Dean had always been a very light sleeper. It came naturally with the job. A hunter had to go from sleeping to defending their own life in a matter of milliseconds. There was always something gunning for their throats, looking for any vulnerability it could exploit. Particularly when he had Sammy to protect, Dean had taught himself to be wide awake at the slightest noise and could silently extract a weapon from beneath his pillow before he hit double digits.

So when he heard the flap of wings by the time he was sitting bolt upright in his bed, the sound was still ringing in the air.

"Cas?" He called on instinct and only a hint of desperate hope in his voice, but the darkened room was empty.

Still scanning his deserted room, suspicion now flooding him, Dean reached out with one hand to flick the switch on the lamp resting on the table beside his bed. But his attention was diverted when his fingers brushed something cold and smooth and heavy instead. He whipped his head around, and felt the air leave his lungs as if he had been punched in the chest. Because standing on the table was the same glass jar from that fucking book, an identical red rose standing inside. But something was very, very wrong.

The rose no longer stood upright and elegant as it had when Dean had first seen it. Nor was it bursting with colourful, beautiful red petals. Instead, the thing was bent practically double, its stem not the same vibrant green but a rather muddy colour. The floor of the jar was a carpet of maroon-coloured petals; only a few, equally wilted dulled petals still clung to the virtually empty thorny branches.

Dean yanked his fingers back from the jar as if it had burned him, and in doing so spotted another item on the table that hadn't been there before he'd fallen asleep. A square of the motel paper lay just next to the jar, three words hastily scrawled on its surface.

'House. Come quick.'

For a moment, Dean couldn't move. Then, slowly, his eyes strayed from the rose to the now dried blood on the motel carpet. The blood wasn't another stupid prank of Gabriel's; it had been a warning. A warning he'd stupidly ignored. And now that godforsaken rose had somehow made its way into his room, along with a message he couldn't possibly misinterpret this time. Castiel was in trouble. Castiel was in danger.

Dean kicked off the covers, grabbed his phone and was halfway across the motel room when he stopped and turned back. The jar was still sat innocently on his bedside table, glimmering drearily and still somehow managing to be hauntingly beautiful, as if it didn't hold his angel's life in its clutches. Dean didn't know why he did it, but before he was aware of it he was stomping outside, the jar nestled safely in his arms. He had no idea why, but something was telling him to keep the thing close; at least it would tell him how much longer Cas had.

As he peeled out onto the road, his baby's gentle purring bringing some much needed calm to his panicked state, Dean dug into his pocket and retrieved his phone. Sam was just as light a sleeper as he was, thankfully, and picked up after only the fifth ring. And Dean couldn't exactly blame him as he stole a glance at his watch for sounding so massively pissed; it was four o'clock in the morning.

"Dean, there had better be a damn good reason for this." Sam snapped by way of greeting.

"And hello to you too, Sleeping Beauty." Dean hissed back as he sped around a corner. There was a pause down the line.

"Are you driving?"

"Yeah, listen -"

"Okay Sammy, that's it, I'm snapping his sorry ass to the nearest airport. This is ridiculous."

Dean stunned them all then, including himself, by announcing loudly, "Gabriel, I need a favour, now."

There was silence followed by a brief scuffle and then Gabriel's livid voice took over from Sam's. "I'm going to pretend that was a poor attempt at humour and allow you to live, simply because you're Sam's brother."

"It's about Cas!" Dean practically shouted as he veered around another corner. As he did so another petal drifted from the rose's branches and his heart practically leapt into his throat. "Shit!"

Gabriel's voice had turned to stone. "And what exactly do you want that relates to Castiel?"

Dean swallowed the frustrated snap at Gabriel's clipped tone, but only just. "I know you know where he is! I need you to check if he's still there! I think he's in danger!"

There was a sudden thump, and the next voice Dean heard was Sam's. "He just dropped my phone and vanished! Dean, what's going on?!"

"It's -" Dean began, but his voice was drowned out by a crash down the phone and Gabriel's shout of, 'He's gone!' that made Dean's insides turn to ice.

"Who's gone? Dean?" Sam now sounded as if he were pulling on clothes as he spoke, and despite the serious situation, Dean grimaced. "Dean! What the hell is going on?!"

"It's Cas, Sammy. I think he's been hurt. I think that was his blood in my room earlier. And I think.." His voice trailed off as another petal fell, and he swallowed hard past a lump that had nestled in his throat. "I know he's in danger. And I need to help him."

"I'm coming with you."

"No." He shocked himself with the force in his tone as he turned into the right road with a squeal of brakes, his eyes fixed on the house ahead. "No, Sammy. I don't have time to come back now. Cas needs help now."

"Gabriel can take me wherever you are, Dean! You might need him to heal Cas! Just tell us where you are!"

"I'll call you if I need backup." Dean replied before shutting the phone off and flinging it onto the passenger seat.

Then, grabbing the jar, he hurried inside. The sight that met his eyes in the first room made his chest constrict horribly and almost drop the glass. Castiel lay spread-eagled on the floor in the centre of the room, as if he had been held aloft and then dropped, crumbling to the floor as lifeless as a puppet. Even from his distance, Dean could see a crimson stain stretching across the angel's stomach, the red seeping into the pristine white of his shirt. And just like that, Dean was back on that balcony in the rain, watching the life drain from the angel as the rose continued to wilt before him.

"CAS!" He bellowed, shoving the jar onto the floor before rushing to the angel's side, dropping to his knees next to him. Castiel's eyes were closed tight, his skin pale and sweaty, his mouth barely open. Dean hastily shoved a hand over the angel's lips, desperate to feel a breath but unsure whether Cas had ever actually breathed. Why hadn't he ever paid attention to that sort of thing?! "C'mon Cas, tell me you're still -" His throat closed and he choked, unable to continue.

Relief – palpable, sweet relief – filled him when Castiel's eyes opened a crack and the blue instantly sought him out.

"Dean," Castiel breathed. He sounded utterly wrecked, and Dean noticed with horror now convulsing through him that a trickle of blood had begun to snake its way down the angel's chin. Before he could stop himself, Dean's hand shot out and wiped the blood away with his thumb, but kept his palm pressed against Castiel's cold jaw as he pulled the angel's upper body onto his lap. It was to keep track of Castiel's breathing, he tried to reassure himself. He needed to know the angel's life was still thumping away inside the empty vessel, warm and breathing and alive.

The hunter cleared his throat and gathered himself, speaking past the tightening in his chest. "Okay Cas, you need to heal yourself now, alright? C'mon, you've had worse." He bunched up what he could of the angel's blood-stained shirt and pressed it to the wound, trying to ignore the quiet hiss of pain Cas gave at the contact. "C'mon, you can do it."

"The principle is still the same, Dean. He couldn't do it before, and he certainly can't now."

And despite the fact his angel was bleeding out in his arms, blind fury became the overriding emotion in Dean's consciousness as he threw his head up. Because no, there was no fucking way.. But there he was, standing in the doorway of the house, unblinking gaze on the two of them, usually calm blue eyes blazing with a kind of cold fire, standing rigidly. As Dean watched, speechless, he entered the house and closed the door without taking his eyes away from Castiel.

"You?" Dean spat furiously, lifting Castiel fully onto his lap and bending forwards in an attempt to shield the angel from view.

"Yes, me." Balthazar replied coldly with a roll of his eyes. "Leave it to you to point out the obvious."

Dean opened his mouth to snarl some rather choice phrases, but out of the corner of his eye he saw another petal break away, leaving only three attached. Beneath his hands, Castiel gave a quiet groan and slumped against Dean further, his eyes becoming unfocused. Dean moved, trying desperately to regain the angel's attention, to keep him focused. As ever, blue locked with green but a haze had begun to blur Castiel's usual crystal-clear gaze.

"C'mon Cas, fix yourself!" Dean urged frantically, pressing his hand harder against the angel's stomach. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw yet another petal break away from the rose and drift lazily to the glass floor of the jar. At the same time, Castiel gave a horrible jolt beneath his palms, a low groan of pain resonating deep in his throat that reverberated through the hand Dean still had cupping his face. Ignoring the horrible twist in his gut at this, Dean whirled around to glare acidly at Balthazar. "You did this, you bastard! Help him!"

But the blonde angel only glared right back, his blue eyes shining malevolently. "I can't."

With a howl of frustration and something that resembled desperation, Dean ripped off his over shirt and pushed it against the wound with both hands as he continued to scream at the other angel. "He's fucking dying!"

"I can see that for myself." Came the ice-cold reply.

"You did this to him! Fix it! Fix him now!"

Dean was barrelling straight into a full-scale panic. There was blood everywhere; on Cas' shirt, on the stupid trenchcoat, on his hands, on his clothes. And still, Castiel continued to lay motionless and pale beneath him, eyes barely open but fixed solely on Dean as if the hunter were his lifeline; as if maintaining eye contact would keep him alive. Or as if he wanted Dean to be the last thing he saw. As this thought strayed unwillingly into Dean's mind, he glanced down at the angel in his arms, a hand of ice gripping his heart, wondering briefly why the idea didn't fill him with panic.

Castiel was a ghostly white in the face and sweat was beading on his forehead, his mouth set in a grimace, his teeth gritted tightly together in an attempt to keep his moans of pain silenced. Dean was doing his best to look anywhere but directly back at the angel; that might just about break him, but he couldn't shut his ears to the angel's continued soft moans of pain or the feel of the shirt beneath his hands soaked in Castiel's blood.

"I did this?" Balthazar snarled suddenly, abandoning his usual blasé mask and contorting his expression into one of pure poison, capturing Dean's focus once more. "Who is it that forced my hand? Who is really to blame for this outcome? The responsibility lies with you Dean Winchester and you alone."

The hunter froze, utterly taken-aback. He could only stare at the other angel, jaw slightly slack. But Balthazar, it seemed, wasn't finished. Still glaring with that blazing fire burning brightly in his eyes, he continued in a cold voice, polar opposite to his usual smug drawl.

"The spell I used is irreversible, Dean. It sets in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped; a chain that can only end in one way dependent entirely on the actions of the participants. Your story only has two endings, Dean, and you're the only one who can decide which it is. Gabriel tried to heal him and failed, because it's not Gabriel or me that hold Castiel's fate; it's you. He's going to die, Dean. Unless you man up and finish the story the way it should have been before Singer and that demon intervened!"

It was the closest Dean had ever seen Balthazar get to losing his cool. It was unnerving to say the least. "Then why's nothing happened to Sam or Gabriel? Bobby and Crowley pulled them out the same time they did me and Cas!"

"That's obvious, Dean. Use your brain, I know it's in there somewhere!" Dean bristled at that and Castiel made an almost silent growl of objection, but Balthazar continued regardless. "Gabriel and Sam finished their story when it was cut short, but you.." He trailed off, looking exasperated. "I should have known you'd grind your heels in and revert back to how you were before."

"I'm not -" Dean began, but Balthazar's furious voice drowned him out easily.

"I didn't choose those stories, but they were chosen for you! The curse would only affect those that fitted with the specific lessons that had to be learned! That's why only certain people were chosen – because only they fit the chosen stories the curse created!"

And Dean really didn't know how to process that little bit of information. Unless he was seriously misunderstanding the situation, Balthazar was telling him the curse had specific stories formed and plucked out the people most related to living it out correctly. And if that was the case, either Castiel was destined to die, or.. Dean swallowed, subconsciously tightening his grip on the angel. Balthazar might have been a smug douchebag, but like Gabriel he actually seemed to care for Castiel. It didn't make sense for him to allow a curse to snatch up his brother where his only outcome was death. So that meant..

"Well what the hell am I supposed to do?" Dean demanded.

"You finish the story, Dean! Each one must have an ending, and in Castiel's case he is either cured or he dies. It all depends on you."

"He's not going to die." Dean said immediately, heart hammering in his ears as he watched the penultimate petal detach from the branch, Castiel giving a muffled whine of pain beneath his tensed fingers. "You hear me, Cas?" He finally turned back to the angel who was still watching him, eyes glazed and barely open, but still trained in on Dean. "Do you hear me, you dumb son of a bitch? You're not dying, not this time, I'm saving your ass." His voice was breaking pathetically in way he'd never admit aloud to anybody, but he had to get this out.

Castiel turned to look at Dean, his eyes gleaming and so impossibly blue. "Why?" Was all he managed to say.

Because I can't do this without you. Because I need you. Because Jesus fuck, I might just actually love you.

Dean tightened his grip on their blood-splattered shirts, desperate not to think of the last time Castiel had looked so ragged because of him. And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, he knew exactly what to say. Something that only Castiel would understand. Something that would show just how important the stupid angel was to him, in not as many words.

"Because dammit Cas, you deserve to be saved."

And because he felt he might as well do the thing properly, he leant over and kissed him. It was definitely not the best kiss Dean had ever had; Castiel lay rigid and uninviting beneath him, he tasted thinly of blood and his face was slick with sweat, but it felt strangely right. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from Dean's shoulders, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, he was able to breathe freely. But he would deny the giddy rush that swept through him when Castiel pressed back against him experimentally until the day he died. His manhood was already hanging in the balance; he wasn't going to give Sam or Gabriel – or, God forbid, Crowley – any more ammunition than they already had.

Suddenly the angel pulled away with a groan and Dean had a moment of sheer panic, but when he glanced down at the wound, it was no longer there. His and Cas' shirts as well as the trenchcoat were still soaked in blood, but there was no gash, no scratch of any kind. Before Dean could say a word, Castiel vanished from his arms, only to reappear a moment later on his feet and smiling in his eyes.

"I appear to be fully cured." He announced.

"Huh?" Dean muttered eloquently, glancing around as he got to his feet. The room before them was empty. Balthazar had gone, and so had the rose. Dean snorted; he hadn't expected the guy to stick around, but he'd anticipated some gloating at least.

"The spell Balthazar used seemed to bring with it all of my previous injuries, including those sustained to my wings." Castiel explained as they headed towards the door. "I was only able to fly for short bursts once I returned, because it seems the wounds to my wings followed me here."

"And you're all good now?" Dean asked quickly, feeling both sick and a hot flash of anger as he remembered watching John shoot Cas with the arrow.

"Yes, Dean," Castiel replied, turning to face him, his eyes glinting, "I believe I am."

"Good, then do me a favour." Dean said, resolutely ignoring the second rush of happiness in the pit of his stomach at the expression on the angel's face. "Zap yourself off to Sam and Gabriel's room, tell them you're fine. Hopefully that should stop them from skinning me alive once I get there."