Leaving Dean behind him wasn't easy. Even now Castiel wanted to go back to him. But for what? To do what? Hug him? Hurt him? With his emotions in a rage and a flurry, either option was off the table for now.

And Castiel didn't want to see Sam either.

Sam had helped.

He couldn't believe they'd both locked up their son.

But maybe he could. This was God's world, his story after all. Was this just what he wanted?

And out of everything, everything that was fake, made up, brought to life by his horrible father, he figured he knew — or had known —what was real: him and Dean. That, that was real. But now, he wasn't so sure.

Did he have to be?

Castiel realized, that, yes, yes he did. In a world that was getting destroyed by God as a last final bang before the curtains closed, that he had to be sure about what was real, about what he wanted. And he knew they couldn't spend it fighting. It was what God wanted, and what God wanted was the last thing Castiel planned on doing.

But he couldn't go back to Dean.

So he went and found Sam.

The younger Winchester was sitting in the kitchen, having a half of a peanut butter sandwich as he read over some books.

"Did Dean approve of that half of sandwich?" Castiel asked.

Sam shrugged. "I looked at his rationing plan. It's pretty solid. There's another half waiting for him when he's ready."

"Don't think he'll be eating today."

"How is he?"

"We fought."

"Figures."

"You know I'm not happy with you either, Sam," Castiel admitted.

Sam put his finger down in between the pages of the book to hold his place, and then looked up at Cas. There wasn't the anger in his hazel eyes that he saw in Dean's. There was guilt, remorse.

Sam put his sandwich down, and then decided to slip a piece of notepaper with some hurried, scribbled ideas in place as a bookmark, closing the book.

Castiel just watched him, knowing that Sam — while capable of powerful emotions — tended to be more tame. It didn't erase what he'd done though, and it didn't fix the hole in Castiel's chest.

"Will saying sorry even do anything?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted, troubled by the answer.

What would fix this? What would make it better.

Maybe there wasn't anything powerful enough to do so.

Sam looked down, working his lips in that way he did when his emotions were growing up and he was trying to not let himself get carried away.

"Well, just in case…" He heaved out a breath and then brought his eyes to his. "Cas, I'm sorry. I didn't want things to go down the way they did." Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but Sam, knowing him so well, seemingly read his mind and responded to what he'd been going to say, "But it still happened. I know." There was a long pause, and then Sam asked, tone dead and crestfallen, "What do we do?"

Castiel squinted at him, taking him in.

This was Sam.

And Sam wasn't fighting back against the process of coming together again, not like Dean was.

Dean was fighting everything, safe for fighting for survival.

"We can forgive," he suggested, voice going higher at the end, not sure of his statement. It was more a question.

"Is that gonna be enough?"

"No. But it's all we got."

Sam nodded, and then placed his thumbs before him, rubbing them together anxiously. Castiel was smoothing the pant of his thigh.

"So… are things… okay now?" Sam asked. "With—with us?"

Castiel answered honestly, "I don't know. Not with all three of us anyway. There's things we've done, things we thought we had to do. We've hurt each other."

"Maybe if we're saying goodbye we should make that right."

Castiel shook his head. "This isn't goodbye. I won't let it be, no matter how determined God, or Dean is for it to end this way. And I won't lose him, and I won't lose you. Despite your betrayal, you're both too important to me."

"And what if you're not worth it?"

The only answer Castiel had to that as he got up was, "You're the Winchesters."

Now what to do?

It seemed foolhardy, hopeless, just plain moronic, but Castiel tried the front door. Again.

It yielded nothing. So he went and grabbed a crowbar, and he jammed it into wheel that locked it. He strained as he pulled at the crowbar, trying to force the wheel to turn, to even get a second closer to opening the door.

After long minutes, he was sure if he was human he'd be sweating.

Aggravated, Castiel threw down the crowbar, and forced himself against the door. He screamed.

"Tried it already," Sam said, interrupting his tirade of angry, hopeless thoughts.

Dean sauntered in.

Castiel rolled his eyes so hard he turned his body with the motion.

Dean just groaned at seeing Castiel.

"Cut it off," Sam told them. "Both of you. Look, we need a plan. Something more concrete than just screaming at doors."

"How about we bash Dean's head against it?" Castiel suggested.

Dean raised yet another bottle of alcohol he'd found and said, "Good idea. I was just thinking the same thing. Alright, guys, you know what to do." He pulled his finger across his neck. "Take me out."

Sam growled at him, and Castiel just leaned heavily on the railing, looking down at his friends.

"We can try the tech route," Sam said.

"Sounds hopeless," Dean supplemented.

"Well it's better than nothing," Sam shot at him. "And you're helping, whether you like it or not." Sam grabbed the bottle of alcohol from Dean, much to Dean's dismay, but he was too drunk to make any significant attempt at getting it back. "And enough of this." Sam started walking towards the main control room where many of the main systems of the bunker were run. "Cas, you coming?"

Castiel glared at Dean and then he descended the stairs to follow Sam. Dean came after him, grumbling with discontent.

If this was really the end of the universe, it seemed they were going to die mad at each other.

What a quality TV show. Chuck must've been having a grand time.

A/N: Next chapter has a surprise!