A/N: wow this was one of my favorite chapters to write actually
i'm gonna be focusing on my other two fics now (fINALLY i know) so updates on this one will be less frequent

DEAN

"I need your word, Dean, that whatever I tell you to do, you'll listen," said the icy voice of Uriel, his dark eyes glaring into Dean's.

Dean had expected to be called back to Heaven, but when Uriel called his name, he instead found himself standing at the edge of an empty two-lane road out in the country somewhere with nothing but the moonlight to see by.

Dean was wary of this request, especially since Uriel had neglected to tell him what he'd have to do, but he remembered the look on Cas's face the night before and nodded once, stiffly. "I will."

"Good," replied Uriel dangerously. "I'm sure you're aware that the Winchesters are investigating a young girl named Anna Milton?"

"Yeah, Cas said she had demons on her ass. Is that what this is all about?"

Uriel looked displeased, and for a second Dean was reminded of an overprotective father who doesn't like the guy his daughter is going out with. "Yes," he said coolly. "Do you know why the demons want her so badly?" When Dean shook his head, Uriel explained, "She can hear us. Anything we discuss in Heaven reaches her ears—everything from what food Ruth tried at a local restaurant to our plans to stop Lilith."

That made sense; if the demons had her, they could hear everything the angels were cooking. "How?" he asked.

"Surely you remember Anna, your sister."

Whoa, what?

Dean's expression must've given him away, because Uriel added, "The angel who rebelled?"

For a moment, Dean still didn't understand, but then it clicked together. He didn't know the mechanics of it, but the pieces fell together nonetheless. This Anna chick used to be an angel, but when she "rebelled," she became human and now for some reason her angel mojo's coming back. "Okay," he said, "so we need to find her and get her someplace safe, right?"

Uriel scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. A fallen angel isn't worth the scum on my shoes. Our orders are to kill her and get this business over with."

Now Dean understood why the guy had him pledge allegiance to the United States of Heavenly Douchebags before telling him why. "Nuh-uh. No way," said Dean firmly, shaking his head. "Ain't doin' it. Find some other angel. Or, better yet, don't do it."

"Are you disobeying a direct order, Dean?"

Dean glared at the other angel. "Is this some kinda revenge thing for the stunt I pulled in Washington? 'Cause this sucks."

Uriel didn't answer.

The things they will do to you… Again, the look on Cas's face flashed in his mind, wide blue eyes pleading. Of all the things for Uriel to ask him to do, it had to be to kill another human—well, fallen angel, he supposed, but he didn't see what the big fucking deal was. There was no way. He couldn't just gank her, rebellion or not. But at the same time, he couldn't risk whatever was waiting for him if he refused, according to Cas. I'll go along with it for now, he decided, but when it comes down to it, I'm not doin' it. "Fine," he snapped. The feathers on the ridges of his wings bristled at the smug look on Uriel's face.

-x-

The relief in Cas's eyes when Dean stepped into the cabin nearly killed him. "Please tell me you're here to help," he said, his gaze focused solely on Dean.

Dean avoided Cas's gaze, instead glancing at Sam and Ruby. He wasn't as glad to see the demon alive and whole as he was to see his brother; her eyes flicked black when she saw them and he was pleased to see her take a slight step back. "We're here for Anna," he said reluctantly.

"Here for her like… here for her?" said Sam, only half-joking.

Dean thought it was kinda funny, but Uriel barked, "Stop talking." Then in a quieter tone, demanded, "Give her to us."

"Are you gonna help her?" asked Sam in a hollow voice.

Dean waited for a moment for Uriel to answer, but the bastard didn't say a word. "No," answered Dean instead, hating himself for what he was saying. "She has to die."

Sam looked something like horrified, and it struck Dean then that he might have to fight his own brother. Ruby didn't seem affected—she'd probably hand the girl over if it weren't for Sam. The worst reaction, though, was Cas's. If anything, he looked empathetic, like he recognized not only why it needed to be done, but why Dean needed to be the one to do it. He gave Dean the minutest of nods, like he was saying, It's okay, Dean. I understand.

"You want Anna? Why?" asked Sam, incredulous.

Uriel ignored him. "Out of the way," he growled.

"Her death is not necessary," insisted Cas quietly, not moving. He didn't entirely look like he meant what he said, and Dean was sure that if their places had never been swapped Cas would be following Uriel's orders like the good little soldier he was. But in the meantime, he was kinda proud of the guy.

"Don't worry. I'll kill her gently," said Uriel with just a hint of a sneer. Dean almost socked him right then and there.

"You're some real heartless jackasses, you know that?" said Sam sharply. Coming from Sam, that hurt more than anything else could. "Anna's an innocent girl!"

"She's far from innocent," replied Uriel lazily. Dean cast him an uncertain glance. He knew she had "rebelled," but what the hell did that even mean? She disobeys one order, and suddenly she's worse than demons?

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Sam.

"It means," answered Uriel forcefully, "she's worse than this abomination you've been screwing." His eyes flicked to Ruby, who glanced at Sam. "Now give us the girl."

Sam and Cas looked at each other, and Dean felt a pang of jealousy as he saw the silent exchange between them. It should be him standing there, reading Sam's face like a book and vise-versa. He still had problems deciphering Cas's emotions, but he could tell enough by Sam's face that there was no way in hell they were gonna just hand Anna over. "No," said Cas, turning back to Uriel, and though his tone was firm, his expression was conflicted.

"Who's gonna stop us?" asked Uriel skeptically. He stepped forward. "You two? Or this demon whore?" He grabbed Ruby by the collar of her coat and threw her against a wall. She fought against him as he hoisted her up, but his hand drew gradually closer to her forehead… To Dean's surprise, Cas launched himself at Uriel, apparently hoping to beat him off. Uriel, of course, wasn't harmed in the slightest, but it did distract him from Ruby.

Dean turned his attention to Sam. "Dean, stop," said Sam, and the look in his eyes was genuinely pleading as Dean drew closer. He wasn't trying to fight or anything. Dean wished he would. "Please." He didn't want to do this, God, why did he have to do this?

"Sorry, Sammy," he said sincerely, tapping Sam on the forehead. All six and a half feet of his brother collapsed to the ground, asleep. Anna was in the room beyond—maybe he could get her out of there, teleport her somewhere safe…

"I've been waiting for this," Dean heard Uriel say in relish and turned in time to see him nail Cas in the face. For an instant, he was rooted to the ground, a raging fire springing suddenly to life in his gut. He changed course, about to attack Uriel, but before he could take more than two steps, the cabin vanished in a brilliant flash of light as something flung him backwards.

-x-

SAM

Sam came around to find Ruby kneeling next to him, her hand on his shoulder. She helped him up. "What happened?" he groaned, rubbing his eyes. The last thing he remembered was Dean standing in front of him with an expression that looked close to breaking.

"Anna did something to send the angels away—I don't know what. I've never seen anything like it," replied Ruby, pointing towards the door to the back room, which was open.

Sam stepped up and took a look inside. Cas was wrapping towels tightly around Anna's wrists—they must've been sliced, because her hands were covered in blood. On the mirror on the wall, written in Anna's blood, was some sort of circular sigil with various marks around it. Sam assumed they were Enochian symbols. "Did you—did you kill them?" he asked Anna.

It was Cas who answered calmly, "No. She only sent them back to Heaven for the time being." He looked at Sam over his shoulder. "But they'll be back. We need to relocate."

Sam nodded. "Bobby's place," he decided.

-x-

The next day found him in Bobby's dining room while the others were in the basement, gathered in the doorway of his panic room. Anna's wrists had been properly dressed and bandaged, thanks to Ruby; Cas was keeping her company while Sam did some research on the girl's background. When they arrived, the whole house had been empty due to Bobby working a job in the Dominican, but he'd left a very Bobby-ish note behind reminding them, "you break it, you buy it."

"Hey, Cas!" he called from the dining room once he'd finished rifling through Anna's file.

He heard footsteps tramping up the stairs before his older brother appeared at his shoulder. "What did you find on Anna?" he asked.

"Uh, not much," admitted Sam, opening the file folder and laying it out on a small section of the table which wasn't covered in clutter. "Her parents were, uh, Rich and Amy Milton—a church deacon and a housewife. But there is something here in the report. Turns out this latest psych episode wasn't her first." When Cas didn't say anything, Sam continued, "When she was two and a half, she'd get hysterical any time her dad got close. She was convinced that he wasn't her real daddy."

Cas looked confused at this. "Had her mother been having sexual relations with another man?"

Cas had always been a little prudish if Sam was completely honest, but this was a new one. "Anna didn't say," he said, deciding not to question it. "She just kept repeating that this real father of hers was mad. Very mad—like, wanted-to-kill-her mad." He looked back down at the file for a moment. "She saw a kid's shrink, got better, and—"

He broke off as soon as he looked up from the file. Cas's face had transformed. Revelation dawned across his features (or maybe recognition?), followed shortly by grief, understanding, and a sort of pained acceptance. "Anna," he muttered, running a hand over his face. "Of course, Anna…"

Sam didn't understand. Did Cas know something about it that Sam didn't? "Cas?" he said experimentally. "You know what Anna's hiding, or what?"

"Why don't you just ask me to my face?" asked Anna hotly. She had just appeared in the doorway, followed shortly by Ruby, in time to hear Sam's last question. For a moment, he was speechless with guilt.

"I told you to keep an eye on her," Cas said grumpily to Ruby.

"I am keeping an eye on her," retorted Ruby innocently.

Sam had to hold back a smile. This was a serious situation. "No, you're right, Anna," he said honestly, addressing the girl respectfully. "Is there anything you want to tell us?"

"About what?"

"The angels said you were guilty of something." He saw Cas shift out of the corner of his eye. "Why would they say that?"

"You tell me," said Anna with hostility. "Tell me why my life has been leveled, why my parents are dead. I don't know. I swear. I would give anything to know."

Sam gazed at her for a moment. All his life he'd spent wondering why his mother had died—why her, why then, what was the point? And when he finally found out, he was horrified, but also so relieved. The mystery was solved. His years of wondering and imagining and speculating were over. His fear had a name, a face he could match it to, and that made it so much less terrifying. "Okay," he said. He had an idea. "Then let's find out."

A few hours later, Cas was leading none other than Pamela Barnes down the creaky basement stairs. Sam liked Pamela. She was confident without being arrogant and was always cheerful, even now that she'd lost the ability to see. Not to mention, she was always complimenting his ass—and she didn't let him down this time; not ten seconds into their reunion and she'd already slapped it. "Your brother almost killed us both on the way back," she said dryly, shortly after her teasing salutations.

"Airports are very confusing," Sam heard Cas grumble under his breath. He looked extremely uncomfortable in her presence, like he felt guilty for something.

Pamela introduced herself to Anna and got down to business. The best method for recovering lost or buried memories, she said, was hypnosis. So they laid Anna down on a cot and Pamela began to speak in a low and soothing voice, telling her to relax and drift into a deep sleep. Once she was sure Anna was in a state of hypnosis, she began asking her questions, still in that same soft voice. Anna didn't seem to know anything, even in this state, and grew more and more agitated with each query. When Pamela asked about her father, she began to writhe in the cot. The door to the panic room slammed shut and all the lights sparked out. Cas approached her, trying to calm her, but the moment he touched her arm she threw him back and he landed in a sprawl of limbs on the floor. She was screaming frantically, "He's gonna kill me!"

Finally Pamela managed to wake her. Immediately, she fell silent and still, lying back on the cot once more as her eyes fluttered open. There was a creak as Ruby hesitantly pushed open the door, listening intently. Anna sat up slowly with a bit of a dazed expression. "Thank you, Pamela," she said, addressing the psychic. "That helps a lot. I remember now."

Remember? "Remember what?" asked Sam.

"Who I am." There was a pause. "I'm an angel."

Around the room, the others reacted in very different ways. Ruby's eyes widened and she stiffened. Pamela shifted warily in her seat. Cas didn't look very surprised, but his face was frozen in this sorrowful expression, like a friend of his had just been told they were terminally ill. Sam was slightly ashamed that his first thought was, Shit, not another one.

"Don't be afraid, I'm not like the others," she said calmly.

"I don't find that very reassuring," said Ruby from the doorway.

"Neither do I," agreed Pamela.

Anna answered all their questions, explaining to them how there was a death sentence on her head because she ripped out her grace and "fell." Pamela seemed to grasp the concept easily while Cas was unusually silent throughout the entire exchange, his expression unfathomable. Ruby spoke up only to illustrate how massively screwed they were, playing a three-way game of tug-of-war with a fallen angel. The Winchesters wanted her safe, the angels wanted her dead, and the demons just wanted her: a flesh-and-blood angelic broadcast receiver to question and torture. Anna revealed that there was a way out of this if she could find her grace and become an angel again, but she didn't know where to look. She lost track of where her grace landed due to her literally falling—like a comet or a meteorite, as Sam affirmed.

He'd gotten an idea. If he could just find some news reports from where and when she'd landed, maybe he could turn up something—some sort of astronomical phenomenon that made it into the papers, maybe. He worked late into the night, taking trips to libraries all over the city and using his privilege as an owner of fake FBI IDs to pull various records. Finally, after the sky had gone dark, he managed to lay his hands on a couple useful newspaper clippings.

Cas had taken Pamela back to the airport so she could catch a flight back to Illinois, so Ruby was the only one there when Sam made the discovery. "Here. In March '85, a meteorite vanished in the night sky over northwestern Ohio. It was sighted nine months before Anna was born, and she was born in that part of Ohio," he told her from his seat on Bobby's sofa, gesturing proudly at the article.

"You're pretty buff for a nerd," replied Ruby in a sort of teasing way. She was perched on the edge of the table next to him.

"Look, I think it was Anna, and here," Sam gestured to the other article, "same time—another meteor over Kentucky."

"And that's her grace?"

Sam shrugged. "Might be."

"All right," she said sarcastically, standing up from the table and pacing away from him. "That just narrows it down to an entire state."

"Look, it's a start." Sam had to restrain his frustration. He knew it wasn't much the moment he read through it, but it was something.

"Sam…" She turned, almost reluctantly. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For bringing you this mess." Sam's edge softened slightly as he saw the guilty look on her face. "If I had known, I would've kept my trap shut."

"Yeah, well, we'll muddle through."

"Not this time." She sounded suddenly furious and maybe even a little desperate. "You do not want to get between these two armies. It's Godzilla and Mothra. If one side doesn't get us, the other one will."

"So, what do you want to do?" asked Sam, a little exasperated. "Dump Anna and run?" She cocked her eyebrow at him in a suggestive manner. If there was one way Ruby differed from Cas, it was in her sense of self-preservation. Ruby had a tendency to put values on lives and weigh them against her own, whereas Cas would risk his life without question to save a murdering low-life. He rose to his feet. "Forget it. Look, I know the angels freak you out—"

"Forget the angels. It's Alistair I'm scared of," interrupted Ruby fervently.

"Alistair?"

"You met him in the church. Practically the grand inquisitor downstairs. Picasso with a razor."

Sam wasn't really concerned. A demon who was good at torturing seemed commonplace by now. "And?"

"And," she answered in a dangerously soft tone, "you should pull him out and throw him back in the pit—if you weren't so out of shape."

Sam sighed and looked away. "Ruby…"

"Sam, your abilities are getting flabby," she said sharply before he could protest.

"Yeah, so how do I tone up?" he asked scathingly.

"You know how." She stepped closer, almost imploringly. "You know what you gotta do."

Sam shook his head. He knew his abilities, his exorcisms, were supposed to be for good—and they were—but ever since this whole angel business started, he'd shied away from them. Suddenly, it did feel wrong. Suddenly, he did want to hide it away and bury it and never touch it again. "No, I'm not doing that anymore."

"Sam…"

"I said no," he said, more firmly this time.

There was a slight tightness to Ruby's expression and the lowness of her voice betrayed her fear as she said, "Well, then you better pray that Anna gets her groove back, or we're all dead."

-x-

CASTIEL

It was night by the time Castiel got back. He parked the car in the salvage yard and was heading for the house when he spotted Anna, leaning against the hood of an old, half-rusted truck and gazing at the sky. Hearing his approach, she turned her head slightly to glance at him out the corner of her eye. "Pamela get home okay?"

He stopped a few feet away from her, eyes fixed on the profile of her face. Sister. It felt like it had been so long—even longer due to the scar of betrayal left behind by her rebellion. Of all the possible ways for them to reunite, why did it have to be like this, with the order for her death and her not knowing who he was?

"Yes," he said, once he managed to focus on the question. When Dean taught him how to drive, he hadn't thought to include any advice on how to read a map, so Castiel had had to figure it out on his own, what with Pamela being blind (thanks to him). He'd almost asked her to try to read it, too, before remembering why she was wearing those sunglasses at night. "She said she was sorry for leaving, but after last time…" He trailed off. He did feel minutely guilty for her destroying her sight, though he had warned her.

"I don't blame her," remarked Anna, still not looking at Castiel. "You guys should do the same."

Castiel didn't reply. There was a question burning on his tongue, dying to escape his lips because he couldn't possibly fathom an answer. He could bear it no longer. "Why did you do it, Anna?" he asked wearily. "Why did you rip out your grace, become human?"

She glanced at him, troubled. "You don't mean that."

You have no idea. "I do mean it," replied Castiel sincerely. "Humans are… miserable. They're flawed and filthy and full of doubt and the things they put themselves through—put each other through—are… unimaginable." He thought of Sam, making all the wrong decisions for all the right reasons. And he thought of Dean, constantly putting himself down because he thought he wasn't worth it.

It wasn't until Anna pointed out, "You're talking like you aren't one of them," that Castiel realized he'd forgotten what he was. It was just a statement, but Castiel knew she was waiting on an answer by the way that she turned and looked at him evenly. Unable to give her one, he stared resolutely back into her dark eyes. Finally she shook her head and looked away. "I don't know. There's loyalty, forgiveness…" She glanced at him again, "love."

Castiel wasn't sure he understood. Was there not abundant loyalty in Heaven? And love? There may not be affection between angels, but love was there, wasn't it? Perhaps it was something else—perhaps there was another name for the constant undercurrent binding them together. Perhaps there was another name for the ache he felt now whenever he thought of home. And forgiveness, he didn't get that one either. Surely it wasn't necessary as long as you didn't do anything that required it. "Is it really worth it?" he asked in genuine curiosity.

"A million times over," she said fervently, "even if it means I die tomorrow. I'd never trade this for another thousand years as an angel."

"But why?" Castiel felt like a child—like a fresh new angel, just stumbling into the world, asking Balthazar about everything from the leaves on the ground to the stars in the sky. "Angels are powerful. Perfect."

"Perfect," repeated Anna in a quavering voice, "like a marble statue. Cold, no choice, only obedience. Castiel, do you know how many angels have actually seen God? Seen his face?" He did know, as a matter of fact, but he couldn't say. "Four angels," she answered harshly, when he didn't. "Four. And I'm not one of them." After a pause, she added, "And if we don't have the faith to believe he still exists, we're killed."

Her words stung him more than he could say—not about having any choice besides obedience, but about not seeing God, not knowing for certain if he even existed. For a moment, he was angry. Was faith not enough for her? But he realized she was right. God had not shown Himself for over two thousand years. Castiel found himself wondering what had changed. Did God just not care anymore? Stop thinking like that. He works in mysterious ways, he told himself, but the doubt had set in, and the familiar phrase suddenly felt like an overused mantra. If God valued their faith so much, then why did he make them capable of questioning his existence?

He realized his initial question still hadn't been answered. He wanted to know why she'd made the choice to become human, and he couldn't fathom her response. Emotion and feeling, were those the only things? So far, the only significant ones he'd experienced were fear and despair. And without orders from his superiors, he felt lost, directionless. It was hardly worth tearing out his own grace, in his opinion.

"Hey," called a voice from behind them. They both turned to see Sam standing a ways back. "I think I found something."

They both joined Sam and Ruby inside to hear what he had to say. Apparently he'd found reports of a "local miracle" just outside of Union, Kentucky. In 1985, the same year Anna Milton was born, an oak tree sprung up in the middle of an empty field that looked as though it was centuries old. Anna agreed that it was a strong possibility; her grace, she said, could've easily done something like that. So, they packed their bags and left within the hour, driving through the night to get to Kentucky.

They were in for a shock when they reached the famed tree. Anna confirmed that it was definitely where the grace landed, but as soon as she touched the trunk of the tree, announced that it was no longer there. Ruby, rather unkindly, brought up that Anna's grace had been their only hope, and that without it, they were defenseless. They bickered for a bit as to what they should do next, debating the possibility of simply going back to Bobby's until they came up with something better.

Before they could come close to any sort of decision, however, Anna spoke up: "Um, guys? The angels are talking again." Everyone stopped talking at this and turned their full attention on her. She was staring off into the distance, a look of blank concentration in her eyes. "It's weird, like a recording… a loop. It says, 'Castiel Winchester gives us Anna by midnight, or…'" she hesitated, turning to look at Castiel, "…'or we hurl him back to damnation.'"

Castiel blinked. Would they really do that? Could they do that? Before the Trickster had showed up, keeping the Righteous Man safe had been a top priority…

Sam's first idea was to find a weapon to kill the angels, a suggestion which made a lump form in Castiel's throat. He knew Sam had no idea, but the Winchester was essentially suggesting they kill his own brother to save a fallen angel they just met less than two days ago. To his relief, however, Anna shot down the idea; as she put it, there weren't any such weapons available given their current situation. Castiel, unable to come up with any other solution, suggested they call Bobby, but Sam didn't think the older hunter would be able to tell them anything they didn't already know.

It was Sam who was eventually struck by inspiration. He repeated something that Ruby had said to him earlier—Castiel had no idea who or what "Godzilla" and "Mothra" were, but he got the basic idea: they step back and let the two armies fight it out. It was a good plan, he conceded. It was risky of course, as would be any battle between angels and demons, but it was the best they had.

-x-

DEAN

Long after he'd wound up back in Heaven, Dean was still rubbing his stomach and trying to ignore how sore it was. He had no idea what had happened; one second, he'd been standing in that goddamn cabin, and the next, he was literally being thrown upstairs, feeling as though something had hooked him around the middle and jerked him backwards.

Uriel had been running him and the rest of the garrison ragged trying to find any trace of Sam, Cas, Ruby, or Anna, but they got nothing. Dean had an idea of where they went—if he'd been in Cas's place, the first thing he would've suggested was Bobby's house, but he carefully neglected to tell this to the others. As best as he could tell, the ragtag group downstairs had wrangled together a few hex bags to keep themselves off angel radar and were coming up with a plan momentarily. Uriel seemed to have considered this as well, judging by how hard he was working the other angels, but there was something reserved about his expression that told Dean he still had one up on the gang. Dean found out exactly why he was so smug shortly after he noticed it: Uriel had stolen back Anna's grace before the others could get to it. It was hanging on a vial around his neck.

When he made the announcement, broadcasting the angels' demands across the Heavenly Network or whatever the fuck it was, Dean's stomach clenched. He hoped Cas had the sense to turn Anna over instead of taking a trip to the basement. Cas had been to Hell, yes, but to actually picture him in Dean's former position, even for a minute, was too much for him to bear.

It drew closer and closer to midnight, and still there was no sign of Cas or Sam or Anna. Dean was stretched so tight he was close to snapping. With half an hour to go, Uriel vanished for a short while, and when he returned, he looked more satisfied than ever. "I know where they are," he said, still in that chillingly haughty tone.

Dean's wings began to unfurl. "Well, let's go," he said, ashamed of the eagerness in his tone. He didn't like the idea of killing Anna, but he liked the idea of Cas in Hell less.

"No, I think I'll at least give them a good night's sleep," replied Uriel, and Dean had to wonder if he'd heard correctly. Was an angel—no, not just an angel; the douchiest of angels—really paying respect to the sleep schedule of humans? But Uriel held true. They waited it out, calmly, until morning. Then, when the time came, they opened their wings as one and took off.

The doors to the barn opened with a blast and the two angels strode inside. Dean nodded awkwardly at Sam, Cas, and Anna, who stared back at him in shock and bewilderment. Ruby was missing.

Sam was the first one to speak, his gaze switching between both angels. "How?" he asked, anger and disbelief making that single syllable drop like a hammer. Dean felt inexplicably guilty. "How did you find us?" There was a long pause, during which no one spoke. Both Anna and Sam turned to look at Cas, who shifted and would not meet their gazes. "Cas?"

Cas looked up at Anna. "I'm sorry," he said, though if Dean was honest, he didn't much look it.

"Why?" Sam's voice had hardened, betrayed.

It was Anna who answered, looking at Sam: "Because they gave him a choice. They either kill me… or kill you. I know how their minds work."

Not this one, Dean couldn't help thinking, but he was staring at Uriel now in shock. He was getting really sick of this dude doing shit behind his back. No wonder the guy had looked so smug—he'd gotten their location by visiting Cas in the night and threatening Sam.

"You did the best you could. I forgive you," said Anna, her words directed at Cas, whose throat bobbed as he swallowed. Anna turned towards the two angels, taking a few steps forward. "Okay. No more tricks. No more running." She seemed to be bracing herself. "I'm ready."

"I'm sorry," said Dean, and he meant it.

"No. You're not," said Anna, coldly. "Not really. You don't know the feeling."

Dean's jaw clenched and his brow furrowed not in anger or confusion but in hurt. It suddenly hit him that he was standing on the wrong side of this showdown. How had that happened? He'd gone into this with the intention to save her. Where had that gone? He turned to look at Uriel and was about to do something really stupid when—

"Don't you touch a hair on that poor girl's head," drawled an eerily familiar voice from the back of the room. Dean knew as soon as he saw the demon's face—its real face—who it was, and he could feel the color draining from his face at the sight. Alistair. He was flanked by two other demons and holding Ruby, who was breathing heavily and had a huge bloody stain across her abdomen, by the arm. As he glared into the eyes of the demon that had sliced him open night after night for thirty years, Dean felt nothing but rage and fire in him, perhaps even the same fire that had seared off his flesh down below. He didn't even notice as the other three backed rapidly away, moving to either side of the barn. Uriel stalked forward slowly, and Dean followed, hungry to spill some of Alistair's blood. The demonic torturer cast aside Ruby, who pulled herself into a corner and huddled there, nursing her wounds.

"How dare you come in this room," said Uriel, so venomously soft it sent chills down Dean's spine, "you pussing sore."

"Name-calling," said Alistair in mock hurt, stepping up to meet the two angels. His tone turned downright nasty as he continued, "That hurt my feelings, you sanctimonious, fanatical prick."

"Turn around and walk away now," warned Dean, who didn't have near enough pride in what he was to refute the demon's insult. The last thing he wanted was for Anna to end up in the hands of this guy. He'd rather see her dead.

"Sure, just give us the girl," said Alistair lightly as the other two demons joined him at either shoulder. "We'll make sure she gets punished, good and proper."

"I'm not gonna tell you again," said Dean threateningly. "Leave now, or we'll boot your asses back to Hell before you can so much as pick your goddamn nose."

"I think I'll take my chances," said Alistair, wrinkling his nose a bit.

They stood there for a moment, glaring at each other. Then, without warning, Uriel lunged for one of Alistair's henchmen, charging him like a bull and slamming him against a support beam which splintered on impact. The other demon launched at Uriel's exposed back, but the angel whirled and nailed him in the face.

Dean, meanwhile, went straight for Alistair, fists flying. The demon didn't seem inclined to try to evade Dean's heavy hits; he stood there and took it, as resolute as a brick wall. Finally, after a ferocious uppercut, Dean grabbed Alistair by the shoulder to hold him fast and pressed the palm of his other hand against the demon's forehead. He waited for a moment, expecting his grace to kick in, expecting to see the satisfying white light and hear Alistair's final scream. But nothing happened.

"Sorry, kiddo," sneered Alistair, Dean's hand still on his face. "Why don't you go run to daddy?"

With a swift upward motion, Alistair flung Dean's hands off of him and, with a blow, threw him on his back. Dean heard the yell of a demon being exorcised by Uriel as Alistair grabbed him by his coat and hoisted him off the ground. He felt a hand close brutally tight around his throat, Alistair's thumb pressing so hard against his Adam's apple that his windpipe caved in, blocking any air from reaching his lungs. He struggled to no avail against Alistair's iron vice.

"Potestas inferna, me confirma," Alistair began to chant through clenched teeth. The effect was almost immediate. Dean felt his limbs slackening against his will, his thrumming grace drawing itself separate from his heart. "Potestas inferna, me confirma." Dean's hands slid from Alistair's arms, too numb to hold their grip, as the demon shook him roughly. "Potestas inferna, me confirma!" He knew what was happening now; he was being exorcised, his angelic essence slowly peeling away from his body. He felt a twinge of fear as he wondered what would happen once he left his "vessel." It's not like he'd just borrowed any old meat suit. He'd had this one as long as he could remember.

There was a violent clanging sound as a crowbar appeared out of nowhere, catching Alistair under the jaw and throwing him back, off of Dean. The effects of the half-formed spell vanished, but Dean's control over his limbs didn't immediately return.

Alistair shook his head as he, too, recovered from the struggle. A manic smile made his teeth gleam. "Castiel, I am so disappointed," he snarled. "You had such promise." The words sunk into Dean's heart like the claws of a werewolf, because he knew they were meant for him. Cas, of course, didn't seem affected by the statement; he was holding the crowbar in one hand in a guarded position. Without warning, Alistair extended his hand and both Cas and Sam doubled over, clutching at their chests.

A flash of light drew Dean's gaze to where Uriel was crouched over the other demon, having just exorcised it. The vial of Anna's grace was dangling from around his neck and, as Dean watched, Anna stalked over and snatched it off its chain. She threw it to the floor where it shattered in a cloud of glowing white gas, which pooled around Anna's feet and swirled up in one long tendril, flowing into Anna's mouth. They watched as she dropped to her knees, overwhelmed.

"Shut your eyes," she yelled. She rose to her feet, white light shining where skin was showing. Dean, who'd pulled himself to his feet, spotted Cas staring directly at her, captivated. Dean staggered up behind the man and pressed his hand over Cas's eyes, turning his head away. "Shut your eyes. Shut your eyes!" The last one was a scream as light suddenly exploded outward in a burst of energy.

By the time they were all able to see again, Anna had vanished, and Alistair along with her—whether the demon was dead or alive, Dean didn't know, but he had a feeling he'd see his former torturer again.

-x-

CASTIEL

Dean released Castiel, who realized that if he'd been allowed to watch Anna, his eyes probably would've burnt out of their sockets much like Pamela's had. He had no time to thank Dean, however; both angels left shortly after Anna's disappearance to search for her. Castiel doubted they'd find anything tonight and found himself secretly wishing they never would. Meanwhile, he and Sam left the barn as soon as they could in favor of returning to Bobby's house. Ruby had run off as soon as her injuries allowed and didn't show up again, which was fine with Castiel—as much as he appreciated and respected what she'd done, he still found it hard to spare much love for her.

Sam had spent the day out in town, shopping for food to restock Bobby's kitchen and looking for cases. Castiel, who was achy and stiff from the repeated beatings and whatever Alistair had done to him and Sam, decided he was better off hanging back, watching TV all day and simply resting. Sam got home in the evening and settled down on the sofa with a book. Within an hour, he had fallen asleep where he sat, his head drooping back.

Castiel's attention was pulled away from a deodorant advertisement by the rustling sound of wings. Dean was standing off to the side, his gaze weary and troubled. It was the look Castiel associated with him feeling unjustly responsible for something that wasn't his fault. Dean met Castiel's eyes and they stared at each other for a moment. An idea formed in Castiel's mind, and he rose to his feet, shedding his trench coat and leaving it behind on the couch. He rooted through the dufflebag he and Sam had used—which they'd neglected, so far, to unpack—and, finally, his fingers found and retrieved what he was looking for: rosary beads. "Come with me," he said to Dean, beckoning as he led the way down the hall to the bathroom.

Dean followed Castiel with a warily interested expression that faltered when Castiel turned on the faucet over the bathtub and began to pull off his shoes and socks. "You should probably take off your shirt," suggested Castiel.

At this, Dean shifted slightly. "Uh, Cas, you wanna explain what's going on? Is this some kinda fetish you never told me about, or…?"

"When you were in Heaven," said Castiel, not answering (mostly because he wasn't clear on the meaning of the word "fetish"), "did you cleanse your wings?"

"Did I what?" asked Dean in surprise. He shook his head. "What, you mean like that preening thing Eremiel was doing? No, sorry, I didn't exactly have time for a makeover in between chasing every lead that might've brought us to Anna." Castiel had a feeling that last statement was sarcastic. "Why is that even necessary, anyway? I mean, you guys seem pretty capable of keeping yourselves clean otherwise."

"When a demon touches an angel, it leaves traces," replied Castiel evenly. "Here on Earth, they can't be seen with the naked eye, but in Heaven, your wings probably look as though they've been splashed with black or scarlet paint. Cleansing your wings in holy water will remove these traces." Dean glanced at the rosary necklace now sitting on the edge of the sink and Castiel knew he'd made the connection. Once the bathtub was sufficiently full, Castiel took the beads and muttered the Latin incantation before dropping them into the clear water.

Dean, after a second's hesitation, sat down on the edge of the bathtub at the far end. He'd done as Castiel asked, the muscles of his torso shifting under unmarred skin as he made himself comfortable. Castiel couldn't help but peer curiously at Dean's wings, which had been made visible. They were a source of fascination for him—all other angels' wings were. Dean's looked like a falcon's, the creamy white down of the underside barely visible until he stretched out one of the feathery appendages as far as it could fit in such confined space. Castiel sat facing the other direction, so that his feet were in the water, and got to work.

He scooped up water in cupped hands and let it stream down the back of Dean's wing, releasing it at the ridge so that it flowed the length of the slightly ruffled reddish-brown feathers and dripped into the bathwater below. Then he ran his wet hands in smooth, even strokes, his fingers splayed and running shallow furrows into the soft down. He felt the muscles and tendons under the slick feathers gradually relax under his soothing touch. He liked Dean's wings—even under the purification of the holy water, there was a smell that seemed to emanate from them, a musky scent like leather upholstery and just a hint of cinnamon: Dean's smell, faintly teasing at his senses.

Dean was silent for so long that Castiel would've thought he was asleep if not for his open eyes. Finally, he seemed to pull himself out of the relaxed stupor Castiel had lulled him into. "Hey, Cas, can you explain something to me?" he asked, looking towards the former-angel. Castiel paused, listening. "Why's it such a big deal if an angel… falls?"

"Lucifer was the very first angel to rebel," he replied, almost automatically. "Before him, no angel had ever doubted God."

"But what about Anna?" asked Dean, just as Castiel was expecting. "She was just thinking for herself, she wasn't… y'know, evil."

Castiel had to think about this. He had to separate his programmed, instinctual answer—to say "orders are orders" and leave it at that—from the answer he knew Dean was looking for. "There's something you need to understand about us, Dean," said Castiel, referring, of course, to the angels. "I suppose you could say we see things in black and white. The law is the law, no exceptions. Anna disobeyed, and there's nothing more to it. She knew the consequences of her actions." He scooted a little closer to get at the section of Dean's wing between its shoulder and elbow joint. As he reached up to comb through the matted feathers at the wing's shoulder, Dean's attention seemed to catch on his right hand. The angel snatched up Castiel's hand in his own and looked carefully at the back of it, brow furrowed.

"I used to have a scar just like this," he said, comparing the back of his own unblemished hand with Castiel's. "Got it from my first Wendigo."

Castiel watched him intently, not really paying attention to their hands. He remembered what Sam had first implied when he'd heard about their situation: "Isn't it more likely he just changed your memories instead of changing everyone else's?" Perhaps Dean had never gotten a cut on his hand from his first Wendigo—he just thought he did. Perhaps Castiel had always had this cut, but didn't remember getting it anymore.

When Dean became conscious of Castiel's gaze, he dropped the other man's hand quickly and stared back, his brows knitted together. "What?" he prompted. "Cas, what is it?"

Suddenly, Castiel wasn't sure he wanted to say—Dean was stubborn, especially when it came to his brother. It would take a lot of persuasion to convince him. He glanced away, down to the floor, and took a deep breath. "Dean, when I first told Sam what had happened to us, he… he suggested an alternate explanation."

"What do you mean, 'an alternate explanation'?"

"Sam suggested that maybe our places hadn't been switched at all. Maybe the Trickster only changed our perception so that we believed they had." When Dean still looked confused, he explained, "Instead of altering everyone's memories to believe we've always been like this, maybe he only altered our memories to believe we haven't. Maybe you are the angel who raised me from perdition, maybe I am Sam's—"

"Don't say that," interrupted Dean vehemently, shaking his head with an expression somewhere between pain and disgust. "Don't you dare say that."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. He'd expected this reaction. "Dean, I know the bond between you and your brother is strong, but the fact—"

"That's not why it's complete bullshit," interrupted Dean in a raised voice. The tension had returned, making the feathers of his wings bristle. "It's bullshit because what you're saying is everything that happened to me before the Trickster showed up—Dad, Sammy, my entire life, Hell—is a lie." He was glaring at Castiel, but there was something deeply wounded in his eyes. "If you look me in the eye and tell me none of that stuff ever happened to me, I will punch you in the face."

Castiel said nothing. He wasn't entirely sure if Dean was being serious about the threat, but even if he wasn't, he didn't feel the point worth arguing anyway.

Dean seemed wholeheartedly convinced that there was no possibility of what Sam had theorized. He was looking at Castiel with this imploring expression, as though begging the other man to understand. "Listen to me," he said, and the tone of his voice seemed to have gone suddenly from angry to begging. "Everything that's happened to me, it's made me who I am. My instincts, my feelings—everything. This is me, Cas, okay? I'm not some born-and-bred angel like you, I'm—"

He broke off, looking guilty, and Castiel knew what he was about to say. "Emotional?" he finished for him, continuing to clean Dean's wings.

"Cas, I didn't mean that," said Dean quietly.

"No, it's alright," said Castiel. "You're not wrong." He thought about what Dean had said. Could a lifetime of hunting at the side of Sam Winchester really produce someone as cold and otherworldly as himself? And if not, then was the Trickster really capable of altering the core of his personality as well as his memory? Neither option seemed likely.

He thought back to the morning before, when he'd hit Alistair with that crowbar. When he'd seen Dean like that, with the monster's hand around his throat, he'd felt a sudden, fierce surge of protectiveness—not because Dean was his friend, but because Dean was his charge. Because no matter if Castiel was human or angel, he had still saved Dean, and the elder Winchester would, in his eyes, always be his responsibility to protect. It was this notion that made him realize Dean was right. These were not their natural places in life, whatever anyone's memories said.

Castiel finished with Dean's left wing and had him move so he could extend his other one. They settled back down and Castiel started the process all over again. After a long silence, Dean said, "It wasn't four months, you know."

Castiel's hands faltered. He didn't need to ask what Dean was talking about. "I know," he murmured. He was there, all forty years, battling demon after demon to get to Dean…

Haltingly, Dean began to relay what had happened to him in Hell, what he'd done. Castiel listened, wordless. At first, he didn't understand why Dean was telling him, of all people; but then he realized there was no one else to tell. None of the people Dean could've once confided in remembered who he was to them anymore. Castiel already knew, of course, what Dean had been through, but hearing it now, narrated in Dean's cracking and grief-raw voice, made his heart twist. For the time being, he'd given up on cleansing the angel's wings, and without consciously realizing it, he found his hand resting on the Winchester's shoulder. It was about as much comfort and support as he could offer.

"So don't you tell me that was all made up," finished Dean in an admirably strong voice. Tears were rolling down his contorted face, but he made no effort to wipe them away. "Because I can still feel it. I can feel that knife in my hand. I can still smell—…" He trailed off, unable to continue.

Castiel found himself wishing he could offer more than just a hand on Dean's shoulder. It was clear just how much Dean had collapsed in on himself, taking personal responsibility for every single soul he'd ever raised a blade against. Forget Alistair; Dean's worst tormentor was himself. Castiel longed to reach out, past the boundaries of their bodies, and touch Dean's soul as he'd done when he'd first met the Winchester. He could still remember whispering soft meaningless words into his essence, reassuring him with nothing but the sound of a kind voice amidst such abuse and despair.

"Do you remember me?" he asked, still following his own train of thought.

"Remember you what?"

"In Hell. Do you remember me saving you?"

Dean shook his head, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "Nah," he said shakily. "I remember being in the basement, and then I just woke up in that coffin."

Castiel didn't know why, but he wanted Dean to remember. He wanted Dean to know the depth of hope and joy he'd seen shining bright from the core of Dean's damaged, tortured soul. It had been one of the most rewarding things he'd ever witnessed.

Castiel fell back into the rhythmic movements of brushing through Dean's feathers. It was a long time before either of them spoke again. Finally Dean asked about what all happened while he was in Heaven, and so Castiel went through his experience separated from the former-hunter, including what Sam told him of Ruby. Dean reluctantly admitted that he'd misjudged the demon, just as Castiel had.

By the time they were done talking about Ruby, Castiel had finished cleaning the last section of Dean's wings. Dean gave them a few flaps to dry them, which subsequently sprayed the bathroom walls with droplets of water, before pulling his shirt back on and folding them tightly against his back once more.

"Thanks, Cas," he said with a small smile, which Castiel returned. It had felt as good for him as it did for Dean. For a moment, he'd felt like an angel again.

-x-

DEAN

Whether it was his imagination or not, Dean didn't know, but his wings seemed to feel lighter when he stood up again. It had felt surprisingly relaxing to sit there while Cas did his thing. It reminded him of a time when he was thirteen—Dad had just chewed him out for messing up on a case, and he was sitting hunched over on the couch, alone. Sam, only nine then, had come up behind him and rubbed his back. He hadn't said anything; he'd just sat down next to his brother and leaned against him, his hand gentle and comforting. Sitting there on the edge of that bathtub, he felt like his thirteen-year-old self again, silently consoled by nothing but a soft touch.

He was about to leave, but Cas stopped him. "Dean, wait, I… I need your help with something." Dean turned, eyebrows raised questioningly. "How do I get rid of this?"

Dean wasn't sure exactly what he was asking, because when he said "this," he gestured vaguely towards his face. It clicked a split-second later, though, as he noticed the three-day stubble that had accumulated on the lower half of Cas's face. He couldn't stop a disbelieving grin. "You want me to teach you how to shave?" he guessed.

Cas nodded, looking a mixture of uncomfortable and annoyed. It was a shame, Dean thought; Cas could really pull off the scruffy look.

"Dude, what do they teach you upstairs?" said Dean in teasing exasperation, moving over to the sink and fishing through the drawers for a razor and some shaving cream.

"Mostly how to fight and destroy demons, the names of all the prophets, that we should never disobey, that—"

"Stop talking," said Dean, shoving a can of shaving cream into Cas's hand. "Spray some of this out on your hand."

"I don't see how this will help."

"Just do it."

Cas was obviously surprised by the white foamy substance that wound up on his cupped palm. Nevertheless, at Dean's command, he lathered it across his face, and though he still didn't understand the purpose of it, he definitely seemed to enjoy it. At one point he even tapped Dean's nose, smearing a glob of shaving cream on the tip of it. Dean couldn't help a smile. Next, Dean instructed him how to comb the razor over the contour of his jaw, but he didn't seem to be getting the hang of it, so the angel closed his hand around Cas's to guide it.

A few minutes later, and a sleepy, freshly-shaven Cas was heading off to bed. In retrospect, Dean supposed he could've just zapped the information into Cas's head, but he liked this teaching method better.

He sighed contentedly. He couldn't explain what had made him tell Cas about Hell, but doing so had lifted a huge weight off his shoulders. Cas hadn't said anything to make it better—but then, he hadn't needed to. All Cas did was lay a hand on his shoulder, but it had been enough. It had been more than enough.

Feeling unusually optimistic, he took up his post at the window. The storm, he felt, had passed. Maybe this whole role-swap thing won't be so bad, after all.