A/N: I meant to finish this last week, before I left on my mini-vacation. Whoops. I hope this chapter is worth the wait!

I crave feedback, will give virtual cookies to reviewers. And maybe my soul.

Dean brought the Impala to a halt in font of Bobby's with the screeching of tires and the acrid smell of burning rubber. He fumbled with the door handle, spilling ungracefully out into the salvage yard, stumbling up the steps.

His shaking hands nearly tore the door off its hinges.

"Cas?" He bellowed.

The prone form on the couch flinched and Bobby shot him a nervous, startled glance. Like he was sitting in a room with two nuclear warheads.

"Castiel?" Dean mumbled, lowering his decibel level. He took a few careful, shuffling steps forward. "Who'm I talking to, in there?" He tried to play it off as a joke but the laughter stuck in his throat and clung uncomfortably to his larynx.

"I-I don't really know anymore." The figure struggled into a sitting position, craning his neck to look at Dean.

Shit. Yellowing skin, hollow eye sockets ringed with deep shadows. Creases pulling at the corners of his mouth and spidering across his forehead.

"What happened to you? The angel has left the building?"

Cas knitted his eyebrows together in a brief look of confusion before running his hands through his hair. "Something like that. I guess."

Dean tried not to breathe a sigh of relief. At least I'm dealing with Cas the person, not Castiel the giant overpowered douchebag. If this is some sort of human problem, we can fix him. A dark thought crossed Dean's mind. What if he's lost his grace again and all he needs is his mojo back? Is he only here because he needs help leaving?

"Well that happened before didn't it? I mean, that's how we met. But uhh you were fine back then, right? Other than the hearing voices and memory problems." He kept his voice light, "So why-"

"I don't know!" Cas snapped, rubbing rough circles in his temples. "Please, Dean. I'm… very tired. Perhaps later I can answer your questions and we can 'get to the bottom of this', as you would say."

Dean glanced at Bobby who shrugged, throwing his hands heavenwards to indicate that he was far out of his league.

"Yeah, course. This is Bobby, by the way. Don't know if you've have the chance to make formal acquaintances yet, but uhh… we'll be in the kitchen right over there if, y'know, you need anything. Hang in there." He reached out to pat Cas on the shoulder, but stopped himself, curling his hand awkwardly into a fist before making his exit.

Dean was inadvertently reminded of the mental hospital. Cas in restraints, drugged out, with fresh bandages from trying to punch through a window. Trying to comfort him but so unsure of his movements, suddenly aware of every muscle twitching in his fingers, the size and clumsiness of his hands.

Dean felt his stomach begin to roil from all the emotions knotting together inside his head. He's back. And human again, for now. He schooled himself, burying his confusion and wild, irrational hope under more practical duties. But he could swan off at any minute. So we can't get too close again. Learned that the hard way. Just gotta focus on helping Sam. Then he can go do whatever the hell he wants.

But he felt a cold space around his palm, a missing touch.

He'd meant to tell Dean everything.

How he'd laid siege to Hell with all his holy wrath the moment he'd felt the Righteous Man slip into perdition.

How he'd grasped Dean's shoulder, a bitter lump of charred flesh, his grace searing away the corruption with such force that he'd left a pink, puckered scar.

How he'd managed to carry him and the young woman with the last of his remaining strength before he was summoned back to Heaven.

But the words flew from his mind the minute Dean had walked through the door.

Because the shame was too much. He'd been cast out, expelled. Struck down to earth to live the rest of his life a helpless, hapless, hopeless human.

He'd been tainted. Soiled in the inferno. His name a curse in Heaven.

You've disgraced us all, Castiel. Now go.

And Dean had looked at him, eyes alight with hurt and faith. The young boy whom he'd met years ago still lurking in Cas' memory. The one who he'd loved and betrayed.

How could he convey the grief he'd felt in the split second when the vial broke and he knew nothing could ever be the same? Before he'd been overcome; stifled by duty. Forced to take up the mantle of Heaven, reduced to cold reasoning.

In an instant he'd forgotten what it was like to touch and be touched, to pine, to sorrow, to hope. His superiors had called him away and he'd answered, leaving Dean (he was only a boy) standing bewildered and alone.

How could he ever forgive me?

Now his head ached along with his heart, still adjusting to the input of light and sound. As an angel, his senses (what he could feel) had been processed separately, to be analyzed and connected together to form a logical assessment of the situation.

His eyes would pick up a subtle shadow on the floor. He would hear the rustle of clothing, the intake of breath, while his nose caught a fleeting, sour scent of fear mingled with sweat. Conclusion: Someone was behind him, probably preparing to attack.

In this body, his body, every sense hit him at once; a whirlwind of color and cacophonous noise. Not to mention emotions the flitted on the edge of his consciousness, begging his attention. Distractions.

And yet… It was strangely quiet in his own head without the constant chatter of his brothers and sisters, or the pleas of the faithful to keep him company.

I need sleep. Reprieve from all… This. No wonder humans do so much of it. Cas' stomach rumbled, his gut shifting and rolling uncomfortably. And probably food.

He lay back down on the couch, trying to shut out the voices filtering in from the kitchen and the confusion within his own frenzied brain. It was overwhelming, really. Attempting to react to Dean, pick out the correct course of action from the tangle of emotions inside of him all the while sorting through the bombardment of new sensations.

Is it human to feel so uncertain?

Sam took a shaky breath as he felt the last of the demon blood fading from his veins. He'd never felt so strong before. So whole.

The power had been all-encompassing; rampaging through his muscles and setting off fireworks in his skull. The Universe had been his.

It was a terrifying ecstasy.

Sam clenched a hand around one of the bars to his cell, marveling at the four clear indentations in the metal he'd made earlier. Did I really do that? Maybe I could use this stuff to break out of here, get topside.

The idea was tantalizing. Sam could already feel his body growing restless with its own weakness. Just a little bit more. Then it'll be over.

But Sam knew Dean would be suspicious, and rightly so. It wouldn't help his case if he arrived on Bobby's doorstep with his teeth dripping blood, metaphorically or not.

I have to get stronger, but not like this.

A cheerful whistling echoed down the corridor, and soon after, Azazel's face appeared in the doorway.

"How are we today Sammy?" He waved a vial filled with a deep ruby-colored liquid. "I brought ya breakfast."

Sam felt his stomach sink, even as his tongue quivered in anticipation. The demons were building him up, preparing him like a pig for slaughter. A sacrifice for the Grand Poobah of hell himself.

I have to keep up the charade.

Sam wordlessly took the container, rolling it gingerly between his fingertips. Big, fat droplets clung enticingly to the sides. He swallowed heavily.

"Mind if I hold onto this? I'm not hungry just yet."

Azazel scrutinized him for a moment, the skin around his eyes crinkling jauntily as he squinted. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to pull a fast one on me, Winchester."

"No sir, I'd never-"

"Oh cut the crap, Sam. I can see your hands shaking." The demon flapped his hand impatiently, cutting of Sam's indignant response. "It doesn't matter, really. We've got a busy day ahead of us and believe me, you'll be gulping the stuff down by the end, whether you want to or not."

Sam snorted, tightening his fist around the glass. His resolve was only strengthened by Azazel's assumptions. It had worked the same way with John. We'll see about that.