Author's Note: I thought it'd be best to slap those warnings on here again, since it's been almost fifty thousand words since the last warning, so. Warning for attempted rape/non-con in this chapter, torture, blood drinking, addiction.

III. Escalation

Thirty-four seals have broken. They're over halfway there, and Sam still doesn't trust her, and sure, it's supposed to be a timing thing and she's supposed to drag this out, but Ruby would be lying if she said she wasn't frustrated and anxious. Orders and confirmation are really fucking hard to come by, especially since Lilith is paranoid as all hell.

And now there's the matter of Castiel to worry about. Has he really struck out against Lilith and Alastair, or is this another scheme of theirs that she's not supposed to know about? She remembers him telling her that she only needs to do her part, that she doesn't need to know his purpose. It's what Lilith has said to her more than once. She and Azazel always played their cards close to the chest, never told anyone the full plan. Except Alastair, maybe—especially now that Azazel is gone.

But Cas could just as easily have been lying. He's been around long enough to know that Ruby would believe him. What reason does he have to betray them, though? Then again, it isn't as though he has a particular reason to remain loyal to them, either. Azazel's dead, and Anna is apparently his mom, which is probably one of the weirdest things Ruby's ever heard.

But weird or not, it's bad news for Ruby, because for some reason, the Winchesters trust Anna—probably because she has those innocent eyes and because they had to protect her and hell, everyone knows that the Winchesters have this awful savior complex. She wonders vaguely if that's what it would take to get Sam to really trust her. Should she dumb herself down, make herself vulnerable, and let them save her?

No. Never. That's way too demeaning, and she won't do it.

Still, she doesn't know what team Cas is playing for, and that makes him dangerous. Her job technically has nothing to do with Cas, which means he technically isn't her problem, but she's supposed to be gaining the Winchesters' trust, and Cas knows things about her. She isn't sure just how much he knows, but it's probably enough to kill their plans in the cradle.

If he's working for the Winchesters… he probably should have revealed Ruby's plans already—what good is it for him to keep her anywhere near the Winchesters? But he can't really be working for Lilith either, can he? Dean Winchester was never supposed to rise from Hell. Lilith wanted him to stay right where he was, and Alastair loved him where he was. So why—if Cas is working for Lilith, there's no way he would have pulled Dean out of Hell.

So maybe he's struck out on his own. But he'd have to be freakin' suicidal to do that, to take on Heaven and Hell at the same time without any backup. He'd have to be—

"I'll be damned," Ruby mutters.

He'd have to be a goddamned Winchester.

With that sort of a mentality, of course he'd be working for the Winchesters. But do they trust him? He's lied to them—that's never a good thing. She can play up that angle. Sam still trusts her tentatively, and Dean has some reluctant respect and gratitude toward her; she knows that Sam told him about how many times she saved his ass while Dean was still in Hell.

So what she needs to do is make sure that they think the worst of Castiel, as soon as possible, so that when he's recovered and comes back to find them, they'll try to turn him away.

Then the passenger door opens, and Sam leans in.

"Okay. I'm in," he says, and finally, they can get back on track.

"What changed your mind?" Ruby asks as Sam gets into the car, because that's important. If he has doubts again, she'll need some help to get him to come back to her.

"I don't want to be doing this when I'm an old man," is Sam's response.

And well, it's not really helpful, but it does tell Ruby that Sam doesn't want to hunt to the death, not like Dean does. It's not much, but it's something, so she'll take it.

"Let's go, then."


In the first few years, Castiel loves Hell. Demons come in all shapes and sizes, and all sorts of colors. It's refreshing, after the relatively small spectrum of Heaven.

Yet as time goes by, he realizes that the colors of Heaven, though fewer, were more vibrant, more alive. He hadn't cared much for the beings around him at the time, but he finds himself missing the sharp, cutting gold of Balthazar; the deep, unending sea-green of Raguel; the blazing scarlet of Azrael; and the warm, rich burgundy of Anael.

The demons are dim and ugly in comparison. Even Lilith, Azazel, and Alastair do not come close.

On occasion, Castiel catches Alastair watching him closely. The first few times, it surprises and baffles him—he has not done anything to earn undue attention. But Castiel soon realizes that he stands out among the dull souls of Hell, stands out like an overly-bright, shining beacon, and he cannot fault Alastair for looking.

Nevertheless, Castiel is relieved when Lilith sends him out of Hell with his father, away from Alastair's lingering eyes.

On Earth, the other demons that had accompanied them disperse, but Castiel stays with his father. He knows why they have come—they are going to collect more humans for Alastair's rack—but he finds himself distracted by the multitude of strange creatures visible to him. These souls are dimmer, trapped as they are within prisons of flesh and blood.

But the colors are purer, safe from the black film that coats and pervades each demonic soul. Castiel has noted that the oldest demons—excluding the first three, of course—are so suffused with darkness that even he with his enhanced vision can hardly see their true colors anymore.

He's long since wondered why his own Grace shines so brightly, why the blackness of Hell doesn't rub off on him. Maybe it's because his wings are shading him from Hell's effects, already so black that Hell's darkness can't be seen on them. Even now, encased in a vessel, his Grace seems to stand out a disproportionate amount, and it's almost strange to him that he hasn't blinded anyone yet.

He follows his father through a few transactions, watches as humans barter away their souls for a variety of reasons, some nobler than others. One demands safety and food for the people of his village, and Castiel can respect that. Another demands revenge on a thief for stealing his sheep, and while Castiel thinks that it is wasteful to give up one's soul for so petty a request, he understands that Azazel doesn't care what the humans' reasons are, only that he get as many as possible.

A common request comes from parents wishing for their children to be saved from disease. Castiel doesn't understand why that makes him ache inside.

"How do you know which humans to approach?" he asks as they walk away from their latest acquisition.

"They're humans. They always have wants and needs. You can approach anyone," Azazel replies easily.

Castiel turns this thought over a few times while they walk through a town, slow enough for Azazel to look around and choose his next target. "Wouldn't it be more effective if they called for you whenever they needed favors?" Castiel asks.

Azazel shrugs. "That would take prep work. We cannot hear prayers, not like angels can. So those ignorant humans would need to work a summoning ritual."

Castiel nods to accept the explanation, but he's still thinking about how strange it must be to be approached out of the blue with an offer of help, in the way Azazel seems to favor.

After the next soul has been bought with a promise to end a four-year-long drought, Castiel says, "You could provide humans with the necessary ritual. Those determined enough would find it, I'm sure."

"Our numbers need more than just the very determined," Azazel says.

"I beg to differ. Alastair has plenty of souls to work on already—his apprentices are even hard-pressed to keep up with the influx of souls. Shouldn't we slow down our acquisition?"

Azazel laughs. "You should try bringing that up with Lilith. See what she'll say to that."

"Do you allow her to dictate your actions, then?"

"No, of course not!" Azazel spits, as though the very idea is anathema to him. Yet here he is, on Lilith's orders.

Castiel resists the temptation to voice this thought to his father and says instead, "It wouldn't have to be a restriction, just an option. Wouldn't it be easier if the human already knew what he wanted and asked for it outright? It would save you time and effort."

Azazel starts to answer but pauses, looking conflicted. "There are some things we haven't told you," he eventually says.

"I'd guessed that much," Castiel responds. "Keep your secrets if you must."

"No," Azazel says with a frown. "I trust you."

"Then it is Lilith who wishes to withhold information from me."

"Yes," Azazel admits. "She worries that you are working for Anael."

It is not unreasonable. Were he in Lilith's position, Castiel is certain he would think the same thing. "What do you think?" he asks.

"I believe… I believe that you are my son."

"I am Anael's son as well," Castiel points out, trying to understand.

"But you didn't choose Anael. You received your name when you saw me. You are my son, first and foremost, and any other claims laid upon you are secondary to that," Azazel states firmly, and for a moment, there's a strange look in Azazel's eyes, a quality that reminds Castiel of the way Alastair looks at him.

But it's gone in a flash, and Castiel tells himself that it must have been his imagination.

Then Azazel says, quietly, "We've forgotten most of the runes and sigils that we once innately knew. That's the real reason why we haven't released any summoning rituals."

"Ah," Castiel says. "You could have just asked."

Azazel looks surprised. "I was so sure you wouldn't be born with that knowledge."

"Well, you were wrong."

"Clearly," Azazel says, thoughtful.

They move on to the next village then, and Azazel leads the way to the dwelling of the leader, both of them invisible to the eyes of men.

"I want you to talk to this one," Azazel says.

Castiel nods and manifests himself before knocking on the thin door. He's seen Azazel speak with a few humans before, and he thinks he knows what to do.

The chief pulls open the door and looks at Castiel skeptically. "Who are you?"

"Someone who can help," Castiel says.

He expects to need to say more, but the man only steps back, gesturing for him to enter. Hiding his surprise, Castiel walks into the small hut. It is sparsely decorated, with a few woven baskets along the wall and a thatched mat to sleep on.

When Castiel turns around, he sees the chief staring intently at him, and why is it that he seems to have this effect on humans, too? Can they somehow sense that he is not like the others? He returns the stare until the chief has to look away.

"Why are you here?" the chief asks. "Why would you think I need help?"

"Everyone needs help. Some people just don't know they need it yet," Castiel says, feeding him a line that he's seen Azazel use. "After all," he tacks on, "I offered help, and you allowed me to enter."

The chief grunts at that, then moves to sit on a crudely fashioned chair. "What sort of help are you offering?"

"Any."

The human raises an eyebrow at Castiel's response. "Any," he repeats doubtfully.

Castiel nods, looking closely at the chief. If he concentrates hard enough, he can get a sense of what the human is thinking, and a name quickly rises to the forefront. "Aria," Castiel says, and the chief's eyes tighten.

"How do you know that name?"

"I know a lot of things," Castiel says.

"Okay, then you must know what I want," the chief says quietly.

"I can bring her back for you," Castiel offers.

"What do you want from me in return?"

"Nothing yet," Castiel replies, and the chief looks at him suspiciously. "But in ten years, I'll come back and take something from you."

"Will you kill me?"

"I suppose I'll have to, yes."

The chief's eyes widen, and he looks at the ground. "But—but the time in between. The ten years. You won't come during those ten years, not once?"

"Not once," Castiel confirms. "You'll have ten nice, long years to spend with your daughter, find her a nice husband to take care of her when you're gone. So, what do you think?"

"I'll—yes. I'll do it," the chief says.

Castiel smiles and leans down, and though the chief stiffens, he doesn't back away. "Shh," Castiel whispers when it appears the human is going to speak. The silence prevails, and Castiel presses a kiss to the man's lips, prints the contract invisibly and indelibly into his skin.

When Castiel backs up, the man is breathing deeply, staring up at him in wonder.

"What—what are you?"

Castiel lets one edge of his mouth quirk upward. "Your deliverance."

And then he folds himself into the other plane, where his father is waiting.

"Very good," Azazel says, surprise evident in his voice. "I hadn't expected honesty to work so well—it hasn't worked in most cases, in the past." After a pause, he says, "There's something about you. Perhaps it is your Grace. Even the human felt it."

Castiel doesn't reply—he doesn't know what his father is talking about, and he doesn't really care. "We should fetch the man's daughter now, shouldn't we?"

"Yes, of course. You made the deal—you should have the power to retrieve her soul from Heaven and remake her body."

"I don't know how," Castiel admits.

"Draw on the strength lent to you by the chief's deal. It will allow you to bring her to Earth," Azazel says.

It sounds like useless advice, but when Castiel closes his eyes and tries to concentrate, he can feel the tug of the man's soul—it is tethered to him by their contract, and when Castiel pulls, he can siphon power from it. He looks at Azazel, and his father nods in approval.

"I will return with the girl, then," Castiel says.

"Yes. I will be waiting for you here."


You're too weak to go after her, Dean.

I'm a better hunter than you are.

You're not standing in my way anymore.

I'm a better hunter than you are—stronger, smarter.

You're holding me back.

You're too weak to go after her.

You're too busy sitting around feeling sorry for yourself.

You're too weak, Dean.

Too weak.

Dean takes another swig and looks to his right, at the vacant bed beside his. He would be worried, except that he knows exactly where Sam is, was awake when Sam crawled out of bed and crept out of the motel room. He knows that Sam is working with Ruby, that they're chasing Lilith down together. He knows that Ruby's the one Sam is on the phone with whenever he thinks Dean's asleep, or too far away to hear. But Dean hasn't slept much since he got back from Hell, and to be honest, he didn't sleep all that much before Hell, anyway. He's caught snippets of conversation, things about omens and disappearances and other seals, and he just can't anymore.

Tonight, Dean had almost followed him, maybe to stop him, or maybe just to see what was going on, but he couldn't—he just couldn't. He can't anymore. Not now. Not with the echoes of Sam's words bouncing around inside his skull.

Sure, Sam said it was just the siren's spell talking, but Dean knows that the things that had come out of his own mouth had been on his mind for a long time—he doesn't know if he can trust Sam anymore. It doesn't feel like they have each other's backs. And it's killing him, but it seems like Sam doesn't even fucking care anymore.

And no matter what Sam says about Ruby having saved his life, having stepped in when he needed it most, Dean can only see manipulation. Dean's got no proof, none at all, and on the surface it seems like they owe her a lot, but he just knows that they're not getting the whole picture with her.

Maybe she really saved Sam's life a few times, but Sam was weak, vulnerable. That would have been the best time for that demon bitch to worm her way in and gain his trust, and it seems like that is exactly what she's done. And now she's standing between them, and fuck, Sam's choosing her. Over and over again, he's choosing a demon over his own brother.

Dean goes to take another drink from the bottle and finds that it's empty. Sighing, he puts it down on the nightstand and leans his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes.

Inexplicably, he thinks of Cas, the lying little shit. Is he okay?

After Anna went up in a burst of literally blinding light, Uriel had made a few nasty comments, and then the two angels had winged off, supposedly to go find her. Sam and Dean haven't heard from her since, but Dean isn't exactly surprised. After all, he was the one who turned her in.

But Dean hasn't heard from Cas either, and he finds that he's worried despite himself. After all, Anna had admitted that she didn't know what the banishing sigil would do to a hybrid. She hadn't looked so worried, but Dean can't help it. Sure, Cas lied to him, but he got Dean out of Hell, damn it, and he's saved Dean a few times since, so he can't be working for Lilith. He just can't.

Besides, he remembers the look on Alastair's face when Castiel popped up in front of Dean. He knows Alastair, and he knows that that was anger—pure, unadulterated anger, not an act. Dean would know. He's sure of it.

He remembers the quiet exchange they had the day after Halloween, watching a few kids play in a playground. He remembers the unfiltered worry in Cas's eyes when he'd stopped Dean in the crypt. He remembers his first impression of Cas, of this guy with windswept hair and big, blue eyes, and damn it, why couldn't Cas have just told him the truth from the beginning?

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off an oncoming headache, eyes squeezed shut in discomfort.

He needs to stop Sam, that much he knows. He needs to find a way to get him to stop listening to Ruby, to work with Dean again. The only way they're gonna get through this is if they work together, because they're stronger as a team.

But how the hell is Dean gonna get Sam to believe that when he hardly even believes it himself, anymore?


Castiel is certain that he's safe, certain that he's fallen far enough off the map that no angel or demon or other supernatural entity could ever find him.

Yet he only has about two seconds warning before an angel lands behind him, and it's too late for him to take off—it'd be too easy for them to catch up—so instead he spins around, blade in hand, prepared for his attacker.

And then he stops, blinks.

"Anna Milton," he murmurs. "You're—not human."

"No," she says with a small smile. "No, I'm not."

Castiel frowns, wary. "You fell and… became human." Anna nods, and Castiel asks, "How?"

"By ripping out my Grace," she answers.

Castiel feels his own Grace quiver with unease at this—the mere idea of losing Grace is awful enough. To have to rip it out himself… Castiel is certain he wouldn't be able to do it. So he asks next, "Why?"

Her smile turns a little sad as she replies, "To find you." Before Castiel can say anything, Anna continues, "Do you—do you not recognize me?"

"But I do recognize you. You're Anna Milton—I saved your ass from Alastair. And might I add, if you try to attack me while I'm down after I did that for you, it'll be a new low, even for you angels."

"I'm not here to fight you, Castiel."

"Yet you've had your blade at the ready for the entirety of this conversation."

Anna stiffens at this, solemn, and then sighs. "You've had your blade drawn, Castiel. I couldn't just stand before you defenseless, could I?"

"You have a point," Castiel says, but he doesn't put away his weapon. "So you fell to look for me. Why would you do that? Why not just look for me as an angel?"

"It wasn't allowed," Anna says. "I had no other choice."

"So you chose to fall rather than remain in Heaven? That's ridiculous," Castiel says.

"You don't believe me. You don't…" Anna shakes her head and turns away, and Castiel sees that she's abandoned her blade entirely in favor of wringing her hands. In the other plane, Castiel can see her wings flexing in distress.

"I'm going to assume that we… that we have a history," Castiel says.

Anna barks out a laugh, short and humorless. "Uriel was right," she says, shaking her head again. "He was—he was right. You don't remember me at all, do you?" When Castiel says nothing, Anna steps closer, and Castiel tightens his grip on his blade instinctively. "Look at me," Anna says furiously. "Really look at me, Castiel. Look into my Grace. I am Anael."

Castiel rears back at this, because although he hardly remembers anything from his short years in Heaven, he does remember Anael. He remembers the angel that didn't want him, the father that wanted rid of him, was pleased when he disappeared with Alastair.

"Castiel," Anna says in a small voice, and he sees a pained look on the vessel's face. "Are you—are you afraid of me? Angry with me? What is it?"

"You didn't want me," Castiel says in a low voice.

"What?"

"You didn't want me, so you let Alastair take me away. A demon couldn't escape from Heaven without someone to ease his way. So you—"

"No, Castiel. I never—I've always wanted you. Always loved you. I fell because I couldn't—"

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not the one lying to you! Azazel is!"

Castiel glares at Anna—Anael. "My father wouldn't have lied to me."

"Yes, he—" Anna pauses midsentence and says, "Why are you talking about him in the past tense? Is he—is he dead?"

Castiel feels the same old flare of guilt, just as strong as it always was, and tamps it down as best he can. "He's dead. Has been for some time now."

"Oh," Anna says. "I can't say I'm sorry to hear that."

"I didn't expect you to."

"Castiel, you must believe me. Let me—let me show you the truth. Azazel lied to you because he needed to keep you from coming back to me. He knew that if you wanted—if you wanted to come back—"

"I don't want to hear your lies."

"I'm not lying. I'm standing right here before you, aren't I? You saw me when I was human, and you're looking at me right now. I'm not lying," Anna says firmly.

Castiel maintains his hold on his blade and steps closer to Anna. "Fine. Show me. But if you try anything, I'll kill you."

After a pause, Anna holds up her hand and slowly presses her fingertips to Castiel's forehead. He feels a light pull, and then he's drawn into the memories, into a whirlwind of emotion—fury and violation, fear and worry, pain and struggle, tenderness and love, and finally overwhelming loss and longing.

He draws back, mind reeling from the surprising strength of these borrowed emotions, and Anna looks at him sadly.

"That is the most I can do. If you still don't believe me, then—"

"I believe you," Castiel says. "The demons—they never told me the whole truth. Not about their intentions for John Winchester, or Dean Winchester. It stands to reason that they wouldn't have told me the truth about this either."

Even as he says this, he feels a pang in his chest, because he was with his father for centuries. Millennia. And the demon was lying to him the entire time. He firmly believes that Azazel loved him, as much as a demon could love anyone. He knows that demons lie, that that is in their nature, but he'd naively thought that Azazel's love would have kept him honest. Foolish. Childish.

"Thank you," Anna says, features soft, and she comes closer, reaches out for Castiel.

He starts to back away but stops himself, letting Anna wrap her arms around him.

"I've missed you so much, my child," she murmurs.

Castiel doesn't respond. He cannot honestly say that he missed her, because he'd thought the worst of her after what Azazel told him.

"I am sorry that I banished you," Anna says. "I can speed up the healing process for you, if you'd like."

"I've already recovered sufficiently, but thank you."

"But you said—"

Castiel spreads his wings to show that they're healthy and says with a small smile, "Oops, I lied. Half-demon, remember?"

"Of course," Anna says. "Now, about the Winchesters. Are you aware that they're being circled by—"

"I'm aware," Castiel answers. "I am not worried. The pagan goddess, whichever she is, is not targeting the Winchesters. She's after me."

But instead of looking relieved, Anna seems even more worried. "She isn't just any pagan goddess, Castiel. The creature that's after you is Lachesis."

After a pause, Castiel says, "The—the Fate. You mean to say that one of the Fates has come for me."

"Yes."

Castiel lets out a long sigh, because this is bad news—awful news. He has never met any of the Fates before, but that is a good thing. Meeting the Fates is a sign that something has gone wrong, and it has to do with your fate, and your life.

"There is no way to kill a Fate," Anna says softly, "just as there is no way to kill Father Time himself. Castiel, I am not sure when or where this happened, but you must have done something drastic enough that the Fates need to compensate for it, balance it out."

"Then that's it, though, isn't it? They'll balance things out, and that's all," Castiel says.

"No," Anna says, shaking her head. "There are repercussions to this kind of action. If the Fates want to restore the natural order to the universe, they need to kill the transgressor that caused the problem. You."

"But I—was it Dean? Was he not supposed to rise?"

"I don't know," Anna says. "I've been separate from Heaven for a long time, but I know the story as well as anyone, and I do know that the Righteous Man must rise. That should not be the problem."

Castiel is silent for a long moment, going back through his actions for the past few months.

"It could have been anything," Anna says. "Castiel, I…" her voice falters, and Castiel looks at her, surprised, waiting for her to continue. "I'm so sorry."

"No need," Castiel says, frowning. "I know now that you couldn't have simply let Alastair take me."

"That's not what I'm talking about. I spoke with Lachesis, before. Years, centuries, millennia ago. It was…" Anna pauses and sighs. "It was too long ago. But she warned me about you, told me that I had to find you and keep my eye on you, because your choices were crucial to the world." Anna lowers her eyes. "I am so sorry that I did not find you in time, my child."

"I'm not that worried," Castiel replies. "I don't mind staying on the run. I've been able to outrun her in the past, and I'll only get stronger with more practice. I'll be fine."

"You don't understand. If Lachesis doesn't catch you, they will eventually have to send Atropos. And there is no escaping her."

Castiel shrugs. "I'll deal with that when the time comes. It'll be a while yet, won't it?"

"You should be taking this a lot more seriously than you are."

"I'm taking it very seriously," Castiel says. "I've just got more important things on my mind."

"More important than your own life?"

"We all have to die eventually, don't we? I'll just put it off until then."

"Atropos can—"

"I know, she holds the scissors. She can cut my fate short, whatever that's supposed to mean. I've already defied fate 'til now, haven't I? I'll just defy it a while longer," Castiel says.

"For Dean Winchester," Anna says, voice flat.

Castiel considers denying it, but it'd be pointless—he has no other plausible motive, no other cause to serve. "Yes," he says, meeting Anna's gaze dead-on.

"Why?" she asks, shaking her head. "What is so special about him to you? You were not supposed to be the one to raise him. Of course, the end result was the same, and Dean was raised, but you… why did you do it?"

"Because he asked nicely," Castiel says sarcastically.

"I'm being serious, Castiel. I'm not judging you. I just want to know why."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"What were you thinking when you decided to free him?" Anna asks.

Castiel closes his eyes. "I did it because I had the opening, okay?" he answers. "Because it looked like the angels might be stopped before they reached him, and I—"

Castiel clenches his jaw, remembering. He had hated Dean, hated how beautiful his soul was, hated that he was the one to kill Azazel, but even more than that—Castiel stops there, choked up by confused feelings of guilt and anger, and he really doesn't need to go poking at that right now.

"Castiel?"

He draws a deep breath and exhales, long and slow. And then he says, "I had never seen a soul that was so pure a shade of blue, so similar to my own Grace. I looked at him and saw a reflection of myself. I couldn't stand by and watch the darkness enter his soul, not when I had the power to stop it."

It's not the whole truth, but it's close enough.

"Okay," Anna says. "Okay. I'll help you, then."

If Castiel were prouder, he would refuse that help. But he knows he needs it, so he remains silent.

"What do you intend to do next?" Anna prods after a moment.

"Inias needs help," Castiel says quietly. "If you've regained your Grace, you must have felt the absence of many of the angels."

Anna looks at him, interested. "So you feel it, too. The pain when a brother is killed."

"Yes."

"You are more like us than I'd hoped, then. I'd thought that after so long in the pit…" Anna lets that thought fade away with her voice and says instead, "But I was wrong, and I am grateful for that. Please continue."

"Since you only recently regained your Grace, you probably can't tell, but a good number of those deaths happened within the last few months, most of them after Dean's rise."

"Our brethren have been fighting to save the seals," Anna says.

"Regardless, without the proper equipment to kill angels, demons can only send them back to Heaven, and there should not be as high a death count as there is."

"The demons may have discovered another way to—"

Castiel shakes his head. "The demons' knowledge of angels and Enochian sigils comes from here," he says, tapping his temple. "I've told them nothing about alternative methods of killing angels. Besides, I only know of the Colt. And Death's scythe."

"So could they have gotten a hold of Death's scythe?"

"Highly unlikely," Castiel replies. "I happen to know where it is."

"What—how?"

"Just trust me. It is not in Alastair or Lilith's hands."

"Okay, and the Colt?"

"It is in the same place as Death's scythe. Don't worry—they won't fall into the wrong hands. Not without a price, at least."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The person who is in possession of them… you could call him a businessman," Castiel answers.

"Castiel, I don't think—"

"We're straying from the important topic," Castiel interrupts. "I wanted to tell you that the deaths are not being caused by either of those two objects."

"What are you suggesting? That there is a traitor in Heaven?"

"Exactly. And I know who he is."

"How?"

"Some things are clearer from the outside," Castiel answers. When Anna just shoots him a disbelieving look, he admits, "I may have watched from a distance as he killed a fellow angel, a long time ago."

"Who is it?"

"Uriel."

Anna looks pained. "And you're certain it was him? You couldn't have made a mistake?"

"Yes." After a pause, Castiel adds, "I'm sorry."

"No, it's—it's all right," she says. "Do you have a plan to take care of him, then?"

"Not yet. I haven't had much of a plan at all, to be honest. I've been playing by ear," Castiel says.

"Well, I'm stronger than Inias and Uriel combined, so when the time comes, I will be able to take care of Uriel and speak to Inias for you."

"Are you sure? You just got your Grace back, so you're probably rusty."

Anna draws her blade. "Would you like to test me, then?"

Castiel grins. "Bring it."


Castiel is perfectly happy with his situation, most of the time.

He loves Earth, loves roaming the land and watching as things change, as humans learn more and somehow still remain so ignorant of all the creatures that surround them. It takes time, but eventually a new breed of human arises, a small group that is aware of its surroundings, the members of which call themselves hunters—hunters of the supernatural.

Castiel thinks little of them at first, because they have no idea what they are dealing with. But they prove resilient, able to gather information about the creatures that go bump in the night, and eventually Castiel does hold some respect for the species.

As for his job… he loves it, primarily because it comes so easily to him. People seem attracted to him automatically—he hardly has to exert any effort to pull them to him. It's so easy to get them contracted and designated for Hell, for Alastair's blade.

But contrary to his feelings for being topside, Castiel dislikes being rotated back to working with Alastair.

He hates the heat of Hell, hates the never-ending screams, the blood-saturated stink of it. He hates how there's so much blood that the light is tinted red with it. And as much as he enjoys capturing people, he doesn't like watching the transformation that is wrought upon their souls, the transformation from beautiful little lights into these hideous, misshapen things.

Humans are like the Mona Lisa of God, and Alastair is leading the demons—and Castiel—in flinging shit all over her face.

But Azazel says that it is for a reason, a good reason, that they're all trying to free their father. And Castiel can understand that, of course. He has his own father in Azazel, after all. Recently Azazel has been attempting to convince Castiel that Lucifer is his true father, but Castiel knows his parents, knows that Lucifer had no hand in creating him, no matter how much he supposedly looks like the fallen angel.

Adding to Castiel's dislike of his time in Hell is the way that Alastair looks at him whenever he's nearby. He doesn't try hard to keep it secret that he wants Castiel. For what Castiel has no idea, but he does not intend to find out.

Alastair is always talking about masterpieces, about creating the "perfect demon," and he says that his own masterpiece may have been Meg. He dotes on her like a daughter, showing her more respect than he does his other creations. Castiel heard some time ago that she was the first successful demon created from a human soul. He has made no serious attempt to befriend her, nor has she gone out of her way to speak with him.

In any case, Castiel doesn't think he understands what Alastair means when he says that Castiel should find the perfect material for his own masterpiece until one day in the late 1600s, when he happens upon a man named Fergus MacLeod.

Castiel isn't sure what it is about the man, but something is different, something that tells him he needs to take this soul. It is surprisingly easy for Castiel to convince him to sell his soul, and after the transaction, Castiel leaves for Hell far more pleased than is normal.

When MacLeod's deal is up, ten Earth-years later, Castiel petitions Alastair to allow him to work on this particular soul. Delighted by Castiel's enthusiasm, Alastair grants the request and hands MacLeod over to him.

MacLeod has surprisingly high tolerance for pain, and it takes a substantial length of time for Castiel to mold him properly—Castiel finds himself strangely fond of the soul, certain that it will do well working as a crossroads demon. There's a quality to it, nothing to do with its shade of dark red, nothing to do with its propensity to spit foul language at him when it's in excruciating pain.

Castiel isn't quite sure what it is that makes this soul special, but by the time he finishes working with MacLeod and emerges triumphant with a new demon who calls himself Crowley, he thinks he understands Alastair's idea of a masterpiece.


Dean is positive he's about to be dragged right back to Hell and put through—well, Hell—for foiling Alastair and saving Tessa, but he is bewildered when a strange bolt of lightning strikes the demon, making him disappear—"What the hell?" Dean says, and from behind him comes a familiar voice—

"Not quite."

Dean turns and sees Inias standing behind him. "What the hell just happened?" he demands.

"What just happened?" Inias repeats. "You and Sam just saved a seal. We captured Alastair. Dean, this was a victory."

"Well, no thanks to you," Dean says, taking a step back to put some space between them. He's still sore about what Inias did to Cas.

"What makes you say that?" Inias asks, curious.

"You were here the whole time?"

"Enough of it," Inias replies, and Dean's furious because maybe Cas didn't help out in the beginning, but he came when Dean needed him on Halloween, and when they were gonna be taken by Alastair in the church—hell, he even stood up to two angels for Dean.

"Well, thanks for your help with the rock salt," Dean says, because by now he's sure that Cas would have done something.

"That script on the funeral home—we couldn't penetrate it," Inias says, and at least his gaze is lowered and he looks like he feels a little guilty.

"That was angel-proofing," Dean realizes.

"Why do you think I recruited you and Sam in the first place?" Inias says, looking at Dean.

"You recruited us?"

"That wasn't your friend Bobby who called, Dean. It wasn't Bobby who told Sam about the seal."

"That was you?" Dean asks. Inias lowers his gaze again, and Dean says, "If you want our help, why the hell didn't you just ask?"

Inias sighs. "You were angry with me about Castiel—still are, I'm sure. I did not think you would have chosen to help me, had I asked you outright."

Dean hates that Inias is right, so he switches topics. "Speaking of Cas, why didn't you tell me what he was earlier, instead of pretending he was an angel, hmm? It's really friggin' sketchy."

"He had you believing that he was one of us," Inias says tiredly. "You clearly believed him more than you did us. Would you have taken our word if we'd said in our first meeting that Castiel wasn't all that he seemed to be?"

And again, Inias is right. Dean remembers the circumstances for their first meeting, and he knows for sure that he would have chosen to believe Cas over Inias and Uriel.

"Have you uh," he pauses to clear his throat before starting over, "Have you seen him since you guys were all banished?"

Inias shakes his head. "He is very skilled at cloaking himself from our sight. In fact, he's done the same for you. He has made it exceptionally difficult to find you, Dean, and I wish I could give you a good reason why, but I can only think that he wishes our cause to fail."

"Or maybe he wants to protect me from you yahoos."

"Maybe," Inias concedes with a nod. "But you are standing right beside me now, and he is doing nothing to prevent it. And I am doing nothing to hurt you, isn't that right?"

"Don't try to logic me, okay? I don't care what you say—Cas isn't working for Lilith."

"It appears you've made up your mind," Inias says, almost regretfully.

"About Cas? Yeah, I have. And unless you have any actual proof to show that he's working for Lilith, you're not going to change my mind. You say that you're angels, so I'm guessing you're the guys who are working to stop the apocalypse. And if Cas was masquerading as one of you, I'm guessing you're also the guys who have work for me, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Then where the hell have you been? Because whenever I've gotten into trouble, Cas has been the one to get me out of it. And you, and your partner? What have you done for me? For Sam?" Inias looks away, and Dean says, "Yeah, that's right. You've got nothing. You've done nothing."

"I can see now that no more good will come of this conversation. Goodbye for now, Dean."

Just like that, the fucker flaps off, and Dean groans. "Oh, come on!" he shouts at the sky, but of course there's no response.

And then from beside him, he hears Tessa's voice. "Dean? I could use your help."


Have patience, Lachesis told Anael. Patience is a quality that angels are supposed to have, sure, but Anael finds it difficult to wait patiently while he knows his child is in Alastair's hands. And by now, he's certain that he will have fallen into the hands of Lilith and Azazel, and he knows their cruelty firsthand. What will they do to his poor child?

"You shouldn't be so eager to see him again."

Anael turns to see Uriel approaching. All angels are brethren, of course, but some are closer to each other than others. Aside from Azrael and Raguel, Anael is closest to Uriel, Ariel, and Barachiel—and more recently, Balthazar, the young angel who shares his devotion for Anael's child.

Anael looks away again. "Of course you would say that. You wanted him destroyed."

"Only for the good of all of us," Uriel responds. "He is part demon, Anael. You cannot try to tame him and keep him here, where he could hurt us."

"Stop it," Anael says. "If you continue in this vein, I would rather not speak with you at all."

"You would renounce our years of friendship over this… this half-demon?" Uriel asks, and Anael is surprised to hear that his brother actually sounds hurt.

"That half-demon is my son," Anael responds. "So yes, I would."

After a pause, Uriel says, "Well, then, I have little else to say. I only came to tell you that he has been sighted on Earth—"

Anael spins around, alarmed. "He—he has?"

"—in the company of Azazel," Uriel finishes.

"Well, of course. He's been in Hell, so his only chance of returning to the surface would be in the company of a demon who could hopefully handle his strength," Anael reasons. "I must go to him at once. I must—"

"You'll do no such thing," Uriel says.

Anael stares at Uriel. "You cannot tell me what to do—do not forget that between the two of us, I am still the superior."

"Raphael has already decreed that none of us, especially you, is permitted to go to the hybrid," Uriel says impassively, "so no matter how much you try to pull rank, you won't be allowed to leave Heaven."

The words cut through Anael. He cannot defy Raphael without severe repercussions.

"Hester was the one who saw him. He was contracting a soul, buying it for Hell," Uriel continues matter-of-factly. "He calls himself Castiel, now. So it appears he chose Azazel as his father, rather than you. I advise you to give up this dream of reuniting with him sooner rather than later, for it will inevitably end in disappointment."

"Leave me."

"Anael—"

"Leave. Now," Anael says forcefully.

Uriel only hesitates a moment before following the order and taking flight. Anael instantly starts to think about ways to circumvent Raphael's command, excuses for him to leave Heaven.

Mere minutes after Uriel's departure, Azrael and Raguel arrive. They attempt to convince Anael to do nothing, but Anael cannot be persuaded. He must find his son, must take care of him. After all, Lachesis said that his son would find him on Earth, did he not?

"I must fall," Anael murmurs later, after Azrael has already given up and departed—Raguel remains, unfailingly loyal as always.

"No," Raguel says immediately.

"I have no other option. They would punish me with death if I left Heaven against orders to stay put."

"How is falling any better than dying?" Raguel says.

"If I fall, I will be reborn on Earth, won't I?" Anael says.

"Theoretically, yes. Do you really wish to test that theory?"

"If it will get me to Earth, then yes. I must find my son. I must find Castiel and take care of him." Raguel doesn't understand, Anael reminds himself. He hasn't shared the words of Lachesis with anyone because a fate foretold is a dangerous thing and should not be repeated lightly.

"If you are set on this course of action, then there is only one thing I have left to do."

"Please, brother, do not try to stop me," Anael says.

"I will not," Raguel replies. "I will harvest your Grace from its source and mark your soul when you are first conceived so that when you die, the reapers will allow you to be reborn into the human world. You will be able to live infinite lifetimes until you are truly ready to die and return to Heaven—that is, when you find Castiel. When that day comes, all you need to do is pray to me, and I will come for you."

"Are you certain? You could be punished for this," Anael says.

"For you, brother, there is little I would not do."

Anael smiles. "Thank you."

Three days later, Anael falls.


Sam wishes the angels had just taken him to Alastair, too—he knows that Dean's weak now, that he needs protecting, and Sam doesn't trust Uriel and Inias as far as he can throw them. As it is, he watches as the flames lick their way across a map, going out at Ruby's command. And he guesses that maybe it's a good thing they left him behind, because he does need to… to recharge, for lack of a better word.

"There," Ruby says, and Sam sees that there's only a small circle in the middle that is still pristine. "Your brother's there. It's a good thing angels aren't concerned with hiding their dirty business. Not used to being spied on. I mean, who'd be stupid enough to try?"

"Ruby, it's been weeks," Sam says, looking over at her. "I need it."

"You don't seem too happy about it."

"You think I wanna do this? This is the last thing I—" He stops himself and sits down on the bed, wondering what the hell Ruby expects. This isn't something that's going to make him better. His blood is dirty, contaminated by Azazel's blood, but if he can help people using that contamination, he'll do it. "But I need to be strong enough," Sam says.

Ruby moves closer and straddles his lap. "It's okay," she says. "It's okay, Sammy. You can have it."

She leans down and kisses him, and Sam thinks he can feel the blood rushing through her veins even in that brief bit of contact. And then Ruby is cutting her arm open, and Sam hones in on the source, suddenly hungry for it. He tries to deny it as much as possible, but it feels so good, so fucking good to be drinking this down, taking another hit.

"It's okay, Sam," he hears Ruby say above his head, and her fingers thread through his hair.

He resists the urge to arch into the touch and just sucks harder.


Anna lands behind Inias, who is watching Dean at work.

"Anael," Inias says, turning to look at her.

"Please, brother. Anael was an obedient angel who answered to his superiors. I answer to no one."

Inias frowns, looking her up and down. "Your human body—"

"It was destroyed, I know. But I guess I'm sentimental," Anna responds. "Called in some old favors, and…" she lets her voice fade.

"You shouldn't be here," Inias says after a moment. "We still have orders to kill you."

"Somehow, I don't think you'll try. Where is Uriel?"

"He went to receive revelation."

"Of course he did," Anna says, wondering what Uriel could be doing now. "I have something to tell you."

"Then tell me."

"It is something important, something that should be discussed in a private place."

"This is not private enough?" Inias asks.

Anna shakes her head. "No. Anyone could be listening, and the information I am about to give you is highly sensitive."

"What is the source?"

"You know that I was able to hear the angels speaking while I was still human, don't you? Aren't you curious as to what exactly I heard?" Anna asks. She isn't sure this will work, but she's hoping that Inias's curiosity will win out, because she needs to lure him away in order for Castiel to be able to come in and take Dean away.

"Perhaps I should ask Uriel to come back and take my place, then," Inias says.

"No," Anna says. "No, this concerns him, and I would rather not draw his attention to the two of us in any way, if at all possible."

Inias looks suspicious now, but he's also very interested, so when Anna turns her back on him and spreads her wings, she hears his wings shifting in response. She takes flight, and he follows. Now she just has to ensure that her story is long and interesting, and believable.

The rest, the part concerning Dean, is up to Castiel, now.


"You got a lot to learn, boy," Alastair is saying to Dean when Castiel appears inside the room, and this is definitely not what he had expected to see—wasn't Alastair supposed to be restrained while Dean did the torturing?

But he doesn't have much time to process the situation or listen closely to whatever nonsense Alastair is spewing, because Alastair is about ready to choke Dean to death. Just as Castiel draws his blade, Alastair releases Dean, allowing him to fall to the floor in a heap, and spins around.

"Castiel," he says with a smirk. "Can't just run away this time, can you? Not with lover-boy stuck here where I can get to him."

"I have strength enough to take you down," Castiel says, spinning his blade around once and settling into a fighting stance.

"Oh, I'm certain you do, kiddo. I'm certain you do."

Not wanting to waste any time—Dean seems to be suffering from internal bleeding, and the last thing Castiel wants is for him to bleed out while Alastair drags out a conversation—Castiel charges, blade first. Alastair dodges the blow and holds out a hand, using force of will to summon one of the crowbars from the rest of the torture implements.

"You won't be able to kill me with that," Castiel says.

"Oh Castiel, darling, you know I don't want to kill you," Alastair says, and Castiel can't help but shudder at the lascivious note in his voice.

They exchange a few more blows, neither managing to land a direct strike, and spring apart again, circling each other. Castiel is sorely tempted to grab Dean and go, but he isn't close enough, and he doesn't want to jostle Dean too much with that sort of motion—moving at the speed that would be required to escape Alastair, it would be impossible to guarantee any sort of stability for Dean.

Castiel leaps forward, dealing one kill strike after another, but Alastair parries most of them and evades the rest, and Castiel backs off again, frustrated.

"I know your secret, you know," Alastair says.

Castiel doesn't deign to respond, choosing instead to turn his focus on another volley of attacks—he'd rather stay on the offensive and hopefully land a lucky blow, weakening Alastair.

"I know what you did, Castiel."

And Castiel doesn't like the sound of that, but he continues his frenzied attacks, feeling gratified when he manages to slash Alastair once across the arm, forcing him to jump back and give some ground.

"No soul could have gotten off that rack unassisted."

Alastair already knows that Castiel took Dean—he was there when it happened, after all. So there can only be one thing that Alastair is talking about.

"I know how John Winchester escaped from Hell," Alastair says, and follows this up with, "I know who truly caused Azazel's death. You killed your own father."

Guilt bursts to the surface of Castiel's emotions like a geyser, and Alastair takes advantage of his resulting lack of coordination, disarming him handily. Castiel attempts to fly away, but Alastair barks several words in butchered—but unfortunately still effective—Enochian, and Castiel's wings go on lockdown.

"Now, now, what have we here?" Alastair muses, and Castiel doesn't have to look at his face to see the smug look on it. The demon grabs Castiel's blade and shoves it deep into his shoulder—this is merely to cause pain, not to kill, and Castiel hates it.

Alastair pulls the blade back out, and Castiel clamps a hand over the wound, backing away as fast as he can even as the light of his Grace spills out, illuminating the room.

"Beautiful," Alastair breathes, grasping Castiel by the good shoulder and throwing him against the rack that he'd been strung up on minutes ago. With two flicks of the wrist, chains wrap themselves around Castiel, burning into him.

It's iron, Castiel realizes, and he'd never even known that iron was actually effective against him until this point.

Then Castiel feels agonizing pain from his middle, and it seems Alastair has shoved a serrated blade into his abdomen. It's just a normal blade, made of regular steel, but it still hurts, and Castiel is not capable of healing himself that quickly. A second blade, identical to the first, is shoved in three inches to the left, and Castiel cries out.

"So. The Michael sword, eh?" Alastair says, looking down at Dean, who's still lying prone near their feet. "Not too shabby. I wonder how he'd like the taste of demon blood, now that he's flesh and blood."

Alastair retrieves the discarded demon knife and squats in front of Dean, a wide grin on his face. He slides the blade across his arm, drawing up a fair amount of blood, and shifts closer to Dean, poised to feed the blood between his lips.

"No—stop," Castiel chokes out. "Alastair, stop."

The demon looks up at him, eyebrows raised. "Oh? And what are you going to do to stop me, hmm?"

"I'll return to the Pit. I'll stay there for eternity. Yours," Castiel offers.

Alastair's eyes widen at this. Castiel knows that Alastair's wanted him for a long time, wanted to own him, but Lilith wouldn't allow it, not without Castiel's submission, and Castiel would never submit anyway.

"What, for this human?" Alastair finally says, and Castiel lets his head hang, pained. Alastair grins. "Well then, I accept."

Castiel feels a bit of relief, even as Alastair comes closer, because at least that means his focus is shifting away from Dean and toward Castiel instead.

But then Alastair pauses, looks back down at Dean again.

"Wait—what are you doing?" Castiel demands.

Alastair hoists Dean to his feet, and Dean starts coming to, groaning in pain as Alastair hauls him a few steps closer to where Castiel is strapped down, trapped. Castiel tries again in vain to free himself from the cross, but Alastair notices and slices into him with the demon knife, this time on the side of his neck.

Dean's eyes are open, but they're hazy, glassy, like he's not really seeing what's in front of him, and Castiel thinks he might be suffering from not only severe internal bleeding and probably shock, but also a concussion and most likely a few broken ribs.

A finger swipes through the cut on Castiel's neck, and Castiel looks down, sees that Alastair's finger is covered in his blood. Castiel realizes too late what Alastair's about to do, but in all honesty, he couldn't do anything to stop him, anyway.

"We already know that the blood of a demon is highly addictive," Alastair says, thoughtful. "I wonder what the blood of a hybrid like you would do."

"No!" Castiel barks, but Alastair's shoving the blood-coated finger into Dean's mouth. "We had a deal!"

"Well, I changed my mind. Besides, it's not as though we sealed with a kiss, or anything," Alastair says flippantly. "This will be so much more interesting."

Alastair looks at Dean curiously then, and Castiel looks over to see that Dean's grasping onto Alastair's hand, sucking at the finger—shit.

"That's enough," Alastair says, pulling his finger away, and when Dean looks up, his eyes are laser-focused, sharp and clear, but crazed as well. They hone in on Castiel, roaming over his face briefly before seeing the cut on his neck, still bleeding freely, and Dean slumps forward, hands grasping at Castiel's shoulders.

"Dean, no," Castiel protests, but Dean's tongue is dragging across the base of his neck now, licking along the trail of blood up to its source. His lips fasten around the cut, sucking hungrily, and Alastair is laughing now, the evil bastard.

Dean moans into Castiel's neck and bites at the wound to keep the blood flowing, and Castiel wishes he could stop his vessel's heart from pumping. But he can't, and he feels himself getting dizzier as he loses blood, his vessel unable to replenish its blood supply fast enough to sate Dean's newfound hunger.

"Mm," Alastair hums, and Castiel hears the demon's voice as though he's far away. "It's good, isn't it, Dean? A bit of Heaven and Hell combined, right there. Tell me, what does the ultimate abomination taste like?"

Dean finally releases Castiel's shoulders, backs up a step, and he's fully supporting his own weight now, standing straight and tall, even though Castiel is sure that Alastair broke at least two of his ribs, and a normal human being would be doubled over, wheezing in pain. Dean wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and looks transfixed by the blood he rubs away.

"Dean," Castiel manages, soft and fervent, and Dean looks up at him.

His eyes are wide, glowing almost, and then Dean leans forward again, nuzzling into Castiel's neck. He doesn't bite this time, lapping over the wound gently, and it feels almost like an apology.

Castiel sees Alastair open his mouth in preparation to speak, but suddenly he seizes up, a pained look crossing his face, and then he's thrown to the side, pressed against a wall.

"Who's murdering the angels?" Sam demands, and Alastair struggles, but he is unable to free himself. Over Dean's shoulder, Castiel is able to see Sam, holding one hand up and keeping Alastair in place. "How are they doing it?"

Castiel wants to answer, but he's so fucking drained he doesn't think he can move his mouth.

"You think I'm gonna tell you?" Alastair responds, and yes, that is like him, pretending to know what he doesn't. He always did like to play mind games.

"Yeah, I do," Sam says. He twists his hand, and Alastair chokes. "How are the demons killing angels?"

"I—don't—know," Alastair gets out.

"Right," Sam says, closing his hand and twisting.

"It's—not—us. We're not doing it!" Alastair insists, and wow, whatever Sam's doing really must hurt, because Alastair's telling the truth now.

"I don't believe you."

"Lilith is not behind this," Alastair says, smiling maniacally. "She wouldn't kill seven angels. Oh, she'd kill a hundred, a thousand." At that, Sam stops whatever it is he's doing, and Alastair relaxes with a grin. "Oh, go ahead. Send me back, if you can."

"I'm stronger than that, now," Sam says. "Now I can kill."

He raises his hand again, and Castiel watches in horror as gold light rises up within Alastair, his subdued Grace coming up to the surface. The demon screams, but it's too late for him, and he falls to the ground, lifeless.

Sam stares down at the demon's body for a moment, unblinking, and Castiel almost begins to wonder if he's forgotten about Dean. But then Sam's eyes flick back up to where Dean is, leaning into Castiel, and a shiver runs through the hybrid at the taint lingering in Sam's soul, something demonic about it that should not be present in any living human.

"Let go of him," Sam says.

Castiel opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a weak cough. Sam reaches them and pulls Dean away, and apparently Dean passed out against Castiel's shoulder—he must not have noticed because all of his attention was elsewhere.

"Please," Castiel manages.

"Please, what?" Sam answers, looking at Castiel closely.

"Don't—" Castiel licks his lips and tries to swallow, but his throat is too dry, and this is the closest he's ever come to feeling completely human, uncomfortable and out of control of his vessel. "Don't leave me here," he gets out, voice hoarse and quiet.

"I'll come back for you, then. Let me just get Dean into the car," Sam responds.

Castiel nods gratefully and closes his eyes.


"It's all just a set-up to make you trust him, Sam," Ruby's saying over the phone, but Sam looks into the panic room and sees the angel-demon hybrid slumped on the cot, almost more horizontal than vertical, and with the amount of power coursing through him, he knows could take that sack of bones any day.

"Don't worry about me, Ruby. I'm gonna be fine."

"Maybe you should come back here and meet up with me. I don't trust—"

"We don't need to meet up. Keep looking for Lilith."

"You just killed Alastair, Sam. That's a huge deal—something we haven't tried before. We still don't know what that'll do to you, so I should—"

"I feel fine, Ruby. I feel great. Stop worrying."

"I just think it'd be better if I could see you."

Sam doesn't respond at first, and then he says, "All right, fine. But if you want to see me, you're gonna have to come to Bobby's—I'm not driving out to meet you."

After a pause, Ruby says, "Fine. I can be there by tomorrow."

"I'll see you then."

"Yeah. Just don't die."

Sam smiles, because that's about as romantic as Ruby gets, and says, "Yeah, you too."

He hangs up and drops his phone back into his pocket, keeping an eye on the hybrid. Castiel had been aware of his surroundings for a short part of the nine-hour drive to Bobby's, but he'd spent most of it sacked out in the backseat. Sam had had to carry him through the house and down into the basement.

A little while later, Sam shuts the door to the panic room and goes back upstairs.

Dean is set up on a couch in the living room, a rough blanket draped over him. He's the same as he has been ever since Sam came to the rescue—unconscious. It's worrying that he hasn't woken up yet, especially because Sam can't exactly tell what Alastair did to him.

Before getting Dean into the car, Sam had done his best to clean up the blood that was all over Dean's skin and clothes, and he'd been relieved to find that most of it wasn't Dean's, but that leaves the question of what Alastair did to knock Dean out.

He hopes Dean doesn't have a concussion.

"He hasn't moved, hasn't made a peep," Bobby says from his seat at the desk, and Sam sighs.

"Yeah, I figured as much."

"What the hell happened, boy?"

"The angels wanted Dean to torture Alastair. I still don't really know what happened because I haven't been able to get a word out of either of them yet."

"That Castiel still hasn't recovered?"

"Yeah. Alastair must've worked some pretty nasty mojo on him," Sam guesses.

Then he hears a muffled bang from down below and exchanges glances with Bobby before heading for the stairs to the basement.

"You stay here, keep an eye on Dean," Sam says.

"Be careful, son," Bobby replies.

Sam reaches the basement and sees that nothing's been disturbed. There's another bang from within the panic room, and he walks over slowly, grabbing a crowbar on the way. He unlatches the door and pulls it open, weapon at the ready.

"Hello, Sam," Castiel says, and he's on the cot in the same place that he'd been before, except he's sitting up straight now, awake and alert.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asks.

"Like doing a jig," Castiel answers dryly. "I feel awful. What did you expect?"

"Don't be a dick. I just saved your ass," Sam says.

"Yeah, yeah," Castiel says. "If you're looking for a thank you, don't. As far as I'm concerned, you just returned the favor for me getting you outta that church when Alastair had you cornered."

"We didn't need you—we could've gone out the window."

"And you could have broken a leg or twisted an ankle in the process and been captured by Alastair anyway. We're even," Castiel says.

"Okay," Sam says. "You well enough to fly yet?"

"No," Castiel answers. "This room… it drains my strength. It'll take at least… another three or four hours for my wings to heal enough for extended flight, if you keep the door closed."

"And if it's open, like it is now?" Sam asks.

"A minute or two," Castiel replies.

Sam steps into the panic room and pulls the door closed, and Castiel looks down at the ground—it seems he feels the effects strongly. "I wasn't sure the panic room would affect you at all, since Ruby's knife didn't do anything to you," Sam says.

"Yes, my life has been one giant experiment, toeing the line between holy and unholy. It's riveting," Castiel says, rolling his eyes. "Where is Dean?"

Sam narrows his eyes, because Castiel's tone was flippant until that last question about Dean, which actually came across as worried, which—why the hell would he be worried about Dean when they're at Bobby's, one of the few places where they're safe?

"He's upstairs," Sam answers. "What happened to him?"

"Alastair did a number on him," Castiel replies.

"Where were Inias and Uriel? Weren't they supposed to be keeping an eye on Dean?"

"I have no idea," Castiel says. "They were gone when I arrived, and Alastair had gotten loose. I don't know how that could have happened."

"You don't? You sure you didn't release him?"

Castiel sighs. "Did it look like he and I were on the same side back there?"

"I don't know," Sam answers. "It could have been a set-up, to get me to trust you."

Castiel smiles at this. "Yes, it could have been. But if it really were a set-up, which it wasn't, do you really think I would admit it to you now?"

"I guess you wouldn't."

The hybrid says nothing more, shifting uncomfortably. He keeps moving his shoulders forward and then back, occasionally up and down, and Sam doesn't understand what's wrong with him.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks.

"Stretching. Alastair put a bind on my wings, and it's very painful. It'll take time for me to work them free. More time than it would ordinarily require, because the door is closed."

Sam gets the hint but chooses to leave the door shut, unwilling to let Castiel off that easily. "Why are you helping us? What do you have to gain if we win?" When Castiel only shrugs, Sam says, "Whose side are you really on? I need to know."

"Why are you interrogating me?" Castiel asks, curious. "You've already chosen to give me the benefit of the doubt, at least until Dean wakes, but you won't trust anything I say as the truth, anyway. What is the point of questioning me when you don't believe my answers?"

"How do you know I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt?" Sam asks, frowning.

"Bobby suggested that you put me in chains, didn't he? Yet I'm here, not a spot of iron on me, and—"

"Wait—were you awake?" Sam demands.

"Only for a short while," Castiel replies. "I was jostled awake when you removed me from the car."

"Oh," Sam says. Then he says, "Look, I'm the one asking the questions, here. Just answer."

Castiel shoots Sam an annoyed look and says, "You want to know what side I'm on, right?" The hybrid waits until Sam nods before continuing, "I don't identify with any one side, but if you must know, my loyalties lie with Dean."

"Why?"

"That's personal."

"How can it be personal?"

"I pulled Dean from Hell. How much more personal can it get?"

Sam nods solemnly. "You make a good point." They remain in silence for a while, and then Sam says, "Well, I'll let you try and sort your wings out."

Castiel doesn't answer, only watches as Sam opens the door, backs out of the panic room, and shuts the door again. Sam doesn't know whether or not he should trust Castiel, but his gut is telling him that the hybrid is hiding something. What, Sam doesn't know, but it probably has to do with Dean.

Ruby seems extremely suspicious of him, and Sam wonders what he's supposed to get out of that. Should he trust the hybrid or not? It seems like Dean already does, so maybe Sam should stay on his guard. After all, Dean's been kicking and screaming about working with Ruby even though everything she's done has been to help them, so Sam could definitely do the same where Castiel is concerned. But he's not as big of a douche as his brother.

Sam reaches the living room, looks down at Dean, and hopes he wakes up soon.


When John Winchester goes to Hell, there is a lot of excitement.

Not everyone understands what exactly is going on because Lilith, Azazel, and Alastair like to be secretive about their plans, but Castiel does remember bits and pieces of the great story, and he knows that having a Righteous Man in Hell is the lead-up to the first seal.

Hundreds of demons come to watch Alastair work on this man who came not for selfish reasons but to save his son's life, this man who doesn't belong in Hell.

Castiel stands with them for some time, watching the methods of torture grow more and more gruesome, more and more drawn-out. But each time he expects John to break, expects him to give in and take up the blade, the soul spits in Alastair's face and tells him to get lost. He only ever comes close when Alastair taunts him with his sons, Sam and Dean. Even then, he refuses, in the end.

And Castiel can't help but respect the man. Over a century in Hell-years, and he still has no problem denying Alastair at the end of every pain-filled day.

So when the gates are opened and Castiel feels that first breath of fresh air, he's standing in the torture room, watching John Winchester curiously. Alastair has given up for the day, has gone back to wherever it is he takes his rest. Demons are streaming out to freedom, screaming with joy because ordinary demons aren't allowed—or capable, for that matter—to simply walk out of Hell, not the way Castiel or the other crossroad demons are.

The human souls around Castiel wail in despair because they can't get to the exit, strapped in as they are. And even now, when the idea of freedom looms so close, John's composure does not break. The soul looks up at the opening, so small and high up in the distance, and Castiel can read the yearning in his features, but John doesn't make a sound.

Castiel looks around himself to make sure that no one is watching him—no one is—before stepping over to the rack. John tenses up, eyes trained on Castiel warily.

Later, Castiel would not be able to explain to himself why he did it. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself for doing it, would give up anything to be able to go back and undo it.

But in this moment, Castiel moves even closer, checking one last time to ensure that everyone's attention is elsewhere, before murmuring an incantation that breaks the chains binding John to the rack. The soul falls to the ground, fractured, crippled, and Castiel gathers him up in his arms before stretching his wings out and taking flight.

He carries John straight up, through the Devil's gate, and deposits him on the cool ground of Earth.

By the time John turns to thank him, Castiel is gone.


Dean wakes with a start, the memory of Alastair's fist coming at him still fresh in his mind's eye.

"Dean! Dean, Jesus Christ, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Dean grumbles. "Don't know about Jesus, though."

"You've been out cold for hours, man. How do you feel?"

"Peachy," Dean answers. He sits up slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and wow, he really does feel fine. Physically, at least. He presses his fingers against his cheeks, forehead, chin, expecting to find some pretty nasty bruising, but there's nothing—no pain.

"You sure? Castiel said that Alastair banged you up pretty good."

"Yeah," Dean says, frowning. "Yeah, 'm fine." He glances up at Sam and does a double-take because he can see that Sam is—is dark, and fuck, is he looking at Sam's soul? Dean's mind flashes back to the mostly empty warehouse, to holy water and knives and delicious—delicious, what the fuck—blood.

"Uh… why are you looking at me like that?" Sam asks.

"Sam, I uh—I think I might be—" Dean blinks a few times, but the dark "aura" surrounding Sam isn't going away. "I think I might be looking at your uh, your soul."

"What?"

"I drank some of Cas's blood."

Sam's eyes go wide. "You did what?"

"It wasn't my choice! Alastair forced it on me," Dean says. And it's weird that Sam didn't notice, because something tells Dean that it was Sam who killed Alastair, using those freaky mind-powers of his. Cas had been strung up, and Dean had practically sucked him dry, anyway. He couldn't have beaten Alastair.

"Oh my god. Do you think—do you think that's why you healed up so well?" Sam asks. "Because I swear you at least had some bruises when we were still in the car, but there's not a scratch on you now."

Dean shrugs. "I don't know, maybe. Anyway uh, we got anything to eat here? I'm starving."

"Yeah," Sam says. "We've got some leftovers from earlier if you want them. Bobby made chili."

"Awesome."


After eating his fill, Dean goes back into the living room, where Sam's set up with his laptop. He thinks about telling Sam everything, telling him what Alastair said about Dean breaking the first seal. But fuck, even just thinking about it hurts, and he tries his best to turn his mind away from it.

He's still strangely hungry, he realizes, even though his stomach feels full. Maybe Sam's right and he really is hosting a tapeworm or something.

"You okay?" Sam asks.

"Yeah," Dean answers, ignoring the hunger. "Yeah, I'm fine. So are you gonna tell me what happened with Alastair?"

"Oh," Sam says. "Yeah, I—when I got there, Alastair was already dead. I'm guessing the angels took care of him. So I just grabbed you guys and got lost."

"If the angels killed Alastair, why would they just leave us there for you to find?"

"Beats me," Sam says, shrugging.

Dean looks down, considering it. His instincts are still screaming at him that Sam has used his mojo recently, but he has no clue how he could possibly know that. Is this something like the fact that Sam still has this darkness around him, some weird skill that Dean got from Cas's blood?

"Wait, you just said you grabbed us. So is Cas around here somewhere?" Dean asks.

"Yeah. He's in the panic room."

Dean stares at Sam and says, voice flat, "The panic room. That's where you put him to recover from his injuries—the panic room."

"Yeah," Sam says, nodding. "It'll keep him hidden from anything that's looking for him, won't it?"

"We're both carrying hex bags, and we've got spares. You could have given him one."

"I guess, but…"

"But what? But you didn't want to let him stay up here, where he could pose a threat?" Dean says, almost unreasonably angry—a voice in his head reminds him that Sam is only trying to do what he thinks is best, but Dean doesn't want to listen to it right now.

"Okay, maybe I don't trust him," Sam says. "Is that so unreasonable?"

"Oh, so you'll trust a full demon and not a half-angel?"

"She saved my life, Dean," Sam says, and Dean's really getting sick of hearing that argument.

"And Cas pulled me out of friggin' Hell! What more do you want?"

"He could have done it on Lilith's orders."

"Yeah? Well Ruby could be screwing with your head on Lilith's orders! Did that ever occur to you?"

"Cas lied to us," Sam says.

"You say that as though Ruby's never lied to us," Dean replies.

"When did she—"

"She said she could save me from going to Hell, didn't she? She said she didn't know who held my contract, didn't she?"

"Dean, that was like…" Sam sighs and shakes his head, thinking, "…like a year ago. Ruby's—"

"I don't care how long ago that was. You trusted her even back then, even though she was a full-on demon. Why are you so suspicious of Cas, huh?"

"Because Ruby said he's working for Lilith, okay?" Sam says.

Dean stares at his little brother. "Wow, so you're just going off her word now, are you? Sam, Ruby could just as easily be working for Lilith. Then of course she wouldn't want us to trust Cas, because—"

"Why do you trust him so much?"

"Why do you trust her so much?"

Sam and Dean stare at each other for a long moment, silence settling heavily between them. Then Dean turns and stomps out of the room, heading for the basement.

"Dean—" Sam begins, and Dean hears his footsteps following.

"Don't," Dean says, turning as he reaches the stairs. "Just don't. I wanna talk to Cas. Alone."

"Fine, go ahead," Sam says, throwing both hands up in frustration.

The giant clunks his way back over to the living room, and Dean turns to go downstairs. It's quiet in the basement, and Dean really hopes that Cas is okay. As he moves closer to the door of the panic room, he becomes more aware of the hunger gnawing away at his stomach, and he makes a mental note to guilt Sam into buying him a burger later. Maybe some pie, too.

Strangely, pie doesn't sound all that appetizing right now.

Then Dean pulls open the door to the panic room, and all he can smell is this overwhelming mix of rust and ozone. As soon as he steps inside, Cas lunges for the exit, but Dean instinctively grabs onto his arm, throwing him farther into the room. He yanks the door shut, and Cas seems to wilt, sinking back onto the cot wearily.

"This room weakens me," Cas says in explanation. "I need access to my Grace in order to recuperate properly, and the iron… it drains me."

"You look fine to me."

"When you drank my blood, you drew from my Grace as well—that is not an injury that manifests itself on the physical plane. It will take some time for me to recover."

"Oh."

"How is Sam?"

"What do you mean, how is Sam?"

Cas tilts his head to the side. "I was under the impression that the last few times he used his powers, it caused him quite a bit of pain."

Dean's stomach dips, because it seems like his instincts are right, and Sam used his mojo recently. But still he asks, "What are you talking about, Cas?"

"He killed Alastair," Cas says. "He crushed Alastair completely, without even breaking a sweat."

"Hmm," Dean hums distractedly, shifting closer to the cot.

Cas looks up at him through squinted eyes, wary. "Dean… do you feel okay?"

Dean inhales deeply, and fuck, the craving—it's not just hunger, it's need, pure, raw need—intensifies to the point that Dean begins to wonder why he's not doing anything yet.

"Dean," Cas says, a note of urgency in his voice.

Dean leans down, and Cas leans back, trying to put some distance between them. So Dean decides to save them some time and shoves Cas down, pinning him to the cot. Cas struggles—of course he struggles—but he's surprisingly weak like this, injured and without his mojo, and Dean crawls onto the cot over him, straddling Cas's hips and forcing Cas's hands down to his sides.

Dean lifts one knee at a time, trapping Cas's forearms beneath his legs, and it's a rush to see how helpless Cas is against him, now that the tables are turned. Dean cups Cas's cheek and grins when Cas turns his face away, a useless show of defiance. Dean draws his hunting knife from his boot.

"You don't want to do this," Cas says, firm and calm. "Dean, think. Please."

His voice pierces through the haze that's clouding up Dean's brain, fogging up his thoughts, but Dean leans down, noses at Cas's neck, and another hit of that scent just ratchets that hunger up to eleven, and—"C-Cas," he gets out, straightening again, "I don't think I can stop."

The hunting knife is resting along Cas's neck, glinting silver against skin that looks unhealthily pale, and how did it get there? Dean doesn't even remember moving his hand.

"Dean—"

"I've been fucking starving since I woke up, and this… I think this is why," Dean mutters. "Fuck, Cas, what did you do to me?"

"Believe me, I did not want this," Cas says, losing some of his composure. "Dean, get off me."

But the gnawing ache in Dean's stomach will not be denied, and when Cas strains too hard in his attempt to get away, Dean tenses up, and the blade nicks Cas's neck, drawing blood. The smell in the room is even worse now, even harder to resist, and Dean lifts his knife, eyes fluttering shut as he draws his tongue along the flat of it, catching the droplets, and fuck, he hadn't been working at full capacity back in the torture room, so he couldn't have properly registered the taste, because he doesn't think he's ever tasted anything so fucking good.

So right.

"Dean, don't—" Cas protests, desperation—sweet, sweet desperation—rolling off him in waves now, and with Dean's stolen bit of Grace, he can fucking see it.

And he wants to humor Cas, wants to let him go, but he also wants more, needs more, and Cas is an angel—or at least part angel, right? He's capable of handling a little blood loss. So Dean leans down, lengthens the cut a little with the knife and hurriedly presses his mouth to Cas's neck.

Nothing in the world could taste like this—hot, thick, and fucking rich, flavor exploding across his tongue, and he doesn't know how to describe it. It's like sex—better than sex—and at that thought, Dean becomes aware of the fact that he's getting hard, starts rolling his hips a little to relieve the tension.

Cas's arms are still pinned under Dean's knees, and Dean can feel Cas's struggles growing weaker as Dean drinks from him, greedy.

But eventually Dean feels full, hunger sated enough that he can think around his need and his arousal, and he pulls back slightly, watches as blood wells up sluggishly around the cut on Cas's neck. He presses his mouth to Cas's, pushes his tongue between Cas's lips, and Cas seems to flinch under him, remembering himself and weakly renewing his attempts to get away.

Dean stands and looks down at Cas on the cot, skin so much paler than it should be, eyes glazed over, and Dean feels strong, strong and healthy and really fucking turned on, so he grabs Cas by the hips and flips him over, pulls him up onto his knees. Cas doesn't even fight him, just stays in the position that Dean puts him in, and fuck, the sight of him like this—torso still flat on the mattress, ass raised in the air so that it's like he's fucking presenting himself to Dean, offering himself up, begging for it—

Dean can't resist, goes over to the storage cabinet, and rummages through the drawers, eventually coming up with some lotion to use for lube, because he's not about to leave the room with the biggest hard-on he can ever remember having.

When he turns back, Cas is still there, back bowed beautifully, and Dean loses his breath.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean mutters, dick throbbing in his jeans, and yeah, that's exactly what he wants to do.

Dean drops the bottle of lotion on the bed and turns his attention to stripping Cas bare. He tugs the leather jacket off Cas's shoulders and shoves the dark tee up, but he's too lazy to try to get the shirt over Cas's head, especially because that would require lifting his head and shoulders from the bed, and Dean loves the position he's in way too much to screw it up.

So he leaves the shirt rucked up around Cas's upper torso and gets to work unbuttoning Cas's fly, shoving the zipper down, and yanking the denim over the round, generous curve of Cas's ass. He takes Cas's underwear with it, because the sooner he has Cas naked, the better.

And god, that is a thought he really needs to reevaluate later—hell, something feels strangely wrong about this whole slew of actions, but Dean won't stop, can't stop, can't even think of stopping.

Cas's head is turned to the side so that he can breathe, ragged breaths in and out of his slack mouth, and Dean can't help but admire how pretty and vulnerable he looks with his lips parted like that, skin pale as fucking snow, and a voice in Dean's head tells him that it's because of the fucking blood loss, that he shouldn't be turned on by it, but he is, and it's fucking glorious.

It's even better when Dean realizes that he can see something glowing beneath Cas's skin, pulsing with his heartbeat, an ice-blue tint that Dean realizes must be his soul, or Grace, or whatever he has—he's a hybrid, so Dean doesn't know what applies. And fuck, if what Cas said is true, then that's what's running through Dean's veins right now, making him strong and powerful.

Dean gets Cas's jeans and boxers down to his knees before deciding that that's naked enough for him and snatching up the bottle of lotion. He squeezes some onto his fingers before putting the bottle down and using his clean hand to pull one of Cas's cheeks to the side. The sight of that pink hole clenching down instinctively almost makes Dean come in his pants, and he groans, reaching forward to smear lotion all over that tight pucker.

Cas hisses, low, and Dean takes his time rubbing his fingers in circles over Cas's hole, not pressing in just yet because he likes to tease himself. Cas grumbles something unintelligible, and Dean pauses.

"What, Cas? You want something?" he says, releasing Cas's ass to grab the bottle and squeeze some more lotion over his fingers.

"Don't," Cas mumbles, and his voice sounds hoarse, like it's scraping the surface of his throat.

Then Dean's pressing his index finger into Cas's tight little hole, and Cas clenches around him, probably in protest, but all Dean can do is imagine how that's gonna feel around his dick when he finally gets in there, when he splits Cas open with his cock.

He works his way up steadily, probably too fast, but he can't bring himself to care, transitioning from one finger to two, then three, scissoring them now and then to speed things along because he needs to get into Cas freakin' yesterday.

"Dean," Cas gets out in his low, gravelly voice, and the sound just goes straight to Dean's dick.

"Shh, shh," Dean murmurs, rubbing Cas's lower back with his free hand and sliding it up to his shoulder blades, reveling in all that smooth, pale skin available to him. "Gonna take care o' you, Cas. Gonna fuck you 'til you're begging for it, begging to come on my cock."

Cas only moans weakly, and Dean looks down, takes in how perfect Cas's ass looks stretched around his fingers, the fit so snug that Dean almost doesn't think his dick will even fit in there. Dean manages to hold off for another ten thrusts or so before pulling his fingers back out and fumbling with his own belt buckle, and goddamn it, clothing has never been so difficult to deal with as it is now.

Cas is breathing shallowly, eyes closed, brows furrowed like he's concentrating hard, and Dean wants to break him apart, not just physically but emotionally, wants to rip Cas into tiny little pieces and put him back together, remake him into a something new, something—something his. Wants to rewire Cas's body so that it's all his, his to command, his to drink from, his to fuck, his to eat if he fucking wants to.

He wants to own Cas, keep Cas, have him in every possible way, and that's a thought Dean's never had before about anybody, and it should be terrifying, except that it isn't.

Dean finally gets his belt undone and shoves his jeans and briefs down far enough for his cock to spring free, so hard that he thinks he might burst before he even gets inside Cas. He gets up on the bed behind Cas and drapes himself over him, resting his hands on either side of Cas's shoulders.

"Say 'please,' babe," he breathes into Cas's ear, because just fucking Cas won't be enough, not if Dean wants to own him. He needs Cas to submit to him, to want to be his; he wants that so bad he thinks he could die if he doesn't get it.

"Dean," Cas repeats, and Dean shakes his head.

"Nope, you're gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart," Dean says, and he reaches down and finds that Cas's dick is soft, uninterested. Disappointment flashes through him, but then he remembers that Cas is suffering from blood loss, and his brain is probably saving his blood for more vital uses.

Dean makes a mental note not to drink too much next time—it'll be easier not to indulge when he's sure that Cas won't be going anywhere.

And Cas won't be going anywhere, because he'll be Dean's, won't want to be anywhere else.

"C'mon, Cas. You're here because of me, aren't you? Ruby says you're working for Lilith. But I know you're not her bitch. You wanna know how I know that, Cas? Hmm?" Cas doesn't answer, and Dean doesn't know whether it's because he can't or won't, but it doesn't matter because he just continues, "I know because you're my bitch. You're mine, and no one else's. You got that? Even in the pit, you were mine. Had to raise me because you couldn't leave me there, not when I wanted to be gone."

"Dean."

"Y'know, you're gonna have to say something other than my name if you wanna get fucked."

"D-Don't do this," Cas says, stuttering because Dean's biting down on the back of his neck, biting down hard and sucking because he wants to leave a mark somewhere on Cas, where people will see it.

Dean rears up and grabs the bottle of lotion, slicking himself up quickly before tossing the bottle aside and resuming his position braced over Cas, sliding his erection along the crack of Cas's ass.

"You want it, don't you?" And then his mind switches tactics, says, "You want me to trust you, don't you, Cas? Want my loyalty in return?"

Cas wasn't really moving before, but he was trembling. Now, he's absolutely still, and Dean knows he hit the jackpot, knows he's gonna get exactly what he wants if he keeps going with this.

"You want me to be yours too," he breathes into Cas's ear. "You can have me, sweetheart. You can have all of me, s'long as you say the magic words." He leans down a bit farther, licks at the clotting wound on Cas's neck, and even the cool, mostly dried blood gives Dean a little kick.

"Please." Cas's voice is small, cracked.

Dean only continues to rut against Cas's ass, the head of his dick catching on Cas's rim every few passes, and he thinks he might die if he doesn't get inside soon, but he won't settle for anything less than exactly what he wants, because how else is Cas gonna learn? So he prompts, "Please what?"

"Please fuck me."

Dean grins.


Sam tugs open the door to the panic room and freezes at the sight before him.

"What the fuck—"

He'd come down here because Dean had been gone for a disproportionately long amount of time, but if anything, he'd expected the opposite of what he is actually seeing—Castiel is pinned down on the bed, vulnerable, and Dean's behind him, pants down, practically preparing to mount him, holy fucking shit.

Dean's head spins round at the sound of Sam's voice, and his teeth bare in a snarl, and Sam almost backs out of the room, caught off guard.

But he snaps into action in the next moment, fully entering the room and grabbing Dean's shoulders, tugging him off the bed.

"Cas! Get away—get off the bed!" he barks at the hybrid, but Cas doesn't move an inch, and just what the hell did his brother do to this supernatural creature to make it so compliant?

Dean, for his part, is doing his best to fight Sam off, cursing up a storm and trying to wrestle his way out of Sam's grasp.

"Bobby!" Sam shouts, because Dean is freakishly strong right now, and while normally Sam is pretty sure he and Dean match up pretty well, there's something manic, feral about Dean at this moment, and Sam doesn't think he can hold him for much longer.

Dean manages to throw Sam back against a wall, but instead of going for Castiel, Dean tries to follow it up with a punch. Sam ducks, and oh god he never wanted that view of his brother's junk. He scrambles to the side, past the doorway of the panic room, and as Dean passes by, he's hit in the head by a baseball bat and drops to the ground.

Sam lets out a sigh of relief and shucks his own shirt, draping it over Castiel, who still hasn't moved an inch. "Castiel, you okay?" he asks, but he doesn't get a response.

"What the hell happened down here?" Bobby asks, bewildered, and Sam just shakes his head because it doesn't make any sort of sense to him.

"I just know we've gotta get Dean away from Castiel."

"Yeah, probably tie 'im up, too," Bobby agrees.

Sam nods, and together they drag Dean out of the panic room and toward the stairs.

"Goddamn," Sam huffs. "I'm gonna make him start dieting as soon as he wakes up."

"Well, you can't exactly threaten him with heart disease when he lives like he's ready to die any day," Bobby says. Sam gives Bobby a frustrated look, and Bobby says, "What? I'm just telling the truth."

There's a rustling of wings just as they reach the foot of the stairs, and Sam feels the bottom of his stomach dropping out.

"Shit," he curses, and drops Dean's legs, rushing back to the panic room. Cas is nowhere to be seen.

"Balls!" Bobby says from beside him.


Alastair could have saved Azazel's life. When the Devil's gate opened, he'd gone up right away to take a look around, had watched from the opening as demons streamed out into the night.

But then he'd returned to the depths of the pit, to his favorite place, just in time to see Castiel approaching the rack. Specifically, John Winchester. Alastair had taken no action, just watched as the hybrid freed John Winchester from his bonds and took flight, carrying him out of Hell.

Lilith already had the contract for Dean Winchester's soul, so it wasn't too big a loss. And besides, could Alastair be blamed for growing bored of John Winchester's tenacity, his unending ability to stay noble, to withstand torture? It'd be nice to work with some fresh meat. And how was Alastair to know that John Winchester's release would lead to Azazel's death?

But even if Alastair had known the consequences, he might have let Castiel get away with it anyway.

Deep down, Alastair has been waiting for this day. At last, Azazel is gone, and Anael is too far away to lay claim to Castiel—the hybrid is essentially free for the taking. No one has a right to him, and that means Alastair has a better chance.

But Castiel seems uninterested in having that sort of a relationship with anyone. Alastair knows that if he really chose to force Castiel to submit to his will, he could. But more important than owning Castiel would be Castiel wanting him. He can't say what it is about Castiel, but whatever it is, it's powerful, and it makes him need.

Alastair is idle most days now, because his expertise isn't necessary at the rack. Meg is skilled enough to take control, so there is little that actually requires Alastair's attention.

"At least Dean will be here soon," Lilith says, and Alastair holds back a sigh. Lilith must be getting better at hiding her motions, because Alastair didn't sense her impending arrival at all. Or maybe he was too lost in thought to notice.

"Yes," he agrees. "You've said this more than once. Repeating it won't make the day come faster."

Lilith frowns at him. "You need to relax. Maybe I could interest you in having a meal with me."

"I don't think so," Alastair says. "I don't particularly like the taste of human."

"Oh, but they're just so delicious," Lilith says with a smile. When Alastair only shakes his head, Lilith shrugs. "Your loss." After a pause, she says, "Castiel, then? I've said before that he should submit to you if you want to keep him, but you and I both know you could defeat him, in a straight fight. He may be powerful, but experience counts for quite a bit."

"Maybe I want him to come to me."

"He won't," Lilith says bluntly. "He's shown no interest in such matters."

"I know."

Lilith stares at Alastair for a long moment before saying, "You are… strange. If I had your level of obsession with that hybrid, I would have taken him the moment Azazel died."

"There is a difference between force and choice, and I want him to choose me."

"He'll never choose you," Lilith scoffs.

"Don't be so sure."

After a pause, Lilith says, "Suit yourself, then. But you do need to relax. All that stress can't be good for your health."

"Fuck off."

Lilith smiles nastily before vanishing.


Sandover is ridiculously dull… which, to be honest, is fucking unbelievable, because the company is haunted, yet it still manages to be mind-numbingly boring.

Balthazar is stationed as a secretary, working on the twenty-second floor. He takes care of files and screens phone calls and makes coffee, and he hates it. The ghost in this building is supposed to force people to kill themselves, but he is positive that were he a human, he wouldn't need any encouragement from a ghost to take a leap out the window. He almost regrets asking for this assignment. But there's a reason why he's here.

Inias reported to Heaven yesterday with the news that Uriel was dead, that he'd been a traitor, trying to recruit other angels to bring on the apocalypse. He'd also reported Alastair's death, something that was mourned and celebrated in equal measure. He'd had little news about the Righteous Man, but Zachariah had gone down himself to check—apparently, the Winchesters' favored location was known to him—and found Dean Winchester in extremely poor condition.

This set-up, this assignment, is to fix the Righteous Man, to put him back on the right path. Honestly, Balthazar couldn't care less what the Righteous Man feels, but what matters is that Inias said Uriel's death had been by Anael's hand.

Anael, the angel who hasn't been seen for centuries. The angel who carried Little One—Castiel. And sure, all angels are now under orders to kill him on sight, but Balthazar sympathizes with him because he's stayed hidden for so long—the only reason he would have had to rise again is Castiel's reappearance. Anael must have come into contact with him. Otherwise, he would not be resurfacing.

That is the reason why Balthazar put in a request with Zachariah to take Uriel's place as Inias's partner. Inias has been assigned everything to do with Dean Winchester, and rumor has it Castiel is hovering around Dean, even went so far as to mark the human with protective sigils against angels. By keeping an eye on Dean, Balthazar hopes to come into contact with the hybrid again, hopes that he'll get to meet the young brother he lost so long ago.

"Tell me about him—about Castiel," Balthazar says, joining Inias in the break room. Inias is working as Dean's personal secretary, and he's currently fiddling with the complicated coffee machine.

"Don't you have work to be doing?" Inias asks, glancing around surreptitiously.

No one else is in the break room—Balthazar had made sure of that before entering. "Sure, but it's nothing I can't do when I get back."

"We shouldn't be abusing our powers like that," Inias says, pursing his lips in concentration.

"Inias, live a little," Balthazar says, leaning over to catch his brother's eye. He smiles when Inias meets his gaze and watches the younger angel's resolve crumble.

"You knew him before he was taken, didn't you?" Inias says. Balthazar nods, and Inias says, "Then I guess his appearance wouldn't be so interesting to you. But he is… he is more breathtaking than I thought he would be. I've never seen Grace so blue. So… so…"

"Pure," Balthazar finishes for him.

"Yes, pure."

"Tell me what you think about him."

Inias frowns at the coffeemaker and slaps the side of it once. Balthazar sighs, rolls his eyes, and presses his fingers to the side of the machine. Hot coffee pours into the mug, and Inias gives him a disapproving look.

Balthazar shrugs, unconcerned. "We have time, Inias. Tell me."

Inias sets the mug of steaming hot coffee down on the counter and turns toward Balthazar. "I… I am conflicted. I never knew Anael, but what I saw… Zachariah insists that Anael is evil and that Michael and Raphael want him killed, but Anael—Anna—saved my life. Uriel… Uriel turned on me."

Here, Inias stops, and Balthazar waits patiently for him to continue—Inias had been partnered with Uriel for at least a thousand years, and it must have hurt to learn Uriel's true nature.

Eyes on the ground, Inias says, "Anna told me that Castiel is on… that he's in the right. That all he's done is for mankind's benefit, and that he's being persecuted because what's best for mankind is not the same as what's best for Heaven." Inias darts a glance in Balthazar's direction, as if afraid of what he'll see, and Balthazar gives him a small nod, encouraging. "I am not sure what to think, brother."

"What does your instinct tell you?" Balthazar asks.

"We are not supposed to trust instinct," Inias replies. "We must trust our orders. Our orders are just, because they are God's will."

The words are nothing Balthazar hasn't heard before, and he isn't surprised that Inias would hang onto them now, when he's beginning to experience doubt. This is a potential ally that Balthazar has here, if he plays his cards right. "Trust the facts, Inias. Trust what you see in front of you," Balthazar says. "I don't believe that you can follow orders mindlessly. What do you see, when you look at Castiel?"

Inias looks at Balthazar for a long moment, considering, and then he says, barely audible, "A leader—someone I would be willing to follow."

Balthazar smiles slowly. "I feel the same way," he says. "Even when I was too young to understand much of the world, I knew there was something about him."

Inias is visibly relieved at Balthazar's admission, so Balthazar decides to push a little farther.

"Would you help him, if he needed it?"

"I don't think I would go against Heaven," Inias says. "But I do think I would do my best."

Balthazar is happy to hear this, but he doesn't say anything. It's dangerous to speak so freely, and they've already taken a pretty big risk, talking about this out in the open.

"I should bring this to Dean," Inias says, lifting the mug again. "Until next time, brother."

"Of course," Balthazar says.

He follows Inias out of the break room and moves in the opposite direction. However, he turns at the end of the hall and looks over at Dean's office, watches through the slim window beside his door as Inias gives him the coffee.

Dean has a radiant smile. He looks well-groomed, carefully put-together, and the opposite of so many things Balthazar's heard about him. But the point of this exercise is to make Dean realize that he is a hunter at heart, so it makes sense that Zachariah would alter parts of his personality.

Despite the changes on the surface, however, Balthazar sees through him to his soul. He'd originally thought it strange that Castiel would do something so drastic for any human being, but now, looking at Dean, he thinks he knows the reason why. He sees a hint of Castiel's blue, the unique shade that he's never seen anywhere else, reflected in Dean's soul, and it makes perfect sense that Castiel would be drawn to him.

Then Inias is coming back out of Dean's office, and Balthazar figures he should go back to his own desk before Inias gets on his case for staying "in character."


It takes quite some time—almost a week and a half, to be exact—for Anna to find Castiel. This time, he's hidden himself inside a cave in the Andes Mountains.

"I will eventually find a way to keep myself hidden from even you," Castiel says, and his voice is surprisingly weak.

Anna hurries over and is horrified by the state of him. His Grace is dim, dimmer than it ever should be, and Anna reaches down, transferring some energy to help him along.

"Don't—" Castiel starts to protest, but his condition is already improving.

"Please, just accept my help," Anna says.

Castiel quiets, eyes shut as he focuses on healing.

"Can you tell me what happened to you?"

Castiel shakes his head. "I'd really rather not."

"Okay, then," Anna says. "Well, Uriel is dead." At this, Castiel's eyes open, and Anna continues, "I was there when he turned on Inias, and I killed him myself."

"I am impressed," Castiel says. He stretches out his wings, and Anna is relieved to see that he already looks so much healthier.

"I went with Inias to check on Alastair," Anna says. "He was dead, and you and Dean weren't there. I'd assumed that you brought him to safety, but seeing you in this state…"

"Let it go."

"Did Dean do this to you?" Anna asks.

"No."

"He must have. I can't imagine anyone else you would want to cover for. What did he do, hmm? How could he possibly drain energy from your Grace like that?" Castiel closes his eyes again, and Anna groans, not bothering to hide her frustration. "I won't go after him in revenge, all right? Can you just tell me what exactly happened to you?"

"I'm fine," Castiel says.

"You are very far from fine," Anna counters.

But even as she says this, Castiel stills and his eyes go distant, as though he's listening very carefully to something, and Anna grasps his shoulder, trying to hear what he's hearing—I am fresh out of options.

Castiel shoves Anna away and gets to his feet, but Anna grabs his arm, because that was Dean's voice, and the last thing Anna wants is for Castiel to go anywhere near Dean again.

"Release me," Castiel says.

"No," Anna says.

"He needs me."

The conviction in Castiel's voice is heartbreaking to Anna. She knows now just how much thought he put into Dean's protection—the only way that Castiel could have intercepted Dean's prayer, redirected it to go only to him, is if he included it as part of the protective sigils that keep Dean hidden from angelic sight. Anna still doesn't know what exactly Castiel did to ensure that the sigils would follow Dean around, but it's certainly been effective so far.

"I don't know what you hope to gain by helping him, but I highly doubt it'll result in anything good for you, Castiel. The last time I helped you help him, you ended up here, still hardly recovered despite having over a week to recuperate."

Castiel fixes Anna with a hard stare. "Do you respect my free will?"

"Of course I do. But that doesn't mean—"

"Then you can't stop me."

Castiel thrusts Anna far away from him with a hard push, flares his wings wide, and takes flight before Anna has enough time to react. She instantly takes off as well, but Castiel's too quick, and she loses him within thirty seconds.

Frustrated, Anna decides to try to track down Sam Winchester instead.


Dean doesn't understand how the angels could expect him to follow their orders when they never come to help him. He just prayed for their help and got nothing in return. Squat. And they weren't there to keep an eye on Alastair's Devil's trap, either.

Inias popped in only like an hour ago with a new partner, some mouthy bastard with a British accent named Balthazar. And maybe the both of them think that there's nothing they can do to stop this Sam-Lilith love connection from happening, but that doesn't mean they can just ignore Dean, right? Shouldn't they be freakin' rejoicing that Dean's praying at all?

Dean leans on the hood of the Impala and pops open his soda, glaring up at the sign that now reads "Red Motel," the lit up letters winking now and then as though they're mocking him.

And then there's the sound of wings flapping, and when Dean turns his head, Castiel is standing a few yards away, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Memories of Cas's blood hot on his tongue, Cas's hole stretched wide around his fingers abruptly flash through his mind, and Dean goes hot all over.

"Cas," he says. If he pretends he doesn't remember what happened, will it all be okay? "I uh, I didn't think it'd be you. Thought I was prayin' to the angel brigade."

Cas smiles wryly. "Well, you've got the next best thing. What can I do for you?"

"Do you know what's going on here?"

"You might have to give me a rundown. I've been… let's just say I've been out of commission."

It's a miracle that Dean doesn't burst into flame on the spot at those words. Sure, Zachariah may have been able to scrub the… the immediate effects of Cas's blood on Dean, but the memories are all there, and Jesus, Dean half-thinks he should be groveling or something right now. Instead, he explains what's been happening—that he and Sam ran into a prophet named Chuck Shurley, and that Chuck predicted that Sam and Lilith were going to sleep together.

"Sam's gonna go darkside if we don't do anything," Dean finishes.

"What do you want me to do?" Cas asks.

"Drag Sam out of here, now. Before Lilith shows up," Dean says.

After a pause, Cas says, "I… searched the town before coming here. Lilith's demons have definitely scoped this place out thoroughly. I can still smell the sulfur lingering."

"Okay," Dean says, nodding. "Okay, so Chuck's probably right. Grab Sam, and let's go."

Cas shakes his head. "I don't think so."

"What—oh god, don't tell me you can't interfere. Don't—"

"I'll interfere as much as I want to," Cas says. "After all, an angel was supposed to pull you out of Hell, not me."

"Okay, then why won't you help me?"

"I will," Cas says. "But I've never seen Lilith's demons do such a thorough job."

"So?"

Cas actually rolls his eyes, which is fucking surreal. "It means Lilith is scared. She knows something that we don't know, and it scares her. I want to find out what it is."

"Wait, so you—you wanna let Sam talk to her."

"Yes."

"We are not using Sammy as bait!" Dean hisses.

"We need to beat Lilith, Dean. To do that, we need to know as much as possible, and if she's got useful information, we're gonna need it. Do you have any other options? A prophet just told you exactly where Lilith's gonna show up tonight. We'd be fools not to use that to our advantage."

"But it's Sam, Cas," Dean says, shaking his head. "I can't just—I can't leave him to—"

"He won't be alone," Cas says. "I'll make sure he gets out before Lilith can do anything to him."

"Yeah? And how are you gonna do that?"

"Don't worry. I've got an edge over Lilith when it comes to flying. I'll be able to get your brother out of there in time."

Dean folds his arms across his chest. "How sure are you that this is gonna work?"

Cas tilts his head to the side. "I don't know, say, eighty-five percent."

"Not good enough."

"Not good enough had better be good enough, Dean. We're not giving up this opportunity," Cas says. Dean doesn't reply, just stares Cas down. After a long moment, Cas says, "Your prophet friend, Chuck. How well do you know him?"

"Not well at all. Why?"

Cas frowns. "He'll have to do."

"For what?"

"Prophets are protected by archangels," Cas says. "If anything threatens a prophet, an archangel will come down from Heaven and eliminate the threat."

"So what you're saying is that if we get Chuck in the same room as Lilith…"

"Then one Heaven's most powerful weapons will come down to smite her."

"Okay, so that's plan B," Dean says. "But we're not going through with plan A 'til you explain all the details for me."

"That will take time, of which we don't have much."

"So explain quickly."

Castiel lets out a longsuffering sigh and gets started.


There's no one in the entrance when Sam opens the door. Could have been some kids playing pranks who just happened to knock on his door… but Sam doesn't really believe in coincidence. But then he turns around, and—

"Hello, Sam."

"I've been waiting for you," Sam says, and Lilith's eyes turn white.

"Where's the knife, Sam?" she asks.

"On the nightstand, by the bed."

Lilith starts moving toward the bed, and for a second, Sam thinks he might have actually gotten her, but she stops in front of the rug and lifts it up, and well, it was worth a shot, Sam thinks as she burns a hole in the Devil's trap.

"You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that," Lilith says, turning to face Sam.

"How 'bout this?" Sam says, lifting his hand and drawing on the powers that he's become so familiar with. But he can't move her, not like he could Alastair, and he can't decide whether that's because she's more powerful than Alastair, or because he hasn't topped up on blood in the past few days. It's probably a combination of both.

"You're strong," Lilith comments. "But you're not that strong. Not yet."

"So why don't you throw me around, then?"

"Because I can't, and you know it," she says, sounding annoyed. "You're immune to my charms. Seems we're at a stalemate."

"Why are you here?"

"To talk," Lilith replies, walking toward him.

"Yeah, well, I'm not interested," Sam scoffs.

"Hmm," Lilith hums thoughtfully, circling around behind Sam and coming back in front of him. "Even if I'm offering to stand down? From the seals… the apocalypse… all of it?"

"You expect me to believe that?" Sam says.

"Honestly? No. You were always the smart one. But it's the truth. You can end it, Sam. Right here, right now. I'll stop breaking seals, Lucifer keeps rotting in his cage. All you have to do is agree to my terms," Lilith says.

But it doesn't make any sense. "Why would you back down?" Sam asks. "Why now?"

"Turns out, I don't survive this war. Killed off, right before the good part starts."

"What do you want?" Sam asks.

"For it to go back to the way it was. Before I had angels to deal with twenty-four seven. The good old days, when it was all baby blood all the time."

"And what do you want in return?"

"Your head on a stick. Dean's, too. Call it a consolation prize. So what do you say, Sam? Self-sacrifice is the Winchester way, isn't it?"

"You really think I'm stupid enough to fall for this?" Sam says.

"I make a deal, I have to follow through. Those are the rules, and you know it. Are you really so arrogant that you would put your life before the lives of six billion innocent people?" Lilith asks, and she really does know exactly what to say, doesn't she? "Maybe it's all that demon blood pumping through your pipes. Man after my own heart."

"You think I'm like you? I am nothing like you," Sam says, thinking quickly.

"Then prove it. Going once," she says, turning and moving toward the bed, "Going twice."

"Fine," Sam says, plan in mind. He's gotta look reluctant enough that Lilith will believe he's giving in to her request. The knife's still on the nightstand, so he should be able to reach it from the bed—

Then a hand grasps him by the shoulder, and Sam hears Lilith cry out an angry "No!" before he's tugged out of the room, out of—out of time and space as he knows it, and he's been carried like this before, but he's never been able to feel it, this strange desensitization to everything about himself, like an out-of-body experience.

He's dropped unceremoniously onto a stiff mattress in an unfamiliar room, but when he looks around, he sees no sign of what brought him here, only Dean, jerking to his feet from his seat on the other bed.

"Sam! You're okay, thank god," he says.

"What the hell is going on, Dean?" Sam asks, looking around again. This time he notices Chuck sitting in a chair by the lone table in the room, and the set-up is really similar to the room he was just in with Lilith. "Is this—are we still in—"

"The fucking 'Red' Motel? Yeah, we're still there," Dean says. "And if Cas isn't back in… ten minutes, then we've gotta scram."

"Okay, then," Sam says. "And Chuck is here because…?"

"If Cas didn't drop you off within the next…" Dean glances down at his watch, "…thirty seconds or so, I was gonna storm in there with Chuck, because he's got an archangel perched on his shoulder."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means if anything's threatening his life, Heaven's gonna do somethin' about it."

Sam looks over at Chuck. "Dude, we should keep him around all the time, then," he jokes, and Chuck fidgets nervously.

"Uh, sure," Dean says, and Sam can tell that he's this close to rolling his eyes. "Anyway, tell me—what did Lilith want from you?"

"She uh, she wanted to just end it, all of it," Sam says.

"No kidding."

"Yeah. She said that she found out she wasn't gonna make it through this alive, so she wanted to make a deal with me: we give up our lives, and she stops what she's doing," Sam answers.

"A deal, huh?"

"That's what she said," Sam says, shrugging.

"To call the whole thing off—angels, seals, Lucifer rising, the whole shebang?"

"That was the gist of it."

"Huh," Dean grunts.

"What?" Sam asks.

"You didn't think once about taking it?"

"You kidding me?" Sam says. "Dude, you spent all day trying to talk me off the Lilith track."

"I'm just saying…"

"She would have found some way to weasel out of it. And all it would have cost us was our lives," Sam concludes. He glances over at Chuck, who's watching the scene interestedly, almost as though he's mentally critiquing their performance or something.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Dean says, and it figures that Dean would actually consider taking that sort of a deal. Dean was always the leaper, quick to jump in, quick to give himself up if necessary.

"Anyway, that's not the point," Sam says.

"What's the point?"

"The point is, she's scared. I could see it. Lilith is running," Sam says.

Dean doesn't look nearly as surprised as Sam would have expected him to be as he asks, "Running from what?"

"No clue. But she was telling the truth about one thing."

"What's that?"

"She's not gonna survive the apocalypse. I'll make sure of that."

"Well, that sounded sufficiently sinister. You sure you don't want to try your hand playing the villain?"

Sam whips around and sees Castiel, leaning back against the far wall with his arms folded across his chest. The hybrid quirks one side of his mouth up briefly before straightening and moving around the bed to stand next to Chuck.

"Everything went to plan. Lilith didn't want to go up against Anna and me, two against one. Our Sam look-a-like is safe and sound at home, sleeping like a baby," Cas reports.

"What are you talking about, 'Sam look-a-like?'" Sam asks.

"We borrowed him just for a few minutes," Cas answers. When Sam doesn't show any sign of understanding, Cas elaborates, "When I dropped you off here, I exchanged you for him, so that Lilith would keep following me. I had to pick up someone who was about your size to make it convincing."

"So you essentially kidnapped a guy—"

"Oh, don't worry—the guy didn't wake up once. I put him right back in bed, not a scratch on him."

Sam lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Okay, wow. I uh, I guess that was pretty good," he says. "Thanks, Cas."

"You say that like you're surprised. I'll have you know I'm an excellent strategist," Cas says.

"Yeah, yeah, you're awesome and we should all be kissing your ass," Dean says, waving a hand in Cas's direction dismissively. "What're you gonna do, now?"

"I'm not sure," Cas replies. Dean opens his mouth to speak, but Cas says, "I just know that I can't stay," and Sam's watching his brother, but he can still barely believe it when he sees Dean's face fall. Cas continues, oblivious, "It's too dangerous for me to stay near you because I'm just too bright."

"Too bright?" Sam repeats, finally looking away from Dean to focus on the hybrid. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Souls, Graces, they all come in different colors, different intensities. My Grace happens to stand out a lot, even from far away. It'd be too easy for the angels to track me down if I moved with you two," Cas explains. "And before you ask, I'm excellent at remaining hidden, but those hex bags aren't foolproof when it comes to my Grace, and I'd rather not take any chances with your lives."

"So the angels—they can't be trusted?" Chuck asks, finally speaking up.

"Well, I don't know. Uriel isn't exactly a minor player, if what I've heard is true. The fact that he could have been killing the angels means Heaven isn't as against the apocalypse as they seem to be—"

"Wait—it was Uriel?" Sam says, eyes wide. "Uriel was the one killing the angels?"

"Yes," Cas answers.

"Okay, you mind taking this one from the top, Cas? Because apparently we've been left outta the loop again," Dean says, irritated. Inias hadn't taken the time to explain why he had a new partner, and it wasn't as though Sam and Dean cared enough to ask what happened to Uriel, but still.

"I—we don't have time for this," Cas says. "The prophet knows everything—he'll be able to explain it to you. I need to go."

"Wait," Dean says, and to Sam's surprise, the irritation that was in his brother's voice mere seconds ago has dissipated completely in the face of Cas's imminent departure. "Where are you going?"

Cas huffs. "Anywhere but here," he answers. "I need to find a place to hole up, set up the correct warding sigils until I can be sure that Lilith isn't looking for me. And now that I've been in the same room as a prophet for several minutes, I'm sure the angels are preparing to search for me."

"Why do they want you so bad, Cas?" Sam asks.

"Hell if I know," Cas says, shrugging. He hesitates a moment before approaching Sam. "I marked Dean's ribs with masking sigils when we first met, to keep him off the radar of anything supernatural. I hadn't anticipated that he'd be traveling with you all the time, making my precautions pretty much useless. Would you mind if I marked you now?"

"Dude, you just went for it when it was me, but you ask all nice for Sam?" Dean says, brow raised.

"You stabbed me in the chest. He didn't," Cas answers as Sam nods in his direction. Cas moves closer and motions for Sam to get to his feet. Then he puts his fingertips on Sam's chest and says, "This will sting a bit." He's not even finished speaking before there's an excruciatingly painful sensation deep in Sam's chest, and he has to cry out, wincing.

"A bit?" he gets out through gritted teeth.

"If I told you it'd hurt a lot, I'm sure you would have been more reluctant," Castiel says nonchalantly. "Now, I need to go. If you need me to stop him, pray directly to me. I've wired your prayers so that they come directly to me, but there's always a chance that someone else could pass by and overhear."

"But if we pray to you, you'll come," Dean says.

Cas turns and flashes a small smile in Dean's direction, and then he's gone.

"Flighty son of a bitch," Dean mutters. He looks over at Sam and says, "You okay there?"

"Fine," Sam answers, rubbing his chest. "God, that really hurt."

"Quit your whining," Dean says. "All right, Chuck, you ready to go home? We'll drop you off before we hit the road."

"Yeah, and you can tell us all about—" Sam starts.

"—what the hell happened with Uriel," Chuck finishes. "I know."

The prophet leaves the hotel room first, and as soon as his back is turned to the brothers, Sam looks over at Dean.

"That will never not be freaky," Dean says before following Chuck out the door.


Everyone had been prepared for the Devil's gate to close up again—after all, it couldn't stay open forever. It was disconcerting how quickly the humans managed it, though. Morale dropped even lower with the news of Azazel's murder and John Winchester's escape. Seemed everything was going wrong.

If Castiel takes the news a bit harder than anyone else, they all assume that it is because he was closer to Azazel than most, but none of them know the truth.

Most demons don't know that Dean Winchester was the one to pull the trigger, that John Winchester was the one who restrained Azazel and gave Dean the opening to shoot him. None of them know that Castiel was the one who released John and carried him out of the pit. None of them know that Castiel is the one to blame for his father's death. Maybe he didn't pull the trigger himself, but he may as well have done so.

Lilith doesn't know the whole truth, but she does know that Castiel found out everything he could about Azazel's murder. She instructs him to leave the Winchesters alone, because a plan has already been set in motion for another chance at the first seal.

The other demons are given these orders as well, but Lilith stops by to deliver them personally to Castiel, in hopes that he'll obey—Castiel has had somewhat of a rebellious streak, and he's often gotten his way. After all, Azazel was his father and Alastair harbored some strange sort of favoritism toward him.

Castiel agrees to Lilith's terms readily enough, saying that he can be patient. He can wait until her scheme has been carried out before exacting revenge. Lilith takes his word because really, what other choice does she have? Over the years, it's become clear that Castiel cannot be confined to any one realm without sealing it off to all others.

But soon after Lilith's departure, Castiel chooses to return to Earth. He claims that it is to collect on some deals, which isn't true, but it isn't as though anyone can check on him. After all, each crossroad demon has his own set of contracts—only Crowley knows them all in detail, and the King of the Crossroads has proven to be quite loyal to his creator.

So Castiel ascends to Earth, despite Lilith's protests.

It doesn't take him long to find the Winchesters. The pair of brothers is tangling with the Seven Deadly Sins, and Castiel sighs, because that is one screwed up family of demons that never should have gotten out of Hell. Dysfunctional and overall unimpressive, he's almost embarrassed to call them his kin.

He doesn't bother lending a hand to either side, choosing instead to watch over the proceedings from afar, get a sense of the two humans and their… their personalities, he supposes.

He's so certain that he'll hate them, so certain that he will never be able to forgive them for taking away someone so important to him, but curiosity—or perhaps it's fate, destiny pulling him in—makes him move closer, and he lays eyes on Dean Winchester's soul for the first time.

At first, he thinks he must be seeing things. It's impossible for a human soul to burn so bright, colored with a hint of the same pure blue that suffuses Castiel's own Grace. He's never seen that hue in any human soul—no man or woman, noble or depraved, rich or poor. He almost cannot look away, drawn in by this anomaly of a soul, and he thinks that he might understand why Alastair looks at him so strangely.

He departs without contacting the Winchesters and avoids them after that non-encounter, because he doesn't want to see how clean and bright and beautiful that soul is, not when it's the one who took his father's life. That's too much for him to reconcile.

Castiel returns to Hell, and life goes on.


The message is the same every time Crowley thinks he's gotten through. I don't want to see you. It's infuriating, but Crowley is tenacious, keeps on until he thinks even he would be annoyed, and tries a couple more times after that.

"What do you want?"

Castiel brings a gust of wind with him when he arrives, and Crowley shivers a little. It's been at least a decade since he was up here for an extended length of time, and as he's only been topside for two days, he hasn't quite adjusted to the cold yet.

"Castiel," Crowley says, turning around slowly. "You're a hard man to find."

"Hard?" Castiel says, tilting his head. "I'd like to think I'm impossible to find. Still, you've been amply irritating. What do you want?"

Crowley shrugs. "Oh, I just heard some information passed along the grapevine, thought I might help you out a bit. But you've been so unappreciative. I'm not here for my own health, you know."

Castiel smiles. "Of course you are. If you were doing this solely for my benefit, you would have given up after one continuous day of rejection. No, whatever this is concerns you just as much as it concerns me, I'm sure."

"Well, then. I'm here to tell you that I know what the final seal is."

"There are hundreds of seals. Any one of them could be the final one," Castiel says. "How could you—"

"Ah, ah, ah," Crowley interrupts, holding up a finger. "Just as there was a first seal that had to be broken before the rest could fall, there's a last seal that must be broken when the time is right."

"So if we thwart the demons from breaking the last seal, we win," Castiel says.

Crowley squints. "Ah, not quite. Because the last seal isn't exactly something you can just… prevent."

"Don't be such a tease, Crowley. What is the last seal?"

"Ooh, you'd like me to skip right to the good bit, then."

"Yes," Castiel says, impatient.

"Lilith is the final seal," Crowley says. He pauses for effect before saying, "Specifically, killing Lilith is the final seal."

"What—so we can't kill her," Castiel says, frowning.

"Well you see, what matters most here is timing."

Crowley sees the exact moment that his suggestion clicks, and Castiel says, "So we kill her ahead of time, before the demons have reached sixty-five seals. If the last seal breaks before the correct time, the door will effectively be locked forever."

"Precisely! Well—at least, it won't be reachable through the proper channels," Crowley qualifies.

Castiel waves a hand dismissively. "Any other methods don't matter at this point in time," he says. He thinks in silence for a moment, and then he fixes a penetrating gaze on Crowley. "How do I know that you're telling me the truth?"

"Well, you could check with Lilith, but I doubt you're on speaking terms with her at the moment," Crowley says mildly. "Or, you could trust me."

"I find it difficult to trust you."

"Oh come on, Castiel. You're the one who made me, remember?"

"Yes, but I've made thousands of demons since. What makes you different?"

Crowley smirks. "I don't know. But you chose me yourself, didn't you? I know I was made King of the Crossroads by your recommendation, and you were right, weren't you? I've done a damn fine job so far, if I may say so myself. So if anyone knows what makes me different, surely you do."

"You make a good argument," Castiel says. He thinks for a minute before saying, "It'd be useful to have the Colt and the scythe, then, if we're planning to kill Lilith. The demon blade won't be enough to kill her, just as it wasn't enough for Alastair."

"I don't have them right now," Crowley replies.

"When can you have them?"

"Actually, there is one thing," Crowley says. "I might have uh, temporarily misplaced the scythe." Castiel stares at Crowley for a long moment, long enough that Crowley turns away and almost starts fidgeting.

"You lost it," Castiel says flatly.

"It was stolen! I didn't—"

"Find it," Castiel says. "You have control over all the deals being made in the world, don't you? It shouldn't be a problem. Call me when you have the Colt, and I'll come get it from you. I need to bring this information to Sam and Dean."

As soon as he's finished speaking, Castiel takes off, and Crowley rolls his eyes. "Don't get any appreciation these days," he grumbles before preparing to return to Hell.


It's near impossible for Castiel to find Dean directly, especially now that he's marked Sam as well. He chooses an abandoned warehouse in central Ohio, about an hour and a half's drive away from Kripke's Hollow, to set up as a meeting place. He puts a few preliminary wards in place before heading off to provide Dean with the address.

He's been in Dean's mind before, but this time Dean's already dreaming when he enters, and it's a place that Castiel has never seen before. There's a short dock that leads out over a huge lake, sprawling almost as far as the eye can see—Dean sits at the end of this dock, back to Castiel, with a fishing rod thrown out over the water. A light breeze is blowing, making the surface of the lake sparkle in the soft light. It's idyllic, peaceful in a way that Castiel hasn't ever experienced before.

Actually, this place probably doesn't exist, not outside of Dean's head, and at this thought, Castiel feels intrusive, like he shouldn't be allowed in this private place.

But this is important—Dean needs to know.

So Castiel uncloaks himself beside Dean and says, "We need to talk."

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" Dean says.

"It's not safe here," Castiel says. "Someplace more private."

"More private? We're inside my head."

"Exactly. Someone could be listening," Castiel says, looking around.

"Cas, what's wrong?" Dean asks, looking up at him, and Castiel wishes he could explain, but he really doesn't have time for it. Dean's dream is open to any other angel. Anyone could be listening in.

"Meet me here," Castiel says, pressing a slip of paper into Dean's hand. "Go now."

He instantly returns to the warehouse, where he gets to work with extra protective wards. When he finishes with the place, he intends to have it all closed up to the point that no supernatural creatures—indeed, not even Castiel himself—would be able to get in or out.

Though—maybe he should wait until the Winchesters are actually here before closing it up that far. There's the possibility that they won't make it here, and then Castiel would be trapped indefinitely, until some human stumbled upon him.

While he's deliberating, he feels the presence of one angel, quickly followed by a second and a third. He finishes the mark that he'd been drawing and cleans his hands with a thought as he straightens. No point in doing up the rest, now that he's been found.

"You might as well show yourselves. I know you're here," he says to the empty warehouse.

"You're very attuned to our presence," one angel says, unveiling himself several yards in front of Castiel. The angel is wearing a middle-aged blond woman, dressed well in a neat suit-and-pants combination. "I'm impressed," she adds.

"Oh, I don't care what you say. I'm not gonna go easy just because you butter me up," Castiel says.

A subtle shift in the air gives away the impending appearance of a second angel, so Castiel leaps to his right, just as the angel appears and grabs for him. His blade falls into his grip, and he flips it once, eyes flitting back and forth between the two angels. The second is young, younger than Castiel, possibly younger than Inias as well. Fittingly, he wears the vessel of a young man with a boyish face who can't be older than twenty-five.

"It will be better for you if you do not resist capture," the first angel says.

"Hester," Castiel says, finally reading her name from her Grace.

She looks caught off-guard. "Do you… remember me?"

"Should I?"

"You were a fledgling, hardly old enough to have a proper memory," she answers, looking concerned.

"No, I don't remember you," Castiel admits. "I read your name."

"Interesting, that you have that capability."

Castiel shrugs. "I have quite a few capabilities. Now, are we going to just stand here and talk all day, or did you actually want to—"

He senses the third angel in the room approaching and spins away, between Hester and the young angel until he's put a safe distance between himself and the three angels. Sure enough, the third angel, this one seemingly just as young and inexperienced as the second, stands right by the place where Castiel had been positioned.

"Really?" Castiel says, looking at Hester with his brows raised. "You'd think you would have a more sophisticated method of attack, especially after the first time that failed."

Hester smirks. "We'll take you, don't worry about that. You're a runner, not a fighter. And you can't fight us off, not on your own. And you don't have help, do you? We didn't see Anael anywhere near here."

"She's within reach," Castiel bluffs. "Should be arriving with the Winchesters any minute now. She's—she may not be as powerful as the three of you combined, but I'm sure your two toddler friends here will be no match for her."

"Do not debase us," the second angel says. "I am Samandriel, and this is Sachiel."

"Fledglings, the both of you," Castiel says. "Was this the best that Heaven could muster?"

"A dirty little half-breed like you hardly warrants our best," Hester says.

Castiel laughs. "Was that supposed to hurt my feelings? If so, your trash talk needs a little work. After all, I may not have been born in Hell, but I was raised there."

"Enough talk," Hester says. "Will you surrender?"

"What do you think?"

Hester's eyelid twitches, lip curling in distaste, and then she's lunging forward, blade in hand. Castiel meets her blade with his and skips to the side, but Samandriel happens to be coming at him from that side, so he ducks under the blow and counters with his own. Samandriel parries and grabs at Castiel's arm, but Castiel falls back and to his left, avoiding a swing at his lower ribs from Sachiel.

Samandriel advances quickly—too quickly for his own good. Castiel takes advantage of Samandriel's approach and thrusts his blade at Samandriel's weapon-wielding left arm. Samandriel drops his blade and recoils—not yet accustomed to pain on the physical plane, Castiel observes.

But this leaves Castiel weaponless, and as Hester comes at him, he dances to the side, toward Sachiel. The young angel takes two swings at him, and Castiel evades both of them before swerving in and grasping Sachiel's wrist. He twists, hard, and the weapon falls out of Sachiel's grip and into Castiel's waiting hand.

Castiel shoves Sachiel away from him and spins around just in time to meet Hester's blade with his newly acquired one.

Leaning in close, Hester says, "Give in. You won't win."

"I've already disarmed your two fledglings," Castiel says before backing away from Hester.

But Samandriel has regained his weapon, holding it in his right hand, and Castiel sees that the left arm has stopped bleeding. However, it likely will take some time for the nerve damage to correct itself, despite the angel's Grace-sped healing.

Hester comes in with a series of quick blows, technique that Castiel honestly has never come into contact with. Hester really was right on the money when she said that he was a runner, not a fighter—Castiel has never really needed to fight because he could typically use his influential position in Hell to get his way, and on Earth nothing could threaten him.

He continues giving ground, blow after blow, and Samandriel and Sachiel aren't even doing anything, just standing on the side and watching as Hester goes all out. Castiel manages to hold out for another ten, fifteen passes before finally getting pinned to the wall behind him, Hester's blade to his throat.

"Fine," Castiel says, out of breath. "Kill me."

"We don't want to kill you," Hester says, smiling sinisterly, and then she's grasping him by the shoulder and murmuring a quick incantation.

The familiar sensation of having his wings restrained comes over Castiel, and he slumps as much as he can without slitting himself open on Hester's blade. Then Hester's grip tightens, and she takes flight, ripping him out of his vessel and carrying him along with her.

They enter Heaven through the gates, and Castiel had vague memories of this place, but he hasn't been back in millennia, doesn't accurately remember much. And what he does remember could very well have changed in all this time. They stop moving in a place that Castiel definitely does not recognize, and though Hester releases him, the restraints remain on his wings.

"What do you want with me?" Castiel asks.

Before Hester can reply, a different voice chimes in. "We want information."

Castiel waits until the angel has appeared before replying, "What information? I don't know anything important."

"A likely story," the new angel says. Castiel knows from her voice and the way she carries herself that she is powerful, more so than Hester. "You can go," she says to the other angels in the meantime, and in the blink of an eye, Castiel and the new angel are left alone.

Naomi, he discovers, is her name. "What information?" Castiel repeats.

"What are you trying to do?" Naomi asks.

"Right now? Trying to stay alive."

"Don't be smart with me. What are you trying to accomplish by helping the Winchesters?"

Castiel shrugs, and the motion pulls at his bound wings uncomfortably. "Isn't that obvious? I like having Earth as my sandbox. I'd like to keep playing in it, so it'd probably be for the best if I stopped you from taking all the sand out of it."

Naomi eyes him doubtfully. "How have you managed to defy Fate and live to this day?" she asks next.

Castiel doesn't answer this question because he doesn't actually know why they haven't sent Atropos after him already. He's been entirely cloaked most of the time and actually hasn't caught sight of Lachesis recently, either.

"Answer me," Naomi says impatiently.

"No, I don't think so. You've hit the quota already."

Naomi smiles and pulls a thin, jagged dagger from the ether, murmuring a few words in order to make Castiel vulnerable, more receptive to pain.

"I was hoping you'd say that."


Time blends together amidst the pain—minutes blend into hours, which blend into days.

In this realm, time seems to pass quickly, much like the speed of Hell. But it probably goes according to a different conversion factor, and it's probably separate from the rest of Heaven, but Castiel honestly has no idea. He tried counting to keep track toward the beginning, but then Naomi had taken an apparatus and started screwing into his forehead, and he'd lost concentration.

Now, she twists the screw farther inward, and he lets out another long moan, because fuck it all, it hurts, and he really can't suppress his reaction to the pain.

"Tell me how you've been defying Fate and getting away with it," Naomi demands, for the who-knows-how-many-eth time.

Castiel flicks his eyes up to her face and forces himself to grin. "Fuck you," he rasps.

Naomi smiles, tight and controlled, and says, "Fine. It's all fine. I have all the time in the world, after all. I suggest you reconsider and start phrasing your response sooner rather than later."

With that, she takes off.

Castiel shifts feebly, but the motion only hurts him more. He's strapped onto a cross—pinned on, really, with bolts going through both of his shoulders, wrists, palms, thighs, and feet. The screw that's protruding from his forehead thankfully hasn't gone all the way through him. He knows that it wouldn't kill him, but it would certainly hurt like hell.

He chuckles at his own joke.

Then there's a sharp intake of breath, and Castiel really can't be blamed for not hearing the angel's arrival—he's in more than a little bit of pain.

"Castiel."

Castiel lifts his head as much as he can to look at the newcomer. He seems familiar, like Castiel knew him in a previous life. His Grace looks a familiar shade of yellow, almost golden, glimmering and shifting with restless energy.

"Castiel, I'm so sorry," he says, voice breaking on the last word. "I… I should have been there. I should have paid more attention."

"Who are you?" Castiel would ordinarily just read his name, but it's too difficult now, when he's in constant pain. The last thing he wants to do right now is focus on anything.

"You don't recognize me?"

Castiel sighs. "I am getting very tired of that question and all of its variations."

"I'm Balthazar."

The name rings a bell. Brief glimpses of memories, so repressed that Castiel had almost forgotten he had them, flash through his mind—running around in Joseph's garden, running into Anael's arms to escape in that chasing game they played, racing through the realms of Heaven and trying to be the fastest…

"This should never have happened to you," Balthazar says, pulling Castiel back into the present, and the angel is close enough now and that he can reach out and touch Castiel's face.

"I remember you," Castiel says.

Balthazar smiles a little, but the expression doesn't stay on his face for long, and his gaze drops down. "I did not think they would hand you over to Naomi, to be honest," he says. "I'd assumed that they would just hold you, like they did Alastair."

Castiel frowns. "They tortured him, Balthazar. He wasn't simply restrained. He was tortured at length by Raphael himself, before they gave up on him."

"How—is that what he told you?"

"It's the truth."

Balthazar looks like he's about to argue, but he stops and says, "Well, it isn't that difficult to believe. I'm looking right at you, strung up here just because you're a half-demon, and he was a full-on demon."

After a pause, Castiel says, "Is it known in Heaven, what the last seal is?"

"Of course it is."

"So you know that Lilith must be killed ahead of time, if we are to stop Lucifer from rising."

Balthazar considers this and answers, "Yes, that would work." He squints at Castiel and adds, "I wonder why no one in Heaven has considered this yet."

"Yes. That is strange, isn't it?" Castiel answers. "Unless Heaven doesn't want the apocalypse to be averted. Unless Heaven wants Lucifer to rise, wants the world to end."

"Nonsense," Balthazar says. "Why would we want the world to end?"

"Paradise for everyone? Relief of all responsibilities?" Castiel suggests. "I don't know. All I know is that someone in Heaven, someone high up in the chain of command, isn't as opposed to the apocalypse as he pretends to be. Don't you find it strange that Uriel could have killed so many angels without being caught? Wouldn't it make more sense if someone was turning a blind eye? I saw him myself—I couldn't have been the only witness."

"Maybe you're right. But what can we do? You said yourself that he must be high in the chain of command. That means he'll be powerful, too. More powerful than either of us."

"I'm not asking you to single him out for battle—that'd be suicidal," Castiel says.

"Then what are you asking of me?"

"I need you to do what I could not—tell Sam and Dean the truth. Tell them what the last seal is, and how they can use it to prevent the cage from opening."

"We've been given explicit orders not to do that."

"See? This is exactly what I'm—"

"It's because they don't want to reveal the last seal to the demons," Balthazar interrupts. "Speaking it outside of Heaven will only make the information more available—"

"That's a lie," Castiel breaks in. "That's so much bullshit that I hardly know where to begin—" he stops himself, takes a deep breath, and says, "I found out about the last seal through a demon, Balthazar. And he heard about it through some other demons, one of which is close to Lilith. So trust me—Lilith knows that she is the final seal."

"But—"

"And that little meeting she held with Sam in Kripke's Hollow? I was listening in, and she said that she'd give up the whole gig, give up on the apocalypse, breaking the seals, everything. I thought that that was a strange offer at the time, but then I heard what the last seal was, and now it makes sense, doesn't it? She doesn't want to die, so she doesn't want to continue breaking seals."

Balthazar turns away. "I… I want to believe you. But this is only your word. I can't just take it at face value. You've—you've been in Hell far longer than you've been in Heaven or on Earth, and I—"

"So you don't trust me," Castiel says.

"No, but I—"

"What was the point of all this, if you weren't going to help me anyway? Was this a pity visit?" Castiel asks.

The angel doesn't answer.

"Okay, then. Leave."

Balthazar's head shoots up at this. "Castiel—"

"You won't help me, even though you have the capability. I don't want to talk to you anymore. Leave me alone," Castiel says, closing his eyes.

"Castiel, that—that isn't fair. You're asking me to go against direct orders."

Castiel remains silent.

"You can't try to manipulate me like this," Balthazar says.

"I'm not," Castiel says. "I just fail to see the point in talking to you if you aren't going to help me. I don't want or need your pity."

A long silence follows his words, but Castiel keeps his eyes closed. Finally, he hears the flapping of wings and knows that Balthazar has gone.


"You are one annoying little bug, aren't you?" Gabriel says, appearing before Anna. "What's up?"

"It's Castiel. He's gone."

"Gone?" Gabriel says, lifting an eyebrow. "Are you sure he's not just hiding? He's very skilled at that."

"No, he's really gone," Anna says. "Yesterday, I came across the Winchesters heading to some location in Ohio, so I tailed them for a while. They eventually stopped at a warehouse, where they found his vessel. Castiel is gone. They took the vessel, but I stayed at the warehouse. There was a fight there, between at least three angels, including Castiel. He can't have gotten away."

"So… you think he's been taken prisoner," Gabriel says.

"Yes."

"Take me to this warehouse."

Anna nods and takes flight, returning to that warehouse in Ohio. It's almost painful to be here, to know that if she'd found this place earlier, she might have been able to help her child.

Gabriel looks around for a minute, and she wonders what he's thinking.

Then he says, "He was taken to Heaven, all right."

"How do you—"

"Everything, dead or alive, has a memory. These walls remember a battle between angels. Four, actually, but you were close."

"So he's in Heaven, then," Anna says wearily, and she'd thought that maybe she would feel a little better after knowing for sure, but having her suspicions confirmed only scares her. "Help me, Gabriel."

"Sorry! No can do."

"What? Why not?"

"Mike and Raph have been waiting for me to return, I know it. I'm not gonna go back up there because Michael alone would be powerful enough to trap me, but the both of them? No way I'll be getting out, if I go back. And I am not about to go back up there only to be imprisoned."

Anna glares at the archangel. "Man up and take some responsibility, why don't you?" she says. "You've been hiding out here, like a scared little mouse, for thousands of years. Don't you think it's about time you returned to the board?"

"Hey, I'm working, okay? I'm slowing down all this seal-breaking business, giving you guys time to get your shit together. But I'm only one angel, and there are hundreds of seals that the demons could be going for," Gabriel says. "I'd love to help, but I'm helping already! And besides, who else would be as effective at stopping seal-breaking as I am?"

"Gabriel, you can't just—"

"No, you can't just tell me what to do. Try all you want, but you can't make me do anything."

Before Anna can say any more, Gabriel takes flight. "You have got to be joking," she says to the empty warehouse. But she doesn't have the heart to try and chase down an archangel, and she probably wouldn't be able to keep up for long, anyway.

She takes a moment to compose herself and then takes flight, with an eye out for the tracker that she placed on the Impala. It's moving along a highway, and the first thing Anna notices is that the backseat is empty—Jimmy Novak is not with them. Oh, no.

"Hey, guys," she says, landing in the backseat.

Dean gives an undignified yelp, and the Impala swerves. "Jeez," he grumbles, straightening the car out.

"Smooth," Anna comments, smiling.

"You ever try calling ahead?"

"I like the element of surprise."

"Well, you look terrific."

"Thanks—I feel terrific. Or at least, I would, if you hadn't let Jimmy get away."

"Hey, talk to ginormo here," Dean says, pointing at Sam.

Anna looks over at Sam and frowns, because his soul seems darker, swirling with unrest. "Sam," she says. "You seem different."

"Me? I don't know," Sam says, scoffing. "A haircut?"

"That's not what I'm talking about," Anna says, taking a more careful look at him. Sam turns away, and Anna switches her attention back to Dean. "So, what'd Jimmy tell you? He remember anything?"

"Why? What's going on?" Dean asks.

"It's Cas. He… he's been dragged back to Heaven."

"Oh, shit," Dean breathes.

"Yeah, it's bad. Painfully, awfully bad. I don't know how they could have caught up with him, but—"

"Cas said he had something to tell me. Something important."

"What?"

"I don't know."

"Does Jimmy know?"

"I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" Anna says. "Whatever it is, it's huge. You gotta find out for sure."

"That's why we're going after Jimmy," Sam says.

"That's why you shouldn't have let him go in the first place," Anna counters. "He's probably dead already." The boys don't respond, and she sighs. "I'll… see what I can do. Send a prayer my way if by some miracle you find Jimmy and he's still alive."

She takes off without waiting for them to respond.


All those years in the pit did nothing to mute Castiel's Grace, and Balthazar finds himself just as irresistibly drawn in as he was when he was practically a child. To be honest, he'd been worried that Castiel in reality would not live up to the Castiel of his dreams and memories—after all, isn't it common knowledge that imagination creates an ideal that reality cannot emulate?

Castiel's Grace is as pristine as it was the day Balthazar first saw him, and it hurts to be at odds with him, hurts to be snubbed by him. But Balthazar couldn't just take his word for it, could he?

After their conversation, Balthazar went to speak with Inias for a while, because Inias had spent more time on Earth than the other angels, and he had a better chance of understanding the situation there. Inias had little insight to offer, but he did say that the demons knew an alarming amount.

Balthazar deliberates for a while before descending to Earth. Maybe if he captures a demon…

"Balthazar," a voice says from somewhere behind him, and Balthazar doesn't slow his flight, but he does glance backward to see who's following him.

"Anael?"

He grimaces and says, "Yes. Can we talk?"

Balthazar lands in a cold, barren field. They're somewhere in Russia, he thinks. "How did you find me so quickly?" he asks when Anael lands beside him.

"I'm desperate," Anael says. "I've been hoping for you or Inias to return to Earth. Castiel has—"

"—been captured," Balthazar finishes. "I know."

"You know, and you haven't—"

"He's been aligned with Hell for a long time, Anael. As much—"

"Please don't call me Anael. I don't—I much prefer Anna."

Balthazar blinks a few times and says, "Fine. But I haven't tried to free Castiel because I can't exactly trust him on blind faith."

"Then trust him because I say so," Anna says. "I want to help him, but I can't do it on my own."

Balthazar remembers the conversation he had with Inias back at Sandover, remembers asking Inias about his instincts. He'd never even paused to consider his own instincts, and now, they're telling him to go with Anna, to rescue Castiel. His entire being had pulsed with wrongness at seeing something so dear to him strung up in that torture realm, and leaving Castiel there… shouldn't have been possible. Not if his gut instinct was right.

"Balthazar," Anna prods.

"I'll do it. I can do it," he says.

"Okay. I've already thought up a plan. If Heaven is how I remember it was, this should work. I'm going to storm the gates. The majority of the angels will come to defend Heaven against me, and you'll have an opening to reach Castiel. Typically the prisoner will be watched over by two angels, whichever two reach him first. So as long as you make sure that you are one of the two and then dispatch the other—"

"But doesn't this mean you'll be captured? I doubt you'll be able to hold off against the whole Host of Heaven, no matter how quick you are," Balthazar says.

"It doesn't matter what happens to me," Anna replies. "I need you to promise me that you will get Castiel out, whatever the cost."

Balthazar hesitates before saying, "I promise."

"Thank you."

"We should probably go now, then," Balthazar says, remembering the pained look on Castiel's face when he'd first arrived. Castiel had done a good job of masking his discomfort when they started talking, but before Balthazar announced his arrival, the naked agony had been almost too much to behold.

Anna nods. "I'll give you five minutes to get in position."

"Good luck."

Balthazar takes off again, returning to Heaven through one of the cracks that serve as alternate exits for those permitted to leave Heaven—it's a hassle to go through the gates every time because the traffic of souls there is typically pretty high.

He makes it to the realm where Castiel is being held and is relieved to find it empty. Then he calls for Inias, because who better to "guard" Castiel than another sympathizer?

"Hello, brother," Inias says when he lands. "What is the matter?"

"Nothing," Balthazar replies. "I just thought we could visit Castiel together."

"I suppose," Inias says.

They enter the ring, and Balthazar immediately sees that Castiel's condition is worse—Naomi has definitely been back. The screw in his forehead is still there, as are most of the bolts, but the ones in his shoulders have been removed, so that his weight is supported by the bolts in his hands and thighs. His body sags there, limp, and Balthazar thinks he has never wanted to hurt someone so badly as he does now.

"What are you doing here?" Castiel asks, and even his voice is weaker than it was the day before.

"We're here to visit," Inias answers.

Castiel's eyes flick between the two of them. "It is unnecessary," he says. "Leave me."

And then there's a shift in the air. Angels stream past, and Inias starts to take off, but Balthazar grabs onto him to stop him.

"We need to guard Castiel," Balthazar says, and Inias nods. Then Balthazar turns back and gets to work removing the screw from Castiel's forehead.

"Wait—what are you doing?" Inias asks as Castiel cries out in pain.

"We're getting him out of here."

"We?"

"Yes," Balthazar says, continuing to spin the screw.

"Stop—stop, stop, stop!" Castiel screams.

"I'm sorry," Balthazar says, voice raised over Castiel's. "This needs to come out before I take you off."

Castiel falls silent at this, face screwed up in pain, and lets Balthazar work until the screw is removed. Then Balthazar steps to the side and starts tugging at the bolt in Castiel's left hand.

"Help me," he says to Inias, who is still just staring at him. "We don't have much time."

"Balthazar, I—you—we'll be hunted for this," Inias says.

Balthazar doesn't even bother looking at Inias as he replies, "You told me that you see someone you would be willing to follow in Castiel. If you're willing to follow him, why aren't you willing to help him?"

"It's so simple when you say it like that, but this isn't just any favor. Our orders—"

"If you're not going to help, stand aside," Balthazar says, as he finally manages to pull the bolt free of Castiel's left hand. He takes Castiel's hand and places it on his shoulder.

"Thank you," Castiel grinds out, bracing his weight on Balthazar.

Balthazar starts to move toward Castiel's right hand, but Inias is there already, tugging at the bolt—they're marked so that they must be removed by hand. Balthazar leans down slightly to get a better grip on the one at Castiel's left thigh.

It takes them about two more minutes to actually free Castiel from the rack, and he collapses into Balthazar's arms.

"We need to go," Balthazar says.

"I won't go with you," Inias says, shaking his head. "I can't—Heaven is my home, and these—these are my brothers. You'll have to go alone."

"But if you stay, they'll punish you."

"Regardless, I won't leave."

Balthazar thinks quickly, sets Castiel down for a moment and draws his blade. "Let me at least free you of blame, then," he says. Inias nods and steps forward, drawing his own blade. Balthazar brings the pommel of his weapon down over Inias's head, and after Inias has crumpled to the ground, he adds a wound to Inias's side, for good measure. Then he stows his blade and lifts Castiel again.

"Why are you doing this?" Castiel whispers as Balthazar takes flight.

"Because it doesn't matter that you've been in Hell all this time," Balthazar answers, heading for one of the cracks in the boundary, and thankfully the other angels haven't come this way yet. "You're still my little brother. My Little One."

Castiel closes his eyes and smiles weakly, and Balthazar gently carries him down to Earth.


Dean watches in disbelief as light passes from Claire back into Jimmy, and he'd expected a bit less lightshow and a bit more black smoke, but Jimmy—Castiel?—is already getting back to his feet and walking toward Dean.

"I'm going to take you back to the salvage yard now," he says.

"What about Claire and Amelia?" Dean asks, backing away from Cas's raised hand.

"Balthazar will take care of them." As Cas talks, the annoying angel with a British accent whom Dean met at Chuck's appears. "Now, come with me. We don't have much time."

Cas's hand rests on Dean's shoulder for a moment, and then he's looking at the living room at Bobby's. It's the middle of the night, and Bobby's nowhere to be seen—probably sleeping upstairs.

"Cas, what happened to you?" Dean asks.

"Heaven doesn't like it when people swim against the current, which is precisely what I've been doing for the past few months, helping out the two of you," Cas answers.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that Castiel got his arse handed to him by the big, bad angels," Balthazar says, walking in from the kitchen. "It also means that someone here is a weak link. Castiel's managed perfectly well on his own so far, so which one of you two gave him away?"

"What?" Dean says. "We didn't—"

"Don't bother, Dean," Cas interrupts, and he turns away from Dean to face Balthazar, so Dean doesn't get to see what face he's making. Either way, when he turns back around, Balthazar doesn't say anything. "Before I was captured by the angels, I had some information to give you."

"Yeah. What was it?"

"The last seal. It's Lilith," Cas answers.

"What do you mean, it's Lilith?" Sam asks, and figures it would take the mention of Lilith to make him perk up and finally join the conversation. His cheeks are still faintly stained with blood, and Dean thinks he might be sick if he thinks about how it got there.

"Lilith is the final seal. Killing her after sixty-five seals have been broken will open the door of Lucifer's cage," Cas explains.

"Okay, then. So we should kill her now, right?" Sam says. "Before they've gotten enough seals?"

"Yes," Cas says. "And there's another important thing. Ruby is working for Lilith—has been since she returned from Hell."

"No, you're lying. She isn't," Sam protests.

"I've been in Hell. I wasn't there when she got the assignment, but—"

"What assignment?" Dean asks.

"She was told to get close to Sam, gain his trust. I didn't know why at the time, but now I think she was specifically preparing Sam to kill Lilith when the time was right," Cas says.

"No!" Sam says. "Look, she's been helping me for months."

"Yeah. Maybe because they knew it would take time for you to be strong enough."

"That's not true—she wouldn't do that."

"You're under the influence of her blood. I don't think you get a say," Balthazar says.

"And speaking of blood-drinking, you saw what—what it did to me," Dean says, stumbling a little because he realizes he just gave away that he does remember what happened, damn it. "How could you keep going?"

"You guys don't understand. I'm only—Ruby is only trying to help. She's been helping me get stronger, strong enough to ice Lilith, and isn't that exactly what we want right now?"

"Yeah, except where is she right now, huh?" Dean says. "And don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. Maybe I didn't know what it was all about at the time, but I've seen you, how strung out you've been. Getting distracted, losing focus—"

"She's just underground, trying to find Lilith, okay?" Sam says.

"No, Sam, she's not. I may not be able to find her this very second, but I can guarantee that she is not looking for Lilith. Not right now, anyway," Cas says.

Dean eyes Cas and asks, "What do you know about where she is right now?"

"I don't know where she is right now. All I do know is that she's stalling. She thinks that if she continues in this vein with Sam, he'll kill Lilith too soon. It makes sense," Cas reasons.

"No—you aren't listening. Ruby wants Lilith dead as much as I do. I know it."

"Well, of course. But you want to kill Lilith to stop the apocalypse. She wants Lilith dead because she wants Lucifer free," Cas says. "Balthazar, if you could…"

"What do you—" Sam starts to ask, but Balthazar steps forward, clapping a hand on his shoulder, and they vanish.

"Hey, what—" Dean starts, rounding on Cas.

But Cas is holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "I'm only having Balthazar put him in the panic room. He needs to detox, if he's been drinking demon blood."

Dean feels like he's burning up again at the mere mention of blood, but he only says, "Didn't the angels fix me when I was—when I—" unable to continue, he looks down at the ground for a second before turning his attention back to Cas, who's staring right back. "Sorry," Dean finally gets out.

"So you remember it—all of it," Cas says, voice devoid of any inflection.

"Yeah," Dean answers. He remembers it all vividly, almost too vividly, and he wonders if this is what it's like to be a junkie, always jonesing for another hit, because right now he can't stop thinking about the taste and texture, the thickness of the liquid that had flowed hot and savory over his tongue.

He waits for Cas to say something, but he doesn't—at least, not immediately.

After a length of time, Cas sighs, a short, small sound, and shrugs. "I'm just glad it wasn't permanent."

"Yeah," Dean says, except the addiction feels pretty permanent now. It's just not in control of him anymore. He wants Cas's blood, wants Cas under him—hell, he just wants Cas.

And that's a terrifying thought, especially because he knows he's not under the influence right now.

"Anyway," Dean says, because he needs to talk about something else to get his mind off this track, "I was going to say, weren't the angels able to fix my—my problem? Couldn't you or Balthazar just fix Sammy up for us?"

"I don't know about Balthazar, but I do know for sure that I don't have that capability. My healing abilities aren't that great to begin with," Cas answers. He seems a lot more comfortable with this topic of conversation, too. But Dean doesn't want to talk about Sam either; it's painful to think about his brother, going behind his back and trusting a demon, even when the truth has been laid out for him.

"I'll wait for him to come back up, then," Dean says, heading toward the kitchen to grab a beer.

Cas stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Dean turns his head to see those blue eyes still fixed on him, unblinking and intense, and he suddenly has this crazy impulse to kiss him. It doesn't help that he already knows how it feels to have those plump lips pressed against his, how it feels to lick into that lush mouth and take what he wants.

"What?" Dean asks gruffly, pulling back a little.

"It'll be all right," Cas says seriously. "I have the means to kill Lilith. Lucifer will not rise."

"Are you—are you trying to comfort me?"

Cas pauses, looking surprised, and then says, "Yes."

"Huh," Dean says. "Well, don't. My brother's a junkie—and not just any junkie, a demon blood junkie. Nothing you say is gonna make this crappy situation any better."

Cas blinks at him once, twice, before vanishing abruptly, and Dean feels like his stomach just dropped right out of him.

"Shit."