Seven

Brooke was taking a rare day off from Hunting or traveling, opting instead to rent a motel room for the day and simply rest. It was a luxury she didn't give herself very often. It was a luxury that no Hunter gave themselves very often. She planned to spend the whole day and night sleeping, or at least lounging around. Watch some TV. Read some crappy magazines. A good day of doing nothing.

It was late afternoon when an unknown number showed up on her phone. She flipped it open. "Brooke Harris," she said, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn.

"I—I'm sorry," Castiel's voice said on the other end. "Did I wake you?"

Brooke sat upright in the bed. "Cass," she breathed. "No, you didn't wake me."

He was silent for a few moments. Then he asked, with a strange gentleness in his tone, "Do you have some time?"

"Do I—" Brooke shook her head. "For you? Castiel, I always have time for you. Even if I didn't, you'd just whoosh in here, demanding I go with you somewhere." She laughed.

"Yes…" he replied. "I suppose I would."

Brooke stared at the far wall, though she wasn't really looking at it. "Are you all right?"

"No," he answered her, honestly. And she was surprised by his answer. They did not have secrets between them, but that did not mean that Castiel openly admitted when he was upset by something. Usually, he would simply act on the feeling, and if he could not, he would push it down. "Where are you?" he asked.

She told him.

A moment later, he appeared, standing in her motel room. He slowly lowered the phone from his ear and stuffed it into his coat pocket. He stood and looked at her for a long time without speaking, his eyes holding some pain that she could not decipher.

She reached out to him with her mind, but he shied away from her. They both knew that, if she wanted to, she could simply keep going, sift through his memories until she found what was upsetting him. But she chose to stop. There were no secrets. He would tell her, when he was ready. Whatever it was had to be bad, for she had never seen him look so shaken.

She patted the bed, inviting him to sit down. He hesitated for a moment, and then relented, and came to sit near her. She did not reach for him, did not want to read his mind accidentally. Of course, she was reading his mind. Always, when he was near her, there was a steady stream of Enochian filtering into her brain. Most of those thoughts, however, were not the ones at the forefront of his mind.

Castiel sat on the bed, for a time, without speaking, and without looking at her. She knew he was gathering his thoughts. Finally, he turned his head to look at her. "Do you remember what I showed you the last time we spoke?"

"Yes," she said, sadly. "Did you go through with it? Is that why you're so upset."

"It's more complicated than that," he replied. "I… ordered Balthazar to go back and un-sink the Titanic, as I told you I would. And he did. And… the entire world changed because of it. This I had expected, and I thought that I was prepared for whatever changes would come about from it…" He sighed.

Brooke studied him. "There's a but here, isn't there?"

"One of the Fates, the three sisters in mythology, grew angry with me for the changes that had happened due to the Titanic never having sunk. She threatened to kill Sam and Dean if I did not reverse what I had ordered Balthazar to do."

Brooke nodded, outwardly calm, though fear lanced through her. "Did you…?" She did not finish the question. She did not know whether to ask him Did you reverse it? or Did you let them die? She was afraid to know which answer he would give, afraid that Castiel—her Castiel—had killed the Winchesters.

"I ordered Balthazar to go back again and allow the Titanic to sink," Castiel said. He had heard her thoughts, felt her fear, and was ashamed. He was also incredibly sad.

Brooke shook her head. "Then why do you feel this way? You did the right thing, in the end."

Castiel reached out a hand and cupped her face. "When I ordered Balthazar to un-sink the Titanic, one of the changes that occurred was that you were never born."

Brooke's heart skipped a beat. "Oh," she breathed.

"I also recall that, when Balthazar sent the three of you into that alternate universe where Sam and Dean were on a TV show, no one knew who you were." He was staring at her like she was about to die, and she could feel heartbreak coming from him.

"Just tell me what you're trying to tell me," she said, not sure if she could take anymore of this beating around the bush.

Castiel took a breath. "I went looking, after I reverted the timeline back to normal. I moved between different universes, different realities. I exhausted myself, searching."

"Searching for what?" Brooke asked, with a horrible sinking feeling beginning in her stomach.

"For you," he said, softly. "I looked everywhere. You were… nowhere. Nowhere but here, in this universe, in this reality. You don't exist anywhere else. You're… an anomaly. You, your family, your ancestors—you don't exist. The only you that exists is here. And when I—when I caused the un-sinking of the Titanic, I destroyed you." His hand, still on her cheek, was trembling. "I'm so sorry," he said, fiercely.

She placed her own hand on top of his. "Cass, it doesn't matter," she said, though she was shaken by this information, all the same. "You made everything right again. I'm not dead… Rather, I exist again."

"Yes," he agreed, and pulled her into a hug. "And I understand, now, why the prophecy states that I must protect you. Because there is only one of you, anywhere."

Brooke laughed, though she wasn't feeling very joyful. "I know it must have been painful for you, but… This doesn't impact me as strongly as you might think. To me, there's always been only one of me."

"Angels are aware of other universes, other realities," Castiel tried to explain. "We are not all-knowing, as God is, but we are aware of the fact and existence of other universes. We know that there are hundreds of ourselves, hundreds of Heavens, hundreds of Earths. We know this as a human knows breath, or movement." Castiel still had his arms wrapped around her, and was murmuring into her hair. "So, to come across a human who only exists in one universe, one reality… I don't know how to take that. I don't know what it means. To understand that I am the only one of my selves to know you… It is a strange feeling."

Brooke allowed herself to be held by Castiel, feeling the warmth radiating from him, feeling the Grace inside herself hum in tandem with his. She thought about all he had said, and was unsure how to take it. Despite being thrown into an alternate universe with Sam and Dean weeks ago, and knowing, even before then, of the existence of other universes, she had never spent time thinking about things like this. There were always more important things to be doing, to be thinking about. Where was the next Hunt? Where would she sleep that night? As a Hunter, she tended to take things one step at a time, and had only begun to think of things larger than herself after meeting Castiel and the Winchesters.

She wondered what would happen if she met some other version of Castiel from some other universe. Would that Castiel recognize her, somehow? Would he feel his own Grace in her blood? Was Grace the same from universe to universe? She ceased these types of thoughts, for they were unanswerable, and she'd drive herself crazy thinking about them.

She pulled away from Castiel's embrace. "Listen to me," she said, quietly. "Everything you've learned about me—the fact that, somehow, there's only one of me—it doesn't matter." She studied his face. "You've got bigger things to worry about, don't you? Stopping Raphael. Gathering souls. Trying to keep Sam and Dean from figuring out your idiotic plan." She smiled.

Castiel rolled his eyes at her last comment, but nodded. "You're right. I should be focusing on stopping Raphael. As long as I know you're alive, in this reality, that's enough." He kissed her.

She trickled a small, mischievous thought into his mind. He pulled back from her.

"I—I don't have that much time," he said. "I need to return to Heaven—

She poked a finger into his chest. "Hey, you killed me, remember? I think you owe me one."

He stared at her in shock, and a pang of sorrow twinged in her mind from his own. "I can't believe you would… use that against me like this. Even say something like that. Trust me, I feel guilty enough as it is."

Quickly, she cupped his face in her hands, shaking her head. "I'm sorry; it was too soon. It was meant to be funny. Remember, I don't… I don't recall not existing, so this isn't as painful for me. I—I wasn't thinking."

He stared at her some more, his mind slowing down again, calming. Then he lifted his chin and his expression changed.

She eyed him curiously, a little warily.

"Perhaps I should teach you to think before you speak," he murmured, running his thumb along her jaw.

She shivered at his touch, almost losing her grip on reality as he flooded her mind with ideas. "I thought you said you didn't have time," she said, breathily. "Don't you have an army to run?"

"I'm the Commander," he said. "I can make time."

###

The next time Brooke saw Castiel was weeks later. He caught her, once again, while she was driving, and sounded very agitated when he asked her where she was. She told him, without any preamble, not wanting to aid in his annoyance.

He was holding his head in one hand when he teleported into her car, and she understood, then, why he was so irritated. Between the voices of angel radio and Dean praying to him to come help him and Sam, Castiel's head was filled with far too many voices. Brooke could not make out exactly what was being said, as none of the voices were directed at her, but she could dimly hear the cacophony in her own brain for a moment or two, before she was whisked away to wherever Sam and Dean were.

Immediately, Brooke felt the presence of another angel in the room where Sam, Dean, and Bobby all sat. Brooke studied the angel, who seemed to be lecturing Sam and Dean about something. She caught the tail end of the last sentence as the world settled into place: "… you petty, entitled little piece—

"Rachel," Castiel reprimanded, his voice quiet, but firm. "That's enough."

The angel, Rachel, glanced at her leader, then glanced at Brooke. Then she looked at the ground, humbled. "I told you I'd take care of this," she muttered.

"It's all right, you can go," Castiel replied.

Rachel met Castiel's eyes, clearly not as humbled as she had acted two seconds before. 'You're staying?" she demanded.

"Go," Castiel repeated, his voice louder, the command clearer.

Rachel stared at him.

"I'll come when I can," Castiel said.

Rachel continued to stare at him for a moment, then she glanced at Brooke again and Brooke felt a stab of anger leveled at her. Rachel vanished. Brooke massaged her head where the anger had lanced into her brain. The pain diminished after a second or two, and she glanced at Castiel out of the corner of her eye, grinning.

Have I mentioned how hot it is that you're a Commander? So… tough and… dominating. Brooke recalled the hour she had spent with Castiel the last time she had seen him, half of which had been spent in bed, learning the consequences of not thinking before spoke.

Castiel returned her glance, his eyes traveling up and down her body, setting the Grace within her alight for a moment. His eyes sparkled in amusement and arousal, but he did not relish those secret, unspoken memories for very long. He turned to Sam, Dean, and Bobby.

"Wow," Dean said, pointing at the place where Rachel had been standing a moment before. "Friend of yours?" he asked Cass.

"Yes," Castiel replied. "She's, uh, my lieutenant. She's committed to the cause."

She's committed to you, Brooke corrected, glancing at Cass again. I think she wants to bang you.

Castiel turned to look at her fully, his face a show of perfect confusion.

"Hey, hey!" Dean said, loudly. "Could you two use your words?"

Brooke chuckled. "I was telling Castiel that Rachel wants bang his brains out."

Castiel was looking sufficiently embarrassed by this exchange. He quickly looked away from Brooke. "What—what do you need?" he asked, looking at Dean.

Brooke quieted, waiting, and folded her arms across her chest, but the smirk never left her face. That stab of anger that Rachel had sent into her brain… there had been jealousy mixed in. It seemed that at least one angel in Castiel's army had the hots for him, and was jealous of his… whore. She smiled wider.

###

Castiel had sent Sam and Dean back in time to retrieve… the ashes of a phoenix. Brooke had never heard of a real phoenix before, but at this point, nothing really surprised her. The important part was that Castiel could only give the boys twenty-four hours, and then he had to bring them back, or they would be lost to him. He had left shortly after sending them back in time. Brooke had stayed with Bobby, waiting, and helping him do more research about this… Mother of all things, whatever she was.

There were three hours left on the timer when Castiel reappeared, in Bobby's kitchen, and immediately fell over onto the ground.

"What the hell?" Bobby said, standing up.

Brooke rushed over to Castiel, Bobby only a step behind. Brooke fell to her knees beside Castiel, feeling pain from him flow outward and infest her mind. He was bleeding. He had been stabbed by an angel blade. Rachel. The name was whispered to her.

Castiel urged her back, away from him, and began to draw a sigil on Bobby's fridge with his own blood. He was panting heavily, grunting in pain, fighting to stay conscious. To Brooke, his consciousness felt like a light slowly going out, flickering. It caused her to groan and hold her head in her hands, fighting to maintain control over her own wakefulness. They were so connected that she was afraid if he passed out, that she would.

He began to push himself to her feet, and she pulled one of his arms over her shoulders and stood up with him. He leaned heavily on her, so she leaned against him, in the opposite direction, pushing him upright. He grunted with every step, stumbling. He tried to speak, but it was so much work simply to remain awake that he could hardly even stand.

"Cass?" Bobby said slowly, worry distorting his features. "Are we running or fighting?"

Castiel stumbled forward again, pushing away from Brooke to stand on his own.

Brooke allowed him to, only because she knew his pride would be wounded otherwise (God forbid), but she held her arms out, wide, to catch him if he began to fall over.

Castiel took a step toward Bobby. "We're…" he said, trying to answer the Hunter's question. Then he passed out completely and fell into the man's arms.

Bobby caught him, struggling to hold the angel's weight. "Balls!" he cursed. "Brooke, help me get him in the chair."

Brooke surged forward, and they each took an arm, dragging him over to big red chair in the living room. He did not wake for two hours. For lack of anything better to do, Brooke cleaned the wound in Castiel's chest from the angel blade, though she knew that he was not human, and cleaning it probably did nothing useful. After that, she simply sat in a chair, facing him, and stared at his crumpled form. Bobby had the decency to leave her alone, instead of trying to tell her to stop staring at Castiel.

Two hours later, Brooke's head was bowed, her arms resting on her knees, and she felt—rather than saw—him wake up. She felt his mind surge back into consciousness and whipped her head up to stare at him. He sat up, and even the effort required to do that winded him immediately.

Bobby came over to him, studying him carefully. "Cass…" he began. "You look like you went twelve rounds with Truckasaurus. What happened?"

Castiel had a hard time answering, breathing heavily. "I was, um… I was betrayed."

Brooke squinted at him. He had just… half-lied to Bobby.

"Rachel, uh…" Castiel turned his head, searching for the words. Searching for a lie. "Raphael," he said. "He corrupted her. She turned on me."

The part about Raphael was a lie, but Rachel had turned on him and attacked him.

Castiel glanced at Brooke, feeding her the truth. Rachel had discovered what Castiel was doing, working with Crowley, trying to open Purgatory to absorb the souls within, un-sinking the Titanic in order to absorb all those souls—though Castiel had reverted that event.

Brooke shook her head and sighed. Rachel betrayed you… because you betrayed her. That anger I felt, earlier… I don't think she meant for me to feel it—though the jealousy was real. She didn't want to believe all the things you'd done.

Castiel did not reply to her, but she felt his sorrow at what had transpired.

"I'm sorry," Bobby told him. "Girl's a real peach."

Castiel did not look at him. "She's… dead," he confessed.

Bobby looked shocked, but said nothing.

"I was wounded," Castiel said, shifting in the chair. "I needed safety. Thank you." He began to get up out of the chair, but groaned in pain immediately.

Brooke quickly got up and shoved him back down, and so did Bobby.

Castiel sat.

"Now, what's with the finger painting?" Bobby asked, pointing to the sigil on the fridge. It was not an accusation; Brooke got the feeling he was simply trying to distract Castiel to keep him sitting down.

Castiel was panting softly, sweat beading on his forehead. "It's a… warding symbol against angels," he explained.

Brooke had not left her position with her hand on Castiel's shoulder. She knelt, now, in front of his chair, staring up into his face. She had known from the beginning that the war with Raphael had changed him. He was less patient, less human. The sex they had was great, but he was often at a loss when she wanted gentleness from him. He warded his heart from her for the most part, though he could not ward his mind. She did not care—well, she did. She worried, she wanted everything to go back to the way it had been, whatever that meant. But she did not care in that she had agreed to go along with his plan because she loved him, and they were a part of each other—literally. So long as he let her into his mind, and—when possible—into his heart, she would follow him, as she had done those two years leading up to the Apocalypse. She would follow him to her death if that was how this all ended.

Castiel heard her thought and stared down into her face for a moment, disturbed. I won't let anything happen to you, he told her.

It doesn't matter, she said. Just do what you have to.

"How bad does it hurt?" Bobby asked Castiel, interrupting their thoughts.

Castiel shifted again in the chair. "I'll heal," he said.

"Good," said Bobby and Brooke at the same time.

"We've got less than an hour before you have to pick up the kids at Frontierland," Bobby reminded him. He began to walk away.

"I can't," Castiel said.

Bobby turned back to him. "Come again?"

"This fight…" Castiel began, sitting up a little more to look at Bobby. "Drained me."

Bobby shrugged. "Well, if you're up on blocks, then call in another halo who can get the job done."

"I can't," Castiel repeated.

And Brooke knew that he couldn't call another angel down because they were either against him, or they would discover what had happened to Rachel—they would discover Castiel's treachery. Brooke covered Castiel's hands with her own, offering sympathy. If no one else in the world would be sympathetic to him, she would be. She felt his gratitude, though it was mired in guilt and anger and frustration. Castiel had begun to realize that the path he was on was, perhaps, damned, but he had resigned himself to it.

Castiel looked down at Brooke, and even she could not truly discern what he was feeling. But she could tell that he was glad she was there.

Unaware of the silent conversation, still—or, perhaps, uncaring—Bobby went on: "Well, there's gotta be something that can juice you up. A spell? Something."

"There is one thing that might work," Castiel conceded. He shook his head. "But it's extremely dangerous."

"Shocker," Bobby said. "So, lay it on me."

"It's your soul," Castiel said, looking up at him.

"What?" Brooke asked, standing up.

Bobby stared at the angel. "What do you want me to do? Make another deal? Seal it with a kiss?"

Castiel opened his mouth to respond, then turned his head away for a moment.

Brooke squinted at him and reached out with her mind, demanding to know what the fuck he was thinking of doing to Bobby. Castiel allowed her in.

"Oh, hell no," Brooke said, immediately.

"What?" Bobby snapped.

"I need you to let me touch it," Castiel explained.

Bobby stared at him, confused. "Touch it?" he repeated.

"The human soul… It's pure energy," the angel said. "If I can siphon some of that off, I might be able to bring Sam and Dean back."

Brooke was slowly shaking her head.

"And the catch is…?" Bobby asked.

"You could explode if he fucks it up," Brooke said, turning to look at Bobby. "I won't let him do it."

Bobby glared at her. "Hey, it's up to me, ain't it? It's my soul. And if this is the only way to get the boys back…"

Brooke shook her head more vigorously. "Fuck no," she said. "Bobby, I don't know if you're aware of this, but you're the closest person I've ever had to a father. I am not letting Castiel shove his hand into your chest."

Bobby's face softened for a moment. "I know that, girl," he said—

"We don't have a choice," Castiel interrupted.

Brooke turned to him. "Don't do it to him. Do it to me."

Castiel stared at her in shock, and then his eyes swiveled away, looking here and there and everywhere, but not at her.

"You're fine with Bobby possibly exploding, but not with me exploding, you hypocritical…" Brooke took a deep breath. "You do it to me or you don't do it at all."

Castiel shook his head, looking at her again. "I don't know if I can do it to you. I can't hurt you, remember? And this would definitely hurt."

"I think we've established that you can hurt me," Brooke snapped, flooding Castiel's mind with memories of the last time they had had sex—how rough it had been. The pain had been agreed upon first, and enjoyed, but it had still been pain. "You just can't kill me," she continued. "So… don't fuck it up."

"Hey," Bobby started to speak.

"Shut up, Bobby!" Brooke said, loudly, still staring down at Castiel with a challenging glint in her eyes.

Castiel stared up at her, desperation in his eyes. You know I can't… Not with you, he said. If I kill you accidentally, I… You're the only thing keeping me… He could not finish the thought.

She approached him and returned to her knees in front of the chair. I know, she told him. That's why I know you won't kill me. You can't. So, I know I'm safe. Do it, Castiel. I can handle the pain. But if you do it to Bobby and you accidentally kill him, I will never forgive you, and I may finish the job Rachel started no matter what your Grace tries to do to stop me.

He looked down at her, hurt by her words, but only for so long. Linked as they were, it was difficult to remain angry at each other, for they understood one another completely. He sighed and nodded. "All right," he murmured.

Bobby seemed to have relented. He was standing silently with his arms folded over his chest, glaring at the two of them.

Castiel stood up, swaying a little, but managed to remain upright. "Sit in that chair," he ordered Brooke, pointing to the straight-backed wooden one she had been sitting in for two hours while waiting for him to wake up.

She did as she was told.

Castiel removed the belt from his suit pants and folded it over on itself.

Brooke took it and clenched it between her teeth. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bobby throw his hands up and walk out of the living room. She could understand the reaction. She didn't think she'd be able to watch if he were in her position right then.

Castiel rolled up one sleeve. You sure? he asked.

Yes. Do it.

He sighed, gripped one of her shoulders to keep her in the chair, and began to slowly push his other hand through her chest.

Pain exploded through the middle of her body. She heard her own muffled screams through the belt in her teeth, but the pain was so much that it sounded as if the screams were coming from far away. Her mind seemed to splinter—one half focused on the pain and the other focused on the Grace in her body reacting to Castiel's hand shoving its way through to her soul.

The Grace within her seemed to be its own entity, acting separately from her. And it did not know what to do in this situation. It screeched inside her, swarming around Castiel's hand, trying to protect her. But Castiel's hand was not in Brooke's physical body, exactly. It had phased through and into the spiritual center of her, where her soul was. But now there was Grace there, too. But it was not her Grace, for she was not an angel. It was Castiel's Grace, and Castiel's Grace simultaneously wished to protect Brooke from pain and return to Castiel's form, where the rest of it lay.

Brooke felt Castiel take control of the Grace inside Brooke. He parted the Grace around his hand, like Moses parting the Red Sea. The Grace inside Brooke flowed around either side of Castiel's hand like water. Then he brushed his fingertips—very gently—across the surface of Brooke's soul.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, for the sensations had overwhelmed her. It had been pain, all the way until the end, until she had felt him caress her soul. That had been pain, too, but also pleasure, and she had remembered—dimly—what it had felt like when he had possessed her to give her part of himself.

She felt Castiel grow stronger, felt his wound heal, felt him stand taller. Then he removed his hand from her body, and she blacked out…

When she came to, Sam and Dean had returned.

Castiel, who was hovering nearby, knelt down beside her as she sat in the chair. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Brooke felt exhausted, and her whole body ached—that kind of ache you get when you have a really bad flu and all your muscles hurt and you just want to lay in bed and sleep. She took a deep breath, then another, then allowed her tired eyes to close. "I'm fine," she whispered, for she was too tired even to speak in a normal tone.

Castiel, who had been so distant recently, so strong and cold and commanding, gently lifted her from the chair, cradling her body in his arms, and laid her out on Bobby's couch. "I cannot simply heal you as I normally would," he said. "Not from this. But I can help you sleep."

"Do it," she murmured.

Castiel pressed two fingers to her forehead, and she was out like a light.