A/N: This chapter is short, but it does what it needs to do. Thank you to everyone who's staying with me, I know I've been taking a long time with this story lately.
Chapter Sixteen
The first night was pathetic.
Most of the castle was still stable enough to hold people, so Castiel was allowed to stay in Dean's room. He almost asked to stay somewhere else. How could he go look at the place most sacred to the two of them and still hold it together?
He couldn't. He cried so much, first at Dean's pillow, which smelled like him. He clutched at the pillow and cried into it for about a half hour, then with a few hiccups, calmed down.
He wandered around Dean's room, looking at the few decorations around it. There was the first sword he'd ever received from his father hanging on the wall, no more than a long dagger really. There was a small painting of his mother. Some clothes were on the floor, left there because he had been too tired to put them in the hamper the last night.
Castiel pulled out the drawer at Dean's bedside, and there was his book of stories with a single black feather pressed in the pages. That sent him back into a fit again, and he ended up falling asleep at the end of Dean's bed, book clutched in his hands.
The next day was violent.
Castiel couldn't stop the feelings of anger that coursed through him. Why had Dean run after Adam? He promised he would stay with Castiel. He promised. A part of Castiel knew that Dean would never let his brother die for him, but the anger swept that thought away.
He didn't want to be around people or angels, but what did he do? Fly away and start a new life? He honestly wanted to die, to do something to see Dean again. He'd think about it, but then he imagined how upset Dean would be with him. And then he'd feel upset with Dean again.
He tried going out into the training grounds and hacking at a swordsman dummy for a while, but he was a terrible fighter and the pain in his arms and back didn't make him feel better. He tried to fly to calm himself down, but he had to land after a few minutes. Flying didn't bring him joy like it used to. He had nothing to fly for anymore.
He wandered around the secret passages, his mind spinning, then blank, then repeating the cycle. He found the little library room again, and his eyes widened with a desperate idea.
The bowl, candles, paper, and knife from his last spell were still there, sitting abandoned in the corner.
Without thinking much, Castiel sliced a line across his wrist and let the blood run out until he got lightheaded. The bandage he'd used last time was still sitting there, very unsterile and covered in his dried blood. He tied it around his wrist anyway. If he died, he died. That was that.
Hastily, Castiel drew out the compass points and the sigils until the bowl was empty. He lit the candles, or what was left of them. His voice was shaky, but the Enochian poured out of him easily.
He waited for Lailah to appear. It would only take a few seconds. Castiel closed his eyes and counted to ten, but when he opened them, Lailah wasn't there. He grit his teeth and did it again, but no angel appeared.
"Lailah?" he called, as if that would help. Silence. "Lailah!" He started tearing up again, but he couldn't have that. He needed a full angel's power, now. "Lailah get down here! I need you!" Silence. "Dean is dead!" he yelled at the ceiling. Nothing but silence. In one last ditch effort, an emotional appeal, he yelled, "Mom!"
Nothing. The candles went out.
With a cry of anger, Castiel toppled a bookshelf on top of the Enochian sigils. They spilled everywhere, some smearing the blood on the ground, some ripping old paper out of them. The bang of wood shelf against stone floor reverberated in the room for a minute, then all was quiet.
Numbly, Castiel picked the shelf up again and righted it on the wall. He set the books on it carefully, wiping blood away from the covers on his pants. He made sure to alphabetize them, setting aside the damaged ones to fix later. Lastly, he found a burlap table cover and cleaned his blood off the floor, though the angry red color wouldn't come out all the way.
The bowl, paper, knife, and stumps of wax were left on the table as he closed the door, not intending to come back any time soon.
o o o
Castiel emerged from the secret passages some time later, covered in dust and bloodstains on his hands. He would go and find Sam. The younger Winchester was feeling just as shitty as he was, though he was probably holding it together a little better.
Sam wasn't in his room or the kitchens, and Castiel hadn't seen him outside, so he took the stairs up to the council hallway. There was noise coming from one of them, a familiar voice echoing around the room.
"This kingdom does not need to be changed," Crowley's voice said. "It needs to grow. The angels will be confused in this transition time and I will make it a priority to foster amiable feelings about the two kingdoms."
Castiel peeked into the room and saw most of the Grand Council members, nodding at Crowley, relieved. Sam stepped up next to Crowley. "For the first time in Kingdom Winchester's history, we will be opening up these new laws to the villages for questions, comments, and concerns. It's time to start working with them as well as the angels."
A few more things were said and everyone got up. Castiel folded his sore-but-healed wings as tightly as he could to his back and shadowed himself in a corner. He was in no shape to represent anything right now. Couldn't do his one job.
Crowley, of course, spotted him right away. "Enjoy my speech?" he asked.
"Was this your plan all along?" Castiel retorted, though he couldn't muster up the anger he wanted to. "Pit Michael and Lucifer against each other and then get rid of them so you could rule?"
Crowley shrugged unapologetically. "This was never a zero sum conflict, as the two former commanders thought. Your kingdom is safe now, I can rule the angels as I've always wanted to, and we both get a strong alliance. Win-win-win, you could say."
Castiel couldn't deny it. It was the best possible outcome, except for…
"Hey, Cas," Sam emerged from the room, smiling tiredly. It seemed like he had aged ten years since yesterday. With only a look, Sam and Castiel left the atrium and went back through a deserted hallway.
They walked in silence. Castiel could physically feel Sam's sorrow like a heavy blanket. He wanted to ask, Are you okay? but he knew the answer. No. Not even close.
They turned the corner and sat in a little alcove, quiet for another moment. "I can't do this without him," Sam whispered.
"Neither can I," Castiel replied.
"We have to though," Sam said. "He'd—he'd want us to." And then after a minute, "Is that blood on your hands?"
Castiel looked down at his stained hands, now a rusty brown color. "Yeah."
Sam didn't ask why. He didn't ask whose it was. They sat in silence for a little while longer, until Castiel broke it. "How do we do it?"
Sam looked down at him, eyes watery. "I don't know."
They say misery loves company, so the two sat a while, each wondering how they could go on with Dean gone. He was their rock, and they were both untethered now. Sam was to take Dean's place, and Castiel…
What did he do? Keep living in the castle? Go back to the forest? With Crowley as Commander, he'd no longer be the only angel liaison with the humans. Was he really needed anymore? He'd miss the little family he'd made. Bela, Ava, Gadreel, Inias, Sam, even Crowley. He'd miss Gabe the most. But every step in this place was painful.
That night he went to his old servant's quarters, long unused now. The beds had been remade, but a while ago. They were dusty, and Castiel batted his wings to get most of it off. The bed was hard but surprisingly comfortable, as he remembered it was.
He wouldn't pack. He wouldn't say anything. Maybe he'd leave a note, just so they wouldn't worry. He'd leave it on Dean's bed, then go.
Castiel had never travelled before. Where would he go? Maybe north? How cold would it be? Did he care?
He fell asleep slowly, mind melting from sad acceptance to blackness some time during the night.
When he woke, he put pen to paper without stopping to think.
Dear Gabe, he began. Gabe was his best friend, his first friend. It was only fitting that this should go to him.
I know that it's selfish of me to leave like this, but I can't stay. I have too many memories of this place, all marked by Dean. It hurts to be here, in the castle, in the kingdom, on earth. I don't know where I'm going to go, but maybe I'll come back one day. Take care of everyone for me.
Goodbye.
Castiel didn't sign it, he didn't need to. He emerged from the servants quarters early in the morning, feeling more numb than anything else. He thought he might run into someone, have to fake happiness and make a clever escape, but there was no one there.
He tried not to look too hard at Dean's room. He let his muscles take over and made Dean's bed, like he had as a squire so long ago. The letter was placed on the pillow, folded neatly with his scrawly "Gabriel" on it.
With one last glance around, Castiel climbed onto the windowsill he used to sit on with Dean, spread his wings, and leapt.