When Dean awoke, he immediately missed the warm presence beside him, noticing that the surface he was laying on was cold and rock hard and something nearby was giving off an irritating periodic beep. Prying his eyes open, he was greeted by the familiar, unwelcome sight of a hospital room, sterile white walls and perforated ceiling, tacky yellow curtain separating him from the next bed over. There was an IV in his arm, but at least he wasn't hooked up to any of the heavy stuff, and there weren't any tubes where tubes should never go. Aside from an aching in his shoulder, he didn't feel like he was in agonizing pain or anything, so he figured he must be generally okay.

His head felt a little fuzzy, but he remembered everything about the dream, smiling fondly at the memory of what had happened just before waking up (which was kind of a weird perspective, considering he felt like he had just closed his eyes). That had been awesome. Weird, totally outside the realm of his comfort zone, but awesome. He almost resented having to come back to the real world, being thrust back into the middle of the trials, having to see his brother sick again...

Sam.

Dean felt his heart skip a beat, looking around frantically for only a second before he saw him; sleeping upright in an uncomfortable, yellow plastic chair, his arm leaning against the sink counter with his face buried in the crook of his elbow was his gargantuan little brother, wrapped in a thin hospital blanket.

"Hey," Dean croaked, his throat parched and sore from the combination of disuse and dry hospital air.

Sam grunted and jerked upright, disoriented for a moment before focusing on his brother. "H-hey, you okay?"

Dean smiled as his younger sibling wiped at his eyes and rubbed the drool off his chin, looking like a little kid woken from a nap.

"Yeah, I think so," Dean responded, coughing to clear his throat, "did you gank her?"

Sam shook his head wearily. "No, she got away after she got you. I uh, I don't think it was a Djinn. I did some more research while you were out, and I think it was a Naga."

Dean frowned, remembering that Cas had said more or less the same in the maybe-the-future-and-maybe-not-so-much dream.

"How long was I out?"

"Not long, maybe..." Sam checked his watch, squinting sleepily at the digital display, "twenty-ish hours?"

Dean nodded, pushing himself up and rubbing his sore shoulder, finding it taped over with gauze. It lined up with what he remembered from his 'dream', for whatever that was worth. It had been early afternoon when he'd first woken in the 'dream', and mid-morning by the time he and Cas had finally drifted off, followed by Dean waking up here in the hospital.

"Great," he sighed, pulling the IV out of his arm and dropping off the bed to his feet, a little unsteady but otherwise managing, "let's get the hell out of here. I'm starving. Also, we gotta talk."

Sam gave him a puzzled bitchface, but didn't argue, getting Dean's clothes from the bag he'd brought in and letting Dean get dressed before they both made their quiet exit from the hospital before anyone could ask them any questions.

Dean continued to shove fries in his face as Sam stared at him, speechless. Dean had told him everything about his pseudo-prophetic dream (but left out the small detail about how future Dean was banging future Cas). He'd explained how Cas had told him Sam died completing the third trial, trying to cure Crowley.

"That's," Sam started, scrutinizing his older brother with his eyes, "that's crazy, Dean! Cure a demon? I mean, that can't even be possible! And besides, even if it was, so what? I'm going to finish the trials. You had a dream, that's all. A really bizarre, detailed dream. I mean, you're not really expecting to throw away everything we've done here just because you hallucinated that it was gonna go South on us?"

"I'm not so sure it was a hallucination," Dean explained around a mouthful of bread and ground beef, "you said what we thought was a Djinn was actually a Naga, right? Cas said the same thing in my dream."

"Are you sure?" Sam pressed, giving his brother a skeptical eye, "your mind could just be remembering it that way now because you want to believe it was real."

"That's bullshit," Dean countered, "I remember it like I remember driving to Wamego. I spent a whole day there, Sam. I remember waking up there alone, I remember searching the place, Cas coming home from church, Charlie dropping by... I remember little details, photographs, the colour of the walls, and we had these butt-ugly green glasses with the bumps on the outside and like this diamond pattern around the top..."

Sam shook his head, still giving Dean a look of total disbelief. "Dean, look. Even if it was real, and that's still up for debate, but if it was? I am doing this. I have to. We've made it too far now to back down, I'm closing the gates of Hell, even if it does kill me."

The elder Winchester sighed, pushing his mostly empty plate away and clasping his hands in front of him on the table, locking eyes with the younger.

"Sammy," he said, pausing to find the words he wanted to say, "look. I know I've sorta got proof I can do this without you, but man - I really don't want to. We'll research it, okay? We'll call Kevin, let him know what we know, he can confirm it on the tablet and maybe we can look for a way to do this that doesn't end with you dying."

Sam stayed reticent for a long while, staring out the window into the parking lot of the diner. Not for the first time, Dean wished he had the power to see what his brother was thinking. Sam was tired, Dean could see that much. Hell, Dean was tired, too. They'd both spent pretty much their entire lives doing this, anonymously sacrificing every shred of normalcy and happiness they might have had for the sake of the rest of the world.

Finally, Sam let out a long sigh, nodding his head. "Yeah, all right, Dean. We'll look into it. But... but if we can't find a way, I'm still doing it anyway, and I want you to let me."

Steely hazel eyes held Dean's, unwavering and intense. Dean sighed and nodded.

"All right, little brother," he submitted, "all right. We look into it, talk to Kevin. If we can, we do this without killing you. If we can't figure it out..."

"We close the gates anyway," Sam reaffirmed.

"Right," Dean murmured begrudgingly, not agreeing in the slightest.

Back at the bunker, Dean continued to pray to Castiel, needing to speak to him about what he'd seen, terrified that it might already be too late. Head-Sam (when the hell did Sam become a regular guest-star in his head, anyway?) reminded him that in the future-dream thing, Cas had come to them before Metatron had gotten his hooks in the angel, but Dean hoped he might be able to head off this track before his angel got hurt.

"Cas," he sighed, frustrated, sitting on the edge of his bed, "look, man. I'm pretty sure you can hear me. I know you're moving around a lot, and I know you can't really stop. I get it, okay? I know it's not that you don't, uh, trust me... I get that now. I know you're just trying to keep us safe, and keep the tablet safe, too. But... I really, really need to talk to you. You know my number man, if you can't drop in, at least, you know, gimme a call? Please, you have no idea how important this is, and uh, I really don't wanna take the chance that someone else might be listening..."

Dean waited, watching his phone hopefully as it sat on the night stand beside his bed, willing it to ring, willing it to be Cas.

It never did.

They'd been trying Kevin for two days straight after leaving the hospital in Wamego, and the kid still hadn't called them back. Dean was starting to worry that something might have happened, and on the the third day his fears were validated when they received an automated video mail informing them that something had happened and the prophet was likely dead.

"Everything's happening the way Cas said it would - the Naga, the trial, Kevin disappearing..." Dean said as he paced back and forth along the length of the war-room table, shooting his brother accusatory looks. They'd found the film reels in the bunker's store rooms, showing in detail the steps to curing a demon. It wasn't pretty, but it looked like they were going to be able to pull it off - now they just needed to get their hands on the King of Hell and figure out a way to cure him without killing Sam.

The aforementioned younger hunter sighed, slumping into his blanket in the chair and closing his eyes. "I called Garth yesterday, he said he was on the way back to Warsaw and he'd call us back when he got there."

"Not good enough, Sam," Dean bit back, "I know Crowley's got him, we need to figure out where he is and bust him out."

Sam opened his sunken, blood-shot eyes and glared impatiently up at his brother. "You said we found Metatron, and that Metatron rescued him."

"I'm not trusting that ass-hat, Sammy," Dean growled. "I told you what he did to Cas, to all the angels!"

"So we keep him on a leash, Dean!" Sam all but shouted, sending him into a fit of coughing that hit squarely on Dean's guilt button.

"Look," the younger man continued once he'd recovered, "from everything you've told me - if it's all true - it looks like we're gonna need this guy to get anywhere. Cas still isn't answering, right?"

Dean made it a point to let Sam know he was not looking at him, but said nothing to disagree with the statement. Not like it was any great secret, but he hadn't actually told Sam he'd still been praying to Castiel this whole time, even after the angel had disappeared with the tablet.

"We need an edge here, Dean, and I get that we can't trust him - other than Cas I don't trust any of the angels, but we need Metatron. We need him to find Kevin, to finish the trials. If we can't find Metatron or Kevin and the tablet, I'm going to do it regardless."

Dean sighed, resigning to the ultimatum. He could try, but he wouldn't be able to keep Sam under lock and key forever; Sam was just as resourceful as he was, and twice as determined when he set his mind to something. His little brother was right, again, and the only way they were going to get through this was to tread a careful path along a very dangerous edge.

Dean was always impressed by how smart Sam was, even if he never outwardly said it. It was a source of pride that his little brother had managed to thrive at Stanford, despite the way they'd been raised. It was almost uncanny that Sam had managed to put together the scant clues from Kevin's notes and correlate them to what he knew of Native American lore and symbology (talk about freaking random) and track the rogue angel to a reservation town in the mountains.

At Sam's insistence, Dean kept his mouth shut when they finally confronted Metatron in a creepy, mostly empty hotel in the middle of nowhere, but made it a point to mentally flip the angel the bird every time Metatron glanced his way (I hope you can feel this, because I'm doing it as hard as I can).

Dean couldn't help but wonder how this cheeseball (who uncannily reminded him of an extra from Revenge of the Nerds) had managed to pull the fleece over Cas. He was jumpy, paranoid and possessing some old fat guy, completely not what the hunter had envisioned when he'd pictured the Scribe of God (he'd sorta half expected Alan Rickman).

To Dean's frustration, Sam had been right yet again; Metatron confirmed that the third trial was, indeed, to cure a demon. Even more infuriating, the angel had gone out of his way to retrieve Kevin Tran from Crowley's clutches, seemingly just in the knick of time, but ditched out on them like a pussy before they could ask him about getting through the trial in one piece.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean swore, kicking every inanimate object that dared crossed his path as they made their way out of the hotel and back to the car, "we were that close! What the hell did we do to the universe to make it hate us so freaking much?"

"We're not screwed yet," Kevin said, grinning from ear to ear, "we've still got the tablet. You jerks didn't really think I'd be stupid enough keep it with me, did you?"

Dean returned the prophet's slightly unhinged smile, and together the three of them went to retrieve the tablet from where Kevin had buried it for safe-keeping beneath a very ironic road sign.

The next road marker on their precarious path to the future Dean had witnessed came as Dean, Sam and Kevin were making their way back to the bunker from Warsaw.

Swerving to avoid the beige lump that had appeared abruptly in the road ahead of the Impala, Dean's heart leapt into his throat, thundering hard enough to make him worry about brain damage from the reverberations as they beat their way through his skull.

He knew this part; Cas had just escaped from Crowley and Naomi, he was hurt and defeated and had just lost the freaking angel tablet to the King of Hell. Suddenly, Dean was pissed.

He threw the driver's side door open, marching toward the wounded angel laying in the middle of the road, anger burning away any relief he might have felt in finding his angel. He knew Cas had heard his prayers - future Cas had told him as much. Current Cas had just chosen to ignore him despite everything he'd prayed to the fucker.

"Cas, what the fuck!?" Dean raged as he closed the distance, fists balling at his sides. "I've been calling you for weeks, you can't pick up a goddamn phone?"

Castiel turned impatient, surly eyes up at the hunter and grunted irritably. "A little help, here?"

Dean swore angrily, but bent down to help his friend up, bracing him as he walked him back to the Impala and deposited him into the back seat beside Kevin. The angel was covered in blood, his lips dotted with red, complexion pale and making the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more, his hair plastered to his forehead, damp with sweat. Dean wasn't sure if he'd ever seen the guy look any worse. He'd looked rough in Purgatory, had the whole Mountain Man thing going on with the scruffy beard and wild hair, but even then he hadn't looked quite so tired and beat down.

"You look like crap," Kevin observed.

"Thank you," Cas replied sarcastically.

Dean shoved down the pride he felt at his angel's casual snark. He was still pissed that Cas had blatantly ignored him, but a smile managed to sneak its way onto his face regardless.

Having Cas back was distracting, and Dean found himself fighting the urge to go and wake the angel and shove words in his ears.

As soon as they returned to the bunker, the angel had passed out in a spare room, dismissing Dean's offer to help with his wounds. Dean really wanted to discuss things with Castiel, to tell him about Metatron, about the spell to make the angels fall, and, more personally, about what he'd seen of the two of them in the future.

Dean was convinced that that his dream had been a glimpse of the future, now. Sam seemed inclined to put his faith in Dean's prophetic dream now, too. Everything Future-Cas had told him about what was happening now, and it was almost one-hundred percent accurate. He had already changed things, though - they'd recovered the demon tablet ahead of schedule and Kevin was already confirming what Dean had known and Metatron had said about the third trial, searching for a way around the part where the person performing the trials had to die at the end.

Dean, Sam and Kevin were seated at the map table the morning after they'd found Cas in the road, going over possibilities and ideas, looking for any loopholes in the trials or spells in the archives that might work to their advantage.

Sam remained as recalcitrant as ever, insisting that the gates were closing one way or another.

Dean tried to ignore this for the time being, enjoying his toaster waffles and bacon as he went over what he remembered from his dream.

"Good morning, Dean," greeted a hopeful, gravely voice from behind the hunter. "I uh, I like your bunker."

Dean turned to look at the angel over his shoulder, trying to maintain his scowl in the other man's presence. He wanted to be angry, to show Cas how pissed off he was, but he was too tired and too glad to see him again to keep the fire burning for long. Now was as good a time as any to say what he needed to say, he supposed. He stood, taking Cas by the arm and leading him into the kitchen where they'd have a little more privacy to talk.

Cas' eyes skittered uncomfortably around the room, looking anywhere other than directly at Dean. The hunter could see that Cas was embarrassed, ashamed of himself for ignoring Dean's prayers, but Dean wasn't having it, not over this.

"Why'd you ignore me, Cas," he asked, pinning the angel with his glare.

"I wasn't-" Castiel stammered, "I had to keep moving... I didn't-"

"Yeah, I know," Dean cut him off. "If I'd had time, I'd have driven up to the Biggerson's in Topeka and tackled you when you popped in. It'd have taken you like two minutes to pick up a goddamn phone and call me!"

Castiel's shoulders slumped as he stared down at his shoes. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean huffed. "You're always sorry. Well, sorry ain't gonna cut it this time, Cas."

Cas looked stung by this, but Dean needed to get his point across before it was too late. They were already on Metatron's radar, so everything hinged on getting through Cas' thick, feather-stuffed skull.

"I told you it was fucking important, Cas!" Dean said, his tone softening despite willing himself to hold onto his anger. Cas looked so much like a kicked puppy that he found his resolve wavering under the angel's watery, pouting gaze. He sighed, letting his concern take the driver's seat for a while as he raised his hand to brush his fingers lightly against his angel's face.

Castiel seemed startled by the gesture, confusion twisting his expression as he cocked his head curiously to the side, glancing between the hunter's hand and face. Dean cleared his throat and dropped his hand, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

The Naga's dream combined with a few of Dean's own, er, more creative daydreams had led him to imagine this going a little differently, but he supposed there was still a hell of a bridge between this Castiel and the Cas of the future. One step at a time, he reminded himself.

"Look," he sighed, starting over whilst keeping his hands to himself, "I told you I needed you, and I meant it, Cas. We're family... more than family. I wanna help you, man! I told you not to shut me out like this."

"Dean, it was not my intention to-"

"Gimme a chance to finish, please," Dean pleaded. "I know you were trying to protect us, okay? I get that. I just-"

"Dean!" Sam burst in before Dean could finish. "Dean. You were right - I just got a call from Crowley. It's Jody, sheriff Mills, he-"

Dean turned back to Castiel and gave him a poignant look, pointing his index finger at him. "Stay here, we're not done talking yet. Keep an eye on the kid."

He turned his back and followed after his brother, missing the crushed and desolate look on the angel's face, disappearing from the kitchen as Dean and Sam rushed out to deal with the King of Hell.

"You promised me you wouldn't do this, Sam!"

Dean was seething, pacing back and forth in front of the daïs in the shabby, run-down little church on the shores of Lake Clinton.

"I told you I would try," Sam corrected his brother calmly as he laid out the tools he would need to complete the purification ritual. "We've got Crowley, this is our chance! I'm not gonna let this slip out of our hands now, not when we're this close!"

"Hi," the demon in question drawled in his lilting Scottish accent, "right here, Moose. Crowley. King of Hell?"

"Shut up," the brothers turned toward the shackled demon and shouted in unison.

"What I'm trying to say is," Sam continued, "if we sit on this too long, we might lose our shot at this. I already told you, Dean, shutting down Hell is more important than finding a way around the trials, it's more important than us - more important than me!"

Dean clenched his jaw, trying desperately to remain stolid in the face of Sam's insidious puppy dog eyes, but he knew his brother was right. He didn't have to like it, and he'd keep arguing for the sake of arguing, but Sam was right about this being important. He tried to imagine what it would be like, letting Sam go, tried to picture how it would feel to stand by as Sam finished the third trial and sacrificed his life.

He couldn't.

"I'm gonna go get some more salt," Dean murmured, then left his brother and the complaining demon in the chapel and made his way out to the Impala parked out in front.

Things were moving too quickly into the future for Dean's liking, he was beginning to panic at how fast they were approaching the end, frustrated that he still hadn't said what he'd needed to say to Cas. It had already been almost twelve hours since they'd received the call from Crowley, threatening their old friend from Sioux Falls. Dean had begun to worry about Cas and Kevin back at the bunker, desperate to continue his conversation with Cas before it was too late. Already they were moving into the realm of no return, and from what he'd learned in his dream, Cas had done the 'angel trials' pretty much at the same time he and Sam were working on the third demon trial.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed Kevin's number and waited, the young prophet picking up on the fourth ring.

"I don't have it yet," Kevin greeted blandly, a hint of frustration in his tone.

"No," Dean sighed, "I didn't figure. Hey, can you put Cas on for a minute? I need to talk to him."

"Cas?" the prophet puzzled back. "I haven't seen Cas since you guys left."

"What!?" Dean yelled into the receiver, gripping the phone so tight that a hairline fracture danced across the screen. "What do you mean you haven't seen him? Fuck!"

Dean didn't even wait for a response, throwing his phone across the overgrown lot, pulling at his hair with a growl of frustration.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, bearing his teeth at the sky, "Damn it, Cas, if you can still hear me, I need you to get your feathery ass down here now, man... I need to talk to you!"

"Dean."

The hunter whirled at the sound of his name, coming face to face with the angel. Cas looked more harried and disheveled than usual; shoulders slumped, hair a mess, trench coat wrinkled and looking desperate and exhausted.

Dean sighed, flexing his fingers and taking a moment to breathe before addressing the angel, but Cas spoke first.

"Dean, I need your help," he said hurriedly, taking a step closer to the hunter. "Naomi.. she took Metatron - we were attempting to complete the trials to close Heaven's gates. I need to-"

The rage returned full force. "You've been talking to Metatron!?"

Castiel frowned, a confused expression taking place of the desperation. "Yes, that's why-"

"Damn it, Cas! That's what I've been trying to talk to you about! Metatron is using you! You've gotta stop, man - this isn't gonna end well!"

Castiel frowned, squaring up his shoulders. "Dean. I understand. I don't want to leave without resolving things between us, either, but this is for the be-"

"You dumb son of a bitch," Dean swore, getting into Castiel's face, giving him a firm shove with both hands, "why don't you ever listen to me? Why can't you just trust me for once?"

"I'm sorry," Castiel said sympathetically, "I do trust you, but I have to do this. I had hoped you would help me. Once the gates are closed, I will not be able to return. I suppose... this is good-bye, Dean. Thank you for everything."

"Cas, wait, I-" Dean tried, desperately reaching out to grab the angel's arm before he disappeared, but it was too late - Cas had already winged out.

"Fuck."

Hours ticked by.

Dean tried and tried to reach Castiel again, praying to the angel with the details of what he knew of Metatron's plan and even going so far as to try and reach the one or two other angels he had come to think of as sort-of-friendly over the years in an effort to keep his friend from destroying his home. No one was answering. Or maybe it was already too late.

Unable to watch his brother deteriorate as the ritual dragged on and on, Dean removed himself to the front lot, resting back against the hood of the car. Pretty soon, this car and the bunker would be all he had left of his home. He had no doubt he'd see Cas again, one way or another, but it didn't look like he was going to be able to save Heaven, or his brother. It went without saying, he was feeling pretty fucking useless.

Just as he felt the last threads of optimism fray and break away, his phone began to ring somewhere in the tall grass beyond the Impala.

Dean scrambled for it, digging through the tangled brush until he found it. The screen was black from where the LCD had burst on impact, but it was still receiving the call from... whoever was calling him.

"Hello?"

"Dean," Kevin's voice rang through the line, sounding excited. Dean's spirits lifted, hope fluttering through his chest once more.

"Kevin, thank God. Please tell me you have good news..."

"I think so," Kevin confirmed, "There's a passage on the tablet pertaining to binding a soul in place. It's listed directly after the third trial, so I think it might be what you're looking for. It's in Enochian, kinda hard to pronounce, but uh, you got a pen handy?"

"Yeah," Dean grinned, running back toward the car, "yeah just gimme a sec."

Things were finally starting to look up.

Enochian sucks.

Dean made it a point to make this observation to his brother multiple times as Kevin walked him through the spell that might be their only chance at getting Sam through the trials alive. There were so many twists and turns, weird rolls of the tongue that Dean was fairly sure weren't intended for human mouths to accommodate.

This shit is Cas' native language, he thought, amused at the idea. He'd heard his angel speak it a few times before, like that time in the hick town with the Whore, but he still had trouble thinking of it as an actual language.

The eighth hour was rapidly approaching, and Dean finally felt like he had a handle on things with the incantation. It required a sacrifice of human blood in a brass bowl over an assortment of herbs that were, coincidentally, almost identical to the stuff they kept in the trunk on the off-chance they ever needed a demon-summoning ritual.

Dean supposed it was probably best not to look a gift horse in the mouth when you were at the end of your rope.

"You really sure about this, Sam?" Dean asked as he mixed the ingredients for the spell into the bowl on the dais, watching as his brother drew the final vial of blood from his arm. Crowley had been quiet over the last hour; it was disturbing as hell, watching the King of Hell fall apart under all the guilt he'd built up on his tab over however long the fucker'd been alive, begging for forgiveness and outright sobbing. At best, Dean saw Crowley as an annoying little prick, the enemy they kept close when it was to their advantage. He knew better to under-estimate the demon, but seeing him break over the course of the ritual, desperate for absolution, it made Dean taste bile on the back of his tongue.

Sam glanced up, looking more haggard than Dean had ever seen him. The last few hours had been the worst, seeming to sap the last shreds of his brother's vitality with each infusion until he resembled a walking corpse. He tried not to let his hopes get too high, but he was putting everything he had into praying this spell Kevin had found actually worked.

Dean kept trying to reach Cas, even convincing Kevin to try praying to the angel, but despite the desire to throw his hands in the air and start screaming out his frustration until he passed out, Sam needed him, too.

So, as the clock ticked the last few seconds, both hunters steeled themselves, readying for the worst and hoping for the best.

Dean nodded, lighting the candles placed on either side of the bowl and flattening out the piece of note paper he'd written the incantation on. The words still felt clumsy on his tongue, but he could feel the energy building up within the room as he spoke the alien syllables, placing the lock of hair he'd clipped from Sam's shaggy mop on top of the colourful powders in the bowl. The incantation wasn't exactly short, either, and Dean was only about halfway through it when Sam stuck the syringe into the side of Crowley's neck.

He struck a match as he continued, watching as Sam drew his pocket knife across the palm of his hand, waiting for the agreed-upon signal as the blood pooled in his hand. Dean dropped the match into the bowl and the concoction flared up, a deep purple hue tinting the flames.

Sam nodded, the strangest combination of fear and hope in his eyes as he clapped his bloodied hand over the King of Hell's mouth. Dean took up the silver blade in front of him, cutting his own palm and letting his blood drip into the fire.

The instant Sam's hand made the connection and Dean's own blood ignited, Dean felt something cold tug sharply at his insides, his voice nearly failing him as he the air was sucked out of him. He saw the flash of light emit from the former demon, signalling the end of the purification ritual, and nearly screamed as Sam dropped.

Fighting the urge to run to his brother's side, he continued the words of the spell, choking down his fear and fighting to remain conscious as the edges of his vision began to gray and fade. His bones felt like they were on fire, pumping acid through his veins, a rabid badger fighting to claw its way out of his skull.

If this kills me and you make it through, Sammy, you better damn well take care of Cas, he thought furiously, chuckling internally at the irony of it all. This may or may not keep Sam alive, but from the looks of things, Dean was going to die trying to save his brother. So much for knowing the future, huh?

He barely managed to rasp out the final words of the spell before the world fell away, and everything faded to black.

Consciousness came to him gradually, a slow dance to the tune of the war drums marching through his head. Every inch of him felt thick, pulled taught, like crawling out of his own grave all over again. Thought seemed foreign at first, bubbling up from the depths of his mind like swamp emissions, stagnant and murky.

"Dean?" a familiar voice crawled weakly toward him across the dusty, debris-littered floorboards of the church, settling over him like a shroud of cold comfort.

He coughed, took a shuddering breath as he felt a pair of hands grip him and raise him upright through the darkness. He was woozy, and he was pretty sure he'd puked at some point.

That's when he felt the first impact, like a mortar shell hitting the Earth somewhere not far from the church.

Recollection flooded Dean with awareness, locking eyes with his hell-worn - but very much alive - younger brother.

"Sammy," he slurred, fighting to get to his feet, "Sam... what-"

"I dunno," the younger hunter returned, looking every bit as freaked out as Dean now felt, "it just started a few minutes ago..."

"Cas," Dean's mind insisted urgently, "fuck, CASTIEL!"

Adrenaline surged, propelling him upright as he launched himself at the church door, dreading the notion that was welling up that where he'd succeeded in saving his brother's life, he'd failed in saving his angel.

He wrenched the door open, staggering through it and all but falling down the stairs, Sam at his heel as he caught sight of the blackened sky overhead; hundreds, thousands of meteors were streaking across the sky, brilliant balls of fire on a direct collision course with the ground. To the casual observer, it would have been beautiful, breathtaking - but to Dean, it was the most tragic thing he had ever witnessed.

"What," Sam breathed, flummoxed, "is that-"

"Angels," Dean confirmed, choking back the heartbreak that he had failed Cas yet again, "they're falling. All of them."

They stood in stunned silence, watching the angels fall, surrounded by the fires of their burning Grace.

"Sam, stay here. I gotta find Cas."

"Dean," Sam grabbed his shoulder, stilling his older brother, "dude, you can barely walk..."

Dean shrugged him off and made his way toward the lake despite his brother's admonition, determined to find his angel.

He hadn't made it far before he began to question the logic of his ambition, but he kept going regardless of the fact that his bones felt more or less like they'd been ground to powder and glued back together with hot bacon grease. The longer he kept going the worse he felt, and he wondered briefly what exactly Kevin's spell had done to him - not that it really mattered, considering Sam was still breathing. Sam breathing was a very, very good thing.

It took forever, but about two miles around the lake he finally saw what he was looking for, both relieved and distraught as he caught sight of the figure walking toward him around the lake shore.

Cas looked nearly catatonic with grief, trench coat disheveled and covered in blood and dirt, dried leaves and bits if detritus clinging to his more-tousled-than-usual hair. He stopped when he saw Dean, only a few yards away - almost close enough to touch - but he only stared at the hunter, fingers flexing at his sides, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as though deciding whether to stay or run away.

"Cas," Dean breathed, his throat constricting tight around the single syllable.

Castiel's face caved in on itself as the fallen angel shattered under the weight of his guilt, a dry, broken sob bursting from his chest as he dropped to his knees on the muddy shore.

"I'm sorry, Dean!" he cried, and Dean's heart broke in two at the sight of his friend brought so low, "I'm so sorry!"

Dean sighed, moving to stand in front of his friend and knelt down, drawing his angel into his arms.

Castiel flinched at the contact, but Dean refused to let go and eventually the angel relented, burying himself in the hunter's chest. Dean stroked his hair, occasionally murmuring some comforting bullshit words into his ear as he wept over the loss of his home, his family, his identity, for not listening to the one person he'd given his trust to.

"Shh," Dean murmured, as Cas finally began to quiet, "you're okay. I've got you, Cas... you're gonna be okay..."

Dean did mention that Sam was the smart one, right?

Maybe ten minutes after Dean found Castiel wandering along the edge of the lake, he heard the familiar low rumble of the Impala's 325 horses amble across the beach towards them. He was still holding onto his angel, who had quieted some but refused to let go of him, hands fisted in his shirt as though Dean were the only thing keeping him from sinking through the crust of the Earth and into Hell.

The falling angels were becoming less and less frequent, and Dean did all he could to shield Castiel with his arms each time fire streaked across the sky, pulling him back in against every time the angel tried to look up, to see which direction the impact had come from. He was grateful to Sam, who stayed in the car, cutting the engine and waited for his brother and the angel until they were ready to get up and go. There was no rush, after all - Hell was closed. There weren't going to be any demons coming after them now.

Dean wasn't sure how long it actually took before the skies cleared and the thunder died away, but his ass was freezing from sitting on the cold, wet ground, and his knees were beginning to hurt from being at an awkward angle for so long.

"Cas, hey," he urged softly, gently pushing the angel back a few inches by his shoulders, ducking his head to try to find a hint of blue eyes beneath the mess of brown hair and crackling emotion. He smiled a smile he didn't really feel when he saw the dull, vacant blue orbs meet his gaze; he looked shell-shocked, and more than a little checked out at the moment.

Dean took a deep breath to steady himself. "Hey. We have to get moving, 'kay? Let's go home, Cas."

Castiel frowned, and Dean found himself brushing his fingers through his angel's hair, combing out the leaves and other bits of debris, brushing away the few stray tears that rolled down his cheek with the pad of his thumb. For a moment, Dean thought he might start sobbing again, his shoulders hitching as his eyes watered, lips pulled inward and brow furrowed.

"I can't go home, Dean," he growled softly, "I no longer have a home... I-"

"Shh," Dean interjected, "that's bullshit, Cas. Of course you still have a home. You've always had a home with me and Sammy."

At that, Castiel did begin to cry again, bowing his head. He didn't make a sound, but Dean could see the tell-tale shuddering beneath the too-large trench coat. He sighed, wrapping his arms around the angel again and pressing his lips against Castiel's thick, coarse hair. He didn't know if it had been the right thing to say, but it wasn't any less true.

The sun floated above the horizon by the time they finally made it to the highway, painting the tarmac in gold and orange through the pink clouds that dotted the morning sky.

Dean felt like crap, and for the first time in months it seemed like Sam was the better off of the two of them, so he was more than content to let his little brother take the wheel to get them home. He still didn't seem one-hundred percent, but his eyes had lost the dull full haze that had clouded them since the second trial, and already his colour had significantly improved.

When asked what had become of Crowley after he had completed the purification ritual, Sam explained that the former King of Hell refused to leave the chapel, locking himself into one of the confessionals to pray, beginning a self-ascribed never-ending quest for forgiveness.

Dean almost felt bad leaving him behind, but then he remembered all the shit the former demon had put them through and decided that leaving him alive was more than the bastard deserved to begin with.

They were all tired. Dean had crawled into the back seat with Castiel once he'd finally pulled him up off the ground, but the newly fallen angel refused to give up his grip on the hunter, clinging like a scared little kid.

He hadn't said a word the entire trip, falling asleep at some point between Lake Clinton and Lebanon, wedged under Dean's arm with his face buried in the lapel of the hunter's jacket. Dean scowled in defiance every time his brother shot him a questioning look in the rear-view mirror, outright glaring when he caught Sam smirking at the sight of his brother and the fallen angel wrapped around each other in the back seat.

It had been almost a week since Cas had left his room voluntarily, and even involuntarily, it was only Dean who could manage to coax him out to shower or, on one occasion, eat at the table with them.

It seemed like Cas was going through the motions; he ate, showered and slept the amount prescribed by his human friends, but did little else besides.

He hadn't spoken more than a dozen words since the Winchesters had brought him back to the bunker, and Dean could see that he was heading down a dark, dangerous path. A path that led to bridges and sharp objects and drugs and alcohol and lascivity.

You 'talked me down from the bridge'.

Dean sighed, tapping his pen against the base of the lamp on his desk. Dean had considered from the start having Cas stay in his room, keep him close, and not solely for the purpose of being close to the angel. He had ended up deciding on putting his friend in the room adjacent to his own, where Cas might be able to find some peace to sort through his guilt, close enough that Dean could be at his side in an instant if he was needed, or that if Castiel decided to come to Dean, he wouldn't have to go far.

It was hard, watching his closest living friend spiral into such a deep depression. For the first few days, he, Sam and Kevin would take shifts keeping an eye on Castiel. Mostly, it was Dean staying up as long as he could, sitting with Cas, or just sitting in his own bed across the hall with his door open, pretending to read while he kept his eyes focused intently on Castiel's door, trying to devise a way to keep the fallen angel from detonating on himself.

The worst was dealing with the panic attacks. Cas hadn't been kidding when he'd told Dean it had been bad.

The first had struck him the day they'd brought him back to the bunker. Dean had tasked Kevin with cleaning out the spare room for the angel while Dean stayed with him on one of the sofas in the library. Dean had just been sitting with him quietly and asked if Cas wanted to try and eat anything.

Cas had flipped out, pulling away from Dean and railing at him in Enochian for a good five minutes before he finally trailed off, breaking down again and looking so lost. He had been absolutely inconsolable until finally Dean had coaxed him into his new room and managed to get him into bed.

He'd slept for an entire day afterward.

It was now the sixth day.

Dean found him exactly where he'd expected, seated on the edge of the bed in his room, hands folded in his lap, head bowed and shoulders slumped, staring into space with a vacant expression on his face. He seemed to be getting worse with each new day, each new human experience, and Dean was desperate to find a way to break him out of it.

For the last week, Dean had tried to give the fallen angel room to breathe, not crowding his personal space and allowing him to come to terms with his new situation, but it didn't appear to be working; it seemed more like it was making things worse.

Today, instead of standing by the door and talking his friend out of his shell, he let himself into the room and sat down on the bed beside Castiel, putting an arm around him and gently pulling him against his side. He and Sam had talked about it the night before, and Sam had explained, drawing from his experience being possessed by Lucifer, that angels were almost like a hive-mind; they were all connected to one another to a degree, no matter how far removed they were from the host. What Dean referred to as 'Angel Radio' was really more like a collective consciousness, and Cas had just been abruptly and rudely cut off from that collective and was probably going through a sort of withdrawl from the connection he'd had for millenia.

Dean watched his friend's face for any sign of resistance to the invasion of his personal bubble, but Cas simply closed his eyes, actually seeming to relax against him somewhat. Dean said nothing, glad to just offer this bit of comfort where he could.

"Why are you keeping me here, Dean," Cas rasped after a long stretch of silence.

Dean glanced down at the fallen angel, who hadn't moved since laying his head on Dean's shoulder. It was the most words he'd strung together at once since before Dean had brought him home.

"Why do you think?" Dean asked back, bringing up his other arm to encircle the other man.

Castiel seemed to give it considerable thought before answering, "I don't know. I'm not of any use to you any longer. My Grace is gone... I am... 'Mojo-less'."

Dean really did try not to chuckle at the expression, compromising by giving his friend a brief, light squeeze in his embrace.

"You're not useless, Cas," Dean sighed. "I still need you, Mojo or no Mojo."

"Why."

Dean sighed. He'd considered this very conversation over the last few days. The last couple of weeks, really. Ever since the Naga's dream, he'd thought about what he'd learned in his brief visit to the future. Given everything that had happened since Wamego, he knew that he had, in fact, seen his future. Not this future, obviously things had changed. Sam wasn't gone, Dean hadn't set fire to anything and they hadn't gone to Michigan (which, Dean reminded himself, he really should call Charlie soon).

The one thing that he hadn't been able to change was possibly even more devestating, though. True, losing Sam would have destroyed Dean for a long time, but he knew he would have gotten past it. His future self had, and had even managed to find something good out of everything that had happened.

His future self had been happy, becaue of Castiel.

Castiel's future self had been happy, too, because of Dean.

He'd seen it, even held onto it for just a moment, and now that he was this close to it again, he wanted to grasp onto it and never let go.

Pick two, he thought to himself bitterly, you can't have it all.

Dean sighed, burying his face in the tangle of Castiel's hair. "Because I do, Cas. Because you're you, and I love you."

Castiel pulled away slowly, a contemplative frown marring his brow as he searched the hunter's eyes for meaning.

Dean knew he was bad at words; trying to explain himself would just make this more complicated, more difficult to get across.

So, foregoing words, he let his actions do the explaining, leaning in as his fingers traced lightly against the stubble along his angel's jawline, his heart beating a staccato rhythm in his chest as their lips pressed together, chaste and warm and hopefully conveying all the words Dean didn't know how to say. He felt Castiel tense against him and almost pulled away, but then the angel relaxed, becoming pliant as his lips returned the warmth of the kiss.

Dean smiled as he pulled back a few inches, his angel's lips chasing after the warmth that still lingered after the connection had been broken.

Two out of three wasn't so bad, and Dean had a feeling that, given enough time, everything was going to be just fine.

This was a start.

(A/N: Whew! That was one hell of a montage. I realise that it ends kind of abruptly, but honestly I felt like it was a fitting ending for this fic, considering we sort of started at an end, why not end with a beginning?

I'm considering doing an epilogue of sorts, if there's enough interest in finding out what happens next ;)

Don't forget to review and let me know how you liked it! I'm sorry it got pretty angsty there for a bit, and the spell was kind of a cop-out, but you know what? I love Sammy, even though Dean and Cas are my favs, Sammy's part of the deal in anything that involves Dean. You guys had to know I wouldn't leave him dead, right? Right.

Fucking hell, I can't believe this thing got so big so fast o_O So yeah, lemme know if ya'll wanna see that epilogue.)