A/N: Changing the timing of some things to fit better with the story.

Twenty-one

It took two days for Sam and Dean to arrive at the hospital after Meg called them with the report that Castiel had woken up. Brooke would have called them, except that she had been very, very busy with the angel, who had been dragging her all over the Earth. They had been to forests, and gardens, and parks. One zoo, as well, though Castiel, whom Brooke was now only calling Emmanuel, did not like the zoo. He had hated the idea of all these animals being caged against their will, forced to live here to alleviate the boredom of humans.

At the end of a seven-to-ten-hour day, he would teleport them both back to her car, wherein she would fall asleep. He would go off again, on his own, unable to hold still for even a few seconds—for if he stopped moving, stopped crowding his mind and body with new experiences, with beautiful things, he would remember all the terrible things he had done. He would remember that he hated himself. He would remember that he was afraid of himself, of what he was capable of, that his name was not truly Emmanuel, that he was an angel, and that he had brought Leviathans to the Earth. He would remember that he had spent nearly a year lying to his best friends, to his family.

Thus, he never slowed down. He never stopped. He never gave himself time to think about things that would cause him pain.

Brooke figured this type of behavior—avoiding anything that brought mental pain—was probably not the healthiest thing in the world. But she'd be damned if she was the reason that he had a complete breakdown. She had been there for him, on his side, from the very beginning, even when she hadn't agreed with his actions, and she did not plan to turn away from him now. Still… being near him was exhausting. He was an angel; he didn't need sleep. But she did. At the end of those long days, even as she smiled at the memories they had made in those beautiful places, she fell asleep almost instantly.

The morning of the day in which Sam and Dean would arrive, she awoke to find Castiel sitting in the passenger seat of her car. She sat up sleepily, still folded in her blanket. "Cass," she said, still half-asleep, and shook her head. "Sorry. Emmanuel."

He whooshed into the backseat, and Brooke smiled and closed her eyes at the feel of the breeze his wings created. It was a warm breeze, like a summer afternoon. He did not look at her, except to glance at her out of the corner of his eye, but he held out his hand. In it, there sat a piece of chocolate, wrapped in foil. "I went to France to get this for you," he said, his voice already taking on that sort of wild, frantic excitement he had adopted over the past few days. "It's safe from… from the…"

The Leviathans.

"Thank you," she said, and smiled, taking the chocolate from his hand. She unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth, letting it melt on her tongue. She leaned her head back against the seat.

"Where do you want to go today?" he asked her.

"Anywhere," said Brooke, resigning herself to being exhausted at the end of the day for the third day in a row.

He did not say anything, but in the verbal silence, there lay a twisting, niggling thought slowly worming its way to the forefront of his mind. He was… afraid.

"What's wrong?" she asked, fully expecting him to dodge the question.

"Sam and Dean are coming today," he answered.

She turned her head to look at him. "Ah," she murmured.

"What if…" he began, his eyes wide, but he could not finish the question.

Brooke knew what he was thinking, however. What if they don't like me, what if they hate me, what if they blame me? What if they want me to fight, what if they want me to be Castiel, to be a warrior, a soldier? What if they expect me to act like nothing happened—

"Stop," Brooke said, turning fully in the seat so that her body faced him, and cupping his face in her hands.

The flurry of thoughts quieted, but not completely. His eyes were still too wide, and they would not meet hers, instead flicking around the interior of the car. He was like a cornered animal, and she could feel his urge to flee, to teleport away, to focus on anything but the pain.

"Sam and Dean cannot make you do anything you don't want to do," Brooke said, trying to calm him, trying to think of the right words. "And they're your friends. They love you." She paused, not wanting to flat-out lie to him, and knowing that she couldn't do that, anyways. Their minds were linked; anything she said aloud was something he had already heard coming from her mind. "They might… be upset. I don't know. But I have to believe that, in the end, they just want you to be happy."

"I have this idea," he said. "I tried it while you were sleeping. Meg doesn't exactly like it, but I think Sam and Dean will."

Brooke squinted at him.

"Here, come with me," he said, and, without waiting, he teleported them both out of the car.

Brooke blinked a few times, disoriented, and looked around. They were in Castiel's hospital room. There sat Meg, in her chair, with her feet up on the bed, listening to music and reading a magazine. It was as if she hadn't moved in days. She glanced up at the two of them, and took one earbud out. "What?"

Castiel smiled—too widely—at her. "I want to show Brooke the joke," he said.

Brooke stood back and looked at Castiel. "You… came up with a joke?"

"Yes," Castiel said.

Meg rolled her eyes. "This again?" she asked, getting up out of the chair. "You've already busted three lights."

"Brooke will think it's funny," Castiel said, and turned to her. "Won't you?"

"I… I don't know what it is yet," she replied, slowly, and tried to figure out what it was by searching Castiel's mind.

He withheld the thought from her. "No fair," he said. "It won't be funny if you know what it is ahead of time."

Brooke rolled her eyes and sighed. "All right. What is it?"

Castiel glanced up at the light over his head, and smiled. Then he held out a finger to Brooke, his pointer finger. "Pull my finger," he said.

Brooke stared at him, but thought that she understood, now. With a cautious smile, she pulled his finger—

The light above the angel's head shattered, loudly, raining glass down on top of them. Brooke stared in shock at Castiel, even though she knew what had been about to happen. Then she burst out laughing, and it was true laughter. The surprise of how loud it had been was about half the reason for the laughter, but Castiel didn't seem to mind.

His entire face lit up at her laughter, like a child, and he laughed with her—a rare, beautiful sound… and nothing like the strange chuckle that would come from his throat that night when Sam and Dean arrived. This was his true laughter, and for the first time in a long time, he felt genuinely happy, as if he'd been waiting for her to laugh like this forever.

And Brooke realized she had sort of fucked up in the last two days. All those places he had taken her to, he had wanted to share joy with her. And the entire time, she had only been thinking of how tired she would be, later. How tired she already was. Worrying about him. But he didn't want her to worry about him; he wanted to be happy with her. He wanted her to be happy.

He stilled as he heard her thoughts, and his mind, for once, seemed calm. The storm beating against him stopped, for just a moment or two. He gazed down at her, and she could see Castiel inside the shell of Emmanuel that he had put up around himself. His eyes softened, losing their wide, crazed quality. He touched her face, and leaned down to kiss her forehead, which was more physical intimacy than he had given her in the past two days. He had shied away when she tried to touch him, been afraid to kiss her, not in the right headspace to think of very romantic things.

That calm, however, did not last long. In another few moments, he pulled back from her and smiled too widely. "Do you think Sam and Dean will like it?"

Brooke smiled at him, but did not answer, for she truly didn't know what the boys would think of it. She didn't know what they would think of him. But she would protect him at all costs.

###

That night, Brooke stood beside Castiel at the window as he anxiously awaited Sam and Dean's arrival. He stared out, into the night. She held his hand, and he would squeeze it occasionally, for reassurance.

"Hey, Cass," Dean's voice sounded behind them. "Brooke."

Castiel smiled, a little, before turning around. "Hello, Dean," he said, and Brooke could feel how hard he was trying to keep himself together in their presence—to keep his mind from fracturing. "Sam," he added, nodding at him.

"Hey, Castiel," Sam replied, smiling.

"Look at you, walkin' and talkin'," Dean said. "That's—that's great, right?" Dean was smiling, but the smile seemed forced, as if he was having a hard time keeping it up. He gazed at the angel with something like fear in his eyes.

Castiel approached the boys slowly. Brooke expected him to let go of her hand at some point, but he never did. She walked beside him. Slowly, he raised his right hand, offering Dean his pointer finger. "Pull my finger," he said.

Brooke tried her damndest to keep her face straight. Castiel had been agonizing over this stupid joke all day, and Brooke didn't want to ruin it. It was stupid, yes, but he cared deeply about it for some reason, and Brooke's job in that moment was to care about whatever her husband cared about. Yes, her husband. She hadn't forgotten about that in the past two days, as crazy as they had been. Both of them still had their wedding rings on.

Dean's face changed to one of utter confusion. He glanced at Castiel's finger, then up into the angel's face. "What?" he said.

"My finger," Castiel repeated, with a hidden smile. "Pull it."

It took Dean about ten seconds to find the courage to do so, and he glanced around the room before he did it, as if to silently ask, What the fuck is going on?

Brooke forced her face into a neutral look, even though she wanted to laugh already.

BOOM! went the light over Dean's head.

Brooke finally allowed herself to laugh, and laughed all the harder when she saw the look of shock on Sam and Dean's faces. She imagined that that was what she had looked like that morning.

Castiel laughed, too, but it was a sort of nervous chuckle.

Sam and Dean did not laugh.

###

"Okay, just hang on, Cass," Dean said, a little later. "Wait. Let us catch up to you for a second."

"Emmanuel," Castiel said.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Emmanuel," the angel repeated.

Dean paused, staring at Brooke for a second. She shrugged at him. "Okay, I'm not calling you that," Dean said.

"So," Sam broke in. "You're saying you remember who you are, what you are."

"Yes, of course," Castiel said, then turned away from the window with a smile. "Oh. Outside, today, in the garden, I followed a honeybee! I saw the route of flowers. It's all right there, the whole plan. There's nothing to add."

Brooke smiled at the memory from earlier that day, watching Castiel down on his hands knees, among the flowers, smiling up at the bees as they buzzed around his head. That childlike wonder and excitement.

"You might want to add a little thorazine," Sam muttered.

"Right?" said Meg. "He's been like the naked guy at the rave ever since he woke up—totally useless."

"Will you look at her?" Castiel asked, smiling at Meg, gently. "My caretaker. All of that thorny pain. So beautiful."

"We've been over this," Meg replied, smirking at him. "I don't like poetry. Put up or shut up."

Brooke chuckled from her corner, watching the two of them. There was no jealousy between her and Meg. Meg knew that her flirtations with Castiel would never go anywhere, and Castiel, for his part, was not really flirting with Meg. He was simply stating truth. He did see her as beautiful, and that was fine with Brooke, for Brooke knew him, inside and out, and she knew, with certainty, that the idea of cheating had never even crossed his mind. She didn't think he was even capable of coming up with the idea. He had always been loyal, faithful, and she knew that was not about to change anytime soon. So, she allowed the looks that Meg shot in Castiel's direction, allowed the lingering stares. Sometimes, Meg looked at her that way. Brooke only ever smirked back, with a face that said, Not gonna happen.

Castiel turned to her, then. "And my wife," he said, cupping her face in his hands, smiling down at her with utter adoration. He bent down and pressed his forehead to hers. "My wife," he repeated, gentler, quieter. "I love you," he told her—something he had not said for a long time.

She forgot all others in the room, focusing only on him. "I love you too," she said.

"O-kay," Sam interrupted, clearing his throat loudly, and clapping his hands. "So, Cass, you said you woke up two days ago?"

"Yes," said Castiel, once again an excited puppy, turning to face the brothers. But all the while, he held Brooke's hand. "I heard a… ping… that pierced me, and, well… you wouldn't have heard it, unless you were an angel at the time."

Brooke snorted laughter. Castiel's explanation… His word choice was interesting, as if one could choose, at will, to become an angel, or not.

Castiel turned and looked at her with a big, bright smile, his face lighting up at her laughter.

Sam handed Castiel a backpack. Inside was some kind of tablet, with writing on it that Brooke did not recognize. Castiel held the backpack in one hand, looking down at the tablet. "Oh," he said, in a sing-song voice. "Of course. Now I understand."

"Understand what?" Sam asked.

Castiel looked up at the brothers. "You're the ones," he said. "Well…" He chuckled. "I guess that makes sense."

"What makes sense?" Dean demanded.

Castiel turned away, going back to the window, pulling Brooke gently along with him. "If someone was going to free the Word, from the vault of the Earth, it would end up being you two." He let go of Brooke's hand, with a somewhat apologetic look, and picked up the tablet. He stared down at it, for a moment, and then he turned to the brothers again, and said, "I love you guys," and yanked them both into a hug.

They took it, though awkwardly, patting his back with muffled "Yeahs" and "Okays."

After a moment, they pulled away and Sam continued, "You said something about the Word. Is that what's written on there?"

Castiel's mind fractured; he was beginning to fear that they would ask for his help in something, something that would require fighting. Sam and Dean were always fighting something, and he always had to get involved, to save them. "Did you know that a cat's penis is sharply barbed along its shaft? I know for a fact that the females were not consulted about that." Deflect. Deflect. He turned away, with a smile.

Sam and Dean stared at his back, then glanced at each other.

Brooke opened her mouth, to tell them to stop, but it was too late.

"Cass, please," Dean said. "We're losing ground out there, okay? We need your help."

Castiel busied himself, looking down at the tablet.

"Can you not see that?" Dean asked.

"This is the handwriting of Metatron," Castiel mused, staring harder at the tablet. Deflect. Help, but don't help. Don't agree to fight. I don't want to fight. Don't make me fight.

They can't make you fight, Brooke thought, placing a hand on his arm.

Castiel took a breath.

Sam confused Metatron with the Transformer, Megatron.

"Me-ta-tron," Castiel repeated, slower, turning back to Sam and Dean. "He's an angel, he's the scribe of God. He took down dictation when Creation was being formed."

"And that's the Word of God?" Sam asked, motioning towards the tablet in Castiel's hands.

"One of them, yes," the angel confirmed.

"Uh, what's it say, then?"

Castiel glanced at Brooke, and thought, Watch. I'll joke with them again. He looked down at the tablet, running his eyes across it, and said, "Tree." Then he glanced up at Sam and Dean, with a smile. "Horse? Fiddler crab? I can't read it, it wasn't meant for angels."

"Okay," Meg chimed in, sounding annoyed. "This all sounds bad. What are you two jackasses doing with the Word of God?" She motioned for the tablet. "Lemme see that thing," she said, moving toward Castiel.

Castiel turned toward her, about to hand it to her.

"Back off, Meg," Dean said, enunciating each word, slowly.

No, thought Castiel, his mind fracturing at the sound of anger in Dean's voice.

"Come on, it's my ass, too," Meg argued, though she kept her voice friendly.

"Back off," Dean repeated, growling out the words, his eyes flaring.

"Damn it!" Meg yelled.

Stop, thought Castiel, feeling the grip on his sanity slipping.

Brooke placed a hand on his arm.

"Enough of this 'Demons are second-class citizens' crap!" Meg continued, her voice raised.

The air shook as Castiel's Grace whined in a high-toned pitch that only the two of them could hear. "Don't like conflict," he said, and Brooke, who was still holding his arm, was teleported away with him.

They had not gone far. Castiel had teleported them down into the dayroom. They had not spent much time here over the past two days, Castiel being too busy dragging them to every beautiful place on Earth he could think to take them, but they had played a few boardgames as the day had wound down today.

Castiel stood beside her and took a deep breath, then another one.

"Emmanuel," Brooke whispered, knowing that the name brought him comfort. As Emmanuel, he had not fought, he had not killed anyone, he had not caused trouble. He had been a healer, he had helped others, he had been friendly and gentle, and kind.

He turned towards her, pressing his forehead to hers, and they breathed. At the end of five breaths, the high-pitched whine of his Grace had gone down, and the repetition of the hum was slower, like a heartbeat slowing down.

He pulled away and plastered a smile onto his face.

She smiled back at him, but concern niggled at her mind. She had been afraid this would happen. Dean wasn't known for his patience.

###

Castiel and Brooke were sitting beside one another at a table when Dean came down.

Castiel's Grace bubbled a little, like simmering water—not quite a boil—at his approach. Brooke placed a hand on his arm, and he stilled again.

Dean walked up to them both, glared at Castiel, then glanced at Brooke. "Could you give us some space?" he asked—demanded.

Castiel immediately said, "No," and his eyes went wide and frantic, like a rabid animal. "Please," he added, his voice cracking on the word.

Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and nodded. He returned to glaring at Castiel. "You realize you just broke God's Word."

Castiel could not hold Dean's gaze, his mind fracturing. He looked away, shifting uncomfortably, like a child being scolded by a parent. Brooke squeezed his hand under the table.

Dean sighed and sat down. "It's Sam thing, isn't it?"

Noting the calmer tone in Dean's voice, Castiel gazed at him again, head tilted to the side in confusion.

"You taking on his, uh, cage-match scars," Dean explained. "I'm guessing that's what broke your bank, right?"

Castiel smiled at Dean, and, for once, the smile seemed genuine. Dean wanted to understand. He wanted to sympathize. "Well, it took… everything to get me here," he replied.

Dean stared at him, uncomprehending. "What are you talking about, man?"

Castiel grew sad, realizing that there was no real way of explaining anything to the man. "Dean," he said, his voice soft. "I know you want different answers…"

Brooke sat in her chair and attempted to blend into the background, wanting to be there for Castiel, but not wanting to ruin the shared moment between the angel and the man he had saved from Hell. Brooke had never pretended that she was the only one who felt bonded to Castiel; she had always known that Castiel loved Dean, as a friend, as a brother… sometimes, as something more, though that part of Castiel was hidden even from himself.

"No," said Dean, growing angry again. "I want you button up your coat and help us take down Leviathans."

Castiel stared at him sadly.

"Do you remember what you did?" Dean asked.

Castiel continued to stare, with a small smile, his eyes soft. He pulled the board game over to him, the one that he had picked out minutes before and laid on the table especially for this moment. He turned it around and showed it to Dean: Sorry!

Castiel shook the board game container, and the board suddenly lay in front of them, the pieces already set. There were only enough for two players, Castiel's way of telling Dean that he knew the man wished this conversation were private.

I can go, Brooke thought to him.

Stay, Castiel begged. If you leave, I… I don't know if I can…

Brooke sighed, swallowed, nodded. She folded her arms across her chest and waited, remaining silent.

"Do you want to go first?" Castiel asked Dean, trying so hard to be nice. To make Dean see, to help him understand, to make Dean love him again.

Around and around they went, Castiel explaining his love of humans, Dean trying to get him to focus on Metatron, on the Word of God. Castiel wanting to share this game with Dean, to share a joy with him, as he had shared joys with Brooke for the past two days; Dean growing angrier and angrier.

"Forget the damn game, Cass!" he finally yelled, and knocked the board to the ground.

Castiel stared into his lap, his Grace boiling over again, that high-pitched whine, that shaking in Brooke's blood and bones, her vision narrowing for a moment, as Castiel attempted to pull the pieces of his mind back together. He looked up at the man. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said.

"No," he replied. "You're playing sorry."

Castiel got out of the chair, kneeling down, and began to pick up the pieces.

After a minute or two, as Brooke helped him, she stopped. Something was wrong. "Meg," she said.

Castiel had felt it, too, but he was smiling.

"What?" Dean asked.

"It's Sam," said Castiel. "He's talking to angels."

"Meg," Brooke repeated, and got up off the floor, staring at Castiel, begging with her eyes. She did not love Meg, but some of Castiel's affection, adoration, had rubbed off on her. And she felt she owed the demon, for watching over her husband when she could not, when she needed to sleep, when she needed to stay away from the room or risk going insane.

Castiel held out his hand, and she took it, and they teleported up into his room.

While Castiel stood and smiled at his brothers and sisters, Brooke went over to Meg and stood in front of her, protecting her with her body.

"I don't need your help," Meg spat.

"Shut up," said Brooke.

One of the angels, the one in the woman's body, turned and stared at Brooke. "Angel Whore," she muttered.

"My wife," Castiel corrected, with a smile. He glanced down at the ring on his left hand, as if admiring it.

Both angels turned and stared at Castiel, one of them happy to see him, the other… not so much.

Castiel apologized for the massacre he had caused in Heaven, his mind searching frantically for a way to show how much he needed the approval of these two angels. All this time, all he had wanted from anyone, was their love and approval. Finally, he landed on, "Pull my finger."

Brooke closed her eyes, shaking her head just a little.

The woman stood before him, staring at him as if he'd gone insane.

"Uh," said Castiel, realizing that there was no light overheard. Meg had only replaced the lamp. "Uh, Meg will—will get another light and I'll—I'll blow it out again, and, well this time it'll be funny." He laughed, but it was forced, for he could see the look on everyone's faces. "And we'll all look back and laugh," he finished.

No one smiled.

Castiel stared at the angel in the woman's body, the one he had called Hester. "You're insane," she said.

A small part of Castiel's heart broke.

"Hey," said a voice, from behind them all. It was Dean. "Heads up, sunshine."

Brooke screamed and fell to her knees as the anti-angel sigil sent Castiel, and the other two angels, far, far away. The Grace in her body screeched, and it set her veins on fire, her bones creaking in agony as it all tried to escape, to tie itself to Castiel, to be sent away with him. But it could not escape her body, and she was not an angel, so the sigil could not send her anywhere. She knelt, panting, on the ground, gritting her teeth.

Meg yanked her roughly to her feet by the arm, which was a kind gesture by her standards.

Brooke glared at Dean, who quirked an eyebrow at her. She breathed heavily through her nose, staring at him, and then walked up and punched him in the face.

He reeled back, and then turned and stared at her, holding his jaw. "What the fuck?"

"Fuck you!" she yelled.

And from behind them, came the voice of the boy that Brooke hadn't even noticed. "What's happening?" he screamed, and Brooke turned to see a young teenaged boy on the verge of a mental breakdown, curled up in Castiel's bed, with the Word of God held in his arms.

"Who is this?" she asked.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING?" he screamed, again.