Author's note: I'm very sorry this took so long to put up. I'm sure you've all despaired over it ever being updated again, unfortunately exams, family problems and the almost alcoholic drinking problems of my flat got in the way. I'll be honest it was mostly the drinking...

Warnings: none apart from slight hints of future slash. Unbeta'd.

—00—Chapter Eight—00—

The Rapture

Harry had been fourteen the first time he had seen an angel.

He hadn't realised it then, too strung out on pain and grief and spiralling through the cloudy, wavering world of madness that made fantasy reality and reality shapeless and incomprehensible. He supposed maybe that was how people dealt with being tortured but then he had never gathered up enough courage to ask anyone so he wasn't all that sure. Harry had never told anyone about his time with Voldemort; there had been no one to tell and by the time John and Bobby found him everyone he might have told had been killed.

Voldemort liked killing people in front of him but then Harry had found out Voldemort liked to do a lot of things and none of them had been particularly pleasant.

He had been fourteen and torn up into broken, bloody strips, contained by magic soaked metal cages and longing for death, desperate for the relief he thought it would give him. Harry supposed he wouldn't have cared if Santa Claus had decided to pay him a visit by that point, so when his cell was filled with light and the fluttering sound of wings he'd barely even registered it.

"Harry"

The voice was whispering winds and tinkling bells and when Harry finally turned towards the direction of the angel's voice, blood was still drying across his face.

"Don't be afraid. I am an angel of the Lord."

Harry hadn't responded. He hadn't the energy to; his limbs were still shaking with the aftermath of too many rounds of the cruciatus curse and his voice had been silenced by the jagged, angry edges of his screams. A cool hand dipped across his forehead and Harry flinched away, whining at the pain that laced up through his torso at his involuntary movement.

"God has seen you suffering. It is time to be healed now."

Harry started to sob at the angel's words, great bone jarring cries erupting from him even as the angel's giant hands had slipped beneath his shoulders and thighs, cradling him as easily as if he was a baby. Everywhere the angel touched; cool, healing relief spread through his skin. His back; which had been torn into bloody strips started to knit itself back together, the skin stretching across the exposed muscles and tendons and knobs of his spine until it thrummed with tender, newly made flesh.

Harry opened his eyes and was drenched in pure, golden light as he stared unblinking to the visage of an angel.

"I am Sariel and I have come to heal you."

And he did heal him.

After his capture in the graveyard Voldemort had decided to kill him slowly; starting from his toes and continuing upwards and Harry, despite Sariel's healing, still bore the white knotted scars of his torture. The scars coiled and roped their way along the ridges of his spine, dipping in between the vertebrae and lacing up to scratch at his shoulders, but it seemed like nothing compared to the broken remains of his body Sariel had started off with.

The first angel Harry had met, hadn't been a soldier, he had been an angel of healing.

And it was only after, once Sariel had taken him from Voldemort's dungeons, flying him away from the empty bodies of his friends and family and taken him across the ocean that he found out Sariel was also the Angel of guidance.

An angel of guidance, that took him to the Winchesters and to Castiel.

-00—Present-00-

"He hasn't called?"

Sam scoffed and slumped down into the leather of the impala, crossing his arms angrily. "Of course he hasn't called. This is Dad we're talking about. I'm surprised he even sent us a text in the first place."

Dean shrugged and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, he was more thoughtful than concerned because it was dad after all and he had always had an inexplicable amount of faith in his father, even after this latest stunt. John hadn't returned after he'd disappeared with Anna from their ramshackle, angel proof safe house, instead he had sent them a message saying they were safe from angels now but that was it. It didn't really tell them anything but he supposed he shouldn't have expected anything else.

"Dean..." Sam's voice trailed off uncertainly, as he reached out to pat at his arm distractedly.

Dean huffed in irritation, shrugging off his brother, "What?"

"I think I just saw Castiel."

The sudden fury of emotions that hit him at the mention of the angel was surprising, though Dean really should have seen it coming. Castiel had betrayed them and it hurt, actually it really hurt, though the breakdown of his pain was probably less easily defined or understood. But despite everything Dean still considered Castiel his friend, he just hadn't realised until that moment when he had to make the call to find him. Sighing and shaking out the murky, clouds of anger from behind his eyes, Dean swung the Impala off the road and peered over his shoulder into the dusty smears of the twilight, trying to imagine why Castiel would be around here anyway.

"I think he's hurt!" Sam called and shot out of the car, darting into the darkness and yelling for him breathlessly. Dean felt streams of cold apprehension settle itself into the lining of his stomach and fumbled automatically for a weapon, his neck prickling unpleasantly and his gun slippery in his suddenly sweat slicked grasp as he stepped out of safety provided by the impala.

The night was heavy and impenetrable; the air full of static as if it had been charged with electricity and it thrummed threatening against his skin as he approached the crouched figure of his brother. Sam had curled himself almost protectively over the small knot of bones and clothing that was the angel and Dean felt his gut twist as he realised how bad Castiel looked.

"Dean. This is bad." Sam said and carefully rearranged Harry's thin limbs, spreading him out so they could see the extent of the angel's injuries. Blood seeped between Sam's fingers.

Tongue plastered to the roof of his mouth, Dean knelt down next to Harry and pushed the man's hair away from his bruised face gently, remembering the angel's kindness when he'd been hallucinating with ghost sickness. "Cas. Cas. Come on buddy,"

Harry's eyes flickered as he swam near consciousness and his forehead strained and folded in pain beneath Dean's hand.

"Castiel?" Sam asked slowly as the angel swam to consciousness, his bright, electric green eyes straining in the darkness.

"Castiel," the man repeated vaguely back at them and Dean felt renewed uneasy prickle through his static-charged body. Harry pulled away from Sam, an expression of confusion curling across his bruised face. "I'm not Castiel."

-00—

Harry passed out again before they'd even managed to carry him back to the impala.

Dean hadn't been that surprised, beneath the colourful tapestry of bruises his skin was grey and waxen and his eyes darted aimlessly, the vivid emerald of his gaze was blurred and feverish and shadowed with old, half remembered fear that seemed more like reality for the man at the moment.

It was more than a little unsettlingly seeing Castiel's vessel so human and an uneasy silence settled over them all as they drove back to their motel, even his brother was worried and Sam sat stiff and motionless, his head tilted so he could stare at Harry's sprawled out body from his position in the front of the Impala.

"What do you think happened?" Sam asked eventually, his voice soft as if he was worried Harry might overhear them from his fever induced coma. Dean would have mocked him for it, but own voice was as quiet as he replied.

"I don't know and it doesn't look like Harry's going to be of much help either at the moment." He shrugged and bite at his lip thoughtfully, "What I wanna know is where Cas is"

"The angels left." Harry's voice was a confused, slurred stutter of fever and emotion and Dean nearly skidded off the road in surprise at the sound of it.

"Jesus." He hissed and twisted around, one hand stiff on the wheel, to stare into Harry's pale, barely conscious face. "You're awake?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow almost incredulously at him and Dean realised that if it wasn't for the fever the man would have had a rather sharp come back to his statement. As it was all Castiel's empty vessel could offer him was a crooked smile that pulled at the chapped edges of his mouth and made the bruises that were pressed deep around his eyes fold up painfully.

"We have a motel room." Dean told him after a moment and Harry nodded slowly, letting his head slid wearily down the frosted window of the impala, his heated skin melting the ice almost instantly. His eyelids threatened to flicker shut again and Dean bit at his lip unable to stop himself from asking quickly, "Harry, we need to know, where's Cas?"

Harry's skin seemed to shimmer gold for a moment, the paper thin translucency of his flesh pulsating oddly as he stared back hollowly at Dean from underneath the drooping curls of his eyelashes. The man swallowed and hunched into the corner of the car with more emotion that Dean could understand; drawing his limbs around himself protectively, and looking like he was going to break into a million, agonised pieces at any moment. "They took him back."

"Back?"

"Back, to heaven; to be re-educated."

They didn't have time to ask any more questions before Harry started to convulse, his body snapping and shuddering in painful spasms across the backseat.

Dean swore and Sam fumbled over the backseat, desperately trying to stop the man from smacking his head against the metal sides of the car. Sam had all but thrown himself on top of Harry to keep him from moving but the angel-less vessel kept shuddering and shaking beneath Sam's hands, his eyes rolling back in his head until they flashed white at them.

Sam's wide, desperate eyes met his in the mirror and Dean saw his own panic staring back at him.

"Dean, he's burning up, this is bad, this is really bad."

-00—

It was nearly a week later before Harry was coherent again.

After Harry's fit in the car he didn't have another and for that Dean was sickeningly grateful but it became obvious, alarmingly quickly how sick the other man was. The first twenty four hours were the worse; the nasty fever he had contracted spiralled into wild hallucinations that left the man clawing and beating at anyone who came near him and soon after, spawned a wet hacking cough and left him with a rattle that echoed painfully through his chest with every breath he drew.

They had thought going to hospital was too risky and instead locked themselves and Harry away into their motel room, and tried to help the man themselves. After a day of trying and failing to get the man to drink water, keep his temperature down and listening to his wild, terrified nightmares, Dean was desperate enough to think of taking him anyway.

"We can't, it's not safe." Was all Sam would say on the matter and Dean had rubbed his face wearily, his eyes hard and a chest hurting as Harry started screaming at his invisible demons again.

Dean knew his brother was right but he didn't know how long he could bear to listen to Harry's hallucinations. The man sounded too much like a child; begging someone to stop, to not hurt him and to let his friends life. At first he thought they were the dreams of a hunter but it quickly became apparent that they weren't. Dean made himself listen to Harry's wild ravings, stroking at the man's feverish, sweat stroked forehead and hoped he could at least bring a little comfort to a man who he barely knew.

He didn't bother trying to sleep for those first few days, hell loomed too close and whenever he closed his eyes he heard his own pleas echoing in Harry's. Instead he became Harry's primary nursemaid and stayed by the man's side almost constantly, forcing the man to swallow paracetamol and water. Illness wasn't Harry only problem, if Dean was to guess he'd say he'd been beaten half to death; his chest was torn and grazed , his face blossoming into a colourful pattern of bruises and scabs and Dean spent hours trying to get close enough to tend to the blood crusted wounds that littered the man's torso with little success.

By the second night the hallucinations eased and Harry's blurred, unseeing gaze was a little bit brighter and the man a little bit closer to reality as morning dawned.

"Hey, it's nearly over," Dean told the man gently as he gaze started to flicker around the room uneasily once again.

Harry flinched away from the sound, tensing against the pillows and tangled ropes of bedding that he'd entrapped himself in. His eyes were electric green in the dim light of the motel and they wavered, wide and vulnerable on Dean's face in a way that made him unsure if the man was actually seeing or not.

"John?"

Dean's heart gave a painful little squeeze and all those uncomfortable realisations about his father and Harry came rushing back along with a whole load of other emotions he wasn't ready to unravel just yet. Dean hesitated and then reached out for Harry's hand, holding onto the thin palm and stroking at the scabbed knuckles gently.

"I'm watching over you, it's okay."

Harry's eyes were dull with sleep and fever but his features relaxed a little around the edges, the tightness of his mouth loosening until his lips looked soft and swollen against the bruised, waxen canvass of his face. The angry grazes across his forehead had disappeared leaving unmarked skin that glittered gold for a moment in the motel's flickering lights. "Thought you weren't coming back"

Dean didn't have an answer to that, instead he just held Harry's hand, waiting for the grip to loosen in sleep and ever after it did, he still held on, unwilling to let the man go back to his nightmares just yet.

The hallucinations were over by the third morning and by the fourth day Harry lay, exhausted but sharp eyed as Dean milled around him, the odd waxen consistency of his skin fading to golden smears of glitter over ivory and the bruises fading streaks of colour that looked like war paint as he scowled over the edges of his sheets.

Dean decided that if Harry could scowl he could answer questions and was busy texting Sam, who had left to try and find a lead on Castiel, when Harry finally threw off the last remains of his illness and decided to get out of bed.

"It's nice to see your feeling better." Dean said from behind his phone as Harry tried to move his unresponsive limbs over the edge of the mattress.

"Bite me."

Dean might have sent a quick, sarcastic reply but after four days of no sleep he had been left without a sense of humour and instead responded by throwing an empty bottle of water at his patient, watching happily as it bounced off his slow moving target.

"Oww... Merlin," Harry scowled as he wobbled onwards, nearly falling into the bathroom door and glaring miserable at his legs as if they were purposefully trying to spite him.

Dean rolled his eyes and continued his text; he could make an EMF meter out of things left over in a motel bathroom but phones and laptops mostly eluded him; the buttons were too small.

"Dean..."

Harry's voice was small and hesitant and when Dean looked up, the man was leaning against the doorframe watching him in a thoughtful almost curious way that Dean had seen directed at Sam a thousand times by teachers who came forward and told their dad how special and gifted Sammy was. In a way he was surprised to see the look focused on him and his voice wavered in unconscious confusion as he stared back at Harry's attractive, bruised features. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for... well, you know."

An awkward, embarrassed blush stained the tops of Harry's cheeks and if it had been anyone else, anyone he hadn't held down as they thrashed and cried in his arms, he would have mocked them. Dean just smiled pleasantly and looked away, wondering when Harry had left 'the anyone' else bracket.

He supposed looking after someone while they were sick and hallucinating made even the most closed off strangers oddly connected, or maybe it was just because Harry still reminded him too much of Castiel.

-00—

At the sound of wings Dean honestly expected to turn around and see Castiel staring, all pensive and serious at him from Harry's body.

Uriel's glowering form soon put that hope to rest and Dean found himself snapping awkwardly to his feet, full of nervous energy; his hands reaching automatically for a gun that wasn't there.

"Stop that, I'm not going to hurt you." Uriel ordered and grinned at Dean in a way that he was pretty sure was actually just to show the fangs of his teeth. The dark angel reminded him of a dog, grinning at people just to threaten them.

"Yet," Dean muttered back and shifted uneasily, his hands flexing at his sides.

"You're starting to understand." Uriel said humourlessly, his voice rumbling through his barrel chest and filling the room. "Now send him away."

"Listen here Chuckles, Sam's my brother. I told you..."

"Not Sam," Uriel scoffed and narrowed his eyes at him. "You really aren't the sharpest tool in the shed are you? I'm talking about that abomination in the next room."

"Harry?" Dean asked confused, "He's Castiel's vessel, why would you want him sent away?"

"He was Castiel's vessel," Uriel corrected with a sneer, "and a poor choice at that. He has outlived his usefulness. He is to have no part of this life anymore. Send him away."

Dean stared at the angel and licked the edge his mouth thoughtfully; sleep deprivation making the wheels in his head turn slower than usual as he stared at the angel. "What does it matter to the God patrol if he stays or leaves? In fact I thought he and Castiel were pretty close, I don't think Cas wants him gone."

"He is an abomination, a godless creature." Uriel's pupils seemed to pulsate, threatening to spill out into his irises in his anger. "He is a smear of dirt that I long to erase, don't give me an excuse to do so. If he so much as looks upon Castiel again; I will smite him down."

Uriel's disappearance sounded more like a crack of a whip than a flutter of feathers and Dean stared at the empty spot the angel had been in, his stomach rolling and hoped Sam would be back soon.

-00—

Harry was sprawled out on his bed when Dean came back to their motel room; the younger man's eyes were closed and his chest rose steadily even with the remaining rattle of his cough. Dean paused in the doorway watching him for a second.

Harry without Castiel was sharper and softer all at the same time and it was hard to explain exactly how, his emotions were more obvious, more turbulent and his movements fast and threatening and entirely human in a way the angel had never managed. But despite his more obviously prickly exterior there was something very fragile about the man, and Dean couldn't help but think of an acrobat balancing on a high-wire, ready at any moment to fall as he watched Harry spread out limply on the bed, his hair pooling and haloing his face in ribbons of dark colour.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Harry said softly, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"But it won't have your charming personality and wit." Dean quirked back as Harry pulled himself upright, his grin a little too feral for their conversation to be considered entirely friendly. "You look better."

And he did, Harry's face which earlier that morning had still been coloured by fading bruises was entirely flawless, the untouched golden complex of his skin highlighting the clear, sharp green of his eyes and the pouting twist of his lips as he grinned back at Dean. It was slightly odd actually, Dean had never seen bruises fade so quickly.

"I heal pretty." Harry stood upright slowly, in a gingerly hesitant motion that reminded them both of his lingering illness. "Anyway I wandering can I borrow some clothes, the only set I have are the ones on my back and I've been wearing them far too long."

"Angels not fans of fashion, then?" Dean joked even as he remembered that Castiel had never changed Harry's outfit in the entire time he'd know them.

"Or fine dining. I haven't eaten in three years." Harry replied as Dean rummaged through his clothes. Harry was as slender as tree limb and both Dean and Sam had substantial height on him; there was no way he was going to fit into their clothes so in the end Dean just threw the first thing he found at the man admitting defeat.

"Angels don't need to eat." Harry explained at Dean's thoughtful look and clutched his borrowed clothes to his chest. "They don't need anything humans do and so their vessels don't either."

Dean stared at Harry's too thin face and the remains of illness that lingered in his face and frowned, "You don't seem to have escaped all that lightly."

Harry shrugged, "I don't think I was meant to be a vessel, Castiel said I felt different than his other vessels. I guess different isn't good when it comes to being an angelic bodysuit." He paused and that considering thoughtful look that Dean had seen before flickered across his face again, "It didn't feel right. I felt like I was fading, like my essence was leaving."

Before Dean could come up with a reply to that worrying sentence, Harry had turned away and strolled into the bathroom and the sound of rushing water covered up the awkward silence that was left in the wake of their conversation. Dean didn't understand his relationship with Harry at all; it felt new and old at the same time and part of him was expecting Castiel to speak every time the man opened his mouth. It was hard seeing one person and hearing another.

He ran his hand along the back of his neck uneasily and then started to leave, planning on giving the man some privacy. Or at least that was what he intended, suddenly the conversation with Uriel came back to him and Dean found himself striding into the steam filled room, half realised thoughts and connections rushing through his brain, ready to spill out in a worried mess.

Except that Harry was half naked, clad only in his boxers and bent over the sink as he scrubbed at his hands.

Dean stopped dead in surprise and stared at Harry's exposed body.

He didn't mean to, but his eyes were drawn to the other man, trailing along the glitter gold lines of his neck and fevered flush that that had reappeared in his skin and finally down his naked back where it stopped and he recoiled slightly in horror.

Harry's back was a mess of old white scars that roped and unfurled along his spine, travelling between the protruding vertebrae like fine lace in a series of delicately carved curves and arches; it was the of kind of scar work that was made with razor sharp blades, carefully crafted onto skin. Dean had spent long enough in hell to realise the work of another torturer and he felt sick as he stared as such obvious reminders of it. Harry's screaming nightmares felt worse at he stared at the physical evidence they had obviously left.

"Jesus. What did that?" Dean asked quietly, unable to stop himself.

Harry glanced at him over the sharp line of his shoulder in surprise, his eyes molten and dangerous despite the odd vulnerability that played across the rest of his youthful features.

"Humans," he replied calmly as his hands snagged Dean's borrowed shirt, yanking it over his head in a quick, awkward fumble; protecting himself from Dean's gaze.

Dean didn't have a reply to that.

-00-

Sam came back to the motel holding a large brown paper bag complete with golden arches painted across it and enough soft drinks to hydrate an entire family.

"You going to feed us all?" Dean asked incredulously, coming to help him to juggle the food and set it onto the motel's creaking table.

His brother shrugged awkwardly, "You said to get food for the man that hasn't eaten since being possessed"

"And I haven't, Angel's don't need to eat." Harry repeated softly from the bathroom doorway, steam curling out around him in cartoon like coils.

Both of them turned to look at the angel-less vessel and Sam coughed a little in a way that Dean knew his brother was trying not to laugh. Dean wasn't so polite and choked on his amusement at the sight of the other man, grinning at Sam as Harry stomped his way past them, one hand curled up into the belt loops of Dean's borrowed jeans in order to keep them from sliding completely off the sharp ridges of his hip bones. Dean's oversized shirt was down to his elbows and his jeans swamped him, hiding his thin legs in excess material and curling over the edges of his feet, trailing material beneath him useless. He looked like a kid playing in grown up clothes. The image was almost adorable.

Harry scowled up at them "It's not my fault you're a family of giants."

Dean grinned down at him, "Okay Tom Thumb."

Harry didn't respond as he had seen the fast food and hunched over it, devouring the first meal with barely a breath.

"Dude, you wanna slow down?" Dean asked almost admiringly and Harry glared up at them, his cheeks puffed out with half a burger and French fries, mumbling an answer that Dean concluded meant no. Dean showed his hands in a message of submission and sank down into the chair opposite Harry, waiting for him to finish.

"So why do you think Castiel got taken?" Sam asked their guest quietly, settling himself onto the bed behind him. Harry's frantic movements stilled and he stared up at them, wide eyed and bitterly incredulous. Without Castiel he was much easier to read, emotions flickered and burnt through his features, leaving the feelings plastered raw across his delicate features.

"You mean you don't know?"

Dean and Sam exchanged baffled looks and turned back to Harry's scowling face.

"We disobeyed to help John and Anna. They took Castiel away to be re-educated, they think he's been corrupted." Harry hissed and dropped the burger, staring at it blackly.

"So we just have to wait for him to pop back in?" Sam asked Harry hopefully and Dean winced, knowing from his conversation with Uriel that Harry was definitely not going to be allowed to hold Castiel anymore.

Harry frowned back at him, "He's not going to pop right back in, idiot. They think I corrupted him so they ripped us apart, if he returns they'll give him a different vessel."

"Wait," Dean interrupted, worry marring his smooth forehead in wrinkled lines, "if?"

"Yeah if, I don't know what happens now." Harry looked pained, "I don't know if he's okay or if they're hurting him. I don't even know if he's going to be allowed to come back at all. Re-education is not a nice thing."

Dean stared at Harry's pale, paper thin face, examining the deep circle bruise that had been pressed beneath his eyes and the too sharp lines of his jaw and realised just how much Harry had given to the angel. Harry had been with only Castiel as company for the past three years, he had given the angel his body, his thoughts, his experiences, his life. Dean supposed that would make two people close.

"I need to go and find him." Harry said suddenly and dropped the burger and leapt to his feet in a move that made the colour drain out of his features dangerously.

Dean shot to his feet, mirroring Harry's as he placed a steadying hand on the younger's man arm. "Whoa there sparky," he interjected, ignoring the scowl Harry was sending at his hands. "I don't think that's a good idea. You've only just gotten out of bed,"

"Yeah, beside you're an angel's vessel that remembers everything that was going on around you. You're a demon's wet dream and now you've got a great big target on your back." Sam added, staring up at Harry with those wide, soft eyes that made girls melt and victims calm down.

Harry's mouth twisted down in a thin, angry, red line "I can take care of demons."

Dean reached out, barring his way with the palm of his hand flat against Harry's chest. Harry pressed a little forward, almost resting on his hand until he could feel this ridges of his ribs through his borrowed shirt. Harry's heart was a slow, angry beat and Dean tried not to flinch from the narrowed, frozen jade eyes that stared up at him.

"Are you going to stop me from leaving?" Harry's eyes sparked dangerously and his skin thrummed with electricity beneath Dean's hands.

Dean felt the hairs on his neck rise warningly but he didn't remove his hand, despite the electric shocks that were biting at his finger tips, instead he raised his other hand and placed it on Harry's thin shoulder. "And what about Angel's can you take care of them too?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up in confusion and the odd glow of his skin calmed to half translucent paper fine layers that glittered gold as he eased the pressure off of Dean's hands. "Angels? Why would I have to worry about Angels."

"Uriel said that if you stayed, he'd well... I believe his words were... smite you."

Harry's answering smile was one of feral, bitter amusement and it twisted one side of his mouth into a curl of colour that seemed too sharp for the soft lines of his lips. "I'm sure he did. Uriel might not want me to be there but can't kill me. It's forbidden."

"What?" Sam asked curiously from the other side of the table."It's forbidden to kill humans?"

"Huh?" Harry looked at him and blinked blankly for a moment, "Oh no, they love killing humans, that's fine. I think they even keep a tally. But killing me is forbidden, I dunno, maybe it's because I'm a Wi..." Harry broke off suddenly, literally swallowing the half finished word awkwardly, "Because I was Castiel's vessel?"

Dean frowned at Harry suspiciously, "Then why did they tell me they could kill you?"

Harry shrugged and slipped beneath Dean's arm delicately, "Haven't you realised yet that angels a generally lying bastards?"

Harry didn't give them a chance to respond before he was walking towards the door, his face an expression of purposeful determination. Dean sighed and made to follow, realising they wouldn't be any compromising with the man, but still unwilling to let Harry go on his stupid, suicidal mission alone.

"Wait guys!" Sam called, stumbling to follow them through the front, "I still think..."

His words were cut off and Dean turned around instinctively, not much could shut Sam up in the middle of a sentence and those things that could usually weren't good.

A scruffy, blue eyed man was stood next to Sam in their motel room, his hair moving as if he had been running, except he wasn't. In fact he was unnaturally still, his face completely unchanging despite the stunned silence that followed in the few seconds of his arrival.

Dean didn't notice Harry step next to him but he did feel the small, sharp intake of breath that whistled almost painful from the other man. Harry stumbled a few more awkward steps forward til he was framed in the doorway, between Dean and the new, sharp cheeked, blue eyed man, the electric green of his eyes bright with emotion as he stared at the stranger.

"Castiel?"

Dean winced in sudden realisation, hating himself for not recognising the unnatural stillness and the too bright inner illumination that shone from the angel's expression.

"Castiel, you're okay, they let you go?" Harry fumbled through his words, his smile watering in a wavering line of guilty uncertainty at Castiel's marble smooth apathy. "Castiel, are you okay?"

The angel tilted his head a little and flickered his gaze past Harry to Dean. The new washed out blue of his eyes was colder than Harry's green had ever made him seem.

"Castiel?"

Harry's voice was so small it hurt to hear and Dean found himself unconscious stepping up and looming warning behind the smaller man, not that he could actually do anything to help and not that Harry actually wanted help but his protective instincts were surging and his Dad's voice to protect people was roaring over the logic of his brain.

Castiel blinked and stared into Harry's pale features, "You should not still be here."

Harry recoiled as if he'd be physically struck, flinching backwards until Dean could feel the bird bones of his shoulder blades scratching at his chest. "I thought you'd want me here."

"I have learnt my lesson." Castiel interrupted abruptly, his voice gruff and full of heaven's judgement. "I serve heaven, not man and certainly not any of you."

Dean stared shocked at the cold, human-less angel before him, wondering where the tentative, baffled Cas that had been his friend and tried to help him despite his orders had gone. Judging from Sam's wide mouth expression he wasn't the only one.

"But Castiel," Harry started again and Dean felt his heart ache in apprehension, already knowing that Harry wouldn't find what he was looking for in this new version of his friend.

"Harry Potter, I have no need of you anymore."

Castiel disappeared in a flutter of wings and Harry's choking sounds of betrayal. The man seemed to fold in on himself almost instantly, his arms wrapping around his torso like a barrier against the angel's words but it didn't do any good and the broken, wet choking sounds kept escaping Harry's tightly closed lips, reminding Dean of a abused dog that was stood before its tormentor.

"Harry?"

Dean reached out for hunter, trying to draw him away from the empty space that the angel had occupied but the younger man shrugged him off violently and slipped beneath his arms and around through the front door in one smooth, boneless movement.

Dean spun after him awkwardly but the night was a clear, empty expanse. Harry had disappeared too.

So anyone else watched the ending of supernatural? Oh Kripke. I rewrote this chapter a few times so I hope everyone enjoys it, the reviews were few last chapter so I don't really know if anyone is still reading this?

Next Chapter: After school special: Harry and Bobby's reunion and Harry and the brothers go undercover at their old school with Harry is forced to play the school student much to Dean's amusement.