"You okay?" Dean always asked that, though Castiel knew he never wanted the answer. Not really.

When the alternate reality Winchesters and their Angels had departed, it wasn't long before this world's Winchesters were back on the road. Though Sam and Dean had invited her back to the Bunker, Mary Winchester had begged off, claiming she had a potential Hunt lined up in Massachusetts. It was a lie, but Castiel let her tell it to her sons, because he knew it was easier for her than the truth: that she was not ready to be part of their lives, or to let them be a part of hers, except for brief moments such as when they'd come together to defeat Ramiel. Probably Sam and Dean knew she was lying too, but they didn't ask, maybe because they were no more ready for her than she was for them.

After Mary had left, Sam and Dean decided to return to the Bunker. Not yet in a frame of consciousness where he was confident of making decisions on his own, Castiel had gone with them. Luke had put him back as he had been, that much was true, but… it would be awhile before his insides caught up with his outside. When a motorcycle had happened by during a stop at a gas station, Castiel had felt, just for a brief instant, the flickering insistence that he must pursue it. With his mental faculties mostly back in order, he resisted the impulse, and it had faded rapidly, but the fact that it was there at all warned him that he had not yet regained his equilibrium.

But Castiel didn't have time to waste putting his thoughts in order. Not when he had a mission to complete. So the day after he'd been restored, Castiel opted to return to the Redwoods for his truck. He would have gone by bus, but Dean insisted on driving him out there. Sam had declined to go along, perhaps sensing that Dean wouldn't be satisfied that Castiel was really okay until they'd had a private talk. Dean knew Castiel would say that he was fine, but Dean wouldn't believe it until there were no other witnesses. It was a peculiarity of his, to want that private reassurance that Castiel was okay, when he never really wanted to hear anything else, even if it was the truth.

So Castiel patiently played the human game, answering, "I will be."

Dean glanced across the car at him, then looked back at the road ahead.

"Good," Dean said, "'cause we need you. Not that you were a bad dog or anything, but..."

"I prefer being an Angel," Castiel said firmly.

Dean was quiet for a moment, pensive in a way that he seldom was. Castiel wasn't sure where Dean's mind was, but he felt it was somewhere in the past. Not Dean's favorite place to be, but sometimes necessary for him to find whatever he needed to achieve mental balance. Castiel was silent, and let Dean go through his thought process without distractions.

For awhile there was just the sound of the Impala's engine, the feel of the vehicle's forward progress down the open road, unrolling endlessly up ahead as far as mortal eyes could see. The miles upon miles of highways and back roads crossing and crisscrossing the United States had served as the path, the guide, the ultimate direction for the lives of the Winchesters. Quietly inert, without will or life of its own, the road was nonetheless as much a part of their story as anyone or anything. It belonged to them, and they to it in a way that they seemed totally unaware of, and yet completely at peace with.

Finally, Dean spoke again, "You know, Sam and I did jack on this one."

Castiel looked at him, frowning, not sure what he was getting at.

"You found us. Hell, you found the Demon we were hunting. You told us what was goin' on. And those other guys… they came to us, and you made the call to let them help," Dean seemed oddly upset about this, even though everything had more or less worked out in what he'd normally call a Win.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Castiel ventured cautiously when Dean didn't elaborate.

"Don't get me wrong," Dean cautioned, "I'm glad you're okay, and that those idiots are back in their reality and everything. Really. But… Cass, I'm sorry. You needed help and I…" his voice failed and he bit his lip for a moment, then with difficulty found the conclusion to the thought he was trying to express, "I stood by and did nothing."

So that's what this was about. Dean felt guilty for the role he'd played in this little adventure. Or rather his lack of one. There wasn't anything in creation that Dean couldn't find a way to blame himself for. Sometimes he deserved that blame, other times he was just being unreasonable.

"Well, as it turned out, I shouldn't have bothered you," Castiel admitted, "I assumed that this world was in danger from an external force, and that you needed to know about it. I was wrong. I worried you for nothing," he paused, then decided to add the obvious, just in case Dean had somehow missed it, "And you and Sam would have found that Demon sooner or later on your own. You didn't need me for that."

"And what about those kids in the cellar? Would they still have been alive?" Dean returned a little too quickly, "And what about Mom with that Witch? As I understand it, that hex bag woulda killed her."

"She was distracted by my presence," Castiel explained, "If I hadn't been there, she would have been more careful, and no doubt less conspicuous around town."

"Yeah, maybe," Dean sighed, "But… Cass… we almost lost you, man. I know you weren't dyin', not really. But… this was almost worse, because you were becoming… not you. I know you were still in there, but you weren't really you anymore."

"Dean, what is this about?" Castiel asked.

He had been near death before. Had been past death. He'd lost his memory, been reprogrammed, had his Angel wiring futzed with, been possessed by Leviathans and Lucifer. Compared with all of that, the minor matter of being turned into a dog hardly seemed worth getting worked up over. Thus Castiel had a strong suspicion that Dean's problem actually had little to do with him.

"I dunno," Dean lied, but Castiel knew better than to call him on it, "I just… I guess it feels like… lately you've been getting beat to Hell, and all I've been doin' is just… standing by, watchin' it happen. And I've been noticing… that's what I've always done. What kind of friend does that make me?"

Castiel had an answer for that, "My friend."

Dean said nothing to that, but he looked doubtful.

Castiel persisted, "Dean… sometimes just being there… it's enough. Especially if it's the best you can do."

"Yeah… maybe," Dean offered reluctantly.

"No maybe," Castiel insisted, "I know. Maybe you've forgotten, but I have been around for a very, very long time. I remember a time when you weren't there. Not for me, or for anyone. I know what it is for the world not to have you… or Sam… in it. I have seen this world without Winchesters," he shook his head slowly, "And it is not a world I would have chosen to live in. This one… is," realizing that this was probably getting too maudlin for Dean to cope with, Castiel decided to try his hand at a bit of levity, "Besides, if you hadn't been there, who would have thrown the tennis ball?"

"I told Mom you liked that," Dean said with a grin, though the smile didn't reach his eyes, "But… uh… she's never been a dog, so she didn't really get it."

"But you were," Castiel replied evenly, "And you did 'get it.' And I needed that," more than he'd realized until just now, in fact.

It was Dean's understanding of him, of what he most needed, that had helped him to keep enough of a hold on who he was to let that other Lucifer lay hands on him, and bring him back whole. Otherwise… he might have been too lost in what he'd become, too consumed by fear, to allow it. So maybe Dean didn't feel like he'd done anything, but the truth was that he had done everything. It may have been Luke who returned his vessel to its proper condition, but it had been Dean who'd brought Castiel back. Somehow, he didn't think he could explain that to Dean, at least not in a way the man would believe. To Dean, any such explanation would just be so many words. And words didn't really mean a lot in the long run. Anyway, they had so much history built up that it didn't matter. Dean didn't understand now, but he would someday. Probably. Or maybe they'd just put it in the rear-view, and never look back.

And maybe that was okay. Some things were best left in the past.

But Dean was apparently not finished with the subject, for after a few more miles passed in relative silence, he said, "You know the Dean and Castiel from that other world, they didn't seem to be friends."

"But Sam and Lucifer are," Castiel said.

"Yeah, don't remind me," Dean growled, his hands tightening on the steering wheel at the thought, "Anyway, far as I could tell, that other us… they don't even like each other."

"Well," Castiel reminded gently, "When you and I first met, you made a concentrated effort to kill me."

Dean breathed a laugh at the reminder, glancing sidelong at Castiel, "I can't believe I was ever that stupid. I mean, really, tryin' to nail an Angel with a shotgun and a Demon knife?" Dean shook his head.

"In your defense, you didn't believe in Angels at the time," Castiel pointed out.

"Hard to believe I was ever that stupid," Dean sighed.

"Not stupid," Castiel corrected, "Just ignorant."

Dean scoffed, but didn't say anything coherent in response to the correction.

Castiel heard what Dean didn't say aloud but thought, which was that Castiel had been a scary bastard back then. Dean knew, of course, that Castiel had also been a fool, an ignorant dupe who had thought to question his orders, but never acted on that thought, too afraid of what he might find, wanting to believe in the mission so much that he was willfully blind to the warning signs. It had been Dean who woke him from sleep, and made him see things for what they really were.

Dean returned to his intended subject, "And it's just as hard for me to believe any version of me keeps a slave. Which was something I found sickening, by the way. Why do you s'pose that other you puts up with it?"

Castiel sensed a careful response was warranted. He had received many surface impressions of that other world from his double when they'd made contact, none of which he'd liked very much. What he'd liked the least was who that Other Castiel seemed to be on the inside, in part because he was afraid he was seeing a reflection of himself, distorted but still essentially him.

"Maybe he doesn't know of any other way," Castiel replied, though he knew it wasn't the truth.

That Other Castiel preferred his world's order the way it was. He was neither leader nor rebel, nor any of the things Castiel had been (or tried to be) since he'd met the Winchesters.

While it was true that Castiel's best had often not been enough, and his good intentions had a way of leading him astray, it was equally true that he hadn't really known who he was or what he was capable of, or what was really worth trying to fight for before the Apocalypse. He hadn't really been alive before that trip to Hell to retrieve Dean. He'd fought and been wounded and prepared to die for the mission, but he hadn't even really known what it meant, what any of it meant. In this world, Dean Winchester had given Castiel the keys to his freedom, when he hadn't even realized he was a prisoner.

That Other Castiel, he knew. And he kept the door to his prison firmly shut, resenting his brother who dared to dream of something bigger, something different. Because that Other Lucifer sought to be free, though Castiel didn't think even Luke knew what he would do with that freedom once he had it.

If there was any similarity between this world and the other, chances were that Luke would begin that world's version of the Apocalypse. Having seen a glimpse of that reality, Castiel wondered if that world might not actually be better off that way. Maybe an Apocalypse was what they needed to wake up, and realize they were in a prison of their own making.

Maybe.

Or maybe that Lucifer would choose another path, a different ending, a better one. But, no matter what that other Lucifer did, Castiel sensed that his own doppelganger would be that Lucifer's enemy, just as he and the Lucifer of this world were enemies. That being the case, Castiel suspected that, very shortly, he was about to become the villain of that other world. Thinking about it gave him a feeling he didn't have a name for. But he did have a name for the feeling he got when he considered that the problem was tucked safely back in that other reality where he didn't have to deal with it: grateful.

Unaware of Castiel's thoughts or insights, Dean nonetheless sounded dubious when he said, "Yeah. Maybe."

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and goodnight everybody.