"What the hell? How long was I out?" came Sam's puzzled cry as he stepped through the secret doorway and into the now spotlessly clean library. He peered back into the secret room, where he noticed that it too sparkled like new, everything back in its right place; Sam had been too busy wiping the sleep from his eyes, waking up very sore from his night on the couch, to notice the change, until now.

"You did all this, while I was asleep?" he asked Dean.

"No…" grumbled Dean, without looking up from his morning coffee and the book that sat in front of him. After Chuck had left, Dean had decided to sleep for a few hours before returning to his research.

"Well, then, what? How?"

"God did it."

Sam's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped, before he exclaimed, "Chuck was here… In the bunker… and he… cleaned?"

"Yeah, the dick was here… and he cleaned."

"You called him?"

"No." Dean scoffed, miffed that Sam would even think that, and it came through clearly in the tone of that one word.

"Then what, he just turned up?"

Dean's head tilted to the side, a wary look on his face, "I might have yelled at him…" Dean admitted sheepishly, "Then, the little bastard just turned up…"

"Well what else did he want, what did he say?" Sam's interest was piqued now and he wanted answers; he could not believe that he had slept through a visit from Chuck. That Dean had not bothered to wake him.

"The usual… he wanted the usual – us, save the world… again…"

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him to get lost."

"And what? He just… left?"

"I may have threatened to stab him in the chest with a sword."

"Dean…"

"You know what, don't Dean me…" Dean rose from the head of the table where he was sitting and moved over towards Sam, "We have been through enough." He scoffed. "Hell, we were doomed from the very beginning. Bought up all wrong, after some bastard demon took our mom from us. A father, who had one thing on his mind, which was not us… and since then, sure, we have done, plenty, wrong. I sold my soul to bring you back. We opened a gate to hell. Went to hell." Dean shook his head; when you put it all out there like that, it was one hell of a story. "They brought me back, Sammy, to play their little game… of course, we ruined that for them, after we let Lucifer out. We put him back. The Leviathans, hell that wasn't our fault, but we dealt with it. Now the tablets and all the crap that went with that, we'll wear that, but… we fixed it, even if the Angels fell. We fixed it until we let the darkness loose. And guess what? We fixed that too… Now… Now he wants us to get back in the game and fix this next big 'issue'" Dean made quotation marks with his fingers as he spat the word 'issue'.

"What, the murder-suicides? He wants us on that?"

"Says it's dire."

"Dire?"

"His exact word. Dire. But you know what? Not our problem…"

"You told Chuck that?"

"You bet I did. Look, Sammy. He refused to help with Hope, but he wants us to bend over backwards to clean up yet another mess."

"Or stop it from becoming another mess…"

"Whatever… The point is, I'm done. I'm just… done."

"You told Chuck that?"

"Yes. Sammy. I told Chuck that."

"And?"

"And… he cleaned up. Left us a pile of books." Dean gestured towards the table where the books sat, before turning back to Sam, "and then he took off."

"Just like that."

"Just like that."

The boys stood, staring at each other, neither wanting to speak next. Dean turned and walked back over to his coffee. Picking it up off the table, he took a sip before turning back to face Sam. "Truth is, these books were all ours, to begin with, they came out of the secret room." Dean sighed before continuing, "Man… we need another name for that… the secret room… what a stupid name!"

"What are they?"

"What… the secret room?"

"No, Dean. The books. What are the books?"

"Oh…" Dean let out a slightly embarrassed laugh and then answered Sam's question, "Well this pile is going to help us with the murder-suicides and…" Dean gestured to the other side of the table, "This pile, will help us find Hope."

"Chuck tell you that?"

"Not exactly."

"Then…"

"Come over here." Dean gestured for Sam to come over to the table, "pick one up, or just touch one."

Sam approached the table, an apprehensive look on his face. When he got there, he reached out his hand and touched one of the books in the 'murder-suicide' pile. "Whoa… It feels… like… I should read this. That I need to read this…" Dean nodded and then said, "Now… one of those." As he pointed at the other pile. Sam reached out to touch one of the books and, like Dean; he quickly snatched his hand back, "Ow".

"Exactly. Ow. The dick doesn't want us to use those books… but you can tell what they are, right? You feel what they'll help us with…"

"And what is that one?" Sam asked pointing at the book that now sat in the middle of the table, just above where Dean's book lay open. "That one… That's for Castiel." Dean replied. "How do you know?" Sam asked, "It's written in Enochian." Dean replied, and then he sat back down in front of his book.

"You're researching?"

"You bet I am."

"From which pile?"

"There is only one pile that is relevant to me." Dean said, looking back up at Sam, "Besides… It only hurts when you touch it…"

Sam laughed at that. Then he pulled out the chair at the opposite end of the table, before he picked up one of the books, pain racing across his face, and dropped it on the table in front of him. Stealing his breath for the second round, he opened the book and flipped to the first page; then he sat down and started reading. Dean, who had watched all of this, smiled at his brother's antics and then looking back at his book, he too continued to read.

After a couple of hours, the boys taking turns to grimace and moan in pain, as they flipped to their next page, Sam stood up, "I'm going to make a run for some coffee and some breakfast. You want?"

"Sure thing…" Dean replied, looking up at Sam, "Make sure it's greasy."

"Yeah, yeah, heart attack much?"

"Shut up…"

Sam had only been gone about ten minutes when Dean heard footsteps coming down the stairs, "What's the matter? You forget your hair tie?" he yelled over his shoulder.

"I don't need a hair tie." came the confused reply.

Dean jumped to his feet, knocking the chair over as he did so. He turned, just in time to see Castiel reach the top of the stairs to the library. "Cass…"

"You cleaned?" Cass said eyeing the library; it was trashed the last time he saw it.

"Ah, yeah… Listen, Cass…"

"Dean, it is fine. I deserved it."

"No, you didn't Cass… It was not your fault."

"It wasn't yours either…"

"Yeah. Ok. Let us say I believe that. Look, about not talking to you the other day…"

"That's fine. I've passed on."

"You've… what?" Dean was confused; eventually, he worked it out, "Moved on… You've moved on… Cass…"

"Not… passed?"

"No!"

"Well ok then… Who cleaned? And when?"

"Chuck; last night…"

"God. Was here?" Castiel was stunned.

Dean just nodded, unable to have this conversation again. He turned back to the table saying, "He left you a book." and picking the book up, Dean turned back and offered it to Castiel.

Castiel took the few steps between them before taking the book from Dean's hands. Looking down at the book sheer astonishment swept across his face, "But… this…"

"What is it Cass?" a worried Dean asked.

There was a long pause as Castiel slowly moved his right hand down the front of the book, tracing the markings that were etched in the old leather cover, "He left this for me?" he finally asked, not taking his eyes off the book. "Yeah, Cass. It's written in Enochian and last time I checked, Sammy and I don't speak… or read the language." Dean tilted his head to the side, concern for his friend fixed on his face. "Cass… Can't you feel it? The book… that's it's… for you?"

"Well… yes… but…" Castiel looked up at Dean, fixing in on his face, "You feel that too?"

Dean was a little puzzled by the intensity of Castiel's tone, "Sure… I feel it… Just like I can feel what he wants Sam and me to do with those books." Dean gestured at the two piles of books on the table. Without letting go of the book in his hands, Castiel rounded the tabled and lay his free hand on each pile of books in turn, "A little childish of him…" Dean's jaw dropped and a look of confused delight seeped across his face; confused that Castiel, his Castiel, may have just chided Chuck; delight, that he had it in him at all.

A small white light shone out of Castiel's hand as it hovered over the books; he was undoing what God had done to them, making them just books once more. Turning back to look at Dean, he raised the book he still had and said, "I don't think this is for me." Dean raised his eyebrow in confusion and asked, "Why not?"

"Because, this," Castiel shook the book he was still holding high, "this is a book for archangels… It is like a handbook for them. A way to learn about their skills, to improve themselves."

"The angels needed books for that?"

"Well, no. The archangels inherently knew their special power… ability… but they need not have stopped there. They could have studied and become even more powerful, capable of almost anything."

"But they didn't?"

"No. Each of them was complacent with their lot."

"So the book is what… useless to you?"

"Yes. There are no archangels left. I am unsure who he intended this for."

"It's for you, Cass. He left it for you."

"Yes, I feel that, but, who would I train? There are no…" before Castiel could finish his last sentence, a blinding white strike, of what looked like lightning, filled the bunker, smashing into Castiel's chest. Dean dropped to the ground, shielding his eyes and ears with his arms as the sound of hundreds of successive strikes echoed around the room. Castiel hung in the air, as the lightning barrelled into him; a look of pain scored across his face.

The last bolt of lightning released Castiel and he fell to the ground; it took Dean a minute to realise that it was all over, but when he did, he struggled to his feet before rushing over to his friend.

"Cass…" he called, sliding to a stop as he reached Castiel's side; he dropped to his knees, grabbing Castiel by the shoulders and shaking him, he called again, "Cass…"

"Dean…"

The shout came from outside the room; Sam had hurled in through the door and was rushing down the stairs into the war room. "Dean…" he yelled again, unable to mask the panic in his voice.

"In here…" Dean yelled in reply.

Sam ran into the room, and stopped short as he saw Dean on the floor beside an unconscious Castiel, "Dean… What the hell happened? I've been trying to get in the door for ages…"

"What… what are you talking about? You've been gone for like fifteen minutes."

"Try an hour and a half! The last twenty minutes of which I have been trying to open the door to the bunker…"

Dean's eyes, staring blankly past his brother, flickered from side to side as he tried to think through what he was hearing; confusion and fear prevented him from locking in on any single thought that might help him.

"Dean…" Sam's level of concern was quickly escalating as he watched his brother's face; Sam wanted desperately to snap his brother out of it, but he had no idea of what he was trying to get him back from. "Dean…" Sam reached down and dragged his brother to his feet by the front of his khaki jacket; shaking him, Sam tried to physically, snap him back to the present. Thinking quickly, Sam slapped Dean across the face.

"What the hell?" a shocked Dean asked his brother.

Sam let out a sharp breath, relieved that Dean was now responding, "What. Happened?"

Dean shook his head before answering, "I… don't know… Cass and I were standing there talking and then suddenly there was all this lightning and this… ear shattering sound…" Dean continued to shake his head as he relived the event, "I don't know what it was, Sammy… I don't…" Fear and confusion were quickly working their way back into Dean's demeanour; Sam grabbed his brother by the jacket again and spun him around, slowly walking him backwards, he made his brother sit in a chair before he walked over to the decanter and poured his brother a scotch. Walking back over to Dean, he handed him the drink; Dean took the drink and downed it in one go, as Sam walked over to check on Castiel.

"He's unconscious… but other than that there doesn't seem to be anything wrong?"

"I…" Dean started to respond, before realising he had nothing to add.

"Dean… What happened?" Sam looked at his brother, who just sat there like a lost little child. "Dean…" he coaxed, "What were you and Castiel talking about?"

Dean looked at Sam in confusion, he was struggling to remember; what had he and Castiel been discussing? "The book… we were… talking about the book… It's a manual, for archangels…" Dean was talking fast, shaking and agitated. Sam got up from Castiel's side and walked quickly back to his brother, kneeling down in front of him; Sam grabbed Dean's jacket for the third time, forcing Dean to look at him, "Breath… Just breathe…" he told his brother; Dean struggled at first, but slowly his breathing returned to normal and his body stopped shaking.

Before long Dean asked, "You were really gone for an hour and a half?" Sam nodded his head; Dean continued, "But it felt like minutes… when it must have been… over an hour…" the realisation was not easy for Dean to take.

"What was?" Sam asked; he was sitting in a chair opposite his brother, Castiel was still out cold on the floor.

"The lightning… it was… attacking Castiel or…" Dean took in a deep breath and releasing it slowly he added, "I don't know what it was… or why… but it was…" he sighed again, looking past his brother, to Castiel's pale face, "It was sheer power… like… like nothing, I have ever felt before… and it scared me… It… really scared me…"