A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Book 5! The first chapter of Book 6, entitled "Cherished," will be uploaded shortly!

Thirty-five

So, things weren't entirely perfect. Gabriel had sacrificed himself to give Sam and Dean extra time to escape; but Brooke had to believe that willingly giving up his life to save those he cared about was a better fate than if he had remained in the clutches of Asmodeus. At least he'd been himself at the end. Lucid.

Jack was upset because Sam had left Lucifer behind in Apocalypse World, and he'd wanted more time with his biological father. He'd been unusually quiet since coming back. Brooke and Castiel tried to give him some space even though all they wanted to do was hug him and talk to him and… just look at him, and tell themselves that he was really back.

They were all fairly busy now, what with housing twenty to thirty extra people in the bunker, and teaching them about the new world in which they now found themselves. It was more activity than Brooke was used to, and she was discovering that being around so many people for so long made her anxious. Monsters and magic and demons, she could handle? But too many people in the same place? Apparently, not so much. She often found herself along the edges of rooms, silently observing Sam's lessons about this world as the others sat and listened. Maybe it was that she didn't know any of these people, and they had suddenly invaded her home. She hoped the feeling would go away soon.

On the first night back, she stayed with the celebration party for an hour or so, nursing a beer she only drank half of and mostly watching Jack as he sat in the corner looking depressed. Castiel spoke with Sam and Dean, smiled, drank a beer or two, and checked in on her every few minutes. When she'd had enough, she wandered off to take a shower and brush her teeth, then went to the bedroom. She had intended to tell Cass he could stay with the party if he wanted, but when she opened the bedroom door, he was sitting quietly on the bed, reading.

"Oh, Cass," she said, smiling. "You don't have to…"

"I know," he replied, looking up from the book with a smile of his own.

Feeling an overwhelming sense of gratefulness for her husband, she tumbled into bed, half-asleep, already, by the time he had undressed and crawled into bed beside her. She slept hard and did not recall any dreams, exhausted from staying up for more than twenty-four hours. She slept for ten hours straight, which was more sleep in one stretch than she had gotten in a long time.

When she awoke, it was impossible, as always, to tell what time it was, as there were no windows in the bunker. She awoke to darkness and rolled over, stretching, and smiling at Castiel, who provided his own internal light. She was hungry and wanted coffee, but she leaned forward and kissed her husband first. He returned her kiss, his mouth warm and inviting, and she fought the urge to stay here all day, in this moment.

"Later," Castiel murmured against her lips.

Story of our lives, she thought. Everything is always… later.

He smiled, amused, and kissed her neck, sending shivers across her body. She groaned in arousal and annoyance. Castiel…

Sorry, he said, and meant it.

With a mutual sigh, they turned on the lights and got out of bed.

###

Hours later, when the day was over and they were mentally exhausted from helping the rebels get settled and trying to explain the world to them, they fell into bed with buzzing heads. They lay still for a long time, recuperating and thinking the day over.

Jack hasn't said much, Castiel thought, worriedly.

He'll come around, Brooke replied. Give him some time. He's been through a lot.

You're right.

They lapsed into silence again, side-by-side on the bed, decompressing.

Slowly, they turned to one another, coming together until there was no space between their bodies, their limbs twined together as if they had become one person, a strange creature with four arms and legs. They sat up in the bed, Brooke straddling her husband's lap. He kept her close to his body as he made love to her, with a motion more like rocking, rather than thrusting. Their noises were small and muted, muffled by kisses and by burying their faces into the other's shoulder. They touched one another with gentle hands and gazed into each other's eyes. They sped up in the last several seconds, capturing each other in intense looks and tight grips, and muffled the sounds of their orgasms in a wet kiss.

Afterwards, Brooke seemed to melt into the bed, and Castiel lay down at her back, pressing his chest to it, and held her as she slept. She fell asleep smiling.

###

It had been Sam and Dean's idea to take Jack out on a case, to get his mind off things.

"All right, gang's all here," Dean said, as he and Sam, and Jack, Castiel, and Brooke, all met up with one another. They were standing outside a lake house. "How many are inside?"

Castiel closed his eyes, listening, and it heightened Brooke's own hearing, as well. "I can hear three," he said. "Wait—maybe four." His brows drew together in confusion. "They're talking about whether Kylie Jenner would make a good mother." Opening his eyes, he made a face, and then shrugged. "The consensus is no."

"Yeah, well," Dean began, pulling out his gun, "that's why I'm a Khloé man."

Brooke stared at him, and then laughed. "Oh, I am never going to forget that you said that."

"Shaddup," he said. "Now, we're talkin' werewolves, which means…" He gestured towards Jack with the clip from his gun.

"Silver bullets," the boy said.

"That's right," Dean replied. "So, you know the play. Let's do it to it."

Jack did wonderfully, and nothing went wrong. For once. Castiel and Brooke took out the two werewolves outside, and Jack, Sam, and Dean killed the ones inside. And that was it; they went home. It took all of five minutes.

When they got home, Jack went to his room to take a nap and everyone else also went their separate ways. All was good… for about an hour.

Then, Maggie turned up dead.

Brooke should have known better than to have settled into the idea of everything being good.

###

Jack did not take Maggie's death well. As they all stood around her body, studying the crime scene, Jack stumbled over his words. "I-I… I said I'd protect her, and…" He stared down at her body, a bloody wound covering one side of her head, blood trailing outward from she had fallen. Someone had hit her and, from what it looked like, she had stumbled for a long while before finally falling where she had and bleeding out.

Brooke stared at the boy's face. Does he need to be here? she asked, silently. I know he's not really a child, but… hasn't he seen enough death?

Castiel said nothing, but he was just as upset as she was, his mind in turmoil.

"Jack, this isn't your fault," Sam murmured to him.

"What happened to her?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Mary replied. She and Bobby had found Maggie's body earlier, when they'd gone for a walk in the rain. "Doesn't look supernatural."

Bobby gritted his teeth. "Looks like some son of a bitch beat on her until…" He couldn't finish the sentence.

Castiel suddenly boiled over with rage. He looked up, outward, so that he would not have to look at her body anymore. "Who would do something like this?" he growled.

###

"Word is, you're friends with Maggie," Dean said later, to a young woman sitting down at a table in the bunker. Her name was Ryan, and she and Maggie had been seen spending a lot of time together since the rebels had come through the portal.

"Uh, yeah," Ryan said, "since we came over. Me and her, we didn't have anybody else, so we kinda stuck together."

"So, I'm sure you know she went out last night," Sam said.

Ryan looked a little guilty.

"Well," Sam continued, "she didn't come home."

"Um… is Maggie in trouble?" Ryan asked, with something of a smile. Probably wondering why anyone would care what a grown woman was doing in her free time. It wasn't as though the rebels were on lockdown.

No one answered her. Sam and Dean stared at the table, or their shoes. Jack stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. Brooke sighed.

Castiel leaned forward in his seat and said quietly, "She's dead."

Ryan stared at him. "She… No, that's not…" She inhaled, shakily. "We were supposed to be safe here."

"We need to know where Maggie went," Sam told her. "Who she was talking to."

Ryan shook her head. "I don't…" she began, and then her expression changed and she sighed. "There was a boy."

"What boy?" Jack asked, immediately. He'd been silent until now. He'd been silent since they'd found Maggie's body and he'd said that it was his fault. With the question came a stab of anger. Brooke felt it, and winced.

"Nate," Ryan said. "He works at that store out on Route 281. Maggie, she had a crush. That's why she snuck out last night. She was going to meet him."

Jack disappeared. Brooke felt it, just as she had felt his anger a moment before. He had opened his wings so lightly that no wind or sound had disturbed the air in the bunker, but she knew, without looking, that he was no longer standing at the end of the table. He was gone. He had gone to the store on Route 281. He had gone to kill Nate.

All of this information slapped her in the face in a nanosecond, and she pushed her chair back so fast when she stood up that it fell over and clattered to the floor. "We need to go now!" she said, and ran to the stairs that led up and out of the bunker.

###

"Jack!" Castiel called out as he rushed toward the boy. "No!"

Jack was holding a young man up by the throat, pressing him against one of the refrigerator doors in the convenience store. The glass door behind the man's back was shattered, but held together, like a broken windshield. The man was choking.

Castiel reached Jack, and pulled on him, trying to get him to let go of the man who, Brooke assumed, was Nate.

Jack's head snapped to the side and he stared at his father, and then whipped one hand out and shoved Castiel away. But he was a Nephilim, and so even a small shove made Castiel fly backwards. He ran into a display, crashing to the ground.

Oh, fuck no, Brooke thought. Son or not, no one touches Castiel. Without another thought, she reached for Jack, for the part of him that was angelic, for his Grace. She had no idea if she could do such a thing. She could do this with Castiel, but up until now, she had assumed she could only do it at all because part of her husband's Grace resided in her body. Still, she tried, reaching outward with some part of herself that she could not see, and felt for Jack's Grace. She could hear it, of course, and she had felt it before when he had hugged her or held her hand, but she had never attempted to touch it.

Now, she did not simply touch it. She grabbed hold of that resonance, and twisted, pulling at Jack's Grace, rending it, tearing it, but holding it tightly.

Jack yelled in pain, releasing Nate, and leaned against the broken refrigerator door.

It was enough. Brooke released him and he stood up straight, panting. He turned, staring at Brooke in surprise and fear, and said her name in a shocked tone.

"You leave that boy alone," Brooke said, her voice low and dangerous, staring at her adopted son as if he were the enemy. "And you never, ever, hurt my husband again."

"Brooke," Castiel said, standing up, his voice carrying a notes of his own shock, and a warning. Don't hurt the boy.

I won't hurt the boy if the boy doesn't hurt you, Brooke said.

He's our son!

"He killed Maggie!" Jack yelled, bringing them both back to the outside world.

"Maggie?" Nate repeated. "Maggie's dead?" He looked horrified.

Jack stared at him.

"Jack, listen to me," Sam began. "He didn't kill Maggie. Look at him."

Jack turned to stare at Nate again, watching as he caught his breath, leaning against the refrigerator door, staring at the floor as he tried to understand the fact that Maggie was dead. He was a lost man.

"I'm sorry," Jack whispered, and walked out of the store.

"Jack!" Castiel yelled, and ran to follow him, but Dean stuck out his arm and held him back.

"No, hey, just let him go."

Castiel turned on Brooke. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing I haven't done to you before," she snapped. "I yanked on his Grace, just enough to hurt. To get his attention. It didn't do any permanent damage."

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Nate spoke up, staring at them all like they were crazy.

Just then, the ground began to violently tremble, like an earthquake. The lights flickered, and all the products on all the shelves began to fall to the floor in the quake.

"You need to go!" Dean yelled at Nate, pointing at the door. "Now!"

Nate sprinted out the door.

A high-pitched, awful ringing filled the air. They all groaned, covering their ears, squinting and looking around, wondering what the fuck was wrong now. The shaking and ringing went on and on, and then, suddenly, Brooke felt the presence of an angel in the store. An Archangel.

Michael was here. Apocalypse World Michael. He stepped around a shelf and smiled at them all.

"Run!" Dean yelled.

They all sprinted out of the store, Brooke wondering desperately where the hell they were going that could possibly be far enough away from an Archangel who still had wings. They were two feet from the front of the store when the windows exploded. Brooke, Cass, and Sam were blasted off their feet and slammed into the side of Impala.

"It's not possible," Castiel muttered.

"Yeah, tell him that," Sam said, as he stood back up.

Michael stepped through the door with a smile. "Hey, fellas," he said, and then his eyes landed on Brooke. "And… what did Lucifer call you? Angel Whore?"

Castiel slid his angel blade into his hand and was a nanosecond away from lunging at Michael. Brooke grabbed hold of his arm and Sam held the other.

"Cass, don't!" Sam begged.

"No, Cass," Michael said, calmly. "Do. Please." He was still smiling.

Brooke wanted to smack the smile off his face.

Suddenly, the world exploded in fire. Brooke jumped back, blinking, her eyes dazzled, but when her vision cleared, she saw that Michael now stood trapped by a line of holy fire.

How the hell… she thought, and then Dean broke her thought.

"Run!" he yelled. "Go, go, go, go!"

Everyone got into the Impala and he peeled away as quickly as possible.

###

They were halfway back to the bunker when Bobby called them. Jack had brought Lucifer to the bunker.

"Great!" Brooke yelled. "Michael and Lucifer. Wonderful. Why the fuck is Lucifer alive? Michael was supposed to kill him!" No one had the answer, of course.

Dean sped the Impala up even faster, and they all tripped over themselves getting out once they arrived back at the bunker. Sam was the fastest one, and slammed open the door, calling Jack's name.

But it was too late. He and Lucifer had left.

###

It was crazy in the bunker. Dean called Jody, to put an APB out on Lucifer; Castiel checked angel radio to see if Heaven had any news about him or Michael; Sam went to talk to Maggie to see if she remembered anything about the person—or creature—who had killed her. And, all the while, they wondered how in the hell they were going to stop Lucifer and Michael even if they found both of them. And the fact that Jack was… was with Lucifer…

Brooke was so emotionally exhausted that she was holding herself together by a single thread. Everything had been going well for once, and she'd had two or three days of joy, and then it had all been ripped away. Again. She leaned against the bathroom counter, staring at herself in the mirror, noticing wrinkles in her face, around her eyes… She was getting older. She was getting too old for this shit.

The lights in the bunker began to flicker ominously. Oh, good, she thought. More bullshit.

By the time she made it back to the main room, there was a horrible pounding on the door that shook the entire bunker. She passed Bobby and Mary on their way out through a different door. She made it to her husband's side, staring up at the door as the warding slowly eroded. "Who is it?"

"Lucifer or Michael, if I had to guess," he said, and reached down to squeeze her hand. She felt his urge to pull her behind him, to shield her from any and all evil. But he did not, partly because he knew well, by now, that she could take care of herself, and partly because it would make no difference.

When the door burst open, falling forward off of its hinges, Brooke could sense who it was before he stepped through the doorway: Michael.

She and Castiel grabbed their angel blades, and Sam and Dean began to shoot at Michael with bullets as he casually floated down off of the balcony and down to the floor below. As if simple bullets would do anything against an Archangel.

Castiel lunged at Michael with his blade, but the move had been far too telegraphed. Michael backhanded him easily, and Castiel went flying over the table, crashing to the ground on the other side. Immediately, Brooke ran to him, intending to shield his body from further harm as he lay, knocked out, on the floor.

"You really thought you could run from me?" Michael asked the room.

Brooke did not look at him. She cradled her husband's face in her lap and prayed—to whom and for what she did not know. Her prayer was wordless, a simple outpouring of pent up emotion that had no obvious intent.

Sam went down first and did not get back up easily, though he was still awake. Dean was attacked by Michael second, his throat slowly crushed.

Brooke simply kept praying, and gently stroking Castiel's face.

Jack appeared, suddenly, and Brooke finally looked up, smiling at the boy. Regretful of what she had done to him in that convenience store. At the time it had seemed necessary. Now, she was not so sure. She smiled up at him, all the same, as he sent Michael flying. "Jack," she whispered, and heard Sam echo her as he finally stood up.

"I heard your prayer," Jack replied. "Both of yours."

Brooke kept smiling, realizing that she must have been praying to Jack the entire time.

And then Lucifer appeared.

Brooke's smile faltered, but she kept her eyes on her son. Not wanting to distract him, but unsure whether she would ever get a chance to say it, she prayed: I'm sorry for what I did to you earlier. I love you, Jack. You're still my boy.

For just one moment, she heard his voice in her head: I know.

And then he was entirely focused on Michael. "You hurt my friends," he said, and his eyes glowed, power exuding from his body, his inner light brighter than usual—wrathful fire.

Michael screamed in pain, his eyes bleeding.

"You hurt my family!" Jack yelled.

Michael's body contorted, bones cracking, still screaming, blood oozing from his eyes, and now his ears.

Brooke could see his true form, and watched as it twisted and tore in pieces, crushed and snapped and slowly destroyed. Jack's power was awesome, in the Biblical sense of the word, and it was terrifying.

"Lucifer!" Michael screamed, as Jack released him, just a little. "We had a deal!"

"Okay," Lucifer said, "game over." He continued speaking, but Brooke stopped listening for a moment.

Castiel was moving, sitting up slowly. Brooke helped him, giving him a little space, pressing her hand to his back.

What happened? Castiel asked.

Brooke sent a flow of information to him, but her attention had returned to her son.

"What does mean you had a deal?" Jack asked Lucifer, turning to him.

Lucifer stared, blinked, tried to backpedal. "I-I-I don't know. I didn't—I didn't hear."

"They had a deal," Dean supplied, helpfully, standing up. He looked at Jack. "Lucifer gets you, and Michael gets everything else. He's gonna nuke our world, Jack, just like he did his."

"Is that true?" Jack asked Lucifer, calmly.

"No! It's not." Lucifer was a terrible liar, and even Jack seemed to know it.

"Is that why you wanted us to leave?"

"Leave?" Sam repeated.

Lucifer was shaking his head.

"He said…" Jack began. "He said we'd go to the stars."

Castiel slowly stood up, pulling Brooke to her feet, as well. "What, you're just gonna… leave the rest of here to burn?" he growled.

Lucifer was looking desperate now. "Okay, hold on a second. Let's slow down, 'cause I… I'm not currently the bad guy, here."

"Yeah, tell that Maggie," Sam said.

Brooke stared at Sam.

"What about Maggie?" Jack asked, his voice cracking with emotion. He was staring at Lucifer with a look of betrayal.

"Maggie saw the eyes of the person who killed her," Sam explained. "The glowing, red eyes."

Lucifer laughed, looking a little hysterical. "You're gonna—you're gonna believe this guy? Come on, man, Sam's a hater!—

"Tell me," Jack commanded.

But Lucifer was still babbling, fearfully.

Jack walked toward the Devil, angrily, raising his hand, his eyes glowing. "Tell me the truth."

Lucifer seemed to go limp, standing there with his head lolled to one side, his eyes now glowing the golden color of Jack's. Flatly, his voice devoid of emotion, he said, "She saw me when I was scouting out the bunker. She saw me and she screamed, so I crushed her skull with my bare hands, and it was warm and wet, and I liked it." He bit his lip and smiled.

Brooke thought she might throw up. She swallowed, squeezing Castiel's hand without realizing that she had ever started to hold it.

Jack released Lucifer, staring at the Devil with tears in his eyes. He shook his head. "You're not my father," he said. "You're a monster."

Lucifer smiled, scoffed, put his hands on hips. And then he got angry. "Come on, man!" he yelled.

Jack did not budge.

Lucifer stared at him for a moment longer, and then he roared in Jack's face.

Sam and Dean pressed their hands to their ears, turning away, as the Bunker shook and high-pitched whine filled the air, underneath the roaring.

Brooke squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away, as well, squeezing Castiel's hand as Lucifer's rage slammed through her body like a train. Castiel extricated his hand from hers and pulled her body to him, hiding her head against his chest, his arms covering it, as if to protect her hearing.

The roaring stopped after a few seconds. Brooke stayed where she was, pressed to her husband's chest, and inside, she could hear his heartbeat, racing in anxiety. She felt dizzy with the rush of Lucifer's anger, and kept her eyes closed, holding Castiel.

"Okay," Lucifer said, his voice muffled. "I tried with you. I really tried with you."

"Everything you told me was a lie," Jack replied—

"Because I told you what you wanted to hear, man! So what? I killed the girl! Big deal! She's a—she's a human! She doesn't matter!"

"So am I!" Jack yelled.

"Yeah? And that's your problem. You're too much like your mother."

Oh, shit, Brooke thought.

Castiel let go of Brooke, making sure that she had her feet first, and then approached the boy. "Jack," he said, in a low, warning tone.

"Stay back," the boy whispered. "I'll handle him."

"Will you?" Lucifer asked, mockingly. "Oh, buddy. We could've been something, you and me. We could've remade the universe. It would've been great. We could've been better gods than Dad. And I really wanted that, pal. I wanted that. But now, if I can't have it with you… I don't need you." He shrugged. "I just need your power."

The blade came so fast that Brooke did not even see it, slicing into Jack's neck with whip-like speed.

"NO!" Brooke screamed, and felt and heard Castiel yelling the same word beside her. Everything inside her was telling her to stop this, but she stared in horror as Lucifer absorbed Jack's Grace, sucking it into his mouth like a drug. Jack was limp on his feet, his head thrown back, eyes closed.

Sam lunged forward.

"Sammy, no!" Dean yelled—

—The world lit up like the sun had exploded, and Brooke found herself on the floor. She picked herself back up, unsure of what had just happened, and looked around the room. Jack, Lucifer, and Sam were gone.

"What happened?" Brooke said, and then yelled, loudly, "What the fuck just happened?"

"I don't know," Castiel said, tiredly.

"The Devil won," said a voice in the back of the room.

Brooke, Castiel, and Dean all turned to stare at Michael, as if they had forgotten he was there.

He was leaning against a column, his eyes still bleeding, breathing heavily. "That's what happened," he said.

"How do we stop him?" Castiel growled, approaching Michael like he was about to murder him.

"You don't," Michael replied, unaffected by the threat of Castiel. "After consuming the Nephilim's Grace, Lucifer's juiced up. He's… super-charged. He'll kill the boy, your brother. Hell, he could end the whole universe if he put his mind to it." Michael smiled. "And you thought I was bad."

Dean shook his head. "No. No, you beat him. I saw you."

"When he was weaker, and I was stronger. Believe me, I'd love to rip my brother apart. But now, in this banged up meatsuit…" He coughed, and it was wet, like there was blood in his throat. "Not happening. This is the end. Of everything."

Brooke sagged against her husband, her mind spinning. It felt like she couldn't keep up. She was still wondering where the hell Sam and Lucifer and Jack had all gone, and hadn't quite reached the part about the end of the world.

"No," said Dean, and his voice sounded far away. Brooke's ears were ringing. "What if… what if you had your sword?"

Brooke stared at the back of Dean's head, confusion slowing her brain. Angels had swords? Well, there had been that one angel, who'd had… a sword. But—

"Dean, no," Castiel said.

And finally, Brooke understood. "Hell no."

Dean didn't seem to hear them. He was still talking to Michael. "I am your sword," he said. "Your perfect vessel. With me, you'd be stronger than you've ever been."

"Oh, I know what you are," Michael said, smiling.

"If we work together, can we beat Lucifer?"

"Dean," Castiel said, and it came out as a plea. He wanted to spin Dean around, yell at him that he was being entirely foolish. He wanted to scream in his face. He wanted to hide him from the world. He wanted to—God help him, he wanted to tell Dean that he loved him.

"Can we?" Dean yelled, ignoring his best friend.

Brooke stood there, swaying slightly, tears building up in her eyes, obscuring her vision. "Dean, don't do this," she said, but her voice was so weak that only Castiel could have possibly heard her. This was a terrible, horrible idea.

"We'd have a chance," Michael said.

"Dean, you can't," Castiel snapped, finally finding his legs and approaching the Winchester.

And finally, Dean turned to him. "Lucifer has Sam," he said. "He has Jack! Cass, I don't have a choice!"

Castiel stared into Dean's eyes and could not think of anything to say.

"You always have a choice!" Brooke said, coming forward.

Dean ignored her, turning back to Michael. "If we do this, it's a onetime deal. I'm in charge. You're the engine, but I'm behind the wheel. Understand?"

###

Brooke and Castiel stood alone in the bunker. Dean had said yes, and then he and Michael—in one body—had disappeared in a rustle of wings.

Castiel swayed on his feet, then he sat down, heavily, in a chair, and stared straight ahead at nothing. His mind had gone fairly blank, and there was a roaring in the back of it that was slowly growing louder, like a tide coming in. A riptide, about to swallow him whole.

Brooke said nothing and did not move, did not touch him, did not try to comfort him. He was not there yet. He had not yet accepted what had just happened. She desperately clung to the hope that Michael would agree to his deal—assuming they actually beat Lucifer. Assuming that they hadn't just gone to their deaths. Assuming that Sam and Jack were still alive.

Assuming…

…

It wasn't until Sam and Jack came back, alone, that Castiel allowed himself to feel anything. Michael had reneged on his deal with Dean, because of course he had. The second Lucifer had been killed, he'd taken control of Dean's body and disappeared.

Now, it was up to them all to save Dean's ass. Again.

Castiel had not moved from the chair he'd been sitting in for hours. He had barely moved when Sam and Jack had come home. He'd merely turned, slightly, searching for Dean. But his eyes had been dead, as if he'd expected, all along, not to find him returned. As if he'd been expecting the worst.

Sam had explained what had happened. Lucifer was dead. Dead. That was something. That was big. But Castiel had simply sat there.

And then Sam had told them that Michael had disappeared, in Dean's body.

Castiel had continued to sit there for a moment, staring at the wall.

Now, Brooke moved toward her husband, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder, but her fingers stopped inches from him, hovering. "Cass, we'll get him back," she whispered. "We always do."

Without warning, Castiel stood up, so quickly that his chair crashed to the floor behind him. "GODDAMN IT!" he screamed, and slammed his hands down onto the table. "DAMN IT, DEAN!" He panted, his shoulders hunched, staring at the tabletop, his eyes aflame in fury, like lightning.

Brooke could see the rage in him, and felt it in her veins, the cords of his Grace screeching as it boiled to the surface of her body, until her eyes glowed and her tattoos glowed, and she stood trembling, panting. It made her want to kill something, to destroy something. She stood, rooted to the spot, staring at her husband's back.

For one moment, she thought he would scream again, and then the rage went out of him, and he slid to the floor, sobbing. Brooke collapsed, and then picked herself up on her hands and knees and crawled into his lap.

We'll get him back, she said, again. We always do.

The pain in his heart hurt her like a physical thing.

He looked at her for the first time, taking her face in his hands, trembling, sniffling. "I love you," he said.

"I know."

"I love you."

"I know. We'll get him back."

Jack was there, suddenly, on his knees, beside them. He reached for Castiel, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder, searching for some way to comfort him.

Castiel looked up, his eyes spilling over with tears. "Jack," he croaked.

Jack opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then said, "It—It's okay, Dad."

Dad.

END.

A/N: To anyone's who's stuck around this long, thank you all so much! I love you all! - Fira