I warn you ahead of time, there's some dark shit in here. X.X This is different from how I originally had this chapter planned, but I like it better it's just…yeah. Dark. There's some non-con, and some dub-con, and some torture, and lots of general angsty unhappiness. (Merry Christmas? XD)

He stalked to the car without looking back, practically throwing himself in the seat before turning to grip the steering wheel, hands sticky with blood. He was seething still, the desire for the hunt risen so sharp in him he could hardly think of anything but getting his hands on another angel. This had been what Macchion had really trained him for, after all.

You were one of them, and they betrayed you. And now you have the power, Castiel, to kill them all.

He could, and he'd wanted to, and the rush of actually doing it had felt so unbelievably good it was dizzying. At the same time, his reaction had been more instinct than choice, and under the rage he was more than a little disoriented. The pure hatred had come on so fast, there hadn't been any room for thought, just action. His hands on the blade, her blood on the metal and his skin.

He wasn't sure whether or not he really expected Dean to follow, but his hand hovered over the ignition until the passenger door opened. Dean slammed the door with enough force to shake the car, and he was about to turn the key without looking over when Dean swore, catching his attention.

"Jesus, Cas…" His hand shot up, fingers pressing lightly against his temple, and Castiel reacted on instinct. His hand closed around Dean's wrist to jerk it away, quick and violent, and he heard bone snap before he could even register that he'd lashed out.

He let go slowly, fingers uncurling one at a time. To his credit, Dean didn't cry out, didn't do anything more than suck in a sharp breath through gritted teeth, carefully pull his arm back in against his chest. There was blood on the tips of Dean's fingers from the gash at Castiel's hairline he'd been trying to get a better look at and Castiel looked away, jaw clenching. The blinding rage was still there, but it was fading fast. Feeling the crack of bone under his hand had brought on another force entirely, the fierce weight that came with the visions and the way he'd felt with Dean pinned underneath him the night before.

He gunned the car, sped out of the parking lot and onto the side street behind the parking lot. His hands tightened on the wheel, and he could feel the blood on his palms drying, sticking his hands in place. When he spoke, his voice was measured, low and quiet. "Do you still think you know me, Dean?" He couldn't possibly, not now. And he seriously shouldn't have been feeling any regret over that. Whether he could kill him or not, if Dean would at least stop trying, then maybe whatever this was plaguing him would just go away.

" 'Course I know you." He started off a little rough, cleared his throat and kept going. "I mean, c'mon, I'm a hunter. You really think a little broken wrist is gonna phase me? You're pissed as fuck; I get it. I can take a hint." He cut his eyes over, glancing at him. His expression was carefully guarded, impossible to read. For a split second, he wished that he knew him well enough to see what he was really thinking underneath it. "I still know you, Cas. No question about that."

"You're an idiot." He muttered under his breath, slouched down farther in the seat.

"Yeah. Maybe I am." He turned away and leaned against the window after that, and he said nothing for miles. After they'd gone far enough to be certain they weren't being followed Dean wrapped his good hand against the window, pointing out a gas station. "Here. Give me a few minutes."

He stopped, pulling up to a pump. Half a tank left, but it wouldn't hurt.

When Dean got out to head around back to the bathroom, he didn't look back.

Dean slammed the door a couple of times before he realized it wouldn't stay put. "Friggin' piece of shit." He grumbled impatiently, held the flimsy door shut and drew the even flimsier bolt well above the handle. It'd be pretty much the easiest door to break down of all time, but it would at least give him some privacy for a second.

"Michael!" He hissed it quietly, radiating fury. When he showed up, this time he really was gonna deck him whether it got him thrown back against the wall or not. Hell, even if broke something in his left arm doing it, it'd be worth it.

"Dean, you-"

He whirled around at the sound of Michael's voice, shoved back hard on his chest. It didn't move him, of course, but at least it let a little of the rage out. "What the hell were you thinkin'? I mean good God don't you have any common sense?" He was trying his best to keep to a whisper, really he was, but he could still see the fight in the parking lot, how wild and uncontrolled Cas' eyes had been when he'd reached over to help him.

"Dean, believe it or not I'm not the sole authority in Heaven. There are plenty of other garrisons as you know and they deemed it wise that there be others within striking distance, ready to try and take him down if need be."

Dean laughed, incredulous. "Are you even hearing yourself right now? Cause this is all kinds of stupid! C'mon, Mike! If you guys had had half a chance of taking him out on your own, why'd the big boss call me in?"

Michael leaned against the wall, unfazed. "I told you. Redemption."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine, but there's also the point of him being destined to kill angels. What she did back there, showing herself near him like that? Look, I don't know what the plan was, and I don't care if you do either. But that stunt? That was fuckin' idiocy!" He stepped forward, forced his rising voice back down a few notches. "I nearly had him, Michael. I was so freakin' close, but he's…" He licked his lips, looking away as he tried to find the best way to phrase it. "He's kinda wild, in a way. I mean, he'll be fine, and he'll be gettin' better, but then something'll set him off and it's like he reverts back to what he knows, what he's been taught. And after everything he's been told about needing to take out the angels, that was like pouring blood out in front of a shark or something, like…" Like it was set up to see how crazy he'd go, the same way they'd make the water run red for all those shark documentaries Sammy used to watch. They'd pour the mix out into the water, turn the cameras on and watch the sharks lose their minds. He shoved hard against Michael's chest, pushing him back up against the wall for a heartbeat before he was tossed against the opposite wall hard enough to make it shake. He kept a steady glare level with Michael's eyes, breathing heavy. "Did they plan this?"

Michael crossed his arms over his chest, settling in calmly. "Dean, I don't-"

He was too calm saying it, and Dean couldn't stand it. "Was this a goddamn setup, Michael?" He could hear the dangerous calm in his own voice, feel something in his chest quivering with anger. He might not could hurt Michael, but if they'd set Cas up like this he sure as hell was gonna find some son of a bitch to pay for it. He narrowed his eyes, waiting. "Yes or no question. Answer it."

Michael finally stepped forward at that, looking a little less indifferent. "Dean, I don't know." He tilted his head, conceding. "It very well could've been, you're right, but if it was it wasn't by me. But I have to say, Dean, if they set him up to show he's dangerous then I'd say they-"

"They proved nothing! Of course he snapped, I coulda told you that was gonna happen, but before that he was getting better! We were actually talking." It hurt even thinking of it, now. He'd been gaining ground, making steps in the right direction and now where were they? Cas had killed an angel and then followed up by breaking his wrist when he tried to help him. That had to be about 20 steps back.

Michael sighed, rubbed his hands together before he leaned back against the sink, nodding. "Yes, I know. I was impressed with your progress, to tell the truth, but all of this does bring up what I feared all along." He looked up, and Dean hated the compassion he saw in his eyes. "He may be too far gone, Dean. He may be past rehabilitation."

"He'll be fine if you can tell your people to stop fucking up whatever progress I start making!" He pointed at him as he said it, jabbing furiously at the air, the movement enough to brush his hurt arm up against the wall. He winced a little, tried to catch it before Michael could comment. Not that he hadn't expected this to come up before now, anyway.

"And I'm aware you probably don't want to talk about it, but even after he's been responding to you, he still hurt you today. He could've killed you."

Dean looked away, pulled his arm in close to his chest to shield it. "He won't."

"This is why our kind was supposed to restrain our emotions, you know. They make you irrational." His voice softened, his hands reaching out to pull Dean's arm carefully away from his chest, long fingers wrapping around his wrist. There was a burst of heat and the pain dissipated, strength back in his wrist when he flexed it. "You love him too much for your own good."

He pulled away carefully, flexing his wrist again just to feel the lack of pain. "Thanks."

"Be careful, Dean. He's-"

"I can handle him. Just…tell me you're gonna keep the others outta sight. The more his demon instincts get stirred up, the harder this is gonna be. I need to keep him focused on me as much as I can."

Michael nodded, shifting away, wings rustling. "I'll do my best."

He finished up in the bathroom quick before hurrying out, anxious to meet Cas. He'd seemed to be calming down in the car, gradually, and he'd even seemed a little sorry after he'd hurt him. Even a tiny bit sorry was better than nothing at all.

Cas was already in the car waiting for him and he slid in, not bothering to favor his arm. Cas would know, anyway.

"So, what did your pet archangel tell you, hm?"

He shrugged, giving Cas a half smile as he reached over to turn the radio on, quietly. "I think he thinks I'm crazy."

Cas snorted, rubbed still bloodstained hands on his jeans before starting the car. "Well, he wouldn't be wrong."

The house, like that of most hunters, was off the beaten path. Dean had talked him into looking the location up online the day before, and the directions they'd ended up with had actually come in handy. He pulled up to the two story blue house from the back, parking on gravel close behind the back porch. They got out without speaking, Dean following behind him as he headed up to the old screen door.

If he was totally honest with himself he was still far more distracted by the events of that afternoon than he should've been, and that was probably why he didn't notice until it was almost too late. The wind changed on the porch, picking up and blowing past them at an angle, and by then he could both sense it and smell it on the wind. Before he could think he'd pulled Dean against him, one hand wrapped firm over his mouth to keep him quiet. He turned his head, his lips brushing against Dean's ear as he whispered. "He's here." He didn't have time to explain it more clearly than that. He still had a handful of the powers that came from the angel blood in him, and though it expended more energy than he'd liked to have used he took advantage of those powers now, zapping Dean to the safety of the motel room they'd stopped to get on the way in.

Dean was gone, and he let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. None of it had even been considered, nothing past the overwhelming urge to keep Dean from being anywhere near Macchion. It was practical, in the sense that he wasn't supposed to have Dean with him. Still, he wasn't enough of an idiot to think that was why he'd done it. He scowled, wrenched the door open hard enough to yank it off it's hinges, flying back from his hand and crashing loudly onto the gravel. His boots echoed on the hardwood, and after a little poking around he came to a room in the opposite corner mostly filled with floor to ceiling bookcases.

Macchion was there, unsurprisingly, sitting on a shorter bookcase and leaning up against the one behind him, one leg dangling off the side. He grinned, his eyes gleaming coal black. "Surprised to see me?"

"Astounded." He kept his voice even, uninterested, and he skimmed his hand across the nearest row of books as he stepped inside. "Thought you were busy. Found it already?"

He hopped down lightly, slinking across the floor toward him. He was too graceful about it, too fluid, and Castiel could feel his mouth turning dry. It was insane, really. The last time he'd seen him, everything had been as it should be. This was his teacher, his friend, the only thing close to a lover he'd ever had. Or, so he'd thought. He'd trusted him implicitly...right up until the moment he'd seen Dean.

Macchion closed the distance between them, his hands sliding up the front of his chest, over his shirt. "No, I just got here, was waiting for you. And I'd finished that area. Thought it wouldn't hurt to check in with you before I started the next, and besides..." He leaned in, biting sharply at his jaw. He swallowed, hands coming up automatically to grasp at his arms. "I was bored."

He grunted non-commitally, released his grip when Macchion brought his hands over to his arms, running down until his fingers brushed over dried blood. "Well, well, well, haven't YOU been busy?"

He licked his lips, cocked his head at the sudden surge of emotion. Half pride, half something else. "An angel."

Macchion's eyes lit with vicious excitement, shining black all over again. "I knew you could do it, Castiel. Didn't I always tell you how strong you are?" He ran a hand down his chest again, nails scratching lightly even through the fabric. "You can have them all, and when you raise our Master, he will have so much in store for you." He leaned up, fingers tightening in his hair to pull his head aside as he bit down on his neck, hard. "Celebration is in order, wouldn't you say?"

The answer should've been an unquestionable 'yes'. A few days ago, it would've been. As it was, he was uninterested and uneasy and more than a little angry at himself for the confusion. Macchion was older and smarter than him, after all, and if he'd just listened to him about Dean being dangerous, none of this would've happened. He felt the pressure on his shoulders and dropped to his knees without a word, the response automatic after so many years in hell under his service. Before they'd been anything close to equals, this had been even more familiar than it was now.

"Yes. Perfect." Macchion drug his fingers through his hair, rough and gripping, and with his other hand reached to undo his own fly, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to give him access. He was half hard, and he didn't keep him waiting long. He remembered that he'd learned that much in the Pit, though when this had started he never could remember. He craned his neck forward, taking him in far enough to suck hard at the tip. It didn't take much effort to get him fully hard, and it was then Macchion gripped the back of his head in earnest, and he let his throat relax.

Doing it now, he couldn't help but compare it to the way Dean had done it so differently. Less brute force, more sucking, more tongue. Eye contact, and the feel of his Dean's touch against his skin before he'd smacked his hand away...

His hand flexed at the thought, and though he almost brought it up to lay against Macchion's thigh he stopped himself just before he did. He wasn't sure why, though it seemed to be something between the certainty he wouldn't appreciate the gesture and the fact that he wasn't sure he wanted to give that to him. His head was a jumbled mess and when he brought his hand down to the front of his own jeans, he wasn't all that surprised to find his cock wasn't taking too much of an interest.

The hand on the back of his head tightened, and he remembered the way Dean had moaned around him when he'd done the same. He felt himself twitch against his palm then, and he could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. Not here, not here. Fucking hell, not here. If he was getting ready to remember anything, Macchion certainly couldn't see him doing it. Falling out on the floor in the middle of this...well, that'd be more than noticeable. He needed to finish this, quickly.

So, he stopped struggling with WHY he shouldn't be so hung up on it and just went with, shoving a hand down his pants and letting his eyes shut as he thought about the way Dean had sucked him off, the way his lips had stretched around him, his bright green eyes shining. Yeah, THAT he could definitely take an interest in. He moaned, hoped the vibration was enough to help speed things up. He jacked himself quicker, his mind scanning over all the images he had from that night. It was when he remembered Dean nuzzling against him that he came, spilling over his own hand, moaning around his mouthful, his breath blasting down hot onto damp skin. That was all it took for him, too, and Macchion was finished, holding his head still, pressed against the back of his throat.

When he let him go he pulled back as quickly as he could, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. His head was aching sharper now, and he squeezed his eyes shut a moment, rubbing his hand against his temple. He stood slowly, a little startled when Macchion pulled him in for a kiss that was more teeth than tongue. "Much. Better. Wouldn't you say?"

He swallowed, hated the taste and wished for alcohol. "Absolutely." He clapped a hand on Macchion's shoulder, pushing bast him and into the rows of books. "I'll start in the back corner." He was incredibly grateful not to be followed, and when he got to the back he crouched down against one of the shelves, leaning into the wood. The pain spiked sharply, and he didn't have long to wait.

He shivered, bare skin against the cold metal of the rack, his entire body shaking with it. He registered somewhere, dimly, that hell was never supposed to be this cold and his spirits lifted a little at the thought. It was something Dean would've said. The moment of respite had to have shown on his face, and he felt the slap against his cheek, hard enough to turn his head, his eyes snapping open.

Macchion. He was grinning at him, one hand reaching out to stroke against his cheek. "Now, now, Castiel, what on earth were you thinking, hm? Not of Dean?" He licked lips he would've sworn were turning blue, turned his head to look away. Elsewhere, he could see the fire burning. The screams rose up in a constant chorus, and he was almost sure he could pick out Francis, the woman he'd been neck to in one of the rooms for a few weeks. Macchion pressed closer, and though he could feel the heat of his body it did nothing to warm him. Not that he'd have wanted it to anyway, not coming from him. "Don't you know by now he can't save you, hm? Aren't you tired of screaming for him, day after day?"

He felt sharp sting of steel at the inside of his elbow, drawing blood that came out at a steady drip, sizzling when it hit burning marble below. Apparently, it was only him that was cold. He swallowed, realized his throat wasn't really all that dry. He remembered screaming himself hoarse, but that had been that morning. He'd been healed since then. "He'll come for me. I know he will." No matter what he'd wanted on the surface, no matter how much he'd needed to think of Dean as separate from all this forever, he needed to believe that now. He had to believe it, or he'd go mad. Even though he hadn't told him, Dean would figure it out eventually, he was sure of it. Even if it took centuries, even being in Heaven...he'd figure it out, and when he did, he'd find a way to save him. Dean had never failed him once, and he couldn't doubt him now. He just had to be strong, hold out until then. Strong like Dean had been, for 30 long years. If Dean had known he was coming, he was sure he'd have been able to hold out just a little longer.

Macchion gripped his chin, hard and unrelenting. "No one is coming for you, you fool. He's done with you. He's forgotten all about you." Macchion grinned, leaned into him and crossed his arms against Castiel's chest, watching him with mock affection. "Do you know what he's doing, hm? He's upstairs, living in a house with his family and fucking his dream woman."

Every hour, he had to remind himself demons did nothing but lie. Even so, he couldn't help the way his breath hitched at the thought, the image springing to his mind of Dean in Anna's arms in the back of the Impala. That had been bad enough, but to imagine Dean having what was in his eyes the perfect woman...

Macchion cocked his head, mock curious. "Oh, come on now...did you really think he wanted you? You, Castiel, one of God's pets, an overgrown bird with a submissive complex? Please. You were just a warm body to fuck to pass the time."

Not true, you know it's not true. It's not true, not Dean. He took a deep breath, shaky as his teeth chattered. He was so desperately cold.

"Why else did he never say he loved you, hm? He told Sam, you know. When they were younger. But yet, he never told you. And why would he, because I'm right. He never loved you. Not once."

Dean. Dean, Dean, please… He'd stopped praying, long ago. Down here, that was just impossible to keep up. The way he addressed Dean in his head, though...that was close enough to prayer. The temperature seemed to drop another few degrees and he shook harder, teeth chattering so hard he could've bit off his tongue if he'd moved it. He felt a tear leak from the corner of his eye, sliding down against his cheek.

Macchion followed the trail with a blade, slicing the skin open. "No crying, remember? Demons don't cry, Castiel. Waste of...well, something."

He took a few short breaths, gathered the energy to force his jaw into some kind of cooperation to let him speak. "I'm...I'm n-not a-"

"Oh, but you will be. You get closer every day." He punctuated the last three words with sharp pokes of the knife point down his chest, between his ribs. "But you know...I'm not entirely ungenerous. I mean, it would be unfair to say I'm not interested in giving you what you want."

It could mean nothing good, and this time when he shook a little harder it was with fear. With a snap the chains on his wrists disappeared, long enough for Macchion to turn him around, shove him against the metal face first. It was literally so cold it was almost burning and he cried out as he was pressed hard into it, the long metal slat down the middle branding intolerable cold from his head down through his groin. The pain this way was ten times worse than it had been on his back and he tried to squirm away, whimpering.

Macchion pressed against him, whispering against his ear. "You miss being fucked, don't you? Lucky for you, I can take care of that for you." His heart shot into his throat, and he struggled in panic, ripping skin off his arm where blood had already frozen it to the metal. All the resistance in the world would get him nowhere. The restraint was too tight, and down here, there was nowhere to run. He pressed his cheek against the metal, tried to focus on the pain of the gash against the cold, anything else but the way Macchion was pushing into him.

Dean. Dean, please…

He jolted back to the present, gasping quietly, his hand tightening on the shelf. The muscles in his shoulders had gone rigid, like even now he was still trying to pull away. He glanced around furtively, his heart hammering a little less violently when he realized he couldn't see Macchion anywhere. At least he hadn't seen. His head was still pounding, but he was almost used to that by now. The things he'd just experienced...that was far more important than a headache.

He'd remembered his time on the rack, of course, but always in such a dull way, and he never remembered the early years at all. He'd never remembered that. It had been easy to tell Dean before that whoever worked him over was only doing their job, and that was still true, but seeing it again, reliving it...

There was no way to tell how many years he'd been in, then, but it probably wasn't too long. Even so, he'd still been waiting for Dean. He'd felt it all over again in the vision, the pain and the grasping hope and the overwhelming love for a human he hadn't even been able to picture quite as clearly as he once had. It was staggering.

"Any luck?" The voice came from the other side of the room but all the same he stood up straight, cleared his throat.

"No. Nothing yet."

"Damn I don't want to search every book in here."

"Mm." He fell silent, forced himself to focus. At the moment, nothing else could matter but finding that damn gospel. His eyes scanned the shelves, skimming over the bindings and lingering on anything that had a W. There were far too many books in here, too many old ones without proper titles either. He had to pull those out, scanning the cover or even the first few pages before he was sure what they were. After awhile, he realized he was going about it the wrong way. Anything that looked too old couldn't possibly be it, not when it had only been around a couple hundred years when there was plenty adequate printing and labeling practices.

He didn't like to admit even to himself just how badly he wanted to find it for all the wrong reasons. It would potentially give him the location of their Master, yes, and that would save a lot of time. But it was the Winchester gospel, and there was such much in there that he now desperately wanted to know.

"I've got it!" He resisted the urge to curse at the exclamation, his fist pounding once against the nearest bookshelf anyway. He hurried over to find him, anxious to take it out of his hands.

Like he'd feared, Macchion was holding onto it worryingly tight, smiling. "Here, why don't I take it back with me? As I said, I was done with that certain section of the map, and I can look through it for you. See if there's anything useful so you don't have to waste your time."

He considered quick, tried not to sound as eager as he really was. "It's not a problem, really, I can-"

"I'll call you if there's anything interesting."

Apparently, it wasn't going to be up for discussion. In his head, the scales tipped even further toward Dean. Clearly, Macchion had something to hide.

He expected the barrage of questions when he appeared in the room, but that didn't mean he was in the mood.

"Hey, what the hell was that about, huh? You couldn't've given me more warning than 'he's here', and zapping me off here without anything else to go on? And did you find it?"

"Dean..." He let out a sharp sigh, held his hands up in warning. "Stop."

Dean nodded, caving. "Yeah. Yeah, ok." He brushed past him, expecting him to at least keep his mouth shut for five seconds. "Just...did he hurt you? You're...you're not in trouble because of me, right?"

There was genuine worry there and it snagged at something in him, pulling him to a stop. He leaned up against the door frame on his way to the bathroom, running his hands over his face. When he swallowed, he could still taste Macchion. "Water?"

Without a word Dean went to the sink, filling up a plastic cup and bringing it to him, his eyes showing his fear. "Cas? What'd he do? Are you-"

"Can you give it a rest?" It was halfhearted, less angry and more mildly annoyed. He brought the cup to his lips and tilted it, the first taste of clean water good enough that he tipped his head back, downing it all quick. It wasn't enough, and it didn't burn away the taste like alcohol, but it helped. He looked up, meeting Dean's eyes in the mirror.

He wiped his blade on his pants, smiling slightly at the line the blood made. There were four more, two on the other leg. Today had been a productive day, and he was about to be starting all over again.

He felt a hand on the back of his neck then, rubbed hard at the muscle. "That's why you're the one I'm proud of. Good work today."

He nodded, lay the curved blade back down on the pile. "Thank you, Macchion."

His other hand came up to his shoulder and he tugged Castiel back, lips descending on his in a harsh kiss. He jerked away, hard and instinctive. Even if he'd given up any shred of goodness or even slight humanity he'd had in him, his devotion to Dean wasn't something he could just lose.

He heard the angry snarl behind him, tensed just before the demon grabbed his arm and whirled him around, eyes pitch black. "Do you still think Dean would want you now, hm? A demon? He'd kill you, you moron."

He swallowed, looked away as his breath came rapid. "I'm not-"

"Have you even looked in a mirror lately?" Far too familiar hands gripped his shoulders, shoved him forward to a jaggedly cut mirror that had appeared to suit Macchion's purposes. He shoved him right up to it, gripping his jaw hard enough to crack as he made him look. He was bloody all over, his trench coat gone, tie crooked, swipes of blood on his khaki pants. There were dark rings under his eyes, and he looked like he'd seen a hundred years of war and starvation. Honestly, he'd seen worse than that. Overall, it wasn't as horrendous as he was expecting.

"Dean would-"

Macchion laughed, loud and raucous and far too pleased. "Oh, my mistake, that was the wrong mirror. Look again."

He looked back to the reflection, startling and trying to leap back almost immediately. Macchion held him fast and he stared, horrified and transfixed. Macchion's true form was there, holding him in place. He could see the wicked black horns curving from his skull, yellow red eyes dancing over a mouth wide enough to take up most of his face. What he couldn't look away from, though, was himself.

Jagged bone jutted out from just behind his shoulders, ragged remnants of his wings. His own eyes were a gleaming orange, swirling, horrifically mesmerizing. His skin that had been so gleaming white as an angel was grey, something not quite corpselike and a little more otherworldly, and when he gasped he could see sharp pointed teeth.

He snapped his eyes shut, heard Macchion keep laughing madly as he let him go to fall to his knees. He was retching, coming up with nothing as his fingers dug into the marble. It was done. It was really done. He'd thought he had time left, thought his fate wasn't sealed yet but now…now it was finished. He'd gone too far, and there was no hope of ever going back, no hope Dean would want to even look at him now after what he'd become.

He stayed on his hands and knees even as the marble started to burn his skin, kept listening to Macchion's insane laughter. It was over, really and truly over. Now, he could let everything go.

"Cas, it's ok, it's ok, I've got you! I've got you…"

He came out of it screaming, cutting himself off with a strangled sound when he realized it. He was shaking, his head spinning enough that he felt closer to throwing up than he'd ever imagined. He could still feel the heat of the marble burning into him, feel every last bit of the shock and the rage and the pain. The overwhelming grief of seeing himself in that mirror, the earth shattering realization that he'd lost any hope of Dean forever…he'd never imagined any emotion could be that strong.

He reached out blindly, his hands closing around Dean's shoulders and steadying himself that way, just barely staying on his knees rather than falling to the floor. Dean's hand pressed against his forehead, cool and gentle, and he leaned into it without thinking.

"Jesus, you're burning up…what the hell'd he make you remember, huh?"

Dean. DeanDeanDean, please… Inside, he was scrabbling, everything still jumbled.

Have you even looked in a mirror lately?

He shuddered, felt Dean shuffle them around and pull him closer, his back against Dean's chest, Dean's hand still over his forehead. "It's ok, Cas. It's ok, just breathe, alright? Just breathe. I got you."

He licked his lips, chest heaving.

Do you still think Dean would want you now, hm? A demon? He'd kill you, you moron.

"He said…" He trailed off, uncertain about saying it out loud.

Dean rubbed his shoulder, squeezing gently and only a little hesitant. "What'd he tell you, Cas? Tell me, and I'll tell you the truth."

He could still see the mirror when he shut his eyes, the first glimpse of what he'd become and all the horror for what he'd lost. "He showed me, in the mirror…my face, my body, my wings and you, you'd kill me if you knew, if you saw what-"

Dean shook him, gentle but enough to rattle him a little bit. "Stop it, dammit, just stop it. If I didn't want to save you, I wouldn't've come back. I mean, not braggin' or anything but things were good, and I coulda stayed there. But I wasn't…it wasn't right, not without you."

He shook his head, enough weak anger rising in him that he pushed Dean's hand away from his forehead. "I'm a demon, Dean. I'm not…that's not a reversible state. It's a transformation."

"Well, ok. So you're a demon. I can handle that." He shrugged, jostled around until he was halfway facing him. "Look, I had a hard time sayin' this before and I'm not suggesting I'm gonna be saying it a lot from now on cause I'm pretty sure I won't, but you didn't really hear the first time, so…" Dean looked away, took a few uneasy breaths before he could manage. "I love you, ok? I do, and that's not changing, no matter what happened to you down there. Whatever he might've told you, we're still ok. I promise."

Impossible. And yet, he could feel something in him clawing desperately to believe it. "What do you want from me? I can't go back, not now, I-"

"And I just said, I hear you, I do. All I want is for you to say you'll stay with me over them. That's all I'm askin', here. Just say you'll come with me, and Mike's promised me he'll get us both out of here. We can work everything else out after that."

Staying with Dean…at this point, he could admit there wasn't anything else he wanted more. Even the things he'd been conditioned to want. All the same, that didn't mean he didn't still want them. Just that he didn't want them as much. He let his head lean back against Dean's shoulder, the strength leeching out of him. He still felt like he was almost burning. "I can't be who you want me to be, who you remember. Killing that angel, I enjoyed it. And I'm not sorry, even though I know I should be. In hell, the souls I-"

Dean's fingers brushed over his mouth, cautious. "Shh. Stop it. I don't wanna hear it. Not now, at least. I get it, you know. I mean, I missed it too. And Sammy, he missed the power after he stopped drinking the demon blood. But we both knew stopping was the right thing to do, and we managed alright. You can get through it, Cas. I'll help you, if you'll let me. And if you leave with me, you won't be tempted. Not where we're going."

It all sounded too good to be true. He laughed, rubbed at the edge of the gash near his hairline he hadn't bothered to heal. "They won't let me in."

"Oh yes they will. I have their word."

He could almost see it, him and Dean no other responsibilities. He wondered how long his hands would itch for a blade. "It'll be slow. I'll still want it. I-"

"Cas, you have any idea how much you've changed just since I came down here? Besides that, I could see you in you from the minute I saw you. Slow going we can deal with, but I know you'll make it all the way back one day. Not the same, just…back. I know you will." He didn't move, still thinking. He could feel Dean's heartbeat against his back. "Cas, say you'll come with me. Please."

He turned a little to let his still burning forehead rest against Dean's neck, felt the way Dean moved with him to keep bearing most of his weight. The terror of the vision had hardly even begun to dull much less disappear, and he knew his decision was already made.

"Yes. I'll come with you."

So I know there was much evil-ness to Cas in this one, but I hope that last scene made up for it. :D (and no, don't worry, this isn't the end. There's some more. Maybe….2-3 chapters more. ^^)