A/N: Wow, hi. It's been a long time. I'm sorry about that, but I'm back! There's not much left to this, maybe another chapter and an epilogue, so strap in!

In this episode: hope.

Chapter Seventeen

Without really knowing why, Castiel made his way to the nearest town. He covered his wings with a stolen cloak and stalked around the town square. No one paid him any attention—they were all talking animatedly about the smoke they'd seen at the castle and the rumors of a more democratic government.

It was simple enough to walk into the record building. This town kept pristine records. Castiel found himself gravitating towards the records of old soldiers, the dead. His fingers were dirty, but didn't leave a mark on any pages.

The name "Cain" wasn't anywhere to be found.

After washing his face and hands, Castiel flew to the next town to search for his father's death records.

It was somewhere close to the castle, sometime around twenty years ago, but Castiel didn't find him until the fourth town, Lawrence.

The folder looked like it had been set into the cabinet twenty years ago and never touched since. Dusty but clean. Castiel picked it up carefully and flipped the front over. He didn't expect to see a photo.

There was a chair in the corner of the records room, and Castiel sat with his father's. Cain had a serious look about him, as if he'd seen war even before he'd been drafted. His nose was straight, and the record said his eyes were blue.

Castiel sniffed a little and turned the page. He'd been sent off to fight twenty-two years ago. He'd gone after Castiel was born… so Castiel was twenty-two? Not twenty-one? With a shake of his head, he kept reading.

The record was short, but it said what Castiel wanted to know. Cain was stabbed in the back after rescuing two of his fellow soldiers. His spinal cord was severed. He hadn't suffered long. Since both of Cain's parents, Castiel's grandparents, were dead, Cain was buried at an old monastery located a little closer to the castle than the town the records were in.

After putting the file back exactly as he'd found it, Castiel left the town and flew until he spotted an old church-like building on a hill in the middle of the countryside. Was this it?

He touched down lightly and padded across the green grass, throwing the bunched up cloak to the ground. The building was old and crumbling, abandoned probably. Castiel listened, but there wasn't anyone living on that hilltop.

There were at least a hundred tombstones behind the church, standing in rows like the soldiers buried under them. Castiel walked past them, glancing at the grayish slabs in the late afternoon sunlight. There were only names etched into the stones, no dates or quotes or other identifiers. Some of the names were weathered too badly to read. Castiel hoped Cain's was legible.

It was. Castiel found it near the middle, dusty but clean like his records.

The angel suddenly felt weak and sat quickly in front of the tombstone. He'd always wondered about his mother, dreamed of it even, but his father had always seemed secondary. Castiel hadn't stuck around to see Dean memorialized with a statue, but the tombstone seemed right enough. Cain had died in battle for his kingdom. So had Dean.

Was this what Lailah felt like when Cain died? Ripped up inside, air stifled, stomach churning? Like she'd never feel sunlight on her skin again? He could imagine Lailah sitting right where he was, miserable just like he was. He could imagine himself sitting in front of Dean's statue, crying just like Lailah probably did.

"Dad," Castiel said quietly. It had come out of nowhere, but it felt right to say. "I'm talking to a slab of cement, but why not?" he chuckled humorlessly. "I talked to Mom, why not to you?"

He was quiet for a second, the stone staring silently back at him. "There are so many things I want to say, but…" Castiel rubbed his eyes. "I don't know. I don't know what to say. You're gone, and now Dean is too. I have no one, I—" Castiel took a deep breath and pressed the heels of his hands into his temples. Reality was too much.

He thought back to the storybook he used to have, and how easy it was to read pain and suffering from that. It wasn't real, why should this have to be?

"There was once a secretive king who ruled over a cursed kingdom," Castiel began, "and a scared farmer's boy who didn't know himself. The king lived in the castle, but didn't think of it as home. The farmer's boy was taken from his home to the foreign castle. The two were brought together unconventionally, tragically. They endured so much pain, enough to destroy kingdoms, but they had found home in each other, and that's what really matters, I guess."

Castiel wiped away a few tears. "Now the king is dead and the farmer's boy doesn't have a home anymore. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't have anything left." His voice broke and he stopped.

The headstone sat silently in front of him. Castiel wanted to get angry, to break something or yell, but he was tired. Tired and alone.

"I want to be with him," Castiel murmured and picked at the grass. "I want to be with Dean again. It wouldn't be that hard…" he trailed off. It was difficult to kill an angel but it was still doable.

Castiel knew he could do it, but every time he thought about it, he could picture Dean's face, outraged. The angel gave a humorless chuckle. "He would be so mad."

"You're damn right I'd be mad," a familiar voice said behind him.

Castiel whipped around so quickly that his own feathers hit him in the face. There, maybe ten feet away, was one Dean Winchester, wobbly and wrapped in only a dusty sheet. But alive.

Castiel scrambled to his feet and took a few steps before stopping. He was hallucinating. He wasn't alive, he was dead. "But you're dead," Castiel willed his voice not to crack.

"I was," Dean chuckled. "Well, mostly." He shuffled towards the shocked Castiel slowly, as if he might bolt at any moment. Castiel's heartbeat picked up. Either Dean was alive or this was a ghost, or a hallucination. Maybe he was going crazy.

Even when Dean touched his hand he wasn't sure. It was warm and soft as it should be, but it was still impossible. It was only when Dean pulled his hand up to the mark on his shoulder that Castiel could feel the life in him.

Castiel's hand covered the print he'd left there before and he felt a surge of vitality and joy and love. "Dean," he whispered.

"I'm here sweetheart," Dean pulled him closer and Castiel threw his arms around the king, breathing in his familiar smell. Castiel gripped him so tightly that it must be hurting Dean, but if it was, he didn't show it. He just held Castiel tighter as raven wings wrapped them both in a cocoon.

The angel didn't have many tears left, but what remained was falling. Dean seemed to be shaking, but there was no wetness. This was all so surreal.

"Dean," he pulled away a little to look into the green eyes he thought he'd never see again. "What the hell happened?"

The Winchester pulled back and leaned against the nearest headstone, out of breath. "An angel, like a real one from heaven. Not to say that you're not real—"

"Lailah?" Castiel cut Dean off.

"Yeah," Dean said, the corners of his mouth pulling up at Castiel's disbelieving laughter. "She's your mom isn't she?"

"She is," Castiel glanced upwards.

"I was dying," Dean said, rubbing his chest. "I was on fire and everything. Hurts, by the way." Castiel turned back to see Dean push himself off of the headstone. "Lailah grabbed me out of the fire and brought me here. She said she wasn't that powerful, so it took a while to put me back together."

"But she did it." Castiel wrapped his arms and wings around Dean, and the Winchester leaned gratefully on him. "You're alive."

They stood for a moment holding each other before Dean began to sag in Castiel's arms.

"Let's get you home," Castiel murmured, wrapping Dean's arms around his neck. "Sam will want to see you."

"Hope he hasn't redecorated my room yet," he chuckled and braced for angel flight.

Castiel flew slowly, relishing the feel of Dean in his arms again. He was alive. The kingdom was okay and he was alive. Castiel felt hot pinpricks in his eyes, but had no tears left. It didn't matter—Dean was alive.

As they neared the castle, crowds of people were bustling around, repairing the damage and carrying this and that. Castiel sped up and landed gently on the roof so as to not be seen.

"Let's grab you come clothes," the angel ushered Dean inside. "There's going to be a riot when everyone sees you and I don't think a sheet will hold up."

Dean chuckled. It was a miracle they made it to the king's quarters without being seen, but the room was exactly as Castiel had left it. Dean slumped onto the bed while Castiel crossed to the closet, grinning at the prospect of picking out Dean's clothes like a squire again.

He helped Dean dress in quiet for a while. It was slow going—Dean was sore and aching.

Castiel fastened the last buckle on Dean's tunic near his neck and stopped, hands resting on the king's chest. Dean's fingers curled around Castiel's. "I get it," Castiel said quietly. "I get why you did it. And even though I'm overjoyed that you're alive, I'm still pissed off at you."

Dean chuckled. "You wouldn't be you if you weren't." He took a deep breath. "Adam's dead, and he's not coming back. It's my fault, but I'm also kinda glad I didn't have to die. And I feel guilty 'cause of that."

"I know," Castiel leaned his forehead against Dean's. "All we can do is appreciate what he did for us."

"And make everything better," Dean added. "It's time to start listening to the people more."

They were quiet another moment. "I'm sorry," Dean said. "Not about what I did, but that it hurt you so much. I kept asking Lailah if you were okay, but she wouldn't answer me. I was so scared."

"Apology accepted if you realize you don't have to die to do some good." Castiel gave Dean a little smile, and Dean nodded. For the first time since Dean had been back, He pressed his lips to Castiel's. It was gentle, a slow burning slide of lips and tongue that had Castiel shaking in less than a minute.

They broke apart and Dean licked his lips. "We should probably go find Sam soon."

"We should," Castiel agreed, but kissed Dean again, because he could. "We can take care of some other things later."

Castiel stepped back, but before Dean could stand, they heard the door to the king's quarters slam open. There, with a tearstained face and shocked expression, stood Sam.