Author's Note: I haven't had a chance to watch the Season 7 finale yet, but I'll be watching it tomorrow, most likely. I'm posting this now because I'm predicting that I will be catatonic after watching the episode and will therefore be unable to post it tomorrow. So! Here's another chapter for you guys. Hope the finale wasn't too traumatic. Oh, and no spoilers, pleeeease.

Chapter 21 – The Stars, They Shine for You

Duck. Swing. Leap. Grasp opponent's forearm. Disarm.

Cas!

My brother throws me back a few feet but I land easily and spring back into combat.

Cas, why aren't you answering, you dick?

Brandish sword. Brother approaches—wait for it…

Another blade swings at me from behind and I duck just in time to avoid being stabbed in the neck. Jab my blade into my first opponent's knee—simultaneously kick one foot back, knocking the second attacker off his feet.

Cas, it's Sam! Now get down here! I need your help.

As my wounded brother pulls my blade out of his knee, gasping in pain, I spin and shove the blade that I stole from him into the second's chest. He dies with a flash of light, and I turn back around, blade ready. My brother drops my blade, wincing as his Grace pours steadily out of the knee of his vessel.

"Have mercy, brother," he gasps. "Kill me quickly."

"Follow me," I respond, rapidly searching for his name. "Ariel," I realize. "Follow me."

He shakes his head. "Kill me," he insists.

I drop his blade without breaking eye contact, and he just looks at me, not understanding. Why won't any of them understand? Why won't they listen? Why can't they just think?

There's a squelching sound, and my brother gasps, eyes widening. Another flash of light, and he's gone.

"Rachel," I say.

"Castiel," she replies. "You can't convert everyone. You know that, don't you? They have already chosen, so they must die."

No, even Rachel does not understand. "They deserve second chances," I say. "I want to give them second chances, whenever it is in my power to do so. Making a mistake, having a lapse in judgment, does not mean they deserve to die."

Rachel sighs. "Castiel, this is war."

"I know," I snap, glancing over at Lisa's house. At this time of day, no one is home—Ben is attending school, and both Dean and Lisa are at work.

"Then you know that we cannot afford to let them slip away. If they chose Raphael to begin with, who is to say that they will not choose him again, given the chance?"

"Enough," I say. "I will clean this up. Go up and find out why Eremiel was not here. We cannot allow Raphael to get his hands on the key to the cage."

"It would be safer if we just took the key."

"Dean would notice."

"Then kill him and take him back to Heaven, too." I stiffen, but she continues speaking as though she hasn't noticed. "We'll be able to keep watch over him at all times without having to station angels on Earth. Our numbers are stretched thin as it is."

"No."

"But Castiel—"

"No. Dean is not to die an unnatural death again, ever."

"We could make an accident—"

"I fail to see how the meaning of the word 'no' escapes you, Rachel. Do not bring this up again."

"Castiel—"

"Go."

"We are fighting a war. Why are we making allowances for an insignificant—"

"That insignificant human being is the reason why I stood up to Raphael in the first place," I say. "He and his brother prevented the end of the world as we know it. Do not ever question the values of their lives. And if you still consider me your brother, you will not speak ill of either one of them again."

She looks at me angrily. "Fine. I'll search for Eremiel now."

She takes off, and I pause a moment to listen as she gets farther away. Then I clean up the aftermath of the fight, collecting the dropped blades and disintegrating the human bodies—the souls of these vessels have already departed.

The scorch marks left by my brothers' wings are more difficult to erase, and as I work to remove all traces of them from Lisa's lawn, one of the neighbors steps outside to throw out some trash. I flare my wings, hiding myself and the marks on the ground behind an illusion of her typically immaculate lawn.

As the neighbor reenters his house, whistling, it occurs to me that this is the lawn the Dean mows, once every other week. I shudder at the thought of angels attacking him while he's out here, exposed. I cannot imagine what would happen if he were to fall into Raphael's hands. No amount of bargaining would get him back, for Dean is still Michael's true vessel, and Raphael will need him in order to resume the Apocalypse.

I complete my task and rise to Heaven, planning to investigate the reason why Eremiel was missing.

Then I pause to consider Sam's safety. But he's currently traveling with Samuel Campbell, and Crowley has planted some demons in the Campbell line in order to ensure his safety. I'm fairly certain that Raphael wouldn't go after Sam simply because he believes that if Sam said yes once, he would do it again. But leaving him without protection is still out of the question.

Thinking of Sam reminds me that he'd been calling me earlier. I will ask Crowley how he is the next time I fly down to meet him—we agreed that it'd be best if I stayed away, as I am not skilled at lying, and Crowley insisted that it would be easier if Sam and Dean were unaware of our plan to open Purgatory. The less people who know, the better.

Crowley has been conducting interrogations of creatures in private so that word will not reach Raphael. If my brother gains the power of the souls in Purgatory, then there is not one creature in the world that will be able to stop him, an archangel boosted by so much power.

The sheer number of souls would be enough to challenge anyone's sanity, I'm sure. I've already seen firsthand the pleasure that Raphael derives from killing others. There's no telling what he would do with that kind of power…

The door swings open, and Sam frowns. "Cas is here!" he calls over his shoulder. "With uh… Crowley, and Meg!"

"Hello, Sammy!" Meg says brightly, and Sam just turns around, disappearing into the house.

Crowley and Meg enter, and I follow, shutting the door behind me.

"What the hell, Cas?" Dean says.

I'm relieved to see that he is perfectly healthy. And my Grace feels comforted by his presence. I wonder if my presence has a similar effect on his soul.

"Meg wishes to assist us," I say in reply to his query.

"Why? And why would you believe her, Cas?" Sam asks.

"Have I really been that terrible to you two?" Meg says.

"It's your fault Jo and Ellen are dead," Sam says.

Meg rolls her eyes, and I contemplate smiting her for her lack of respect for the dead. "Oh, boo hoo. Lots more are going to be dead if we don't stop the Leviathans, and you could use my help."

"Where is Bobby?" I ask. Closing my eyes, I sense that he's—

"In the basement," Dean says. "Why don't we all drop in and say hi?"

He and Sam lead the way to the stairs, and a moment later, we're in the basement. Bela Talbot is in a Devil's trap. Bobby has turned to watch the group of us warily.

"What're all o' you doin' here?"

"Bela?" Meg says with a disapproving frown before the rest of us can speak.

"I'm sorry, Meg. I—"

"Shut up, you imbecile. How could you get caught by these oafs?"

"I told you not to use new meat," Crowley says with a smirk. "All talk and no experience. More trouble than they're worth, really."

"Well, she's killed enough of your pathetic followers," Meg shoots back.

"All right, can it," Dean says. "I say we can't trust Meg. Who's to say she won't screw us over, first chance she gets?"

Meg sighs. "Dean, I'm looking at the bigger picture, here. If I kill you now, it'll be fun, I'm sure, but when the Leviathans are through with you humans, they're gonna turn on the rest of us. I'm selfish as can be, and I'm not gonna lie about it—I'm in to save my own ass."

"Exactly," Sam says. "As soon as someone gives her a better offer of protection than we do, she'll jump ship."

"Yes, yes. Now will you smite the bitch, Castiel?" Crowley asks.

Meg looks furious. "I don't understand. If I remember correctly, the last time our little party got together, we—" she points between herself, Dean, Sam, and me "—were all going up against him—" now she points at Crowley "—because we wanted him dead. Now why are you all ganging up on me, but not on him?"

"He's been helping us against the Leviathans," Sam says. "You've been doing squat."

"I've been a bit busy trying to get away from the Hellhounds Crowley set on me."

"Sorry 'bout that, love, had to be done," Crowley says with a smirk.

"Cas, why did you bring them here?" Bobby asks.

"Meg and Crowley wish to stay apart, so I considered leaving Meg here under your supervision," I respond, directing my words to Bobby as well as the Winchesters. "But another reason I brought her here was so you could see her for yourself—I trust you are more capable of seeing through deception."

Meg scowls. "And here I thought you were putting some faith in me, Clarence."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"Well, she ain't stayin' in my house," Bobby says, shaking his head.

"I did not intend to force you," I say before he can continue—he seems to have more than one argument prepared. I turn to face Crowley and Meg, both of whom look unhappy. "We will respect Bobby's wishes—"

"Damn right," the old hunter interjects.

"—so Meg, you will travel with Crowley, as his subordinate."

"Just a minor issue with that, Cas," Dean says, and we look in his direction. "Meg was trained under Alastair. She'll be able to subdue Crowley if she really wants to."

Crowley bristles at this. "I am still King of Hell, you insolent—"

"She captured you this time, didn't she?" Sam points out.

"Won't happen again," Crowley says with nonchalance that even I can tell is feigned.

But Dean has raised a valid point.

"I can go with them," Balthazar says, landing in the room behind the Devil's trap that holds Bela Talbot. He steps into sight and approaches us.

"Sam?" I ask, because his mental well-being takes priority over Crowley's safety.

Sam glances at Balthazar and nods. "I'm fine."

I look over at my brother, and he also nods.

"Let's go, then," Crowley says. "Time's wastin'."

"Are you done with Bela yet?" Meg asks as Crowley begins to climb the stairs out of the basement. "I'd like to take her with me."

"Not quite," Dean says. "Tell you what, we'll send her your way, soon as we're finished catching up."

Meg frowns but doesn't protest when Balthazar ushers her up the stairs.

Don't worry, he says to me, I'll keep an eye on her.

Thank you, brother, I respond. When they've gone, I turn to the others. "While Balthazar is gone, I will stay here."

"Why?" Sam asks.

"To guard you, of course."

"You don't have to—" Dean begins.

"I want to. Besides, I have exhausted all of my leads—I do not know how to get into Purgatory. My best hope is to wait for Gabriel to return. Until he does so, I have little better to do than wait. So I will stand guard over you."

"Well, isn't that touching?" Bela says.

"Let's go," Dean says, jerking his head toward the stairs.

"I'll finish up down here," Bobby says, and the smug smile on the demon's face falters.

"Are you sure it's a good idea for you two to be under the same roof?" Sam asks when we're back on the ground floor.

"I have grown accustomed to the cravings. It will be all right," I say.

"Dean?" Sam says.

Dean nods. "Fine here."

"I don't know if I believe you, Dean," Sam says doubtfully.

"Shut up, Sam," Dean says, moving into the kitchen.

"It will be fine," I say to reassure Sam.

"Sure."

But I sense that Sam does not believe me. "I would never hurt your brother if I could help it," I add.

"What if you can't help it?"

"I can," I insist. "I will be careful."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, all right."

I wait a moment before changing the subject. "How are the other hunters taking the news?"

"Uh, not great. I mean, I guess it makes sense. We're hunters—it's wired into us to not trust supernatural things. Lots of hunters don't even believe in angels."

"I understand. Well, Crowley is monitoring the political activity of the Leviathans, which should suffice for the time being. Is there anything I can to do help with the hunters?"

Sam sighs. "Short of mind-wiping them? Not really. And I don't think messing with people's heads is gonna win you points in anyone's books."

"That is reasonable," I agree.

Bobby emerges from the basement alone.

"Bela?" Sam asks.

"I'm leavin' her down there a little longer. She keeps runnin' that mouth o' hers, and it's makin' me angry," Bobby says.

"You're always angry," Sam points out, and his mentor scowls.

Dean reenters the room with a bottle of beer and nods once to acknowledge Bobby before addressing me. "Hey Cas," he says, "what was Bobby's Heaven like? He won't tell us."

I frown. "Why not?"

"'Cause it ain't any o' their goddamn business," Bobby grumbles.

"Come on, Cas, share," Dean says.

I open my mouth, and Bobby growls my name in a warning tone. "You did not respect my secret, so I do not have to respect yours. This will make us even," I tell him. "Bobby's Heaven is his salvage yard, in a realm shared with the soul of his wife. The memories that he relives the most contain the two of you."

Bobby storms out of the room, and Sam and Dean follow after him, calling him a "softie" in what I suppose is an affectionate manner. I close my eyes and allow their voices to become background noise, the sounds of peace. For this is indeed a moment of peace—the calm before the storm, perhaps.

I wonder how long it will last.

Silence.

It is a rare moment of absolute silence. No fights are being fought, no lives lost. Right now, Heaven is silent.

"Hello, Castiel," Raphael says as he lands beside me. "It is quiet, today."

I don't look at him. "Yes. Why are you here?"

"I just wanted to talk."

"Unless you wish to tell me that you will not put us back on the path to the Apocalypse, I see nothing for us to discuss."

He sighs. "You need to learn obedience."

"I know how to take orders, Raphael."

"No, I don't think you do. I worked on you myself, or have you already forgotten?"

I turn to glare at him. "Obedience is not something you can demand and receive. It comes from faith. Trust. These are things you have to earn. I know how to be obedient. I just refuse to be tortured into submission."

The archangel laughs. "Is this something you learned from your precious human? The one you're still trying to protect?" I don't respond, so he goes on, "You won't be able to protect him forever. One day, your guard will slip. Maybe on that day, I'll descend to Earth myself. And you won't be able to do anything to stop me."

My wings flare out instinctively as I step closer to my brother. "If you hurt him, I will kill you. You may be an archangel, but you are not invincible. Even God must die someday. So even if it kills me, I will find a way to destroy you."

"Am I supposed to be afraid now, Castiel? All you have in your favor are a few extra souls, annoying stubbornness, and a pretty face. No, that face isn't even yours—I can sense James Novak's soul still in that body you're using."

"Do not underestimate the power of will," I say, disregarding his words.

Raphael smiles condescendingly. "Very well, Castiel. When the day comes that you can simply will someone to death, be sure to let me know. Believe me, I will be quivering with fear."

Then Gadreel and Rachel land across from us, blades drawn.

"Raphael," Rachel says, "you should not be here."

"Peace," Raphael responds. "We agreed that there would be no killing today."

"Go," I tell our brother. "I will not surrender to you. Nothing you say will change my mind."

Cas!

It's Bobby this time. Bobby never calls for me. What could be severe enough that he'd ask for me?

Cas, need a little help here!

"Excuse me," I say before taking off. Raphael may be eager to take our lives, eager to win the war, but he is still an angel, and he will respect our agreement. Rachel and Gadreel will be safe.

Bobby is tied up in his chair at his desk, and three men are standing around the room. Except… they're not human. Their souls are… different. Twisted. Dark. I have difficulty identifying their species.

One of them—tall, bald, dark-skinned—holds a phone to Bobby's ear. "Tell him to come back, now," the not-man growls.

"And tell him to bring that Campbell bastard with him. If they've hurt our alpha, we'll kill you," a second one—scrawnier, with dark eyes that give away nothing—says. "Not that I wouldn't love chewing your heart out, but we sort of need our alpha back, and that's slightly more important, at the moment."

"I ain't tellin' him anything 'til you tell me what's goin' on," Bobby says. In his head, I hear him cursing at me colorfully.

The werewolf—few other creatures would be interested in "chewing out" a human heart—holding the phone snaps it shut and tosses it onto Bobby's desk. "I would've thought it'd be obvious to you, hunter," he says. "They're capturing alphas. They somehow got a hold of ours, and we don't appreciate that. Capiche?"

"If Samuel Campbell survived a meeting with your alpha, and your alpha's gone missing, then he's dead. Ain't no way he made it out," Bobby says.

"If he died, we would know it," the scrawny werewolf snarls.

"Then maybe your werewolf senses just ain't workin' right, 'cause the Campbells don't take prisoners."

"Okay, one last chance. You gonna call or not?"

"Not," Bobby says.

"Fine," the first wolf snaps. "Marshall, go keep a lookout."

"You gonna wolf out now?" the werewolf who has until now remained silent asks.

"Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

Marshall shakes his head and slinks out of the room, and I follow. As soon as he's out of sight of the others, I manifest myself, snap his neck, and lower his body to the ground gently. This will not kill him permanently, but I do not have time to do it properly—Bobby will know how to dispose of him.

Cloaking myself again, I return to the room and see Bobby struggling against his bonds as the first werewolf strips himself of his jacket and shirt. I reach out with the tips of my wings and slowly apply pressure to his neck, cutting off his air supply.

"What the—" he chokes, scrabbling uselessly at his neck.

His partner notices that he's choking but cannot do anything to help, so he begins to transform. I snap the first werewolf's neck with my wings and hold a palm out, stopping the second's transformation before breaking his neck as well. They may be able to heal themselves, but it will take time.

I release Bobby with a wave of my hand, and he looks around warily.

"Cas? Show yourself." He waits for a moment before sighing. "Damn idjit. Fine."

Then he goes about killing the werewolves by plunging silver knives into their hearts. I watch him finish off the last one before deeming it safe to depart.

I suppose I could have revealed myself, but then he would have had questions—why I chose not to answer Sam, for instance. I am not skilled at lying, and the truth would not be pleasing for him to hear.

I must speak to Crowley about managing his prey more efficiently, though. If this happens again, Bobby will not dismiss it as a coincidence and will try to get down to the bottom of it. Though Crowley has agreed to take credit for everything, he is still a demon, and demons lie.

I fly to his compound and brace myself for another discussion with the slippery creature.

The front door of Bobby's house swings open, twenty yards behind me—I'm perched on the hood of an old car, leaning back against the windshield and looking at the stars. When I was weak, when I was practically human, they had looked really beautiful.

Not anymore.

Footsteps crunch in the gravel, and even if the bond did not alert me to Dean's presence, I would know by the rhythm of his footfalls that it was him.

He stops by the car, and though I can feel his eyes on me, I do not look at him. Then he climbs onto the hood beside me, and I scoot away from him, ignoring the part of me that yearns for closeness. It appears that the week spent denying myself access to Dean helped me substantially in suppressing my urges.

Dean clears his throat. "Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean."

"I uh, couldn't sleep. Figured you'd be awake," he says. I nod, not bothering to tell him that I don't sleep, now that I'm an angel again. He already knows it. "How're you holding up?" he asks me.

"I am fine," I respond. "You?"

He sighs. "It's uh… it's killin' me," he admits. "I hate… being so close, yet not being able to touch."

I chance a glance at him and admire his profile—straight nose, strong jaw and cheekbones, long and dark lashes curving away from his eye. I curl my hands into fists to deter them from venturing toward his face and turn my face away to look back up at the night sky.

"Why are you telling me?" I ask.

"Because you're the only one who gets it. And… and I know you won't laugh at me. Not about this, anyway."

"I apologize, Dean. This bond must be very inconvenient for you."

"Well, you said it worked both ways, so at least we're going through it together."

"Yes."

It's silent for a while after that.

Then a spike of heat spreads through me from my arm, where Dean's hand is now resting. I flinch away, trying my best to ignore the pulse of want that flares in me.

"Dean, no," I say.

"Shh. I just wanna try something."

His hand comes into contact with my arm again, then slides down until it reaches my hand. He weaves his fingers between mine and squeezes my hand gently.

"Good?" he asks in a whisper.

A comfortable, warm feeling fills me up, surrounds me, and I smile. "Yes."

"Good."

But his response sounds strained, and I glance over at him to see that he's completely rigid. "Dean?" I say, starting to sit up straight.

"No—Cas, stay."

"This is not comfortable for you," I say, leaning away from him and extricating my hand from his grasp.

"It's better than nothing," Dean says, shuddering at the loss of contact between us.

As much as I thought the bond affected me, it clearly has a stronger hold on Dean, most likely because mortal souls are not meant to endure a connection as absolute and eternal as this. I am surprised by the strength of his self-restraint, grateful for the chance to feel such peace.

Giving in to a bit of temptation, I lift my hand and place it along his cheek. His eyes flutter shut, and he turns his face into my palm.

"Cas…"

His soul is reaching for me, calling me to him, but I have the strength to resist, now. "Dean, you are remarkably beautiful," I tell him.

His eyes snap open at this, and though I am able to watch as his pupils dilate, his voice gives nothing away. "Cas," he says, brow furrowed, "what the hell?" I only tilt my head to the side, and he explains, "Guys don't say shit like that to other guys, you hear me?"

I smile and rub my thumb along the length of his cheekbone.

He groans. "Fuck. Cas, you'd better stop touching me now, or I'm… I'm gonna…"

I pull my hand back, still looking at him. "Perhaps this bond will become tolerable," I say hopefully.

He shakes his head. "I don't think so. Cas, I… I just… the things I've been wanting to do to you lately… you wouldn't wanna know."

"I will take your word for it," I say solemnly, getting a short, tense burst of laughter from him. "Perhaps you should return to your room," I say. "If you still cannot fall asleep, I can help you."

"Nah, I'll stay here with you," he says, shaking his head. "You'll watch over me, won't you?"

"Of course, Dean."

He smiles and not-so-subtly flips his hand over—the one that had been holding mine earlier. I lean back against the windshield again and take his hand in mine, curling my fingers around this callused, lifesaving hand. I rub my thumb along his knuckles gently, and his grip tightens slightly. I look over to see a small smile on his face, and although he feels that it is not likely, I begin to think that perhaps the worst is over, with respect to our bond.

Lying in the dark, on the hood of a car, holding hands with a human not even close to one thousandth of my age, I stare up at the stars and feel contentment as I've never felt it before. Peace. Happiness. And love.

Yes, love.