Orpheus was a poor mortal, known only for his way with music. He wandered from town to town as a traveling musician, accompanied only by his lyre. One day, an angel that had taken a vessel on orders, Eurydice, heard him playing. She was drawn to him, almost as much as he was to her. Eventually, they fell in love, and she forgot her heavenly mission. She defected to be with Orpheus.

They were happy together for some time, but always on the run from the rest of Heaven. Often, the only happiness they found was in each other and Orpheus' music. It didn't last; Heaven caught up with them and slaughtered Eurydice.

Drowning in grief, Orpheus continued to travel across the world, but his songs became desolate and empty. It attracted a powerful witch, who offered to help him. The witch had invented a spell that would allow him to cross over to the realm where Eurydice was. Thinking only of being reunited with Eurydice, Orpheus agreed to do whatever the witch wanted in exchange for her performing the spell.

The witch told him that in time, she would require a favor from him, then began preparing for the spell. While she prepared, she informed him that he could use his music to locate Eurydice once inside the other realm. She also told him that only humans could cross over, meaning Eurydice would have to remove her grace to get back, and only Eurydice could be the one to cut it out.

When the spell had been performed and Orpheus had crossed over, he found himself in a vast region of nothingness. He picked up his lyre and began to play Eurydice's favorite song; one of longing and love. The notes echoed in the nothingness, leading him to Eurydice. He woke her, and they made to leave.

They were stopped by a Shadow, which demanded Orpheus leave at once, without Eurydice. Orpheus refused, and decided to try and win the Shadow over with his music. The music greatly weakened the Shadow, and realizing they could both escape, Orpheus ran with Eurydice, still strumming his lyre as they fled.

When they reached the spot where they could cross over, Orpheus revealed that only humans could leave. He apologized profusely, telling Eurydice that it was her choice. Eurydice told him that there was no choice to be made because she would always choose him.

Orpheus had doubted that she would want to come back with him at such a cost and was overridden with joy at her words. He stopped playing to cup her face in his hands and kiss her. The Shadow caught up with them, and while they were swimming in their happiness, it forced Orpheus out and dragged Eurydice into its darkest depths.

Orpheus was overcome with grief even more acute than when Eurydice had died. He had had a chance to save her and failed. Back on Earth, he demanded that the witch recast the spell. The witch didn't have the ingredients needed for the spell, so Orpheus set out to retrieve them. He died trying to collect them and gain another chance to save Eurydice.

Dean stared at the page. His thoughts were moving too quickly for him to make sense of them all.

Cas would have to consent to remove his grace if that was what it came to. It would be Cas' choice. That was probably why Sam had told Dean to read it.

But while everything he'd told Sam was true, he also hadn't told him everything.

What if Cas hated being human?

What if once he was human he started blaming Dean for what had happened and hated him?

What if Cas wasn't happy?

What if he was better off in the Empty?

What if Cas realized that he was better off there?

The book didn't say anything about that.

It hadn't escaped Dean how familiar Orpheus' story was; in a way he had lived it. Traveling the country in the Impala, watching Cas rebel for him, falling for him, watching him die, and now fighting to get him back.

The thing was, in Orpheus' story, Orpheus was enough.

Dean didn't think he could be enough.

He had to try though, right? He couldn't just leave Cas there.

Dean made up his mind.

He'd keep looking for another way. Of course he would. But if he couldn't find one… well, then he'd try it Sam and Jack's way. Anything to get Cas back.

Even if Cas hated him, at least he'd be alive. Cas deserved better than being human, but more than that, he deserved to live.

Dean took a breath, then flipped through the book's pages until he found the paper marking where Sam had left off.

The crypt was dark and covered in dust. There was a draft, not helped at all by the vaulted ceiling. Artifacts from ages past were scattered around the room, illuminated by Dean's flashlight.

Castiel recognized a number of them but paid most of them no heed, instead focusing on a wooden chest on the far side of the room.

It was so covered in dust that it was almost gray. Despite that, the intricate carvings on its outside were visible, albeit barely. There was also a power that resonated from it— something old and powerful. The air around it hummed with magic.

The chest seemed to be repelling him; the closer he got to it, the more the edges of his grace seemed to shrink inwards.

That was it.

In a flash, Castiel found himself in a sterile, pristine room.

"I found it," he said.

Naomi turned to him. "Tell the Winchester the crypt is empty," she ordered. "Then you can come back—"

"It's warded against angels," Castiel said.

Naomi was impatient. "Well, you can come back—"

"Crowley's demons are still in town, and we're running out of time." Running out of time they didn't have. "What should I do?"

"Handle it."

Castiel was back in the crypt again, Dean off to his side.

Handle it.

"Dean." Castiel pointed towards the shelf the box sat in. "That's it."

Dean shone his flashlight over the chest. "How do you know?"

"It's the only thing in here warded against angels."

Dean moved towards the shelf and picked the chest up, then moved it onto the table in the center of the room. He grabbed a small dagger and used it to pry open the lid.

Castiel watched as Dean lifted out a block of stone from the box.

The corner of Dean's mouth turned up as he glanced over at Castiel. "Winner, winner, chicken dinner."

Outside of the warding, the surge of power coming from the tablet was almost overwhelming. Castiel didn't want to think about what could happen if the wrong person got their hands on it. It would be catastrophic.

He had to get the tablet to Heaven. He said as much to Dean.

Dean gave him a look. "No, we'll take it to Kevin so he can translate."

Castiel nodded. "Right. Of course. I'll take it to him right away. No time to waste," he said.

"Well, he's not that far," Dean said. "I've been meaning to… go check on him, bring him some supplies."

Before Castiel could respond, instead of Dean he was facing Naomi.

"If the demons get their hands on the Angel Tablet, they'll kill us all. They'll destroy heaven," Naomi said urgently.

"I can reason with Dean," Castiel assured her. "He's a good man."

Naomi's next words were hard and unflinching. "Kill him."

Dean was in front of him again.

"I can resupply the prophet, Dean," Castiel said.

Dean was hesitant. "You know, why don't, uh, why don't Sam and I take it over to him, and you can get back to your mission? Finding the other half of the Demon Tablet— that is priority, isn't it?"

Not hesitant, Castiel realized. Suspicious.

He wouldn't lie longer to Dean than he had to.

"I can't let you take that, Dean," Castiel said.

"Can't or won't?" Dean asked.

"Both."

"How did you get out of Purgatory, Cas?" Dean watched him carefully.

He was back with Naomi.

"There has to be another way!" Castiel insisted.

Naomi was unmoving. "You have done this a thousand times, Castiel. You're ready. Kill him. Then take the tablet and bring it home, where it belongs."

"Just tell me how you got out of Purgatory," Dean said, voice firm. "Be honest with me— for the first time since you've been back— and this is yours." He nodded to the stone in his hands.

Of its own volition, Castiel's angel blade dropped into his hand.

Dean's eyes flicked down towards the blade, then back up to meet Castiel's. "Cas. Cas, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but if you're in there and you can hear me, you don't have to do this."

Castiel raised the blade and moved decisively towards Dean.

Dean raised the stone to block his attack. "Cas!"

There was a flash of light. Then—

"This isn't right," Castiel said, on edge. He was back in Naomi's office, and he wasn't sure how or when he had gotten there. But something was wrong.

"Do you realize what the tablet can do for us?" Naomi was incredulous.

"I—"

"For Heaven?"

Castiel paused.

He should help Heaven. He was an angel, that was his duty. Especially after all he had done, after all the lives he had cost it. But—

"I won't hurt Dean," Castiel said.

"Yes. You will." Naomi was sure. "You are."

And Castiel was back in the crypt, blade swinging towards Dean.

"Cas, fight this! This is not you! Fight it!" Dean was shouting now, almost desperately.

There was a throbbing pain taking root in Castiel's skull as he swung again. This wasn't right, none of this was right—

"Just relax, Castiel," Naomi said calmly. "Let your vessel do what you know deep down is the right thing."

Naomi— this was Naomi's fault. What had she done to him?

Castiel didn't realize he had spoken out loud or that he was back in the crypt until he heard Dean demand, "Who's Naomi?"

"What have I done to you?" Naomi hissed. "Do you have any idea what it's like out there? There's blood everywhere, and it's on your hands. After everything you did— to us, to Heaven. I fixed you, Castiel. I fixed you!"

"Cas!" There was a hand on Castiel's shoulder. He threw Dean off of him.

Dean hit the wall and fell to the floor. Wincing, he struggled to his feet.

Castiel moved towards him, blade flashing.

Dean threw a punch towards him.

Castiel dodged it easily. He grabbed Dean's outstretched arm and twisted until there was a resounding snap.

Dean grunted in pain. His knees gave out under him, and Castiel watched as the stone slipped from his hand and hit the ground.

The stone shattered, breaking into jagged pieces to reveal the angel tablet. There was a rumble of thunder and a flash of light.

He could grab it. If he took the tablet to Heaven now, Dean wouldn't be able to put up a fight. No one else would have to get hurt.

Naomi's orders rang through his head.

Kill him.

Castiel raised his fist.

"Cas…. This isn't you," Dean begged, looking up at him.

Castiel attacked anyway.

Hit after hit landed on Dean's face. Hard, fast, efficient, and effective. Again and again and again, until he resembled a bloodied corpse more closely than himself.

The crypt disappeared, and Naomi spoke. "Bring me the tablet!"

There was a hand fisting Castiel's trench coat as the crypt came back into focus.

Castiel had one hand raised, angel blade grasped tightly, pointed toward Dean. The other hand was holding Dean upright by his shoulder.

Dean was barely able to stay steady, even with Castiel's help. Castiel had seen him battered and bruised, but never this badly.

You did this, Castiel reminded himself.

Why had he done this? Why would he do this to Dean?

The throbbing in his head was becoming more intense, and he hardly heard what Dean was saying.

"Cas. Cas, I know you're in there." His voice was weak and he winced as his mouth moved to form the words, but Dean kept talking. "I know you can hear me. Cast—" Dean's voice broke and he took a breath. "It's me. We're family. We need you."

Castiel was frozen.

"I need you."

"You have to choose, Castiel— us or them," Naomi said.

"Cas—"

Dean was his friend. No— Dean had just said it, he was family. Dean was his family. Dean was more than family, Castiel realized. Dean was everything.

Castiel drove the blade through his throat anyway.

There was a wet noise that escaped Dean's throat as he choked on his blood, and everything came rushing back.

The headache subsided, leaving Cas looking at what he had done. The blade was still in his hand.

He dropped it and moved away, turning to look somewhere— anywhere— but at Dean.

No matter how many times he reminded himself it wasn't real, it didn't feel any less so.

Because he knew how it felt; all of it, from the dark, musty scent of the crypt, to the feel of the angel blade slipping through Dean's throat. Maybe he hadn't killed Dean, but Cas had killed a hundred Deans that looked and sounded just like him. Naomi had made sure of that. There had always been something wrong about her Deans, though, something small only Cas would notice. One Dean's eyes were too light, another didn't smile quite right, one wasn't bowlegged.

But here, these Deans were memories. There was nothing off about them, nothing to clue Cas in that it wasn't real.

The crypt began to dissolve.

The Empty had stopped coming after a while to ask Cas if he would reconsider and sleep. After the first fifty or so memories, it had given up, the same way Cas had given up fighting to retain his memories as he was dragged through this warped version of his past.

Cas watched as the nothingness began to form a new scene.

For the first time in a long time, he sent out a prayer of his own.

Please—

Dean kept hearing Cas' voice in his head. Just the same word, over and over again.

Please.

It was driving him crazy.

Please, Cas kept saying. Like he was there. Like he was talking to Dean. Every time he said it, the handprint on Dean's shoulder prickled.

He had to be imagining things. Because it couldn't be Cas. It couldn't be Cas, because he wanted it to be Cas. But if it was….

Please what? Dean didn't know. He didn't know if it was actually Cas he was hearing, or if he had finally lost it. He didn't want to think about if it was him. Didn't want to think about it if it wasn't.

Instead, he threw himself into research.

Normally after thirteen hours of it, Dean would have more notes. After thirteen hours, the only important pieces of information he had been able to find was a footnote that the Empty was similar to Purgatory in the sense that it actively tried to get rid of any humans that ended up there, and a paragraph explaining that time moved more quickly there.

'Portal like Purgatory' and 'time moves differently' was all Dean had to show for his efforts.

Sam wasn't doing much better, and neither was Jack.

Jack had come in a few hours ago to announce that since Amara had been imprisoned by the Mark when Orpheus and Eurydice were around, she didn't know anything that could help them. She had asked around in Heaven, trying to gain information from the angels, but the ones who had known Eurydice had all been slain since then.

Rowena still hadn't called, and Dean was on edge. It was possible, it had to be possible, so why couldn't they find anything?

"Dean." Sam's voice startled him out of his thoughts.

Dean glanced over at him.

"It takes time," Sam said.

"Time we don't have," Dean snapped. "Cas is stuck there, Sam, he's trapped there until we find something, if we find something, and—"

"Cas will be okay," Jack said surely. "We'll get him back."

Dean made to argue, but froze.

If Cas had been there, that was when he would have said something. He would have looked at Dean piercingly, and said just the right thing. Maybe that it wasn't his fault, maybe that they were making progress, maybe that it would work. All the same things Sam and Jack were telling him, but in a way that was so Cas that he couldn't help but listen.

But Cas wasn't here. He was gone.

Dean deflated.

Sam and Jack exchanged a glance.

Dean shook his head, then turned back to his book.

That was how the next week went. He did research until the words swam too much to be distinguishable, then got up and made coffee. Came back and cracked open another book. Scribbled down anything that might be useful. Kept working until Sam forced him to get some sleep. Four hours later, Dean was out of his room again and like clockwork, with a tome open in front of him.

On the eighth day since Rowena had called, Sam threw a duffel bag at him.

"Pack a bag," Sam instructed. "I found a case."

Dean looked up at him from his book incredulously. "What?"

"We're going hunting," Sam said.

Dean stared at him for another moment before saying, "Sam, in case you forgot, Cas is stuck in the Empty, and we're trying to bring him back. We need to do research—"

"We've gone through all of those books at least twice," Sam argued. "We're not going to find anything else there—"

"We might—"

"—and I thought that it would be good to get out of here while we're waiting for Rowena to get back to us."

"You go." Dean turned back to the page.

"No. We're all going."

Dean didn't respond. He couldn't just leave, not when there could be something that could help Cas right in front of him.

Sam didn't understand; he didn't know how much it hurt to know Cas was gone and it was Dean's fault and he couldn't do anything about it, he couldn't do anything until he had a way to get Cas out. Until then, all he could do was research and try to find a way to get him back.

Sam didn't understand how pouring through volume after volume was the only thing holding Dean together; without actively fighting every minute, he'd fall apart and spiral back into that ocean of grief and despair. If he did that, Dean didn't know how or if he'd get back out. He had to stay out, for him, but mostly for Cas, because Cas would be stuck in the Empty forever unless Dean went in after him.

Mostly, Sam didn't understand that he loved Cas. Not you're-my-best-friend love or we're-family love, but actually in love with Cas. If-our-lives-weren't-so-fucked-up-I'd-propose-to-you in love with Cas. And, for the first time, Dean thought that maybe they'd have a chance at something, so long as he got Cas back.

Dean was in love with Cas. It was as simple as that.

He wished it wasn't so fucking complicated.

Sam was still talking. "—been moping around for weeks, and I know you miss him! We all do! But it's been over a month, it's been two, and the rest of us can function!" Sam said impatiently. "Dean, I— Rowena is working on it, and you're not helping anyone by reading the same two paragraphs over and over again! Maybe sitting around and doing nothing but research all day is just making it harder for you to move on!"

The room went silent.

Sam had the good sense to look guilty. "Dean, I didn't mean—"

"There's no moving on," Dean said, voice hard. "There's no— I can't, Sam. Not when I saw him die, not after he told me that he—" He broke off.

Sam was watching him cautiously. "After he told you what?"

"Doesn't matter," Dean managed.

"'Doesn't matter?'" Sam laughed humorlessly. "You can barely function because of it. I think it matters."

"Have fun on the case," Dean said. It was final.

"Dean—"

"I'm staying," Dean said. "I have work to do."

"No, you're not. It's unhealthy." Sam's persistence was back, though he was less aggressive. "We're leaving in a few hours. If you really want to, you can bring some of these—" He gestured to the books Dean had spread across the table "—with. But you're coming."

Before Dean could say anything, Sam had left the library, leaving only Dean's duffel bag behind.

Jack sat in the front seat while Sam drove.

Dean had opted to sit in the back, books and notes piled messily on the seat next to him. Every so often, he caught Sam peering at him anxiously through the rearview mirror. The third time that happened within fifteen minutes, Dean called him out.

"I'm fine, Sam. Eyes on the road," he admonished.

Sam looked pointedly ahead.

"Thank you." Dean turned back to the book he was pouring through.

The drive continued.

The road disappeared from beneath them as the miles and minutes flew by. During the eight hour drive to Gainesville, Missouri, they stopped three times. Once for gas, twice for Sam to try and convince Dean to drive.

Dean relented the second time he insisted. He would have kept reading, could have kept reading, but Sam had turned his puppy dog eyes on him, and that kid could be effective when he wanted to be.

The three hours he drove was the longest Dean had gone in over a week not doing research, with the exception of sleeping. He felt guilty, sitting behind the wheel, when not five feet away there were pages upon pages of material that could potentially help Cas. He should be helping Cas right now. Not with his foot on the gas and hands on the wheel, driving like this was an ordinary Winchester trip. Because it wasn't. Ignore Jack and pretend it was just him and Sam, ten years ago or something, then maybe. Back then, it had been just the two of them against the world. But now…

Now they had a family. Yeah, Sam and Dean were still brothers, and that wasn't going to change. Jack was their kid, though. Sam had Eileen. And Dean had— used to have— Cas.

Dean let himself picture it for a moment.

Sam and Eileen in the back seat, making eyes at each other across Jack, who was crammed between them. Dean driving, blasting Led Zepp III, and when he looked over, Cas sitting shotgun, wearing his ridiculous trench coat and smiling back at Dean.

Yeah. That would be perfect.

(Dean loved Baby, but maybe if they were gonna start having family road trips, he'd need a bigger car, much as he hated to admit it.)

(He realized that without Cas, there wouldn't be any family road trips, because what was family without Cas?)

All the more reason to get Cas back.

Which he wasn't. He was driving his car like he didn't have a care in the world. As though the guy he loved wasn't dead. He should be doing something, not just sitting around. Dean had to help, he had to fix things, this was all his fault to begin with—

His thoughts were too loud, he needed something to drown them out, anything—

Dean cranked up the volume of the radio.

I stay up too late

Got nothing in my brain

That's what people say

That's what people say

There was a pang in Dean's chest that he pushed down.

They'd been between cases, and Dean had been washing the Impala. Working a case in Wisconsin of all places in the middle of winter was no way to treat Baby, but where the monsters went, they went. The least he could do was clean her up before their next job.

In the safety of the garage, Dean had thrown his iPod playlist on shuffle. While he was washing the windows, this song had come on. If anyone asked, Dean did not like Taylor Swift. Absolutely not. But he sang along anyway, and got about halfway through the song before he saw Cas standing in the doorway watching him, a small, bemused smiled on his face.

Dean had gone bright red, because Cas just walked in on him singing and maybe-definitely-not-dancing to Taylor Swift.

"That was, uh, it was—" He stumbled over his words.

"Does this artist have more music?" Cas asked. "It's very… different from what you usually listen to. But I think I like it."

Dean stared at him while Cas waited for an answer. "Uh—"

Cas tilted his head to the side ever so slightly and squinted at him.

"If you tell Sam, I'll kill you," Dean threatened. Still flustered, he set down his sponge and dried his hands off on the towel he had draped over a nearby workbench. "C'mon in."

Cas had stepped further inside the garage while Dean pulled up his playlist of Taylor Swift music.

For the next hour, they had sat next to each other, listening and commenting on the songs. At one point, Dean got up to keep washing the Impala, and somehow ended up humming along. He was rewarded with a smile from Cas.

I go on too many dates

But I can't make them stay

At least that's what people say

That's what people say

Another memory popped into Dean's head. Countless hours spent agonizing over a list of songs, then a few more, making that mixtape. Giving it to Cas. The idiot had tried to give it back. Dean's idiot.

"It's a gift. You keep those."

"Oh."

If— no, when— they got Cas back, Dean was going to make him another one. Maybe he'd put this song in it. Cas would like that.

But I keep cruising

Can't stop, won't stop moving

It's like I got this music

In my mind, saying it's gonna be alright

Dean hummed along under his breath and kept driving.