Eleven

A day passed, in which Castiel spent most of his time laying in Brooke's bed at the bunker. He didn't sleep—luckily he wasn't that fucked up—but he did lay down and sort of… space out. Brooke figured that was the closest thing to sleeping that an angel could do, and every time she felt his mind go fuzzy, like TV static, she left him alone.

The next morning, Brooke woke up, slumped halfway over in the cushy chair in her room. Castiel was sitting up on the edge of the bed, his chin resting on his knitted fingers, elbows on his knees. He was watching her.

She stretched a little, and sat normally in the chair, teasing groggily, "Were you watching me sleep again, you creep?"

He smiled a little, but there was sadness there. "I'm sorry I… stole your bed," he murmured.

She studied him, knowing that that wasn't why he looked so down. "That's okay. You needed it more. Now, why do you look like a kicked puppy?"

"Dean," Castiel replied, simply. And his thoughts filled in the rest. He was terrified to go out and face the day, to face Dean, who hadn't come to see how he was all day yesterday. Who had walked away from Castiel the second he had helped Brooke get him into her bed, even when the angel had called out to him.

Brooke sighed. "You know how Dean is," she said. "I mean, that doesn't make it better, but… He gets pissed at everything. You, me, Sam. Himself. He'll come around."

Cass nodded, but did not seem convinced.

Brooke leaned forward in the chair. "Since you seem a little apprehensive, going out there, maybe now's the time I should ask you what I've been dying to know ever since you left."

His blue eyes, previously downcast, flicked up and met hers. A silent question filtered into her mind.

Brooke took a breath, ordering her thoughts. "I guess I just… I don't get why the hell Naomi didn't use me to get to you," she said. "Or… I mean, why did she even rescue me from Purgatory at all, especially if she wasn't going to use me to get you? When you went missing, and she was searching all over for you… I mostly stayed in the bunker because I was afraid that if I left, she would be able to find me and then, I don't know, hack my brain with a drill, and find you through our mental connection. But I did leave, and every time I left the bunker… nothing. She never came after me. I just… I just don't get it." She glanced at Castiel. "And wouldn't you have been easier to control if I weren't here? Why would she bother with rescuing me at all?"

Castiel was giving her a look that was difficult to decipher. His eyes were wild and electric, and he was doing that thing where he smiled without moving his mouth. He shook his head, slowly, at her.

She stared at him. "What?"

He got to his feet, swaying a little and holding his stomach, but seemed steady enough. He went to her and pulled her gently to her feet. "Listen to me," he said, staring into her eyes. And his next words were spoken both aloud, and into her mind: "Naomi is, perhaps, the first and only angel not to underestimate you."

Brooke laughed a little. "I appreciate the vote of confidence," she said, "but I doubt I could beat her in a fight."

Castiel shook his head, slowly. "Naomi is the first angel not to underestimate the power that you wield over me. Our… bond." He held her face in his hands, staring at her intently. "The reason that Naomi rescued you from Purgatory instead of leaving you there… the reason that she never hurt you, aside from making your nightmares worse, and erasing little bits of your memory through me… the reason she never came after you to find me…" He placed his forehead against hers, still holding her face. "Is because she knew that if she left you in Purgatory, I would have torn Heaven and Hell and Earth apart, looking for a way back to you."

His voice grew slowly more impassioned, more severe. "She knew that if she hurt you—truly hurt you—that I would kill her, with no hesitation. And she knew, that if she outright killed you, or if she left you in Purgatory, and you died there…" He shook his head, his eyes fierce and glacial. "I would have destroyed… everything. I would have killed every angel left in Heaven, and torn Heaven to the ground. I would have decimated every demon in Hell. I would have… I would have set the Earth ablaze and watched as it burned… And I would have saved Naomi for last. I would not have simply killed her, if you were dead—do you understand? I would have destroyed her, slowly, agonizingly, and she would have begged for death, long before the end—

Brooke kissed him, and he returned the kiss with a fervor that left her breathless, tangling his fingers into her hair, crushing her body against his. He pulled away all too soon, grunting in pain from the pressure on the wound in his stomach.

Brooke looked down at his stomach and hovered her fingers over the wound, imagining being able to simply heal him with a touch, like an angel, light pouring from her hand.

Castiel smiled and rested his forehead against hers again. "I appreciate the thought," he murmured. "I did notice that being nearer to you seemed to help with the pain. I can't tell if it's a placebo effect, or if it has something to do with being nearer to the rest of my Grace. Either way, it's… nice."

"Do you ever wonder…" Brooke began, rubbing part of Castiel's trench coat between her fingers, "if maybe we're… a little too co-dependent?"

"I think it's too late to worry about that," he replied. "Many times in the past several years, I have regretted giving you a part of my Grace, because I think it… bound us to each other in a way that we can never… truly escape. I could have saved your life without ever possessing you."

She shook her head, touching his face. "We've had this discussion already. What's done is done. We can't take it back now, and I… I don't regret it. Your Grace has saved my life multiple times since then. Plus, don't you remember what a mess I was before your Grace protected me from being around angels?" Brooke laughed. "Sure, I could look at all of you without going blind, but… if I was in a room with two or more, oh boy."

Castiel's eyes twinkled in amusement.

"Oh, God," Brooke said, suddenly.

"What?" he asked, cupping her face in his hands, concerned.

"Could you imagine… if like, Zachariah, or someone, had come to rescue me from the demons, instead of you? Ugh. I hope to God I wouldn't have been so… immediately enamored."

Castiel's face told Brooke that he did not find it as amusing as she did. He was, in fact, incredibly disturbed by the idea of Zachariah having anything to do with her.

"Yeah, me too," she said, and laughed. "All right. I think we've hidden out in my room as long as we can. We should probably get out there and say hello."

Castiel took a breath, steeling himself.

"Don't let Dean give you any crap," Brooke told him. "If you let him, he'll throw a bitch fit."

Castiel pursed his lips, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She shook her head at him. "God, you've gone soft. Can't you channel Old Castiel energy? You know—I'm an angel of the Lord."

"I don't think Dean would appreciate that," he muttered.

"No," she said, smiling, "but I would. You're hot when you don't give a fuck."

His eyes twinkled. "According to you, I'm hot when I do anything."

"You're right," she said, and pulled him out of the room.

###

"Morning," Castiel said to Sam and Dean, standing at the top of the steps.

Dean passed by without even looking at him, and he didn't look at Brooke, either. She supposed all that brother-sister crap went flying out the window as soon as Castiel reappeared, seeing as how most people considered Castiel and Brooke to be, basically, one entity.

Sam, at least, gave them an awkward glance, which was better than nothing.

Castiel stared after Dean for a moment, then said, "I like this bunker." He made his way down the steps. "It's orderly."

"Oh, give us a few months," Sam joked. "Dean wants to get a ping-pong table."

"I've heard of that," Castiel said. "It's a game, right?"

Brooke stared at her husband. "Sometimes I forget how much you don't know."

Castiel glanced at her and looked like he was about to make some kind of reply, but suddenly grunted in pain and leaned heavily on the table where Sam was sitting. Brooke placed a hand on his arm, knowing that it was the wound in his stomach that was troubling him, and that there was nothing she could do about it.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

"My wound isn't healing as quickly as I'd hoped," Cass explained, sitting down heavily in a chair. "But I am getting better." He looked at Sam. "And you're getting worse."

Sam nodded. "Well, two trials down, one to go."

"And the final test, do you—do you know what it is?"

"I have to cure a demon."

"Of what?"

Sam scoffed. "That's what we're trying to figure out," he said, gesturing at the files and papers in front of him.

Brooke rested her hand on Castiel's shoulder for a moment, then sat down across from Sam, leaning across the table and grabbing one of the files. As she began to read through the information, Dean appeared.

"Soup's on," he said, carrying a food tray over to Sam and plopping it down in front of him. "There we go."

Brooke stared at the food, feeling somewhere between horrified and amused.

Sam had what Brooke imagined to be the same expression on his face that was on hers. "A half-drunk beer, jerky, and three peanut-butter cups?"

Dean, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. "Yeah we're—we're running a little low…"

Sam stared up at him.

"I'll make a run."

"Dean, I can go with you," Castiel said.

Brooke could feel how badly he wanted to jump up out of his chair with enthusiasm, but all he could muster was a slow push to his feet, gripping the arms of the chair for better leverage. She frowned, probing at the wound in his stomach with his Grace, trying to assess how bad it really was. Mentally, he swatted her away, like a child ducking his head to avoid his mother's hovering hands.

Dean said nothing, as if Castiel had not spoken.

"Dean," the angel tried again. "I'm sorry."

Brooke could not stand the look on his face, his eyes so wide and pleading. And, in his mind, she could feel how badly he wanted—he needed—Dean's acceptance. She sighed quietly, looking away.

"For what?" Dean asked.

"For everything."

"Everything?" Dean repeated. "Like, uh… like ignoring us?"

Castiel's voice was quiet. "Yes."

"Or like bolting off with angel tablet, then losing it… 'cos you didn't trust me? You didn't trust me."

Castiel felt as if Dean had stabbed him. "Yes," he repeated.

Half of Brooke wanted to stand up, to face Dean, or run to her husband's side and hold him. Instead, she sat in her chair and closed her eyes, trying not to cry the tears that Castiel could not. She had always stood up for Castiel, especially when no one else would, and especially against Dean, but she felt she could not keep doing it. If she never gave Castiel a chance to stand up for himself, he would never learn.

"Yeah," Dean muttered. "Nah, that's not gonna cut it. Not this time. So you can take your little apology and cram it up your ass."

Brooke shook her head softly.

"Dean," Castiel said, "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Yeah, you always do."

Stab. Right to the heart.

Sam cleared his throat loudly, breaking the tension a little. "Hey, uh, do we have a Room 7B?"

###

In Room 7B, Sam and Dean found old camera footage, and came back to the main room to watch it. Dean, of course, made popcorn, and Brooke was amazed every time Castiel ate any of it. He grimaced every time, but kept doing it, as if hoping that food would suddenly taste good the third or fourth time he tried it. She shook her head in amusement, and then focused on the film.

It essentially showed an exorcism taking place, except that it was unlike any exorcism any of them had ever seen. The words were changed, and at the end, one of the men performing it cut his hand open with a knife and pressed his bloody palm to the possessed woman's mouth, yelling, "Lustra!"

It didn't work. The demon burst from the woman's chest and disappeared, and the woman, obviously, died.

For the next several minutes, Sam and Dean discussed it, with Castiel occasionally adding in a word or two. Sam looked up the names of the two priests who had performed the exorcism. The older one had already died, but the younger one was still alive, and living in St. Louis.

"All right, let's roll," Dean said, standing up.

Castiel and Brooke also stood up.

"Not you," said Dean, pointing at Cass.

"Sam is more damaged than I am," Castiel argued.

"Yeah, well, you know, even banged up, Sammy comes through—

"Dean, I just want to help—

"We don't need your help! Just stay here and… and get better." Dean turned away from his best friend and left.

Castiel stood there, in the dark, heartbroken.

And Brooke, for, perhaps, the first time, was not just thinking of her husband's well-being. Slowly, she walked around the table and faced him, taking both of his hands in hers. "It's okay," she said, and then began to cry, unable to hold back the tears anymore. "We can both be sad together, about… unrequited love, I guess." A sob racked her shoulders.

Castiel stared at her in concern, and pulled her into a hug. "What is it?"

This was the first time she had allowed herself to cry since it had happened, and she fell against Castiel, suddenly unable to hold herself up. Meg died, she said silently, unable, even, to speak.

"What—

Crowley. Crowley killed Meg the night you left with the tablet. He killed her…

And Brooke was gone, lost in her own grief, grief she had not been able to show around Sam and Dean, and had been too afraid to release in the dark at night, terrified that she wouldn't be able to reel it in again if she let it out. She sobbed, loudly, gasping for breath, her face hot with tears, and sank to the floor.

Castiel went down with her, and she pressed her face into his chest, hiding against him. He did not cry—he rarely did—but rested his chin on the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her. Together, they grieved. They grieved Meg's death, and they grieved Dean's heartlessness, and, somewhere along the way, the scar over Brooke's heart that had formed after Bobby's death tore open and bled anew. And they grieved for him, too.

They sat on the floor, in the dark, for a long time.