Okay, so there's more angst in this chapter, and I apologize, but thank you to everyone who has been following and faving and reviewing!

Warning: While I wouldn't necessarily term certain events in this chapter as attempted suicide I thought I would make note of it all the same in case that's a bad trigger for anyone. This is a rough chapter, but the actual scene doesn't last very long.

Chapter Twelve

Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night

Dean grilled them up some steaks and they ate hungrily despite the worry that still assaulted them. Dean never could understand why they couldn't seem to have a win for once in their life. Crap always had to happen even after they had won whatever war they happened to be fighting. In fact, typically that's when the problems shifted to general crapiness to crap that directly affected them personally. And that just happened to be the part Dean hated most. Sure, he could fight evil all day long, but when it came to trying to pick up the pieces afterwards and put the people he cared about back together, that was where he felt helpless.

"So, it's quiet without Team Douche around," Dean mentioned as he cleared the table.

"Yeah," Sam said absently.

Dean turned to him with a frown. "What? Don't tell me you miss those asshats."

"No, I don't, really," Sam shook his head. "I was just thinking…I know Lucifer was a terrible, well, everything, but he threw himself at Amara to save Gabriel. Maybe he really did care about his family."

"That doesn't even nearly begin to redeem what he did to you," Dean said firmly.

"I know, trust me," Sam said. "But if he hadn't, Gabriel might be dead too."

Dean couldn't really argue with that, but sue him, it was hard to think of Lucifer doing anything beneficial to society. Instead, he changed the subject. "You didn't take any hits during the fight I need to know about did you?"

Sam huffed but a small smile appeared on his lips all the same. "No, just a couple bruises, honest. Save your mother-henning for Cas. What about you?"

"Same here, nothing to write home about. Your chick flick moment earlier busted a couple ribs though."

Sam laughed. "Whatever, jerk."

"Bitch."

Dean left the dishes in the sink and went back to the dormitory ward to check on Cas again. The angel was still out, but he was shivering slightly. Dean pulled a warm blanket from the closet and gently eased it underneath Cas' wings and tucked it around his body. He then repositioned the pillow under Cas' cheek so he wouldn't get a crick in the neck.

He took another long look at Cas' wings. It was odd, but he didn't even think it was weird to see them on his friend. They looked right, even if they were currently in such bad condition. He was determined to help Cas heal as much as possible. Cas hadn't been able to fly for a long time, but maybe someday he would again. Hopefully. Though the way his wings looked right now that didn't seem like it would be any time soon.

Dean sighed tiredly and turned to leave again, when he spotted several feathers on the floor that must have come unattached while Gabriel was setting Cas' wings. He bent to pick them up, holding them as carefully as possible. They were inky black and incredibly soft yet strong with iridescent green and pink running through them when they caught the light right. Beautiful. Dean wondered what Cas' wings would have looked like in their original form. Enough to make any demon wet themselves in battle, surely. He absently ran a finger up one side of the plumage.

Images flashed before Dean's eyes, darkness and blood, then light, then a pair of huge wings and a sense of safety. He blinked rapidly several times, wondering where the hell that had come from. There was a twinge in his left shoulder where Cas had, as he said, 'gripped him tight and raised him from perdition'. Dean swallowed hard and looked down at the unconscious angel who had been his guardian, then friend, and was now his surrogate brother. Cas alone had been the one to rescue Dean from Hell. It was about time Dean returned the favor.

He gently set the feathers down on the side table. Whatever happened now, whatever had happened in the past, Dean was only certain of one thing, and that was that he was not going to let Cas give up. And if that meant he and Sam would have to carry him the whole way, they would.

Because that's what family was for.


Dean and Sam took shifts watching over Cas that night but they were both so exhausted it was hard to stay awake. Dean fell asleep next to Cas' bed sometime early in the morning, and didn't wake until he heard moaning.

His eyes shot open instantly, and he was somewhat relieved to see Cas blinking his eyes open. He leaned over, pulling his chair closer to the bed.

"Hey, how are you doing this morning?" he asked anxiously.

Cas' eyes slid halfway shut again. "Heavy…hurting."

Dean pressed his lips together in sympathy. "I'm sure. Look, I know you're pretty under the weather, so do you think you should have something to drink? I can get you some pain meds too, if you think that will help."

"Thank you, no," Cas said firmly.

Dean frowned. "Cas, I know you're hurting, that's why I'm trying to help make it as comfortable as possible for you."

Cas opened his eyes again and stared at Dean balefully. "If you wanted to help so much, you would have left me on that field."

Dean was taken aback. "Cas, how could you say that?"

"You may have meant well, but you only brought me back here to experience more agony. I thought…I thought it would be over." The last part was whispered so quietly and sadly that Dean barely heard it, but it still sent a knife through his heart.

"Cas, we're not gonna just let you die," he said, unsure of what else to say.

"I know." Was that bitterness? "You never do."

Dean just stared at him for a while before he swallowed. "Is there…is there anything I can do for you?"

Cas opened his eyes again. "Just let me rest."

Dean swallowed hard as he watched Cas relax back into sleep. He stayed like that for a few minutes before he got up and stretched, sore from the fight and sleeping in the chair all night. Okay, so Cas was in a bad place. He would deal with that later, after the angel had gotten a little more rest, maybe with Sam as backup. Right now, Dean needed to make some coffee.


Castiel lay stricken on the bed, every breath sending agonizing ripples across his back and shoulders and straight up into his wings, ending at the very tips of his feathers—what was left of them anyway. The wings that now lay in their physical state against his back, tucked up against his sides with the splints and bandages keeping them still for recovery. He hadn't been able to look at them, in too much pain to turn his head, and really, not wanting to see them to begin with, knowing the sight would only make him feel worse. He didn't understand why this had happened. He didn't regret joining the fight, no; he had done what he needed to do. He had distracted Amara long enough for his brothers to finish the spell and get her into her new prison, and he had saved Dean from getting dragged in with her. That had been his mission, his purpose, and he hadn't failed, so why did he feel so miserable?

The truth was, he knew very well why he felt the way he did and he knew he couldn't deny it any longer either. He was miserable because he hadn't been expecting to make it to the end of the fight, and the even darker truth was that he hadn't wanted to. He would have been perfectly fine with burning out in that field, but Dean had put him back in his vessel and it had preserved just enough of his energy to keep him alive, but hadn't left him with enough to heal himself or his ruined wings which were even too much for Gabriel and Balthazar together to heal. He hadn't made plans for the proverbial 'after' so now he didn't know what he was going to do. He was now only more of a burden than he had been before. No use to the Winchesters, and rejected from Heaven. There was no reason he should still be alive.

His wings reflected his state of mind, as well as the state of his grace. Torn and frayed in such a way that he didn't have a hope of putting himself back together. So why should he even try?

That was when the anger set in. Was this another punishment? It must be; another bout of penance he would have to endure—that it seemed he would endure for the rest of eternity.

"Why can't you just let me die?" he whispered, hot tears slipping down his cheeks. "What more do I have to do? I have suffered so much already, are my sins not atoned for yet? Please, Father, I beg you, no more languishing, I just want a peaceful death."

The only thing he wished was to die under the open sky. If he could no longer fly, he at least wanted to be able to see the sky one last time. He tried to push himself upright, but his wings were impossible to maneuver in this state, especially since he couldn't unfurl them to balance, and every movement he made sent agony spiking through them.

With more concentration than he could really muster, he somehow managed to banish his wings to the ethereal plane again, but the pain it caused him made red agony burst through his whole body, blinding him as he tottered on the edge of the bed. His chest seized and his lungs refused to work, feeling like they had rapidly shrunken. He clutched weakly at his spasming chest, feeling his heart beating erratically under his ribs as he continued to try to breathe, but he simply couldn't. It took too much energy for him now, and he was far too tired to even care anymore. He felt himself slipping away and he wasn't about to stop it, in fact, in a deep part of him he didn't want to admit to feeling, even to himself, he counted it as a blessing. Perhaps God had heard him at last and he was finally allowed to leave this world in peace.

As the world darkened around him, he didn't even regret not making it outside. He was just glad it was over.


Dean started brewing a pot of coffee and headed back to his room to change into clean clothes. He heard Sam's shower running and was glad he was up. They really needed to have a serious talk about Cas. Dean didn't like where the angel's head was at the moment.

As he headed back down the hall he was planning on checking in on Cas again before going to whip up some breakfast when he heard a dull thump coming from the room. Frowning, he pushed the door open and was horrified to see that Cas was lying on the floor as if he had tumbled out of the bed, completely still. His wings were no longer visible and Dean wondered if Cas had tried to put them back, but it had been too much for him in his current state.

"Cas?" Dean called, rushing forward and dropping to his knees beside the angel, afraid to touch him, but at the same time, needing to know what was wrong.

He gently turned him onto his side and didn't like the greyness of his face, nor the blue tinge to his lips. Dean's suspicions were confirmed when he put a hand to his mouth and felt no air passing through his lips. He had never really been sure if angels needed to breathe or not, but with how weak Cas was right now anyway, he could bet that him not breathing was probably a very, very bad thing.

"Cas? No, no, no, dammit, no, I'm not letting you do this." He swiftly rolled Cas onto his back and tipped his head back, starting to perform CPR. He yelled for Sam, and then Balthazar but wasn't sure if his brother could hear him at the moment, or if the angel would wake.

"Come on, Cas, please, you can't give up, man. Don't do this to me, don't you dare die on me!" He breathed for Cas again, and gave a vicious push to his solar plexus, finally rewarded by a gasp that soon turned into a hacking cough. Dean instantly pulled Cas upright, resting him against the bed and rubbing his bruised chest, relief washing over him as he gripped the angel's shoulders to keep him upright.

"Hey, hey, just breathe, alright? You're okay now," Dean coaxed, smiling reassuringly.

However, Cas's reaction was not what he had been expecting. As soon as he opened his eyes, he actually let out a pitiful sob, and it wasn't one of relief. Dean's heart flew into his throat.

"Let me go, please let me go," Cas pleaded, trying to struggle from Dean's grasp, but somehow Dean knew that he didn't mean letting him go in a physical sense.

"Cas, no. I'm not gonna do that," he said firmly, gripping the angel's shoulders again and trying to lever him upright in an attempt to get him back into the bed so he wouldn't hurt himself further.

"Please, have I not done enough already?" Cas sobbed, flailing weakly as if to fight Dean off but the hunter simply wrapped his arms around Cas' upper body and pulled him backward against his chest, sitting against the side of the bed in an attempt to calm his friend like he used to do for Sam when he was scared as a kid.

"Cas, stop." He was the one pleading now, the angel's sobs stabbing him in the heart.

"Can I not just rest now? Can you not let me rest?"

Dean looked up hopelessly as Sam finally hurried into the room, his hair still wet from the shower, and saw the situation at a glance. The brothers shared a look as Sam quickly made his way over to crouch next to Dean and the distraught angel, gripping Cas' forearms and rubbing gently in an attempt to soothe him.

"Cas, it's okay, we're here, we're not gonna let you go. Not this time."

His words only seemed to distress Cas more, the angel tipping his head back against Dean's shoulder with a moan. "P-please…I can't!"

Sam looked up at Dean with desperation and all Dean could do was hold Cas tighter as if that would somehow change his mind. How the hell were they going to talk him down? He had thought Cas was okay back when he had spoken to him before their fight with Amara, but now, Dean saw his words for what they really were. That Cas had never meant to leave that fight. That when he had told them goodbye, he had meant it—for good. Dean swallowed hard.

"Cas, we can't lose you," he said quietly. "You're our brother. I'm not gonna just let you go. You know I couldn't let Sammy go, how could you think…?" His throat constricted too much for him to continue.

"Cas, I've been there, I know how you feel," Sam added, his voice wavering with emotion. "But you have to keep fighting. It gets better. We'll get through this together, I promise."

"I'm broken…my wings," Cas choked out. "There's nothing left of me. Lucifer took everything I had left. Just let me go."

"I can't do that," Dean said firmly, reining in his emotions. "Cas, we've already let you down, and I know you have no reason to trust us, but I promise you that I will get you through this. Hell, I will be damned if I let you suffer alone ever again."

"Same here, Cas," Sam told him, reaching up and cupping the side of Cas' face. "You're our brother. We're not just going to let you drown."

This just seemed to open the floodgates. Cas crumpled in Dean's arms, moaning in agony and clutching at his chest as tears streamed down his face. "Why do you torment me with these things now?" he cried to no one in particular. "Can I not just die in peace? I must be reminded of all the things I lost as well?"

Sam and Dean stared at each other in horror, not knowing what to do for the obviously hurting, and distressed angel who was practically doubled up with agonized sobbing in Dean's lap.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean asked, his own eyes pricking with tears.

"I think he's hallucinating or something," Sam whispered while Cas continued to plead helplessly.

Dean looked stricken, but he shook himself and nodded toward the mattress behind him. "Let's get him back in the bed, at least we can make him comfortable."

They picked Cas up between them and laid him gently on his side, in case putting him on his back would hurt his injured wings even if they were incorporeal at the moment. He was still shuddering uncontrollably and Dean pulled the blanket over him and tucked it around his shoulders, thinking—hoping—this was all just a bout of shock induced by the angel's near death experience. The elder Winchester reached out and carded his hand through Cas' hair in an attempt to calm him, but his friend seemed inconsolable. His pleading had turned into an incomprehensible babble of mostly Enochian, which made Dean uneasy.

"What happened?" Sam asked his brother as he pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down, briefly pressing his fingers under Cas' chin to check his pulse.

Dean shook his head, his chest constricting at the memory of what he had seen when he came into the room earlier. "I was gonna check on him, and I heard this thud. When I came into the room, he was just lying on the floor not…not breathing."

"He wasn't breathing?" Sam asked, eyes widening.

"No, and he'd pulled his wings back to wherever they usually are. I—I gave him CPR and brought him back around, but then he just…freaked out." He looked down at Cas' pale face; sweat was beading at his hairline, lips moving in a constant whisper with words that meant nothing to Dean.

"Maybe…" Sam started then stopped, his face twisting up as he fought to say what he had to. He lowered his voice. "Maybe he thought he was dead when he woke up. Maybe that's why, he's like…" Sam gestured helplessly to Cas' shuddering figure.

"But, angels don't have heavens—or hells—do they?" Dean whispered back. "I mean, I guess I never thought about that before, but…"

"He's delirious," Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "All he knows is that we…let him down a million times and that—that he hadn't planned on coming back from the final fight."

Dean's fist clenched where it rested on his knee, hating the words, but knowing Sam was right. They had let Cas down, in so many ways it was sickening. Dean loved the angel like a brother, as much as Sam, and he knew the younger man felt the same, but they had done a piss-poor job of showing that lately. And what was worse is that Dean had seen Cas suffering, after the spell Rowena cast on him, and hell, even before that when he had been living on borrowed grace, and then a small ragged portion of his own. But had he done anything? No. He'd let Cas suffer alone, so much so that the angel probably thought no one cared that he was suffering and so he decided to hide everything from them. Dean had never even addressed his obvious suffering until it was too late and he found out that Cas had said yes to Lucifer. His brother had been drowning this whole time and he hadn't even bothered to throw him a raft.

A tear finally spilled out of Dean's eye and he didn't even bother to wipe it away as he looked hopelessly at Sam. "Sammy, we really screwed up."

"I know," Sam replied quietly, his brow creased with mental agony.

"We can't let him die thinking that the only kind words we've said to him recently were a hallucination."

Sam nodded, throat bobbing with emotion. "We won't. We'll get him through this."

The door was shoved open and Gabriel staggered in, looking half dead on his feet. Sam instantly stood to grab the archangel's elbow, seeming afraid that he was going to fall over.

"Whoa, are you okay? You don't look like you should be out of bed yet," Sam said.

Gabriel pushed past him to get to Cas. "I'm fine. What's going on with him?" He crouched beside the bed so he could look at the injured angel face to face and reached out to cup one hand to Cas' jaw. He frowned as he listened to the Enochian mumbling and then his eyes blew wide.

"Castiel? Castiel, do you hear me? Give me room," he said to Dean and the elder Winchester, though reluctant to leave Cas' side, got off the bed and went to stand a few feet away with Sam, fear clutching his chest as he saw the frantic posturing overcome the archangel as Gabriel pressed a hand to Cas' head and closed his eyes.

"What happened to him?" Gabriel shot over his shoulder at the brothers.

"He almost died," Dean told him. "And we think he's hallucinating."

"He is," Gabriel said in a tight, pained voice. "And he's also praying for forgiveness and mercy." The archangel's eyes shown with emotion. "He's begging to die in peace."

"What?" Dean demanded.

"I should have seen it before—dammit, Cas," Gabriel cursed, shaking his head. "He didn't want to survive the fight, that's why he jumped in like he did without warning, he just didn't want to tell me what he was planning before hand. Who's the coward now, huh, Cassie?" Gabriel demanded of the unconscious figure.

Sam and Dean shared a glance before turning back to the archangel.

"Is—is there anything you can do for him?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"I'm trying," Gabriel grunted before he pressed his palm against Cas' temple and spoke several words in Enochian himself, his palm glowing against Cas' pale skin. Cas stopped talking, and seemed to sink slowly into the bed.

Gabriel removed his hand and bowed his head, carding his fingers through Cas' hair for a few seconds while Dean and Sam looked on anxiously. Finally, the archangel straightened and started to position Cas on the bed, tucking a blanket up to his waist and situating him on his stomach.

"I put him into a deep sleep," he explained to the Winchesters. "Hopefully he'll be in a more stable mind when he wakes up again." He pressed his hand to Cas' back and pulled his wings onto the earthly plane once again, checking over the bandages. "It will be easier for them to heal like this, where they're not constricted between the two planes."

"What can we do for him?" Dean asked helplessly; the image of Cas sobbing in his arms and pleading for them to 'let him go' was going to haunt him for a long time.

Gabriel sagged tiredly. "Well, there's no magic cure for this. His physical wounds will heal eventually, but the rest—that's up to all of us to get him through it. So I hope you're up to the task."

Sam and Dean both nodded firmly. "We're not gonna let him down again," Dean said.

"Good. Because getting him back on his feet is going to take a lot of doing."

Dean stared at Cas' unconscious figure again and tried to fight back the hopelessness that was descending on him. How did you save someone who didn't want to be saved?


Alright, I *promise* the next chapter has more comfort than hurt, okay? It will be to you directly on monday!