A/N: This is Book Two of a series I'm writing! If you came here first, please go back and read the first book, "Touched." Thanks, everyone!

PART ONE

One

Today was Rebecca Harris' birthday and Brooke had every intention of making it her mom's best birthday ever. She wandered the aisles of the grocery store, grabbing whatever looked good to bring back to the motel room, including a whole pie. One thing Brooke Harris and Dean Winchester had in common was that both of them would much rather have pie than cake. She laughed at that thought, for she hadn't thought of Dean in months, now. It had been a year since they'd stopped the Apocalypse, and no one from that group but Bobby had contacted her.

No one, including Castiel.

Brooke smiled and stared distractedly down at the tattoo on her left inner forearm—Castiel's name in Enochian. Black ink. She rubbed it with her fingers, something she'd gotten into the habit of doing since she'd gotten it. It was easier to touch than the other two tattoos she'd gotten since the Apocalypse had ended. Three in all, and all commemorated Castiel, or her relationship with him.

It had been a year with no word, but he had once promised to return to her, and she still trusted him to keep that promise. She put both hands back onto the shopping cart and continued going down the aisles.

###

"Mom, I bought pie!" she called out as she opened the door to the motel room.

"I told you I didn't want to celebrate my birthday!" Rebecca said, coming out of the bathroom.

"Too bad, I bought you a present and everything." She grinned at her mother and dropped the pie onto the table, and the bag of everything else onto one of the beds.

Before a year ago, Brooke hadn't spoken to her mother in years, not since Brooke had left the Hunting life—before being unceremoniously thrust back into it after meeting Castiel. Then, everything with Cass and the Winchesters had distracted her away from making contact with her mother. Of course, communication was a two-way street, and Rebecca hadn't made an effort, either.

Their first meeting in years hadn't gone very smoothly, but they'd worked past the bumps in the road eventually. They'd gone back to Hunting together, which had been a great way for Brooke to ignore her feelings and pretend that she was okay. Still, her three tattoos showed the truth, bleeding the pain of losing Castiel through her skin. In sleep, the rest of her pain bled through as nightmares. Sometimes she had pleasant dreams, but they were always about Castiel, and they always hurt worse than the nightmares, because she never wanted to wake up from them.

So, she threw herself into Hunting with her mother, threw herself into repairing their relationship. Anything to fill the void in her heart. Rebecca helped, but no one could ever fill the emptiness in her mind where Castiel's thoughts had once resided. No one could ever be bigger than Castiel, be vast enough, to fill the angel-sized hole in her body, in her being.

"Hey!"

Brooke looked up to see Rebecca eyeing her somewhat suspiciously.

"Stop thinking about your angel boyfriend and come eat pie," her mother said.

Brooke smiled ruefully, realizing she'd been rubbing the tattoo of Castiel's name with the thumb of her right hand. She turned to the bag she'd dropped onto the bed and rustled through it, pulling out birthday candles. She took a lighter from her Jeans pocket. "All right," she said, ripping open the package of birthday candles. "What are you, twenty-seven?" She grinned.

Her mother smiled and shook her head. "I wish."

###

Later that night, the room was strewn about with party streamers and confetti from those little poppers that you pulled. Empty beer bottles stood on the table, along with a mostly-eaten apple pie. Brooke and her mother lay in their respective beds, mostly asleep, but still somewhat a part of the waking world. It must have been something like two in the morning, that time when you were at your most vulnerable and nothing you said made any sense. They'd been reminiscing about old hunts, and Brooke's childhood for most of the night, something that Brooke didn't think they'd ever done. It had been a good day, and a good birthday for her mother.

Just as Brooke was beginning to truly fall asleep, her cellphone rang.

Annoyed, and with half a mind to press Decline and throw the phone across the room, she flipped it open. "Hello?" she asked, her voice gruff and thick with sleep.

"Brooke."

Castiel's voice jolted her awake. She sat up in the bed so fast that she felt dizzy, and she put her face in her empty hand.

"Castiel," she said, her voice still rough, but much clearer. "It's you, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said. "Where are you?"

Brooke almost laughed. The way he spoke to her made it seem like no time had passed since the last time they had met. "It's really early," she said, not answering his question. "Or… late. I don't know."

"Something's come up," Castiel said, sounding annoyed. "Where are you?"

"I'm with my mom, in a motel room. It was her birthday today."

"Are you going to tell me where you are?" he demanded.

"Give me one second," she said, and leaned over to turn the light on.

In the bed next to her, Rebecca groaned at the light.

"Mom," Brooke said, placing her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. "Mom, Castiel is back."

"What?" her mother asked, sitting up and rubbing her face.

"Castiel is back," Brooke repeated, slowly.

Her mother stared at her, half-asleep. "Your angel boyfriend?"

"Yes. He wants to know where I am, which means the second I tell him, he's gonna poof into the room."

"Great," Rebecca said, and Brooke couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

"Are you cool with that?" she asked.

Rebecca blinked sleepily. "Sure."

Brooke took her hand away from the mouthpiece. "Castiel?"

"Yes," he said.

She gave him the address of the motel. A moment later, a rush of air blew across Brooke's face, and Castiel was standing in the dimly-lit motel room, looking as if he hadn't changed at all in the year that he'd been gone.

Brooke forgot her mother entirely the moment he appeared, and got slowly out of bed. Something was different about him. He had put up the barrier between their minds. He glowed with his own angelic light, but it was dim—not the overwhelming brightness that she had prepared herself for.

Castiel was there, but he refused to meet her eyes. Brooke reached out for him with her mind, and immediately met resistance. He was hiding something from her.

She stared at him, feeling hurt and betrayed. She walked up to him, but he began to step away from her when she got close enough to touch him.

She stopped, and stared, and began to breathe heavily. "Fuck you," she said, lowly. "You disappear for a year—fine. I was expecting that. But you come back, and you won't even let me touch you. Me. Have you forgotten who I am?"

"There are things I can't tell you," Castiel said, quietly. "Things I can't tell anyone. I wouldn't even be here but—

"But what?" Her voice had gotten louder, and all traces of sleep had left her.

"Dean… made me come here, to see you."

"Dean Winchester made you come see me?" she repeated.

Castiel still would not meet her gaze.

"Why are you even here, Castiel?" she asked, feeling something between rage and absolute despair. She didn't know whether to scream or cry.

"The weapons of Heaven have been stolen, and we're looking for them."

"And you need my help—is that it?"

"No. We don't need your help. But Dean refused to help me unless I… spoke to you."

Brooke scoffed and shook her head, staring up at the ceiling and feeling tears come unbidden to her eyes. They rolled down her temples and into her hair. "Dean Winchester had to vouch for me… What is the world coming to?"

There was a small cough from behind her and she turned to find her mother still in the room. Brooke stared at Rebecca, trying to remember if her mother had always been there, or if she'd suddenly appeared out of thin air, like Castiel.

Rebecca stood and got out of bed. "I'll be outside," she said, slipping on her shoes. Then she walked past both of them and out the door, closing it gently behind her.

Brooke stood and stared at the spot on the bed where her mother had been sitting, then she spun on the spot and reached wildly for Castiel, who immediately disappeared. He reappeared behind her—she could feel him. She spun to face him again, her eyes wide and crazy. "You were never going to tell me you were back, were you? How long have you been on Earth?" Her voice was getting louder and louder, and it wavered with emotion.

"I only just arrived less than a day ago."

Brooke stood and breathed, her nostrils flaring. "What are you hiding from me?" she demanded.

Castiel stared at her, and his eyes were sad. "I can't tell you," he said. "You wouldn't like it."

"Obviously," she said. "Otherwise you wouldn't be hiding it. What is it?"

But Castiel simply stood, resolutely, like a statue. His mouth became a firm line.

She stared at him. They were silent, together, for a long time. Finally, she said, "I don't think you understand," and turned her left arm to show him where his Enochian name was etched into her skin.

He stared at it, his expression going from serious to wondrous. "You… tattooed my name onto your arm?" he asked, as if this were the craziest thing that Brooke could have possibly done.

"You think that's crazy?" she asked. She turned away from him, so that her back was facing him, and tore her shirt off. Standing half-naked, now, she exposed her second tattoo to him: a large back piece of angel wings, spreading across both of her shoulders and partly down both arms. The wings "spread" when she lifted her arms. She spun to face him again, bare-chested, and saw him looking at her as if he were heart-broken.

Defiantly, she approached him, but did not try to touch him. "Look!" she snapped, and halfway pulled her sweatpants down, exposing the last tattoo, right above her bikini line, the words: Angel Whore. The derisive nickname that every angel and demon had given her for attaching herself so completely to Castiel. It was a slur that she considered a badge of pride, enough to permanently ink it into her skin, directly above her vagina, so that if Castiel ever fucked her again, it would be right there.

"That's…" Castiel began, staring down at the words. "Inappropriate," he finished.

"Fuck you," Brooke said again. "I gave everything to you. Everything!"

A feeling, long dormant, began to bubble up inside her. A feeling like her blood was on fire, and her bones were melting. A feeling that caused her vision to go white, and a ringing to go off in her ears. She grit her teeth, breathing hard and fast, her knees weakening as the feeling overtook her.

"Brooke…"

She could hear Castiel saying her name, but it sounded so far away…

"Brooke… Brooke!"

Her whole body shook.

NO!

Castiel gripped her shoulders, and the wall between them shattered into a million pieces. Light flooded her senses. It overwhelmed her feelings of anger, of betrayal. It overwhelmed… everything.

Castiel was beautiful—beautiful and terrifying. A year away from him had brought the terror of his true form back to her.

Castiel was beautiful and terrifying.

Castiel was light, and life. His mind was expansive and alien.

Castiel was everywhere.

Castiel was everything.

Castiel had brought back Sam Winchester from Hell, but without his soul.

Castiel was working with the demon Crowley, who was now the self-proclaimed king of Hell.

Castiel wanted to absorb the souls of Purgatory so that he would be strong enough to kill Raphael.

Brooke gasped, as if she'd been deprived of air for minutes. She became aware of her body, lying on the floor, her upper half cradled in Castiel's arms.

"It's a stupid idea," she whispered to him.

"I'm aware," he said, quietly.

"But I have faith in you," she continued. "I won't stop you."

Castiel was silent for a time. "I'm sorry I didn't trust you," he said.

"You should have."

"Yes."

They were silent again, half-sitting there in the dim light of the motel room at two o'clock in the morning.

"You can't tell Sam or Dean about this," Castiel said. "You might understand, because you and I are linked together and bonded in a way that even Dean and I are not. But the Winchesters… they'll try to stop me. But this is the only way to kill Raphael."

"Fine," Brooke said, her voice flat. "If I have to lie to my friends, so be it."

"I'm sorry," Castiel said. "I wanted to protect you from all of this…"

"Too late for that. I'm in this with you, now. We'll keep the secret together." She shook her head. "You're only here because Dean cares enough about me to make you come here. And now I have to lie to him."

Castiel said nothing, but now that their minds were linked she could feel how deep down his sorrow and regret went. He hated this with a roaring passion, but it was the only plan he could come up with. The war in Heaven had destroyed countless numbers of angels; Raphael was wreaking havoc, and needed to be stopped at all costs.

There had once been a time in which Brooke might have stood against Castiel, but the time for second-guessing the angel was long past. The night she had had sex with him was the night she knew that she was truly meant to Witness him. She was meant to stand beside him. She was meant to rise when he rose, and fall when he fell. Whether it was prophecy, or whether she had chosen this fate herself, she didn't care. Her destiny was inextricably tied to Castiel, and she had accepted that long ago.

She pushed herself up off the floor, and moved to the bed to put on her sleep shirt.

"Wait," Castiel said, and went to her.

She could feel him standing beside her. He put a hand on her shoulder and guided her so that her back was in the lamplight. He was studying her angel wing tattoo.

"You know my wings look nothing like this," he said.

"Well, yeah, but your wings probably would have been impossible to describe to a tattoo artist," she told him, and turned to look up at him.

He grabbed her arm gently and turned it upwards, staring down at his Enochian name inked into her skin. "You've branded yourself," he murmured.

"I was already branded," she said. "Just not anywhere visible."

"You mean your ribs?" he asked.

She laughed quietly. "I forgot about that. No, I mean here." She pointed to her head. "And here." She pointed again, to her heart.

He went quiet, and she could feel him processing her words. He felt sad, conflicted, unsure of how to take the fact that she had etched him into her skin.

"The real brand was this one," she said, with a grin, and pulled the band of her sweatpants down to reveal the Angel Whore tattoo above her bikini line.

"You shouldn't have done that one," he reprimanded softly, shaking his head. "That name is meant to be an insult to you."

She stared at him. "Yes, I know, Castiel. And by inking it onto me, I reclaimed it. Besides, I never found it insulting. People call other people names when they don't understand, or they're afraid. The other angels, and the demons, they don't understand the bond I have with you, so it annoys them, or intimidates them. But I understand the bond, and you understand the bond, and that's all that matters. Us."

Castiel stood with her in the half-light. He brought his forehead down to touch hers, a movement that was so familiar that she felt her eyes close automatically, and felt their breathing sync in only a moment. Suddenly, it felt as if the past year hadn't even happened—that no time had passed since their last meeting. They stood like that, and breathed together for a time, long past their usual count of five breaths.

Then he moved his head down farther and kissed her.

I can't be with you all the time, he told her. There is still a war raging in Heaven.

It doesn't matter, she replied. You come to me when you can. I'll go to Sam and Dean and help them as much as I can. I won't tell them anything.

I know you won't.

He pulled away from her. "Tell your mother happy birthday," he said, and then he vanished in a gust of wind.