A/N: Deepest apologies for the exceedingly late update, life is a bitch sometimes.

:P


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.


The Hunters' attention is brought back from outside by harsh breathing coming from the couch.
"Cas?"

Dean and Sam hover over him, Bobby right over their shoulders, but keeping his distance. Castiel's eyelids flutter. Dean grabs his shoulders and shakes him.
"Cas!"

Castiel's hands suddenly come up, clamping down on Dean's wrists, eyes dragging open. He blinks twice, eyes struggling to focus before falling shut. His tense shoulders slump and he sighs.

"Hey, stay with us." Sam encourages
Castiel suddenly lurches up, nearly braining Dean before he leaps back. Castiel's arm twists around to his back, fingers searching for the wound, but only brushing over unbroken skin.
"It's gone, Cas." Dean says, gripping his shoulders to emphasizes the point.

Castiel looks at all of them with bleary, slightly confused eyes. Sam is outright beaming, Dean trying to contain his joy, even Bobby is looking as happy as Castiel has ever seen him. His sudden burst of energy gives out and he finds himself slumping down. Dean and Sam scramble to support him, lowering him down slowly. Castiel's eyes are hazy, his hand roaming over his chest and his throat. Sam puts his hand gingerly to the side of his neck. He's sweltering, fiery to the touch. Castiel tilts his head towards him, weary eyes meeting Sam's.

"I'm going to go get an ice pack. He's burning up."

Sam disappears and Castiel's eyes gravitate to Dean.

"Man, are you okay?" Dean asks, trying to conceal the oppressive worry in his voice.

"What happened?" Castiel slurs, trying to sit up now that he's sure he's still alive.

"Some….some thing came in here and…she said she healed you."
"They did."

Castiel manages to sit up, feeling his muscles protest with a sharp ache, but no stabbing pain hits him. He sways and Dean's hand is on his shoulder, but he steadies quickly, examining his body more thoroughly now. He doesn't need to see to know that he's perfectly whole again, the pulsing of his Grace within reflects around his unmarred vessel. His Grace vaguely aches, overwhelmed by the power poured over it when the Thrones healed him.

"Hey, Cas, you okay?"
"I'm fine…better than fine. I'm alive."
A small smile and a breathy laugh come from Dean, unable to tear his eyes away from Castiel. Even Bobby looks happy, not exactly smiling, but his eyes tell the real story. Castiel carefully puts his feet on the floor, shucking the blanket and sitting on the couch properly.

Sam returns with the ice pack, giving it to Castiel who holds its soothing coolness to his Grace burned skin.

"Cas, do you know what happened?" Sam asks.
"Yes, it was the Thrones. They healed me."
"Yeah, that's what she called herself." Dean says.

"Who is she, Cas?" Sam asks, intellectual curiosity taking over.

"First off, she's not a she, they have no gender. And there was more than one of them in that vessel. The Thrones belong to one of the highest orders of God's Pantheon, they have far more power than ordinary Angels do. They reside in the higher realms of Heaven, meant to sing God's praise and carry his Throne."

"So, what are they doing down here? God ordered them down off their perch to heal you? Why? Not that I'm not thankful." Dean says, holding his hands up when he gets a frown from Sam.

"They said…they said it was my choice. They told me that God wanted me to choose my destiny. I don't understand it. I…I just don't understand." Castiel says quietly, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his head up on his clasped hands.

"Don't stress on it, Cas, you can't do anything about it. What matters is you're alive." Sam says.
"But it means God is out there and…he doesn't care. He's going to let the apocalypse go forward."

"Only if we let it." Bobby says.

Everyone looks to him, a mixture of expectant and hopeful on Sam and Dean's faces and a depressed one on Castiel's.

"Look, from what she said I think it's pretty clear we're being given a choice, we can give in and go belly up, or we can take matters into our own hands."
Dean and Sam look at each other and Castiel looks at his feet. The room goes silent for a few beats before Castiel is the one to break the silence.

"If we're going to do this, we have to deal with Zachariah and the others first."

"How?" Bobby asks incredulously.

"I don't know." Castiel replies.
"Well, we'll figure something out. Nobody manages to beat the odds more often than the Winchester family." Dean says.

Castiel doesn't miss the pointed look Dean gives him when he says 'family.' Once again a strange wave of acceptance rolls over him, making him feel like he really is apart of this family.


Leochoir watches the human house from the front drive, invisible to all onlookers, not that there is many humans out this far. He contemplates the burned out sigils marking the gates, wondering what could have done that, but he doesn't care. The house is still warded, but it makes his job infinitely easier that he can get this close. Inside he can feel the presence of the human Bobby Singer and Castiel, his Grace diminished and weakened, but otherwise alive. He can't detect the Winchesters, but he knows they are most certainly in there. He considers making a bold move, charge in and drag the vessels out by their hair. If all went well Zachariah could probably care less about his methods, but if it fails and they escape he's sure to have his Grace shredded. He'll wait for the vessels to come to him.

It's not long before the front door opens and out steps Sam Winchester, Lucifer's vessel. It's not him that Heaven wants, though Zachariah has given him leave to use any means possible to lure out Michael's vessel. Without the aid of their traitorous Angel friend they should have no problem securing him. Together they are too strong, too fortified, but break them apart and they will fall like the pathetic human beings they are. Sam Winchester goes into the garage, digging around in the piles of junk. Leochoir approaches the oblivious human, invisible until the very last moment. He can see the flash of terror on the vessel's face when he strikes.


Dean and Bobby are sitting at the kitchen table, talking quietly. Castiel is sitting on the couch, eyes closed as he slowly reaches out to his Grace. He gently manipulates it towards his wings. He's tentative and nervous given his last experience doing this knocked him out. His Grace connects with his wing and he can feel it touch every part of his being, fleshing out the wing that once felt like it wasn't even there. It tingles, like blood flow returning to a numb limb, buzzing with energy. The more he feels his wing come back the tighter a band draws across his chest. It's nothing more than the strain, the healing taking a toll on his body. The power of the Thrones' Graces' forced into his wounds to tie him back together has overwhelmed his own feeble Grace. He's by no means up to fighting standards, but he's operated with worse, so he can deal with this until it heals. Despite the injuries having vanished from his vessel the force with which the Thrones banished the life threatening injuries has left his Grace feeling beaten, achy, which leaves his body sore and tired. That's the only reason he doesn't protest everybody's coddling. He feels worn out, so sitting on the couch and resting isn't a problem for him right now. He sits there quietly, eyes closed, collecting his energy, listening to the hushed sounds of Dean and Bobby's voices. That's when he's hit with a wave of dread so strong it makes him reel, his stomach roiling inside him. It makes him feel sick, his Grace battered by the feeling as well, causing his body to ache. He takes a deep breathe, looking over his shoulder at the door. He can see Dean still at the kitchen table, nursing an early morning beer, but Bobby is gone. He hears the click of the back door closing. It takes a moment for Castiel's tired and addled mind to recognize the anxious and frightened feeling that creeps over him. It's a deep seated fear suddenly recognized.

Sam is in danger.

He stands up so fast he lurches, losing his footing and tripping, falling to the floor with a grunt. He spends no time dwelling on the pain or his pathetic display of coordination. He hauls himself to his feet and spreads his wings, once again steeling himself against the vice like grip that locks around his chest at the action. He tries to fly, but two hands grab him from behind before he can hit the floor again.

"Where's Sam?" Castiel gasps as Dean drags him upright.

"Outside, what's wrong?"

"Don't go out there." Castiel orders.

The words are no sooner out of his mouth and Dean is turning away from him to the door. Castiel's fingers snap out, pressing hard to Dean's temple. The man collapses to the floor, face first. Castiel takes wing, flying right into the heart of his fears. He'll be damned if he's going to let anything happen to the Winchesters now.


Sam can sense the attack before he feels it, head turning out to the yard as a man appears out of nowhere and lunges. A fist collides with his head and he careens backward, smacking it again off the garage wall. The double blow has him seeing stars, collapsing onto his hands and knees. Fingers curl in the front of his shirt, lifting him up effortlessly and slamming him against the wall. His head smacks against the wood as his hands scrabble for purchase on the arms holding him off the ground by his shirt.

Bobby suddenly appears in the doorway, mouth half open as if he's about to ask a question. Leochoir casts him a brief look, enough to see the man's eyes open wide and him reach for a gun. Leochoir lets him, lets him grab his gun and fire, once, twice, three times. The salt rounds punch through his chest but he feels nothing. With a wave of his hand Bobby goes flying, crashing into an old car before hitting the ground, unconscious. Leochoir smirks, turning his attention back to Sam, hands gripping the Angel's as he struggles to try and set his feet back on the ground. Leochoir draws his sword to his hand. Nothing should bring the most self sacrificing human being on the planet running quite like his little brother screaming.

Sam drags his head up, looking at the grinning Angel, sword cocked in one hand aggressively. He grabs Sam by the hair, dragging him back to his feet. He balances the tip of his blade carefully against the corner of Sam's eye. The man's eyes go wide and a strange sound tears itself from his lips as he struggles vainly to free himself. Leochoir stabs the fragile skin, pulling a line down from the corner of his eye agonizingly slow. And Sam does scream, from pain, horror and fright at what's happening. A slow smile is just curling Leochoir's lips when his hand is wrenched away and he's shoved back by two strong hands. He stumbles, regains his footing and looks up. Before him stands Castiel, his arm wrapped tightly around Sam as he tries to stand up by himself, recovering from the shock of the attack and the suddenness of Castiel's appearance. Castiel himself looks unmarred, strong and whole again. The blemishes inflicted upon his Grace are gone. Leochoir can sense that his death is no longer imminent as it was.

"Leochoir, stand down."

Leochoir frowns, looking Castiel up and down like he's seeing a ghost.

"You're…how are you…"

"It was God's will." He says curtly. "Now stand down."
"Or what? You are hardly in a position to tell me what to do, Castiel, betrayer of Heaven."
Castiel doesn't have time for verbal repartee, Zachariah could show up anytime now that Leochoir is here. He wastes no time in healing Sam, pushing him behind him in an effort to protect him. His eyes quickly dart to Bobby, still passed out on the ground.

"Go back inside." Castiel orders. "Take Bobby."

Castiel has his sword out, covering Sam as he hauls Bobby up and takes him back to the house. Leochoir doesn't attack though he wants to. Once they're out of sight Castiel puts all his focus into the enemy before him.

He flares his Grace, shadow wings blazing on the wall as he holds his sword taunt.
"Threaten us any longer and I will destroy you." Castiel says, summoning every bit of Heavenly wrath he knows he has in him.

Leochoir looks a little shocked at the bold aggressiveness of the display, but his features quickly harden back into that of an impassive Angel. His own wrath and righteousness in his cause have overcome him.

"We tried to play nice Castiel, you've had plenty of opportunities to repent, but all you do is reject us."

Castiel takes a step forward, Leochoir mirrors him. Both Angels' faces are set in anger, ready to do damage to the other.

Castiel is anxious, but he bides his time. As long as he can keep Leochoir away from his friends he doesn't need to attack. Both Angels feel it when the house suddenly becomes further shrouded, heavier warding sigils beating against their Graces' oppressively. Leochoir grits his teeth, eyes flickering from the house to Castiel.

"You're going to die Castiel. Zachariah nor Michael will tolerate your impudence any longer."
"They're welcome to try."
Leochoir feigns right, but stabs left. Castiel easily blocks him, lashing out with his sword. Silver cuts flesh and blood splatters, Leochoir lurching back before returning in a flurry of Grace and rage. The surge of Grace assaults Castiel, shoving him back, giving Leochoir a brief opening. The blade slams down on Castiel's wrist, cutting deep. He cries out and his hand opens, sword falling uselessly to the ground below. Leochoir grabs him, pinning his arm and driving him backwards till his back slams into a wall, shaking the whole house with the collision. His vicious snarling face is right in Castiel's when a loud bang sounds and Leochoir flinches, a circle of red appearing dead center of his forehead. Castiel seizes his opportunity, grabbing Leochoir and hurtling him into the nearest stack of cars. The Angel shouts as the metal heap cascades over him, burying him. Castiel falls back, retrieving his sword. He glances up to see Bobby in the doorway, gun in hand as he ducks back inside, watching from the edge. That's all the time Castiel has before Leochoir has dug himself free, heaving aside a small car as if he were throwing a ball. His face is a mask of unparalleled fury, chest heaving and red in the face.

Castiel braces himself, flying at Leochoir, sword swinging. They collide, metal grating, blood flying and hands grappling for some sort of leverage. Their Graces fight each other, battering at the other in a vicious sort of celestial battle compared to the physical actions of their bodies ripping at each other. Neither deals a serious blow, blood speckling both of their clothes, cuts on their arms and faces oozing the liquid and trace amounts of Grace, but nothing fatal.

Leochoir shoves hard with his Grace and Castiel is unprepared for the amount of power suddenly assaulting him, unable to control it with his weakened Grace. Leochoir lashes out, striking the side of Castiel's head.

The blow knocks him off balance, just enough for Leochoir to grab his collar. He shoves him hard against a rusted old car, so hard that it caves in, glass shattering and raining down on the ground. Castiel manages to bring his sword up, blocking, Leochoir's last deadly strike. They're locked together, arms hooked and swords shaking with deadly energy. Neither one can make a move to attack without likewise being stabbed. Leochoir snarls as he tries to force Castiel down, but Castiel fights back, pushing just as hard. Their arms are shaking, blades quivering. Leochoir's face is set in anger and frustration while Castiel is pure will and determination.

Castiel suddenly wrenches to the side and stabs up. Leochoir comes crashing down with all the force he was pushing down with, but he's ready for it. He twists and thrusts at Castiel. He isn't ready for the sudden attack. That half second is all it takes for Leochoir to shove the blade between his ribs as he twists away. He can feel his flesh rip as the blade tears out, scraping bone. He stumbles back, all noise caught in his throat in shock. Leochoir pounces on him, but not with his sword. He knots his hand in Castiel's shirt and pounds him in the face with his fist three times in rapid succession. Castiel tries to break free, but his ribs protest. Leochoir grips tighter before hurling him ten feet across the yard with such force Castiel bounces. He lands on his side before rolling, feeling his ribs crack at the impact, skin bruising and blood gushing out. When he comes to a stop he tries to move, but finds it nearly impossible. Before he can even reattempt to stand Leochoir is standing over him.

Silver flashes in the bright sunlight as he looks up. He reacts more on instinct than anything, throwing himself at Leochoir's legs with all the force he can muster. They both come crashing down, Leochoir on top of Castiel as they wrestle in the dirt, nothing better than human at this point. Castiel feels his blade slice deep through flesh a split second before it feels like his face has been torn open. He screams, throwing Leochoir's weight away and standing as fast as he can. He cups his face with one hand, feeling the gash that cuts across his forehead and through his eye, blood running liberally between his fingers. Staggering, he clutches at his sword, turning sharply to face Leochoir. The other Angel is in a similar state of agony, gripping at his chest and neck as blood soaks his clothing and dribbles down his stomach. Their eyes lock, pain evident in both of them as they prepare for the next attack.

"Dean! Stop!" Sam's voice rings out.

That's when Dean comes charging down the front steps, gun in hand, eyes skittering as he tries to comprehend the situation as fast as he can.

Leochoir's eyes snap to Castiel, wide and sharp before whirling back to face Dean. The object of his ambush is finally out in the open, ripe for the taking. He raises his hand, palm out towards the human and light explodes across the salvage yard.


The light is blinding, lethal in everyway to anything tarnished, especially souls. Castiel doesn't even have time to think, all he knows is he has to protect Dean.

Dean won't be able to survive it.

He doesn't have time to think that he's not likely to survive it either. He flies to Dean, trying to grab him and shove him away, but the blast reaches him first, crashing into his left wing. The light scorches his Hell tarnished feathers, burning them.

The blow sends him spiralling to the ground on his back with a terrible shout. For a second he can't feel anything, can't feel his wing, can't feel anything.

But then it hits him.

It feels like half his wing has been cut off as he writhes, agony locking onto him. He tires to breathe, but his lungs feel like someone is squeezing them and won't let go. His wing feels like molten lava has been poured over it. He's aware of the strangely icy feeling of blood leaking from his wounds, soaking into the back of his coat. He's not sure of what happens next, only loud noises, hands touching him and a scream.


Dean tenses, shielding his eyes from the burning light as it barrels towards him. Suddenly darkness blocks it out and he looks up briefly. He watches as the attack that was meant for him knocks Castiel away, flung to the ground as if made of rages. He lands on his back with a hard thump, a scream tearing from his throat as his back arches. His arms flail, slamming hard into the ground. His fingers scrabble in the dirt as he convulses, his one visible eye rolling back to nothing, but white. For an instant he looks like a Demon, but then Dean is running to his side. He's on his knees, gripping Castiel's shoulders.

"Cas!"

He won't stop shaking, won't even acknowledge Dean. He hauls him up, wrapping his arms around him, trying to sill him. When his hands touch Castiel's back they come back wet, blood roiling down his back and soaking into his clothes. It's too much like that time Sam was stabbed, when he died. Castiel jerks against him, head pulling away. Dean presses one hand over the reopened wound, the other against Castiel's neck, holding his head still against his shoulder.

"Well, well, isn't that so sweet." Leochoir says, his voice rough and sarcastic, out of breath. "Looks like something Michelangelo would have painted, almost like the Pieta."

The Angel is bloody, as bloody as Castiel is, looking like something from a horror movie as he slowly approaches, a slight limp to his step.

Dean hunches over, trying to shield Castiel's shaking body with his own.

"Get back or I'll-"
"You'll what? Shoot me? You can till you're blue in the face."

And that's what Dean does. He wrenches his gun from his belt and fires all six shots into the smug bastard. The Angel reels with the blows, cringing. His face twists into something similar to pain and disgust as he looks down at his chest, fingers skimming over the tatters of his shirt.

"Demon blood?" He says. "You cursed them in Demon blood?"

Dean shrugs.

"I'm a regular Michelangelo."

The Angel looks like he's actually in pain from the shots, but clearly nowhere near dead with six bullets in his chest and half his blood decorating his clothing. He takes a few steps back as Dean lowers his gun, clutching Castiel again, some futile instinct flaring as he tries to protect him.

Leochoir's face sets in cold fury and he waves one hand sharply. Dean goes flying like he's a ragdoll, arms wrenched away from Castiel.

Dean crashes on top of a car, caving in the roof before falling to the ground. His shoulder gives a loud crack as he lands in the dirt, a painful stab following that. He moans, grabbing his shoulder and rolling onto his stomach, trying to get up.

Leochoir watches him struggle for a moment before the feathers of his wings prickle warningly. He sides steps, just enough for the Molotov cocktail to whip past him and shatter on the ground in a burst of flame. He turns, finding Lucifer's vessel ten feet from him, eyes wide and arm still slightly raised. Leochoir is suddenly there, right in front of him, grabbing him by the throat and heaving him up into the air. Sam gasps, hands scrambling at the iron fingers locked around his throat. He can't touch the ground, the tips of his boots barely scraping the dirt. His vision is going dark around the edges, lips tingling.

Leochoir opens his mouth to say something when he suddenly lurches, his grip falling away as suddenly as it came. Sam goes crashing to the ground, gasping and heaving for air. Leochoir looks down at his chest, the silver tip of Castiel's blade driven through. Bobby twists the blade, jarring the Angel. Sam watches his eyes roll up as light explodes, blinding him as he wrenches his head away. A long, loud scream splits the air, dying abruptly with the light as it fades. Bobby takes his arm away from his eyes, his grip releasing the sword as the body falls to the ground. Sam jumps back a little, the dead vessel's sightless eyes gazing at him in a thousand yard stare, a trickle of blood leaking from his mouth. Bobby, breathing hard, reaches out a hand for Sam. The younger man takes it and hauls himself up with Bobby's help, rubbing his throat.

"You alright?" Bobby asks.

"Fine." Sam says, still short of breath.


Dean groans at the bright burst of white light that illuminates the yard and the deafening scream that accompanies it. He stumbles to his feet, clutching at the car beside him for support. When the light dies away he spots Bobby and Sam at the far end of the yard, safe, alive and standing over the body of a dead Angel, wings scorched long and dark into the dirt.

His eyes snap to where Castiel lies and he breaks out in a run. The Angel is still as the grave when he drops down beside him, grabbing him by the shoulders and hauling him up.

"Cas? Cas, can you hear me?"
Dean bites his lip when he gets a good look at Castiel's slack features, blood clotting and matting half his face. His right eye is a goner, hacked right through, the clear juices mixing with the blood. He feels the warm press of bloody cloth on his leg where Castiel's injured side is pressed up against him. He wants to retch to get away from him, away from the memories seeing Castiel like this illicit, but he won't.

He can't.

His fingers press into Castiel's throat for the umpteenth time in the last day. There's a pulse, but it's hardly a reason for celebration.

"Goddamnit, Cas. Stupid, self-sacrificing, moron…"

He tears off his shirt, ripping off one sleeve to wrap around Castiel's bloody eye. Dean tears open the rips in Castiel's shirt and suit jacket, pressing the wad of fabric over the weeping wound there.

"Dean, is he…?" Sam says, coming to a stop behind Dean, Bobby a little ways behind him, but coming up at a jog.
"He's alive." Dean says shortly.

He presses harder against the wound in Castiel's side, trying to elicit some sort of response from the Angel, proof that he's alive and feeling this.

He gets none.

Sam is down on his knees now, cupping both hands around Castiel's face as he presses down on the makeshift bandage over his eye.

"I'm going to get those sigils back up, who knows who else might show up." Bobby says.

No sooner have the words left his mouth does he turn around and come face to face with Heaven's most sadistic Angel.

"Hello, boys."

TBC