Chapter Ten:

Jack felt a lot better after eating, and he hurried back up the stairs to his room. His father followed behind, quite a bit slower, and Jack was already settled back onto his bed by the time he caught up. Jack was skimming the pages of the book, anxious to find out what happened to Castiel.

"Hey now," his father said. "No skipping ahead."

Jack grinned, "Okay, well, come on, Dad." He pushed the book into his father's hands, and his dad raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, please?"

His father grinned back and settled into his seat. "Alright, here we go."

It only took a moment for Dean to get his head together. He looked around for anything available to anchor him. There was a tree close to what he assumed was the edge of the pit, and it looked sturdy enough, but there was no living vegetation on it. He hadn't noticed any rope in Cas's bag, either.

A metallic glint caught Dean's eye as he turned to what remained of the Leviathan bodies. A belt buckle. In an instant, Dean was stripping off his own belt and then that of the dead Leviathan. A quick inspection of the other corpses and he was able to scavenge three more belts and knot them together in a makeshift rope. He tied one end to the tree and one end to his own ankle. It would not be the easiest to maneuver, nor the safest, but he was banking on this arrangement giving him the longest reach. Even so, there would be little slack to spare.

How much time had passed? A minute? Two? How long could Cas hold his breath?

He found himself praying that every knot would hold. There was no time to doublecheck them; every second Castiel sank farther out of reach.

And with the barest of chances that they would both come out of this alive, Dean dove into the sand.

Sand. In his ears and nose, but his mouth and eyes were closed as tightly as possible to prevent it from getting in there too. This would be a blind's man journey, a matter primarily of luck, which had never been his friend. His open hands reached as far as they could go for anything solid.

Something hard in his reach, too hard. It cracked in his grip. Brittle. A bone, he knew it was the bone of someone long dead and buried. Dean dropped it and continued his blind search, attempting to swim through the immaterial sand.

The rope was pulling painfully on his ankle. His lungs were starting to strain. He was just about to lose hope but then, miraculously warm fingers gripped onto his wrist. He would have laughed with joy if he could have. Instead, he reached his other arm forward and wrapped it around what he assumed was Cas's waist. He contorted himself to grab hold of the rope while still gripping Cas tight. With a great heave, Dean managed to pull them upward.

Slowly but surely, inch by inch, Dean dragged them closer to the surface. It was getting even harder to breathe and he could barely imagine how Cas was getting along.

And just as he felt like he could go on no longer, just as the temptation to open his mouth for air that wasn't there became nearly overwhelming, he felt the crown of his head surface. Then his face was exposed. He gasped hungrily, but Cas was still below and there was no time to waste. He pulled and pulled and pulled, refusing to lose grip on the former angel in his arms or on the belts that were his lifeline.

Finally, Cas's face emerged, but there was no sudden desperate gasps, no intake of air.

He's fine, he's fine, he's fine thought Dean. The hunter pulled them to the edge of the sand pit. He wrestled them both out and back onto the solid ground of Purgatory. Dean quickly freed himself from his makeshift rope and went to attend Cas. The former angel was covered in sand from head to toe, some densely packed in his dark hair. Dean felt for a pulse on his neck and was relieved to find a faint beat.

But he didn't seem to be breathing.

Dean settled over Cas and began his attempts to revive him. He pressed his hands on his chest and pumped steadily. "Breathe, Cas, come on," he said. "Breathe, dammit!"

It was less than a minute, but it felt like it had been an eternity when Castiel finally gasped and coughed aloud. It was a raspy, choking sound, dry as death, but Dean could not have been more thrilled to hear it.

Cas coughed some more, particles of sand expelling from his mouth.

Dean did his best to shake sand off of his own shirt sleeve. He pressed the somewhat cleaner fabric against Cas's lips, the corners of his eyes, and under his nose. He managed to wipe away some of the grit from those most problematic areas.

Castiel was still coughing, but he had opened his eyes. The expression he had was so tender as he allowed Dean to clean his face.

"Bag. Water," Cas croaked.

Dean shook himself. He had been overwhelmed, watching Cas come back from the brink, but the former angel needed him to keep his head. Dean found the bag and pulled out the waterskin. He handed it to Cas, who unscrewed the cap and splashed it over his face. While Cas worked on that, Dean gathered up the chain of belts and placed them in Cas's bag, just in case they'd come in handy again.

Cas took a swig from the waterskin. He choked slightly before managing to swallow some of it down. After that, he said, "Well, that was unpleasant."

He handed the waterskin to Dean, who also used it to clear some sand off of his own face.

When he looked back at Cas, Dean simply couldn't help it. A flood of relief encompassed him, and he pulled the former angel into a tight embrace. "Cas, I take back what I said about it not being so bad. It is pure - pure crap. Let's get out of here, alright?"

Cas patted the hunter's back comfortingly. The man who saved his life, the man he loved. "As you wish," he said.

They stood together, and Cas began to lead the rest of the way to the second rift.

They managed to make it to the gleaming portal with only one more altercation – an easily dispatched lone vampire.

When they arrived at the shimmering ripple, they shared a reassuring look. Castiel took Dean's hand, and they stepped through together.

Their world came back to them. The ocean was lapping against the rocky shore, the sea air smelled sharp and refreshing compared to the vaguely decomposing scent of Purgatory. The sun was rising and beginning to reflect beautifully off the water. Just down the shore, Castiel's ship was still anchored and swaying with the tide.

Cas and Dean noticed none of this, because directly in front of them stood Prince Chuck, The Count, and the rest of the Royal Guard.