Chapter Two: The Price
They drove into the Bunker just before dawn the following morning. They'd switched drivers twice, filled up on gas once more, and had pit stops, and both taken turns dozing in the passenger seat. Cas hadn't woken up again, or even moved all that much. Only the occasional mutter or groan let them know he was still alive. Sam gathered up the gear they were going to take inside. Dean leaned into the car and shook Castiel's shoulder gently. "Cas. Wake up."
Cas jerked awake, blinked, then focused on him. "Dean."
"Yeah. We're here. Come on, out of the car and inside." Dean unbuckled Castiel's seat-belt and pulled him into a standing position, braced against his shoulder.
Cas staggered, leaning heavily on him. "You know, I never realized how awful human wars could get. It's bad among angels and demons, but humans...tanks and grenades and the diseases and the smell…how do you stand it?" He sounded drunk, like he had after they'd told him God was staying out of the loop on purpose and he'd 'gone on a bender'.
Dean shrugged, keeping his tone light and calm. If Cas was dreaming of tanks and grenades, the worst of it would start soon. "Just stupid, I guess. And you get a little...numb, after a while. Can you eat something?"
"God no." Castiel staggered again. "Not a chance. I'd never...keep it down." he swayed. "Just water."
"Good enough. Come on, let's get you into bed." Dean pulled Cas into the Bunker.
Sam reappeared. "I cleaned out my room. I can find another place to sleep in a while."
"Right." Dean guided the swaying, barely conscious angel into the moderate room Sam had chosen for his own and lowered Cas into the wide Queen-sized bed. Castiel fell onto it limply, face-down. Dean swung his legs onto the bed and pulled off his shoes to make him more comfortable. "Should we change his bandages?"
"I don't know. Normally, I'd say yes. But...this isn't normal." Sam sighed. "How far along in his memories is he, did he say?"
"Tanks. And wars."
"Crap. Dad was a veteran." Sam hissed in exasperation.
"Yeah. Exactly. I don't think he's got that far yet, but..." A loud groan interrupted him. Both brothers turned.
On the bed, Cas shuddered, his face contorting in pain. "No..."
"Dammit. That answers that." Dean and Sam moved to Castiel's side. Dean laid a cautious hand on Castiel's shoulder.
Blue eyes opened, hazy with pain and weariness. Then Castiel bent his head to Dean's hand. "Should have...stopped him. Should have..." He sounded like he was praying, or begging for forgiveness.
The brothers exchanged a quick look. Then Dean spoke, his voice low and calm. "Stopped who?"
"Azazael. Murdered nuns...guardians of the gateway. Guardians of the Cage. First crack in the door." Cas clutched at Dean's arm, and his eyes were dark with anguish. "Could have stopped it. Orders...wasn't...strong enough...smart enough. Blind faith..." His head fell to the mattress. "I...we...could have...stopped it."
Sam stiffened. He and Dean traded a second startled look.
They'd never realized the angels had known about Azazael's plans. Not as long ago as that. If the angels had stopped him then….
Sam and Dean would never have been born.
Their mother and father would never have died.
The Apocalypse would never have happened. Millions of lives would have been spared. Angel, human, demon...millions.
They'd known for a while that Heaven had engineered their parents marriage. But they'd always thought it had been a panicked response to what Azazael had done. Azazael had been breeding and selecting children to become the key to Hell and Lucifer's vessel. They'd assumed the angels had arranged for Dean's birth as a counter measure, as Micheal's vessel, and that Azazael had claimed Sam as a twisted joke. Or as part of the whole 'destiny' schtick. The 'brother fighting brother' thing.
This was different. The angels had stood by and let Azazael get instructions to plan Armageddon.
Sam broke the heavy silence. "Well, he said we might not want to hear this."
"Yeah." Both of them relaxed. Dean watched as Castiel's face twisted in grief again. "Do you blame him? Are you angry at him?"
Sam frowned, then shook his head. "I...I kind of want to be. But it wasn't his fault. He was doing what he was ordered to do. He didn't know any better. He thought it was God allowing this to happen. I know the feeling, that feeling that you have to do what you're doing, no matter how wrong it seems. I've listened to that song."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Me too." he shook his head. "I think we'd better lay in some supplies and prepare to camp out here, Sammy boy. Looks like this is where things get bad."
Sam nodded. "I'll get the food. You get the beds?"
"Meet you back here in fifteen." Dean nodded and they both left the room.
Half an hour later, both brothers were ensconced in blanket and pillow nests, cooler and food containers between them, watching as Cas moaned on the bed, one word more intelligible than the rest. Anna. He was reliving his former commander and friend's Fall.
They'd known Anna and Castiel knew each other.
They hadn't known how deeply Castiel had looked up to his superior, or how he'd loved her like a sister, a dear friend and comrade in arms.
They hadn't known that Anna had gone to Castiel when she began to have doubts about the purity of Heaven and it's policies. Or that Castiel's innocent search for answers (he was so shockingly naive at times) had been what had led to her being denounced and choosing to Fall.
Castiel's broken apology was heart-wrenching. Hearing him, it was no surprise that Uriel had taken the lead on the whole 'hunt for Anna' incident. Dean swallowed hard, listening as Castiel's words stumbled between betrayed hurt and guilty anguish. Cas had apologized to him like that, once or twice. He shook his head. "He's just so...damn sincere."
Sam blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Cas. When he apologizes. You know, me and you...there are times when we apologize, but it's just...well, we mean it, but we don't, you know? Like 'sorry I pissed you off, not sorry I did what I did and I'd do it all again' kind of thing." Dean gestured to the bed. "Not Cas. When he apologizes...he really means it, you know? Like, everything. Not just for hurting someone, but for what he did. He means it more than we do, somehow."
"There's been times when we've meant it. I did after the whole demon-blood thing." Sam's voice was quiet. On the bed, the angel had calmed, settling into a restless sleep.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I've meant it too. But Cas...he means it all the friggin damn time." Dean swallowed a mouthful of beer.
"Yeah. He does." A small smile cracked Sam's face. "I remember when I was planning to say yes to Lucifer, and we were all saying our goodbyes. I told him to take care of you. He tried to...I don't know, be upbeat, the way we are a lot of the time when we're trying to put a good face on a bad situation. It was the most awkward thing I've ever seen. And he's a horrible liar."
"He is at that." Dean smiled back and finished the beer. He dug two more out of the cooler and passed one to his brother, then turned to root through the snacks Sam had brought down.
Sam's gaze shifted back to Cas, and the smile vanished like smoke in the wind. "Dean."
Dean turned.
Cas lay quiet, his face...Dean watched in shock as tears tracked over Castiel's face. Silent tears, and heart-breaking on a face that had never before known them, not in all the time he'd been with the Winchesters. They'd seen Jimmy Novak weep for his wife and daughter, once upon a time when Castiel had been banished from his mortal host. But not Cas, not even with all the horror they had faced together.
Dean set down his empty bottle and got to his feet, then moved to the bedside, Sam only a step behind him. He reached out, then paused. He wasn't sure he wanted to know why Cas was crying.
He couldn't let his friend suffer in silence. He reached out and touched Castiel's shoulder. "Cas."
Blue eyes, filled with grief and pain, looked up at him. Then Cas spoke, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry I burned you. When I raised you from Hell." One hand reached up, to brush Dean's shoulder, where the welted marks of burned in hand-prints had once been.
"No big deal. I mean, compared to staying, a little burn is nothing." Dean forced a smile.
"I know. I saw what Hell was like when we came for you." Castiel's head fell back. "I'm sorry I threatened to send you back."
Dean shrugged. "You were pissed off. And your people skills totally sucked. All you angels need to take a course in Courtesy 101 before you hit Earth." He tried for another grin. "You're doing a lot better now."
"Sometimes I don't think so." Castiel's head fell back. "I followed Zachariah and Raphael so blindly...even after Uriel told me Heaven was corrupt, and so many angels believed God was dead. Still...I followed..." He exhaled. "We made you torture Alistair. You warned me not to ask you that, but I forced it anyway."
"Yeah, well." Dean shrugged. "You made up for it, in the end." He swallowed hard. He didn't want to see Cas tormenting himself over things they had hashed out between them years ago, forgiven and forgotten in their long, tangled relationship. "It's all good."
"It isn't." Castiel shook his head. "It's...horrible. It was horrible as an angel. But this..."
"Still no need to cry and turn into a big puddle over it." Dean squeezed Castiel's shoulder.
"I'm not." Cas turned his face away.
Sam reached out and brushed the tear-streaked countenance. He'd always been better at gestures like that, though Dean had softened some during his year with Lisa and Ben, and during the Trials. "Then why?" His voice was soft, inviting the confidence where Dean's might have sounded like he was trying to hammer it out.
Castiel's breath hitched, and the pain in his face was nearly as bad as when Metatron had ripped away his wings. "You have...no idea...what it's like to Fall."
"Nope. None at all." Dean held Castiel's shoulder. "Wanna talk?"
"To be cut off from the light of Heaven, from everything you know. To know that everyone, every person you called brother or companion or friend, will be hunting you down, trying to kill you. To turn against everything you are, everything you've followed for thousands of years...and to not even know if it will be worth it in the end. To choose to Fall...is excruciating. To make that choice, and then fail in everything you were trying to protect, trying to prevent...you have no idea." Castiel's voice cracked, and new tears streaked his face before he reached up a trembling hand and swiped them angrily away. "You can't comprehend..."
"No. We can't. We're only human. But I've failed to protect what I loved. And so has Sam. And if it weren't for what you did for us, we'd have never stood a chance at all. We'd have failed even worse than we did." Dean tightened his hand on Castiel's shoulder. "I'm sorry we asked this of you Cas. But I can promise you...we'll be here for you. We'll help you."
"I don't know if you can." Cas closed his eyes. "I don't know if you should."
Dean met his brother's eyes. "Sam..."
"Yeah." Sam turned away, back to the nested blankets and haphazard food stock. He came back with three blankets, extra pillows and a bottle of water. Dean lifted Castiel, and the angel blinked. "What are you doing?"
"Making you more comfortable." They'd done this for each other before, even for Cas once or twice when he'd worn himself out or gotten hurt.
Sam piled the pillows up to form a comfortable mound to lean on, so Cas could recline with the minimum of pressure on his back. Dean helped the angel turn around, and Sam helped him settle. Then Dean threw the blankets over him and opened the water. He dumped a little on a clean towel, then handed both to Castiel. "Here."
Castiel drank part of the water, wiped his face gingerly. Then his head fell back against the pillows. Dean took the bottle from him and set it on Sam's low nightstand. "Better?"
"Physically? Yes. Otherwise...no." Castiel's eyes were closed, but it didn't lessen the expression of torment on his face. "I...there aren't words..."
"I'm sorry." Dean swallowed.
Cas blinked his eyes open, surprise in his haggard face. "Why?"
"Because I asked you to Fall for us. And then I failed to stop Lucifer from breaking free. I mean, you busted me out and died for me, and I still screwed up." Dean grimaced.
"Yeah. Me too." Sam was a quiet shadow near the foot of the bed.
"It doesn't matter. In the end, to Fall was my choice." Cas winced. "And I am...alone."
"No. You aren't." Dean took his hand. "You're not."
"I am in this." Castiel's voice was weary.
"Yeah. But we'll help you through it. If you wanna cry, we won't judge. You want to throw things, yell, get pissed and punch us...we're good for it. Just tell us what you need."
The smallest of twisted, bitter smiles curved Castiel's mouth. "I already struck you."
Dean remembered. He had planned to surrender to Michael to spare Adam. Castiel had caught him first. The beating the angel had given him had been one of the most brutal he'd ever taken, but looking back, he couldn't be angry. He'd assumed up until that point that Cas was at peace with his choice to break from Heaven and rebel. He'd never realized what it had cost the angel. That night, in the depths of Castiel's anger, he had seen it. As he had seen it the following day, when they had tried to rescue Adam and Castiel had been willing to commit what amounted to suicide, rather than watch him give up. It still made him a little queasy, remembering how he'd watched Castiel carve a banishing sigil into his own flesh with a box-cutter.
He still remembered Castiel's words, words that had haunted him since. 'I gave up everything, and this is what you give to me?' He'd often thought since then that Cas had gotten the worst of the deal. Several times over.
He shook his head to clear the memory, and answered Castiel's smile with a small one of his own. "Yeah well, I'm good for round two."
Castiel shook his head. "But I am not." He paused. "I want to rest now."
Dean nodded and let go of Castiel's hand. "Sure. We'll be nearby, you need anything." Castiel didn't answer, asleep, unconscious or faking it. Dean rose and returned to his makeshift bed, Sam handed him a beer, and he did his best to get lost in cleaning the weapons he'd brought down to do maintenance on.
An hour later, Castiel woke up, made a small sound of distress, then rolled and threw up over the side of the bed.
Dean caught his shoulders and held him as he vomited and coughed. Sam disappeared, then reappeared with a large trash can, several towels, and a bottle of cleaner and deodorizer.
Dean helped Castiel back into bed and gave him some water while Sam cleaned up the mess. He waited until the angel emptied the water bottle, then spoke. "Mind telling us what that was?"
"Traveling through time on a depleted Grace..." Castiel's voice was hoarse. "It's a bit like liquefying and coughing up your own entrails." He coughed. "Especially with passengers." Sam passed over a Sprite.
"Jeez, Cas..." Dean sighed. "You said it would weaken you...not magically disembowel you! Why didn't you tell us?"
Castiel shook his head. "I had...already realized...the two of you would do...anything, for family. I didn't think it would change your minds if I did tell you."
"Yeah well...we might have at least thought twice." Dean grimaced.
"At least you were kind enough to care for me in my incapacitation." Castiel sighed and relaxed into the pillows with a wince.
"Well, we sort of owed you one. Or several." Dean sighed again. "You need anything?"
Castiel stilled, then spoke hesitantly. "Hangovers...they feel like that?"
"A little bit, yeah. At least they do for Sam, I've never felt like that. But I have a pretty high alcohol tolerance." Dean shrugged.
"Banishing myself felt like that too."
"I bet." Dean winced at the memory of Castiel's desperation.
"So did encountering Pestilence."
"Yeah. No kidding." Dean still got phantom stomach cramps at the memory of that encounter, and Sam winced and turned slightly greenish.
"So did swallowing and regurgitating the Leviathans. And losing my Grace to Metatron." Castiel was pale, and Dean saw a fine tremor running through his hands.
"I can imagine."
"I hope not." Castiel turned his head to look at the items Sam had brought in. "I also hope you don't mind if I ask you to leave the bucket."
"Not at all. That's what it's here for." Dean reached out a foot and nudged it closer to the bed and twisted the cap off the Sprite. "Here. This'll settle your stomach."
"You do not have to stay with me for this." Castiel took the bottle. "If it's just these...nightmare memories...I'm sure I can manage well enough."
Dean scowled. "Seriously, Cas, giving you the 'all for one' speech is getting old."
"I know." Castiel looked at the bottle in his hands, then back at Dean. "But you don't understand...the memories that are coming..." He stopped and looked away.
"They're bad. We know. We were there for a few of them."
"It isn't that." Castiel swallowed, then looked back at him. "Dean...I am...ashamed, of these things. Of the things I did. Of my weakness. Of my...recklessness. My pride. My arrogance. And some of these things are...disturbing. Perhaps Sam understands what it was like, to go mad..." His gaze flicked to Sam, standing a few feet away. "Perhaps you understand what Purgatory was like. But these things...what it was like to be drunk on the power of Purgatory, to be brainwashed by Naomi, to commit atrocities under her control...the helplessness when Metatron stole my Grace for the first time...when Malachai tortured me..."
"Hey, I totally get the last one. Been there. Done that." He'd been tortured in Hell, as had Sam. He met his brother's understanding gaze for a moment, then returned his attention to Castiel.
"No. It's not the same. Malachai was once my brother. All the angels were." Castiel shook his head sharply. "And even so...I don't want you to be forced to remember your pain, witnessing mine." He met Dean's eyes, looked at Sam a moment, then returned his gaze to Dean. "I don't want you to see this. These...things...that I am ashamed of. You've seen enough of them." His eyes hooded, hands tightening on the soda bottle. "If you could have seen your eyes...when I begged your forgiveness for breaking Sam's wall, when I..." he stopped and swallowed. "When I lost my memory, and you were telling me how you felt about what I had done to the two of you..."
"It's in the past." Dean shook his head. "Over and done with." He wasn't sure when he'd forgiven Cas. Perhaps when Castiel had taken Sam's madness from him, subjecting himself to the torment that had doomed his brother. Perhaps when he had heard Castiel's apology, given in his madness, seen him endure Hester's beating in silence. Or even in Purgatory, which Cas had regarded as penance for his sins. "Besides...we've all done things we're ashamed of."
Castiel started to speak again. Dean slapped a hand to the angel's forehead, and the angel froze. "What are you...?"
"I thought so. You've got a hell of a fever. No wonder you're babbling all this crap." Dean got up, dug in the first aid kit for the Tylenol bottle, shook out two pills and handed them to Castiel. "Take those, drink your Sprite, and go to sleep. We can talk all this junk over when you feel better."
"Dean...I..."
"Take your meds before I shove them down your throat. I swear to God, you sound as delirious as Sam did when he was getting hallucinations. Or during the Trials." Dean huffed. Sam twitched a small smile, but his eyes were shadowed.
Castiel hesitated, then took the pills, swallowing them with a third of the bottle. "Fine. Dean..."
"Shut up and give those time to work. Shouldn't take more than half an hour." Dean picked up the discarded water bottle. "Once you've cooled off, and I mean that absolutely literally, then we can talk. Until then...just settle down. And drink your damn Sprite."
Cas took another swallow of Sprite. "Dean..."
"Uh-uh. No talking. Not for at least fifteen minutes. You want to beat yourself up after that, we'll argue it out." Castiel looked rebellious and Dean pointed at the clock on the wall nearby. "Fifteen minutes." Castiel subsided, eyes on the clock.
Fifteen minutes later, the angel was asleep. Dean smirked. "Gave him the sleepy version. No history of taking meds and an empty stomach...surest bet I ever made."
"Yeah, great." Sam's eyes were worried. "What if we need him to wake up? Like, if he starts throwing up again or something?"
"We can get him to the 'groggy and not really here' stage, I'm sure." Dean grimaced. "Anything's better than listening him trying to convince us to shove him through the door. Or threatening us with more chick-flick dramatic episodes."
"This isn't just a touchy situation here, Dean. Cas is...suffering unimaginably." Sam's hand stabbed toward the bed.
"I know." Dean sighed and met his brother's gaze. "But do you think having him constantly question our being here is gonna help with that? Really? You think, him beating himself up over us, is gonna make this crap any easier for him?" He sighed again. "Put it another way, which do you think would be easier for one of us? I mean...we're both pretty contained, but Cas takes stoic to a whole new level."
Sam blinked, looked at the figure huddled in the bed. "You know he's gonna be embarrassed anyway. And pissed. Really pissed."
Dean grinned. "I can handle pissed. Especially now he's human again, and can't toss me through the air with a single glare."
Sam sighed, then gave up and flopped to the ground with a shrug of his shoulders. "Fine. Your call. But if he wakes up hacked off, I am totally throwing you under the bus dude. It's all on you."
"Deal. All on me." A moan drew their attention back to the bed as Castiel's head moved restlessly. "Looks like we're back on." Sam nodded and stood up again, and the two of them moved to flank Castiel's bed.
The next few hours were agonizing. Castiel was much more uninhibited under the influence of medication, and in his dreams. And the words that spilled from his lips as he stumbled through his memories were nothing short of heart-breaking.
They'd known that he had grieved, hearing that God intended to abandon the conflict. After all, he'd gotten drunk. Sober, sane, stable Castiel, who had needed to be dragged to a bar by his collar when faced with his last night on earth, when facing the archangel who had killed him the first time, had gotten totally, horrendously plastered. But knowing he'd gotten smashed was nothing like knowing the desolation of his thoughts.
His grief at being abandoned by the one figure he had still believed in. He had abandoned Heaven for God's sake as much as Dean's, and his anguished words, twisting between furious anger and tortured grief...he hit Dean in the face in one of his descents into fury, and Dean did nothing but wipe the blood from his split lip, watching Castiel with compassion.
It was Sam who voiced what they were both thinking. "It's like us and Dad, isn't it?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah. But at least we always knew Dad could up and leave us high and dry at any moment. We grew up with the idea of being screwed over. He didn't. He grew up, lived his life thinking his Dad was going to be there for him, if he really needed him."
"Yeah. That sucks." Sam swallowed hard. "I guess...that would make it worse."
They held Castiel's semi-conscious body while the angel gagged and threw up in his memories of self-banishment ('drawing and activating a banishment symbol on oneself is...highly unpleasant') and of Pestilence ('Ow').
Dean held his shoulders and Sam his head as he convulsed in the wake of his second death, when Lucifer had blown him to pieces.
They tried not to listen as he mumbled over the civil war in Heaven. By the end of the first hour of that, they were both exchanging guilty glances and clenching fists.
Castiel had told them he was ashamed. He had told them he was dealing with a civil war, and pitted against the archangel who had killed him once. They had been too wrapped up in their own problems on earth, with demons and Sam's soullessness and the mother of all monsters, to listen to him. Not until the end, when they had realized he was aiming for Purgatory, with Crowley and against Raphael. And then they'd both been too furious to think straight.
He had told them that regretful things were required of him. More than killing his brother angels. Listening to his tormented dreams and visions, Dean cursed. "How did we not see this? How did we not realize it was this bad?" He cursed again. "Why didn't he tell us?"
Sam winced. "Because Bobby was right. He said that we could be the most self absorbed little bastards alive. And we were. I mean...how many times did he try to tell us that he was in mid-fight when we called? And we knew Raphael had wiped the floor with him before. We were so busy demanding Cas's help...we never realized he needed ours too." His eyes were filled with regret as he watched Castiel toss and turn fitfully on the bed. "You know, it almost makes me wish he hadn't dragged me back, that Death hadn't finished saving me. I mean...the extra burden it placed on him..."
"Yeah. No shit. I'm sorry I gave him a hard time about not helping us out more." Dean scrubbed at the back of his neck, then froze as Castiel's eyes opened, filled with drug and fever haze, and a tortured regret that nearly knocked the breath out of him.
Castiel stared at him a moment, then whispered. "I'm sorry Dean. So, so sorry."
Dean sat on the edge of the bed, took Castiel's shoulders in his hands. "You don't need to apologize to me. We're good."
"No. We aren't." Castiel's head bowed. "Dean...please...I..." His words slurred, but nothing could stop the pain in his face. "Please...brother..."
Dean froze. So did Sam. Then Dean pushed away from the bed, an anguish to mirror Castiel's filling his expression.
Sam spoke softly. "Dean? Wanna tell me something?"
Dean flinched, rubbed the back of his neck, then spun to face his brother. He stared at Sam a moment, then looked away. "After we found out about Cas and Crowley partnering up...I talked to Cas a couple of times. I told you about the first time. He wanted me to help him, or at least not fight him." He bit his lip, then continued. "I told him not to do what he was doing. He said he had to, but I didn't listen. I was just so mad at him. But I..."
He shook his head. Castiel moaned again, grief on his face, and Dean's jaw clenched. "I told him that he should listen to me, because we were like family, like brothers. And he...he asked me...he friggin' practically begged me, to trust him, to be his brother and stand beside him, just once. He told me he loved me like a brother, that he'd do anything and everything I ever asked of him, and asked me to trust him just once. And I threw it all right back in his face."
Sam nodded. "I know. I did too. He raised me from Hell, even if he didn't manage the whole thing." He swallowed. "You know, I still remember his face when I accused him of doing it on purpose? It was like I knifed him. And, you know, Dean, we could both tell him he was wrong and it was stupid and all, and maybe it was, but wouldn't either of us do the same thing if we thought we had no choice? When you really think about it, how was that much different from you making a Crossroads deal, or me saying yes to Lucifer? Or drinking demon blood? Saying it was stupid and wrong isn't the same as giving him an alternative to go with."
"Yeah. I know." Dean watched Castiel a moment, then spoke softly. "You know what the worst of it is? Even after I gave him crap and told him to kiss my ass, he still saved me when a demon tried to kill me. He still came to the hospital and saved Lisa, helped me make them forget so they could have a normal life." He shook his head again. "And when he was dying, because the Leviathans were ripping him to shreds from the inside out? The most important thing on his mind was asking me to forgive him." A soft, bitter laugh escaped him. "Last thing he said before the Leviathans destroyed his mind, besides run, was that he was sorry, that he was ashamed of what he had done. That he wanted to redeem himself with me."
Castiel's head tossed, one hand clenching into a fist in his delirium. "Dean...I..." A choked groan. "God...please...tell me..."
The anguished prayer hit both of them. How desperate and conflicted had the angel been, to resort to prayer even when he knew God had abandoned them?
Dean moved to the bedside, and took Castiel's shoulders. "It's okay Cas."
Castiel's eyes opened. "It isn't. You hate me for this...I can never..." He closed his eyes, anguish and shame in his face, so deep it was despair. "What I did to Sam...to the wall that protected him...I can't ask you to forgive me for that..."
"No. It's okay." Dean's hands tightened on Castiel's shoulders. "You listen to me, and you listen good. What you did was stupid, reckless, and totally unnecessary." He shook the angel slightly, and Cas moaned. "But dammit Cas, as pissed as I am, and sometimes I am still really, really pissed..." He sighed. "The fact that you fucking screwed up big time does not change the fact that I care about you. Any more than drinking demon blood and being soulless and all that shit stopped me from caring about Sam. Or being a ghost stopped me caring about Bobby." he grimaced. "Hell, everyone's allowed a couple huge, epic-level screw-ups. You wouldn't be an honorary Winchester if you hadn't threatened to destroy all creation at least once."
"Yeah. And I'm good. All patched up, thanks to you." Sam's words seemed to ease the angel's pain a little.
Dean sighed, then pulled the angel into a rough embrace. Sam settled on the other side of the bed and laid one hand tentatively in the middle of Castiel's back.
There was a long moment of silence. Then Castiel lifted trembling hands, laid them on Dean's arms. A muffled, exhausted 'thank you', escaped the folds of his cotton shirt. Then Castiel went limp again, sliding back into the fog of oblivion.
Dean laid him back on the bed. Castiel's face was pale. A single, shining tear track traced over his cheek. Dean wiped it gently away and started to stand.
Sam caught his hand. "We should probably stay put. The Leviathans..." He was interrupted by a choking gasp from Castiel as the angel went rigid.
The hour that followed that was awful. Both of them had seen some of the effects of Castiel's attempt to control the souls of Purgatory. And they'd seen him go 'god-complex' on them. But seeing the results was much different than dealing with Castiel's memories and reliving of the struggle itself. And Sam hadn't heard Castiel's anguished, remorseful apologies to them. They held Castiel down as he convulsed, both brothers white-faced at his hoarse, muttered apologies and groans. Dean held the tortured angel close, muttering reassurances as Castiel apologized again and again to everyone, muttering names. Names of angels he had smote. Expressing grief for the humans he had destroyed. And his grief for them. Grief and guilt filled his words, a torment neither of them had truly realized the depth of, despite how far he'd been willing to go to atone.
Finally, Castiel collapsed again. Dean heaved a sigh and stepped back from the bed. "Damn."
"Yeah." Sam swallowed. "Dean...we'd better brace ourselves." Dean blinked at his brother. Sam looked back at him, expression worried. "The next bad thing for him was taking my hell memories, right?"
"Yeah. He was a faith healing amnesiac between the two. Good life, he said." Dean picked up a bottle of beer and drained it in a long swallow.
"Yeah, well, those hallucinations are definitely not good, Dean. Hellfire, Lucifer taunting you in your brain, talking to you constantly, torture..." Sam shuddered. "I mean, I know he recovered his mind and all, and he kind of got over it somehow, but this stuff...nightmare central man." he grimaced. "Lucifer alone was nasty. But he told me that after he shook that, he was just...looking at all his mistakes and stuff."
"Yeah. I get it." Dean sighed. "Crap." He looked at the form lying curled up among the pillows. "Think we need to restrain him?"
"No. I'm just saying, when he hits that...it's going to be bad. Maybe worse than the Leviathans." Sam swallowed hard.
"We'll deal. Although, you want to sit this one out, I wouldn't blame you."
Sam shook his head. "Actually, I was going to suggest the same thing for you."
"Not a chance. I said I wouldn't abandon him, and I ain't breakin' that promise." Dean threw his brother a beer, popped another one for himself.
A half hour later, Castiel moaned. "No..." Sam and Dean shared a look, then moved to opposite sides of the bed, flanking the angel as he stiffened, horror in his face.
The next few hours that passed were excruciating. Castiel writhed, moaned, screamed. Anguished pleas and begging were intermingled with howls of torment and desperate rationalization. Mumbled apologies mixed with tortured sobs. Sometimes he would cling to one of them, hands clutching hard enough to bruise. Sometimes any contact would make him jerk away violently, gasping in terror and flailing against the pillows. There was no lucidity in the blue eyes when they opened, no sanity. His dark hair was plastered to his face with sweat, the bandages soaked, but any touch against his wounds set off another round of screaming, or trembling horror that was worse than any words.
Dean took one of the moments of quiet to get a drink and wipe his brow. "I don't remember it being this bad for you, Sammy." He sighed. "Come to think of it, he didn't look this bad when we left him in the institution."
"It's different, when you're awake. When you can try to convince yourself that it's not real. When you can hide, pull away from it, try to focus on something else." Sam's voice was quiet, and his eyes were haunted. "But it wears you out, trying. And then...it gets worse. When we left him, Cas was still fighting. I think."
"How did he ever survive this?" Dean grimaced as Castiel flinched and made a soft sound of pain. "How did you?"
"You...you surrender, I guess. I mean, it doesn't stop, but you just...let go. Remember how Castiel didn't want to fight, after he got out of the institution?" Sam looked up, then back down at the wounded figure. "After a while, you just learn to...live with it. Plus...Lucifer didn't have the link to Castiel that he had to me. I was Lucifer's vessel. Cas wasn't. He said Lucifer faded after a while. Maybe it helped a little."
"Yeah. And maybe he's just a stronger little bastard than we ever gave him credit for." Dean tossed Sam a drink and finished his own, hand clenching around the bottle as Castiel flinched and coughed, then groaned something unintelligible, his voice shredded and nearly gone.
"Yeah. That's probably it."
Gradually, Castiel's breathing evened out. The periods of torment became fewer and farther between. He calmed enough for them to change his bandages and wipe the sweat and tears from his brow. Dean eased him into a loose shirt while Sam took away the dirty cloths and brought back food, then stretched. The clock read 5. "Damn. Is that morning or evening?"
Sam flicked his phone on and checked it. "Morning. We've been with him a whole day, Dean."
"Explains why I just wanna sleep for a year." Dean yawned. "Damn it...and we still got...what?"
"Purgatory, control by Naomi and Metatron, losing his Grace and being tortured. I think."
"Crap. We were in Purgatory a year, he was controlled for months...at least the rest of them were quick." Dean scowled. "I think."
Sam exhaled, a short, sharp breath. "You wanna take a break, you can. Your room's right down the hall. Take a rest for an hour or so."
"And leave you with it? Like hell." Dean grabbed a snack pack out of the cooler and opened it, chomping down the contents without caring. "Nah. I'm good. We've done long hunts before. I'll stick it out." he gestured. "You can use my bed, you wanna take some shut eye."
"No. I'm good." Sam swallowed, but took a bite of the food he'd brought down. "It's just...this..." He shook his head. "If he wakes up...if he comes out of this...how is he not gonna hate us for this? None of this would have happened to him if he hadn't decided to help us."
Dean swallowed the last bite of food, then crumpled the bag and threw it into the trash can. His expression was somber. "We'll just have to ask him that when he comes out of it."
"Ask me what?" Dean turned around. Castiel was blinking, his expression screwed up with pain and weariness.
"How you're feeling. You've been out a while." Dean grabbed a bottle and moved to the bedside.
"I feel like I have been ripped in two and put back together. Multiple times." Dean winced at the imagery. Castiel blinked at the bottle, another Sprite, then back at him. "You drugged me."
Dean grimaced and offered Castiel a sheepish grin. "Didn't think it'd hit you that hard."
Castiel sighed. "I don't think I want any more medication."
"Okay. Sure." Dean handed him the bottle. Castiel drank a few swallows, then handed it back. "Want anything else?"
"No." Castiel shook his head, rolling it against the pillows.
"Okay." Dean settled by the edge of the bed. "How you doing?"
"Well enough, for the moment. It was...peaceful, being insane. What I remember of it." Castiel sighed. "How bad was it?"
Dean shrugged. "Nothing we couldn't handle."
"Yeah. We're okay." Sam pulled up a seat on the other side of the bed.
Castiel's eyes flicked over both of them, and he frowned. "You've been injured."
Dean blinked, remembering his split lip for the first time in hours. He forced a smile. "Leg went to sleep. Stood up, wobbled straight into a bed-post. It's nothing serious."
Castiel sighed again. "I don't believe you." He shook his head again. "Never mind." He took a deep breath. "Since I'm relatively lucid, for the moment, we should talk."
"Sure. Go ahead." Dean leaned forward. "What's on your mind?"
"Purgatory. It was...relatively painless. Stressful, trying not to get eaten by monsters, and difficult, being hunted by Leviathans, but painless. And simple. However...after Purgatory..."
"Brainwashed by that angel chick, Naomi. Yeah. We know." Dean nodded.
Castiel's eyes were haunted. "That...that was not painless. Naomi was..." He stopped, then shook his head. "I can't explain it, and I don't want to. It was...like possession, in some ways. In some ways, it was worse." His hands clenched. "She...did things to me. Things I do not clearly understand, but I remember them. And...you know some of what she forced me to do."
"Some of it, yeah." Sam's voice was quiet.
Castiel was silent for a moment. "I killed Samandriel on her orders. I lied to you. He never attacked me."
"We figured." Dean laced his fingers together. "The way you were acting, the way your eye started bleeding...we figured it was something like that. Just couldn't figure out how."
Sam spoke hesitantly. "When we were...trying to get to Samandriel...it wasn't the sigils that made you freak out, was it? It was something Naomi did to you?"
"Yes. She..." Castiel's jaw clenched, then relaxed. "Samandriel's screams were remarkably like my own, when she was working to break my will."
"Crap." Dean stood in a restless movement, rubbed his face, then paced a short circuit around his chair and sat back down. "Look, you don't have to tell us what she did to you." They would probably know more than they wanted to when Castiel began to relive it. "But if there's anything we can do to help you with this, anything at all..."
"There is...one thing." Castiel closed his eyes. "But it will most likely be...uncomfortable for you." A small tremor ran through his body. Dean wondered if it was the memories he was experiencing, or the ones he feared would come.
"Tell us." Sam leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Whatever you need, Cas, we're here for you."
Castiel lay quiet for a long moment, then slowly, his hands uncurled from the sheets, turned palm upward. "Take my hand."
Sam curled his hand around Castiel's. Dean did the same. He was startled when Castiel shifted his grip, so his hand was wrapped around the angel's bandaged wrist. "Cas?"
"She wanted me to kill you. You and Sam, but you especially." Castiel opened his eyes and turned his head to look up at Dean. "She wanted me to...the day we retrieved the angel tablet, she tried to force me. She had made me kill a thousand illusions of you."
Dean held still. Castiel looked at the ceiling. "I remember, holding your wrist and snapping it out of place. I remember hitting you. I couldn't stop. But she couldn't make me kill you." His gaze returned to Dean's. "When you looked at me and called me family, when you begged me to stop, when you said you needed me...I couldn't. You asked me what broke her control. You did. When you reminded me that I called you family. Brother."
Dean swallowed hard. Sam settled into stillness on the other side of the bed, a silent watcher.
Castiel watched him, waiting for his answer. Dean swallowed again, then tightened his grasp and felt Castiel return it. "If that helps...when the memories come, I'll be right here. And I'll keep telling you. As many times as you need."
"This sentiment...it makes you uncomfortable." Castiel's voice was quiet, almost shamed.
"Normally, yeah. But hey, there are exceptions to everything." He shrugged. "And hey, maybe this...maybe this is what makes up for the times I let you go, huh?"
Castiel blinked. "Dean..."
"I know. You've said it all before. That you get it. That you understood. But the bottom line is, when I need you, or want you to do something for me, I say you're family. And too many damn times, when you've needed me to have your back, I've let you go. That's not right." Dean shook his head. "It ain't right, and it isn't what family is, man. So...you let me help you through this, like a good brother is supposed to do. You got it?"
Castiel stared at him for a long moment. "Yes." His hand clasped around Dean's wrist. "Thank you." He laid his head back, and his eyes closed. "I feel...exhausted."
"Yeah. Traumatic flashback will do that to you." Dean squeezed his hand. "You just chill, okay? Relax as much as you can." Castiel didn't answer, but his shoulders relaxed and his breathing deepened and evened out.
Sam stood up and moved the supplies closer, then took hold of Castiel's hand again. "Looks like we might be here a while."
"Yeah. But it's creepy, you know? I thought Purgatory was bad, and he thinks it was practically a cake-walk." Dean shook his head. "Dammit, if that angel bitch was still alive, I would waste her."
"Yeah. Me too. I'd probably race you to take her head." Sam grimaced. "God knows what she did to him, to make him break. I mean..." He looked at Castiel, then shook his head. "He's so strong."
"Yeah. I know." Dean sighed, then shifted to get more comfortable in his chair.
They passed the hours in quiet, taking turns dozing. Dean was drifting in a haze of half-asleep awareness when Castiel's hand clenched suddenly on his. "Dean."
He jerked awake, looking into the angel's face. Castiel's eyes were closed, his expression pained. "Dean."
"Dean?" Sam was awake, his eyes questioning.
"I think this was where we parted in Purgatory. Which means the next stop is Hell 2.0 for him." His gut clenched.
"Yeah. Okay." Sam nodded.
Dean bit his lip, then swore. "Damn it, if I hadn't left him there..."
"Yeah. He might have been okay. But Cas is good at ducking monsters, and he told you he wanted to stay, for penance or whatever. And you had no way of knowing that his own people were gonna grab him and hurt him like this." Sam reached his free hand across and gave his brother a shake. "Hey. Snap out of it. Cas needs you here and now, not off regretting something he told you wasn't your fault a long time ago. Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay. You're right." Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. "Okay."
Fifteen minutes later, Castiel went rigid, back arching against the sheets as he cried out. "No. No, please...don't. Don't!" The words degenerated into a howl of agony. Castiel thrashed, fighting them, then went limp, curling into a ball amidst the sheets. "Please. Stop..."
"Dammit." Dean bit his lip. "What the fuck did she do to him?"
"Who knows. But I'll bet there was a reason his eye was bleeding. Usually Cas gets nosebleeds, doesn't he? When he's not feeling 100 percent?"
Dean swore again. "What the hell? And angels think we're barbarians, I swear." He shook his head, then settled down on the edge of the bed. "Cas, listen up. It's okay. It's okay. You're safe now. Okay? You're safe."
Castiel trembled, then subsided. "Please...no. Don't ask me this." The words were a defeated, exhausted plea, barely audible. "Please..."
And he wept.
Dean sat beside his friend and brushed away the tangled hair that clung to Castiel's face, holding the angel's bandaged hand in his own. He met Sam's eyes, the two of them united in their sorrow for the man they considered family, the man they loved like a brother. Then, by mutual consent, they both settled on opposite sides of the huddled form. It was a tight fit, but Sam's bed was wide, and they managed.
Morning passed into afternoon. Dean passed Sam drinks and snacks when asked, got his own. It was awkward, one-handed, but he wasn't about to let go of Castiel's hand. Together, he and Sam held the angel during his fits of hysterical, tortured thrashing and shuddering pleas, then comforted him afterward.
It was 2 in the afternoon when Castiel blinked open weary eyes and stared up at Dean. He blinked slowly, then freed his hand from Sam's, reached out and touched Dean's face. "I'm sorry Dean."
Dean nodded, remembering how Castiel had touched him like that before. One moment he'd been beating him bloody, poised to stab him. The next, he'd dropped his sword, picked up the tablet, then reached out and touched his face, healing his wounds.
He'd actually flinched when Castiel reached out for him then, and he still regretted it. This time, he took Castiel's arm in a gentle, careful grip. "I know. We're good Cas." Castiel sighed, then his eyes closed as he fell back into unconsciousness.
Dean inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled. "God, I hope Malachai and April were traditionalists." He looked at his brother. "He can't take much more of this crap Sam. This torture...and we've still got to get him through losing his Grace, getting tortured twice, all that...what the hell?"
"We do the best we can. Like we've always done." Sam sighed.
"Yeah. I guess. But I'm gonna have nightmares about this for a while." Dean settled back against the bed. "Damn it...I should feel so awkward about this." He grimaced. "I don't really do this touchy-feely stuff that well." He looked at where his brother perched on the edge of the bed. "Neither do you."
"Yeah, well." Sam shrugged. "Like you said, there's exceptions." He reached over, took a beer, and settled back into place.
Castiel remained mostly quiet as afternoon faded into evening, then night. He groaned every now and then, and mumbled things that his destroyed voice made mostly unintelligible. Then around 5, his eyes abruptly opened. He gasped, then rolled. Dean got the bucket under his head just in time.
Castiel retched, vomited the remains of the Sprite he'd drunk, then coughed and collapsed back into the bed, curled up with his arms wrapped around his abdomen.
"Yikes." Sam disappeared and returned with a newly damped cloth. Together, they coaxed Castiel to lean back against the pillows, and Dean wiped his face. "That looked awful."
Castiel coughed again. "Crowley's angel bullet. That was...unpleasant. And he ripped the tablet out of me with his bare hands. Which was also unpleasant."
"That was when you crash-landed in the road in front of my car, right?"
"It was." Castiel breathed in, a deep, slow, cautious breath. His eyes flickered to the mess in the bucket. "I'm...sorry."
"No worries. That's what it's there for." Dean set the can to the side.
"I should have trusted you." Castiel closed his eyes. "I...regret that."
"Yeah, well...bitch angel screwing with your head. Would make anyone paranoid. Personally, now that I think about it, I think Sammy was right. I should have gone easier on you. Those were rough days man, for all of us. And me being a dick didn't make 'em any easier. So...how about I forgive you for being a paranoid twitchy moron, and you can forgive me for being a douche, and we'll call it even." He smiled at the angel.
Castiel opened his eyes, met his gaze, then nodded. "Of course." His eyes closed again, unconsciousness claiming him as swiftly as it had released him.
An hour later he went through a small convulsion that Dean guessed was the loss of his Grace. They held him through it, then settled him against the pillows once more.
Dean watched him sleep, then sighed. "Dammit. What the hell does it say about what's happened to him, that he just basically slept through the memory of getting his essence ripped out of him the first time?"
"A lot, unfortunately. But maybe...I guess it could be because he's gone low power before?" Sam blinked uncertainly. "I mean, he was practically human in the final Micheal-Lucifer confrontation. Maybe it's something that isn't quite as bad after the first time?"
"I doubt it. But who the hell knows?"
Sam shrugged. "Well, we know he was working with Metatron, and Metatron sent him back to earth before he started the Fall. Maybe he did something that made it easier."
"Maybe." Dean shook his head. "I just don't like the thought that Cas has been hurt so bad that something like that wouldn't bother him."
Sam winced. "Yeah. Me neither." He snapped open a bag of beef jerky, ate two pieces, then sealed it back up. "How bad do you think the whole torture thing will be?"
"No idea. I mean, he was kind of messed up when we found him the first time, but I never saw how bad he looked the second time, so...who knows? I'm more worried about the part where he died again."
"Yeah, well, nothing we can do about it." Sam sighed. "I'm gonna hit the head. Stay with him?"
"Yeah. And then it's my turn."
Sam came back with damp hair and a damp face, noticeably more alert. Dean took the opportunity to scrub water over his own face before rejoining his brother at Castiel's side. "Think it's a bad thing that he didn't wake up again yet?"
"No. I think he's just exhausted." Sam shook the wet strands out of his eyes. "All this...dude, I know what my hell memories were like, and that alone would wear anyone out."
"I hope you're right." Dean let himself pace the room a moment, just to get the restless feeling out of his system a little, then settled back in. Remembering how he had thrown Castiel out of the Bunker, he sat forward, hands resting on the bed near Castiel's. "It's okay Cas. We're here for you."
Several hours later they were both brought out of a light sleep by a whimper, which changed into a groan, and a single muttered word. "Muriel." Then Castiel flinched, cried out. Seconds later his hands clenched into fists. "No...don't...no...don't you dare…Malachai...No!" Blue eyes shot open as Castiel practically lunged forward. Dean caught him before he could tip over the side of the bed.
"Easy there buddy. Easy. That looked pretty bad." He eased the angel back down.
"It was." Castiel sighed, then fell back. There was pain and regret in his face.
Dean handed him the Sprite, and he drank. "So...Malachai...I can guess what that was. Do you want to tell us who Muriel is?"
"No." Castiel shut his eyes, then opened them again. He exhaled, a short sharp breath, and relaxed a little. His hand clenched into the sheets again. "She was...she found me. But she wasn't like the others. She didn't want to hurt me. She didn't blame me. She trusted me. She wanted to help me." He closed his eyes and turned his face, pressing it into the pillow as though he were trying to hide his expression. "Malachai found us both. Captured us both. Tortured us both. He killed her trying to force information from me. Information I didn't have." His jaw clenched, expression tight with anguish. "She didn't deserve to die. She didn't need to die. I couldn't tell them what they wanted to know. I told him that. I told him that I wouldn't have protected the information at the cost of her life."
"Yeah, well, some people are sadistic bastards. It's not your fault." Dean looked at his hands.
"She wouldn't have been killed if she hadn't helped me." regret sharpened Castiel's words to a knife edge.
"Yeah and?" Dean shook his head, then clasped one hand around Castiel's nearer one. "Do you know how many times over the past hours I've sat here thinking that you wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for me? Me and Sam?"
Castiel opened his eyes, turned his head up to look at him. "Dean...this is not your fault. I chose this..."
"Yeah. And this Muriel chick chose to help you. So...if you don't blame me, you can't blame yourself. Deal?" He knew it wasn't that easy, but he had to try. Seeing Cas so broken…
Castiel shook his head. "It's not that simple. None of this is."
"Yeah. Yeah, I know. Welcome to the human race." Dean shook his head. "Look, we all have things we regret, okay?"
Castiel didn't answer. After a moment, Sam spoke softly. "Cas...I hate to ask, but is there anything else...anything you think we need to know about?"
Castiel sighed again, then rolled onto his back with a wince. "I was captured by Metatron. But he didn't do anything to me, aside from hold me prisoner." He frowned, then shook his head. "There's nothing I can recall that was...worse."
"Right. You sleep then." Dean settled back in his chair and set a hand on the bed, near enough that Castiel could take it if he wanted to, or leave it if he wanted to.
"It seems I must." Castiel's eyes closed again.
The rest of the night passed in relative quiet. Every so often, Castiel would shift, muttering in delirious fevered dreams. Sometime around midnight, Sam went and got a cold cloth to put over his forehead. It seemed to help a little.
The new day came, at least by Sam's clock, and Castiel subsided into silence, his face pale and still. Dean touched the fevered cheek, then took his pulse. "Awful slow. Think he'll be okay?"
Sam shook his head. "I don't know. Actually...I've kind of had a bad thought, this last hour or so."
"Yeah? What?"
"Losing his Grace again, having his wings ripped from him, being stripped of everything that made him an angel...that's like dying, right? In an incredibly horrible manner?"
"Yeah. Probably. What's your point?"
Sam looked at Castiel, then at Dean, his eyes wide and concerned. "If he's reliving everything he went through as an angel from a human perspective...what if he relives what Metatron did to him? Do you really think he could survive that?"
"What are you saying? You think it's gonna...kill him?" Dean sat upright from where he'd slouched into the chair.
"I think he must have been in unimaginable pain. Like, 'cause a heart attack it hurts so bad' kind of pain. Or a stroke. I mean, look at how he's reacted to everything else." Sam slashed a hand through the air, indicating Castiel's tortured, sweat-soaked body. "Convulsions, screaming, panic attacks, nightmares...yeah, Dean, I think if he goes through angel death in human form, it could kill him."
"Shit." Dean jerked himself upward, out of his chair. "What do we do? Hospital?"
"Yeah, and tell them what exactly? I'm sorry, my angel buddy got turned into a human and is dying of shock?" Sam bit his lip. "Dean, we don't know what this is going to do to him..."
On the bed, Castiel went suddenly tense. His face went salt-white, and his hands, lying loose on the blankets, clenched into fists. Then his back arched, and he screamed.
"Shit! Sam, help me hold him!" Dean lunged at the bed as Castiel screamed again, convulsing like a man stepping on a live wire. "Cas! Cas! Come on buddy...snap out of it."
Castiel howled again, hands outflung so that he looked like a man being crucified. The brothers watched in horror as he writhed.
Then he froze. Silence descended. And a calm, quiet voice spoke from behind Dean. "It is finished."
Author's Note:Again, my details on the entirety of the series are sketchy, so forgive the errors.
And...cliffhanger...