"Dean, the proper title given to the Sword of Michael is the Righteous Man. Every first born male of your family is deemed as such from the moment their souls came into being."
"Right, Righteous."
Castiel ignored his tone, continuing on as he knew he must.
"It has long since been prophesized that the day one of your blood line, one of the Righteous Men goes into Hell, the day you take up a blade and cut into another soul to save your own, the first seal is broken."
Another pause, taking a breath that he didn't need to stall from saying what he knew he must.
"That seal is the central seal; once broken it sets off a chain, weakening the other seals to the point that it is possible to break them all."
"What are you trying to say, Cass?"
"I am saying that I failed you, Dean. When I returned from Zachariah's place in Heaven you were gone, the only clues to your whereabouts being the scorches on the grass and the sickening smell of sulfur that clung to that Heaven like a miasma. The instant I figured it out, the instant I knew where you were I left, but it was too late."
"You left?"
"I did not wait for orders or subordinates; I did not spend a second asking for assistance. I stormed Hell to get you back. You spent ten Earth days in the pit, Dean. That is the equivalent of one hundred and seventeen in Hell. That is one hundred and seventeen days of torture that you did not understand because it was your first experiences with pain."
He couldn't look at Dean, his eyes dropping to the floor.
"You were amazing, Dean. You lasted seventy eight of those days of torture before they broke your soul until it said yes. When I found you, you were brilliant as the day I had met you but the scars, the tears…"
Castiel covered his mouth a moment before continuing.
"I pulled you back to Heaven, swaddled in my Grace and whimpering. It took me three days to heal you, replacing parts that were irreparable with bits of my own Grace to make you whole again. Then I delivered you to your mother and you were born almost two weeks late."
"Wait, you…I've got some kind of patchwork soul and you're just going to skip over that fact? Is that why you said 'in part' earlier? Because you're as much to blame about this situation as Michael is; as my blood is?"
"I am not…'skipping over it', as you say. There is simply nothing more to say. Yes, there are parts of my Grace in you. Yes, it is possible that may have been why it was so easy for Michael's Grace to meld with your soul. That is, however, speculation that is impossible to prove or disprove. There is no sense in focusing on something beyond our control."
"Bullshit-"
"May I finish?"
Castiel heard the frustrated noise come from Dean, refusing to look at him in fear of what he would see in his eyes. He shifted his weight, leaning on his left foot as he uncovered his face and braced his hands on the organ behind himself, eyes still trained on the floor.
"It was then that Zachariah revealed his intentions, how I had played a role in the end. I remembered Michael, how desperate he was and I remembered how frail you were. I made my choice and you saw the rest."
"You mean the fight with what's-his-face?"
"Yes. I chose to fall, ripped my Grace from my chest so that I could properly watch you without orders or Heaven getting in my way."
He chanced a look then, Dean's expression pained but slowly turning thoughtful while Castiel remained beside himself. Soon, Dean would abandon him.
"Why'd you do it, Cass? Why'd you go through all of that? And don't give me some bullshit excuse like it was all for me."
Self righteous fury flared inside Castiel as he stepped away from the organ and moved in front of the winged man, his eyes trained on Dean's own.
"It is the truth, Dean. I fought my way through Hell, I am Fallen, hunted and I did it – all of it – for you. I understand that you are confused, angry even but don't you dare question my loyalties."
Clenching and unclenching his fists as he continued to meet Dean's eyes, he waited a moment before storming down the aisle and walking out the doors.
Dean let Castiel leave, unsure if he wanted to stop him or if he even could. As if his life wasn't complicated enough now he was told his only friend was a Fallen Angel and he'd started the Apocalypse before he was born. Sorry, but this was getting to be too much. He needed a drink and he needed it yesterday. Moving to the doors it was only then that he remembered the forgotten coat in the cabin.
Groaning, he struggled his way into a black long coat he found hanging before exiting the church as well. Castiel was sitting on the curb, his head in his hands with his elbows resting on his knees. Dean wasn't sure what to say to him anymore, it was like every time he got to know the guy some new baggage came up that royally fucked Dean over.
Brushing past the smaller man, he didn't spare him a glance as he addressed him.
"Gabriel will be here shortly."
"Yeah? Well tell him I'm getting shit-faced."
Dean heard shuffling and footsteps.
"I don't think –"
"Yeah?"
He spun around to face him, only then really noticing the height difference. It was like the story had taken something from Castiel, something essential that had previously made him taller, somehow larger than Dean in ways that mattered more than physically.
"Well fuck what you think, Cass! All you've managed to do is royally screw my life, so I'd like to get some 'me time' before the next shit storm. I'm finding a bar and you're not gonna stop me."
Dean didn't wait for the reply this time as he turned and tried to wipe the devastated look on Castiel's face from his mind. The dick deserved it. This time he didn't hear the footsteps following him, just his own resounding in the darkness. It took Dean ten minutes to find a bar, two to realize that the owner of the coat had left his wallet in the pocket and another four to order and get comfortable on a stool.
Castiel waited for Gabriel's return in silence. He had known it would come, knew Dean would hate him for what he had done and what he had failed to do. He had not been expecting it to hurt as much as it did. The flutter of wings signaling Gabriel's appearance made Castiel wince, yet another reminder of what it had all cost him.
"Hey bro, where's Dean?"
"He's…locating a drinking establishment."
"You mean he went off alone? Do you know what this means?"
Castiel's jaw clenched, hating Gabriel for wanting him to voice it.
"That he has decided I have ruined him."
Gabriel jerked his arm hard, forcing him to face his brother.
"Castiel, pull yourself together! Now is no time for a pity party."
He growled, anger flaring again as Gabriel's words wrung truer than he would have liked.
"Why the Hell not?"
"Dean is alone, invisible from me and in a place Demons are most likely to be in a small time like this."
Terror was not a strong enough word to describe the chill that ran down his spine, the color draining from his face.
"We have to find Dean."
Dean was inebriated within half an hour, leaning heavily on the bar while he ordered another. He wasn't even upset anymore, just numb and at a loss. Some part of him had trusted Castiel to be a constant, to be the one solid and 'for sure' thing in his life and now it was crashing down around him. It was like life was pulling some unending joke on Dean and there was no way out, any way to win.
Dean didn't hear the person standing behind him running his mouth, too lost in his thoughts to notice much of anything even as he took a swig from his fresh glass of whiskey. Just as his lips met the rim of the glass he received a hard shove from behind, cracking his teeth against the glass and spilling the amber liquid all down his front. Cracking his neck, it was then that he realized that this was what he had really come for.
"So, you gonna apologize or are you planning on being a dick?"
"How's about you suck mine, pretty boy?"
Huffing out a laugh he set down his glass, turned to the guy with a wry smile and sized him up. Eh, he'd been in brawls with worse.
"Right answer, dickwad."
Slamming his left fist into the guy's face was refreshing; something he'd been itching to do to a lot of people as of late and it was about fucking time. Maybe he'd even try getting laid when this was over. The guy could take a hit; Dean had to give him that. Blood was steadily leaking from his nose but the guy was smiling like he'd just told the greatest joke. Dean couldn't place why, but that just made him angrier.
Castiel followed his instincts, a slight pulling at his subconscious, and managed to find Dean in a bar five miles due south, fighting a man who was about one and a half of him but still winning. One look and Castiel knew something was wrong, something was off. He moved before his mind caught up with his feet, stepping between the two them before Dean had a chance to stop his trajectory.
"Dean."
The winged man's fist connected with his stomach, winding him and making Castiel feel more nauseous than he had earlier. Stumbling back, he collided with the other man who uttered two words in his ear before slamming his face into the bar and his world returned to black for the third time in the last week.
"He's ours."