A/N: I'm sorry it's taken so long for the update. For those of you who haven't checked my other stories, my life is currently a bit hectic. I'm juggling writing two fanfics, three novels, and editing two novels for other writers. Interest with this one has also been a bit less, but I haven't forgotten you faithful ones nor have I forgotten where I started off with the intention to go for this. So, sit back...and (hopefully) enjoy.

It was late that night before Chuck excused himself from the table, Joshua following quietly behind him to leave the six alone at the table. Exhaustion overpowered the three men moments later and they slumped in their chairs, too tired to lift their heads or form words to speak. This drew amused chuckles from Gabriel and Batlhazar, the latter leaning forward to study them across the table.

"You boys should be grateful that that is the only side effect you'll suffer from being in His presence." He clasped his hands in front of him, smirking. "From what I understand, that Moses chap came away completely gray headed from the experience.

Dean's eyes nervously shot upward toward his hairline, but he was found the thought of the effort of moving his arm too tedious, and the thought of finding a reflective surface, an impossibility.

He stood, pacing around the table to kneel beside the oldest Winchester. "So, what do you fellows say, hmm?" He raised an inquisitive brow. "You have everything you need. Go home, recover, take care of what must be done."

Sam flashed a thumbs up, speaking for all of them. Within the blink of an eye, they were back in Bobby's study, stumbling across each other to find the first place they could to sit. They ended up squeezed together on the seat by the window where Dean usually lounged while they were reading. A chuckle which passed for a grunt fell from Dean's lips as he studied their situation.

"Not gonna get much rest this way." He pointed to a spot on the floor. "I call dibs...and if either of you wake me up before I'm ready, so help me..." His knees found the floor as he slipped out of the chair and crawled to the spot against the wall, managing to shrug out of his jacket to make a pillow out of it. Dust billowed around him as he collapsed onto his back, groaning appreciatively at being stretched out fully.

Sam followed suit, curling up near the bookshelves, leaving Bobby to lounge on the window seat. The older hunter managed to reach to the side table, grabbing the bowl they had left, drawing the last symbol on the window to keep angels from the home. The bowl fell forgotten to the floor as darkness overtook him, sending him into a deep sleep.

~8675309~

Dean was the first to wake, the sunlight from the window washing fully over his face. He grunted, attempting to ignore the warm intrusion, but soon found himself pushing up into a sitting position, stretching fitfully. He felt refreshed after his grogginess had worn off, something he hadn't felt in quite a while, having gotten up every morning with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Grateful for the change, he pushed to his feet and made his way into the kitchen to feed his growling stomach.

The others soon found themselves rousing to the smell of frying eggs and meat, which inquiring noses soon found was bacon. Sam, scratching his stomach, made his way blearily into the kitchen, peering at the pans with great interest. He jumped as Dean clapped him on the back, thrusting a loaf of bread into his hands.

"Make yourself useful, Gigantor," he said with a slight smile, "make some toast."

Bobby rummaged through the cabinets until his hands found the plates, the ceramic clanking dully together as he stacked them to carry to the table. He sank into the nearest chair, yawning and stretching to wake the rest of his body. Breakfast was a treat, a breakfast that wasn't from a diner was rare.

"How long did we sleep?" Sam asked, popping bread into the toaster, taking another stretch as he waited, working his neck.

Dean checked his watch, "looks like we got us a full eight hours, boys. I think that's cause enough for a celebration. Huh?" Having spent most every day of his life only grabbing a few hours of sleep a night, eight hours of sleep felt like a vacation.

They ate heartily, no one having much to say as they made their way through several sandwiches each. There was no way they would let that rare moment pass without spending it in normalcy, talk of work kept away from the table. Work came after the dishes had been placed to dry and the brothers gathered in front of Bobby's desk as they had so often before. Sam had turned his chair backward, his arms resting in front of him as he straddled the seat. Dean lounged, almost spread eagle in the chair beside his brother, both men looking at Bobby expectantly, waiting for him to impart his wisdom to them.

"So, I wasn't dreamin' that, right?" the grizzled hunter finally asked.

They all exchanged heavy glances.

"Didn't think so." He sighed. "That was too much to hope for." He scratched his head, looking over at Sam. "How are ya feelin', son?"

Sam thought for a moment before a wide, genuinely happy smile lit his face. "It's...incredible. Like a new lease on life." Happy tears stung his eyes. "Ya know, I always thought that all this stuff would keep me from Heaven, but...I think this is my Heaven. Right now. My experience...of peace, for everything that's happened in my life."

Dean looked down at his lap, a sudden, morbid realization washing over him. The change in demeanor drew instant attention from the others, silently imploring him to speak his mind. A sad laugh escaped this throat and he shook his head. "I don't wanna be the one to spoil our mood here, but it kinda feels like...maybe this is supposed to be our moment of peace." He swallowed, cocking his jaw as he looked up into the eyes of his brother. "I don't think we'll live through fighting Cas, Sammy. Any of us."

The younger man frowned deeply, a flash of what his brother was feeling washing over him. "Maybe the story is supposed to end here, Dean. Maybe this is it. And ya know what? If it is, then I'm ready for it. For the first time in my life, I am completely at peace. I know that there's hope." His frown easily became a smile, gently coloring his face. "So, let's go do this. Let's face this problem head-on, just like we always do."

"I'm for that," Bobby agreed, leaning back comfortably.

"Alright," Dean consented, casting his brother a smile. They stood, moving to pack their weapons, just as they always did, preparing, as they always did, for just another hunt. Dean paused his packing, looking over at Sam as if seeing him for the first time. "It's...It's great to see you happy, Sammy." He roughly cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of the emotion that made his voice raspy with tears. "I mean, this is what I've always wanted you to feel."

"I know," came the reply, followed by a tight hug. Sam clung tightly to his brother, his fists clenched in the fabric of the jacket that Dean wore.

Slowly, Dean raised his hands to do the same, holding on to his brother for dear life. He didn't care, this time, that they were sharing one of the dreaded chick flick moments he so desperately tried to avoid. He didn't care that Bobby was in the room. All that mattered was that, in this moment, they were together and for the first time, Sam had a genuine smile on his face. "I love you, Sammy."

"Love you too, Dean," he replied, just as quietly, stepping back to study his brother.

Dean turned back to his duffel, his hands lovingly finding the sawed-off he'd discovered his father had kept, his first weapon. Today was a day of memories, of facing past, present, and future with open arms. While he was still angry with God, he seemed to have found a peace he couldn't explain, and it revolved around the burden that had been lifted from his brother's shoulders. In a way, it felt as if he'd been trying to carry Sam's pain for him, and now, that weight was gone. It was liberating.

Sam chuckled to himself, zipping up his bag and hoisting it over his shoulder. He turned his long frame, studying the room. This room, where the three men had spent countless hours pouring over ancient texts, sewing up wounds, making battle plans; this room that had been leveled time and time again by the witnesses, demons, and angels; this room encompassed everything. It was an infirmary, a safe house, a supply store, a knowledge center, but most of all, it was home. At least, it was the closest thing to a home that the boys had ever known.

"You boys about ready?" Bobby called from across the room, lifting his own bag.

Dean sighed, sliding the sawed-off into his bag and turning around. "Yeah, Bobby. We're ready."

They left together, the door to the house slamming shut behind them, seeming to put a finality on their trip that sobered them. There was no need to take two cars, so the three men slid quietly into the waiting Impala, apparently another thing that had been fixed during their time in Heaven, Dean holding the steering wheel in his hands as the car fired to life, purring loudly. A small smile lit his face; if there had been one thing in his life that he could count on, it was his car, his baby. It held most all of his memories, good and bad. There was no telling how many people in his life had actually sat in this car with him at some point. It seemed endless.

Dean pulled out of the graveled driveway and onto the main road, heading back to the place where they would find Castiel, heading back to the place that Dean had completely lost all faith that there was good in the universe. No one had much to say, so the miles passed in relative silence, each man lost in reflections of his own life. Had they lived like they were meant to live? Sure, mistakes had been made all around, but they were all here, together, as a family. At the end of the day, wasn't family what mattered?

The older brother reached over, sliding his Metallica tape into the deck, grinning as the rock music flooded through the car. Even though he'd complained about Dean's music choices for most of his life, Sam found himself nodding along to the music, his hand tapping in rhythm against his thighs as the drive wore on. None of the trivial things seemed to matter anymore.

Late afternoon brought them back to where Castiel had given them the ultimatum, and they descended the stairs slowly, weapons held at the ready, expecting to see the trench-coat clad angel-turned-god standing just where they'd left him. Instead, they stepped down into an empty room, devoid of the markings that had been on the wall and devoid of the gore that had been Raphael's body.

Bobby lowered his gun, his eyes traveling slowly over the room. "Well, that was a bit of a let down," he grumbled, putting his back against the wall.

"Cas!" Dean called, drawing back the hammer on the colt and lowering it to his side, ready to fire. "Castiel!" He took a pace back, looking around the room. "We're here, Cas. Waitin' on you. So c'mon down, wherever you are, buddy."

The tell-tale flutter of wings sounded and Castiel appeared in front of them, standing in the place he'd stood before, his face expressionless as he stared directly at the older brother.

"Have a nice siesta there, Cas?" Dean taunted, his hand shifting the grip on his gun.

"You know that thing will have no effect on me, Dean," Castiel retorted, his eyes flashing briefly to the Colt. "Don't be stupid." He held out his hand.

"There's somethin' you don't know, Cas," he paused as he heard the hammer draw back on Sam's sawed-off, a smile darting across his face."

"I know all, Dean," Castiel all but snorted, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Oh yeah?" Sam asked, his eyebrows raised. "I don't think you do."

A slightly uncharacteristic pinch formed between Castiel's eyes as he regarded the younger brother. "You are different, Sam. Healed."

"Yeah," he laughed quietly, "you could say that." He raised his gun.

Castiel looked back to Dean, who had leveled the Colt at him. "Daddy's back, Cas, and daddy ain't happy. It's time to give up those souls, now, before you or anyone else gets hurt."

"Things...can never go back to the way they were before, Dean," he snapped, accusation written all over his face. "If he's 'back,' then why isn't he standing here to stop me himself?"

"Because he's disappointed in you, Castiel," Sam murmured, "just like a father would be."

The younger hunter's words appeared to strike a chord and Cas narrowed his eyes, unabashed rage running awash through his very being. This new, powerful emotion seemed to spur his motions and raw energy surged, flowing through his arm to blast into the hunters, their forms disappearing in the radiant light.

Time seemed to stop in that moment, the light filling the room. Castiel, himself, seemed to be free to move and he stood back, observing his motions, watching the light, imaging where the three men had stood. He was paused in this moment of death, the last tether he had to his former self. A sudden grief clutched him, a realization that he'd just taken away the last little bit of true good in the world, the last piece of chivalry and selfless sacrifice there was to be found. Through all impossibilities, these men had stood by his side, depending on him, helping him, going where he could not, and doing what he could not do. He felt a grief deeper than any he'd felt before, the grief that came with loss, a loss that could never be recovered from.

Dean might not have been an angel, but he had been the closest thing he'd had to a brother, a true brother, who felt things and wasn't afraid to share. Even though he'd wanted to agree, he felt his new identity holding him back, the pride that came with his new found power, refusing to let him back down and admit he was wrong. After all, he'd done what he accomplished. He had stopped Raphael, and in the process had saved Heaven and Earth. Crowley was on the run. The Winchesters and Bobby had been his only remaining obstacle, the only thing left standing between him and what he felt had to be done. His father had left him no choice.

"This is your fault," he said, his voice low and lined with anger. "You did this, Father. How many of your sons and daughters have I had to put out of the way to keep Heaven safe in your absence? How many more have to die before you'll answer...the call of your son?" His eyes narrowed and he looked Heavenward, his voice raising in protest. "If you're back, why aren't you answering now?"

Receiving nothing for his efforts, he nodded, taking a pace or two back from where he stood. He bowed his head, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. There was nothing left to stop him from taking his place. He was at the top, and he was, now, alone.

He looked back toward the mayhem in front of him as the smiting light slowly faded...

tbc...