Song Remains the Same

by R. W. Winters

For Alex Winchester, normal has never been in the equation. Mute since the nursery fire, she grew up on the road chasing ghosts with her brothers and father. When her voice is inexplicably restored and the angel Castiel appears claiming to be her guardian, both of their lives change forever in ways that Heaven and Earth never expected. Castiel/OFC. Sisfic - S4-9 - Alternate Ending.

45. Ashes to Ashes

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 45 / Ashes to Ashes

"I am free... and that is why I am lost."
- Franz Kafka

---

Dean Winchester was the only man left alive in the world. That's how he felt as he cradled his sister's broken and lifeless body in his arms. He'd dragged himself over to her, fighting the pain of his broken leg the whole way. He held her and wept.

He was the only one left.

Bobby laid silently nearby dead and broken, Cas's body was on the other side of the Impala. The silence was gut wrenching. Just wind whistling over the grass, just the call of crows now and then. Just the sounds of Dean's own wretched hiccuping sobs as he thought of all he had lost in the span of not even five minutes.

His whole world was gone. Destroyed. Alex was growing cold and stiff in his arms, her skin was blotched and pale, distorted by the gruesome veins that Lucifer had left when he possessed her. Just a few feet away, the horsemen's rings laid on the ground where his brother had thrown them, his final act here on earth. Sam was gone. He wasn't coming back. Dean hadn't been able to save him. And he hadn't been able to save her, either.

Whispering over and over again how sorry he was, Dean rocked his little sister as the exhausting, overwhelming grief suffocated him. He hadn't come this far to lose them in the same damn day. Yet here he was. He thought of how the twins had been born a minute and forty-seven seconds apart. Maybe they were supposed to die close together, too. His heart broke in half at the thought.

He would have traded himself for them without hesitation... but he couldn't.

This wasn't supposed to happen. The thought of gathering their bodies—Alex, Bobby, Cas—the thought of salting and burning them on the very ground that Sam had fallen into Hell through was too much. Dean imagined going on without the only people in the world he really loved, knew, trusted… and despaired at the thought of being the only one left standing after all these years of hunting.

He thought of his gun tucked into the glove compartment of his car.

Just let it be over. Just let me be done. I can't take this suffering anymore.

---

Castiel remembered when Alex had been forced to kill him.

The look in her eyes when it happened was all he could see in his mind's eye. He remembered the physical pain when the blade stabbed into the cavity of his chest, he remembered hearing himself scream in pain as he reacted helplessly, as he died. He'd been afraid, but not because he was afraid of death—he was afraid to leave her. He remembered holding her hand for as long as he could, trying to comfort her as it had happened, knowing how horrible it was but not being able to do anything about it. He remembered how she screamed and cried and fought valiantly, trying to save him. He'd known he was dead from the second Lucifer had looked at him with those cruel eyes. But all he'd been able to think about was her. How he hadn't wanted to die before she did. He'd wanted to be there with her when she took her last breath, because she shouldn't have to be alone in that moment. And Satan had taken that from them.

Now he was over, now he was done, dead. Except… he wasn't. There was no sense of time passing, but he was suddenly, without fanfare, cognizant of the fact that he was alive and whole again. His eyes snapped open and he gasped in a deep breath of cold, sharp air. Over him there was an overcast, unremarkable sky and Cas blinked rapidly, stunned and breathing fast, hard. How? He felt it immediately… the power and clarity of Grace running through his veins once again, singing in his blood and vibrating fiercely through every atom. Life returned like a tidal wave to the body he was fused with and had died in; he was fully restored, as powerful as he had been before he had been demoted three years ago, and he was awed—and then a little afraid. Why?

Who had done this? Why had he been resurrected? And as a higher-order angel again? A sinking feeling came over him internally as he remembered what he had done.

"I promise, I swear to you, I will do anything if you heal her, give her another chance. Father, please."

That had been his plea to God yesterday as he held a sick and dying Alex in his arms. A desperate promise made by a desperate man. The sinking feeling continued. Castiel had sworn to do anything and now God—it must have been God—had restored him and resurrected him, giving him the ability to save her. God had heard him, his Father had granted him an answer… just not the way in which Castiel had expected. What payment would God would require of him now? A question that disturbed Cas to the deepest parts of his mind.

Shouldn't the knowledge that God was not gone comfort him? It did not.

The graveyard was oddly silent and Castiel rolled himself over slowly, feeling every beat of the heart in his chest reverberating through himself in a way that seemed as if it should be painful. He heard no one and nothing. A strange, dazed, off-balance sensation filled him.

Where was she?

Castiel pushed himself up and stood to his full height. He saw Bobby, laying still and silent a few feet off from him. And then he heard the soft little sounds of someone crying. He turned around.

He saw Dean sitting brokenly with one leg out in front of him... Alex's body in his arms. And Castiel approached slowly. She looked like she might have been sleeping there as her brother held her, cradling her as one might cradle a child. Dean was shaking, shoulders heaving as he wept, head bowed over his sister.

Deep, strange sadness welled over Castiel when he saw them like that, when he realized she was dead, when he felt that Lucifer and Michael had both been locked away, that Sam was gone, that only Dean had survived. Cas paused, didn't go closer for a moment, puzzled with himself, disturbed. He knew his power and strength, knew that he was able once again to raise the dead, heal the sick. But the knowledge troubled him instead of assuring him, he felt a strangely overwhelming sense of dread and displacement. Something was wrong—with him, maybe. He heard the whispers of angels in the back of his mind again, the call of Heaven. Castiel moved forward again, each step he took seeming heavier than the last.

"You don't need to mourn, Dean," Castiel said quietly, announcing his presence. Dean's head whipped around, he looked up at Cas in shock. His face was bruised and swollen. Tears streaked his bloody face.

"Cas, you're alive?" he asked in a choked voice full of disbelief.

Castiel felt himself smiling sadly as he came to a stop just beside Dean. "I'm better than that." He reached down and touched Dean's forehead with two fingers, healing him instantly. Dean blinked in shock as his every pain was banished and his wounds were erased. And then he looked down at the broken body in his arms once more.

"A-Alex is dead, Cas," Dean said. He sounded hollow, looked back up at Cas in something like wretched hope.

Castiel looked at her still face, feeling his expression tighten. "Not for long," he told Dean heavily, and reached his hand down to touch the side of her face, knowing that by carrying her back into life from death he was binding himself to his promise to God. That by doing this, he was agreeing to do anything that God would ask. Anything. He had no idea what it would be or what it would demand of him. But it didn't matter the cost—as Castiel always would, he chose to save her, accepting whatever fate would befall him by doing so.

Would he be able to remain with her? He didn't know. And that's why when he touched the cold skin of her face and called her spirit and soul back from the dead... he was afraid. Filled with quiet foreboding. And somehow certain that what had just begun was now over whether he wanted it to be or not.

---

It was dark wherever she was. Still, silent. Obscenely silent.

And then she remembered what had happened.

Being forced to stab the one she loved through the heart brutally. The immeasurable heartbreak. She'd almost allowed herself to collapse down and die right then and there with him, such was her grief and pain.

But she could hear Dean crying out in pain and begging Sam to fight the devil. She could hear Lucifer using Sam's voice as his own. And fierce, lifelong love for her brothers gave her a final burst of purpose and strength, inspiring a possessive kind of anger all aimed at Lucifer, the one who was trying to destroy everything that was hers. No. You are not allowed to take them too. She'd barely been able to summon the ability but had anyway, and with a terrible sob and all of the strength she possessed, she'd wrenched the angel blade out of Castiel's chest. Teeth bared in pain that was emotional and physical alike, she'd managed to stand up one last time by grabbing onto the side of her brother's car. She looked down at Cas for what she believed to be the last time—and his face was still and peaceful, his eyes were closed. Blood blossomed out over the left lapel and front of his trench coat. His legs were awkwardly bent underneath him from the way he'd fallen. He looked broken... and she had done that to him.

She loved him so much and it hurt, it hurt. Just a couple days ago he'd held her hands in his; she had looked into his eyes and seen forever, been desperate to believe they could have a future even though the world was falling to pieces around them. Now that future was shattered. And all of it—all of it—felt like it was her fault.

She'd gone to Lucifer and said yes thinking she was going to save the world. She had cursed it instead. Now she was going to tell him no if it was the last thing she ever did.

Now it was all over. She would live here in the darkness, mind drifting apart. Alone. She was dead. Life had ended.

So then, why did she feel a strange sense of being called back? Why was something drawing her out of this blank place she was in? The darkness dissipated as a blazing blue light abruptly took hold of her and pulled her up and out of the darkness, back to life, into another realm of consciousness completely. Alex felt aware of herself physically again and the world around her. Her eyes snapped open and she gasped in with what was close to panic, her lungs empty of air and desperate for breath. Disoriented and confused—the last thing she'd seen was Sam's face over her, filled with hatred aimed at her—she fought to get her bearings.

Alex felt how she was being held and as her eyes regained the ability to focus, she saw Dean looking down at her in complete shock and dawning agonized relief—and then she saw that Cas stood over him and had leaned down, was drawing his hand away from her. Her mouth fell open slackly, her eyebrows slammed together and her newly restarted heart picked up the pace immediately. Castiel? How… how was he alive? How was she alive? And why was he looking at her like that? With a sad little smile, like he was relieved but also full of apprehension, almost like he were mourning something. Was this even real?

Breathless and definitely panicked, Alex looked at Cas, then Dean, then Cas again, reeling, unable to speak at all, realizing that she felt normal again, not weak and drained and at death's door. But she had been dead! How… she suddenly caught her breath. Was Castiel an angel again? She felt her brother's arms tighten around her, felt him stroking the hair on the side of her head, and he was smiling now, almost laughing, but through tears. "Oh my god—oh my god, Al, you're okay," he breathed, voice choked on relief and deep emotion as he looked at her like he just couldn't believe it. Still spinning mentally, Alex numly watched Dean turn his head and look up at Cas in total stunned wonder. The angel looked down at them with a pained expression on his face.

"Cas... are you God?" Dean asked with a reverent sort of awe.

Cas's sad smile stretched a little wider. "That's a nice compliment. But no." He paused, growing troubled. "Although, I do believe he brought me back. New... and improved." He said those last few words with a certain amount of ruefulness salting the words. Cas looked down at Alex with more of that strange expression, and his sad smile faded, something about the look in his eyes gave it away… that something had changed, something was wrong. And she didn't understand any of this, she was filled with a horrible feeling of dread for reasons she didn't even understand. He held out a hand down to her, indicating she take it.

She did slowly in an off-kilter trance, still not even sure if she were really alive, still not sure what was happening. His warm, familiar hand grasped hers and that's when she knew it was real. But how? How? As she reached her full height, she stared at Cas in total confusion, barely able to believe he was standing in front of her again. She looked at the place where she'd stabbed him. There was no blood, no wound, no sign it had happened at all. But she hadn't imagined all of what had happened, she couldn't have. "You're… I saw you die," she stumbled out, filled with turmoil, a strange feeling she'd lost her mind but also sheer desperation to believe he really was okay. "I killed you," she said, a question and a statement all at once and she searched his eyes rapidly. His expression was guarded, he almost seemed to be avoiding her gaze.

"I'm... all right now," he told her, and there was a strange quality to his voice. Hesitance. Reluctance. "I was restored." She realized he had still been holding her hand because at that point, he let go slowly. Alex looked down at her hand—pulled it up a little, turned it over slowly, blinking rapidly in stunned wonder as she realized she was as good as new. Her hand was healthy light olive skin again, no longer grayish and profaned by dark blue veins. He'd healed her completely and she looked back at him, feeling a smile dawning across her face because he was alive, and she was too and everything was okay, wasn't it? And she was about to hug him and laugh and cry from happiness, but then her smile fell when she took in the way he looked back at her. Something wasn't right and she felt sure of the fact all over again. Dean stood up close to her, a hand light on her back, like he was afraid she would fall over. But she felt fine, strong. Why would she fall over? A strange unsettled feeling kept gnawing at her and Cas's eyes fell away, his jaw tightened. Her heart was beginning to beat at an uneasily fast pace again. What was wrong?

She stared as Cas turned to look at Bobby's dead body over on the other side of the Impala. Cas went to him and Alex suddenly realized. Wait… she looked around, beginning to search the area, trying to piece together what had happened. And then she realized who was missing and her stomach dropped out from under her. No.

"W-where's Sam?" she asked softly, afraid of the answer, suddenly feeling short of breath. Dean was looking at a small glinting object on the grass a few feet away from them. His expression was all the answer she needed. Alex followed his gaze and her heart skipped a beat, choking her. The horsemen's rings laid on the grass alone.

"He did it, Al," Dean said hollowly, staring at the rings. "He wrestled Lucifer back and he… he dragged Michael in with him too."

Her heart wrenched in her chest, her eyes stung with the automatic onset of tears. Her entire nervous system seemed to betray her, suddenly turning to mush. But that meant… that meant something she couldn't even fathom. "H-he's… gone?" she asked dumbly. Not Sam, not Sammy.

Dean's jaw clenched and unclenched. His voice faltered. "He's gone," he confirmed softly. Alex looked at her oldest brother, shaking her head in denial, but saw nothing but grieved affirmation in Dean's face, and with sickened clarity, she knew it was true.

No. She backed away from the rings as she stared at them in horror, not even knowing where she was going, just shocked and stumbling, then hitting up against the side of the Impala, almost collapsing as the word no ran through her mind a thousand times over. And maybe Dean was able to hold it together marginally because he was the oldest and because he was the big brother, but in that moment, she couldn't. Alex put her crumpling face into her hands, quaking with grief that made her feel insane. Her world seemed to fall apart just as quickly as it had come back together. Dean went to her, attempting to hug her—and rage suddenly spiraled. "No!" Alex screamed, and shoved him away like a wild animal. "He's not gone, don't you fucking lie to me!" She breathed so hard and fast she felt faint, and Dean's sick, heartbroken expression only confirmed the worst. The rage collapsed underneath the weight of utter devastation and Alex lost it completely, sobbing and almost falling to her knees—but Dean darted forward and enveloped her in his strong arms—arms that had held her throughout the years and always made things better, but not this time because nothing could and she hung onto him wretchedly, in shock, in denial. Dean held her tightly, crushing her almost. He was crying too.

They heard Bobby gasp somewhere nearby. "Holy Moses!" they heard him comment, awestruck and breathless, confused. "Did you just raise me from the dead?"

"I did," Castiel's voice replied.

There was a short silence. Bobby sounded absolutely blown away. "T-thanks."

"You're welcome."

Dean was murmuring something about gonna be okay, gonna be okay over and over, his hand on the back of Alex's head so tightly that it hurt, his vice-like fingers pulling her hair and digging into her scalp. Alex could hear two sets of footsteps approaching and Dean's arms loosened around her, he pulled away, but not far.

Castiel and Bobby stood beside each other and Bobby took one look at the Winchesters and it was clear that he understood. His careworn face was stricken. "… he didn't make it?" he asked softly. Dean shook his head. Alex stared at the horsemen's rings through bleary, tearful eyes. It was like her soul was being eaten alive by acid, that's how much it hurt.

"C'mere, sweetheart," Bobby urged Alex, who was barely able to see at this point. He put an arm around her and led her away from the place where Sam had died and she let him, in a daze of shock, sniffing and crying. Dean watched blankly, Cas hesitated, then followed after Bobby.

"Just focus on breathing, hear me?" Bobby instructed, holding Alex by both arms, trying to get her to look at him. She didn't.

"W-why is he dead and I'm alive?" The question was said softly and with heartbreaking confusion. She stared at the ground, then looked to her side where Cas stood, her face distorted strangely. Bobby looked at Cas too, who was silent and seemed to be waiting. And Bobby realized that he wasn't the person who should be holding her. He let go and stepped back. Even before Bobby had moved away from her and let go, Alex and Cas were moving toward each other, she crashed into his waiting arms and he held her closely as she mourned the loss of her brother. Bobby hung back and gave them their space, watched as they drew back a minute later and just looked at each other wordlessly—Alex through red tear-filled eyes. Cas's expression flickered with empathy and pain when he saw her expression, he put a hand against her face and bowed his forehead down until it rested against hers. Her eyes squeezed shut as she struggled not to weep openly.

Bobby didn't mean to watch, but it was hard to look away. Cas loved Alex. And he could tell. It was moving on a level he hadn't expected. Trying to be respectful, Bobby turned away, tugged the brim of his hat down a little bit. Dean had walked over to where the horsemen's rings had been thrown. Bobby felt the grief of it hit him all over again. There was so much bittersweet pride that Sam had done it, that Sam had saved their asses and sacrificed himself so selflessly. But it hurt. It hurt a hell of a lot. They had known this was gonna happen, hadn't they? Still, it blew chunks. This hunting life had no happy endings. So why was he always so stunned and saddened when the inevitable happened? Ripped up friends, dead relatives, and Sam down in the cage with the devil. Nothing about it was fair or right. But it was still reality.

A few minutes passed. Bobby looked back and saw that Alex had sank down onto her heels into a crouch, Cas had as well in front of her and was holding her hands loosely between them. She seemed quieter, subdued even, but deeply mournful as she looked down blankly at their intertwined hands. Cas squeezed her hands gently as he told her almost too quietly for Bobby to hear that he would be back in just a moment. Alex nodded automatically when he told her that, seeming someplace very far away. Cas stood slowly, looking down at her for a long moment with the oddest, most pensive expression on his face.

Cas glanced at Bobby, a question there in his eyes, and Bobby nodded. He wasn't going to leave her alone. A muscle jumped in Cas's cheek, he nodded tensely, glanced at Alex again, then turned and headed for where Dean was.

Castiel approached Dean slowly, who looked down at the horsemen's rings just in front of his feet. His expression was stony. When Castiel reached him, he stood beside and said nothing for a long moment. At last, he spoke, soft and somber. "I'm sorry for your loss, Dean." Dean glanced at him sidelong but said nothing, just returned his gaze to the ground after a couple of seconds.

Silence spanned between the two of them for another minute and Cas scanned the cemetery, just thinking. He looked back at where Alex was. She was still squatted down and had her arms wrapped around her legs, she was staring unseeingly into middle distance with a strange, pained look on her face. Bobby was next to her now, talking to her, a hand on her shoulder. Cas felt more pain just looking at her like that. Even though he could heal her physically, he couldn't take away the trauma and pain of what had happened… and who she had lost. Guilty for reasons he wasn't sure of, Castiel joined Dean in looking down at the ground at the horsemen's rings.

After a moment, he spoke again. "I have to find out why I was resurrected," he said out loud, slowly and full of dubiousness, maybe hoping Dean could offer advice and insight, maybe looking for help or input. "There must be a purpose."

Dean barely reacted. "Maybe God just likes you, huh?" A cynical, halfhearted question.

Castiel shook his head in deep, troubled thought. "That can't be it. I've gone against every law Heaven instituted over and over again."

There was a soft, tired sigh. "Maybe that's why God likes you."

Cas's eyes darted to Dean. "I very much doubt that God likes me, Dean. But I'm indebted to him, all the same." He paused heavily. "I have to return to Heaven and discover why I was given back my life yet again."

Dean looked at him with a strange expression. "Why don't you just chalk it up to good luck and let it go, man?"

"I don't believe in luck," Castiel replied, not looking at Dean, just staring into far distance, not seeing what he looked at. "I have to find out why I've been put back. I think I already know... but perhaps Joshua can tell me plainly."

Dean's brows furrowed slightly. "Joshua? The one who God talks to?"

"Yes. Him." Cas's eyes drifted upward even as the weight of reality settled over him. He could hear the whispers of the heavenly host in his mind, indistinct and abuzz over what had just happened with Michael and Lucifer. He realized something and it worried him even further. "With Michael in the cage, I'm sure it's total anarchy up there. The only archangel left now will be Raphael. But he may not be there anymore, either. I don't know."

Cas paused, feeling Dean watching him. Is this why God had brought him back? To return to Heaven and restore the peace that had been lost? Now that he had thought it, he couldn't seem to find any other logical conclusion. He looked back at Dean, who was looking at Cas almost mistrustfully now. "I think God must have brought me back to… to bring peace back to what's inevitably been left in shambles. I just don't know what he'd choose me."

Dean's growing foul expression puzzled Castiel. "What, so that makes you like the new Master Yoda of the clouds?"

Cas's eyes narrowed in thought. He didn't recognize that name. "Who is this Yoda you speak of?"

Lacking his normal fire, Dean shook his head almost ruefully. He sounded absent from the conversation, like summoning the energy to speak was the most difficult task he had ever been faced with. "Man, you have got to catch up on pop culture. Little green guy, talks funny?"

Confused as to why Dean would draw that comparison, Cas tried to understand, but couldn't. "...That doesn't sound anything like me."

There was a glimmer of impatience, almost scorn in Dean's expression now. "The point is, God gives you a brand new shiny set of wings and suddenly you're his little bitch again?" Dean shook his head, but his frown was more pained and let down than anything else. "After everything we went through, man? You're just gonna ditch?"

"You misunderstand me, Dean, I never said—"

Dean cut him off tensely. "What about Alex, huh?"

A question that somehow seemed to bludgeon Castiel in the stomach. He understood what Dean was asking and he was wondering the same thing too. He looked toward her again, pained in every way. Remembering his promise to God. He answered Dean the only way he knew how. "My allegiances are torn."

"Wow Spock. Real heart you got there," Dean said acidly.

Cas felt himself reacting to Dean's comment in a mixture of indignant surprise and confusion. "First you endlessly criticize me for my role in your sister's life and now you're angry with me for what's happened? For the choice I'm faced with?" There was a pause and helpless anger surged forth. "Dean, I did everything I've done for you."

Dean gave the angel a dirty look. "For me, Cas?"

"Yes," Cas replied immediately, emphatically. It was true, but there was a part he'd left out, and Dean was obviously angry he hadn't said it. Cas was frustrated by everything and Dean's predictable attitude was exacerbating the situation. "And for her," Cas admitted, but her knew Dean already knew that and said as much. "You know I have."

Dean suddenly changed, becoming deeply emotional in a way that wasn't angry. "And I owe you my life several times over, I owe you everything, but you sound like you're about to get flighty—I mean, now, of all times? Sam just died, Cas. Do you get that? Do you?" His eyes were red, watery. "And you're just gonna drop her—me—and run back to Heaven?" He shook his head and looked away, voice wavering as he tried to sound tough. "That's great Cas."

Suddenly understanding how much Dean was grieving and afraid of losing even more than he already had, Cas's anger faded into sadness. He didn't always understand these things intuitively, in fact he almost never did unless it was with Alex. He understood her the best and sometimes he forgot how little he understood everyone else in comparison. And for all the ways Dean had made him angry and alienated him and hurt him in the past, all he saw when he looked at the man beside him, he saw someone he cared deeply about, and was hurt to see pained. "I'm not going to just 'drop' you or her, Dean," Cas told him. "I would never do that." Dean looked at Cas guardedly. Cas's jaw tightened. "But I have to go find out what's required of me now that I've been brought back."

Not what the other man had wanted to hear. Dean's face darkened. "Yeah, uh huh. Well when you see your buddy God up there, if you see him, you tell him I'm coming for him next."

Cas watched him sadly. "You're angry."

"You're damn right I'm angry," Dean said, and his voice was gaining a familiar gruff edge to it. "I mean, what about Sam? What about me, huh? Where's my grand prize? All I got is my brother in a hole!"

Dean was being irrational, and Cas reminded him of such, trying to help him see the good in it. "And Alex and Bobby, alive again." Dean's face twisted oddly and he shook his head, looking down. Cas didn't know what else to say. "You got what you asked for, Dean, what we worked for. No paradise. No hell. Just more of the same." Genuinely confused, Cas looked at his friend for a moment. "You knew it would end this way—you knew what the risk was. Why are you acting as though you didn't?" Dean was silent and stony.

Cas attempted to console Dean, to tell him how the world would be a better place for what had happened the day when Sam Winchester defeated the devil and flung him into his cage. "Sam's sacrifice—" he started.

"Enough, Cas!" Dean exploded. Bobby and Alex were startled by the outburst that was loud enough for them to hear from about twenty feet away. They looked at the two men in concern and Dean saw it, steadied himself, shut his eyes, and held his hands out, controlling his temper. When he opened his eyes again, he seemed regretful, but didn't apologize. Just glanced Cas's general direction. "I'm not like you. When I lose someone, I can't just accept it and be on my merry way."

Hurt and chastised, Cas looked down and away, wondering why he tried at all. "I was merely attempting to comfort you."

Dean made a face. "I'm a little past a pat on the back right now."

Cas understood that Dean was reeling from the loss of his brother, but he couldn't comprehend why the man was lashing out at him in this way. All he'd done was help and sacrifice and bleed for the Winchesters, and Dean never thanked him, not really, had only continually lamented about what Cas hadn't done and wouldn't do. And Castiel wished Dean could understand how he needed Dean to help right now with figuring out what to do about God bringing him back. But Dean didn't seem to grasp Castiel's dilemma, or maybe he did and just didn't care.

"You agreed to this, Dean," Castiel said, a little firmer and harsher than he meant to. "And this is for the best—the world is safe again, Lucifer is gone. You knew the stakes, you knew what this would cost."

Dean's brow tensed. "The stakes weren't fair."

No. They weren't. They never were though, were they? There was a long silence and Castiel thought of what he was up against. He didn't know what his Father would demand in return for Alex's resurrection. All he knew was that he feared he would lose her, that God would tell him he was never to see her again, that he would be punished for sinning against her or for breaking the laws of Heaven. Worse still, that she would be punished somehow, too. But perhaps God would tell him that he had been been given the opportunity to watch Alex, to meet her, to become a disjointed part of this broken little family all on purpose. Maybe God wanted him to be the model and messenger of a new era, one in which angels did not file into a line and serve as tools, as hammers as Dean had once put it. A new era where angels pursued choice and free will and didn't chain themselves to the rigid constricts of mindless servitude. The more Castiel pondered it, the more this made sense to him. Why else would God reward him twice now for his seeming rebellion against the grand plan?

God had brought him back because this was what he wanted—victory over the devil. Or perhaps God didn't even actually care about the outcome, perhaps he was more interested in watching this grand story unfold page by page, in the details that made up the tale of earth and humanity, in the twists and turns and surprises. Maybe God wanted his angel children to leave behind the idea of predestination, maybe Castiel had done the right thing, maybe God had been disappointed in all the other angels for never questioning or doubting their roles. Maybe, maybe, maybe… Castiel could think of so many maybes and possibilities. But he couldn't be sure until he went to Heaven and found the answer himself.

Castiel looked at Dean, who looked so forlorn and upset. And as always, Cas set aside his wounded feelings and personal worries and tried to help. The stakes weren't fair, Dean had said. And Cas agreed, but couldn't imagine what could be done about it. So he asked. "What would you have me do, Dean?"

Dean didn't have to think about it. "Get Sam outta there," he replied immediately. "You resurrected Alex and Bobby, can't you do the same for Sam? I mean you got me outta Hell."

True, but it had been with a whole garrison of angels at his side. Cas thought about it pensively, uncertain. "That was different."

Taking Cas's reflective answer as a no, Dean clouded over mournfully and looked away. "I guess I just thought maybe you were done playing by the rules, Cas. Guess I was wrong."

Cas looked over at Alex once more and he felt that familiar swelling, bursting feeling in the vicinity of his chest. She looked so sad, so lost, and it didn't have to be that way. He had the ability to change it now. "Maybe…" he pondered softly, almost to himself as a thousand memories of her and then imaginings of a future with her ran across his mind, "maybe I am done playing by the rules."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked peevishly.

Cas thought hard, his mind going over a new thought, a stirring possibility. A sense of thrill and elation was beginning to grow. He looked at Dean fully. "What would you rather have, Dean?" he asked. "Peace or freedom?"

"...Why the hell can't I have both?" Dean asked, taking in Castiel's strange expression, clearly confused and exasperated and sounding close to tears even though he covered it over with anger. "Which one would you rather have?" he asked, and there was a gruffness to the question that Castiel ignored.

He was looking at the one with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She was looking back at him and Castiel knew the answer, feeling his chest almost constrict. He raised his chin a little, almost smiling now. "I'd rather have freedom."

And freedom was his for the taking. Cas felt a certain sense of confidence welling in him at full force as he thought of a God who had restored his life twice, who had rewarded him for going against the precepts of Heaven, who looked upon him with clear favor. For a minute, he forgot his worries about what God would demand in return for what he'd been given, in fact, maybe Cas almost believed there would be no outstanding debt… that God had blessed him among all the angels, had given him this angelic power back for a reason. For this reason. To be free.

And feeling as though he could soar on the confidence at the thought of what he was going to do for them—for Alex, Dean, and Bobby—he left there without a second thought, eager to do what he was planning. He hurried, veins humming with anticipation and hubris and purpose. He would bring Sam back. There was no reason for him not to. God had chosen him and given him this power for a reason and had told him without words that freedom and choice was what he desired for the angels. And if not for all of the angels, for Castiel.

Wings black as night carried him down, rending the dimensions apart as Castiel delved into the underworld, into harrow hell where time was distorted and everything was darker than pitch, but on fire all the same.

He left behind a shocked Dean and a startled, afraid Alex. They didn't know where he had gone, and Alex shot to her feet when he disappeared without a single warning. He said he'd be right back, where had he gone? And wrecked by the loss of her twin she stared at the place he'd been with a gripping fear that she wouldn't see her angel again.

There was no reason for that specific fear, no logic behind it... but she felt it all the same.

---

Later

Sam woke alone in a rainy graveyard he had died in, gasping for air as he laid in the mud, soaked to the bone. He sat straight up, heaving breaths noisily as he squinted against the pelting raindrops. He was very disoriented. It was dark—night time? He remembered falling down into darkness that burned as he pulled Michael down too... then nothing else.

Standing slowly, looking around, Sam was aware of how he felt... nothing. Cold, wet, dirty, yes, but otherwise apathetic and even-keel. Almost bored or disinterested. Just… fine. Should he feel fine? He realized he did feel unsure—definitely unsure as to why he was alive again, what had brought him back. Where were his brother and sister? He wondered that, then realized he didn't really care where they were. Huh. Strange. He didn't let it bother him, instead he headed for the adjacent road, walking through the downpour steadily. Not feeling like himself, the way he remembered being before, but not finding the ability to care about it, either.

Castiel followed Sam invisibly, watching him hitch a ride from a stranger. When Sam didn't ask to use a phone, when he didn't appear concerned or shaken at all, Castiel felt the first flicker of doubt, the first beginning of the thought that maybe he had made a mistake. He decided that no, it was just that Sam was just reeling—different humans dealt with shock in different ways. That's what Castiel told himself so that he didn't have to give credence to the feeling of fear that flitted briefly across his mind.

Castiel decided he would come back and check shortly on Sam, make sure he reunited with his brother and sister. And even though his next instinct was to go to Alex—time worked strangely in harrow hell and he'd been gone for only a few minutes in his mind, but here on earth it had been probably eight hours or more. She would be wondering and worrying.

And he almost did, but then he heard the whispers of his brothers and sisters in Heaven and he resolved to find Joshua first. He wanted to be able to tell her everything, explain his promise and plea to God and know what his debt was, or if there was one at all. He left Sam and his powerful wings carried him through the veil that separated earth from Heaven. He had been gone for what felt like forever, and when he arrived, when he found himself in the paradise that belonged to an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub in 1953, he felt a sense of peace overtake him. This was the Heaven he favored above all others—it was a serene, verdant garden, neatly kept and orderly. Many flowers bloomed, and the majority of them were yellow. The man stood in a far corner of the place in his bright red zip up sweater. He flew a kite peacefully like he always did, gazing up at it with a soft smile and rapt delight.

Cas felt himself smiling. He didn't know why he was so endeared to this paradise, but he was. He sensed a new presence and turned around, seeing several of his brothers and sisters there. Rachel was at the front of them and seeing their familiar faces calmed Castiel in a way he had not anticipated. Composed and quietly poised as always, Rachel looked at him with an amazed expression on her face. "You're alive..." she exclaimed softly, perhaps unable to believe it.

"Yes," Castiel replied, even as her face registered confusion.

"But Castiel, we saw Lucifer destroy you," she protested softly.

He spread his arms out slightly like he'd seen all three of the Winchesters do before and shrugged his shoulders up slightly, a gesture he understood to convey humility. "I was brought back—and as I used to be, no less."

Behind her, the other angels exchanged surprised glances. "And Lucifer? Michael?" Rachel asked.

"They're both gone," Castiel answered, approaching her now. "Locked into the cage."

At the news about Michael, some of the angels appeared to grow worried but others, Rachel in particular, seemed to take it all as a sign, a wonder. "It was God, wasn't it?" Rachel asked, filled with hope, her confusion fading. "He's finally returned." The other angels clustered around her now, coming forward from where they had been standing back.

Cas smile fondly, almost proudly. "No. It was the Winchesters. They brought down the Apocalypse, Sam jumped into the cage after overpowering from the devil."

Disbelief showed on Rachel's face, but it was curious, not judgmental or cynical. "How could a mere human do such a thing?"

More pride swelled in his chest. "The Winchester family is quite remarkable."

Rachel thought a moment, not as interested in hearing about his humans as his resurrection. "But it was God who brought you back, wasn't it? Who else could it have been?" She looked at him with a reverence and awe he had never seen another angel look at him with, and it was startling. "He's chosen you, Castiel," she said in a breathless, revering tone. "To lead us."

"No," Castiel corrected her immediately, gently, feeling certainty and purpose once again, faith in what he was about to say. "No one leads us anymore. God chose me as messenger, to tell all of Heaven: Things are not as they always have been. We're all free to make our own choices and to choose our own fates."

As he had guessed, the idea of choosing her own fate mystified Rachel and the other angels. But instead of puzzling over it right away, Rachel instead tilted her head to the side and studied him with a veiled expression. "And what fate have you chosen, Castiel?" she asked, with the first hints of guardedness in her voice.

Castiel thought of the most beautiful smile he had ever seen and the touch of warm skin and the feeling of belonging; the one human being he could call his own. He answered truthfully, overcome by even the briefest thought of her. "A simple one. A new one."

Rachel seemed to understand, surprising Castiel. "With her. On earth." He was stilled temporarily because he had forgotten, for a moment, that Heaven would know of his involvement with Alex, that he might face discrimination and judgement for everything he had done. Cas was further startled by Rachel's next question, spoken with curiosity and a hint of apprehensiveness. "What does it feel like? This word, 'love.'"

When she asked that, a couple other angels behind her looked fascinated, a couple others looked dubious and uncomfortable or suspicious. Castiel thought about it. What did love feel like? "It's... not something I know how to describe," he answered slowly. "It's beyond words, somehow."

"And you felt it?" Rachel asked in soft wondrous disbelief.

"Yes," Castiel said, then looked in turn at the other angels—Abel, Hillel, Ezar, Ruth, Gad, Esther. He loved them, his brothers and sisters, all the thousands of them that filled the celestial planes… but he didn't love them like he loved the humans. He thought maybe this was God's ultimate plan for the angels and realized that he had never known what love really was until he had walked earth, met the Winchesters, and fallen into the arms of the youngest one. The one with eyes like promises. He looked at Rachel, stirred emotionally. "I believe that God wants us to feel love."

Rachel's brow knotted together. "But the laws… the precepts…" she protested slowly.

"Perhaps they were tests," Castiel suggested. He realized that without solid evidence, a way of proving what he was theorizing about, they wouldn't understand, ever. He wouldn't have understood before either.

"Tests?" Rachel looked at Abel, who stood beside her, and their confusion was mirrored perfectly in each other's faces. Rachel returned her inquisitive gaze to Castiel. "We don't understand. What does God want us to do if not follow orders?" She almost sounded afraid.

"God wants us to have freedom," Castiel said, trying to convey how it was a good thing, but only further mystifying his brethren.

Rachel tried to comprehend. "But what does he want us to do with it?"

How else could he explain it? Castiel didn't know how to say it any other way. "To be free."

Rachel was quiet for a moment, processing. She shook her head just slightly. "I don't understand."

Reflecting that perhaps explaining free will to the angels would be like trying to teach poetry to fish, Castiel decided to try again later. He really needed to hurry, to be brief here. His priority was not teaching his brothers and sisters at the moment. "Where is Joshua?" he asked. "I must speak with him."

"We don't know," Rachel said. "He hasn't been seen since he spoke with the Winchesters."

There was yet another flicker of that feeling of foreboding and worry when she said that. "But that was months ago," Castiel said, his confidence fading slightly.

"He's gone, or hiding," Rachel said. "No one knows. It's a mystery."

"Why would…" Castiel began, then saw how Rachel and the angels behind her all looked over his shoulder to the same place at the same time. He felt the presence before he even turned, but turned anyway, filled with trepidation.

Raphael stood there. He was flanked by three male angels on either side. "Castiel," he said lowly, his dark eyes boring into Cas's unflinchingly. "You've returned at last. Have you come to beg forgiveness?" That's when Castiel looked to the angel at Raphael's left-hand side—the familiar, striking pale face and dark black eyes, the whisper of a smirk on his lips. Hezion.

Alarm raised in Cas immediately, he reached for his blade. "What is he doing here?" Cas demanded. "He's a traitor, he was working with Lucifer, I saw him!"

Raphael looked faintly annoyed at Castiel's reaction and Hezion just smiled as if he were accepting a great compliment. "There's no need for thug tactics, Castiel, put your weapon away. Hezion was working with Lucifer because Michael and I told him to. He was what some might call a…" Raphael's expression flickered into almost a smile, "double agent. Put in place to ensure that Lucifer would obtain his vessel so that the apocalypse would happen. The apocalypse you derailed, Castiel."

Anger surged forth at the realization that this angel had played a part of hurting the Winchesters, in Alex, in any small way and Castiel had to force himself to return his blade to the inside of his coat. Raphael was too strong to fight, and with the angels beside him, Cas stood no chance at all. "The apocalypse is a fight that doesn't need to be fought," Castiel insisted in a growl.

Raphael studied him cooly, an air of superiority in his eyes. "Says who? You?"

In no uncertain terms, Castiel raised his chin, defiant. "Yes."

There was the slightest smirk, the smallest narrowing of the eyes. Then Raphael turned to all the other angels. "Leave us." They obeyed immediately, but Rachel last of all, with a concerned expression on her face. When they were gone, Raphael clasped his hands behind his back and circled Castiel slowly. Cas watched him hawkishly, suspicious and on his guard.

"You've grown prideful," Raphael observed. "I wonder why it is our Father chose to restore you. You're fortunate I've decided to give you a final chance. Tomorrow—I've called for a full assembly of the holy host." He came to a stop in front of Cas. "You'll kneel before me and pledge allegiance to the flag, all right?"

"And what flag is that?" Cas tested.

Raphael almost rolled his eyes, growing exasperated. "Me, Castiel. Allegiance to me."

"Are you joking?" Cas demanded.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Raphael retorted.

Castiel frowned slightly. "…You never look like you're joking."

Least of all right now. Raphael was aloof and capricious. "You rebelled—against God, Heaven, and me. Now you'll atone. We'll start by freeing Lucifer and Michael from their cage. And then we'll get our show back on the road."

Just as Castiel had thought, and absolute revulsion rose in him at the thought of it. "Raphael… no. The apocalypse is not going to happen, I made sure of it!"

There was a offhand eyebrow raise from the archangel. "You merely stalled it. The apocalypse will always happen, and I'll ensure that it does—it's God's will."

Cas's teeth were gritted together painfully. "You know that Armageddon is not necessary! Why do you insist on seeing our brothers destroy each other and tear the earth apart?!"

Raphael seemed nearly bored. "Because it's what I want."

His older brother's apathy merely served to fuel Castiel's growing rage and fear. "You're asserting your own will to be that of our Father's," he accused. "Your desires are not God's will. You are not God, Raphael."

Another soft smile, a glittering insolent pride in the archangel's eyes. "That remains to be seen."

"You blasphemous—" Castiel started.

"Let God come prove me otherwise," Raphael taunted. "He hasn't yet." He fixed Castiel with a haughty gaze. "Don't get righteous with me, Castiel, do you know how sanctimonious you sound? I know the full extent of how you've sullied yourself with that human fleck this past year. You allowed her to corrupt you, twist your mind, drag you down into the filth with her. You reek with the stench of the sins you committed with her." He looked down his nose at Cas, cavalier. "You've become just like them, haven't you? Confused. Misguided. Self-righteous. Pitiable. You've forgotten who you are, what your purpose is. I'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself, to be cleansed. Your purpose is to obey the will of Heaven, not to pursue free thinking. Your loyalties are to me, not to the Winchesters."

Castiel chose to be stubborn, to cling onto the idea that freedom was what God had given him. "I disagree," he said sharply.

Raphael inspected Cas slowly, genuinely perplexed. "You've broken every law for them. For her. Why? What is so… important about her?"

"Everything," Castiel replied absolutely, not even thinking, just speaking. "Everything about her is important. She is one of the most important humans to have ever existed."

"And you know this how?"

A pause. Castiel wasn't sure and he withered slightly. "Because of what I feel."

"Feel?" Raphael's inquisitiveness was gone in place of pious disdain. "Your feelings are of no consequence to me. Only your actions matter, only your obedience. And you've done nothing but disobey since you set eyes upon her."

Beginning to become confused and doubtful, Castiel fumbled for words. "God has shown me favor despite my actions, therefore I can only conclude—"

"That you're special?" Raphael asked with a sharp, biting laugh. "That God approves of your sin? Whatever his reasons for bringing you back… I don't care. I know your trespasses, Castiel, and you will listen to me or I will turn you to dust."

Cas looked down, growing more and more upset as he realized the feeling of victory and triumph when he rescued Sam was washing away. Raphael was powerful and wanted to restart the apocalypse. That couldn't happen. But how could he be stopped?

"I'm the only remaining archangel, or have you forgotten?" Raphael asked, as if he knew Cas's thoughts and was gloating about how Cas had no allies, no way of fighting back against him. "God left us and one by one, the archangels have been lost," he continued. "First, Genesis fell to earth, then Gabriel abandoned us, and Lucifer rebelled and was cast out. Now Michael is lost. Who is left, Castiel? Me. I am in charge now. God has chosen me. Not you."

Eyes sliding up to Raphael's, Castiel was filled with animosity. "And you want me to follow your ludicrous plan, to undo everything I worked for this past year? To let this fight between Lucifer and Michael happen?"

"Yes," Raphael said, unaffected and detached. "You sound upset, Castiel. A human trait that has no place in your existence. Like it not, all the work you've done to defy my plans has been in vain. Tomorrow you'll swear yourself to me, along with the rest of the brethren."

"They won't bow to you," Castiel insisted, growing panicked inside. "They won't let you put the apocalypse back into motion."

Raphael was undeterred, almost amused. "Are you sure? You know better than anyone, Castiel. They're soldiers. They weren't built for freedom. They were built to follow. And do you see what I'm doing? Leading them. Not filling their minds with useless notions of free-thinking and choice."

Castiel stepped closer to Raphael, staring at him with all the wrath he felt. "Then I won't let you."

"Really?" Raphael asked patronizingly. "You?" He raised and opened his hand, his palm facing Castiel as it filled with painful white light.

Castiel screamed as he was blasted far from there and through the heavens erratically. His vessel pulsed with pain and he slammed down onto the ground hard, back-first, beginning to cough up blood as what Raphael had done to him took effect. He rolled over and spat the thick red substance down onto sand, trembling violently. He could hear seagulls crying and the rhythm of the surf crashing on the shore nearby. A few feet away from where he was bowed over the sand pathetically, Cas could see a shining pair of dress shoes. He looked up slowly.

Over him Raphael towered, cold and unfeeling. "I grow tired of your insolence and resistance, little brother," he said in his soft, low voice. "Tomorrow you kneel… or you and anyone with you dies. Including her. I'll be watching you, Castiel." Raphael crouched down, his eyes drilling into Cas's. "The day you go to that little human again I'll be right behind you, there to take her from you. It's only a matter of time before I find her, so bow to me or I'll torment your little human pet for all of eternity." Horror overcame Castiel at the archangel's threats. Raphael stood again and looked down his nose. "Don't think I won't." He was gloating and Castiel was disgraced, breathless, and afraid. "Now," Raphael said softly. "Do you see where free will and choice has gotten you? I know how weak you truly are." He let a couple beats of victorious silence hang. And then Raphael disappeared.

---

Back On Earth

Sometimes when the worst things happen, it brings out the best in us, the strongest and most fierce baseline abilities we possess. But sometimes, the worst just brings out the worst. For the Winchesters, who had endured blow after blow and loss after loss, they should have been stronger for it. But even the strongest structure will break when it's been cracked relentlessly, when it's been put to the test just a few times too many.

Relationships as strong and steadfast as Dean and Alex's should have been able to sustain the loss of Sam. But because of the tension and mutual disapproval that had been building between them, because they had already been at a breaking point… the loss of Sam and the disappearance of Cas were combined into the final straw that served to break them apart completely. Less than twenty-four hours after Sam fell down into hell and Castiel disappeared, the two surviving Winchesters tore into each other instead of hanging onto each other for support.

Around three in the morning of May 2, 2010—the twins twenty-eighth birthday, Alex burst back into their motel room from the rainy walkway she'd been pacing for the past hour. She had been calling and calling and calling Cas all day since he disappeared and he wouldn't come. Her grief had turned to raging anger all directed at Dean, who was withdrawn and silent, seemed to have checked out mentally after an initial bout of uncontrollable emotions. Bobby was off to himself a few rooms down, sensing that the Winchesters needed space. The youngest Winchester was at her wit's end—beyond fucked up mentally and emotionally.

Sleepless and trying to get drunk on a steady flow of beer and whiskey, Dean sat on one of the beds and in a horrible, pitiable state. He was using the laptop and trying to look through news stories, trying to find something to do. Anything but face what he had lost, anything but process it all, anything but think about how Sam wasn't ever going to walk into the room and get on his nerves again, steal his deodorant, then make that unamused bitchy face at him.

When Alex stormed back in and startled him out of his thoughts, her hair damp and jacket askew and expression foul, he should have known what was about to happen. He should have known better than to let himself talk to her, he should have known he would say things he'd regret.

"What did you say to him, Dean?" Alex demanded after she slammed the door behind herself. A little startled, a little more than tipsy, Dean looked at her, unclear about what she was asking.

"Come again?" he asked.

"To Cas," she said accusingly. "He won't answer me and you're the last person who talked to him. What did you say!"

Dean made a face. Just what he wanted to talk about. "What about what he said to me? That he was going back to Heaven to be the new sheriff or some bull like that." He took a swig of beer as her face dropped in disbelief. What? He looked at her in a way that was heartless and insensitive in the moment. "Why do you look so surprised? He was never gonna stay, Alex. He's from a goddamn different planet than us!" Dean had the nerve to be angry at her, but he had warned her about this and she had brushed him aside like he didn't matter. "I told you and you wouldn't listen," he said darkly. "I didn't say a damn thing to him."

"I know you did this Dean, I know you did!" She shot back tremulously, growing more and more emotional. "Was it not enough that I had to lose Sam, now you had to try and take Cas, too?!" She made a strange moaning sound, like she was in physical pain then looked up at the ceiling, began to shout like a crazy person. "Cas! Castiel! Cas!" She was frustrated and scared, and Dean could see it. "Where the hell are you?"

"Al. He's an angel," Dean said angrily, standing up and shoving the laptop to the side, pissed at her for being more worried about Cas than upset about her brother being lost forever. "He was always gonna leave you; why the hell did you think it could end differently?!" Cruel words but the truth as far as Dean was concerned, because no one stayed, ever. "I mean, have you met us?" he ranted. "We never get happy endings, case in point, yesterday!" His sister was looking at him and listening to every word, wounded and shocked and unwilling to believe, but Dean kept going, angry at the whole damn world, totally irrational because of it, because of how hurt he was too at Cas's unexplained disappearance. Alex wasn't the only one who had called him and gotten no answer. "Cas is up there, floating around being God's good little holy errand bitch-boy and that winged jackass never gave two shits about us," Dean said, directing all the anger he felt at his sister. "Did you really think—"

She lashed out at him, striking the beer bottle he'd been holding out of his hand and sending it crashing to the floor where it burst. "Shut up, just shut up!" she screeched, and for a minute, all Dean could see was a pathetic little kid in front of him when she batted his drink out of his grasp. But somehow it just made him cynical and annoyed instead of wrathful. He was so fucking tired. He looked at where the bottle was busted and light brown beer pooled into the cheap motel carpet.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just do that," he said, his tone not kind at all. He turned and sat back down on the bed, giving her a dirty look as he cracked open a new beer. She wasn't even looking at him—she had her teeth clenched and mouth in a hard line and was glaring at the wall. At least she had stopped her damn incessant whiny shouting. Dean had a couple cruel thoughts about when she hadn't been able to make any sounds at all and felt ashamed of himself. The things he'd said to her seemed harsh and he felt a pang of guilt. He just didn't know how to handle what he was feeling right now—god, why wasn't there more whiskey? He didn't know how to say he was sorry to her, so he didn't even try.

They fought sometimes, squabbled as siblings do, and they always just pushed it aside and got over it without saying sorry. He figured that time would be the same. He was wrong. "I was looking at some websites and seeing if there were any jobs around…" he started wearily, trying to move forward and push the argument out of the room, let her know he was willing to just let it go and move on… but she apparently wasn't done being angry.

In a rage the likes he'd never seen her in before, Alex grabbed the laptop from him and threw it across the room where it smashed into the wall and broke. "Fuck hunting!" she screamed irately.

Dean looked at destroyed computer. It had broken into two halves. "That was Sam's laptop," he said quiet and low, not looking at her.

What Dean didn't know at that moment was that Alex blamed herself for the whole thing. That she felt like the biggest fool in all of existence for falling victim to Lucifer and landing Sam in the cage. She didn't accept that maybe it was inevitable that Sam would end up down there. She faulted herself and was scared of getting Dean hurt too, she felt like Cas had left her, and she was, in a word, done; at a level of grief she didn't know how to handle and didn't want to trust anyone with. And as a result, she lost her mind a little bit, turned it all into anger, and aimed all of that anger at her brother.

"How the hell can you think about hunting right now, huh?" She asked, loud and impassioned and out of control. "How the fuck can you just try and act like everything's normal?!" She was crying and shaking and furious. "Sam died yesterday!" She turned red from the force of her shrieking scream: "OUR BROTHER IS DEAD!"

And if she'd wanted him to get mad, it worked. Dean shot to his feet, incensed. "You think I don't know that?!" He shouted, and the room fell silent. The two of them looked at each other with pained expressions, full of agony, and Dean felt himself getting close to tears as he stared at her shining cheeks. "You think I don't know today's your birthday?! His birthday?!" He was so fucking hurt that Alex would think he didn't care. He put his forehead down into the palm of his hand. She must think so little of him. His head hurt, he felt the effects of the whiskey. "It's killing me, okay?" He let his hand slap down to his side. "And that's why I need to chop something's head off, cuz if I don't, I… I don't know what I'll do." He felt defeated. "We gotta just keep going, you know?" He looked at her pleadingly, the one who had always been with him and kept her head down, kept fighting, given him a reason to fight, too. But she didn't seem to share his sentiments, and instead of calming down, she got more riled up.

"Why the hell would we keep going?" She asked, disgusted. "Are you serious? This is our sign that we need to stop before we screw the world up any more than we already have!"

Dean was indignant at her implication. "We saved the world!"

"We couldn't even save our own brother!" Alex shot back loudly. "He's in the pit and it's my fault!"

"No—" Dean told her immediately and forcefully, shocked at how much she clearly meant that. "No it's not."

She got even angrier, raging like a hurricane at this point. "Stop lying to me, I'm not a child, I know what I did, stop trying to protect me!"

"It's my job to protect you!" Dean retorted, getting mad again, feeling his patience wearing thin.

Her expression turned ugly, nasty. "Is it also your 'job' to run off the only guy I've ever loved?"

He tried and failed to suppress a scoffing eye roll. "You don't love him," Dean muttered in dark annoyance, and he wasn't even sure if he thought that or not, he was just trying to hurt her at this point because he was tired of being hurt. "You just think you do. You've been reading way too many of those bullshit romance novels."

Alex was clearly offended. "You don't even know what love is—" she said acidly. "I've watched you fuck girls for the hell of it and screw shit up with every single bitch you ever liked and you've never come close to what I have with Cas! You're jealous."

Dean made a face. "Please."

"You've never had a relationship that lasted, you've never been in love," Alex pressed, driving in the nail of pain and getting under Dean's skin because it was true and it hurt. "You're the one who doesn't know what love is, you're the one who—"

"Alex—" he cut her off warningly, but she only exploded at the interruption.

"Shut up Dean, I'm talking!" Her bellow stilled him and she looked like she was about to lose it—she was turning red, she was breathing uncontrollably. "I have tried and tried and tried to tolerate the shit you give me over Cas but you are not allowed to run my life and you are not allowed to treat me the way you do!"

"What way, looking out for you? Making sure you're okay?" Dean was bitter and drunk and getting fed up fast with her ungrateful assumptions, her obsession with thinking Cas was this perfect dude and that Dean was the bad guy. He made a mistake with what he said next. Maybe he forgot who he was talking to, but the words just came out before he could stop himself. "Look, I didn't say anything to Cas, he left on his own! Maybe he was tired of dealing with all your friggin' issues, I know I am, Jesus Christ—it's bad enough being your brother, holy shit I can't imagine what it'd be like to date you!" The look on her face immediately made him regret his thoughtless jab and Dean scrambled to take it back. "I wasn't… I didn't mean that."

The damage had been done and he could tell. "If you're so tired of me, I can leave," Alex said sharply, but he saw the tears gathering in her eyes.

Dean scoffed at the dramatics. "Yeah right."

Alex's expression grew a few degrees cooler. "You don't think I would?"

He folded his arms, daring her. Her insolence grew and she silently demanded he tell her why he was so sure. So he tilted his head back a little bit, smug without meaning to be, because he honestly believed what he was about to say. "You need me."

Her eyebrows raised and she looked absolutely flabbergasted. And then her face twisted into a vehement scowl. "I don't need you. I've never needed you!"

Furious that she would say that even if she didn't mean it, Dean was firing back a defensive, hurtful answer before he knew what he was doing. "What, when you were helpless and mute and depressed all the time, you didn't need me?" he demanded brusquely, setting her off all over again.

Before he even knew what was happening, Alex grabbed him by the shirt and punched him in the face with all of her strength—a sloppy, impassioned blow that stunned Dean, who Alex shoved as hard as she could—he stumbled backwards and crashed down into the table between the beds, knocking the lamp off. "You're the biggest fucking asshole I've ever met!" Alex raged, grabbing him by the shirt again as he half-laid half-slumped against the nightstand and bed. "I wasn't helpless then and I'm not now either!"

He saw that she reached behind herself to grab her knife—she held it high and for a second, he was suddenly worried she'd snapped. She brought the blade down with violent force and speed and it thunked deeply into the nightstand. Dean jumped as the metal buried into the wood. "What the fuck are you doing?! You lost your goddamn mind?!" Dean asked, a scared hand held out uselessly in front of his face.

She let go of him with another shockingly hard shove then stood up and looked down at him almost menacingly. "No."

"Then why the hell you stabbing furniture?!" he asked in breathless fear, not moving.

"You gave me that piece of shit knife and I don't want it anymore," she said foully, then turned and grabbed her bag off the bed and began to shove her stuff into it angrily, shaking as if from low blood pressure.

Dean got up slowly, a little cautious now, then saw what she was doing and copped an attitude again, trying to call her bluff. Not even knowing what he was doing anymore, maybe wanting to fight with her in some weird twisted way. "So now you're gonna run away, that's just real mature, Alex," he said derisively. Maybe he felt like he was losing ground, because he decided to lob another heartless insult to try and make her mad, get her to engage with him again—that and he was scared shitless at the idea of her leaving. "I take it back. You and Cas are perfect for each other, you're both clueless children!"

She zipped her bag shut with more force than necessary, ignored what he said, then slung the strap over her shoulder and finally gave him a look. The crazy off-kilter anger was gone. She looked calm in a way that he hated. "I wonder," she said. "How will you survive without someone to push around to make you feel better about yourself?" She made a face that reminded him so much of Sam that it hurt. "I don't need you," she said bitterly. "You needed me. And now you screwed that one up too."

Stunned, hurt and cut to his heart itself, Dean watched as she began to walk away. Overcome with gripping fear, he followed. He couldn't lose her too. "You're not leaving," he said, but she ignored him, so he grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to turn around roughly. "I said, you're not leaving!" She yanked away from him, eyes flashing.

"Don't touch me! Don't tell me what to do Dean!" She shouted, and for as stony as she'd been a second ago, she was almost snarling at him now. "I am twenty-eight fucking years old and you can't tell me what to do anymore! I needed you once but I don't anymore and if you follow me, I will fucking kill you!" As if to prove her point, she yanked her pistol out and pointed it straight at him, trembling, in tears, and Dean was shocked, he stepped back, looking at the barrel and then at her.

"Alex—" Dean said softly, unable to believe what she was doing. She looked pained and enraged and broken and so lost as she pointed the firearm at his face. Was this a cry for help or was this her losing her mind once at for all? He couldn't tell but he was suddenly so aware of how careful he needed to be, how close he was to losing her too. And he had no one to blame but himself. He thought of how he'd just verbally bashed her and tried to dominate her and manipulate her and he was so sorry and didn't know how he always, always did the things he hated the most.

He felt his eyes glistening with tears, saw that she was fighting tears too. The gun wavered slightly in her unsteady hand. "Don't stop me, Dean," she said just above a whisper. "Let me go." And that made him so much more scared than anything else that she had done or said to him in the last few minutes. He couldn't speak, he couldn't believe she really was going to leave him. He didn't say anything, because anything he said would be wrong. And she raised her chin a little, as if she were gathering courage. "I can't do this anymore," she said. "So I'm not going to."

"Al... we're all we got left," he pleaded, desperate to see her relent, soften, break down. He was kicking himself for letting it come to this. But she just tightened her jaw further and he could see how much she meant what she said. "Don't go," he begged, his heart breaking in fucking two as his voice lost all strength. "Not like this."

"I'm sorry." Her eyes glistened with tears, little oceans that would spill out and run down her cheeks. "I'm done," she said with quiet anger and apprehension. "I. Am. Done." She lowered the gun slowly and Dean didn't move. He was shellshocked by what had just happened. She tucked the gun away and said nothing else. Just looked at him for a minute in a way he had never wanted to see her look at him… filled with mistrust and burnt bridges and utter hurt. And without saying a word, she turned and left, shutting the door behind her. And it was over just like that. Dean stared at the closed door, alarmed. He stood there for about ten seconds, panicking, not sure what to do, if he should go after her or let her cool off awhile—she'd be back, right? This was just her reacting to Sam's death and them fighting, she'd be back, right? But what if he let her go and she didn't come back at all? What if she really did leave him?

Dean grabbed his jacket and ran out into the rainy night after his sister. But he couldn't find her. He went on to look for hours, driving around town and checking the kinds of places he knew she would probably go to—abandoned houses, bars, convenience stores, an old rusted warehouse by the river. But she was nowhere. She had disappeared without a trace. She didn't want to be found.

Not knowing what else to do, Dean stayed at the same motel she'd left from for three long, agonizing days and kept looking for her, hoping she would change her mind, hoping she'd come back, hoping she'd walk back in and let him tell her how sorry he was. But he guessed that she didn't want anything to do with him anymore, because she stayed gone and he heard nothing from her. He called Cas and got no answer. He called Alex's phone constantly and got no answer. Confused, hurt, broken completely, Dean did the only thing he could think of after those three days.

Out of options, out of ideas, and afraid to be alone, he went to the only person he thought might take him in—he couldn't be by himself, he just couldn't, and he'd never been able to. So he went to Lisa, afraid of being rejected by yet another person, but desperate for someone to help him through the pain he was feeling. And Lisa did, for reasons Dean didn't even understand. He wouldn't have wanted him, why would Lisa? But she did.

Dean didn't see or hear from his sister again for months and months and months. He would lay awake some nights and wonder if she were even still alive. Get worried and worked up and decide he was gonna go out there and find her somehow, then realize he had no way of doing that. And so he lived life automatically, went through the motions, checked out on a deeper level and just existed in a way that felt hollow and meaningless compared to life before.

Lisa and her son Ben were the only bright spots for him. They made the hard days easier and long nights better.

But they weren't Sam and Alex. No one could replace them, ever.

---

After Castiel recovered from Raphael's discipline and show of power, he limped through Heaven, trying to find an answer, trying to find Joshua. He was desperate, hurt, confused, and none of the other angels had seen Joshua, he was absent from the throne room. No one had seen him or knew of his whereabouts and Castiel didn't know what to do. Not only could he not find the one angel who God spoke to, but now Raphael—who was so much stronger than Castiel or any other angel for that matter—had threatened to take Alex and hurt her if Castiel did not submit. And he couldn't fall into line with the plan to restart the apocalypse. So what options did that leave him?

Downtrodden and heartsick because he knew he couldn't go to Dean and Alex—Raphael was watching him now—Cas was cornered. He returned to Stull Cemetery, the place where Lucifer had been defeated. He thought maybe if he could just be in a place that was close to where she had been, maybe he would know what to do. But when he got there, he was just as lost as before.

If he submitted to Raphael, he would save Alex but he would never be able to risk finding her again—he would be revealing her location to Raphael by doing so. And if he defied Raphael, he would be killed or imprisoned, and useless to protect the one he loved. Was the only way to protect her truly the worst of the two options? To submit and see the world half destroyed? No. there had to be some other way.

Perhaps he could find Genesis, the lost archangel. She had had fallen to earth thousands of years ago as punishment for taking a lower-level angel as her lover. No one knew who he was, the angel she had sinned with, but there had always been rumors that she was still alive. Perhaps she was still down there somewhere, perhaps if Castiel could find her she would fight with him against Raphael… but as he thought about it, he realized how far-fetched it was. How limited his options really were.

Castiel grew frustrated and angry. And then he heard someone approaching behind him. "Ah, Castiel. Angel of Thursday. Just not your day is it?"

Castiel turned, recognizing the voice and unhappy to hear it. "Crowley," he said cautiously. "What are you doing here?

"I want to help you help me help ourselves," Crowley answered, testing Castiel's patience.

"Speak plain."

Crowley smiled slightly, pocketing his hands into his black peacoat. "I want to discuss a simple business transaction. That's all."

"You want to make a deal? With me?" Castiel had no fortitude for this meaningless line of inquiry. "I'm an angel, you ass. I don't have a soul to sell."

"But that's it, isn't it?" Crowley asked coyly. "It's all of it. It's the souls. It all comes down to the souls in the end, doesn't it?"

Already frustrated because of everything that had happened to him and Crowley's deliberately vague, pompous statements, Castiel felt himself getting agitated. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Raphael's head on a pike," Crowley replied. "I'm talking about happy endings for all of us... with all possible entendres intended." Crowley turned slightly, indicating that Cas go with him. "Come on. Just a chat."

Cas didn't move. "I have no interest in talking with you."

Crowley paused, feigned dissatisfaction. "Oh, all right then. No interest in talking about a little thing that concerns your little playmate Alex E. Winchester… and her eternal fate?" Crowley asked with raised eyebrows. At the reaction that flitted across the angel's face, Crowley smirked. "Mm, that's what I thought. I have it on good authority that you two are on the rocks by no choice of your own. Come on. Hear me out. Five minutes. No obligations. I promise—I'll make it worth your while."

Cas hesitated. He was no fool—he knew who Crowley was and what he did. But he also knew that he was smarter than the demon and stronger. And if this concerned Alex, if this demon had some way of defeating Raphael… he would hear him out. "All right," he agreed guardedly. "You have five minutes."

Crowley smiled pleasantly. "Right-o. Off we go, then."

They were suddenly someplace else—at the back end of a long hallway. It was dim here and a yellow light cast over the entire place, making it feel dirty and dank. The noise echoed oddly, classical music played over muffled speakers—countless people stood in a line which stretched into the distance, into the other end of the hallway which seemed to have no end. Above this line, a sign hung that said NEXT IN LINE: 6,611,527,124.

Castiel and Crowley emerged at the end of this line. "Where are we?" Cas asked, taking in the slumped, defeated looking souls lined for miles and miles.

"You don't recognize it, do you?" Crowley asked, and there was a hint of pride to his voice. "It's Hades, new and improved. I did it myself."

"This is Hell?" Castiel asked, not sure if this is what he had imagined or not.

"Yeah. See, problem with the old place was most of the inmates were masochists already. A lot of 'thank you, sir. Can I have another hot spike up the jacksie?' But just look at them." A wide, jaunty smile broke Crowley's face. "No one likes waiting in line."

"And what happens when they reach the front?" Castiel asked, not sure if he understood this concept well.

"Nothing," Crowley said. "They go right back to the end again. That's efficiency."

Cas almost rolled his eyes. "Enough of the wasteful talk and bragging," he said. "You have four minutes left. Tell me what this has to do with Alex."

The angel and the demon began to walk down the hallway beside the people who waited in line. They all stared ahead of themselves unseeingly. "What are you planning to do about Raphael?" Crowley asked.

Had Crowley simply brought him here to gloat? Castiel's patience wore thinner and thinner. "What can I do, besides submit or die?" He asked, hating the thought of both.

"Submit or die?" Crowley repeated. "What are you, French? How about resist?"

If only he could. "I'm not strong enough to go up against Raphael and you know it," Castiel replied peevishly, yet again reminded at how dour his dilemma was. "And he's threatened her. He's threatened both of the Winchesters. But her especially. I won't risk it."

Crowley gave him an almost amused side eye. "Very rude of your big bro, if you ask me. And you're right, you're not strong enough... not on your own, you're not. But you're not on your own, are you? There's a lot of angels swooning over you. 'God's favorite,' the trendsetter, the rebel. Buddy boy, you've got what they call sex appeal." He chuckled knowingly. "I think baby Winchester might agree."

Cas glanced at him gruffly. "She probably would. Get to the point."

"Angels need leaders, so be one," Crowley said. "Gather your army and kick the candy out of each and every angel that shows up for Raphael."

Castiel stopped walking, looked at Crowley directly. "Are you proposing that I start a civil war in heaven?"

"Ding! Ding! Ding! Tell him what he's won, Vanna."

Cas was disturbed. "You're asking me to be the next Lucifer, to rebel and seek my own gain."

"Please. Lucifer was a petulant child with daddy issues. Cas, you love God. God loves you. He brought you back. Did it occur to you that maybe he did this so you could be the new head of security upstairs? Did it occur to you that perhaps this is his blessing for you and the misses? Don't you think she's worth it, Cas old boy?"

"Yes but… the amount of power that it would take to mount a war…" Castiel trailed off.

"More than either of us have ever seen, yeah," Crowley conceded. "But what if I said I knew how to go nuclear?" That smirk had returned.

Cas felt as though he were playing with fire at this point but had to know what Crowley was getting at. "What do you mean?"

"Purgatory, my fine feathered friend. Purgatory," Crowley began to walk again and led Cas down a little side hallway off of the main one. It looked like an old school or business building—unremarkable and not well maintained. "Just think about it. An untapped oil well of every fanged, clawed soul. I mean, what's that over the years? Thirty million? Forty million? Just sitting there, plump and rich for the taking."

Interesting prospect, Castiel had to admit… "How would you even find it when no one ever has?" he asked, still not liking the idea that Crowley was the one who brought this idea to him.

"We'll need expert help."

"From whom?" Castiel demanded.

Crowley stopped walking, talking with his hands now. Cas glanced at the painting he had stopped beside—a very unpleasant portrait of Crowley wearing some sort of uniform. Confused, Cas looked at it for a couple of beats as Crowley continued to speak. "From experts, of course. I know of three eerily suited 'Teen Beat' models with time on their hands, you might know them…"

Hunters? The Winchesters? Cas was quick to cut that idea short. "No. Not Dean and not Alex. I can't risk giving away Alex's location to Raphael and the two of them are together. That wouldn't work. Sam however…" Castiel thought of how Sam seemed so detached when he'd been brought back. Would he retire along with Dean and Alex? Or would they begin to hunt again? Would Sam split off from them completely? It was a strange feeling like premonition that told him Sam would not return to his brother and sister. It was troubling to think about. "I don't know about him."

Crowley seemed mildly inconvenienced. "We'll need more than one hired hand but… fine. I know of a certain big, bald patriarch I can take off the bench to get us on the right track, maybe another couple hunters who could be convinced as well. The point is… the hunters can get us to the monsters. The monsters can get us to Purgatory. I know it."

And Purgatory could give him enough power to destroy Raphael. It was tempting. But Castiel tried to sound unconvinced. "And what's your price in all of this?"

"Just half."

Cas was taken aback at the audacity of this demon. "Half?"

"My position isn't all that stable, ducky. Those souls would help me just like they'd help you. Besides, wouldn't you rather have me in charge down here?" He smiled, trying to appear comely. "The devil you know…"

Castiel shook his head, turned away, trying to think this through, weigh his options. "This is pointless," he said wearily. "Your plan would take months, and I need help now."

Crowley already seemed to know that. "Granted. Yes. But just to show you how serious I am about this scheme… how about I float you a little loan? Say, fifty large? Fifty-thousand souls from the pit. You can take them up to Heaven. Make quite a showing, knock Raphael onto his ass, let him know what's what. It's either this or the apocalypse all over again. Everything you've worked for—everything that Sam and Dean and sweet wittle Alex have worked for—gone."

Cas's teeth ground together. Crowley was right and even though instinctively Castiel knew he should not be working with a demon… he still kept listening to Crowley.

"You can save us, Castiel," Crowley appealed. Castiel turned back around to look at the demon once again. "God chose you to save us. And I think… deep down… you know that. Why else would he have brought you back?" Crowley was charming and smooth.

Cas thought hard, looking down, shaking his head slowly, thinking of Alex, on earth, and how he needed to keep her safe. "The risk involved…" he said. "And there's no telling how long the war could drag on. I can't leave her unprotected for that long, and I can't task angels because Raphael could find a way to trace them." He was trapped, he had to make this impossible decision, he was faced with the idea that he might never see her again, and he couldn't fathom that. It hurt to even think.

Crowley shrugged, spread his hands out. "I've got quite a lot of black-eyed help around, could keep tabs on the wifey."

His eyes jumped to the demon's and he bristled for a couple different reasons. "You're suggesting demons watch over her?" He asked sharply. "What do you take me for?"

The demon only smiled obligingly. "An angel with no other choice," he replied. "Come on, have I let you down yet? They'll watch her, make sure she's all right in that big bad world out there without her hubby to keep her safe. They let me know the second anything's amiss, then I let you know."

Castiel narrowed his eyes and looked at Crowley carefully. "Who was the one who told her about Lucifer's lies?" he asked without any sort of lead in.

Crowley's eyebrows rose in reply. "And why do you suppose I'd know that?"

Cas was exasperated. "You always know everything."

"Yes, well, not everything." Crowley shook his head. "I haven't the foggiest who told her that load. Most likely suspect, our friend Hezion… the angel of bullshit and betrayal." Crowley brushed aside the conversation, cut to the chase. "So whaddya say? Want to shake on it?"

Castiel swallowed deeply, raised his chin. "I have a term, too. You'll find out if her name is written in the book of Hell. If it is, you remove it for eternity and surrender her soul over to me."

Crowley seemed pleased. "Scout's honor," he said, straightening dramatically and raising two fingers in a salute Castiel didn't recognize. "Now." Crowley's smile widened. "Do we have a deal?"

He let the silence hang for several seconds. And not knowing another way to save her, to stop the apocalypse, and to prevent Raphael from destroying everything they'd worked for… Castiel agreed to it all.

"Yes."

---

Balthazar was in his favorite Heaven—a strip club with hundreds of scantily-clad dancing girls. This Heaven belonged to a mobster, some guy named Al Capone if memory served right. Balthazar smiled at the especially cheeky girl who danced in front of him—she was smiling back at him sensually, working the pole. "You little minx," he said admiringly, even though she wasn't a real person—just an imagining of Capone's mind. Balthazar still loved her all the same. Well, loved her lithe little body, anyway. The sexy mood was cut short as another angel suddenly arrived, right in Balthazar's face.

"Hello Balthazar."

Feeling startled and violated by Castiel's sudden appearance and proximity, Balthazar made a face and took a step back, affronted. "Blimey, Cas. You certainly know how to make an entrance don't you," he complained, then took Castiel in, realizing something seemed off about the angel in the trench coat. Balthazar became vaguely concerned. "You seem… different."

"I'm stronger than I once was," Cas said vaguely.

Interesting. "How so?" Balthazar prompted, sensing there was some hidden agenda his brother was concealing, but Cas just glanced at one of the dancing girls closest to them and then scoffed and looked away. Leave it to Cas not to appreciate the finer things.

"I'll tell you later," Cas replied. "I've come to you you because I need you to do something for me, and quickly."

There was a grave note to Castiel's voice that was intriguing. "Of course. What is it?"

Castiel seemed increasingly annoyed with their surroundings and was struggling to stay hyper-focused on Balthazar. "I need you to take a message to Alex Winchester for me."

Alex Winchester. Balthazar knew that name. "The girl you…" he trailed off, thinking carefully on how to phrase this, "...have a vested interest in?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, then looked down in somber thoughtfulness. "To put it mildly." It was easy to see that Cas was carefully measuring himself and the way he worded his sentences. "It's of the utmost importance that she receives this message, Balthazar." He looked his brother in the eye piercingly, evaluating him. "Can I trust you to deliver it for me?"

Balthazar didn't need to hesitate. "Yes, of course you can. What's the message?"

Castiel looked at his brother long and hard, as if trying to decide something. "I'm trusting you to be discreet with its contents."

"How naughty," Balthazar commented, chuckling. Cas was not amused. Balthazar sighed. Cas had never been one for joking. "Yes, yes. Now what's the bloody message?"

Castiel leaned a little closer, lowered his voice, his eyes bored into Balthazar's. He seemed urgent in a way that was foreign to Balthazar. "Tell her that there is a war in Heaven and that I cannot leave." Balthazar's eyebrows raised slightly at that—so that's why Cas wanted him to be discreet? What war was he talking about? Cas wasn't done. "Tell her that I can't come to see her again until I defeat Raphael, that it's not safe, that I don't know how long it will be…" his grave expression flickered into that of something that seemed to pain him. "Tell her... that I am so sorry that I was torn away—it wasn't my choice or intention. And ask her…" Castiel looked down, his jaw clenched. He sounded miserable, or maybe rueful, or maybe wretched. "Ask her to wait for me, if she will." He seemed to be finished.

"What war in Heaven?" Balthazar asked, bypassing the other contents of the message for what was concerning him at the moment.

Castiel's eyes locked onto Balthazar's, and there was a grim, determined, resigned quality in them. "The one that I will declare today, against Raphael and his plans to unleash the apocalypse I've sworn to stop."

Balthazar's eyebrows raised at his brother's words, at this utter declaration of loyalties. A loyalty to the humans, not to Heaven. "It's true what they've said about you and her, isn't it?" He asked Castiel slowly, softly. Cas didn't seem to know what Balthazar was asking and he made no reply, only looked back at his brother through a face that might as well have been a mask. Cas was different and Balthazar could tell. He hadn't believed the rumors, but he did now. How unheard of, how strange, that Balthazar's brother would grow that attached and endeared to a tiny little human pinprick on earth below that he would do what he had: fight for the humans rather than the will of Heaven as all angels were created to do. But Balthazar didn't judge—he too questioned his role in the growing chaos of Heaven. He too felt a dissonance that made him want to leave this place. Balthazar summoned a small smile. "I'll make sure the message is delivered, Cas, and give you the reply she sends."

Cas looked only mildly relieved. "Balthazar, you must be discreet. I can barely risk sending you in my stead. If Raphael finds her…" he trailed off, and seemed very weary, very burdened, very worried. "Raphael cannot find her."

Balthazar nodded once. "Understood, Cas. I'll do it at once."

Mild relief flickered across Cas's face despite his distraction and concern. "Thank you Balthazar. You are a good friend. It will be an honor to fight at your side once again." And with the sound of wings, Castiel disappeared.

Balthazar looked at the dancing girl in front of himself, not nearly as entranced as he had been before. A war in Heaven. Seemed like a bad idea and Balthazar wasn't sure if it would work or what good could possibly come from it. Raphael was powerful and had many followers. But if any angel was going to lead a rebellion, it should be Cas—the angel who had rebelled against Heaven several times already, fallen from his state of grace and done the most forbidden thing that existed: been with a human. A human that apparently was worth starting a war over. But fighting was not what Balthazar wanted to do. Shouldn't one be vested in a cause before fighting for it? Balthazar turned, looking over the occupants of the club without really looking, then stopped, seeing a familiar face.

He folded his arms as the other angel smirked at him and stood up leisurely from the leather seat he'd been sitting in close by.

"Hezion," Balthazar greeted neutrally. "Don't you know eavesdropping is rude?"

Swaggering over slowly, Hezion gave off an attitude of smug indifference as he watched the girls dancing for a minute, not even acknowledging Balthazar for a long beat. Finally, he turned his attention away from the strippers. "Does it look like I care?"

"Mm," Balthazar commented mildly, facetiously. "No, not really."

"I'm here because I have a proposition for you."

Balthazar narrowed his eyes and then suggestively looked Hezion up and down. "And what 'proposition' might that be? You know I'm partial to the ladies, right? Not skeevy angels named Hezion who lurk about in the dark."

There was a low chuckle. "…You sure about that?" Hezion's constant smirk deepened. Balthazar made a bit of a face and Hezion remained amused. "Enough of the flirting, Balthazar, I'm here to discuss business." Hezion leaned in just a little and lowered his voice. "Our brother Castiel is planning on starting a civil war. I think we both know there will be a lot of collateral damage when it begins. We would be wise to look our for ourselves and save our own asses while we can, don't you think?"

Balthazar raised his chin a little bit, fixing his brother with a dubious look. He was curious, but not convinced. Hezion was a bit of a gamble, and everyone in Heaven knew it too. "Hez old boy, I don't know if you're a forward thinker or an idiot. How exactly do you propose we would do that?"

Hezion smiled to himself like he knew something, some wicked little secret. "The celestial weapons. It's a two-angel job. We can take them if we're quick."

Balthazar rolled his eyes. He should have known Hezion would have suggested something ludicrous. "And be hunted down and strung up on the gallows? No thank you."

Hezion wasn't deterred, in fact, he seemed amused at Balthazar's comment. "Fair point." His eyes glittered darkly and he raised his eyebrows slowly. "But would they hunt us if they think we're dead?" He smiled at Balthazar's dawning realization. Hezion stepped forward, lowering his voice even further. "We take the weapons—very valuable, I might add—fake our own deaths, go enjoy a life of luxury and leisure on earth, let Heaven tear itself apart in the meantime. It doesn't have to be our concern."

Balthazar was quiet, thinking. Hezion glanced sidelong, appreciatively looking one of the strippers up and down. "A civil war in Heaven just isn't the best use of our time, and call me crazy... but I'm not in the mood to get killed over something I don't care about." He returned his attention to Balthazar. "Castiel lived on earth with the humans, why can't we?" He smirked, looked at one of the girls again. "They have lots of places like this down there... I think you'd like it."

Balthazar narrowed his eyes, a small smile stretching onto his features. He was liking the sound of this very much. "Go on," he told Hezion. "Tell me more about this little plan of yours." As the lights pulsed and sultry music thumped, two of Heaven's more self-interested angels plotted to steal the heavenly weapons. The next day, under the cover of the war that broke out, the two of them would fake their own deaths, take the weapons, and leave the realm completely to hide away on earth.

And because of what happened, Balthazar wouldn't be able to deliver the message to Alex—not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't risk anyone finding out he wasn't actually dead. He didn't understand the importance of delivering the message, or how important Alex was to Cas, but how could he?

Castiel would instead mourn Balthazar and believe that he had died in an ambush when he'd returned to Heaven just after delivering the message to Alex. He had trusted his friend and had assumed the message had been sent and received. He didn't know that Dean and Alex had separated or that she was out there somewhere on her own with only demons watching over her.

---

Castiel went to the same park picnic table he and Alex had shared turkey sandwiches on and contemplated what he was about to do. Start a war in Heaven.

He sat where he had sat before—on top of the table, feet on the bench where you were supposed to sit. He was aware of how empty the place beside him was. He ached in that familiar place inside of his chest for her. He looked upward even as he felt the souls scorching his insides, making him more powerful than he had ever been before. Strong enough to knock Raphael down a notch and start a war. But he wasn't completely sure. "Is this really what I'm meant to do?" he asked out loud, seeking an answer, needing a definitive reply. But none came. He had to decide.

And when he thought of the alternative—the apocalypse happening, millions of humans dying, Lucifer most assuredly winning the battle, the future that they had foreseen happening in 2014… Castiel knew that he had no choice. He had to defeat Raphael. Not only to stop the apocalypse from happening, but to keep Alex safe.

He cursed himself internally. Everyone in Heaven and Hell seemed to know how much she meant to him and he was a danger to her without even meaning to be. His love for her put her into harm's way, making her a target for his enemies to hold over his head. But if he could win this war, defeat Raphael and establish new laws in Heaven, they could be together. He wasn't even sure in what capacity, but it didn't matter at this point to him. He had wanted to live a simple human life with her, but now he was torn. He felt the pulse of Heaven beating through his veins, but at the same time, blood just like hers. He was both human and of Heaven, not one or the other anymore, at least not in his own mind.

His plan came to order as he sat there and stared across the park unseeingly, hearing children laughing as they played on the swing set. He would use the souls from Purgatory once they obtained them to become the most powerful angel in existence long enough to kill Raphael and subsequently abolish the old order. He would set Heaven free of the archangel dictatorship that it had known for so long. He would find a way to secure Alex's soul a Heaven. And finally, at last, when it was all done, he would keep his promise to her to remain at her side.

And with his decision made and her in mind, Castiel's wings ripped through the dimensions, carrying him back to Heaven. And there he stormed the meeting of the holy host, strengthened by the fifty-thousand souls that writhed inside of him. He boldly approached Raphael, whose face at first showed pleasure—he assumed Castiel was there to bow to him. And then he saw the look on Cas's face and his smile faded. He saw Castiel clenching his fist as fierce power gathered there, and raising his fist and opening the fingers, Castiel blasted Raphael away into a distant Heaven with a loud clap like thunder with a blaze of light brighter than the sun itself. The host looked at Castiel in surprise and the beginnings of reverent fear.

"There will be no apocalypse," Castiel asserted. Absolute wrathful power roiled around the words he spoke. "And let it be known—you're either with Raphael or you're with me."

With those words, war broke out in Paradise. And so the long road of good intentions wound on… the road that led Castiel to a thousand tragedies he would forever regret causing. But given the choice over, what could he have done differently? He would never know the answer, but in the years to come, he would always, always wonder. And he would forever reflect that this was how he learned that freedom was not indeed free.

For all of time they would tell stories of the angel who started the war in Heaven and ripped everything apart, rebelling against everything he had once believed in for the sake of saving one, small human life: the girl who waited, even though she never got the message he sent.