Thanks again for all the reviews, favs and follows guys! I really appreciate the support :)

Now to go with the heavy Cas angst that we all got last episode, I give you... even MORE Cas angst lol enjoy! Betad by my wonderful Ninjakittee.

"Cas!"

The angel's agony was visible on his face as yet another violent blow from behind knocked him down on his knees. A gurgling cough escaped his throat, followed by a slight spatter of blood that colored the dark floor, a dangerous glow against the grim stone.

Dean watched helplessly as the dark figure behind him struck again and again until he sank forward onto the floor, his body convulsing continuously from the pain he was in. The hunter wanted nothing more than to help him, to hurry forward and do away with the son of a bitch who was doing this to his friend, but he couldn't move. He was bound on the spot, his feet firmly rooted to the ground beneath him, the only remaining possibility of interference now being his voice.

"Cas!" Dean screamed again, desperation penetrating the name as the angel continued to writhe on the ground.

He recognized the dark figure beating on Cas to be Zachariah, the gleeful light in his eyes and the pleased smile on his lips adding more fuel to the fire of his hatred. Even as his victim's movements grew weaker and weaker, indicating that Cas had little to no strength left, the superior angel did not cease to strike him. His foot launched blow after blow to Castiel's gut, drawing pained coughs and groans out of him and all Dean could do was stand there and scream his lungs out.

The hunter swore in anger and panic, throwing multiple death threats at the detested angel, each more gruesome than the last. Zachariah merely widened his smile at him, clearly gloating in his victory. As he stepped around the now still body on the ground and aimed a final blow at his victim's head, the angel's figure suddenly transformed into a much younger, much larger and much more horrifying appearance.

Dean's breath caught short in his lungs as he gazed at Sam's tranquil face, his brother's kind smile fooling him for an incredible second, making him believe that everything was all right. But his smile was all wrong. There was compassion, but not care. Benevolence, but not mercy. And nowhere could he find the unconditional love that he knew Sammy always carried within him, no matter how bad things got between them.

Lucifer spared one more gaze at the lifeless form of Cas lying at his feet, before locking eyes with his vessel's brother, wearing an almost pitying smile.

"I told you…" he said softly. "This would always happen in Detroit."

. . .

Dean jerked awake, panting unsteadily for air. He instantly tried to calm himself down, not wanting to wake Lisa who was sleeping soundly next to him.

He was becoming better at not waking up as distraught as he had during his first weeks at her house, making it easier for him not to disturb her with his panic attacks. The thrashing had ceased almost completely, whereas the desperate breathing had become a little subtler. He liked to believe that he was slowly training himself into keeping his horrible nightmares entirely locked up within himself, therefore shielding Lisa from any unnecessary pain.

Training himself to lock shit away. Dean almost felt the urge to snort. Yeah, that sure sounded like him.

He lay still on the bed and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, pondering over the bizarre but horrifying images that this latest dream had put in his head. It wasn't the first time that Cas had appeared in one of his nightmares. The son of a bitch had started guest starring in his own personal hell ever since the day he had paid him a visit in Lisa's back yard.

It had been more than a week now since the angel had gone MIA, not once responding to the hunter's frequent prayers and Dean was starting to fear the worst. Castiel had been very specific during their last conversation, putting heavy emphasis on the fact that he had no time left, a day at most. If the angel had indeed decided to retreat from heaven and take the fight elsewhere as he had asked – or more begged, but Dean didn't like admitting that to himself – him to… why wouldn't he have shown up by now? Surely he would have let him know that he was ok?

The only other option was that his prayer had either been too late or that Cas had never made it out of heaven. Maybe he was already gone, in the ground, like everyone else.

Dean sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair and trying to keep himself calm. Bleak thoughts like that only exacerbated the catatonia that he was feeling every freaking second without Sammy. And he would not let it get the best of him when he wasn't even sure. Cas was tough, he still had to be out there somewhere! He wouldn't give up hope until he knew for sure.

He only hoped that the angel would soon offer him some sort of sign before this stubborn state of denial threatened to drive him crazy.

. . .

Rain trickled down Castiel's pale skin as he stood silently, his still form appearing almost statuesque on the bleak field. His disheveled black hair stuck to his head in wet strands; the soaked trench coat hanging heavy from his shoulders. All the while the water kept pouring down from the dark clouds in the sky as if it had no intention of ever stopping.

The angel didn't mind the rain or the cold it was causing through his drenched clothes, for he was utterly indifferent to bodily sensations. His grace was superior to any force of nature that existed on earth.

He had allowed himself this moment of peace now that he was finally able to do so, because he was just tired of running. After more than a week of fleeing and hiding and constantly staying on the move to cover his tracks… now that he had finally managed to shake off his pursuers for the time being, Castiel found himself longing for the quiet activity of simply watching life on earth which he had greatly enjoyed for so many millennia.

The only explanation that he could think of for his succeeded escape was that he had somehow gotten extremely lucky. His only advantage had been that his sudden flight came as an enormous surprise for both Raphael and his followers, therefore giving him a few moments head start. The reason for their surprise was that flight was not something that happened often in heaven. In fact it had never really happened at all – save for his own rebellion the previous year – because angels were mostly either too prideful or too submissive to even contemplate the option. Even Lucifer, when he had been cast down to his cage had stood proudly and stubbornly to his opinion, not wanting to submit to any of his brothers but nevertheless accepting the consequences as part of the heavenly order.

It was the reason Castiel had first been so reluctant when Dean had suggested the option. Thousands of years of shaping and conditioning could not be turned off so easily. But the hunter had still managed to win him over, because he was right. He was always right.

Upon first fleeing Castiel had headed straight out of heaven, not wanting to give his pursuers the advantage of hunting him in their place of power, and he had then made his way through several corners of the earth and across various dimensions, trying everything, anything to get rid of them.

For the time being he had succeeded, but he didn't know how long he would be safe. He didn't think he would be safe ever again. He hadn't gone to check on Dean yet, however much he wanted to, because he didn't want to lead his brethren anywhere near him. He didn't want to have to cause the hunter any more trouble than was necessary; he would shield him from this problem as much as possible.

Despite the fact that he was certain about his reasons to not see Dean yet, it didn't make having to avoid him any less painful. The hunter had prayed to him several times after his first fateful prayer that had reached Castiel up in heaven. Some times he had kept it more casual than others, but the pain was always present within his voice, always reminding the angel of what horrors must lie beneath the hardened surface of his friend.

And Dean's pain was even more palpable for him where he stood upon the once destined field of Lawrence, Kansas, staring down at the very spot where Sam Winchester had been swallowed from this world forever.

The wet and dull grass was covered in multiple puddles of mud brought forth by the rain; the scattered gravestones seeming strangely lost through their lack of order. To the naked eye it all appeared to be so boring and ordinary. So ignorant to the vital part it had played in the fate of the world. And also to the part that sadly… it may yet have to play.

"Ah, Castiel…" he suddenly heard a very familiar voice speak behind him. "Angel of Thursday. Just not your day, is it?"

The hostile tingling from his grace, the strong stench of sulfur and the cocky British accent; all those things would have informed him with absolute certainty of who he was dealing with before he even turned around. The former crossroads demon – now ruler of hell – smirked in salute as the angel faced him with an utterly displeased expression.

"What are you doing here?" Castiel demanded.

"Well, credit for the spot pretty much goes to you, mate," Crowley responded lightly. "I figured you'd show your pretty face around here at some point." He showed a self-satisfied smile while leaning forward slightly. "Heroes tend to get sentimental."

Castiel could hear the mocking undertone in the demon's voice and it annoyed him even further. After just having left behind his home and all of his brothers and sisters for the second time, Crowley could not have chosen a worse moment to appeal to his inner tolerance. Well, maybe the smiting would cheer him up.

"What do you want?" the angel growled while taking a threatening step toward his prey.

Crowley held his ground in a visibly relaxed state and shrugged. "I have it on good authority that you are once again heaven's most wanted… isn't that right?"

The spitefulness within his voice only served to enlarge Castiel's anger further. However before the angel made a move to harm him, Crowley – as if he had timed it perfectly – lifted a finger and continued speaking. "Lucky for you I'm here to help."

It was just enough to make Castiel stop in his tracks, letting his hand that he had already been lifting for the attack fall back loosely at his side. Crowley had counted on that of course.

"I want to help you help me help ourselves," he said, the glint in his eyes giving the impression that he was clearly enjoying himself.

Castiel hesitated. As much as his instinct was telling him to attack and smite his natural enemy as fast as possible, reason made him remember that his situation was currently far from hopeful. He narrowed his eyes at the demon, growing even angrier at the fact that he seemed to be so easy to manipulate.

"Speak plain," he ordered gruffly.

"I want to discuss a simple business transaction," Crowley said innocently. "That's all."

Castiel shook his head, huffing in disbelief. "You want to make a deal?" he spelled out the demon's words for him. "With me?"

Crowley held his gaze, his face showing nothing but confidence as he expected the angel's answer.

"I'm an angel, you ass!" Castiel spat out condescendingly. He noticed Crowley's eyebrow quirking up in amusement at his choice of words, but he didn't care because he had heard the expression from Dean enough times to know it was accurate in this context. "I don't have a soul to sell."

"But that's just it, isn't it?" Crowley pointed out, satisfied that Castiel had just provided him with the necessary connection. "It's all of it. It's the souls."

Castiel frowned at the sudden turn in their conversation. What did the still pending apocalypse and his rebellion against heaven have to do with souls?

"It all comes down to the souls in the end, doesn't it?" Crowley concluded, a knowing glint lighting up his eyes.

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Castiel wanted to know, growing exceedingly impatient at the demon's vague comments.

Crowley smirked in amusement before going on. "I'm talking about Raphael's head on a pike. I'm talking about happy endings for all of us, with all possible entendres…" – he cocked his brow teasingly – "…intended."

Castiel eyed the demon from head to toe, weighing suspicion against curiosity. He found himself wondering what kind of plan the king of hell could've come up with to be so completely relaxed at the prospect of the apocalypse being restarted.

"Come on," Crowley nudged him cleverly. "Just a chat."

"I have no interest in talking with you," Castiel responded, letting his extreme dislike for the demon and his discontent with the situation penetrate every syllable. The fact that he emphasized the words with such insistence however, made both of them realize that they weren't really true; he was in fact more and more interested in what Crowley might be able to offer him.

"Why not?" Crowley immediately seized the opportunity, using the angel's indecisiveness to his advantage. "I'm very interesting."

Castiel hesitated, still unsure of what was the best course of action.

"Come on. Hear me out," the demon went on persuading him. "Five minutes. No obligations."

For a brief moment Castiel glanced back at the spot in the middle of the field, where Sam had been swallowed into the cage weeks prior. He had promised himself not to let his sacrifice be in vain. Surely it wouldn't hurt to just hear the demon out, would it?

"I promise…" Crowley smirked at him. "I'll make it worth your while."

. . .

"You didn't make eggs!" Ben said in disappointment, flashing huge, expecting puppy dog eyes at Dean.

The hunter blinked in surprise as Ben took his usual seat at the kitchen table and pulled up his plate that contained only a few pieced of toast. "I didn't know if you wanted 'em," he defended himself. "Thought it gets boring after a while, right?"

Ben vigorously shook his head as he picked up his knife to spread butter on the bread. "No, it doesn't, I love your eggs!"

Dean felt an odd sense of satisfaction at the boy's matter-of-fact response, his face lighting up with the hint of a smile. "Well, in my defense," he chuckled teasingly. "You do eat a lot, buddy!"

"Of course I do," Ben agreed with a shrug as if it were completely obvious. "Food's awesome!"

"I told you, you were spoiling him, Dean," Lisa interrupted their banter, a good-natured smile on her face while she poured Ben a glass of orange juice. "Stop demanding special treatment, sweetie, it's rude."

Ben threw up his hands in defense. "It's not my fault he started making 'em!"

Dean couldn't help but grin at the kid as he argued with his mother, feeling the warm sense of affection nudge his bruised heart. Moments like these were nothing short of a miracle to him; a joyful refuge that managed to make him believe there was still something worth living for. Even if it was just the eventless, peaceful life of a boy and his mother living in the suburbs. Especially that.

"Ok, you good to go?" Dean asked a short while later when Ben was chewing on his last bite of bread. The boy nodded and got up to get his school bag.

Ever since that first morning when the hunter had offered to drive him, the two of them riding to school together had become sort of an every day ritual. Dean didn't mind because it gave him something to do, plus it meant that Ben was warming up to him being around the house… accepting him in a way.

"Remember you guys are meeting up with Al and Jaden at four so don't be late after school, ok?" Lisa called out to her son while he was already hurrying toward the door.

"You got it," Ben responded, waving lazily at her.

"No dawdling with your friends!" Lisa admonished him when he stepped out the door, followed by Dean. He gave her a brief smile and moved to leave the house as well, but she held him back. "Dean, hang on a second."

He waited on the front porch as she walked over to face him in the doorway. For a short moment he was afraid that she would give him bad news, that somehow something terrible had happened, but the cheerful smile on her face made his dread melt into nothingness. Perks of retiring from the hunter-life.

"I haven't told you," she started. "I talked to Sid this morning, you know, about that mechanics job… He said he could really use a helping hand." It was almost endearing how excited she seemed to be by this. "So, if you want to you can go try it out for a while and he'll see if you're any good."

She looked up at him expectantly, but Dean didn't really know what to say. "Oh," he said in surprise. "Wow, that's… That's good news!"

The two of them had talked about finding something that he could do other than just helping her around the house and he was touched to see how passionately she was trying to help him. Maybe having a job, having something to do to occupy him wouldn't be so bad.

"Yeah," Lisa responded, smiling brightly at his positive reaction. "Yeah, it is!"

Dean returned her smile genuinely and tried to think of something else to say. She was so beautiful when she was happy. The sunlight seemed to dance in her eyes, the skin around her mouth crinkling in an adorable way from her dazzling smile. He felt that he should somehow express his gratitude, but once again he needn't have worried, for Lisa understood him perfectly. She understood everything he wanted to say without him saying a single word, like only a few other people had ever done.

"Ok, so…" he went on, aiming to wish her a nice morning, but before he even realized what was happening, Lisa had leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

It was a short kiss; warm and hesitant, asking nothing else than a shared moment of intimacy. Dean gazed at her in utter surprise, trying hard to gather himself from the pleasant, fluttery feeling that was coursing through his body.

"What was that for?" he asked softly and earnestly, wondering where this sudden display of affection had come from.

Lisa merely shrugged and continued smiling at him, their eyes both lingering on each other's faces for a long moment.

"Come on, let's go!" Ben complained impatiently from the shotgun seat, apparently oblivious to the intimate moment the two of them had just shared.

"Go on," Lisa chuckled. "You don't wanna be late!"

Dean flashed one of his most charming grins at her before turning around and heading to the car.

. . .

Castiel gazed at the silent playground that lay before him. Due to the early hours of the morning it was still mostly unoccupied, leaving the various devices looking sadly abandoned without their usual share of laughing children. The sky above him was bright with sunlight, a much more cheerful environment than the graveyard of Lawrence, Kansas. But nothing of all this managed to distract him from the highly unsettling conversation he had just had.

You can save us, Castiel. God chose you to save us. And I think, deep down… You know that.

What scared the angel the most was how much he could feel part of himself straining to follow the demon's cunning words. As much as Castiel knew that Crowley always had his own agenda, that he was never to be trusted… there had been a terrible amount of truth to what he had said.

To start a civil war in heaven… It would be unpleasant, yes. Horrible. But avoidable? Probably not. He despised the very idea of bringing harm to any of his brothers, even the ones who supported Raphael, but he knew that if he wanted to keep on fighting then he would ultimately have no choice.

He could not do this on his own. But then again he wasn't so sure that he could even get enough of his kin to follow him. None of them were as adamantly certain of his beliefs as he was. Most of them were too immersed in the thousand-year-old order; soldiers, all of them. Did they view him as strong enough to be followed? Did he have the potential to lead them?

Castiel was almost ashamed of himself when he realized that he was prideful enough to believe that he did. He was confident enough to think he was capable of tearing up the entire kingdom and remaking it into something he believed in… much like Lucifer had been.

However this was where Crowley had been right again! Castiel wasn't Lucifer. He wasn't a petulant and disloyal monster who would betray God himself, his own Father; he never would be because he loved his Father more than anything in existence. He didn't want Raphael to destroy everything that his Father had undoubtedly wanted. If he fought against it, wasn't that doing the right thing?

Yes, Castiel knew that this was true. This was what Dean had been talking about when he had told him to keep fighting. This was what free will was truly about, to choose his own path of what he believed to be right.

But it was Crowley!

Castiel ground his teeth together; another very human gesture that he had become accustomed to after spending so much time on earth. He felt the strong need to strike himself for his endless stupidity.

What was he even thinking, seriously considering the deal that Crowley had offered him? He was a demon. He knew everything about how entirely wrong it was to work with a demon and an extremely evil and cunning one at that. If he agreed to that, all good intentions would instantly be lost to the extreme darkness of the power that he would be giving the king of hell.

But at the same time what other options did he have?

Dean himself had told him that he needed to find a third option; that he could choose to fight. If he was certain about one thing, it was of the fact that he did not have even remotely enough power to take on Raphael and his followers. Crowley had now opened up a doorway, a possibility in which he could achieve the necessary power. Could this be that exact third option that he had been looking for?

Castiel had seldom found himself so torn over something in his life. He kept weighing the positive against the negative sides of this possibility and he landed at a dead end every single time.

He didn't know what to do.

Tell me what to do.

A mother and her young daughter passed the bench he was sitting on and headed into the playground; the first occupants of the day.

Give me a sign, Father. Please.

Castiel raised his head slightly to look up at the sky, the only place he could direct his pleas meant for an absent Father.

What should I do?

The child's excited giggling from the playground was the only perceivable sound to interrupt the tranquil morning silence.