Castiel was shaking as he pulled open the heavy car door and crawled into the backseat. His vision blurred, cleared when he blinked the tears away. In all the years of wanting and waiting, he hadn't prepared himself for this. Could not have prepared himself for this. And now that it had happened, it wasn't at all like he pictured.

More tears came, trailing down his face to fall onto his hands. He laid down with a distraught sound, his arms coiling tightly around the pillow. The maelstrom of emotion writhing within him seemed unable to get past the tightness of his throat. The only sounds he managed to make were little whimpers. All the hope that had been reborn with the other Dean's arrival was now crushed beneath the weight of those words.

The only thing he saw was Michael's- Dean's- face, all he heard was his voice repeating the same phrase over and over. Cold. Stern. Disapproving.

"I know what you have been doing all this time, Castiel. You had to know there was no hope. And now it's over."

The sobs started softly at first, so soft he didn't realize he was crying until he felt the dampness on the pillow. No. It was too much. He couldn't think right now. Rolling onto his back, Castiel laid his hand over his eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath, and let himself remember a time when that face and that voice showed him nothing but concern, affection and warmth.

Three years ago...

It was raining. Castiel sat in the backseat, his head pressed to the windowpane. Every now and then he rubbed his cheek against it, relishing in the cool sensation. Though it had been some hours since their clash with Pestilence, Castiel had not been able to shake off the effects of sickness as readily as Dean and Sam. But he kept his discomfort quiet. He was just tired. That was all.

The car rolled and bumped along. Sam dozed in the front seat. The wipers crawled across the windshield, leaving little streaks in their wake. The radio was low, though not low enough to prevent Dean from nodding his head and humming softly to the song. Cas listened to his voice, trying to identify the song but found he couldn't focus on anything. His head felt heavy, his thoughts sluggish.

"Cas? You okay?"

Castiel blinked, met Dean's eyes in the rear view mirror. Despite the bottled water Sam had given him earlier, his throat felt so parched. Raw.

"I'm fine," he managed.

Dean's brows lifted, no doubt at how scratchy Cas's voice sounded. "You don't sound fine," he observed. "Wanna tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Cas replied, perhaps a little shorter than he intended. The lingering effects of sickness had soured his mood. "I just need to rest."

It was obvious Dean didn't believe him. But he didn't press the matter, for which Castiel was grateful. "Well, if you need to stop or anything let me know, all right?"

Cas nodded, leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. He absently listened to the swoosh of the windshield wipers, the patter of rain on the window, the song on the radio.

He didn't know how long he was reclining before his stomach turned over so abruptly he was forced upright. A strange feeling rose within him. "Dean," he tried to say, found that if he opened his mouth even a bit the discomfort grew. Confused and a little frightened, he pressed his hand over his middle as he smacked the back of the front seat.

Dean immediately glanced back. He took one look at Cas's distressed face and pulled over to the side of the road. The abrupt stop startled Sam from sleep. He sat up, bleary-eyed.

"Dean? What's goin' on?" he asked groggily.

"It's all right, Sam. Just give me a second," Dean explained as he opened the door and exited the car. When he opened the back door Cas nearly fell out. Dean's arms encircled his upper body, steadied him. Still, the sudden movement caused Cas's stomach to turn over again. He felt something come up, clamped his mouth shut to keep it in.

"It's okay," Dean was saying as he led Cas away from the car. The downpour had turned to a light mist now. It clung to the strands of Dean's hair like dew. "I gotcha."

Cas looked over at him, wanted to ask where they were going. Before he knew it, his upper body jerked forward, his mouth opened and Cas exploded all over the grass. He was dimly aware of Dean standing beside him, his arm about his shoulders. Once, twice, three times Cas vomited, coughing and wheezing from the effort while Dean gave little encouragements.

When it was all over, leaving Cas shaking from head to toe, his upper body bent at the knees, he lifted his gaze to Dean's.

His smile was sympathetic. "Damn," he remarked. "I've seen some guys hurl before and they got nothing on you. I think you just threw up that whole liquor store you drank," he teased.

Castiel scowled. "That's not funny, Dean," he retorted, his voice raspy.

Dean rubbed his shoulder. "Feel better?"

The angel shook his head. "No." He grimaced at the acidic taste in his mouth. "I feel worse."

"A good hurl will do that." He studied Cas's face. "You don't look like you're dying anymore. You good to go?"

Cas stood up, winced at his sore abdomen muscles, the sudden bout of dizziness. "I'm not sure."

"I hope so. Love ya, man, but if you throw up in my car I'll have to kill you." Dean circled Cas's shoulder and started back for the car. "Come on. I saw a sign for a motel about a mile up."

"Are you sure we should stop?" Cas asked. "We've got three of the rings now and-"

"Cas, shut up," Dean interrupted. "I'm beat, Sam's beat, and you just painted the grass back there. We're getting a room." He then pulled Cas against him, his hand pressed to the back of his head. The abrupt shift in mood took Cas slightly by surprise, but in the end he sagged against Dean, grateful for his presence.

"You could have been killed back there, you stupid son of a bitch," he murmured in Cas's ear. "Lemme take care of you, all right?"

Cas wrapped his arms around him and squeezed.

Sam was standing outside of the car as they approached, his expression one of concern. "He all right?"

"He'll be fine," Dean answered readily. "How awake are you?"

"Uh. Pretty awake, I guess. Why?" he asked, watching as Dean pulled open the door and helped Cas inside.

"Motel about a mile up. We're stopping for the night." Dean slid into the seat beside Cas, went to close the door. At seeing Sam hadn't moved he added, "What, you need me to draw you a map?"

"Huh? No, no, I got it," Sam replied with a small smile for his brother and Cas before climbing into the driver's seat.

Once the car resumed moving Cas felt Dean's arm slide behind his shoulders to draw him closer. When Cas looked over at him, and was met with a muttered, 'What? Shut up,' he couldn't help but smile. As he leaned his head on his shoulder Dean pressed his cheek to the top of his head. The ill feeling that had lingered since he vomited gradually faded.

Shortly after checking into the motel, Sam offered to go on a food run. Though the idea of eating didn't sit well with Castiel, he demurred to Dean's insistence on getting chicken soup. As Dean explained all its benefits ("Come on, it's the go-to food whenever you feel like crap. It's magic,") Cas caught the amused yet happy smile on Sam's face. After assuring Dean he'd get everything ("Don't you dare forget my pie, Sammy!") he took his leave.

Once alone Dean looked to Cas and said, simply, "Shower?"

For a moment he didn't understand; was this an invite, or a question if he wanted one or if he was going to-

"I see how hard you're thinking there, Cas," Dean remarked with a small smile. "I'm asking if you're gonna take one cause damn, man, you don't look so good. Don't smell too good either," he added, his grimace punctuating the observation.

Castiel plucked at his clothes, noted a stain on the tie, the sleeve of his coat. "Yes. I will shower," he agreed. "But my clothes are dirty."

"I got you covered on that, man. You go ahead," Dean said, gesturing over his shoulder toward the bathroom.

Cas nodded, stood and stripped without a second thought. Dean's brows lifted before he gave a half smile. "Doesn't take much, does it?"

"What doesn't? Showering in clothes isn't the proper way to do it," Cas answered matter-of-factly.

Dean burst out laughing. Cas waited for his mirth to pass, still somewhat confused by the reaction, when Dean stood up. "Damn," he managed between chuckles. He wiped at his eyes. "No one makes me laugh like you do."

Cas paused, taken in by the warmth in his voice and smile, felt the simultaneous pain and joy at knowing he was its cause, smiled. It was something he wanted to keep feeling.

As Cas figured out the workings of the shower, he heard Dean rifling through his duffel bag. Once he was done he strode from the steam-filled bathroom, a towel around his hips to find Dean had laid clothes out on the bed. He was sitting beside them, his attention fixed on the television, a small bag of potato chips by his knee.

"Don't bitch about the clothes," he remarked with an absent gesture. "All I had. Don't worry," he assured him, taking a bite of a chip. "There's a laundromat nearby. We can wash that stupid coat and suit for you tomorrow."

Cas picked up the black tee shirt, the shorts. He knew they were Dean's; he had seen him wear them before. There was a peculiar feeling in his chest, as if his powers had come surging back. But that was impossible. Still, the sense that he was filled with something persisted. It was as pleasant as knowing he made Dean laugh.

His throat tightened, his eyes burned. "Thank you, Dean," he said, very softly.

Dean glanced up at him. Cas watched awareness enter his gaze as he rose to his feet. Their eyes held for some moments before Dean clasped him to his chest.

"Stop that," he said. His voice was gruff but there was no anger in his tone. "Just stop it, all right?"

Cas drew back to look at him. "I don't understand. What am I doing?"

"Looking like, like that," Dean said, pointing at his face. "Like you're ready to cry. Just don't. You don't need to cry."

Cas considered his words. "Crying upsets you."

"Of course it does," Dean replied passionately. "All the shit we've had to deal with, the Apocalypse, angels, demons, everything- I've cried so damn much I'm sick of it. I don't want to see you cry, Cas. I only wanna see-" He cut himself off, averted his gaze.

Cas watched the play of emotions on his face, felt his hands squeeze his shoulders.

At last he lifted his face to Cas's.

"I just wanna see you smile. That's all."

A long moment passed. At last Castiel bowed his head, slowly. "I understand," he replied. "I will not cry in front of you."

"Anymore," Dean stipulated, his hands tightening on his shoulders for emphasis. "I mean it, Cas."

He nodded again. "Anymore," he agreed, and, because he knew Dean liked to see it, he smiled.

For an instant it looked as if Dean was going to weep. But he just shook his head, hugged him again, and stepped away. "You might wanna get dressed," he advised as he ventured to the bathroom. "Don't think Sam will like the view too much."

Cas's brow furrowed in confusion, yet before he could question the insinuation Dean had closed the door. Deciding it was best to do as he suggested, Cas picked up the shorts just as he loosened the towel from his waist.

It was then he heard the door open, Dean's low mutter of, 'Dammit,' before Cas felt a hand grip his upper arm. As he found himself being drawn back into the bathroom, he sent Dean a questioning look.

"I'm already showered," he pointed out.

"Yeah, well, you're getting another," Dean explained in husky tones. "So shut up and get in here."

Castiel determined then that so long as they had these opportunities, he'd never shower alone again.

Shortly afterward the two settled in to watch TV while waiting for Sam. Dean had eventually drifted off; he now lay with his nose pressed to Cas's hip, his arm flung over his lap. Castiel had one hand resting on Dean's shoulder as he operated the remote with the other. Once, when the volume was too high, Dean had demanded he turn it down in a sleepy grumble. As Cas looked down at him, he was once again consumed by the feel that something had surged within his chest. It brought with it the distinct want to cry, and Cas resolutely choked the tears back. He wouldn't cry, even if Dean couldn't see his tears.

About halfway through the late night news segment, Castiel felt himself growing sleepy. Switching the TV off, he laid back, shifting his arm to let Dean's head rest against his shoulder. Dean's other arm still lay across his midsection; when Cas linked his fingers with the other man's, he heard Dean make a little contented noise.

Cas hadn't been asleep long when he heard the door open with a soft click. Sam poked his head around the door, took in the semi-darkened room and crept in. After setting the two bags down on the table he crawled into the other bed. The last thing Cas saw before he closed his eyes was Sam's smile and nod.

Dean raced down the path, the liquid inside the jug sloshing noisily from under his arm. With Gabriel tied up with the angels- Michael had pulled him aside after talking to Castiel- Dean had to make his own way to the barn. Of course, it didn't help that the place was about two miles away, he was on foot and time was running out. But he pressed on, driven by the memory of Cas's haunted face, the hopelessness in his eyes. There was no way he was going to let the angel give up. Not when they were this close.

At last the barn came into view, and Dean stumbled to a stop to catch his breath. He bent at the waist, head bowed as he panted. When his heart stopped making like it was ready to burst from his chest, he wiped the sweat from his brow and pressed on. Music drifted on the air the closer he got to the barn. He immediately recognized it as one of his many mix tapes. At reaching the door he paused to peer through the opening. Nothing. While he had no idea what kind of state the angel would be in, it was up to Dean to remind him what they needed to do.

"Cas! Hey, Cas!" he called, slipping through the opening. He strode to the driver's side door and leaned in to lower the music. "Come on, buddy. Don't do this," he went on, peering into the backseat. One of the pillows was tipped over, the blankets mussed. He set the jug on top of the car. "To hell with what Michael said to you, man. Look, he's got no idea what we have planned. We're going to make it right, just like I promised you."

There was a little strangled sound from behind the car. When Dean glanced past the trunk he found Cas sitting there, his arms around his upright knees. The angel was staring at the opposite wall, his face pale and drawn. He looked so bereft Dean had a painful flashback of his friend's fragile mental state shortly before they took out Dick Roman. Then, he had been wrestling with so many feelings of betrayal, anger and disappointment in Castiel's choices he had lashed out at him. Not this time.

Kneeling beside him, Dean took a deep breath. "Cas," he said softly. "Talk to me."

Cas said nothing for so long Dean was halfway convinced he hadn't heard him. But eventually he managed a tiny, bitter smile. "It's over," he muttered. "It was a waste. All of it."

"Whoa there, hold it," Dean told him firmly. "I didn't hear any fat lady singing, so don't sit there and talk like that." He watched Cas's face for a reaction, got nothing. "Look at me, man," he requested, hearing the edge in his voice. "You don't believe it's over. I know you don't."

At this Castiel looked over at him. "Do you?" he challenged. His eyes were dark with anger. "For three years I bloodied my hands on Crowley's behalf, all on the slim hope that I'd free Dean." He laughed then, harsh, sharp. "But Dean's gone. He's been gone. All I have are the memories." He bowed his head. "Just leave me. Please."

For a moment Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. Unwillingly, he flashed back to the events just before the alley beat down. Remembered the passionate way Castiel had shouted in between throwing him around like he was nothing. Now that his role had been reversed, he at last understood just how really pissed off and disappointed Cas had been.

Dean's hand shot out, snagged the bunched material Castiel's shoulder. "Get up," he ordered gruffly. When Cas didn't move Dean dragged him to his feet. Spinning him round so he faced him, he took hold of the lapels of Cas's coat. Their faces were inches apart.

"Don't you dare give up," he threatened in a low growl. "Do you hear me? Sam's counting on you to get Dean- his brother- back from those damned angels. It's whyyou got your hands bloody: to save Dean. If I know one thing about all this, it's that he'd never give up on you no matter how bad it got!" he shouted, thrusting Cas away as if he were disgusted by him. The sudden release sent Cas to the ground in a heap. He propped himself on his elbows, wide-eyed as he stared at Dean.

Dean scowled and shook his head. "The instant you give up on Dean, he's dead. Don't do that to him. Don't you dare do that to him."

Cas's throat flashed as he swallowed, and he hung his head. Dean waited for the angel to say something, anything, but after a moment he grunted. "So. He's dead then. To hell with you, Cas. He deserved better," he snarled before turning on his heel. As he headed for the doors he felt his hands clench, fingernails digging into his palms. Remembered how Cas's hands had clenched that night.

"Wait," Castiel called, halting Dean's steps. He didn't look back, though; if he did, he'd take a swing at the angel, if only to release all the anger and fear. The fear he only just realized that had been the undercurrent of all his worries about his missing friend.

A tentative hand grazed his shoulder. Dean shook it off and glared over at Castiel.

"What?"

Castiel's eyes were hollow. "Dean," he choked out. "You're right. Everything you said is true...he- he'd never give up on me. I can't give up on him. I won't. Please," he said, extending his hand in a gesture of peace. "Help me."

The request hung between them for several moments.

"I need your help because you are the only one who'll help me."

Dean waited until the painful tightening in his chest eased before he spoke. "You gotta have both feet in, Cas," he advised quietly. "You break like this again, it's over. Understand?"

He bowed his head. The despair that had shadowed his eyes had started to disappear. "Tell me what I have to do."

In response Dean produced the vial. He watched Cas's eyes widen as he took his hand and pressed it into his palm.

"First thing's first," he said with a little smile. "Strap your wings back on. Then we'll talk."

Castiel stared down at his Grace for a time. He looked both exhilarated and a little afraid before he closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Dean," he requested softly. "I need you to wait outside. I don't want you vaporized in the transfer. And remember to shield your eyes."

Mildly startled by the strong, even tone, so very like the Castiel he knew (and missed terribly) Dean nodded, murmured a thanks and, after taking the jug of holy oil in hand, started for the doors. He paused at the threshold to glance over his shoulder. Cas's eyes met his; at his small nod Dean exited. He walked, and kept on walking, resisting the urge to look back, knowing if he did he'd end up like Pamela.

About halfway down the road it felt like the entire world shut off. Nothing, not even the wind, stirred. Then there was a distant sound, like roaring thunder in the distance, before it suddenly exploded. Dean was thrown to the ground by the resulting shock wave. When he covered his head he heard the barn collapse.

When all was calm Dean slowly lifted his head. It looked like a tornado had touched down. Debris littered the road. The cornfield was flattened, the ears of corn scattered every which way. As he took in the destruction he heard the familiar rush of wings, and immediately looked to the left.

First he saw the Impala, not a scratch on her. Standing directly in front of her was Castiel. He peered down at him in that curious, thoughtful way of his. Gone was the distress, the anguish in his eyes. All Dean saw now was steely resolve.

Cas offered his hand. Dean grasped it, grunting slightly as he was assisted to his feet. Standing face to face with the angel, he was suddenly aware of how the very air around him seemed to spark with electricity. Given the way the entire area was leveled, it was any wonder Cas was still in one piece.

As if understanding where his thoughts had gone, Cas nodded. "Had my Grace been at full strength it would have destroyed this vessel," he explained. He touched his chest, as if reassuring himself that he was indeed in one piece. "But this is a good vessel. It endures."

Dean gave a tiny, approving smile. "Lucky for us," he said, for lack of something better.

Cas lowered his hand, slowly. Dean couldn't help but notice the otherworldly way he moved. "The spell Crowley placed on me has been broken. I can move freely again. I assume we are to meet up with Sam, Gabriel and the rest to discuss plans."

Dean decided it wasn't a good idea to tell Cas that he wasn't welcome at Bobby's. "After we talk to Balthazar."

Cas thought a moment. "He's inside Purgatory," he reported. "He hosts auctions during the daytime hours."

"Okay, good, perfect. Let's go back there and have a little talk with him," Dean said, lifting the holy oil with a sly smile.

Castiel's gaze traveled to the jug, then went back to Dean's face. The smile faded the longer he watched him. No- saw right through him. Just like the other Castiel.

He knows, he thought. He knows.

"Dean." There was concern beneath the gentle command. "Crowley would not have given you my Grace unless you made a bargain with him," he deduced. "What did he have you agree to?"

Dean blew out a long breath. He rubbed the back of his neck, managed a little, helpless laugh. "Yeah. About that..."