Chapter Thirteen

The first thing Castiel sees is something he does remember: returning from his chat with Dean the night before his death. The Impala slowed and pulled into the parking space in front of their motel room. Dean left the car first and went straight into the room to find it empty. He called Sam, who told him he walked down the road to the gas station to buy some things. Cas watched Dean's face shift from neutral to annoyed to red. He hung up the phone.

"He said he won't be back for a half hour," Dean announced.

"Perhaps he wants help," Castiel said.

"No… he said he wanted to take his time," he said slowly. Dean took his jacket off and crossed the room to where Cas stood. "You want to, uh, continue what we were doing before?"

"Sam—"

"Sam's a smart kid. He's taking his time."

Dean did not wait for a response. He took Cas by the face and kissed him hard, driving them both against the wall. It took him a second, but Cas responded with equal vigor. He ran his hands down Dean's chest, resting them at his waist, pulling him closer by the belt loops. Dean's hands wandered down Cas's back, clawing at the thick trench coat.

"God, just take that damn thing off," he mumbled into Cas's mouth. In an instant the coat was on the ground. "Better."

Dean started working with the tie, loosening it slowly and undoing the top buttons of the shirt. Cas let out a breathless sound when Dean kissed him in the dip at the bottom of his neck between his collarbones. He trailed his lips up his neck. Cas, unable to resist, took them straight to the bed. Dean looked surprised but says nothing to protest. Cas settled between Dean's legs, working Dean's shirt off slowly without taking his mouth away from Dean's. The little sounds Dean made when he pressed and brushed the right places only egged Cas on. He kissed him more ravenously, to which Dean only responded with equal hunger.

"How the hell are you so good at this?" Dean panted in a moment's pause.

"I've been watching humans do this for several millennia, Dean. I can take notes."

"Kinky, and kinda illegal, but whatever."

Dean reached up and threw Castiel's tie aside. He unbuttoned one or two buttons before a short damn it; he ripped the shirt clear off him. Castiel gave Dean a look, to which Dean only shrugged and dragged Castiel back on top of him. The kissing became less desperate, less painful and hungry, and more intimate, tender, filling. The touches were gentle and made them shiver in all the right ways in all the right places. They ended up tangled in each other's arms, not doing anything but trying to understand the presence of the other.

"This isn't weird, is it?" Dean asks.

"No. Not at all."

"This ain't some last-night-on-earth thing, right, Cas?"

"Why would it be?"

"I mean, we can snuff it any day," says Dean.

"Then we could have done this ages ago, seeing as we've both died more times than necessary," said Cas. Dean laughed, Cas moving with him.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think that sort of line would work on you," Dean said. He runs his fingers through Cas's soft hair. "I'm serious about this, Cas. Really. I… probably could have done this ages ago, I'd be as dead serious as I am now. This is a long time coming. You get that, right?"

"I do," murmured Cas.

"Then we're gonna make this work. Promise?"

"I did," Cas said, turning in Dean's arms to look him in the eye, "and I will keep it. You're mine now, Dean Winchester."

Dean returned the gaze, only to look away.

"Sammy's gonna flip," he laughed quietly. "But he'll get it."

"He already does. He has approached me about this before," Cas said. Dean's eyes widen.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. He's rather supportive of this arrangement," Cas said, smiling at Dean's confusion. "I hope that doesn't upset you, that Sam and I have discussed this before. I trust him and… there aren't many people to whom I can speak freely."

"No, no, that's fine," he said. His voice sounded hollow, though.

"Then, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Cas frowned. "You can tell me, Dean."

"This just feels too damn good, Cas," he said weakly. "What's the catch?"

"Maybe there isn't one this time."

"Yeah, and God still gives a shit," he snorted. "Sorry."

"It's fine. You're right," Cas said, still frowning. A buzzing started in his head, growing louder by the second. He gasped, clutching his forehead.

"Cas?" he asked, sitting up. Cas rose slowly.

"Something's happening," he said through gritted teeth. He stood, clothed himself quickly, and stepped outside.

The scene changes, the last image being Dean lying on the bed, still shirtless, with his belt undone and the button of his pants wide open, looking both troubled and relaxed. The darkness closes in and when the scene illuminates again, it shows something different all together. It shows the warehouse with Dean, Sam, and Cas surrounded by dead demons, Crowley between them with the demon-killing knife at his throat and an angel blade at his back.

"You're done, Crowley," Sam said. "You can't win now."

"You're damning yourself," he spat. "You can't kill me, not like this. If you do, you'll end up with a different devil to deal with, and at least this devil you know, you know?"

"Shut up," Dean said. "Sam, I'm thinking we need to have a talk with the devil we know, don't we?"

"Looks like it."

"Cas?"

Cas touched Crowley on the shoulder and they appeared in a dark, metal room in the center of a devil's trap. It greatly resembled Bobby's panic room.

"Castiel, please. I have nothing to tell the boys," said Crowley. "Let me go, help me out, and I can help you get what you want."

"I'm not repeating my mistakes," Castiel stated.

"I'm the one who got screwed over!" yelled Crowley. "Yet I'm still the one offering you help!"

"There is nothing I need from you," Castiel said calmly. "The Winchesters will get what they need from you."

"What, the prophet? The tablets?" Crowley said. "I won't tell. I have nothing to tell."

Cas picked up a bottle of holy water and dumped it on Crowley's head. He sizzled silently.

"Nice try, hot wings," Crowley said, mopping up his temporarily disfigured face with a handkerchief, "but I've got a couple of tricks up my sleeve."

"Nothing Dean can't get past."

"Ah, yes, you've seen the man in action," Crowley leered, "and I think I mean that in more ways than one. Oh, you do know what I'm talking about! I was just bluffing, but your face says it all, Castiel. So, you and the Winchester finally got it on? About time, really, the tension was maddening."

Castiel turned away from Crowley, his face an unreadable wall. Crowley started to laugh.

"You, boy, are more like a teenage girl than an angel," Crowley said, shaking his head. "You wear your feelings on your wings, Castiel, whether you like it or not."

"I have no issue with this," he said flatly.

"Whatever you say," said Crowley, pacing within the devil's trap. "Not a bad trap this time."

"Thank you."

"I'd wager I'm not the only one feeling a little cornered and trapped, am I?" Crowley said softly. He walked up behind Castiel, right to the edge of the trap. "I've known a few fallen angels in my day, and they all talked about the limitations of grace when it comes to these simple human interactions and feelings. Am I right? You're feeling a little backed up, like you can't quite get it up as high as you want it to?"

Castiel rounded on Crowley.

"That's fine, it's a very common problem; I'm forgetting the rate right now, but there's treatment, even for an angel," he said seriously. "You can't just rip that grace out. It's gotta be done properly, or else it all goes wrong."

Castiel said nothing.

"Too proud to have a heart-to-heart with a demon, are we?" he said. "Fine. Have it your way. But if you let me live, we can have this talk, no strings attached. There aren't many people—er, creatures—who would understand what I have to say to you."

"I doubt you have anything of worth to say to me that doesn't have to do with the prophet and the tablets."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Car doors slammed outside the room.

"We're done talking," Castiel said. Sam and Dean approached the room. Crowley's eyes did not leave Castiel's face until the angel was well out of view. Once he left Sam and Dean to the interrogation, Castiel sat quietly outside the building, running through the curious conversation with Crowley all over again. Finally, when the screaming and hissing and shouting stopped, Castiel re-entered the room.

"Is it done?" he asked.

"It was mostly done, until the bastard broke out of the trap," Dean nearly shouted. He threw the bottle of holy water down and leaned over the cart of devices. "Goddamnit, we were so close."

"But did you get the information you needed?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah, eventually, but who the hell knows if he's lying?" Sam said. He sounded just as irritated as Dean, if not more. "He basically said he's got Kevin in some corner of hell."

"In hell?" repeated Cas.

"Yeah."

"I suppose I could try—"

"Cas, shut it. You're not going down there alone," Dean said vehemently, approaching him. "We'll figure something else out. We'll draw Crowley and Kevin out here. That's how we'll get him back."

"Dean, it's my duty to keep the prophet safe," growled Cas. "I have to try."

"You are! By working with us, helping us! You don't need to go all kamikaze!"

"I don't know what that means, but I will do my best to help you. I think your plan will fail, Dean, but I'll help you. Of course I will. Then, after that, remember that I am still at your disposal."

Cas turned and walked out of the room, ignoring Dean's shouts and Sam's confused questions. Dean ran after Cas eventually but Cas was already gone, flying away to someplace far. He appeared in a frigid cabin in Siberia. Cas did not have to do much to set up the spell for summoning Death. When Death appeared, he seemed perplexed, but, as usual, generally nonplussed.

"Castiel," he said. "Is there a reason you've pulled me away from my duties?"

"There is a matter I wish to discuss with you," Cas replied. "Crowley."

"What about our king of hell?"

"He has the prophet and a tablet of the word of God," said Cas. "We need them."

"And how am I supposed to help you?"

"Crowley… he offered me something. He offered me a way to become human without, he said, turning into something like him," said Cas. "I don't understand what he means."

"So you've come to me instead. You think you can trust me more than Crowley?"

"I believe you to be an honorable being," Cas said.

"Last time I saw you, Dean Winchester had me bound to him, and he asked me to kill you. You released me," Death said slowly. "I can repay the favor."

"You will help me?"

"I will explain to you what Crowley meant," said Death, "and then you make what you will of that information."

"But the prophet—"

"—can be pulled out of hell, yes, and I do have the power to do that, but that will not be necessary," said Death. "You and the Winchesters will find a way, I have no doubt. My time traveling to hell will be spent otherwise, but that doesn't concern you."

"Chances are, it does."

"You are a curious creature, Castiel," said Death. "Be careful. Crowley is not a demon to underestimate. He thinks many steps ahead."

"Don't waste my time," Cas said. Death glared at Cas, but the angel did not flinch.

"Crowley means to tempt you with a story of an angel whose grace was torn from him, as punishment for rebelling, and he was damned to humanity," said Death. "The human lived on, but since the grace was not removed in a specific way, something instead of a soul grew in its place. The human became a demon after enough exposure to the corruption on earth. Crowley intends to say this is how he became what he is, and that if you do it in a certain way, you will be spared the inevitable fate of becoming a damned human or demon."

"That's not possible," said Cas. "Angels know that that is not how demons are born."

"Do they? There could be more than one way to twist a soul into a demon, and a lack of a soul in a human body is asking for that sort of thing, don't you think?"

"Is it true what Crowley wants to tell me?" Cas asked impatiently.

"There is some truth to it," Death shrugged. "There is something he wants, though. It is where you would find the way to remove grace from an angel and leave the human intact, among many, many things."

"What does Crowley want to do?"

"I cannot say. Most likely it is something that has to do with stopping the Winchesters from closing the gates of hell," he said. "Be wary of him."

"Understood. Thank you for speaking with me."

"Yes, yes. I have matters to deal with," said Death, "now that my miniscule debt has been repaid."

Death disappeared. Cas stood alone in the cabin for a long time. The phone in his pocket rang several times before he picked it up.

"Dean."

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

"Dealing with matters," he said.

"Well, get your ass back to us. We've got to deal with this Crowley situation."

"What makes you think that wasn't what I was doing?"

"Were you?"

"Yes. I'll be there soon."

Cas hung up the phone. He looked around the room again before leaving.

The scene changes again. Cas faces Crowley, who has a knife to the throat of the prophet; Dean and Sam are unconscious on the floor, blood trailing from Sam's mouth. Cas is tense, and the Castiel who watches on almost runs at the unconscious Winchesters.

"Stop this," Cas said, his voice cracking. "What do you want from me?"

"Castiel, it's simple. Get the Creation Records for me. Your pets will live, and I'll leave humanity alone."

"I don't believe you."

"Shocker, there," Crowley said, rolling his eyes. "Okay, how about this. If you don't get the Creation Records for me, I'll kill moose and squirrel over here, and I'll let loose two angry archangels."

Cas smiled.

"You can't do that, even as king of hell."

"Yes, I know, but it wasn't hard to find these," Crowley said. He pulled out the familiar formation of three of the rings of Horsemen, "nor was it difficult to acquire this," Crowley said as he pulled out the fourth ring, Death's ring, with his other hand. "Death was rather reluctant, but, you know, I am a sneaky bastard."

"You're bluffing."

"Do you really want to test that theory?"

"You wanted Lucifer dead when the apocalypse was on. You wouldn't be in control of hell anymore—"

"That's not what matters, you imbecile! Not anymore!" roared Crowley. "You rotten fools have been trying to destroy me, and if you succeeded I would have been locked downstairs with the rest of my peers for eternity! How long do you think I'd have total control of hell then, hmm? That's not the point anymore! The big picture—the big picture paints a different goal, Castiel, and that's the end of my problems: humans. So don't you worry, Cas; I'll find a way to make sure these monkeys pay for trying to lock my kind up like animals, but if you do this one thing, it might be a little easier for everyone. Have I made myself clear?"

Cas was speechless.

"Do I really need to do this?" Crowley snapped his fingers. A ring of fire appeared around Cas. Anger flared in the angel's eyes. He opened his mouth to speak when Crowley interrupted and said,

"Don't waste my time. So, what'll it be?"

"Crowley…."

"All you have to do is get the book. That's all. Take the spell you want, but you don't have to do any other damned thing. It's a pretty good deal, I would say, and I'd rather we do this the easy way, even though I'd love to sit you down and drive a blade through you a million times over. I like the sound of angels screaming."

"The angels will come for you," creaked Cas. "They'll stop you."

"Will they? Don't they want to win their end of the war? Hell, if it's on the tracks, why stop the train?"

"They don't want humanity dead."

"No, Castiel. That's really just you. You're the only one who followed Daddy's orders and loved humanity more than Him, but that just makes you blind and a dumbass, if you ask me. You've gotta use your brain, use that free will you wanted so badly. Make your choice, or I'll make it for you. I'll start snapping necks. Who should go first? Dean? Sam? Kevin? Perhaps this one—"

Crowley snapped his fingers. Adam Milligan appeared, drenched in blood, his skull exposed at the top of his forehead. The boy looked barely conscious.

"This one's been in the cage for a long time," said Crowley. "He was about to die, for whatever reason. I can send him back down and let him go suffer eternally, or I can just snap his neck here. Why am I telling you this?"

Adam's eye went wide for a moment, freshly conscious, but only for a short time. His head turns sharply and his neck snaps with a sickening crunch of bone on bone. The boy crumples, his glassy eyes ironically turned toward his unconscious brothers.

"One down," Crowley said. "Ready to talk, Castiel? Or should I continue?"

"No."

"No?"

"I'll help you," Cas said. His voice was clear and unwavering. "I will get the Creation Records, but you must release my friends, all of them, first—the prophet included."

"It's all part of the deal," Crowley said with a gleeful smile. "I'll return to collect in a week. Oh, but first—wipe their memories of this. We don't want the Winchesters knowing about this little arrangement. It'd throw a wrench into your little romance, don't you think?"

"That was not part of the deal," fumed Cas, taking a step toward Crowley, but stopping short of the fire.

"Are you really in a position to negotiate?"

Crowley lowered the fire and nodded at Kevin. Cas reluctantly pressed two fingers to the prophet's forehead. Kevin collapsed.

"It's done."

"Good. Now, the others."

"There's no need," Cas stated. Crowley gave him a look, and then looked down at the broken Milligan boy, as if to say necessity doesn't dictate my logic.

"You were saying?"

Cas stepped over Kevin to Sam and touched his forehead. His wounds healed and he breathed out smoothly. Then, Cas moved on to Dean and did the same. Castiel actually steps forward now into the scene and bends down beside Dean; he places a hand on his shoulder, but he feels nothing there. Castiel's hand drops.

Crowley disappeared. Cas walked over to Adam and crouched beside him. He touched the boy, but the damage was done. His soul was long gone—far too long gone, in fact. Cas frowned and waited several minutes, clearly pondering what move to make next. He settled for waiting for the Winchesters to wake. He made Adam's body disappear, sat down in his place, and curled his lags close to his chest. Castiel, watching attentively, could feel the anger, the hatred, the intense guilt and disappointment—every metaphorical demon he ever wrestled with was climbing up Cas's throat and strangling his brain stem. It was too much for him, and almost is too much for Castiel to watch.

The scene changes before he gets the chance to properly look away. Greenery forms around him as Castiel stands up. The Impala is parked on the road. Castiel stands in the middle of a field—the very field where he woke after his death. He holds a piece of ancient paper in his hand and has a table set up before him littered with various objects and symbols. The Winchesters are nowhere to be found.

Cas started to whisper a string of words. Sweat beaded on his brow. Castiel reads over his shoulder; it is a spell in old Enochian. He understands. He must have given Crowley the book and taken the spell in return. He watches as the glow emanated from his form, growing stronger, filling him out until he was a human-shaped beacon. Cas's words came more quickly and his breath sounded increasingly thin. The physical strain is evident. Cas hangs onto the edge of the table, digging his nails into the hard surface.

The last words came out in a haggard breath. The glow suddenly concentrated on a point in the lower portion of Cas's torso. It rose slowly, following gently up through his chest until it was centered. The light extended outward, filling out his wings. Cas, with shaking hands, picked up a bottle from the middle of the altar and pressed it to his chest. He scooped the grace out; the wings pulled through his body as he removed the bottle from his chest, passing through like floss between teeth. A smile formed on Cas's face when the last of light passed through him and collected in the bottle. He uttered a few more words and screwed the lid of bottle tightly.

Castiel steps up next to himself again, staring at the bottle. He pulls the bottle in which Michael and Lucifer's grace has resided out from his pocket. It is exactly the same, down to the dent on cap.

The scene shifts again, taking longer to settle again. The time jump is larger, he assumes. When it does stop on the next "memory" Castiel knows that Dean and Sam are aware of his human status, and have adjusted accordingly. They are in a bar, taking shots.

"To the end of this mess," Sam said, holding up a shot glass, grinning ear to ear. Dean and Cas raise their glasses as well. They all down their liquor and toss the glasses aside. "God. Can't believe it's over."

"Same," Dean said. "The tablets are safe. Crowley's dead."

"The recap is unnecessary, Dean," Cas said.

"Y'know what? Let's get another round. No, come on, we're celebrating," he said, waving at the bartender.

"Yes, but I'd rather not die of liver disease," Cas muttered.

"What's the fun of it without the thrill of death?" Dean said with a wide grin. Cas rolled his eyes at Dean. The shots arrived; Dean took his up instantly. Cas looked to Sam for help, but he shrugged and drank his as well. Cas holds his drink in his hand. "Oh, just drink it. You're not gonna die from this stuff if I haven't yet."

"You might not be human, Dean," Cas said seriously. Dean stared at him. Cas downed the shot, and Dean smiled more widely yet.

"Good. Good. More?"

Time fast-forwards, and the bar changes into their motel room. The Impala swung into the space in front of the window. The headlights turned off, doors slammed, and the door to the room banged open. Dean was all over Cas, kissing him madly, clawing at his clothes. Cas grabbed Dean by the lapels and pinned him against the wall. He ran his hands under Dean's shirt, placing them well out of view. Dean's face lit with pleasure, his mouth slightly open. Cas pulled Dean's shirt off, leaving him in his t-shirt. He placed his hands at Dean's waist, or lower, and pulled him closer, kissing him again. Dean responded, taking Cas by the face and barreling him onto the bed. He straddled him as Cas leans upward to better take his shirt off. Dean removed his shirt as Cas fumbled with Dean's belt buckle.

"Cas, Cas—you sure about this? Now?" Dean said. Cas sat up, pressing his hand to Dean's crotch while grabbing Dean by the back of the neck and bringing his face close to his. Cas kissed Dean near his ear before saying,

"I've waited several millennia. I think I know when I'm ready for this. Are you?"

"Please," Dean said, though his voice cracks, "I'm more worried about you."

"I learn fast."

"Remember," pants Dean as Cas shifts positions and starts to go down on him, pulling Dean's jeans down. "Remember I made you that promise, ages ago? That I wouldn't let you die a virgin?"

"You didn't exactly keep it," he murmured between kisses. Dean moaned softly.

"Well, uh, now that you're human, I've gotta make—make sure I keep t-that, right? Fuck, Cas, how the hell do you know how to do all this?" he gasped. Dean stepped off the bed to kick his jeans aside. Cas went right back down on him, taking his time sucking him off, waiting until Dean was pulling at his hair, digging his nails into his shoulder, desperately leaning into him, before pulling away to answer, his lips just brushing the end of Dean's erection as he spoke,

"Human instincts," he said before taking Dean in all at once, over and over, slowing and quickening, pausing to run his tongue along all the right places.

"Oh—Jesus—sorry I mean—fuck, Cas, fuck—"

Cas emerged smiling, wiping his mouth. Dean kissed him instantly, digging deep, crushing him onto the bed. He let his hands explore Cas's body in ways he had clearly not done before, judging by Cas's almost comical reactions. Dean seemed to enjoy them.

Needless to say, Castiel is not sure whether to feel more uncomfortable that he is witnessing this or jealous that he never got to experience it himself. He starts to wonder why he is seeing this when, suddenly, everything stopped. Dean peeled himself away from Cas and looked around.

"What's wrong? What's going on?" he said.

No response, but Castiel feels the presence beside him.

"Who's there, you fucking pervert!" Dean shouted.

"An old friend," said Crowley, appearing next to Castiel. "No need to get so testy. Sorry to catch you at such an awkward time, boys."

"Awkward doesn't begin to fucking cover it, Crowley," growled Dean, lunging out of bed. He pulled his pants on hastily before advancing on Crowley, who was chuckling at the sight under his breath. "You were dead. We drove that knife right through you!"

"Yes, well, you didn't anticipate that I had life insurance," Crowley said dismissively. He looked past Dean at Cas, who was still hardly dressed, but glaring intently at the demon nonetheless. Dean's face went lax. He looked back at Cas, then back at Crowley.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Crowley sighed. "It hardly matters."

He disappeared for a moment, only to reappear behind Dean, and, so that only Castiel can see, put a knife to Dean's throat and pulled it across with practiced precision. Dean collapsed, blood pouring onto the hardwood floor, seeping into the spaces between the planks and his fingers. Cas bounded off the bed, horrified sounds fighting each other for his vacant voice in his throat. He fell to his knees and turned Dean over onto his back. His unseeing eyes stared up at him, blood coating his skin from the lips down. Cas looked up at Crowley helplessly.

"Get up, Castiel," said Crowley, watching him down his nose with measured caution. "You had to have known this was coming the moment you went back on your deal."

"I—I didn't—"

"You helped them try and kill me. That was in the fine print of you helping me get what I want," he nearly shouted. Crowley composed himself. "Lucky for me, I had a way of preserving myself. That lovely book, the Creation Records, that you fetched for me a year or so ago? There was a nice little spell in there that allowed me to bind myself to another, so that as long as the other lived, I couldn't die, and you'll never guess who I chose."

Cas grabs the knife off the floor and holds it to his throat.

"I'll do it," he said tremulously. Tears stream down his face.

"No, you won't, since I didn't bind myself to as opposed to your grace, so if even if you stab yourself, so long as your grace is intact, I'll live," Crowley said simply. "Now, why don't you do the next best thing and replace the grace. Come, now, don't you think you can save him?"

Cas stood. He walks over to his coat and pulls the glowing blue bottle out from its depths, all the while not taking his eyes off Dean. Crowely smiled.

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'll grab the moose and slaughter him like an animal."

Cas's throat visibly constricts.

"I don't understand why this is happening," he whispered.

"Humans are screwed over, Castiel, all of them, especially the ones who deluded themselves into thinking they could be human instead of what they really are—a killing machine. Now, be a good lad and take the grace, or else I'll snap Sammy's neck."

Cas's hand trembled. He unscrewed the bottle slowly, then poured the light down his throat. His body convulsed. A light shone down from above and filled the room. Crowley shielded his eyes until the brightness passed. A dazed Cas, the full angel once more, stood before them. He raced forward to Dean.

A gun fired. Cas stopped short. The bullet hole was massive in the back of Dean's head. Crowley lowered the Colt slowly.

"Sam should be along shortly. Then we can go clean ourselves off," Crowley said.

"I… am not doing anything with you. I will destroy you."

"I don't think so, and neither do you," smiled Crowley. "See, that spell bound you to me. It keeps me alive. It also keeps you under my control. You, my friend, have to obey me. I am, in a way, your new god," Crowley concluded coldly.

Sam burst through the door and Crowley buried two bullets in his forehead. Cas fell to his knees, as does Castiel. He feels so sick, so entirely shattered, entirely destroyed by what he has witnessed. He wants the memories to stop. He wants to return to the present. He wants to leave. He wants to be dead, for God's sake.

Crowley pocketed the Colt.

"Stand up. We're leaving," he said. "We have work to do."

Crowley and Cas disappeared, leaving Castiel with the bodies of the Winchesters. Castiel bends down and touches the blood next to Dean's face. His fingers come off clean. Dean dissolves before his eyes, as does Sam and the rest of the room.