Oh look at that – I actually updated this. Hopefully updates should be more regular, now that I've finished other projects and exams, and hopefully new chapters will be a lot better than this. Thanks for sticking around here, and reading on. Reviews are like writing steroids – And now some stuff:

The police had questions. The neighbours had questions. The doctors had questions. Everyone wanted to know what the heck had happened. But Dean didn't know, and so he had to repeat time and time again that, no, he wasn't there to help his family, and as a result of that, they were all lying in matching hospital beds wired up to matching machines.

But that was a blessing by the rest of the evening's standards. His brother and his father was both breathing (forced or not) and getting better. Jess wasn't so lucky. By the time the ambulance had arrived, or by the time the nurse had started CPR, maybe even by the time Dean had pulled her from the wreck of their burning house, it was too late. Jess' parents had been called. Dean was the first Winchester to know of her demise.

Standing in the corridors (unable to sit, or eat, or rest, as the Doctor had suggested) Dean wanted to be lying in a hospital bed alongside his brother. He wanted his own lungs filled with smoke, and mind completely unaware. That way he wouldn't have to face the Moore's, and their grief, or the hundreds of people and their constant stream of questions. He didn't want to have to answer anyone, because even though he didn't know how, he knew what had happened:

He'd killed Jessica Moore.

If he'd been there to drive her home, she wouldn't have been in the guest bedroom, suffocating on carbon monoxide in the air. If he hadn't driven off a second time that night, he'd have been there to wake them and get them all to safety. And in all honesty, he had his suspicions about the start of the fire, and Dean had a feeling that that was his fault too.

A pretty nurse handed him a glass of water at about three in the morning, long after Mrs Moore's sobs had been moved to another waiting room. Her hand lingered on Dean's, but he wasn't feeling like he needed kindness. He didn't deserve it. He just sat, his fingers following the rim of the glass in a rhythm like war drums.

John woke first. He was all anger and questions and demanding to see his sons, but Dean had taken off the second he'd been informed of his father's consciousness. He may not deserve kindness, but he also wasn't in the mood for his suspicions to be confirmed by his father. This was all his fault. No, he was safer down in the parking lot, where the oldest Winchester wouldn't demand to know why Dean had run off, because he was afraid to face the truth.

But he needed to know. He didn't know how much longer he could deal with not knowing.

Remembering what Castiel had said about hearing Dean's prayers (and Sam's as he prayed for heavenly intervention), he sat himself on an empty bench and closed his eyes. The parking lot was empty and barely lit by the six am sunrise, but he still felt stupid as he pressed his palms together. If anyone knew what he was doing he'd be laughed at.

"Cas," he muttered quietly. "you big winged nuisance. I need your help," No response. "Please Cas, I need you,"

There was a quick flap of wings, and suddenly Dean wasn't alone on the bench anymore. Castiel sat beside him, he fingers knitted together, and the look on his face resembling sadness. His leg was pressed against Dean's, but their knees broke apart as the Winchester jumped in surprise. He doubted he'd ever get used to Cas' entrances. "Cas," and he wouldn't admit it, but there was something like relief in having the angel beside him.

"I am sorry for your loss," he muttered finally. Cas looked torn, just as he had stood by their garden fence watching the paramedics pump against Jess' rib cage.

"Like hell you are," Dean snapped. It hadn't been his exact intentions to shout at the angel the moment he showed up, but he couldn't stop himself. "You could have saved her,"

"I could have done nothing, Dean. I was barely able to get your father out of the house,"

"You're an angel!" Dean yelled straight into the other man's face. Castiel didn't look perturbed by his sudden outburst, but across the road he saw a singular figure throw a confused glance their way. It probably wasn't something that people were used to hearing shouted in the early hours of the morning. "You're an angel, Cas," Dean repeated in a near whisper.

"True as that may be, it does not make me all powerful," which sounded so weird coming from his mouth that Dean had to laugh.

"Oh, now you admit it," Dean rolled his eyes. "So what's the excuse?"

"There is no excuse Dean. Jessica Moore was not a guilty soul, and her life cannot be excused by some unfortunate timing. I was unable to save the girl, and so were you, but we did not murder her," Cas turned to Dean now, their eyes meeting with a mixture of uncertainty, anger, and pain.

"Then who did?" the human begged. He couldn't not know.

"Azazel," the name confirmed Dean's worst suspicions. He'd gone hunting, and everything his father and his brother had warned him would happen, had happened. "There was magic around your house this evening, Dean. And in my state I was unable to breach it,"

"Your state?" Dean looked at the angel – finally looking and saw what he'd been trying to ignore. Cas didn't just look worried or upset. He looked ill. "Cas, what's wrong?" Dean placed the back of his hand against the angel's forehead. Dean pulled away quickly – he was burning up.

"Heaven has forbidden me from searching for Azazel, and as such I am losing my… you call it mojo," Cas said gently. His eyes were sunken into his head, as though he hadn't slept in a millennia, his skin was sallow, and his frame looked slighter than Dean remembered on their first meeting. He looked so human, and despite all of it, he still managed to look all powerful, sat in a quivering and weak frame but full of brilliance.

"So the search is over?" Dean hadn't heard his voice sound like that since he was eight and his father had told him he couldn't come to his baseball game. With all the gentleness that Dean had never imagined Castiel could possibly possess, the angel pressed a hand to the human's shoulder, resting there like a promise in the air.

"If anything the search is more imperative than ever," Castiel stated matter of factly. "Azazel must be stopped at any cost,"

"Dude, as much as I appreciate the heroics, I'm not going to have them hurting you!" the human shook his head.

"I may have to fall, yes. But the bible was not written about the selfish people. I must play my part in stopping Azazel, even if heaven refuses it,"

"Fall? As in…"

"Become human,"

Dean knew immediately that he was going to have to do anything in his power to stop that from happening. Castiel was an angel. He'd be a piss poor excuse for a human being, and he would hate every second of his humanity. It worked as an unspoken agreement that if Castiel helped Dean to find Azazel and to avenge the growing list of the dead, then Dean would help Castiel. No matter what that entailed.

"Cas…" but the angel cut him short.

"You should get to your father, Dean. He is asking for you,"

"Heaven?" Dean asked, earning him a head shake from Castiel.

"The nurses,"

"Right then… see you around then, I guess," Dean said, standing and heading towards the hospital door. He didn't know how to say goodbye, and luckily neither did Castiel. The second he turned back to see the previously inhabited bench, it was empty, and the angel was nowhere to be seen.

It took a few minutes of lingering in the corridor for Dean to gather the strength to step through the doorway and into his father's room. A doctor was chatting to John Winchester, before spotting Dean in the hallway and nodding. The night staff had changed over now, and this wasn't a doctor he recognised.

"You must be Dean. I'll leave you be,"

"Thanks Doctor," John said stiffly from his bed, before hauling himself into sitting position and staring at his son. Dean stepped forwards and sat in the chair that they had especially for guests. He felt the weight of his father's gaze without having to raise his eyes from his hands, but it was nothing like the lingering feel of a hand on a shoulder.

"Dean," John said finally.

"Jess is dead, sir," Dean blurted out finally. John nodded once.

"I know. Sam is still unconscious. Thankfully," he said. "Are you're okay?"

"I'm fine,"

"Good,"

"Are we going to talk about what happened?" his father said finally. Dean coughed his cowardice from his throat.

"No one knows how the fire started,"

"Is this to do with your angel friend?" John growled.

"Cas saved you. And Sammy,"

"And you," his father said finally. "I'll make sure to give him my thanks,"

"I'll let him know,"

"No you won't. I'm not losing anyone else to one of heaven's wars," Dean looked up. His father, though frail, looked sure. What was once smoothly slick hair was now messy and untamed, much like Sam's.

"This isn't heaven's war," Dean stuttered. "This is something else entirely,"

"Let me ask you a question, Dean,"

"Yes sir,"

"Your brother has lost his mother, and now Jess. Will you make him lose you, too?" Dean swallowed hard. He couldn't do that to Sam – he couldn't completely abandon his brother. Without Dean, Sam barely had anyone. Their dad was hardly around, Uncle Bobby was alright, but not exactly a shoulder to cry on. But even so.

Azazel had taken so much from his brother, and there was nothing to say that even if Dean left him alone they would all walk away unscathed. This was something bigger than himself. It was bigger than Castiel, and even bigger than their mother's death – where it all started.

"I'm going to make him safe, Dad. No matter what it takes,"

"You're willing to risk everything?"

"Yes sir,"

"And this angel? He will keep you safe,"

"I think so," there was a silence between them, as John studied his oldest son.

"You're a lot like Mary, Dean,"