A/N: Just like to say thanks for all the faves, reviews and such.

On with the story!


"Cas," Sam catches his eyes. "What did you mean, 'there's nothing?'"
"…nothing you can do…I'm…dying."


In retrospect, he shouldn't have used the word 'dying.' Dean nearly goes ballistic.

"What?" He says harshly.

Castiel tries to explain it, but no sooner does he reiterate that he's dying does Dean get furious. It shows in his face, through the set of his jaw and way he looks on the verge of cussing a blue streak through the house and shouting at everyone. Sam spots the telltale signs.

"Dean, calm down, just let him talk." Sam says from his seat next to Castiel's head.

Bobby watches with beady eyes from his desk, hands on a book and turning the pages, but only glancing at every third one. Dean begins pacing the room like a caged animal, letting his frustration and stress out by walking.

"What do you mean you're 'dying?'" Dean manages to articulate, angrily, arms crossed aggressively over his chest.
"When Leochoir stabbed me… it severed…some of my connections to this vessel…I can't repair them."
"You can't just leave Jimmy and, I don't know, heal in the atmosphere or something. We'll keep him pinned down this time while you're gone."

"That would be fine…but I can't."

"Why?"

Castiel struggles to think of an explanation or an analogy that humans would understand.

He can't think of any, not with the constant pain eating away at his concentration.

"With my wing injured I wouldn't be able to remove all of my true form from this vessel, and if I can't do that, then I can't leave at all."

"Come on, there has to be something, someone we could get to help us. There aren't any angels you could call?"

Castiel gets irritated at that, but lacks any energy to shout.

"Dean, even if there were, there is nothing they could do about this. Nothing. Our wings are not easy to damage, but when they are…its impossible to fix them."

"Well, there has got to be something!" Dean shouts at him.

Castiel meets his stare with half hearted weariness, trying to inject some form of authority into his eyes. He's not sure if it works because at that Dean storms out of the room.

Sam watches his brother leave, snatching a beer off the counter on his way out the door. Castiel looks like he wants to roll his eyes or frown at Dean's poor behaviour, but he just sighs and lies there, closing his eyes. They sit in a semi-awkward silence for a few minutes. Bobby doesn't know what to say, so he opts to say nothing at all, pretending to read the book in front of him, but really he's keeping his eyes on Sam and Castiel.

"Cas," Sam says, "He's only acting like that because he's worried. We all are."
"I would have…preferred to have told you later."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean this could take weeks." Cas says, voice strained. "It won't be a quick death. Don't tell Dean, but…"
Castiel pulls his arm out from under the blankets, his angel blade held in a lax grip. He weakly holds it out to Sam who looks at it like its plague ridden.

"I will get worse, I don't know what exactly will happen to me. It could be delusions or seizures, blood loss, weakness, I don't know. But if it gets bad or I become a danger to you, I don't want to hurt any of you or anyone dying to protect me. If that happens…would you…?"
He bobs his hand, tearing Sam's attention away form his face and back to the sword.

"Cas, I can't…"
"I'm going to die, Sam…there's no question there. I've seen angels die this way. It's not pleasant. They suffered terribly…I…I don't want that. So please…"
Sam holds his gaze for a moment, looking distraught, but he gingerly takes the sword.

"Okay Cas, but only if-"

"I appreciate it, Sam."

Sam looks at the blade then back to Castiel before setting it in his lap.

"You get some sleep, or some rest or whatever." Sam says, patting his arm.

Castiel gives a half nod against the pillow closing his eyes.


Its hours before the rumble of the Impala is heard in the drive way, roaring up and to a stop. Sam and Bobby look up from their books and laptop, watching the door for a brief second before returning their gazes. Castiel hasn't woken up since he fell asleep four hours ago. That in itself should worry Sam, and it does, but honestly, he's hoping this will help, that Castiel is wrong about this being a death sentence. Neither has said anything about what they're researching but they both know. It's about angels, anything they can find that could possibly help them. Despite their diligent efforts they're turning up squat.

Dean opens the door, quietly, coming into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water from the kitchen tap. He sits down at the kitchen table, back to them. Sam wants to go to him, to talk, but now is not a good time, so silence reigns over Bobby and him. After half an hour or so Bobby goes over to the table with a stack of lore books, setting them down and returning to his desk. Sam watches Dean out of the corner of his eye as he picks up a book and starts to read, joining the productive effort to save Castiel's life.

Castiel shifts in his sleep, making small noises of pain. He moves from his stomach to his side, eventually settling on his back, quieting down. Sam watches him, thinking it must be uncomfortable, but he doesn't seem to be in any pain so he returns his attention to his computer screen. Silence returns, interrupted only by the turning of pages and a mouse clicking

It's around four o'clock in the morning when Sam gets up from his seat, stretching and heading to the kitchen for a drink and possibly something to eat. He sits down at the table and Dean looks at him, finally abandoning the fifteenth book he's read practically cover to cover.

"Well?"

He sounds hopeful, but it's a false hope, one that exists not because you actually believe, but because you can't let go.

"Sounds like Bobby might have a lead, but we're not sure." He says in offering.

It's a hollow and false prize and they both know it.

Dean takes a drink of water then glares at it. It's no where near strong enough for right now, but anymore and he'll be passed out. And he can't have that right now.

"What are we going do?" He asks quietly.

"What we can." Sam says.

Unfortunately, that seems to equate to nothing.

Dean looks away and so does Sam, gazing out the window into the darkness. That's when he spots a figure moving among the stacks of derelicts.

"Who's that?" Sam says, standing.

Dean looks out the window, spotting the dark figure across the yard.

"Hey, Bobby." Sam calls.

The older Hunter comes over, frowning at what's got the boys looking so intently out the window.

"What the heck?" Bobby mutters.

The figure walking through the yard comes closer, the blue of early morning barely illuminating them.

"You put the sigils around the fence, didn't you?" Dean asks.

"All around." Bobby confirms. "No way any angel or demon was getting in here."

"Then what do we have out there?" Sam says.

"Could be anything. Well, it can't be an angel or a demon. Unless this is some high up boss that can walk past all those sigils."

An image of Alistair flashes before Dean's eyes. What if they can't defend against this thing? What will happen to Castiel? Sam has the exact same thought only in his mind's eye he can seem himself killing Castiel to spare him whatever cruel fate would befall him in the hands of a demon.

The thought sends a jolt through Sam and Dean, spurring both to grab their guns, heading toward the door. It doesn't take long to arm themselves, following Dean out onto the porch. There's no sense in waiting for it if it's already gotten by the sigils.

The person, or the creature, is half way down the gravel road leading to the house, but its close enough for them to see that it's a woman.

"Freeze!" Dean shouts.

It doesn't, walking forward with as much callous determination as before.

Dean opens fire, Bobby joining him. The bullets tear into the woman, but that doesn't slow her down. It reminds him all too eerily of when he first met Castiel. This is no human, no woman.

Its closer now, hardly a stone's throw away from them. Sam grabs for the demon knife, tearing it from his belt throws it.

The knife buries all the way up to the hilt in its chest. For one brief second every thing stops. Dean waits for shit to hit the fan. The young woman tilts its head down a bit before reaching up and pulling the blade with a sick squelch from its chest and tossing it aside. It continues its advance up the steps without so much as blinking.

"Cas!" Dean shouts.

He's got to get the angel moving, get him out of here. He gets all the way to the study but before he can reach Castiel he's whisked back, hitting a bookshelf with his shoulder and sticking there, unable to move like a fly in a spider's web. Bobby and Sam shout from the kitchen as Dean tries to wrench himself free. The woman, the creature, doesn't even spare him a glance as it proceeds through the front door, across the kitchen tile and into the hardwood of the study, heading straight for Castiel's unconscious form.

"Stay away from him, you son of a bitch!"

The creature sits down on the edge of the couch. It winds one hand beneath Castiel's shoulders and the other clamps down over his forehead.

"Don't touch him!" Dean shouts, trying harder to tear himself away from the wall.

The creature turns away from Castiel and focuses its full attention on him for a second.

"Silence, Dean Winchester."

The voice reverberates throughout the house, through Dean, deeper than he was expecting. Its male, female, one and hundreds all at the same time, but somehow all contained neatly into the capacity of the human vocal cords. It's a horrifying voice, belonging to something so foreign and too powerful. Dean feels his throat work but no sound comes out. It's not like when angels or even demons have silenced him. This is completely different, like his vocal cords are merely gone, but he can still breathe, air flowing to his lungs uninhibited but no sound able to breach his throat. It turns back to Castiel. The angel squirms, weakly trying to escape the hands that touch him.

Dean wants to rage, to scream, to beat the thing till it's a bloody stain on the floor. A Golden light starts to fill the room, emanating from the creature's touch. Before he's completely blinded, Dean can see Castiel's back arch, head thrown back at a sharp angle, mouth slightly open, but there's no sound, his eyes glowing a faint blue through the slits of his eyelids.

When the light dies away Dean feels his limbs give out like they've turned to liquid and can no longer hold him. He falls to the floor on his knees. He tries to get to his feet, but he feels like someone has knocked out his bones. Castiel lies still as the creature takes back its arms and stands, looking dispassionately down at his quiet and motionless body.

"What did you do to him?" Dean rasps, climbing the wall till he's on his feet, swaying.

It reaches down, brushing a lock of his hair almost curiously before looking to Dean.

"He is healed." It responds, the many voices echoing in a damn scary way.

It steps away and Dean stumbles to Castiel, dropping to his knees, because he can't find the energy to stand. He checks for a pulse, finds it, steadier then the last time and he's breathing evenly too. The lines of half healed stitching are gone as well, the ugly mark that once adorned his shoulder vanished as if it had never been there.

Unable to stop himself, Dean grabs Castiel's arms and pulls him upright. Propped against him he rips off the bandage on his back to see that the devastating injury that was going to take Castiel's life is gone. He runs his hand over the smooth, unbroken skin, unbelieving. His eyes snap back to the creature still standing behind him, stone eyes staring stoically at him.

"What are you?" He growls.

Sam and Bobby appear, hovering in the door way, unsure of what to do. Bobby has his sawed-off gun and Sam is brandishing a tire iron, like that will do anything to this creature.

It looks at them curiously for a moment, as if they are acting extremely odd.

"Thrones." It says, voices resonating deeper than the earth as it looks back at Dean.

"Are you an angel?" Dean asks, still too stunned, but feeling his anger rising up again.

Dean realizes he's still holding Castiel in his arms as he interrogates the creature. He carefully lies him back down, never taking his eyes off the 'Thrones.' It watches him curiously for a moment, looking at Castiel before returning its eyes to Dean.

"No."

"What are you then? Why did you do this? Why did you fix him?" Dean demands, standing to confront the thing.

The Thrones actually has to look up at him from its ridiculously short vessel, but that makes it no less intimidating when it speaks again.

"Because God commanded it."

Dean stops for a second, surprised.

The Thrones turn to leave and Sam and Bobby step aside to let it pass. They can't believe their eyes when Dean throws out a hand to stop the celestial being, fingers clamping down on its shoulder.

"Wait-"

"Release." It says.

Without his permission Dean's arm goes sailing away like it was knocked back, the Hunter taking several steps back himself. It gives him a cursory glance, like he's fascinating in his blatant disrespect for what it is.

"Doesn't God know what's going on? Doesn't he care? The Apocalypse is raining down over our heads!" Dean shouts.

"I cannot presume to understand God." The Thrones answer calmly.

"Where is he? Cas has been busting his ass trying to find him while all his so called angels tear up the freakin' world."

"God has not ordered me to act upon their decisions. I merely follow his orders."

"So, you talk to God?" Sam says.

The Thrones regard him with an appraising stare, the kind that makes you feel like your soul is being dissected and labelled.

"Yes."

"But, then you must-" Dean starts.
"Enough, Dean Winchester." Its voices sound, resonating with an overly powerful aura. "Have faith. God bestowed upon you a blessing, saving Castiel is more than you could ever ask for. Now be silent. Allow destiny to happen."
"Oh, so now you're going to give me the whole vessel spiel, play your roles."

"If that is God's will it will be so. I will see to it."
"Wait," Sam interrupts.

The Thrones turns its entire attention, the whole of heaven compressed into two tiny little human eyeballs as it focuses on him.

"Does that mean God hasn't ordered us to become the vessels? He doesn't want us to be the vessels?"

It says nothing, face completely devoid of all emotion.

"I have said, I cannot presume to understand God, though humans believe they do."

The Thrones glances once more at Dean.

"Have faith. Show faith. What is right will happen."
With that it simply turns away, walks past Sam and Bobby without so much as a glance and out the door. The two men watch the thing all, but evaporate into the night.


A few minutes before….

Castiel finds himself in heaven again, alone. He's waiting, waiting for this pleasant dream to turn into a nightmare, like the last one. But it doesn't, he remains alone, the sky blue, the sun high and bright in the sky. He looks around, the vivid greens, yellows and reds of the foliage seem brighter than usual, not as focussed as they were in Heaven.
That's when he spots someone at the far end of the park amongst the flower beds. Despite the form being female he can see past the shell of the deceptively small human to the brilliant creatures contained within it, glowing blindly bright even to his angelic eyes. Unlike any other angel he's ever met though, there's more than one Grace packed tightly into that human flesh. Castiel can't count them all, nor fathom what they could possibly be, all sharing a single vessel like that. He briefly entertains the though that his isn't a dream but a hallucination before concluding that what he's feeling is real, the auras of the Grace not ten metres from him very real as they pulse against his own. He has no more time to wonder what they are before they're turning toward him. When their eyes meet he's hit with the full enormity of what he's actually looking upon, deceptively wearing such a small female shell as a disguise.

"Thrones." He whispers, bowing his head in respect.

To do anything else to such a creature would be pure suicide. He's surprised he has any reverence left in him, after completely disregarding Heaven and the archangels. But this is no mere archangel, these are the Thrones. These are who he's been looking for, who can help him. But he's never met a Throne before, his rank would never permit something such as that, but here he is, talking to all of the Thrones in Creation, packed into this one vessel. The overwhelming power emanating off of so many celestial beings in one human vessel is terrifying and thrilling all at once.

"I…I need to speak to God."
Castiel isn't sure where his boldness comes from, his sheer insanity, but the question is out before he can stop himself.

"God cannot speak with you Castiel. Not now."

A single voice rises above the rest, older than the earth and deep as the galaxy, unmarred by gender or age. Castiel can see on Grace inside the vessel glow righter, a russet hue larger than the rest. This being, this Throne is the one speaking to him now, independent of the others.
"Does-does he know the Apocalypse has started? Where…is he?"
The Thrones' vessel almost looks sad or a moment. That or confused.

"He sent me to speak to you. Castiel. Do you know where you are?"
Judging from the scenery he would say Heaven, but he knows that's impossible.

"You're dying, Castiel. Your Grace has failed you and you've fallen into a coma."
"But…The Winchesters…"
"The Winchesters will tend to your body for another week before it finally succumbs to death. They will burn your body on a pyre in the backyard. Three days later Dean Winchester will say 'Yes' to Michael. Sam will not be far behind him. The Apocalypse will go forward. As it is written."
"No! You can't let this happen! You must-"

"Silence, little angel. You've already defied what has been written. Nowhere was it said that an angel would fall, would rebel against God's Kingdom for the sake of humanity. I wasn't sent here to guide you to God. I was sent here to give you a choice."

"…what choice is that?"

"You can let go. You can allow destiny to happen. You will find your reward for your faithful service, Castiel. You will be at peace…Or, you can choose to live. But it will not be easy, Castiel. There will pain, there will be heartache. You will have to make decisions. This is not an easy road. It leads to where we cannot see. We don't know what will happen. The Apocalypse may happen regardless of anything you do. But God wants you have the choice."

"You mean…God…"

Castiel knows the answer even before it finishes. He will not abandon Sam and Dean, not abandon God's world or the people in it.

The Thrones close the gap between them in one bound, standing right in front of him. He tries to retreat, but he finds he can't move, his feet rooted to the spot. They're barely an inch from him.

"You've made your choice. Stay still."
With that it wraps one arm around his waist, the other snaking around his back. It closes around his wing. His eyes roll back in his head as a mountain crushes him. He screams and screams, but it doesn't end until the darkness swallows him.