It's finally done! Well, at least the main story is…there are a couple little post-episode snippets that I wrote while this was in progress that might end up being included in an epilogue chapter, assuming I can find them and depending how well they fit. But just in case that doesn't happen, thanks to everyone who has read and especially those who have reviewed. It ended up being a little longer than I'd planned, but I hope you enjoyed it.

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Castiel fanned his wings, announcing his presence in the small motel room several hundred miles from where he'd last seen the Winchesters, and Dean turned to greet him with a glare.

"A, knock. B, what the hell did you say to him?"

Castiel stared. It had been nearly a week since his powers had been returned…not only had he had his own report about the incident in the Arizona warehouse to relate, there had been recent events to be made aware of and a host of other duties he had to fulfill. This was the first chance he had had to make sure that Dean had made it through the encounter intact.

"What did you say to Sam," Dean finally elaborated, picking at the sling on his arm. "He's been messed up since that whole mess with the redcaps. He won't tell me what his problem is, but I've got this really funny feeling that it's your fault."

Castiel considered his last words to Sam and made no response.

Dean's accusing glare didn't waver. "And I think you traumatized that poor priest too. Kept muttering 'Castiel' and something about Thursdays until the ambulance came."

"I revealed more than I intended when the manacles were first removed," he admitted, and then gestured at the sling. "You will recover?"

"Oh, I'm fine." Dean waved his free arm. "Sammy's just being obnoxious, fussing at me every time I take this thing off. Just because some doctor said I should be wearing it for at least two weeks. What about you?"

He frowned. Several of his siblings—including his immediate superiors—had expressed considerable doubt about his ability to maintain detachment from his charge after his experience, but thus far no action had been taken to reassign him to other duties. And while their doubt was…uncomfortable, it was no concern of Dean's. "I am well. Where is Sam? And your friends?"

"Jo and Micah left Detroit when we did, but they were headed for Minnesota. Something about a poltergeist, from what Jo said. And Sam…your guess is as good as mine." Dean snorted. "Hell, it's probably better; all I know is that he's been wandering off for an hour or two just about every day since we left Detroit. Once again, what did you say to him?" His glare was less accusing this time, but he obviously wanted to know.

"He used his psychic abilities to remove one of the manacles. I was…displeased." And his expression of that displeasure had been rather forceful.

"Great." Dean neither looked nor sounded particularly surprised, though.

"I will speak to him," Castiel decided, reaching for Sam and shifting to his location even as Dean opened his mouth again.

The church Castiel found himself in was deserted except for a lone figure seated in the front pew, staring up at the altar, and for a moment, Castiel marveled at the absolute feeling of normality about Sam. The evil that he had felt before simply wasn't there. Except that it was there, lurking just below the surface, and he wasn't at all certain that it was entirely under Sam's control. True that Sam had been able to deliberately invoke his powers to exorcise the demon as well as when he removed the manacle, but there had also been the incident when he had become angry about Castiel's threat towards Dean and then again when they'd first encountered the redcaps. In neither of those instances had there been reason for him to use his abilities, and while at the time Castiel had been focused on the evil itself, he'd since had time to consider what that involuntary access could mean. How much influence—conscious or not—was the demon blood exerting?

He frowned and forced his thoughts to turn to other matters, at least for the time being. Sam as well as Dean had helped him when he had been bound, and he should not have left things as he had. He fanned his wings to announce his presence.

Sam made no response, and after a minute Castiel moved to stand beside him. "May I join you? I would not interrupt your prayers."

"I'm not praying." Sam's voice was flat, and his eyes remained fixed on the altar. "Wouldn't mean much, any more."

"Prayers always have meaning."

He laughed, but it had a brittle sound. "You said it yourself. I'm damned. Guess it shouldn't have come as a surprise—when Uriel threatened to get rid of me, it didn't exactly sound like he was planning to send me to a land of sunshine."

"Uriel has…convictions," Castiel said after a moment, "but he had no right to say what he did." He knew that the two of them had spoken after the incident with Samhain, and while he personally was glad that the town had been spared, the loss of a seal had been a blow to all involved. He shook his head slightly and returned his attention to the current situation. "Our purpose is to carry out our father's will; he is the only one with the right to stand in judgment." Silence met his words, and after another few moments, he continued. "I should not have said what I did, either." At least not in the manner that he had. "I was…angry."

Sam snorted.

"I—we—do not," or should not, at least, "feel things as you do, but…what is inside you…it is wrong, Sam. What I am…." He shook his head. He didn't have words—he didn't think there were words—to explain the way his very being reacted to that feeling of evil.

"It's demon blood. Pretty much wrong by definition."

"And yet you continue to use it."

"What other option is there?" Sam's voice suddenly had a hard, angry edge. "Should I have let those things kill us all? We couldn't have fought them off on our own, and you know it. Or maybe I should just have let you get sacrificed back in Arizona. I mean, what's one more seal?" He gave another bark of brittle laughter. "I knew it was a long shot, trying to use my powers on those things—and I knew damn well it would piss you and Dean off, which is why I hadn't suggested it before—but it was the only chance we had."

Castiel had no answer for him, but he could see another path far too easily. "And if, in winning the battle, you lose the war?"

It took a minute for Sam to answer his question, and when he did, his voice was much quieter. "I don't know, Cas. Believe me, I wish I did."

Sam turned to look at him, and for the first time Castiel realized precisely how young this mortal was. He and Dean both…Castiel called them boys out of habit, and granted that mortals had an almost ridiculously short time on Earth—it was rare that one saw even a full century—but Dean and Sam had little more than half a century of experience between them. And the outcome of this war would depend upon them more than anyone.

Sam shook his head. "I can't promise I'm going to stop, Cas. Not if that's what it takes to kill Lilith and win this war. I'm sorry."

Castiel remained silent, and after a few minutes Sam stood and stepped around him. "I should go. Dean is probably getting worried."

He remained where he was, watching as Sam made his way to the front of the church and paused a moment to dip his fingers into the holy water.

Sam gave a quick half-smile before holding up the un-burned digits to show Castiel. "At least it hasn't got me yet."

It hadn't, Castiel agreed as the heavy door swung shut behind Sam. Not yet. He shook his head and turned back to face the altar. Dean was his responsibility, not Sam. That had been made clear. But…where Dean went, Sam was going to follow. He'd already made it plain that he would stand against even angels to protect his brother—however misguided that notion might be—so perhaps, if it did not conflict…. He shook his head. If it did not conflict, if he did not receive orders to the contrary from his superiors, if Sam managed to remain himself despite that taint of evil, perhaps he could watch for both of them.