Song Remains the Same

Chapter 82 / Rest in Peace

"If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you are her brother?
Or are you always her brother, even when the other half of the equation is gone?"
- Jodi Picoult

Alex Winchester sagged in Castiel's arms. Unresponsive, silent, dead. Her head lolled to the side and her slack limbs were profanely heavy and limp.

The angel cradled the body of the one he loved close to himself on the floor. With a badly shaking hand, he pushed his fingers to her forehead again even though it was futile and he knew it. "Come back," he begged and commanded all at once in a gaunt whisper that trembled with tears. When nothing happened he got even more desperate and pushed his digits to clammy skin harder. "Come back!"

Silence was his only reply. He gave a soft, cracked sound of dismay... because he already knew she would never come back.

Reality crashed over him yet again and the horror of what he had done left him almost unable to function. As he stared at her through vision that was watery and agonized, he choked on the tightness of his own throat and two shaking fingers brushed against her cheek in a wretchedly tender touch. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she could have been sleeping, not like she had just been senselessly murdered.

...Murdered.

He crumbled all over again.

Father help me, what have I done!

Outside, a storm had whipped up out of nowhere in response to the Seraph's out-of-control grief. Thunder and lightning tore the sky apart, rain poured from the heavens, the ground itself trembled as from an earthquake. Cas felt as though he could never stand up ever again, as though he couldn't even draw another breath because he was so devastated. His heart hammered a sick rhythm, his veins felt like they were melting, his chest ached and panged as if he'd been stabbed repeatedly, his lungs were made out of bricks, his eyes were flooding his face with tears that he didn't know how to stop.

How did I let this happen?

Castiel held Alex's still face in a hand and he saw the constellation of freckles across her beloved, familiar face—he had numbered those freckles many times before. His eyes fell to the full pink lips that had shown him what a kiss was. That mouth had spoken the words 'I love you' to him. Inside, he died. She never should have loved him—not even a little. In his arms, he held the one he had done everything to protect… and she was dead at his hand. This was the one human being in all of creation who meant everything to him. And he had reduced her to nothing. He had committed the most abominable atrocity imaginable. He had killed her.

Her screams echoed in his mind and he was horrified, he hated himself, he despised the monster he had become and wanted to claw his way out of who he was. Alex had been defenseless, he had been rough and thoughtless and angry and she had been crying out in pain at his hand and heavens above, I am the enemy... I am the one who did this!

Dean had been right. The one Alex had needed protection from was himself.

Castiel was gutted all over again. He was worse than the pit of Hell itself, he was more deplorable than anything else in all of existence. As the moment dragged on and he kept realizing over and over again that she was dead because of him, he despaired on every level.

His greatest fear realized. His worst nightmare come true.

Oh, Alex, I'm so sorry! Cas pulled her against himself and buried his face in the curve of her shoulder, supporting the back of her limp head with his hand. If he held her tighter or protested enough, it all might change "I'm so sorry," he gasped. "I—" and he could manage no more words. Castiel shuddered against his great weeping gasps. Outside, the storm's winds were hurricane gale and the rain was a flood across the land. The angel held his mortal love and he hoped beyond hope that her soul claim would begin trying to tear its way out his chest like it had before (because that would tell him that she was still there, that she still had life to her on the eternal level), but nothing happened at all. His heart drummed a steady sick beat and the claim that rested within was nothing but a mere key anymore because the soul associated with the claim had been shattered beyond repair.

Her soul was broken. There was no afterlife for her. He hadn't just killed her, he had decimated her, erased all of who she was. No angel could undo what he had done, no force in all of creation could put back together what he had obliterated. Horror struck him to the marrow of his bones. What have I done? Cas held her even tighter, his noises of grief growing louder and more and more pronounced. No—I can't accept this! The blinding rage and grief that had driven him to such violent ends now compelled him into the lowest depths of despair. He wanted to be dead, too. And then, through her jacket, he felt something hard against him and when he realized what it was, he could only think one thing. Becoming still and breathless and quiet, he drew back and pulled out the angel blade she had there. Outside, the storm quieted. Castiel contemplated the weapon for a very long moment. This was what he deserved. The cold sharp end of this knife.

His entire existence rushed through his mind from beginning to end, and yet to him, his entire existence started with her. He heard her laughing for the first time out loud, saw her staring with awe at him as he walked to her under a shower of sparks, remembered how mistrustful she'd been at first, recalled the slow way that changed. He remembered the first time she smiled at him, he thought of sitting on a porch with her under stars and how she told him what she thought a real kiss was so long ago. He remembered how he had been so drawn to her, so fascinated, and never quite sure why. He remembered a pinky promise, a growing friendship, a deepening conviction, a building affection. He remembered abruptly wanting to kiss her and being terrified of the alien urge. He remembered loving her even before he knew what it was. He heard her gasping for him the first time they had been together, remembered her looking up at him and saying she trusted him. He remembered her in a white dress. He remembered promising forever. He remembered her eyes so trusting and full of love, he remembered laying in her arms and believing in a future together somehow. And now this. Killed by the very hands she was being held by.

And Cas could only think one thing: If she didn't exist anymore, then neither could he. Not after doing this. What if he took that blade and plunged it into himself? What if they found him laying here with wings charred across concrete, Alex in his arms? Cas let his eyes linger on her face and he whispered what felt like his final words, choking miserably as he labored to get the sentence out at all. "I would never even have said hello… if I knew I would do this to you." Why couldn't words and feelings change the horrors that had befallen them?

He tightened his grip on the angel blade—and he looked up briefly as his mind spun dumbly. Then he thought of his grace. If he cut and ripped it out, he would be given a human soul. A soul which he could sell. And then he caught sight of the Purgatory blood and he forgot the thought of a soul deal. The angel blade lowered. Wait. All that power. All those souls. Maybe all wasn't lost. Wretched, desperate hope began to rise. Was he wrong to guess that maybe the spell to open Purgatory and take in the souls would give him the ability to reverse this? Just a few beats ago Cas had been so beside himself he hadn't been able to think a logical thought. But now… the angel blade clattered to the floor because it was a chance and he was going to take it or die trying. Cas refocused on his Alex as he became breathless and shaky with a growing determination that made him dizzy. "I am going to save you," he promised in a harsh, wavering whisper as he pulled her close to him. He had to. Her skin was growing cool and his terrible, unforgivable actions washed over him all over again. "I am going to fix this." He pressed a long, heartbroken kiss to her forehead and squeezed his eyes shut, so miserable with himself that he could have died from anguish.

Just then he heard screams outside—the angels he had tasked with guarding the outside of the building. He could see demon smoke threading through the sky through the window outside. Oh no. Realizing what was happening, Cas very quickly laid Alex down onto the floor then he stood up fast—he needed to get to that blood now—and then it was too late.

Crowley had reappeared and he stood between Cas and the jar of blood. The King of Hell was staring past Cas at Alex's body with a very odd, slack expression on his face. He blinked twice. "…And what, exactly, happened here?" he asked softly, carefully.

Cas stared at the demon with roiling emotions of anger, desperation, and despair. "Don't touch her."

Crowley eyed Cas warily. "…Don't think I need to, mate," he ventured, his brow furrowing as he tried to understand. "…Did you do that?" Cas said nothing but his face worked to camouflage grief and guilt that weighed more than the earth itself. Crowley was visibly taken aback at the angel's silent confirmation. "Well." Crowley's eyes narrowed and he clearly didn't know what to think. "I'll be more damned than I am already. You're just full of surprises tonight."

A wreck, Cas clenched his teeth together hard. I should have killed this vermin long ago. Momentarily blaming the demon for everything, he ported himself from in front of Crowley to behind him, hand outstretched to smite. Crowley turned quickly, just in time for Cas's hand to clap to his forehead. And then nothing happened.

Crowley made a face as he stared up at Castiel's hand. "Sweaty hands, mate." Cas drew his hand back and stared at it with a dumbfounded expression. No! Why? "You can palm me all you want," Crowley purred, and some of his typical swagger was displayed again. "I'm safe and sound under the wing of my new partner." He gestured to his right. Cas followed the nod and then Raphael appeared in the space the demon indicated.

Castiel withered inside all over again. Things had just gone from horrible to worse. No wonder all those angels outside had just died. Crowley hadn't done that. The archangel had.

"Hello, Castiel," Raphael greeted evenly, smiling in cool triumph. He was in a female vessel just as he had been last time Cas saw him. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time now." Raphael's eyes flickered around the room and she caught sight of then frowned at Alex's body, which was behind herself and Crowley. Very slowly and in vast puzzlement, the archangel looked back at Castiel who was frozen and fearful to have the archangel in such proximity to Alex—though there were no reason. No one could hurt her more than he had. "…Why have you killed the human?" Raphael questioned with deep suspicion.

Even his greatest enemy knew enough of his love for that very human to be mystified by Castiel's actions and it broke him all over again. "I-it was an accident," he said, eyes filling with more tears as he stared at her motionless form. He glanced at the blood, which was beside and behind him just slightly. He had to figure out a way to escape with the blood and do the ritual—if the archangel got this blood, it was all over. Trying to buy time as he attempted to formulate a plan mentally, Cas looked at Crowley and stalled through his riotous emotional state. "Why have you brought Raphael here? If you're thinking of aligning yourself with him, he will deceive and destroy you at the speed of thought."

Crowley chuckled lightly. "Oh, really? And look who I'm talking to. Castiel, the biggest liar in the garrison. Not keeping your end, killing the one airhead left who probably still liked you… you're not exactly the choir boy material you used to be." He smirked at Cas's pained reaction to his words. "'Sides, Raphael's not as bad as you say. I've found him—her—them? To be really quite reasonable. Now. Move aside."

Cas swallowed, mind racing. There was no way out of this, was there? Still, he stubbornly refused. He couldn't allow the apocalypse to happen, he couldn't allow Raphael to win. "No."

That earned him a challenging, small smirk. "Castiel, you really think I would let you open that door?" Raphael questioned patiently. He believed he had already won, and that much was clear. "Take in that much power? If anyone is going to be the new God… it's me."

"I won't allow it," Cas replied in a hard, shaking voice.

Raphael arched a lofty eyebrow up at him. "I hate to point out the obvious, but you're outnumbered here."

Cas looked at Crowley and perhaps his expression showed some sort of betrayed sentiment because Crowley shrugged. "Hey, this is your doing, mate. I'm merely grabbing the best offer on the table. Now, you have two options." He lowered his voice to mock Cas's words earlier. "'Flee, or die.'"

Castiel swallowed thickly, looking at the jar of blood and then at Alex. He would have never guessed it would end like this.

And then, just as he was about to invite them to put him out of his misery, he remembered. Earlier that night, when he had been making his preparations, however detestable—destroying cell phone towers so that Alex couldn't alert her brothers to where she was, posting angels on the building to ensure she couldn't escape and Crowley couldn't get back in—he had prepared a jar of fake blood should it come to this. That jar was hidden in a supply closet nearby. And remembering an old sleight of hand trick Gabriel used to play on his brothers and sisters, Cas realized maybe there was still a way.

Seizing his last opportunity and chance, Castiel gripped the jar of Purgatory blood and focused all his celestial intent upon it… then as he switched the objects, this jar for the fake one, he threw the jar to distract from what he had done and to hide the swap. Crowley caught the jar just as Cas disappeared.

None the wiser, the archangel and the King of Hell were left by themselves to think they had gained victory. "My brother the coward," Raphael commented mildly. "He has been running all this time. I should have known he would run again."

Crowley wasn't listening. He held the jar at his side and drifted a few steps closer to Alex and peered down at her in perplexed sadness. "Well, Mouse. Can't say I saw this one coming." He shook his head ruefully, eyes scanning over her lifeless body. "Guess you didn't either."

Behind him, Raphael was waiting. "Crowley. The ritual. Sentiment can come later."

Crowley scoffed deeply and turned around to show the archangel how revolting he found that accusation. "I don't have a sentimental bone in my body, darling." He sauntered over to a table nearby where a sheet of paper laid—on it, the summoning ritual and diagram that he and Cas had extracted by force from Eleanor earlier that night. "Now. Shall we?"

About Thirty Minutes Ago

Sam Winchester stumbled through a dream-scape. At first he had thought it was reality, but now he knew exactly what this was.

He had remembered everything: Summoning Cas, trying to get to his sister, getting attacked... and having the wall in his mind broken instead. Somewhere out there, right now, he was probably unconscious somewhere with Dean worried sick and Alex still being held hostage god-knows-where by Cas. That was why Sam was in such a hurry to get the hell out of here. His family needed him. There was such a strange sense of hurry hurry hurry in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't explain it. How long had he been trapped here inside of his own mind? He had no idea, but it felt like too long and he had a tangible growing sense of alarm, like something horrible was on the brink of happening.

He was stumbling through a maze of oddly disjointed memories, trying to find Bobby's house. His mind was a blaring wreck and just when he thought he had escaped one horrific recollection, he stumbled into another. He was remembering, in painful detail, his year of being soulless. All of it: the dead bodies and innocent victims, the women he'd fucked and ditched—some of them had been married—and he remembered the one demon he'd slept with, too: Meg. As sickened as he felt, seeing and knowing the morally detestable things he'd done was just adding more fuel to the fire to escape. He refused to break down or give up. There was a way out and he was going to find it then deal with the knowledge of what he'd done later.

Suddenly, he was in Bobby's house. Just like that. A second ago, he'd been on a dark road in the rain, so the abrupt shift to the dim, quiet, dry interior of the familiar home was jolting. That's when Sam noticed that there were cobwebs on everything, a thick layer of dust, and sheets draped over furniture like the house had been abandoned. His gun was already out and he lifted it higher, every muscle in his body taut with caution. He turned a dark corner and found himself in the study. Without knowing why, he knew like he was getting closer and closer to a point of importance. He swore he could hear and feel a heart beating that wasn't his own. That's when he saw a shadowy figure seated at a table in the kitchen ahead. The head was slumped over, a knife was beside whoever who was seated there. Even though shadows obscured his face, Sam recognized himself and aimed the gun higher, readjusting his grip with a tense swallow. He had killed the soulless version of himself just minutes ago in this dream or vision or hallucination—whatever this was. So he was pretty wary of an attack from this one, too.

"Hello Sam," he heard his own voice say softly.

"Which one are you?" Sam demanded in a tight, low voice. He was ready to pull the trigger at a second's notice.

Slowly, his doppelganger looked up then rose to his full height, and when he stood, blueish moonlight illuminated his face. "Don't you know?" Bruises and lashes riddled his face, and his eyes were tortured, beaten, heavy. Blood streamed down his face, rendering him almost unrecognizable "I'm the one who remembers Hell." Sam felt a shock of horror shoot through him and then utter dread. "…I wish you hadn't come, Sam."

"I had to," Sam replied gruffly, holding his pistol steady, trying not be brave. "I'm here, right?" he asked, glancing around at the familiar house. "Out there in the real world, I'm at Bobby's, aren't I?"

"…How do you know?" his counterpart asked with slight confusion playing on pained features.

"This whole time, I've smelled nothing but Old Spice and whisky," Sam said, almost smiling because those smells were smells of comfort to him. But the smile didn't quite survive. Sam's reality refused to let him continue and the defeated, bloody guy in front of himself had him remembering how important it was to get out of this hellscape. "Figured if I could get back here, back to my body, I could... I don't know, I could snap out of it somehow."

"Maybe," his tortured duplicate said weakly. "But first… you have to go through me." His hollow eyes rose to Sam's. "Humpty Dumpty has to put himself back together again before he can wake up... and I'm the last piece."

"Which means..." Sam lowered his gun and slowly moved forward, watching himself with caution and empathy and pity all at once, "I have to know what you know."

The Sam who had seen Hell shook his head and clenched his jaw. He looked down, his nostrils flared, his hands clenched. "Trust me." His voice wavered to almost inaudible. "You don't wanna know what I do."

Sam hesitated, steeling himself. "You're right—but I still have to." He eyed the knife beside his doppelganger. The way he had remembered his year soulless was by killing the soulless version of himself. Was this how he was supposed to remember Hell, too?

His double was shaking his head without ceasing, looking Sam in the eye in despaired urgency. "No. Sam, you can't imagine the—the—" he ran out of words and his voice cracked. "Just stay here, go back, find that bartender, go find Jess, but don't do this. I know you. You're not strong enough to live with what's been done to us, what we've seen."

Sam's stomach flipped sickeningly but outwardly, he remained dogged. "I can hack it. I have to."

"Sam, listen to me," his lookalike appealed wretchedly. "You will never be able to live, to survive." His eyebrows pushed in together and upward, making his forehead wrinkle deeply in an expression of utter grief and appeal. "You'll never be able to look at your sister the same way ever again."

Sam faltered momentarily. "What do you mean?" And then it made sense to him and he scoffed slightly, shook his head, and swallowed down those memories of what Lucifer had shown him. Those horrific visions of a future that would never, ever happen. "I already know," he told his tortured clone stiffly. "I remember what Lucifer showed me. And I'm dealing." That was one word for it. He hadn't told anyone and he never would.

There was the softest, most cynical little sound. "What you know is a drop in the bucket." Sam looked his mentally-destroyed self in the eye with growing dread and fear. "You haven't been locked in Hell with him," the other Sam continued, voice breaking with evidence of his emotional wasteland. His eyes held a thousand agonies. "You're not the one who—" he choked and let out a shuddering breath. "You haven't seen what I have. Sam, just give up," he begged. "Don't open this door. Your family is better off without you, trust me."

Sam squared his shoulders. "No." Whatever torture he was about to remember, whatever pain, he would have to just shoulder it. He refused to believe his family didn't need him. "I'm not leaving my brother alone out there. He needs me, my sister needs me."

Defeated and sad, no fight left, the version of Sam who had been in Hell shook his head and hung it down. "No. She needs you as far away from her as possible. Forever. But I can see you've already made up your mind." He slowly rounded the table and then picked up the knife that was resting at the edge of it. Sam raised his gun again defensively but his double surprised him again with his lack of fire. "I'm not gonna fight you." He held the knife out for Sam to take, handle first. "But this is your last chance." Sam looked himself in the eyes and all he saw there was brokenness, ruin, self-hatred. "When all Hell breaks loose… when you become the nightmare Lucifer showed us… when you can't be in the same room with your sister without feeling like the monster that you are… don't say that I didn't warn you."

He continued to hold the knife out to Sam, and the knife was the choice. Take the knife and know Hell—return to the land of the living and maybe never be all right ever again. Walk away and leave the knife in the hand of his tortured self and never have to know the pain and reality that had happened in the cage. He could live here in a dream world forever. He could imagine whatever beautiful reality and nice life he wanted for himself.

Out of nowhere, he recalled being twelve years old and flopped on his stomach in the grass next to Alex who was picking blades and snapping them into smaller and smaller pieces out of boredom. He'd been in deep thought and had turned to her without any context and blurted out what he was thinking. Let's make a promise, he'd said. No matter what, we'll always save each other, okay? She had agreed after eyeing him oddly for a second, she'd given him that little mischievous, pleased smirk of hers, then they'd shaken on it, secret handshake style.

And then as the years carried on Sam had slowly begun to despise the family business and the life more and more. He had decided that he didn't want it for himself, that he needed to escape from it and have something normal, nice, quiet, safe. When he got dragged back in, his heart hadn't been in it like it was now.

He thought about all the times he'd let his brother and sister down. Abandoning Alex when Dean died and went to Hell… getting hooked on demon blood… dabbling with the enemy behind their backs… keeping secrets, lying, trusting Ruby before he had trusted his own flesh and blood…

Mistake after mistake.

But this time? This time wasn't going to be like that.

Sam slowly lowered his gun and put it into the waistband of his jeans and took the knife from the Sam who had seen Hell. Come what may, he was getting out of this place and back to the real world where his family needed him. He didn't care about the consequences anymore. All he cared about was being there for the ones he loved most in the world.

"You're gonna regret this for the rest of your life, Sammy..." his tortured lookalike promised in a soft, agony-laced voice. He didn't fight or cower or attempt to get away. He just waited for the kill. Sam clenched the knife handle harder and forced himself to make his move. With a shout, he lunged at himself and stabbed the length of the blade into the chest of his doppelganger. He saw his own blood-streaked face crumple in pain and disbelief. With a cry, Sam's counterpart fell over and died on the floor.

A bright light shot out of the dead body and the light poured searingly into Sam… and with it came the torrent of memories from Hell.

Bobby was quickly putting weapons, holy water, and more into a bag as Dean hovered over Sam's still form. He was very hesitant to leave his brother's side, but he knew that they had to go. There wasn't much time until the eclipse and the ritual. They had to stop the show, they had to get Alex outta there, they had to talk some goddamn sense into Cas. And Dean didn't want to do any of that stuff without his brother, but it was looking like he had to. Come on, Sammy. Wake up. Need you right now.

Bobby zipped the bag then lifted it, heading out of the panic room and into the basement. "Show time," he said, indicating Dean should follow. Outside the panic room, Balthazar waited to take them to where Crowley and Cas were.

"Gimme a second," Dean said, focused on his unresponsive brother. He pulled out a scrap of paper and quickly copied down the address of the place Balthazar had given them. He began to talk to his brother softly. "All right, this is where we're gonna be, Sam," he said, then tried to crack a smile and a joke. "You get your lazy ass out of bed and come and meet us. Sammy, please." There was no reply. Dean set the address next to his brother and then stood slowly. This felt so wrong.

And then without warning, Sam started to seize and writhe on the table with his eyes still closed. Dean's heart clenched in fear. "Sam? Sammy?!" He grabbed his brother by the shoulders to try and steady him.

Sam's eyes suddenly snapped wide open and he woke with a huge gasp as though he'd been underwater for almost too long. He shot up to sit. "Dean!" he exclaimed, panting as though he'd just run ten miles.

Relieved and scared at the same time, Dean still held on. "Sammy!?" He grabbed his brother's face in a hand, trying to get him to focus—Sam's eyes were going back and forth like crazy like he didn't know where he was. "You okay? What happened?"

"I'm…" Sam's eyes focused on Dean and he gulped down a couple huge lungfuls of air and wet his lips, trying to calm down and center himself. "I'm… I'm fine, Dean," he said, but he didn't sound so sure about that. He suddenly gave a severe, loud groan of pain and clapped his hand to his own forehead, scaring Dean all over again.

"What is it? What's wrong?!" Dean demanded in rising panic.

Sam's teeth were gritted and his breathing was still labored, but he was pushing Dean away. "My head's just… a little fuzzy," Sam said in a weak, strained voice. He stood up in a lurch, unsteady and urgent, panicked. "We gotta go."

"Whoa, you don't look like you're in shape to go anywhere—" Dean protested, standing too.

"Forget it, Dean!" Sam thundered, and it was like he knew something Dean didn't. "We have got to go, now."

"Y-you sure you can?" Dean asked, dumbfounded.

Sam grabbed an angel blade from the table where Bobby had been packing up and just gave Dean a loaded, silent look as he staggered back over. "I'm not sure about anything," he said darkly, then stumbled his way out of the panic room while holding his head, leaving Dean to follow close on his heels.

From there, Balthazar transported the three men off by a couple miles out from where Cas and Crowley were, refusing to get them closer 'just in case.' Then the angel went to 'go see about getting the female version of Sam out of there.'

That was the last time Sam and Dean ever saw him. And little did they know as they hurried toward the address they'd been given, their sister was about to be killed at the hands of the one who had once been her sworn protector.

Current Time

The angel in the trench coat stood in front of the ritual he'd painted in blood in a randomly chosen old school gymnasium near to where Crowley and Raphael were no doubt doing the same—only with the wrong blood. Having memorized the summons already, Castiel was almost done saying them. Fear for the future and uncertainty at what would happen had him in a vice and if he had faith left, he would have prayed for rescue and help, for this to please work.

He had been given no choice but to leave Alex's body behind with the King of Hell and Raphael. Castiel was panicking to get back to her, to protect her even in death from her enemies, from those who would hurt her. And then the most sickening thought of all came over him: I hurt her. Me.

If this worked—if he could put back together what he had broken—he would never chance hurting her again. He would do what Dean had commanded of him so many times before: go away and stay gone. With a heart that was weighted down with immeasurable guilt, Castiel recited the ritual and the last words of command poured out of his mouth.

"Aperit fauces eius ad mundum nostrum, nunc, ianua magna aperta tandem!"

His voice echoed in the large space. And at the last word, the wall before him broke open and blinding light shone forth and began to shoot out toward him. His last thoughts before those souls struck him were of how the road paved with good intentions had brought him here, to misery and ruin. That freedom was a length of rope he would just as soon hang himself with. And that he should have known, so very long ago, that there was a reason angels were forbidden to love humans.

With a gasp, Cas was hit by the stream of light that was made up of souls. Millions and millions of them flooded him, overpowered him, cramming themselves into him until he thought he would burst. The blast made him fall down onto his back. And then it was dark again and he was no longer himself. He blinked a couple slow, measured times, frowning ever so slightly. The power. The might. It flowed through him, leaving nothing except calmness and even a sly sense of entitled pride.

Standing up slowly and certainly, the angel who was no longer an angel at all took in a deep breath as if he never had before, testing the feeling of oxygen in his lungs. Fascinating. He looked at his hand with interest, then made a fist before flexing his fingers out again. The same vessel, the same body... a new and better mindset. Nothing seemed to matter to him or worry him at all. He was in control and omniscient.

And he would have his vengeance.

Sam and Dean and Bobby were all soaking wet and had nearly blown away in the inexplicable storm that had come in from nowhere. Still they persevered—up ahead they could see an abandoned old building and Dean put extra speed into his steps. Then behind him, Sam doubled over, hands on his knees as he groaned loudly through clenched teeth and tried not to fall over.

Dean stopped and and hurried back to his brother as Bobby waited ahead. Sam had been struggling the entire two plus mile way and it seemed to just be getting worse and worse. "Listen baby brother, you are not okay," Dean said, not sure if Sam should go any further or not. He could barely walk and function, how was he gonna be good in a fight? He could get hurt. It was beginning to become a risk Dean just couldn't take.

Sam shook his head and batted Dean away, trying to deny the problem was as bad as it was. "I just—it all keeps coming back, like a flood and I—augh!" He grabbed his head in both hands and gave a sobbing sound of pain which turned into a near-shout of frustration. He stomped a foot down hard onto the ground and puffed out a huge breath of air, trying to mind-over-matter his way out of whatever he was going through. He stood straight, but his expression was labored.

"Sam, if you can't do this—" Dean started, almost at the point of commanding Sam to stay behind.

"I can do this, Dean!" Sam cut him off loudly, maybe trying to convince himself, too. He lurched forward, all the more determined. "Come on!"

Against his instincts, Dean allowed it.

The hunters got to the building and found multiple dead angels surrounding the place, which only worried them more. They went in with angel blades tight at their sides, unsure of what they were gonna find. As they broke into the building and moved through the dark shadowy hallways, they could hear a loud voice up ahead reciting Latin. Bobby checked every room they passed on the left, Dean checked every room they passed on the right. No sign of Al anywhere. No sign of Cas anywhere. And then Dean found the room where Balthazar laid dead, wings scarred onto the floor in black.

Oh no. Urgency quickening his steps, Dean didn't even tell Bobby or Sam. Just kept going because if Balthazar was dead, that couldn't be good news.

"Ianua magna Purgatorii, clausa est ob nos, lumine eius ab oculis nostris retento," the voice droned, and by then Dean recognized the voice as they got closer. Crowley. "Sed nunc stamus ad limen huius ianuae magnae et demisse, fideliter, perhonorifice, paramus aperire eam. Creaturae terrificae…"

They crept even more quietly, hugging the walls on either side of the doorway that the voice was emanating from. Dean's adrenaline was going hardcore, making him feel buzzed almost. Sam was sweating profusely in attempts to keep quiet and stay standing, Bobby's grizzled face was a mask of severe concentration. Dean motioned with two chops of his hand at Bobby, then a quick point of the index finger at Sam—follow after me quick and quiet—and then he led the way in through the cracked door.

Dean tip-toed through the doorway and out onto a small metal platform that had stairs attached which led into the large room below. In front of Dean below with their backs turned, Crowley and what looked like Raphael stood facing a large design drawn onto the wall in blood. No Cas, no Alex. Dean felt the mildest semblance of hope. Maybe Cas had gotten his head out of his ass? Maybe Alex had talked some sense into him? Maybe Balthazar died to help Cas and Alex get away? All he knew was that he had an angel blade in his hand and Raphael was right there. She… uh, he? Was going down.

"Quarum ungulae et dentes, nunquam tetigerunt carnem humanam," Crowley droned on, unaware of the rude awakening he was about to get.

Dean drew his arm back and threw the knife for all he was worth, aiming for dead-center of Raphael's back. So imagine his surprise when Raphael stepped out of the way, caught the blade deftly without even looking, and looked back at him with a fierce, cold glare. Behind Dean, Sam and Bobby had drifted in. They all realized at the exact same time that they were screwed.

Crowley rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh of disgust, then waved his hand. Bobby gave a sound of surprise as he was sent toppling down the stairs, then Dean felt himself grabbed and thrown over the railing and he flipped over mid-air, landing back-first onto a metal table. Pain exploded and ricocheted throughout his entire body from the hard impact. He rolled off that hard surface down onto the floor face-first, groaning painfully even as he heard Sam being tossed through the air to crash down nearby too. Son of a bitch!

"Bit busy, gentlemen," Crowley said pleasantly, enjoying their moans of pain. "Be with you in a moment."

Groaning and wincing and trying to lay eyes on Bobby and Sam, Dean gritted his teeth and looked to his side. And then he saw her. Alex was laying on her back just about seven feet off or so with a hand tossed out beside her head—her face was turned toward that hand. She had no injuries to speak of and Dean assumed she'd been thrown at the wall she was near and knocked out from impact. Son of a bitch, Cas let that happen to her? Dean dragged himself over, groaning pain the whole way. She needed to wake the fuck up so they could get out of there while the getting was still good. "Al," he grunted, getting close enough to shake her shoulder then smack her lightly in the face. "Alex. Wake up, we gotta—" and that's when he saw how her lips were bluish and drained of color, that's when he realized her skin didn't feel right to him. His face went slack as one single thought took over his entire brain. No. His fingers flew to a pulse point in her neck. There was nothing there. No soft little leaping beat. Only skin that was too cold. "Oh no," he breathed out as he realized. "No no." Shock hit him like a freight train and he pushed his fingers into her neck harder, furiously trying to find a pulse that wasn't there. "No no no no no!" he grabbed her in desperation and shock. "Alex! Wake up, you hear me?" Her body flopped sickeningly at the shake he gave her and his inner alarms screamed red alert. "Don't you do this, don't you do this!"

"…Dean?"

His name asked so softly and in such a fearful tone made Dean stop. Oh god. On his side nearby where he'd fallen, Sam was holding himself up on an arm and watching with an utterly horrified, shocked look on his face. He was asking a silent question to his brother: Is she…?

Dean was out of words. All he could do was hesitant then shake his head no and look down at his lifeless little sister in disbelief. No. She wasn't.

How did this happen? How did this happen?!

He gave up in that moment and lost his will to fight at all, pulling her completely limp body against his chest so that she wasn't laying on the ground and he held her tight, closed his eyes, and wept. He had treated her like shit the past few days and his last words to her had been some curt, attitude-ridden comment. And now she was dead? He refused to believe it and held her tighter. You're supposed to be okay! I was supposed to save you—please...! You can't be gone. You can't be dead!

Dean was so blind and deaf to the world that he hadn't heard Sam move over to him, didn't notice until Sam had his arms around both Dean and Alex that Sam was crouched there with them at all. Sam's face crumpled and he gave a sound of heart-wrenching anguish, his fingers clenched at the back of his sister's head and he cried loudly in a way Dean had never heard before and hung his head until his forehead hit her shoulder.

"I-it's gonna be okay," Dean promised through a cracking voice, automatically trying to give his brother some kind of hope, trying to make it better, trying to be strong and know how to confront this. But the fact remained that they had just found their sister dead on the ground. And nothing was ever gonna be okay ever again. Alex had been killed and maybe Cas had been too. Who had done this to her? Crowley? Raphael?

Even as the brothers huddled with their fallen sister and Bobby sat up nearby and stared at them in dawning realization, the demon was just finishing his chant. "Aperit fauces eius ad mundum nostrum, nunc, ianua magna aperta tandem!" Crowley exclaimed and then waited with lofty, pleased expectancy. And then nothing happened. "Mm-hmmm." He paused, confused. "…Maybe I said it wrong."

"You said it perfectly," came a low, calm, familiar voice. "But unfortunately the finger paint you used wasn't quite right."

Dean's twisted up face went slack as he looked up, recognizing the voice immediately. Cas. But something about him was different. He glanced at Dean at that moment and no flicker of empathy or concern or even interest showed—only aloof and almost triumphant coolness—and Dean held Alex's body a little tighter by instinct.

Crowley's face darkened at the angel's words. "I see." He brushed a finger through the blood on the wall he stood by. "And we've been working with…" he stuck the tip of his finger into his mouth for a taste. "Dog blood. Naturally."

"Enough of these games, Castiel," Raphael said lowly. "Give us the blood."

A chillingly calm and composed smile spread across Cas's face and didn't reach his eyes. "You fool," he said softly, almost like he was enjoying himself. "The blood you desire is long gone." His smile grew and he seemed self-satisfied and boastful, two things Castiel never was. Dean watched with a rising sense of horror. What was wrong with him? "You can't imagine what it's like," the angel said, his eyes soft and reflective, pleased. "They're all inside me. Millions upon millions of souls."

Sam lifted his head up when Cas said that and with a dumbfounded, tear-stained face he joined Dean in staring with confounded terror. Cas had cracked Purgatory?

Apparently so. "Sounds sexy," Crowley said, then raised both eyebrows, his skittish and self-preservation instincts showing. "Exit stage Crowley." He disappeared without further notice.

The archangel, however, did not. With confusion, Raphael looked around as if not sure what was happening and Cas's chin lowered, his eyes darkened. "Now, what's the matter, Raphael?" he asked softly. "Somebody clip your wings?"

"Castiel, please," the archangel simpered. "You let the demon go, but not your own brother?"

The softest smile made Cas appear ominous. "And just why would I let you go?" he asked quietly and evenly. Raphael seemed to wither slightly. "I remember the punishments you inflicted upon me when you were the higher being." Raphael backed up a step fearfully. "The demon, I have plans for. You on the other hand…" Cas raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

Without warning, Raphael exploded into chunks of bloody tissue, muscle, and bone and Sam jumped beside Dean, letting out a soft gasp of surprise. "Dean…" he whispered, and Dean already knew what he was gonna say. Cas had lost it. This was the last place they needed to be. The only thing that Dean could think was maybe, hopefully Cas had killed Raphael as revenge. The archangel must have killed Alex. And maybe now Cas would turn around and be himself again.

Cas did indeed turn to look at the boys but he was composed, soft, and eerie. "So, you see," he said, too pleasant for the circumstances. "All is well after all. I have accomplished the plan I set out to fulfill."

"And was my girl dyin' a part of that plan?" Bobby asked in a stricken voice, standing up finally.

Cas turned a brief, patronizing smile onto the older man. "Do not mourn her," he said, looking at Sam and Dean where they were together on the floor. "The girl is only sleeping."

Dean found his voice. "She's not sleeping, she's dead, Cas!"

"Perhaps," Cas said thoughtfully. "For now."

Sam was absolutely wretchedly heartbroken, wearing his every emotion on his sleeve, struggling to function. "B-bring her back. Please."

Cas drew in a deep, slow breath and looked around the room slowly, taking his time to reply. "In time. But first. I saved you." He looked at the boys expectantly, that same strange, calm expression on his face. "Where is your gratitude?"

Dean swallowed. This did not bode well. He was intensely aware that Cas was dangerous and off his rocker and capable of exploding people with the snap of his fingers. Dean barely even recognized Cas. For the first time in his life he was one hundred percent scared of the guy. As such, his protective instincts were kicking in. He swallowed down his grief and pain and handed Alex to Sam and stood slowly, forcing his trembling limbs to be still. He had to get Sam and Alex and Bobby out of here safely. "T-thank you, Cas," he said, telling the angel what he wanted to hear. "For saving us." He didn't mean it though. He was hedging, buying time.

Cas nodded acceptance, that same creepy smile on his face. "You doubted me and fought against me, but I was right all along," he said, seeming pleased with what he was saying.

"Okay, Cas, y-you were," Dean continued, watching Cas carefully and not seeing the angel he knew in there at all. "You were right. W-we're sorry, right Sam? Bobby?" He paused, not sure how the hell Cas could be so unaffected by Alex dead nearby. "Now p-please. Bring her back, man."

Cas's eyes fell to the twins—Sam on the floor holding his sister's body in a protective way, his young face appearing even younger because of his distress. Cas tilted his head to the side slightly, almost fascinated at Alex's lack of life. "It's astounding, isn't it? How fragile you human beings are. How mortal."

Dean felt like his insides were shriveling up with every creepy, weird, psychopathic thing Cas was saying. Cautious, wary, and very aware that this was a delicate situation his eyes slid down to the floor and he saw that one of the angel blades was there, within reach if he dove for it.

Nearby, Bobby was petrified. "Cas—buddy—let's just defuse you, okay?"

Cas turned his head smoothly and looked at Bobby with an unnerving gaze. "What do you mean?"

"Y-you're full of nuke. Millions of souls, right?" Bobby faltered, glancing at Dean nervously. "That can't be safe. You did what you needed, right? So, before the eclipse ends, let's get them souls back to where they belong."

A gentle, correcting smile spread across Cas's face. "Oh no, they belong with me," he said. "I'm not finished yet. Raphael had many followers, and I must…" he thought for the right word, and the word he chose seemed to please him. "Punish them all severely. And… it's better this way." His eyes narrowed as his lips turned up at the corners. "Feelings. They don't burden me as they did before. I feel next to nothing. How refreshing."

Dean and Bobby exchanged a very meaningful side eye. Refreshing? More like scary as shit. Dean was focused on one thing and one thing only. "Well okay, fine, but just… b-before you go have your revenge or whatever, bring her back first, please." He was at the point of tearful begging and he tried real hard not to look as upset as he felt.

Mild impatience showed on Cas's face as his eyes cut to Dean's. "You should have faith in me, Dean. I will restore her when the time is right."

Swallowing, Dean tried to stay level-headed but this was his sister and the time was right now. "I-I got all the faith in the world in you, man," he lied, trying to appease the guy, trying to get him to bring Alex back. "But, w-why isn't now right? Come on. T-this isn't you. Why aren't you upset?"

Cas blinked once. "There is nothing to be upset over."

Dean had to bite down his temper, had to control himself better than he ever had before in his life. That was the most offensive, horrific, hurtful thing anyone could ever say to him. "Come on, Cas," he cajoled, trying to put a friendly smile on his face despite his growing inner anger. He was trying to fool the guy at this point, trying to play to his weaknesses and desires and emotions. "We're… we're your family, right? Can you do us a solid?"

Cas chuckled lowly, and the effect was entirely ominous and jarring. "Ah. I see what you're doing," he said, seeming amused. "You're trying to appeal to my sentimental side. Well, I'm afraid that won't work. You're not my family. You said as much to me, Dean. The only family I recognize is her. And… even she betrayed me." Cas shook his head ruefully. Dean frowned in confusion. What was that supposed to mean? "I am benevolent, though, and will show mercy upon her," Cas continued. "I will give her back the life I took."

The air disappeared from the room.

Give her back the life he took?

Dean blinked several times, going from calm and sort of level-headed to dangerous and dark in one second flat. "What?" he asked in a low, foreboding voice. "You? You killed her?"

Cas sighed softly. "Yes. It was an accident," he said, as if commenting on the weather.

Dean didn't care how or why or what or when or anything—he saw fucking black and heard himself growling out a trembling, "You son of a bitch," before he lunged for the angel blade nearby and in one fell swoop, with a shout of fury, he sank the blade deep into Cas's chest.

And then nothing happened. Cas stared at Dean threateningly and Dean let go of the handle, shocked and disturbed. And then Castiel gripped the blade and pulled it out of himself. There was no blood on the blade or feeling in his eyes. He dropped the blade down to clatter onto the floor uselessly. "I thought you might do that," he said, seeming unaffected except for some mild annoyance. "The angel blade won't work because I'm not an angel anymore." Dean shrank back a step or two as Cas became darker somehow, absolutely terrifying. "I'm your new God. A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you."

Dean couldn't help it. Cas had killed his sister, broken his brother, and he wasn't about to go down onto his knees. Cas wanted to destroy him? He already had. "You go right ahead, you bastard," he growled.

Cas's eyes narrowed just slightly and his voice darkened. "You would be unwise to test me, boy."

"Dean!" Sam appealed, his voice panicky.

"Cas, come on, this isn't you!" Bobby pleaded.

Cas was matter-of-fact and calm while everyone else in the room was either dead or freaking out. "The Castiel you knew is gone."

Dean glared at him with deadly eyes. "Well, I had some problems with him and whoever you are, I think I'm gonna have some problems with you too."

Another amused, cold smile played on Cas's face. "What a brave little ant you are. Would you really defy me even though you're completely powerless against me?"

Dean looked at the guy who used to be his friend and realized he didn't think there was any way on earth this really was Cas after all. Maybe when he took in those souls, he got possessed somehow. "Who are you?" he demanded lowly.

"I'm God," Cas answered evenly. "And if you stay in your place, you may live in my kingdom. If you rise up, I will strike you down. Now." He looked at Sam and took a step forward. "Give her to me."

Dean moved immediately to cut Cas off and the two men almost stood chest to chest when he did that. If this was the last thing he ever did, fine by him. Cas wouldn't touch her if he had anything to do with it. He thought of Alex, trusting Cas and being so powerless up against his superpowered self and then being killed by him. Dean's heart clenched up. "No. Hell no."

Cas took a very purposefully long pause in which his eyes warned Dean. "I am giving you one final chance to be obedient," he said softly. "Now. Move aside and give her to me."

Dean stood his ground stubbornly and let his voice be very low, slow, and pointed. "Not in a hundred million years you dick."

Displeased, Cas's nostrils flared slightly. "Very well. I should have guessed you would be difficult. You brought this on yourself." With something like annoyance, he twisted his hand in a quick little motion and Dean's neck jerked to the side. The oldest Winchester fell down in one single noiseless swan dive. He was dead before he even hit the ground.

"No!" Bobby shouted, and mindlessly rushed at Cas. Inconvenienced, Cas waved a hand again and Bobby fell down mid-step, every bit as dead as Dean was.

Shocked, Sam backed up against the wall, still sitting and clutching his sister, staring up at Cas in horror, blinking oddly, sweating profusely, crying and gasping and struggling to even stay conscious.

Cas stepped over Bobby as though he were nothing, heading toward the twins. "You're having trouble, aren't you Sam?" Cas asked faintly. "Seeing things? Remembering things? You forced my hand. And now you will live with the consequences of your actions."

"Y-you—you just k-killed my whole family," Sam managed, shock heavy in his voice as he scrambled to reason his way out of the unfolding horror. "C-Cas! Please! This doesn't have to be the path you choose! Y-you can change this!"

There was the slightest pious smile. "Yes. Of course I can. But I will not. Those who stand against me surely shall fall. Now." Castiel stood over Sam and looked down his nose at him. "Give her to me, Sam. I will not hesitate to strike you down. It would be a mercy, after what I've done to your mind. Do not tempt me, boy."

He paused for a very long moment, letting Sam decide, then he reached down and easily took Alex from her twin, who allowed it but looked up at Cas with trembling jaw and eyes full of hatred. "I am going to find you. I am going to hunt you down," he promised lowly. "And I am going to kill you."

Castiel warned him with a mere glance. "Any such attempt will result in the same fate as your brother and uncle, Sam Winchester. So I hope for your sake this is the last you see me." He disappeared with Alex hanging like a rag doll in his arms, and Sam stumbled to his feet. His world was upside down.

"No," he said, screwing his eyes shut and holding his head. This had to be him hallucinating, dreaming, making horrific shit up in his mind. But when he opened his eyes back up, everything was the same. At his feet, his brother and uncle were both dead. Sam's hatred abruptly melted into desperation as his chest exploded with emotional pain and despair. "You can't just leave me here, you can't just take her!" he shouted out at the ceiling, stumbling back a step as if drunk. "You can't do this! Cas! Cas! This isn't you! Cas!" His shouts made him dizzy and weak. A trickle of hot blood ran out of his nose and his knees gave out as his vision went black with memories from the cage.

A sharp, biting sting in the palm of his hand made him cry out and he realized he'd fallen onto the floor and caught himself where a broken shard of glass rested. Bright red blood stared back at him and he clutched his bleeding hand, groaning in agony. His vision wavered between the real world and memories of Hell—he saw himself on fire, heard Lucifer taunting him, saw a hundred unspeakable things. He collapsed down and writhed on the floor, completely alone and unsure what was real and what was imagined.

Heaven

While Sam suffered on earth, Castiel slowly paced the throne room, his every step full of confidence, pomp, and pride. In the throne itself he had placed Alex's body. Raphael was dead and gone and the throne now belonged to him. Soon the entirety of the Host would bow down. And those who did not... would be dealt with.

"So, here we are at last," he mused aloud in a quiet voice that was full of triumph. "The kingdom of Heaven and its new God. And his…" he paused, searching for the right word as he looked back at the motionless girl. "Queen." Yes. That word seemed fitting.

He took a moment then continued on toward the grand book of Heaven which rested upon a solid gold pedestal that was displayed atop a raised marble platform. Cas slowly climbed the stairs, speaking as he went. "You said once you disliked this world. Well. I shall cleanse this earth of wickedness and sin. It will be the place it should be. Good, pleasing, orderly, just." He drew her claim out of his chest without breaking the skin of his vessel and frowned when he realized. It was a mere key with no soul claim associated. "Oh. Of course." He smiled to himself and laid the key down beside the book and went back to the human. He had to fix her first, he had to restore her soul. He ascended the throne where he had put her and surveyed her with vast interest for a moment. He knew he loved her, logically. But he felt little about it. Strange. What was special about her? He couldn't really remember or recall. All he knew was that he found her special. Not caring much either way, he laid his hand down onto her stomach and marveled at himself. Such power. Such majesty dwelt in him. He called her back to life, he put her soul back together, and no one else in all of creation ever could have done that except him.

"Awake, Alexandra," he beckoned, welling with satisfaction and ego. "Walk in newness of life. For I am the Lord your God. And you shall worship me." He touched his fingers to the side of her head.

Her eyes snapped open and she gasped in a long, loud breath of air.