole lotta other shit to consider, okay? Right now, he doesn't have to worry about anything. He's at peace. He doesn't remember what those souls did to him. He doesn't long for a home he'll never have again and he sure as hell doesn't remember how fucking painful it is to be human. He's oblivious to all the shit he's been through and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Fuck. I'd forget half the shit we've been through if I could," Dean muttered.

"Yeah," Sam whispered quietly. "I'm.. gonna go inside. Fucking freezing out here." A moment of quiet. "You gonna stay out here?"

"Yeah. Clear my head a little."

"Okay."

Sam left him alone. Dean could hear him stomp up the steps and go inside the cabin, shutting the door behind him. It was only him and the Impala, his baby, and a whole lot of thoughts. So Sam had forgiven him or so he said. It gave Dean a lot of think about. Maybe now he was more willing to give him a chance, knowing that Sam was fine with it; with Cas being around, things getting back to normal. For the first time, ever since Cas had died, Dean felt a little more hopeful. Like he was finally allowed to forgive and move on toward forgetting.

It must have been an hour since Sam had left him out here. Dean only snapped out of his thoughts, doubts and hopes when he heard the back door open and close again. This person was quieter, less confident in his approach. Dean didn't need to look in order to know it was Cas. The angel stood there silently. Dean could tell out of his peripheral that Cas was staring at the sky. He seemed perfectly content to just stand there, saying nothing. And even though he was an angel, Dean was concerned that Cas would freeze to death out here in just—

Dean looked at him a little more closely. Cas was wearing his favorite faded AC/DC t-shirt and worn pajama pants. They fit quite well, snug to his body, hinting at the well-toned muscle that lay underneath. Dean couldn't help but let his eyes wander down the length of him, memorizing every detail.

Dean looked away. Without saying a word, he outstretched the flask in a sort of peace offering. Cas took it gently. Dean didn't watch him, but could hear the swish of the liquid. The angel sputtered and coughed, handing it back to him at the same time. Dean smirked and tried to bite back an amused grin.

They still didn't say anything and Dean was perfectly fine with that. When Dean finally turned to look at him again, Cas was staring at the Impala. There was a thoughtful expression on his face and a small smile. He stepped forward and placed both hands on her hood, running a hand along the black surface. Dean watched his smile grow, deep and genuine, as if the world had revealed all of its secrets to him.

"This is familiar," Cas whispered. When he looked at Dean, his smile was warm. "You like this."

Dean quickly looked away and swallowed the hard lump in this throat. Goddamnit Cas, he thought, taking another drink. He blinked back something in his eye—something iwet/i—and growled in his throat. A noise to scare away whatever fucked up emotions were threatening to come out and devour him. As usual, Cas stared at him. Dean could feel his eyes burning patterns into his neck, like he was trying to figure him out; wondering how something so fucking broken, so hollowed out, was still alive and kicking.

"Dean.."

Dean closed his eyes tight.

"Whatever I've done to you—"

"Stop it."

Dean finished off the rest of the flask, throwing the liquid down his throat in such a hurry that it made his head spin. He felt woozy, but he knew that none of it was because of the alcohol. It was because Cas was suddenly so close, grabbing his free hand. Dean didn't dare move. His heart was racing in his chest, punching out notes against his ribcage. When Cas flipped his hand palm-up, Dean swallowed hard, watching his long slender finger trace the lines. Cas was studying his hand closely, touching him in a way that made Dean's skin flush. Suddenly, he was staring into those gorgeous blue eyes and watching those full lips move.

"These hands.. have been through so much."

Dean licked his lips nervously. "Cas.."

A shiver, a shudder—something—ran through his body, making his skin prickle. He was trembling and Dean couldn't pass it off to just the cold. He wanted to badly to touch Cas, kiss him, anything, and he was shaking with it. Cas didn't take notice or, if he had, he didn't pay any attention to it. Somewhere along the way, Dean must have dropped Bobby's flask because it was an empty hand that came up to brush against Cas' skin. He sent the apology of gentle fingertips against Cas' wound; something that had become a shallow scratch due to the angel's self-healing. With the touch, Cas let out a subdued sigh and stepped a little bit closer. Dean held his breath.

"Dean.." Cas looked into his eyes. "I may not know who I am or what I've done—"

Dean hung onto his every word, intoxicated by his proximity, his warmth.

"—what I do know.." A pause, the slight drop of his eyes. "..is that I love you and I would do anything for you because I can feel it, right here."

Cas lifted the hand and put it against his chest. His skin was warm, his heart beating wildly. Dean stopped breathing.

"I don't need a memory to know that."

A burst of nervous trembling racked Dean's body. He licked his lips again and his voice cracked. "Cas.."

Cas let his hand go, but Dean didn't move it. He kept it there, against the angel's chest, just so he could touch him just a few seconds more. The arm collapsed at the elbow when Cas stepped in closer to grab his face, to bring him into a delicate kiss. The instant their lips touched Dean let out a moan and almost lost the strength in his legs. The kiss.. was so chaste and so beautiful that he felt his eyes grow glassy. All of his pent-up emotions just.. fell away and he melted into that kiss, slowly opening his mouth to let Cas in. Their tongues slid together and Dean's hands slipped down to Cas' hips. The angel felt incredible this close and he savored every second of it. Their mouths fell into a rhythm, giving and taking, not even allowing them any second to simply breathe.

When Dean did let himself breathe, he held Cas' face gently as if he were made out of the finest china, kissing him with just the softest touch of his lips. Dean had intended that to be the end of it. He had intended to walk away, leave Cas there, escape from this, his feelings, everything. But Cas wouldn't have it.

The angel grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him in hard, revving up the passion. Dean's dick reacted first, hardening up quicker than it ever had. It pressed against the zipper of his jeans and made Dean ache. He wanted to fuck the angel until he was laid out and spent beneath him, covered in sweat. Blindly, he let his body do the thinking for him.

Dean returned the passion with a fire of his own, mouth and tongue moving in tandem with Cas'. He backed the angel up against the Impala and laid him out flat against her hood, never once breaking their kiss. With their hips pressed so close together, Dean could feel that Cas was hard too. The heat of their cocks together could melt ice and Dean wanted to feel more of that, drawn to the burning pitch. Dean swiveled his hips, grinding into Cas, drawing out a moan from the angel's throat. The way it sounded, so fucking wrecked and gorgeous, made Dean chase after it, wanting more of them.

Dean ripped Cas' shirt off, up and over his head, and blessed the newly-bare skin with soft kisses. He sucked at the side of his neck, peppering small kisses down to his collarbone. He could spend hours here, exploring the dips and rises, teasing him, tasting him. But his body urged him on and Dean moved lower to suck on a nipple. Cas gasped and groaned loudly, arching his lower back, enough to press his chest upward against Dean's mouth. He sucked and sucked, swirling his tongue around the hard nub and making Cas tremble beneath him.

God, he wanted to fuck him. Lose himself in those groans and acres of soft skin. But it wasn't right. Cas didn't fucking remember who he was. Suddenly, Dean felt as if he were taking advantage of him. Fuck. He hadn't been thinking. What if Cas didn't want this? What if the real Cas, the Cas who remembered everything, never wanted this?

Dean whimpered at the back of his throat and peeled himself away. It was the most painful thing he had ever done.

"I—I can't do this, Cas," he whispered while backing away.

Cas looked at him wide-eyed, body splayed out and hair wild.

"I'm sorry."

Dean turned and ran into the house, slamming the door behind him with a fatal blow.

This was what dying felt like.