A/N: Welcome to the sixth and final book (or is it?) of this very long series! If you're new here, please head to my author page and find book one, entitled, "Touched." Thanks!

One

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Dean had said yes to Michael. Three weeks since Michael had betrayed Dean's trust and taken control of his body. Three weeks, in which all of Dean's family had been doing everything they could to get him back, sacrificing sleep, among other things, to continue the search for anything that could possibly help.

Brooke had not seen Castiel retain such anger before in all the years she had known him. Since his breakdown three weeks ago, upon discovering that Michael had taken over, he had become hard and relentless. All other emotions had fallen by the wayside, including the loving tenderness he usually held for her, even when the world was going to shit. He was not violent, but his anger scared her a little. It drove him forward like he was a bull, charging toward the red cape. And underneath that anger was a determination so cold that Brooke found herself shying away from him, a reaction foreign to her.

"Castiel, darling," someone said, and Brooke looked up, jumping slightly. The demon was wearing a man in a suit. Good shoes. Sunglasses. He was wearing the sunglasses inside.

Douchebag, she thought.

"Oh, God," Castiel murmured.

What?

I just realized who he is…

The demon walked up to the woman behind the bar. "Sweetie, fix me a coffee, black, and a Texas Trinity, necked, with some bark."

Brooke blinked, and repeated, What a fucking douchebag.

The demon turned to them. "And for my friend and his… wife?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Water," he said, shortly.

The demon came and sat down.

"What did you just order?" Castiel asked.

"Oh, sausage and brisket, pork ribs, no sauce, well done. My apologies for the lingo, but when in Rome…"

"Are you gonna take off your sunglasses?" Brooke asked, in a deadpan voice, her arms folded across her chest.

The demon ignored her.

"I was surprised you wanted to meet here," Castiel said.

"I'm surprised you wanted to meet at all. Didn't think that you consorted with… my kind." He finally removed his sunglasses, just to flash his black eyes at them.

Brooke scoffed. What a—

—douchebag, Castiel finished for her. Yes. Aloud, he said, "I need information."

"Of course you do."

Quietly, but with the intensity of a rabid dog two seconds from biting, Castiel asked, "Does any demon know where Dean Winchester is?"

The demon paused, half-smiling. "I'm sorry, did you just say that you lost a Winchester? Because, one, that's… interesting. And, two, how is it that you lost Dean? I thought the two of you were joined at the… you know, everything." He glanced down toward Castiel's crotch.

Brooke rolled her eyes.

The woman behind the bar came and set down one coffee and two waters.

"Thank you, darling," the demon said.

No one reached for their drinks.

"Just answer the question," Castiel growled. His patience was wearing dangerously thin.

The demon smiled, then, and picked up his coffee. "You see, I could…" He brought the coffee to his lips and slurped, obnoxiously.

Can we just kill him now? Brooke asked.

No, Castiel said. We need information.

Can we kill him after?

Yes.

"… Except," the demon said, "not to be crass, but what's in it for moi?"

Castiel shrugged, nonchalantly. "Your life."

Brooke glanced at him, aware that he had no intention of giving this demon his life, either way.

"Come again?" the demon asked, quietly.

Castiel stared at him across the table, his body taut and coiled. "I'll speak slower," he growled. "And you will tell me everything you know, or I will burn you to ash, right here and right now."

And, despite herself, even as that anger in her husband threatened to boil over and destroy everything, a thrill ran through her body at the tone of his voice, the straightened back, the narrowed eyes.

"I think we can do better," the demon said.

Brooke forgot her arousal and glanced at him, his words concerning her.

"We?" Castiel asked.

The demon raised his hand, some sort of signal, and suddenly, every single other person in the bar stood up, flashing black eyes.

"Fuck!" Brooke yelled, pushing to her feet, yanking her angel blade from her coat pocket.

Too many. There were too many of them, even for the two of them.

Cass, did you see them? I didn't—I didn't see them!

Neither did I, Castiel replied, as the hoard of demons slowly approached.

Why didn't we see them? Brooke had always been able to see both angels and demons, but the only demon she'd seen in this bar was the one who'd been talking to them up 'til now. And Castiel, of course, could see demons, too, being an angel.

They must have warded themselves, Castiel thought, desperately, and lunged toward the closest one.

Brooke stopped thinking and acted in defense of her husband, screaming, slashing, punching. She managed to kill one before they surrounded her, held her arms back. She raised the Grace in her blood, trying to use its strength to fight them off, but…

But Castiel's Grace was not what it had once been. With the death of so many angels, and the slow demise of Heaven, the power of his Grace was slowly draining away. It had been getting worse and worse for months, but in the last three weeks, she had really begun to notice its decline.

One of the demons punched her in the face, and before she could recover, she was shoved—hard—to the ground. She fell beside her husband, who had also been pushed down, and then they began whaling on the two of them.

Brooke tried to get back up, tried to put her hands underneath her, but one of them stomped on her right hand, crushing the bones in her fingers. She screamed and held her hand close to her chest, covering her face with her left arm…

###

"Let her go," Castiel said. His voice sounded strangely echoey and far away.

Brooke cracked open her eyes. She could hardly see. She reached up with one hand to touch her face, because it felt weird, and realized she was chained. Desperately, she tried to move her other hand—and gasped in pain. Her hand. She'd forgotten.

Brooke, please, stop moving, Castiel begged.

His voice was so loud in her mind. She winced, her head pounding.

"You're… you're hurt," he said, aloud, to avoid giving her more of a headache. "You need to just… sit still for me, okay?"

His voice sounded strange, like he was speaking around a wad of cotton.

"Cass," Brooke said, her voice raspy. "Castiel…"

"Please, please, just let my wife go," Castiel begged to someone that Brooke could not see. "If you're going to use me as bait, you don't need her."

"No, I think I'll keep you both," said the demon. "After all, you're married. It would be cruel to separate you." He tsk'd, and then came up to her, though she could hardly see him through her swollen eyes. He reached down and squeezed her right hand. "Aww, what happened here?"

Brooke screamed, felt nauseous, then woozy, then found herself drifting somewhere between conscious and unconscious. Vaguely, she was aware of Castiel screaming obscenities at the demon, then even his loud voice faded into the background…

###

"You're looking to make a deal?"

Sam Winchester's voice floated to Brooke as she came back into consciousness. The Grace in her blood was finally doing something for her. The swelling in her face had gone down, and she was feeling less woozy.

Trying not to draw attention to herself, she slowly lifted her head to check out the scene. If Sam was here, then… Oh no. The boy was here.

Jack, she thought, staring at him.

He noticed her as he stood, half-bent over from a punch to the stomach, and tried to smile.

Why is Jack here? she thought, desperately.

Sam must have brought him, Castiel replied, and, thankfully, his voice in her head was no longer headache-inducing.

"What do you want?" Sam was asking the demon.

"That is a very good question. What do I want? You know, I don't know if you're aware or not, Sam, but Hell's in a bit of a pickle. You know, with Crowley dead and Asmodeus Kentucky fried, which means—

"I don't care," Sam interrupted.

Brooke experimentally wiggled a couple fingers on her right hand, and bit her tongue to keep from calling out. She tasted blood.

Stop moving it, Castiel begged her. It's still broken.

Cass, your Grace is…

I know, he said, softly. I'm sorry.

Sam and the demon—Kipling—continued their long, drawn out conversation for some time, a conversation that Brooke did not pay any attention to because she knew how this whole thing would end. Somehow, at some point, there would be a fight.

And that was exactly what happened.

What she was not expecting was machine-gun-fire. Bobby and Mary appeared, suddenly, locked and loaded, and the world exploded. Automatically, Brooke tried to pull against her restraints, wanting to get away from the bullets, but she was still chained, and she only succeeded in jostling her right hand.

She screamed, more in rage than pain, and looked around her, hating being trapped like this. Jack was on the ground.

Jack was on the ground, his face covered in blood.

"JACK!" she screamed, fighting her restraints even harder. "Jack! No!"

"Brooke!" Castiel called to her. "It's—it's no use!"

But still, she struggled. It had taken nearly a year to get Jack back from Apocalypse World, and she'd be damned if he died now—

"Enough!" Sam yelled, suddenly.

Everyone stopped fighting, and stared up at him.

"There will be no new King of Hell. Not today. Not ever." He glanced down at Kipling, who lay dead. "And if anybody wants the job, you can come through me. Understood? So, what's it gonna be?"

As one, all the demons vacated their vessels, and disappeared in swirls of black smoke.

Sam nodded, his mouth bloody. "That's what I thought."

###

In lieu of going to a hospital, they had taped a couple of Brooke's fingers together and then put a brace on her wrist to keep her from jostling her hand too much. Once the Grace in her blood kicked in, the fingers would heal on their own, or Cass would be able to heal them. Hopefully.

Both of their faces were still pretty fucked up. It was strange to look at her husband and see a black eye and a busted lip marring his features. Were Heaven at full power, he'd look as if nothing had ever happened to him, and he'd be able to heal everyone who had been injured in that fight. As it was, he looked… human.

They stood in their bedroom back at the bunker, studying one another's injuries, and then Castiel closed his eyes, and hid his face behind one hand. He took a shaky breath, a muscle in his jaw working. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"No," she said, and held him. "Stop. Don't blame yourself."

"Who else is there to blame?"

"Just stop, Cass. It's not like you intended for this to happen."

"No," he agreed. "I never intend for any of my mistakes to happen, but they do. Brooke, you got hurt. Really hurt. Because of me."

She pulled away from him, cupping his face in her good, left hand, and then winced when he winced. "Sorry," she murmured, moving her hand away.

But he brought it back to his face and held it there, as if he were punishing himself with pain. "I've just… been so angry, so desperate, that I…" He fell silent again, and tears began to slip down his face.

She shook her head. "This was to get Dean back. If you were in trouble, I would do anything to get you back. Anything. No matter how dangerous or stupid. Dean is family. So, we'll do anything to get him back."

Castiel closed his eyes again and pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm sorry that I've… that I've been so angry. I know I've been concerning you. I…"

"Hush now," she murmured, and held him. And then she smiled. "As long as you promise to make love to me tonight, very carefully, all will be forgiven."

Castiel laughed, despite himself.

###

Later, they went to see how Sam was doing, and after a brief conversation, they wandered down the hall to see Jack.

"Hey, Jack," Castiel said, quietly, as he leaned on the doorway.

"I'm fine," Jack replied as he leaned against his sink, staring at himself in the mirror.

Brooke tutted quietly as she took in his face, although he didn't look as bad as she thought he might have. Castiel looked worse.

"You did well," Cass murmured.

"All I did was get punched… in the face."

"Welp," Brooke spoke up, "that's, uh, sort of a Hunter's rite of passage." She smirked.

"And, to be fair," Castiel said, "we all got punched in the face."

Jack shook his head, turning to look at them. He was clearly agitated. "That's not… Before, when I had my powers, I-I could have done something, and…"

"Jack," Castiel said, coming into the room. "You don't. You don't have your powers. And you…" He sighed. "Your Grace should regenerate in time, but, until then—

"I'm useless," Jack finished for him.

"No," Brooke said, but Jack wasn't done.

"I can't kill demons, I can't find Dean, and Michael is in our world, and I can't stop him. I can't do anything… I don't have… anything."

Brooke felt tears come to her eyes.

"Oh, Jack," Castiel murmured, "that's just not true. You've got me. And Brooke. You have all of us." He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "You have your family. And we are going to find Dean, and we are going to beat Michael, and we're going to do it together. Because that's what we do." He moved away.

Brooke came forward, then, and smiled at the boy. "Cass pretty much took the words right outta my mouth," she said. "Listen to him. Think on it. And, in the meantime…" She took a breath. "Jack, can you do something for me?"

Jack hesitated, and then nodded.

"Okay, now… I want you to close your eyes." She smiled. "Go on."

He closed his eyes.

"Good. Now. Breathe. Follow my lead, okay? Inhale…"

Jack inhaled.

"Good," she said. "Slowly. In, two, three, four. Okay, now, out, two, three, four." She counted evenly, watching the boy to make sure he was doing as he was told. "Good. Again."

He did it again.

By the end of the fifth breath, he was obviously feeling a little impatient, but he'd gone through it, as he'd promised. He opened his eyes. "Is that… Is that that thing you guys do together, where you put your foreheads together?"

Brooke smiled, reaching back with her left hand for Cass. She felt him hold her hand. "Yeah," she said. "I taught Cass that a long time ago. It seems to help, when we're upset. I thought it might help you, too."

Jack smiled a little, staring at the floor, and in that moment, he looked just like his father, the one squeezing Brooke's hand right then. "Thanks," he said.

Brooke smiled, too, and then turned and led her husband away.

…

She pulled him gently by the hand back to their bedroom and closed the door. Turning back to him, she asked, "Could you help me? It'll be hard to get dressed—or undressed—with this thing on, and my fingers taped together." She gestured to her busted up right hand, still with a brace over her wrist.

Castiel looked at her with sad eyes, but simply nodded. He very carefully helped her with her coat, and her long-sleeved shirt. The sleeve of the shirt, especially, was difficult to get off without jostling her hand, pulling it over the brace, but Castiel worked at it and worked at it, slowly, methodically, and eventually, he got it off.

Brooke stood before her husband in her bra, shivering slightly as the air hit her skin.

"Turn for me," he murmured.

She did so, and he reached forward with delicate fingers and unclasped her bra. The feel of him touching her, even as gently as he did, sent shivers down her spine. She slid the bra down her arms and let it fall to the floor.

Castiel stepped closer to her, so that she could feel the warmth of him at her back. She felt her breath quicken, her heart rate increasing. He leaned down and kissed the side of her neck. She reached up and touched the side of his head with her left hand. He fondled her breasts and she groaned at the warmth of his hands on her bare skin.

"We should really wait until your hand is healed," he murmured, though his voice had gone husky.

I told you, she replied, in her head, because she could hardly even think as he gently twisted her nipples, as long as we make love carefully, then that's fine.

You won't mind looking at my face like this? he asked.

My face is messed up, too, she said.

He turned her in his arms so that they were facing one another and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her Jeans.

"Oh, no," she teased. "If I'm standing here bare-chested, then you have to do it, too."

One corner of his mouth lifted in amusement, his eyes twinkling, although it didn't look quite right with all the bruises and the cut lip. He removed his thumbs from her Jeans and went to the door, where they had installed hooks for his trench coat, and his suit jacket, and his tie. He removed them all, one by one, hanging them up, and then turned to face her again and unbuttoned his shirt.

Just seeing that flash of skin in the center of his chest turned her on, and she went to him, wanting to push the shirt off of his shoulders, but her busted right hand prevented it. He removed it himself, dropping it to the floor, and stood before her, half-naked. She ran her left hand over his chest, fingers touching feather-light, smiling when his eyes fluttered closed.

He led her to the bed where she lay down, then slowly removed her shoes and socks. Then he crawled up her body, planting a kiss on her stomach, and undid her Jeans, pulling at them slowly. Brooke lifted her body to make it easier. Castiel dropped her Jeans off the side of the bed and came back up to her, planting kisses on both of her thighs, and hovering his mouth over her pussy, still clothed, so that the warmth of his breath could be felt through the cotton.

"Don't tease me," Brooke said, her eyes squeezed shut, left hand reaching down to tangle it into his hair.

With a small smile, he pulled away from her, kicking off his boots, undoing his belt.

She groaned in impatience.

"Patience," Castiel said, dropping his pants and stepping out of them.

Brooke turned and stared at her husband. "I don't wanna be patient," she breathed.

"No?" he asked, releasing his cock from the confines of his boxers.

Her eyes widened to see it stand at attention. "I want it in my mouth," she begged.

Now his eyes widened, a small growl releasing from his throat, and he stepped forward, cock in hand, and hovered it near her mouth.

She sat up in the bed and bent down and took him in her mouth, moaning as she did so, and matching the sound that he made at the same time. His head fell back, hands tangled in her hair, groaning. He was at her mercy, now, right where he belonged. Now, he was hers, and she would do with him as she pleased.

He opened his eyes, staring down at her, brushing a strand of hair from her face, taking in the bruises that those demons had given her hours before. His eyes flicked to the brace on her wrist, her fingers taped together. His fault. Those injuries were his fault—

No sad thoughts! she reprimanded.

He smiled softly. Right.

And then her eyes flicked up and met his as she continued to suck him.

The breath caught in his throat. You're so beautiful…

She released him from her mouth with a smile, and said, "Tell me that while you fuck me."

Eyes half-lidded, he pushed her gently back onto the bed, pulling her panties down her legs and dropping them into the pile of clothes on the side of the bed. He straddled her as he reached into the nightstand for a condom, rubbing the underside of his cock against her clit until she made such delicious noises that he thought he might lose it, right there.

Conscious of her right hand, he slowly, carefully pulled her closer, her legs up over his shoulders, and entered her. She cried out as he filled her, and he closed his eyes, shuddering at the sounds and sensations of her. He murmured his first, "You're beautiful," with his eyes still closed.

"Tell me again," she begged, breathless already.

He opened his eyes, holding onto her legs, and fucked her. And as she cried out and called his name and writhed beneath him, he repeated: "You're beautiful."

You're so beautiful… I love you so much…

And as she grew closer to her orgasm, her eyes closed on their own, her head thrown back, left hand gripping his arm.

"Look at me," he ordered.

Her eyes snapped open and she stared at him as she panted, and then she came, still staring at him. "Tell me," she begged, her voice raw, releasing in a moan. "Oh, tell me…"

"You are so beautiful," he said, for the hundredth time, as the slap of his skin against hers filled the air. The last time he said it, it came out as a growl, right before his own orgasm hit him. "So beautiful…" And then he lost himself, unable to think, speak… All he knew was her, and the sounds she was making, and the tightness and warmth and wetness of her around his cock.

Afterwards, he stood and calmly walked to the trashcan in the corner of the room, tying the condom into a knot and throwing it away. He returned to the bed, the smell of sex heavy on the air, and lay down. She turned to him automatically, half-asleep already, murmuring his name like a prayer, reaching for him with her good hand. "Castiel…"

"Sleep," he said, softly, draping one arm across her and nestling his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in.

She fell asleep with his name on her lips.