A/N: I apologize for the fluff in this chapter, but at the end of the day, this fic is about Brooke and Cass and their relationship, sooo.

Eight

Still, after a full week of Claire's utter silence, Castiel was beginning to lose hope again. They had moved her out of the bunker and into a motel room, hoping that some actual space would help get her back in order, but that it wasn't helping much. "She barely speaks to me," he admitted to Sam one morning. "She's like a wounded animal just watching me."

Sam, who was sitting on top of one of the tables in the main room, sighed. "Look, Cass, you know what? You really tried to do the right thing that night. You did."

Cass, who was leaning his back against one of the columns, sighed and said nothing.

"This guy that Claire was hanging out with," Sam continued. "Randy. All he did was use her."

"Yeah, well," said Castiel, "she thought he was kind, and for that she loved him. Shows how little kindness there was in her life." He shook his head. "You know, whatever Randy did, he didn't deserve—

"No, yeah, I know, I know. I hear you." Sam put out a hand to Castiel, nodding. They were talking about Dean and what Dean had done to all those men in that house.

Randy was going to give Claire to that guy, and let her be raped, Brooke said, silently. He deserved what he got.

Castiel said nothing, but he heard what she thought, and there was a twisting of his own feelings on the matter. He had to admit that she had a point. Bad guys were bad guys, but rapists, and those who sat idly by and allowed rape to occur, were an entirely separate breed.

"Dean has had to kill before. We both have," Sam said. "But… that was…"

"That was what?" Dean asked, coming up the stairs.

All three of them jumped and turned to face Dean as he approached them.

"Dean," Sam began, placatingly.

"It was a massacre," Dean admitted. "That's what it was." He gazed around at them. "I mean, there was a time I was a Hunter, not a stone-cold killer."

Brooke lowered her gaze to the floor.

"You can say it," Dean continued. "You're not wrong. I crossed the line. Guys, this thing's gotta go."

Brooke looked up to see Dean with his shirt-sleeve pulled up, staring down at the Mark of Cain, raised on his skin.

"That won't be easy," Castiel warned.

"Well, then, burn it off!" Dean yelled. "Cut it off!"

Castiel stared at Dean with sorrow and pity. "It is more than just a physical thing. It will take a very powerful force to remove the effect."

"Dean, we have been through all the lore," Sam spoke up. "There's nothing."

"This reaches back to the time of Creation," Castiel explained. "It may predate the lore." His voice was rising in frustration, his heart twisting for Dean and what he was going through. "If we had the Demon Tablet, maybe."

"But you said it was missing," Sam replied.

"It is." He took a breath, and said in a low voice, as the thought came to him, "There may be another way…" And he explained the plan to them all. He would contact Heaven and have a sympathetic angel bring Metatron down through the portal; Castiel would bring him back to the bunker and they would do whatever was necessary to make Metatron talk, and to make him reveal a way to remove the Mark of Cain from Dean.

Brooke closed her eyes, massaging her forehead with her fingers. You wanna bring in Metatron, now, about this? she asked him. But when it was about your Grace, oh no. He was too dangerous to be let out, then.

He was lying about having any of my Grace, Castiel said, and he wanted his freedom in return. We're not going to free him. We're going to bring him here and lock him up.

Brooke sighed. You know what? Whatever. You wanna slowly fade away and die all over again? Fine. That's fine.

Castiel went to her, as Sam and watched—or didn't—and placed his hands on her shoulders. We've been over this, he said, gently.

I know. That's why I said it was fine.

You're lying.

Yeah, well. She turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. Aloud, she asked, "So, when do we leave?"

###

Castiel paced slowly, back and forth, back and forth, in front of the sandbox where the portal to Heaven lay. He looked like a cat, slowly following prey. The two guards, posing as an older and younger sister, watched him, curiously. They watched Brooke, too, but she paid them no mind.

"They should be here by now," Castiel said, irritated. He turned to the guards. "Was there word of a delay?"

"All I do is watch the door," said one of the guards, the one posing as the older sister, dressed in goth clothing, with a large, feathery mohawk in red and purple. "Who are you expecting, Castiel?"

Castiel said nothing, but a moment later, three angels appeared in the portal. One of them was Metatron, with a bag over his head.

"Thank you, Ingrid," Castiel said.

"I did as you asked—at great risk, Castiel," she replied, holding Metatron by the shoulder.

"I know," he said, coming closer. "I know approached you because I know you share my belief that it is angels' mission to protect humans." He was ingratiating her, persuading her to believe that she had done the right thing. "And it's possible I can eliminate a great threat to them," he continued, "but… I will need his help."

She sighed, glancing at Metatron. "He must be returned—intact. Is that clear?"

"Yes," said Castiel, and took Metatron by the arm. The angels disappeared through the portal again, and Cass turned to Metatron and removed the bag over his head.

Metatron smiled up at him, glancing at Brooke, too. "Told you last time I saw you that I'd get out of the slammer." He smirked.

"It's temporary," Cass growled, leading him back to his car. "Trust me."

"Well, speaking of temporary, you must have borrowed some more Grace. You're looking very good. Of course, we both know that won't last."

Brooke walked on Metatron's other side, holding by his other arm. "Shut up," she snapped, not wanting to think about her husband's eventual demise.

Metatron ignored her, speaking to Cass. "Is that why I'm here? You think I'm gonna help you?"

"This isn't about me," Cass replied.

"Of course not," said Metatron, lowly. "The great Castiel never stoops to such… selfishness. So, what is it, then?"

Sam stepped out of the Lincoln, staring at the Scribe of God.

Metatron smiled. "Oh, I see." He turned to Castiel. "I'm betting you didn't tell Ingrid about him." He turned back toward the Winchester. "Hello, Sam. Here to kill me?"

Castiel, by this point, had had about enough of Metatron, and yanked him roughly towards the car, shoving him into the backseat with Sam.

###

After bringing Metatron and Sam back to the bunker, Castiel and Brooke drove off again, this time to visit Claire.

"You know," said Brooke, "if the point of putting her in a motel room was to give her space, then going to visit her is sort of counterproductive. She doesn't wanna see you. I know that hurts your feelings, Cass, but…"

"This isn't about my feelings," he replied. "This is about her. I just… I need to find a way to get through to her."

"Maybe you'd get through to her better if you left her alone for a while."

He sighed and said, "Perhaps you're right," but he continued driving.

Brooke waited in the car while he went in to see Claire, and a few minutes later, she watched as the girl stormed off, past the car, and out into the evening. She sighed, resting her head against the seat, and waited for her husband to return. It took him a while, and she could feel this thoughts twisting in turmoil from inside the motel room. Eventually, he did walk out the door and return to the car.

"I thought about what you said, and I decided to let her go," he said, resting his hands on the steering wheel and squeezing.

Brooke nodded, silently. She knew it was eating her husband up inside to let Claire go, but she couldn't see a better alternative. Trapping her in place, keeping such a close eye on her, seemed like it would only backfire in the end, especially if Castiel really wanted some kind of relationship with her, one day.

Castiel sat in the driver's seat with the car off, squeezing the steering wheel, for a minute or two. He, finally, was about to start the engine, when he is cellphone buzzed. It was Sam, calling with information about the Mark, from Metatron. And the information he had didn't lighten Cass' mood at all.

###

By the time they made it back to the bunker, Castiel was fuming. A cumulation of shitty circumstances had riled him up so that by the time he got out of the car and into the bunker, he was angrier than Brooke had seen him a while. "The First Blade is back in play and Crowley is the one getting it?" he demanded, leaning down over the railing to stare at Sam. "I don't mean to be an alarmist, but you—

"Yeah, well, you know us," Dean broke in, appearing suddenly, with a beer in hand. "When we screw ourselves, we like to go whole hog."

Castiel looked away from a moment, shaking his head, then went back to staring down at Sam and Dean from above, like a bird of prey. "This would be the Crowley who let the Blade turn Dean into a demon?" Finally, he began to make his way down the stairs, and Brooke followed silently.

Dean stared at him with a shrug of his shoulders. "I don't have a choice, okay? I don't do this, I'm down the rabbit hole. Hear evil, see evil, do evil—the trifecta."

Sam butt in, then. "Cass, look, let us worry about this, okay? You've got enough on your plate with Claire."

Brooke winced, shaking her head at Sam behind Castiel's back. Sam caught her action, and looked between the two of them, confusedly.

Castiel sighed, his hands on the back of a chair, leaning against it. "Claire is gone," he admitted, and the anger seemed to flow out of him.

Dean looked up from the Men of Letters file he was studying.

"Gone where?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," said Castiel. "I-I…" He sighed again. "I let her go. Keeping her locked away in that motel room, or here, it…" He shook his head. "Wherever she's going, I am certain that she is destined for more trouble and disappointment. She is so… so full of rage."

Brooke came to stand beside her husband and placed a hand over top one of his, gripping the back of the chair the same way he had gripped the steering wheel earlier. And that self-hatred was coming back into his thoughts, full-swing.

"Listen, man," Dean said, "if I could make it better, I would." He closed the file, sliding it to the side.

Castiel stood there, over the chair, his head hanging for a moment. Then a glimmer of an idea brought his head up to look at Dean. "Maybe you should reach out to her," he said to the Winchester.

Dean stared at the angel. "Me?"

"Yes."

"Seriously, I'm probably the last person she would want to hear from."

Castiel shook his head. "I thought there would be a connection—one extremely messed up human to another."

Brooke choked, snorted, and walked away, holding a hand over her mouth. Castiel, she said. I cannot believe you just fucking said that. I thought you loved Dean.

Castiel, who had been about to keep talking, was distracted by her thought. He half-turned to look at her over his shoulder. I do love him.

Oh, she said, turning to face him and still trying to hold in her laughter. Is that why you just told him, to his face, how fucked up he is? You think that makes him feel all warm and cozy inside?

Castiel stared at her, annoyed, and then turned back to Dean. "Look, you could explain why you murdered her only friend—

Dean, whose face had gone blank in the last thirty seconds, interrupted. "Oh, well, yeah, when you put it like that." He took a swig of beer.

Castiel sighed and sat down in the chair. "All I know is… she won't talk to me."

Brooke came and stood beside him, contemplating sitting down in a chair, and before she could do anything, he pulled her down so that she sat sideways on one of his legs, like he was Santa Claus. He put both arms around her, readjusting a little so that she'd be more comfortable, and then left her there, sitting in his lap, as if nothing had happened, and continued speaking. "I thought if she understood the kind of man Randy was and the danger she was in, she might…"

Dean glanced at Sam, sighed, rolled his eyes, and turned to Cass with a tight-lipped smile. "What the hell. Why not? Long shots seem to be the theme around here." He tapped the table and stood up. "I'm gonna go make a sandwich."

"I'll, uh, I'll text you her number," Castiel said, shifting around awkwardly in his chair to get his cellphone out of his coat pocket.

"Okay," said Dean.

I could stand up, Brooke offered. Make it easier.

That's not necessary, Castiel replied, finally get his cell out of his pocket. "I like texting," he said, aloud, both arms wrapped around Brooke so that he could properly use his phone to send Dean Claire's number. He held up the phone in Dean's direction. "Emoticons."

Oh my God, Brooke said, closing her eyes and trying not to laugh. Stop.

Dean stared at the angel for a second, and then shook his head, wandering off.

When he was gone, Cass turned to Sam and said, "He seems calm… considering the effects of the Mark, and Metatron in proximity."

Sam was reading something on his laptop, but looked up and nodded. "Too calm. I think he's worried about what will happen if he pops the cork."

Castiel nodded silently, and the three of them were quiet for a long while. Sam went back to reading on his laptop, clearly studying something, and Brooke and Castiel sat in the chair together, thinking about things with Claire, or what was going on with Dean and the Mark.

Eventually, Brooke's mind drifted away. The whole situation with Castiel and Claire got her thinking about the time, last year, when Castiel had been human, and his boss had asked him to babysit. That night had ended in violence, but it had started with the most adorable thing Brooke had ever seen: her Castiel rocking and singing to a baby. Speaking to the baby, as if it were a tiny adult, pouring out his heart to her. Brooke remembered hiding in the corner of the room, her hands over her mouth, witnessing this moment of utter tenderness between a former angel and an infant. Castiel sat with the memory as Brooke recalled it, and together, they painted a picture of the whole scene, from both of their perspectives.

Earlier today, Brooke said, you were talking to Ingrid, and you said that humans were angels' first mission.

Yes, Cass replied.

She smiled. I see that belief in you so often. Sometimes, you get pulled away to a different mission, but you always come back to the humans. To us. To Sam and Dean. To me. To baby Tanya, to Claire.

He smiled, and she felt that quiet joy in his mind. Humans are… wondrous, strange… beautiful.

Beautiful, she repeated.

All humans are beautiful, he said. At least, I think so.

She smiled, amused by his strangely heartwarming outlook on humans. Was Hitler beautiful?

He sighed a little. Well, when he was younger, and just wanted to be an artist, yes. Not later. Later, he became ugly.

Mm-hmm, she replied, her mind drifting again.

And then he said, very softly, brushing lightly against her mind, You are my Father's most beautiful creation. His greatest creation.

She smiled, brushing her thumb against the back of his hand, and sat with the compliment for a while, knowing there was no way to one-up him after that.

A/N: This is the fluff I was apologizing for LMAO.

###

The three of them sat there for a while longer, silently, and then, at a silent thought from Castiel, Brooke stood up, and him with her. Cass cleared his throat and reached out to touch Sam on the shoulder. "It's late," he said. "Brooke and I are gonna drive around a little bit, see if we can find Claire."

"Right now?" Sam asked, checking his watch and yawning. He got up from his chair and the three of them moved through the bunker.

"I have to try," Castiel replied.

"All right," Sam said. "Well, be careful."

Brooke nodded, patting Sam's shoulder, and followed Cass.

A moment later, Sam called, from the entrance to the kitchen, "Hey, guys?"

They turned, and went back to him, noting the concern in his tone.

Sam was looking into the kitchen, where they had left Dean. There was still food laid out of the counter, as if the older Winchester had been preparing food and then left it, halfway through. "Where's Dean?" he asked.

His room? Castiel wondered.

We would have seen him go past, Brooke said. And he left his food.

Suddenly, all four three of them knew exactly where he was. Sam turned to stare at Brooke and Castiel, and then they all took off running down the hallway. Castiel's coat fanned out behind him as he ran, his dress shoes slipping a little on the floor of the bunker. They made it to the door of the dungeon, wherein sat Metatron, bound to a chair. Sam tried to open the door, but it was locked. He banged on the wood, yelling, "Dean? Dean!" There was no response from inside. Sam pounded harder. "Dean, open the door! Hey, open the door!"

And then, from inside, Brooke heard Dean yell, "What is… the next… step?" He sounded absolutely furious, like he was beginning to lose his grip on reality again.

Sam began to slam his entire body into the door, trying to break it open.

Metatron screamed from inside, and Brooke held her head in her hands as that scream pierced her. Castiel's Grace protected her mind from a lot of things regarding angels, but she could still see and hear and feel their true forms, and Metatron's screams of pain went through the armor of Cass' Grace. And he would not stop screaming. She grit her teeth, pushing her fingers into the flesh of her head, and began to shake, recalling, with great detail, the torture that her husband had endured at the hands of Malachi and Theo, his screams echoing off the walls and making their way to her, down the hallway, where they had chained her up.

Cass, make it stop, she begged.

"Move!" Castiel yelled at Sam, and grabbed him around the middle, tossing him aside.

"Behold," said Metatron, from the other side of the door, as Castiel powered himself up, and the pain he was in still pierced Brooke, so that his voice seemed to be inside her ear. "The river shall end at the source."

The door suddenly exploded, and Brooke felt weak in the knees, experiencing the expenditure of Castiel's energy almost as her own, despite the fact that they were no longer tied by Grace. Still, she could feel his stolen Grace diminish greatly. He swayed on his feet, panting, and his mind went fuzzy with exhaustion for a moment.

Brooke gripped his arm tightly, coughing at the sawdust in the air, as Sam sprinted into the room. Castiel collected himself quickly, and he and Brooke followed after Sam.

"No! Dean!" Sam yelled. "Stop! Stop!" He pulled Dean away, who had been standing over Metatron with an angel blade to his chest. The Scribe's face was bloody with cuts and punches.

Castiel put a hand on Metatron's shoulder as Sam dragged Dean away. Damn it, he cursed, taking in the state of the angel's face, and the long, deep cut along his chest. He unchained Metatron from the chair and lifted him heavily to his feet, beginning to walk out the door. "I have to take him back," he told the Winchesters.

"Cass, this won't happen again," Sam said, holding Dean with one hand and pointing at Castiel with the other.

"I gave my word," Cass growled. "I have fences to mend in Heaven, and, as it is, I have a lot to explain." He scoffed, staring at Dean angrily.

"If you ever ask me for help again," Metatron spoke up, weakly, "I will choose death." As Castiel dragged him away, and Brooke followed them, he said, "You realize it's going to get worse, Dean. You're gonna get worse!"

"Shut up!" Castiel snapped, dragging him through the destroyed door.

###

The drive back to the door to Heaven was long, and Metatron would not shut the fuck up the whole way there, snarking and complaining. Castiel was just as pissed off about it as Brooke, but his fuse was much longer than hers. Eventually, she turned in the seat, pressing the tip of her angel blade against his nose. "If you don't shut the ever-loving fuck up, whatever Dean did to you will be child's play compared to what I will do to you, you sleazy piece o' shit."

We can't hurt him, Castiel warned her.

Fuckin' try me, Cass, she replied.

He eyed her, but returned his focus to driving after a moment.

Metatron didn't entirely quit talking—that would have been too much to hope for—but he did put longer silences between his comments.

Castiel dragged the Scribe out of the car when they arrived, and he was gone for quite a while, probably explaining to some very pissy angels why Metatron's face was so busted up. He finally returned, after at least half an hour, and got into the car, sitting down heavily and slamming the door shut in anger and frustration. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose.

Brooke tutted and leaned toward him over the console. Automatically, he pressed his forehead to hers and breathed in tandem with her, until his frustration had dissipated somewhat. "Thank you," he murmured, and kissed her. "I just worry about Dean. Metatron might have been our only shot at learning how to remove the Mark."

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry it didn't work out."

###

They stopped at an all-night diner on the way back to the bunker, to let Brooke eat and use the bathroom, and then they got back in the car. It would be a long drive back, so Brooke took the time to sleep on the way, pushing her seat back so she could lay down. When she awoke, it was early morning, and very cloudy, with mist rolling across the road. Brooke pulled the lever on the side of the seat and put it back into an upright position, rubbing her face.

"Good morning," Castiel said, in a quiet voice, knowing that she was not fully awake yet.

"Mm," she replied, aloud. Good morning.

"I need to make a stop up here, soon," Cass told her. "Claire prayed to me earlier, and I'd like to talk to her about it."

More awake now, Brooke repeated, "Claire prayed to you?"

"Yes—well… She thought about me, and not in a negative way."

Brooke snorted. "Well, it's a start, I guess."

Castiel slowed the car down. "She's just around this bend in the road. I just thought I'd give you a warning."

"Right," Brooke said, rubbing her face again and running her fingers through her hair, as if Claire cared about what she looked like.

They made the bend, and up ahead of them, was Claire, walking along the side of the road, a bag slung over one shoulder.

Castiel rolled down the window on his side and pulled up to her, calling her name.

She turned, a little frightened at first, until she realized who had said it. "How the hell did you find me?" she demanded.

"Angels are able to find those who pray to them," he explained.

"Pray? Oh, believe me, I gave up praying a long time ago."

"It doesn't have to be a formal prayer. I can pick up on a—a longing…" Castiel drove slowly alongside Claire as she continued walking down the road. "Perhaps you wanted to tell me something."

"No," said Claire, sounding defensive. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder, then stopped. The car brakes squealed as Castiel stopped the car. Claire turned to him. "I dunno. Maybe."

Cass turned the car off and got out.

Brooke hesitated, and chose to stay in the car. Claire had issues with her, too—she knew—but most of her problems lay with Castiel, and she didn't want to get in the way of whatever the girl wanted to say to the angel who had stolen her father from her. But Brooke could still hear what she said, through the open window.

"I guess I just… wanted to tell you that I thought about what you said. I'm gonna try doing things a little bit different. Let go of a little bit of monster in me."

Castiel spoke quietly, a little hesitantly. "Well, um… I could—I could try to help you with that."

"I still gotta go it alone," Claire replied.

Brooke could not see Castiel's expression, but she felt that tiny stab of disappointment.

Claire must have noticed something, because she quickly followed her statement up with, "But I could maybe call sometime."

Brooke felt that tiny stab of disappointment bloom into a tiny flower of hope and joy.

"Now, get outta here, wouldja?" Claire said, jokingly. "No one's gonna pick me up with that butt-ugly car sitting there."

Brooke snorted in her seat.

Castiel turned and got back into the car.

Claire leaned down, her hands inside the window frame, and looked at Brooke. "Hey, I… I'm sorry, about what I thought about you, and…"

Brooke shook her head, giving her a smile. "You don't need to apologize to me."

"Still," said Claire.

Brooke nodded. "Well. Apology accepted."

"We'll see you, Claire," Cass said, and turned the car back on.

But she was still leaning through the window. "Hey," she said to him.

He looked at her.

"Not that you care, but… I like you better in a tie." She smiled at him.

Brooke spoke up from her seat, "Me too."

Castiel smiled—shyly, at first, and then his face broke into a wide, genuine smile. He looked between his wife and Claire Novak, feeling at peace for the first time in a long while.

Claire stepped back from the car and watched as they drove away.