Eleven

Brooke lay on Bobby's couch, somewhere between consciousness and oblivion. She had not slept well since the night that Castiel had become God, and that had been weeks ago. Every time she fell asleep, somehow her mind connected to his, and she saw all that he was doing, and thought all that he was thinking. But Castiel was no longer himself, and he spent a lot of time killing all those he did not like, those he thought were unworthy, those he thought were sinners. The problem was that everyone was a sinner. He tore down churches, killed philosophers… It went beyond religion.

And Brooke was privy to it all, when she was asleep. It got so bad that she kept herself awake for as long as possible before succumbing to the nightmare of being inside a God's head. And it wasn't just Castiel inside there. Forty-million souls swarmed around inside him, whispering, tearing at his body, begging to be set free. And they were not nice creatures. The souls of vampires and werewolves and other, much darker, much more dangerous creature screamed and rattled the cage of Castiel's body.

Brooke was slowly going insane, the more she slept. Awake, she wandered Bobby's house, forcing herself to eat, but did not do much else. Sleeping did not leave her rested, and she was hardly able to function. The others mostly avoided her, still unspeakably angry at her treachery, and had only brought her back out of a sense of previously-earned loyalty. Besides, they could not bring her anywhere else. No hospital would understand—would assume that she was simply insane. Which was not far from the truth.

She wandered, bumping into walls and furniture, seeing things that were not there—flashes of Castiel's mind, which broke through, sometimes, even while she was awake. She and Sam had a lot in common. Sam was also hallucinating, from having the Hell wall in his mind shattered. Brooke felt sorry for him, cared about him. She cared about all of them. But there was nothing she could do now—she could hardly think long enough to eat, most days. She was lucky enough to retain the ability to use the bathroom on her own.

Should have told them, she thought, as she wandered about Bobby's house like a ghost. Should have told his secrets. Could have fixed it all, before it started.

But it was too late, now.

###

They left her alone when they went to bind Death. Bobby tried to speak to her, to let her know that there was prepared food in the fridge for her, and non-perishables in the pantry. He tried to let her know where they were going, but the only thing that stuck was that they were going to bind Death, to make Death kill God. Castiel. Whatever he was now.

The nightmares were growing worse. The nightmares were growing worse because Castiel was losing control, more and more often, of the creatures inside him. They would push him down, shove his consciousness deep within himself, and swirl gleefully around within him. And make him do things. And make him kill people—people he didn't mean to kill. She would wake up, drenched in sweat, with the sound of that strange laughter—laughter she had never heard come out of Castiel's mouth—ringing in her ears.

She would wander around the house, close her eyes for just a moment, and startle herself awake with the image of his face, skin peeling off, imprinted behind her eyes, like when you stare at a light for too long. She would close her eyes and—Brooke—and hear his voice—Brooke—and hear him calling her name—

Brooke!

And someone would be shaking her. Sam, Dean, Bobby.

Never Castiel—

Brooke—

And she would sleep, again—that cold, high laughter—and wake, and eat, and wander, and fall unconscious—

This is what you made me. Us. You could have stopped it all, if you hadn't kept my secrets—

Wake up. Eat. Wander. Force herself to shower. Cry. Close her eyes—Brooke—

You did this to me, you whore… Angel Whore.

Wake screaming, wake sweating, shaking, fall asleep, see his face, wake up, see his face. "Castiel," she would whisper.

NOT ANYMORE—

…

Brooke gasped like she had been trapped underwater for minutes, and sat bolt upright on the couch. He was here. He was here. Or she was hallucinating his presence now, just as she had begun to hear his voice while awake. She got up, slowly, off the couch, trembling, and walked into the kitchen, one step at a time, terrified at what she would find there.

He stood, leaning against a doorway, covered in blood, his face raw and red and peeling. He saw her, his eyes met hers.

She screamed like a banshee and backed up so fast that she fell, landing hard, and sat on the ground, staring at him. This… nightmare, come to life. "No," she said, the last vestiges of her sanity slipping. "You can't be here. You can't—get out."

Sam and Dean went to her, trying to explain, trying to pick her up off the floor.

Those blue eyes in that raw face.

"GET OUT!" she screamed.

Dean slapped her, hard. Her head jerked to the side, pain blossoming in her face. "Focus!" he growled. "We gotta go, or I'm leavin' you here."

###

Brooke stared at Castiel as he sat, slumped over, in the lab. They had all returned to the place where he had initially absorbed all those souls.

Brooke was not okay. She was barely holding it together, wanting nothing more than to get as far away from this creature as possible, yet unable to tear her eyes away from him. He had stopped looking at her some time ago, for every time he had, she had flinched violently. He had tried speaking to her, tried apologizing, but all she could hear that crazed laughter from her nightmares.

Time passed. Brooke continued to stare at his face, eyes flicking from one spot of raw, red flesh to another. Tracing the blood. The creature who had once been Castiel accidentally looked at her again, attracted to her gaze. Brooke tore her eyes away and turned around, but exposing her back to him made her feel like he was about to pounce on her from behind, so she quickly turned around again.

Eventually, everything was set to open the door to Purgatory once more, so that the creature could release all of those souls and become Castiel again. Maybe. But nothing was ever that easy.

He stood up, swaying on his feet, before the sigil that Dean had drawn on the wall. Bobby spoke the words of the spell. The creature collapsed. Brooke, despite everything screaming inside her not to touch him, lunged forward, but Dean reached him first. He picked the creature up, set him on his feet, and backed away. Brooke stood, rigidly, staring at the creature's back.

He turned back, once. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said, looking at the Winchester. Then his eyes traveled to Brooke. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Brooke looked away.

The door to Purgatory opened, tearing at the wall of the lab, and the souls exploded out of the creature's body, pouring back through into Purgatory. Brooke shut her eyes against the light.

It was over quickly, and when she opened her eyes again, Castiel lay on the ground, seemingly passed out. Possibly dead. But it was not Castiel. She could feel things crawling around inside him, still.

"Cass?" Dean yelled, and he and Bobby lunged forward to see if the creature was all right.

"It's not Cass!" Brooke shouted. "Stay away from it!"

The two men turned to stare at her, confused.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked. "He released the souls—

"Not all of them!" Brooke said, backing away slowly, trembling. "Something is still in there."

Bobby and Dean turned to stare down at Castiel, whose face had healed itself. Then his eyes opened.

"Cass?" Dean said.

"We need to leave!" Brooke shouted.

"Shut up!" Dean snapped.

Brooke stared down at the body of Castiel as the angel came to. He sat up, stared around at them all. He saw her, looking at him, and his head tilted to the side, eyes squinting in that endearing way she had loved. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice his own.

Brooke burst into tears, and ran. If Bobby and Dean did not want to believe her, that was their loss. But she was not going to stick around for the inevitable.

###

Brooke hovered by the car, with half a mind to simply drive away without them all. She hugged herself and rocked back and forth, trying to hold onto what was left of her mind.

The creature—or creatures—that had taken over Castiel's body, appeared at the entrance to the lab.

Brooke gasped and ran around to the other side of the car, using it as protection. Not that doing something like that would do any good. Whatever was still inside Castiel was wrong. She stared at it, dripping black goo from every orifice—from his brain, even. It dripped down from his hairline. The creature did not notice her. It walked right past her. She stood and stared at it as it went.

Bobby, Sam, and Dean appeared soon afterwards.

"Where did he go?" Dean demanded.

Brooke simply pointed.

All three of them ran off without her.

She hesitated, still wanting to get in the car and drive away, but part of her was morbidly curious to see where the creature could possibly be going. She went after the four of them, hovering far behind.

The creature had gone to a lake. A reservoir. Brooke slowly approached the others, just to see what was happening. They all seemed to have stopped near the gate, and they were staring out at the reservoir, silently. Brooke came and stood between Dean and Bobby.

Castiel—the creatures inside him—walked out into the center of the lake, slowly emerging himself. Themselves. She watched as his shoulder disappeared underwater, and then his head, and he was gone.

The water began to swirl around and around, as if being sucked through a giant drain in the bottom of the reservoir. Then the swirling stopped the water turned black, spreading across the whole of the lake. It looked like squid ink—like the entire lake had turned into squid ink. Then it all vanished, and the water went back to normal. Or… at least, it looked normal.

Brooke stood, waiting for Castiel's head to pop back up above the water. Something with in herself had shifted, had changed, after the squid ink stuff had gone away. The Grace in her body, which had been so riled up the past few days, screaming in distress, had quieted. Brooke did not know what that meant.

After a time, Dean bent down and picked something up out of the water. It was Castiel's trench coat, soaked and dripping.

Brooke stared at it, then gazed out at the water again, searching for Castiel. She reached out with her mind, but felt nothing. Still, the Grace in her body was still and silent and calm, for the first time in days.

"You dumb son of a bitch," Dean muttered, holding Castiel's coat, still.

"No," Brooke said. "I don't think he's dead…"

"Do you see him anywhere?" Dean snapped at her. "He would have come up by now."

Brooke just shook her head, still gazing out at the water.

"We need to go now," Bobby said. "Those things'll be comin' up for air soon."

They all turned away, but Brooke stayed where she was, watching the water.

"Come on, girl," Bobby said, his voice gentle and pleading.

She shook her head. "Leave me here."

"Don't be stupid!" Dean said.

Brooke felt the Grace in her blood come riling to the surface as she whipped around to face them all. Her vision went white, her blood boiling. "I said leave me here!" she screamed.

They were shocked into silence, staring at her, as she panted and brought the Grace back under control. That, right there, had to be a sign that Castiel was still alive. She had a feeling that if he died, his Grace would die with him, even that within her. She stared between the three of them, challengingly. After a moment, they all turned and left her.

She faced the water again, and sat down to wait.

###

An hour passed, maybe two. Brooke was just starting to think that she was crazy. That she was only hoping that Castiel was still alive. But every time she reached within herself, she could still feel his Grace, humming peacefully, as if he were merely sleeping, right below the surface of the reservoir. It was possible that any Grace he had given her could still function even if he was dead. But she did not let herself think of that. Nothing mattered now, anyway. Her life was in shambles as it was, and the three men she considered family, besides Castiel, had left her there. She had told them to, yes, but it had hurt that they had not really fought her on it. That might have had something to do with her creepy glowing eyes at the time, though.

Despite everything that had happened over the course of the last year, and more recently, Castiel was all she really had left. Sure, she could call her mother. But she and her mother had only grown close artificially in the year that Castiel had left. Brooke had used Rebecca to fill the void in herself, and the moment that Castiel had returned, Rebecca had scattered to the wind. They had stopped calling each other months ago.

Right here, right now, Castiel was all she had. So she sat, and waited, and prayed.

Another hour passed. The sun was setting, now. She was cold and hungry, and giving up hope…

There was a loud splash, nearby. Brooke jumped, her mind having gone into a sort of trance state, and looked over at where the noise had originated—

—Castiel was crawling up onto the shore, naked.

Brooke cried out, and he looked up at her, squinting. He opened his mouth to speak, but coughed, instead.

Brooke scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding, and ran to him, tears blurring her vision. She started to speak his name, falling to her knees beside him, reaching out for him. Her hand touched his shoulder and—

—a loud, bell-like sound exploded in her head, as if she'd stuck her head inside a church bell as it was ringing. She blacked out.