Summary: Castiel can't abide his orders any longer, but he knows the penalty for rebellion. He does what he can to ensure Liam's safety before they pull him out of his vessel... but he's only half successful. Liam is going to have to figure out the other half on his own.

Liam pulled one of his earbuds out and looked up from the book he had been semi-successfully trying to read. "Castiel?" He froze as soon as he actually saw Castiel, immediately scrambling to his feet and shoving Sam's iPod into his pocket. "Castiel!"

Castiel hit his knees just as Liam got to him, blood smeared across his face and soaking into his clothes. "Liam," he rasped, grabbing the front of Liam's shirt with shaky, bloodstained hands. "I need you to listen very carefully."

Liam nodded wordlessly, feeling a familiar dread coiling in his gut as he watched Castiel haphazardly pin a medal to his shirt. Bad things were about to happen, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. He could feel it.

He hated that feeling.

Castiel coughed, patting the star-shaped medal once it was fastened. "You cannot call for anyone," he explained, taking Liam's ribcage in his large hands. "Not even Samandriel."

Liam flinched when a somewhat painful, tingling, burning sensation shot across his ribs. "Why? What's wrong?"

Castiel pulled Liam from the floor and wrapped both arms around him, getting shakily to his feet. He teetered slightly, and then the room changed around them.

Or, Liam supposed, the room stayed the same, they just moved somewhere else.

"Castiel—" Liam reached out to grab on to Castiel's neck, but Castiel was already putting him on the ground. "Castiel?"

Castiel crouched—more like collapsed—again and took Liam's hands in his, keeping some space between them. "Liam, do you remember when we talked about faith? How sometimes, you don't get to know why things happen, but you have to trust?"

Liam nodded a few times, scanning Castiel's body, his fear escalating as he saw just how much blood Castiel had lost. It was soaked into his clothes, leaving footprints on the floor, smearing thickly over his face and neck and hands. It looked really, really bad, and Castiel looked out of breath and… scared, maybe? No, Castiel was never scared. He couldn't be scared.

…could he?

Oh, no. Castiel was scared.

"I need you to have some faith in me right now." Castiel reached out and took Liam's face in his hands, flashing a weak smile. "You are safe from the angels, and you won't be here long. I need you to listen to me and obey when I say you can't call for anyone. It will put you in grave danger. Do you understand?"

"What about you?" Liam put his hands over Castiel's, not minding the sticky blood being smudged on his face. "You're hurt."

Castiel looked at Liam with pain in his eyes, and he shook his head with a quiet, "Don't worry about me. This is my own fault. I—I made mistakes, Liam, some of them very bad." He swallowed. "But I'm going to make them right."

Liam let go of Castiel's hands and rushed forward, wrapping both arms around Castiel's neck and holding on tight. "What are they gonna do to you, Castiel?"

"Shh." Castiel gently pushed Liam back—his eyes were bleeding, he was getting worse—and stood up. "Everything is going to be just fine." He reached out a hand and pointed to a symbol that was carved into the wood of a nearby wall. "If, somehow, the angels find you, make a symbol like this in your blood and put your hand on it. It will banish them."

My blood? Liam opened his mouth to question the order, but Castiel was gone. Castiel? Liam was vaguely aware of music still streaming through his remaining earbud. What just happened? He shuddered, looking around the strange building with fearful eyes.

It was a simple structure—some kind of cabin, it looked like, with a door on one side and a window on each of the walls adjacent to it. There was a little kitchen area with cabinets and an old-fashioned stove, and in the opposite corner there was a cot pushed up against the wall with several blankets piled on top.

What am I supposed to do here?

Liam tried to stay calm, but it didn't work. His chest got tight, and that made it harder to breathe, and once it was harder to breathe, he started to cry a bit, and once he started to cry a bit, he started to cry a lot, and—

What just happened?

"I just need a win, Sam." That was all Dean could manage, sitting on the motel floor with Pamela's cooling body in his arms. That was all he could manage with Castiel's words still ringing in his ears, mocking him with the stinging realization that he had been used yet again. "I just need a win."

If Sam said something in response, Dean didn't hear it. Because Castiel's words might have been a slap in the face, but Alistair's voice was a knife to the chest, and it was digging its claws into his brain, dragging him down into the darkness he usually managed to keep contained within his nightmares. He could smell the burning bodies and feel the fat on his lips. He could taste the tang of blood on his tongue, he could hear them screaming and crying and pleading with him to stop, he could feel the blood between his fingers, he could feel himself grinning, he could—

"Dean!"

Dean startled, instinctively holding Pamela a little tighter. "What?" He blinked and looked around, trying to bring himself back to reality. "What?"

"I said, 'We have to call the police.'" Sam shoved his hands into his pockets, indicating Pamela with a nod of his head. "We can make sure she gets cremated, but… she wasn't a hunter. She should have a proper funeral."

Dean looked at Sam for a long moment, and then he shook himself. "Yeah. Uh, right. Right." He cleared his throat. "We should do it anonymously. We can't exactly explain…" He looked around the motel room and sighed, carefully lowering Pamela to the floor. "Let's just get out of here." He had to get out of there.

"Are you sure we—"

"Yes."

"But—"

"Now, Sam!"

Dean couldn't look at Pamela's body anymore. He was out the door before Sam had a chance to counter. He felt the night air biting his face and neck, and the lingering flames of Hell started to cool. He muttered a string of curses under his breath. He shook his head and pulled his keys from his pocket. He shoved the key into the lock and twisted it hard. He wrenched the door open and all but collapsing in the driver's seat. He leaned forward. He put his forehead to the steering wheel. He sighed, an impossibly heavy weight coming down on his shoulders.

He was torn between getting lost in a fluid onslaught of flashbacks and being lost in a disjointed reality he couldn't quite get his hands on. His brain either slurred everything together or failed to connect one thing to the next.

I need a win.

"Dean… come on, get out. I'll drive."

Dean shook his head, shoving the key into the ignition. "Nope." He cleared his throat. "Nope. I got it."

Sam didn't look convinced, and underneath the fatigue and frustration, there was sincere worry. Honestly, it amazed Dean that Sam had any 'worry' left in him.

"Dean, please. Just try to sleep for a cou—"

"I need to drive, Sam." Dean twisted the keys with one hand, the other one gripping the wheel until his knuckles were white. "I need to. Okay?"

Sam hesitated for another moment, but then he offered a little nod and walked around the front of the vehicle to the passenger side.

Dean slammed his own door shut and barely let Sam close his before throwing Baby in reverse and backing up enough to turn toward the road. He put the car in drive and tore out of the parking lot, hitting the open road and pushing the pedal until he was flying down the road at a speed that might stand a chance of leaving his demons behind.

I just need a win.

Liam wiped his eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady himself before slowly rising to his feet. He folded his arms over his stomach protectively, though he wasn't quite sure what he was trying to protect himself from. He had moved to the corner of the room across from the door and crawled up onto the cot, settling down with his back to the corner; close enough to the door to run outside, but far enough away that if something came in through there, he would have time to run and dodge.

He was as safe as he could be, under the circumstances.

Bright eyes flickered around the cabin a second time. Beyond either of the windows, there was nothing but darkness, and Liam knew he would have to work up the courage to take a closer look, but… he wasn't there yet. He looked over at the kitchen are and wondered if there was any food in the cabinets. Because, depending on where he was, he might be very far away from food.

And he had a sick, sinking feeling Castiel wouldn't be coming back.

Liam reached up to grab Dean's amulet, and his fingers brushed against the star Castiel had pinned to his chest. It was heavy and cold—definitely made of real metal—and it hung on the end of a mostly-red ribbon with a blue stripe.

Liam looked down with a furrowed brow, and after a moment of thought, he grabbed both the amulet and the medal in the same hand. He didn't know what the star was for, exactly, but he figured Castiel wouldn't have given it to him unless it was important.

Liam startled when something moved in the corner of the room, his grip on both pieces of metal tightening. What was that? It had only been there for a second—some kind of blur or shadow—but Liam knew he had seen it. He glanced around, heart hammering against the inside of his chest, but there was nothing. Was it a ghost?

Not that it would make a difference, knowing what it was. Knowing his dad was coming into his room had never protected him. If he had known Castiel was in the motel room that fateful November night, it wouldn't have stopped Castiel from taking him. It would have only caused panic. Knowing what was after him was only helpful if he could do something about it, and he couldn't.

Maybe there's some salt in the cabinets… Liam bit down on his lip, gripping his trinkets so tight it was starting to hurt. But I would have to go across the room to where the thing was. Not to mention, he could only do so much with a canister of table salt, and he had no idea who was coming for him, if anybody, or when. It wasn't like he just had to stay safe for a few hours until Sam and Dean arrived with Baby and a trunk full of salt-round shotguns and iron.

Liam startled and pushed back into the wall when the figure appeared again, a little closer and a little longer than before. It's a man, and… and he looks kinda… familiar?

Liam took a deep breath and slowly opened his mouth. "Okay…" He inched toward the edge of the mattress, staying pressed against the wall. "I, um… I don't have any salt… and I don't really wanna hurt you anyhow, so…" he started sliding to his left, inching toward the door despite having no intention of leaving, "…how about I just…"

I'll just make it up as I go along. That's what Sam and Dean do.

Liam took another step and froze, his path to the door suddenly blocked by a man who was, apparently, figuring out how to make himself visible for more than a second at a time.

Liam would have been afraid if he hadn't been so shocked.

Because Liam had been right; the man was familiar, and once Liam got a good look at his face, he knew exactly who was haunting the cabin… or maybe… haunting him? It didn't matter. What mattered was that he had seen the man's face many times in both Sam and Dean's wallets.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Mr. Winchester looked confused for a moment, and then he opened his mouth to speak, but he flickered out of sight before he could get a word out.

"Mr. Winchester?" Liam took a few steps forward, still holding onto Dean's amulet and the bronze star. "Mr. Winchester, are you still here?"

There was another flicker, but it was as faint as the very first one had been, and then the cabin was empty and still.

Liam let out a soft sigh and slowly sank to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them tight. If Mr. Winchester was the ghost, then Liam didn't have to be afraid, but that didn't make Liam feel any better about being kidnapped, or missing Sam and Dean, or not knowing where he was, or how much Castiel had been bleeding, or…

It just didn't make him feel better.

Liam sighed, gave his knees another hug, and then he slipped into a crawl, moving across the floor toward the cabinets. I guess I should try and find food and water. If he couldn't find those… he would have to leave the cabin, even with Castiel's warning. He wouldn't have a choice.

Liam sucked in a breath and opened the cabinets.

Here we go.

Dean turned to Castiel and glared, swallowing the fire in his chest. He needed the conversation to move away from Alistair for a moment so he could try to get his head on straight. "So, Cas, you haven't said a single word." He nodded in Uriel's direction. "You're gonna let him do all the talking?"

Castiel pressed his mouth into a thin line. "I felt it would be unwise, given our current…" he glanced away, "…situation." He looked back at Dean.

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean snapped, folding his arms over his chest. "You've got a lot of nerve showing your face at all." He pointed to each of them in turn and then tucked his hand back into his folded arms. "You both have a lot of nerve asking me for anything while you've got Liam under lock and key."

Uriel took a step forward. "We aren't—"

"Yeah, you aren't asking. I heard you the first time." Dean dropped his arms and sighed. "Well." He started to turn in a circle. "There's gotta be a door here somewhere…"

"Dean," Castiel started, his voice soft but unwavering. "We need you to do this." He paused. "You wouldn't be here if we didn't."

Dean glared at Castiel. "That would really help your case if I cared." He pointed past the two angels at the demon on display in the other room. "That is your problem, not mine. I'm leaving."

Uriel stared at Dean with cold eyes. "You either do it or we toss your little boy in there and cut Alistair loose."

Dean's heart stopped beating in his chest, fear running cold through his veins as Uriel's words sank in. "You wouldn't." But he knew they would. "He's just a kid." Dean had to buy time. Crap. What do I do? What do I do?

"You're right." Uriel spoke coolly, more aloof and detached than Dean had ever seen him. "He's just a kid, and that means he's utterly insignificant. We could care less what happens to him, as long as you do what we want in the end. So, do we have a deal?"

Dean wet his lips and pretended to mull it over, eyes drifting from Uriel to Castiel. "I wanna talk to Cas." He glanced back at Uriel, narrowing his eyes just slightly. "Alone."

Uriel gave Dean a hard look that eventually melted into an eyeroll, but he disappeared nonetheless.

"Dean—"

"I'll do it." Dean closed the distance between them and stared Castiel down, emerald eyes blazing. "I'll do it, but the next time I see your face, whether Liam is back home or not," he lowered his voice and leaned in just a little closer, "I will shove your own blade through your skull so hard, my knuckles will be buried in your brain."

Castiel stared for a moment, something like hurt flashing in his eyes before he looked away. "I understand." He sounded remorseful, but in all honesty, that made Dean want to punch him even more.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do." Dean shouldered past Castiel—a move that was pretty much pointless, because Castiel was an unmovable statue—and put his hand on the door to the torture chamber. I can't do this.

But he had to. For Liam. For Sam, even. For everyone they would go after if Dean didn't do what they wanted, because in a painfully ironic twist, nothing was sacred to the angels. Nothing.

"For what it's worth," Castiel started softly, footsteps shuffling slightly, "I would give anything for you not to have to do this."

Dean didn't say anything for a moment. He couldn't even look at Castiel, and when his lips finally formed the words he wanted, venom dripped from every syllable. "If that were true, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

Dean looked over just long enough to see something like shame crossing over Castiel's face, and then he shoved the door open and disappeared into the chamber. He took a discreet breath, collected himself, and then did his best to turn his brain off entirely.

Liam leaned the thin mattress from the cot against the kitchen counter before crouching down and crawling into the cabinet where he had shoved all the blankets. "It's easier to stay warm down here," he explained to the air.

Well, he didn't really know if it was just air, which was why he was explaining. He wasn't sure if Mr. Winchester could hear him, but he figured if Mr. Winchester could, it would save a lot of time in the long run. Besides, it made him feel a little better.

"I used to do this at my house when my parents couldn't pay the heating bill." He pushed his blankets around a little and tried to make himself comfortable, bunching one of them up to make a pillow. "I used to get a little mad, because my parents had a space heater, but I grew out of that." Mostly because if he didn't get yelled at by both of them, his mom would hit him, and if his mom didn't hit him, his dad would help him warm up.

And Liam didn't like that.

"But anyway, if I stay in here, then instead of the heat coming off my body and going through the blankets to the ceiling, it goes through the blankets and warms up the cabinet."

Liam curled up a little and pulled the other blanket over himself, peering out through the little space between the open cabinet door and the mattress. "I should probably close the door to make it warmer… but I wanna see you again, if I can." He curled up, shivering a little, and rubbed at his ear. "There's no water or food… so I'll have to leave soon. But Castiel looked really hurt, and he told me to stay, and I don't know how to keep the other angels from finding me." He let out a soft sigh. "I don't know how much you know about angels, Mr. Winchester, but they are not nice. Alabama lied to me." He laughed a little at his own joke, though he wasn't sure Mr. Winchester would know what he was talking about.

Sam and Dean never understood his country music references, the heathens.

Liam wet his lips and curled up a little tighter. "I've been without food before, but I always had water. Really, I'd have food, too, just… not enough. Or not the right food. I dunno. My social worker said I was 'malnourished' when they took me away, so…" He shrugged his shoulders and wet his lips again, chest tightening slightly. "I just… I don't want to go that long without food again. But I'm scared to leave. And I don't know how to get to Sorzie or Dean or Bobby, and…" He reached up and pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes.

I can't cry. I'm not a baby, and crying won't help.

Sam always said it was okay to cry, but Liam was pretty sure Sam was mistaken. Though… Dean and Bobby and even Castiel had said the same thing…

"Hey, um, look, I don't normally do… y'know, mushy chick-flick moments and… stuff… but, uh… I won't, y'know, get mad or laugh or anything. If you gotta cry, you gotta cry."

Liam shook his head. No. I don't need to cry. He brought his hands down and took a deep breath. I'm fine.

When Liam opened his eyes again, Mr. Winchester was sitting on the floor a few feet away. Liam perked up a little, sniffing quietly.

"Have you been able to hear me?"

At first, Mr. Winchester just mouthed the word 'yes,' but when he tried again, his voice came through. "Yes. I can hear you."

Liam smiled a little. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester."

"How do you—" Mr. Winchester's voice cut out for a moment, so he started over. "How do you know who I am?"

"Um, Sam and Dean," Liam replied. "They're my…" he frowned, his face scrunching up. "Well, I don't know what they are. But I live with them. We ride around in Baby, and they hunt monsters, and they do school with me."

Mr. Winchester's brow creased, eyes sharp and discerning in a way that reminded Liam of both Sam and Dean. "Well, that sounds like you're their kid. Did they adopt you? Or…" He frowned, confusion growing. "How long have I been gone?"

Liam shrugged his shoulders helplessly, drawing his blankets a little closer around himself. "I dunno. They get real quiet when I ask about you."

Mr. Winchester pressed his lips together and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right." He heaved a sigh and looked around the cabin. "I don't suppose you know where we are."

Liam shook his head. "Castiel brought me here, and he said I was supposed to stay. Then he disappeared." Liam's mouth twisted up. "Did you see Castiel bring me here?"

Mr. Winchester gave a sideways sort of nod. "It's there in bits and pieces." He frowned then, reaching out toward Liam. "Let me see that."

Liam flinched back instinctively, but once he looked down and saw Mr. Winchester was just reaching for the star, he surrendered it. "Here." He bit his lip. "Do you know what it is?"

Mr. Winchester looked at it for a moment, and then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. It's mine." He handed the star back. "You said Castiel is—"

Liam jumped, looking around, but Mr. Winchester was gone.

Liam fell back into the blankets with a thud and an angry groan.

I know I'm not supposed to swear, but come on!

It took the barest glimpse of Castiel for Sam to be on his feet and storming into the hospital hallway, fumes practically shooting from his ears. Livid did not even begin to describe the fire running through his veins.

Castiel must have heard Sam's angry footsteps, because he turned around and began some kind of statement Sam couldn't have cared less about. "Sam—"

"Get in there and heal him." Sam pointed to the room he had just left. "Miracle. Now."

Castiel stared back almost blankly. Almost, because Sam could see something raw hiding in the shades of Castiel's eyes. "I can't."

Sam pointed again. "You and Uriel put him in there—"

"No."

"No?" Sam echoed, incredulous, trying to keep his voice down so no one would call a psychiatrist for him. "What do you mean no? He's in there right now because you can't keep a simple devil's trap together! How is that no?"

Castiel seemed genuinely confused, genuinely upset, and with every passing second, he seemed more uncertain. "I don't know what happened. That trap… it shouldn't have broken." He shook his head just slightly, and there was something almost pleading in his eyes. "I am sorry."

"You're sorry?" Sam spread his arms and somehow managed not to throttle the angel he was towering over. "You're sorry. Like you're sorry for taking my kid?" He didn't care that Castiel looked hurt by that. "Like you're sorry you had to kill Anna? Is it that kind of sorry? Where you say it to make yourself feel better and then do absolutely nothing to change the way things are?"

Castiel worked his mouth for a moment, eyes flickering down and to the side as he searched for words. "I… did not…" He glanced up at Sam and then down to the other side. "I did not mean for this to happen."

"Well, that means absolutely nothing." Sam let out a sharp sigh and ran a hand through his hair, looking over his shoulder at the door to Dean's room before looking back at Castiel. "This whole thing was pointless. Do you understand that? Someone else is killing your angels, and you had to torture my brother, under threat of torturing my child, to figure that out."

Castiel glanced away again but quickly brought his eyes back. "Perhaps Alistair was lying."

"He wasn't." Sam's tone left no room for debate, watching closely as the words sank in.

Castiel spent a moment looking like he had been punched in the gut, face twisting up with uncertain confusion and hurt, eyes staring almost distractedly at Sam's shoulder. He lifted his eyes, and there was a vulnerability there that Sam had never seen before. "Well, it's possible—"

"No, Castiel, it's really not." Sam almost pitied him; almost pitied how afraid he was of realizing he had been in the wrong. "Do you realize if I weren't on demon blood, which you forbade, you would have been exorcised and both Dean and your vessel would be dead?"

Castiel opened his mouth, but Sam had heard enough talk. He was done listening. He was done, period.

"If Alistair knew how to kill angels, don't you think he would have killed you when he tried to take Anna?" Sam gave a meaningful pause, waiting until the wires fully connected to continue. "But you didn't think about that, or anything, because you were ordered to capture and torture Alistair for information on the killings, so you just did it. Because orders trump everything, right?"

Castiel didn't say anything, but the ever-increasing conflict on his face was proof enough.

"Because individuals don't matter," Sam accused. "They're just a means to an end. Isn't that how it goes?"

"There's more than individuals at stake." Castiel had never spoken with so little conviction, his voice quiet. "We have to look at—"

"—the big picture?" Sam interrupted, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. "What is the point of the big picture if you aren't going to take care of the pieces? Huh?" He gave Castiel an accusatory, questioning look. "Why are you even here right now? On Earth?" He gestured vaguely to the area around them. "You leave us alone for thousands of years and decide the end of the world is a good time to finally show up? That's your big picture?" He spread his arms, raising his voice despite himself. "Why? Why save the world when all you're gonna do is abandon it when you're done? Why save the world when everything in it means nothing to you?"

"That isn't true." Castiel managed to sound at least a little angry, and there was a passion in his voice that said he was sincere. "I—I might prioritize an outcome over the losses necessary to obtain it, but the world—humanity—it, you—" He huffed out a sigh, struggling with himself, and his anger was starting to look more like desperation. "Humanity means something to me. It always has."

"Yeah?" Sam shook his head and scoffed, incredulous. "You have a really funny way of showing it. What you're doing to us, what you were willing to do to all those people in Clayton, the way Uriel talks about us—"

"Uriel—" Castiel spoke disjointedly, unable to get a handle on what he wanted to say. "Uriel should not do that, but he isn't—his opinion is not mine. It's—"

"It doesn't matter!" Sam stopped to take a breath, forcing his volume back down. "You're saving the ship and letting all the passengers drown. You're doing that." He jabbed a finger into Castiel's chest. "You." He dropped his hand. "What's your next update going to sound like, Cas? 'Well, literally all of the passengers are dead, but look at that boat. That right there is a nice boat.' Is that what's going on up there?"

Castiel shook his head emphatically. "No, it's—" He wet his lips and struggled for another moment. "It's not that simple, Sam. It's—"

Sam grabbed Castiel by the arm before he even realized what he was doing. "Come with me." He took a step down the hall, trying to pull Castiel along and glaring when the angel stayed put. "I'm going to show you something. Come with me." He dug his fingers in, nearly shaking with rage. "Now."

Castiel became pliant and let Sam pull him along, still wearing that confused, almost frightened look on his face. Sam knew he couldn't have caused that kind of look with a mere lecture, so something was going on that Sam was not privy to, and even though Sam was determined to make Castiel see the flaw in his own logic, Sam had to wonder what Castiel was realizing all on his own. He had to wonder what could possibly make Castiel afraid.

"Do you see all the nurses and doctors walking around here?" Sam gestured discreetly to the different members of medical staff they passed, keeping his voice low. "They come to work every day and do all they can for the patients who come here. They aren't stupid. They know they can't save everyone, but they do all they can anyway, because they know it's worth it, even if you only save a few."

Castiel glanced around as they walked, something curious flickering to life in his eyes and pushing back the confusion and fear. It was like he had never really looked at a hospital beyond the injured person he was there to see. Like he thought the hospital was a machine.

Sam took a brief moment to recall the layout of the hospital and then turned down a hall, dragging Castiel over to a large window overlooking the emergency room doors. "See those vehicles?"

Castiel nodded mutely, looking down at the flashing lights "They can't save everyone. They're still here. Sometimes, they do their job for free, just because they understand the value of saving even one person. They understand that looking at the big picture is rarely realistic." Sam looked away from the window and drew Castiel's attention to himself. "Firefighters, foster parents, social workers, missionaries, advocates, caseworkers—none of those are high-paying jobs, assuming they pay at all." He gestured toward the window. "Police." Though he didn't know if there were any police involved in the ambulance arrival down below. "Police get paid a crap salary to be spit on, shot at, cussed out, hated, attacked. They put on their uniform knowing their occupation is more likely to kill them than any other. Why? Because they want to help people. They want to make the world a better place, and they see every single day how screwed up this world is, but they still do what they do, knowing they can never fix the problem, because they understand."

Castiel startled when Sam took him by the face and shook him slightly. He blinked, confused, but he didn't pull away, and he listened intently when Sam leaned in and spoke.

"I need you to understand." Sam shook him again, searching Castiel's eyes. "I can see it, Castiel. I can see in your face that you're starting to get it."

Castiel glanced over at the window and then let his gaze wander down and to the side. "I… I do understand, I… I simply…" His mouth opened and closed wordlessly for a few moments.

"Castiel, please. You—"

Sam stopped. His hands were empty.

Castiel had disappeared.

Sam let his hands drop to his sides and bowed his head, falling back against the wall. He didn't know what else to do. He couldn't get Castiel to help him, Dean was unconscious and bedridden and traumatized, Liam was hidden away in some angel-prison that could have been anywhere on Earth or not on Earth at all.

What do I do?

Sam slid to the floor, reaching up and tangling his hands through his hair.

What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to fix this?

Castiel, why did you bring me here?

Liam didn't really expect an answer, but it was still frustrating and somewhat scary when he was met with silence. Mr. Winchester hadn't managed to appear again, though there were occasional thuds and scratches that made Liam think he was trying really hard to show up.

Castiel, can you hear me? Castiel!

Liam bit his lip, curled up in the darkness of the closed cabinet with a thin blanket and a growling stomach. He was getting thirsty, and while he was pretty sure he was just thirsty because he couldn't stop thinking about his lack of water, it didn't change the fact that he was thirsty… or the fact that he had no water.

It's gonna be okay, Castiel. I don't know how, but it's gonna be okay.

Liam had to believe that. Liam had to believe Castiel's bloody everything wouldn't be the last Liam ever saw of him. Liam had to believe he was going to find Sam and Dean, and he had to believe they were going to make everything okay. He had to believe it was going to be okay, period.

It had been not-okay so many times, with so many people, for so long… it just had to be okay.

I forgive you, Castiel. I think Sam and Dean will, too. Just… come back to us, okay?

Liam curled up a little tighter.

Please come back to us.

Castiel tore open John's journal, skimming the inside cover for a few moments before grabbing the Bronze Star and unpinning it from the leather. He didn't know much about the medal, just that it was an award for bravery and it had been awarded to John. It no doubt held some kind of emotional significance, and Castiel hoped that was enough.

He didn't know for sure. Maybe he should have taken the whole journal, maybe he was right to leave it with the Winchesters. He didn't know. He was panicking.

He hadn't been panicking. He had been perfectly calm, up until the moment Zachariah shoved an angel blade into his shoulder. He was the picture of poise until four of his brothers held him down and tried to tear him from his vessel.

"Castiel, I was really hoping we wouldn't need to go this route."

Castiel didn't need to look over his shoulder to confirm Zachariah had followed him. He flew across the country and landed outside a coffee shop in New York before bouncing to an airport in Texas. He shot from location to location without rhyme or reason, throwing his Grace all over the country in the hopes of distracting his superiors.

He looked down at himself, down at the blood soaking into his clothes and coating his hands, down at the bronze star and its ribbon stained with crimson. He took a deep breath and flew again.

To Van Nuys, California.

"Castiel?" Liam tugged an earbud out and looked up from the book he had been reading. He froze as soon as he saw Castiel, fear lighting his eyes as he scrambled to his feet. "Castiel!"

Castiel got the urge to smile when he saw Liam running toward him, though he was certain the expression didn't make it onto his face. He dropped to his knees just as Liam got to him, his fingers twitching against the Bronze Star.

"Liam." Castiel grabbed the front of Liam's shirt, and he hoped his expression didn't show any of the fear he felt. "I need you to listen very carefully."