The water flowed freely from the faucet, falling into the grime covered, once white, porcelain sink. A pair of hands gripped the sides of the basin, knuckles white with the pressure of the vice-like grip they held. Slowly, colour returned to the hands as the fingers began to stretch and flex before they released the basin completely and moved into the flow of the water. Cupping together, water quickly filled the well they made and started to flow and ebb over the sides, cascading back into the sink. Eventually, the hands moved upwards to release the water they held across the face of the figure that now bent over the sink. The hands silently glided across the face, wiping the sleep from the tired and bloodshot eyes, before returning to the flowing water to fill the well once more. This time the water splashed across the face before the hands silently went to work, smoothing the four weeks' worth of growth that covered the man's lower face. Once smooth the hands retreated to the sink, searching for more water to splash across that same face before both hands snaked through the brown crop of hair that sat atop his crown.

A noise behind the man had him reaching again for the sides of the basin, his hands clamping down so fiercely that they were white within seconds, "I told you, to stay away…" the man cautioned, his deep voice resonating around the cavernous room in which they stood. There was no reply, just footsteps as the other person descended into the room. Slowly, the man at the basin raised his head and looked into the mirror, which he had been trying to avoid all the while he was washing his face. In the mirror, beyond the reflection of his own tired and pained face, he saw the man in the trench coat pause, seemingly unsure now what to do with himself. The hands on the sink gripped harder still, as the man tried to control the various emotions that were inching their way back out from the darkest recesses of his soul; where he had tried, unsuccessfully, to stow them away.

With a sigh, the man released his grip on the basin and pushing away from it, he spun slowly to face Castiel, "I told you before. I have told you many times now." Shaking his head from side to side, he insisted, "I. Am. Out… Please… leave me alone." Castiel's conviction wavered slightly as he heard, yet again, the weight of the pain and incredible loss that reared its ugly head in those few, short, sentences. "Sam… I… I need you. There has been another two…" Sam stepped forward, straightening up as he did so; his stature and physical strength filled the war room with his presence, yet this was a stark contradiction to the weak, guilt-ridden, lifeless and shattered soul that now hid behind this strong façade. Sam glared at Castiel, stopping him mid-sentence with his slow advance, "I. Don't. Care…" each word, spoken through a grimace; one word for each advancing step, "Leave…" The final word sounded more like a growl and it dripped with a level of animosity Castiel had rarely seen within Sam. Castiel hesitated before he took flight; a myriad of emotions surfacing as one, within his vessel, creating confusion and suffering that threatened to break him.

Castiel landed, reappearing, atop a high cliff that looked out over the northern Pacific Ocean. A strong wind buffeted his hair and his trench coat flapped viciously in response to the relentless barrage of the air, whipped up, as it were, into a frenzy, by the storm that now threatened the coastline. Lightning flashed, arcing out from the clouds towards the swelling surf, and shrieking across the sky as the static electricity looked for a release that it could not find. An ominous, ear-shattering bark accompanied the lighting a mere millisecond after it took flight. Rain plummeted from the sky, each drop elongated and drawn into the shape of a bullet as the wind captured it, altering its vertical path to one more horizontal in nature before smashing it into whatever lay in its path; each drop that drove into Castiel's face felt like hundreds of tiny little razors, slicing open his skin.

Castiel did not care. Drenched through within seconds of arriving, he felt a strange respite here, on this cliffs highest point, as nature fought a fierce battle around him. A calm that he had not felt in weeks descended over him as all that he had felt washed out of him, driven away by the unremitting rain and wind. This storm was a very physical realisation of the inner turmoil that had plagued him after the death of his charge, Hope.

It had been four long weeks since Hope was lost to them. After Sam had collapsed from shock, blood loss and exhaustion, Castiel had healed him and taken him, and Hope's body, back to the bunker. Sam had slept for almost two days before waking, furious and outraged at Castiel for healing him. A bitter argument had ensued. Sam, believing that he deserved to be injured and broken for his part in Hope's death; Castiel, steadfast in his belief that nobody was to blame. It had all been out of their control.

Neither man had heard from Dean.

Dean, who refused to answer any calls and who was not to be located by GPS or any other means that Sam could think of, had not been heard from, or seen, by anyone, in the last four weeks.

In the days that followed Sam's awakening, Castiel and Sam fought many more verbal wars. How to find Dean? If Dean should indeed be found? Whether or not to continue on the hunt for whoever or whatever was causing humans, to savagely, kill each other? What to do with Hope's body? Sam wanted Hope's body removed from the bunker. Castiel believed it should stay. The two had reached an impasse. Hope's soul was gone but the body continued to function. If it was not Hope then why should it be here, was Sam's logic. While Castiel believed wholeheartedly, that there must be more to it. How did the body survive? What had that light been? How did Hope fly to that warehouse?

Sam refused to let Castiel investigate any angle concerning Hope, and, he refused to get back in the game, hunting down the next big bad that endangered the world. Eventually the waring had taken its toll on Sam and he had vehemently requested that Castiel leave; some violence may have been involved.

Castiel sighed, standing there high on the cliff, as he remembered the events that lead to Sam shutting him out. He wished on so many levels that he could take it back and have a do-over, but he knew that he could not. He, Castiel, was no closer to finding out any truths about Hope or the impending doom, but he knew that several more 'veil' tampering events had occurred and thirty-one more souls had been lost. Someone needed to take action, but with the Winchesters lost in their own despair, Castiel had no idea who he could call on.

A minute change in the atmosphere to Castiel's right warned him that he was not alone. He turned suddenly, reaching for his angel's blade, before calming, almost immediately, on seeing Jehoel's face quietly staring back at him. "I sensed your need for consultation." Jehoel explained in response to the quizzical look that Castiel gave him. "I… You…" Castiel sighed heavily, his shoulders stooping, as he struggled with the words to express what he was feeling; he struggled too with giving himself permission to speak of such 'human' feelings with another angel. Sensing Castiel's dilemma Jehoel offered instead some words of wisdom, "It seems to me that you have reached your very own crossroads." Another quizzical look for Castiel gave Jehoel reason to pause; he turned his head to look back over the storm that played havoc over the ocean, before he continued, "Yes Castiel. I have taken an interest in you and your friends. I can see that you fight the good battle here on Earth, even when the Angels all think that you should be more like them. Your love for, and overwhelming desire to help humanity, or more precisely, to help the Winchesters is what makes you so special. You… usually… allow nothing to stand in your way. These recent events have torn through the brother's world and have left you all feeling like there is little reason to go on, but you must Castiel. You must go on. Humanity faces a great threat and you along with the Winchesters must find a way to stop it."

"I understand," came Castiel's reply, "but Dean is unreachable and even though I know where Sam is, I fear he too is unreachable by the likes of me."

Finally turning to look back into Castiel's eyes, Jehoel chose his next words carefully, before vanishing into the wind, "Then, Castiel, I suggest you find someone who can reach them. Maybe… a little divine intervention?"

Standing alone again, in the middle of that violent storm, Castiel reflected on Jehoel's council. Find someone who can reach them. Divine intervention. Was Jehoel talking about God? If he was, then he knew little of the boy's history. Dean would not listen to God; he was still fuming about God's lack of conviction and unwillingness to intervene and help humankind. Although, Castiel believed Dean was more disappointed in God, than he was angry, feeling a certain abandonment that stemmed from his feelings towards his own father. No. Not God. Then who? Whom did Jehoel mean?

Seconds turned into minutes.

Minutes turned into hours.

Castiel wrestled with his own thoughts and feelings as the storm continued to batter the coastline.

When the storm finally broke and one could just glimpse the sun settling on the horizon, Castiel had his answer.

Hope.

The boys would listen to Hope.

The light finally broke through the clearing clouds and bounced off the now empty cliff. Castiel had taken flight again. He had a mission now and nothing was going to stand in his way. As he flew, he went over what he had to do. He smiled as he thought about Dean and Sam, and how this mode of travelling, seemed to happen in an instant for them; but to an Angel, flying was both with and without, time. He could disappear and reappear with nothing but milliseconds between the two and yet to him, it was as if time stood still, during that flight, and he had all the time in the world to conjure up plans or work through complex problems.

When Castiel landed in the garden he had the makings of the plan, and the first part of that plan involved finding Hope. For this, he needed the help from an old friend, Joshua. Castiel walked through the garden; the eternal Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man who died in a bathtub in 1953. As he walked, Castiel admired the simplicity and beauty that surrounded him. Again, like on the cliff's top, he felt a certain calm, though this time it was because he finally had a plan and with that, an inkling that things might change soon.

This inkling right now held a great hope, but it should have been much more foreboding.

"You seek an audience with me, Castiel?"

"Joshua. It is good to see you again my friend." Castiel moved towards the angel and the two stood in comfortable silence as each remembered meetings gone by.

"Joshua. I am sorry to rush you, but I am in need of your help." Castiel began; Joshua merely nodded as if he knew exactly what it was that Castiel required. Then, Joshua was gone again, while Castiel waited. He walked the gardens enjoying the feeling of the sun and slight whispering of the wind on his skin.

Time passed slowly, but the day did not change.

Eventually, Joshua returned, a look of astonishment and fear crossing his face. Castiel was instantly alarmed as he begged of his friend, "What is it?" Joshua took several deep breaths trying to control the strange sensation he was feeling. He was not used to feeling without control or knowledge and he felt both now, in spades. "She is not here." This was all he managed to expel before the overwhelming sensation swamped him. Perplexed by this statement, Castiel blurted, "What? What do you mean… she is not here?" Castiel's voice sped up as fear started its slow growth from deep within. "Castiel. I do not know what to say. I have searched. All over, and she is not here. She should be here, but she…" Joshua was lost for words. This sort of thing did not happen. At least, not that he was aware of. "Then… where is she?" Castiel asked to which Joshua simply replied, "I do not know."

Joshua left Castiel then, unable to take any more of what he was feeling, he retreated to where he might feel safe. Castiel, powerless to stop himself, started pacing in the garden. 'This could not be happening.' he thought repeatedly to himself. Hope should be here, but if Joshua could not find her then… Castiel stopped suddenly as he finally realised the only possible reason for Hope's absence in heaven.

She was in Hell.

Castiel saw red.

He should have checked sooner.

Four weeks.

Four weeks, she had been in hell.

How could he have let her down again?

Four weeks…

Suddenly Castiel was flying again, for the first time he wished he did not have the time to think during flight; he wished it were as instant a trip for him as it were for his human friends; as he flew he imagined all that might be happening to Hope. The torture and the pain that was being inflicted upon her and he hated himself more and more with each fleeting image, each horrible thought.

Then he was there again.

In the bunker.

This time he stood at the entrance to Sam's room.

Sam lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, but the change in the light coming from the hallway alerted him to Castiel's presence.

"Go away…" he growled at Castiel.

"No… You must listen to me…" Castiel pleaded with Sam.

Sam jumped up off the bed and stormed across the room, collecting Castiel by his trench coat and thrusting him up against the wall on the other side of the corridor. Castiel smashed into the wall with a loud thud, but he uttered no sound. "I will not listen to you. I have told you, again, and again, that I do not want you here. That I am done. My job here… is done… For God's sake, Castiel…" Sam released Castiel and stepping away from him he continued, "What else do I have to give? What else can I possible sacrifice for you? I have given it all. I have lost my mother, Jess, my father, Ellen, Joe, and countless others. You have my sister and now… possibly even my brother… again… haven't I given enough? Can't you go and find someone else because… because, I have nothing else to give you, Cass, nothing…" Sam sighed and bit down on his lower lip as his eyes closed; Sam's head turned up to the ceiling as he took in a long deep breath, trying to calm down again. As he released the breath his head came back down, his eyes glistening with tears as they opened up and looked over at Castiel, "I'm done…" he repeated in a whisper.

Castiel bit his own lip, his eyes widening.

He could see the pain that surrounded Sam.

Still.

He knew that the knowledge he had, would only cause more pain for Sam.

He wrestled with the catch.

Tell Sam and hurt him further.

Or

Keep the knowledge from him.

He went through both arguments, and things did not become clearer. If anything the more, he thought it through, the more muddied the waters became.

Castiel found himself wishing for his best friend, Dean, for counsel and it was here that he found his answer. Castiel remembered how far Sam went to save Dean. To cure Dean, when he was a demon. Remembering this, Castiel realised that while finding out Hope was in hell would hurt Sam, he would want… No, he would demand, the right, to fight for her. To save her.

"Sam, Hope is not in heaven…"

Sam's eyes lit up with questions, but before he could voice any of them, Castiel continued, his voice stern and commanding, "She's in hell and I need you, to help me save her."