Cas? What happened?

…

Goddammit Cas answer me! Are you alright?

…

JFC Castiel you can't do this to me again. What happened with the angel? Do they have mojo? Do they know you? Don't leave me here wondering if your you're freaking alive.

I don't like that you found an "angel" the fucking second you got toasted. I don't like that you got toasted period. And we're talkin' about some of that shit you we're spewin ' back there 'cause that's exactly what it was.

Talk to me Cas, please. Don't make me wait here while you run off with the plot device and leave me wondering if you're alive or dead or just never coming back. I don't know what some of this stuff you're upset about even means. I'm tryin' here. I want to understand. What I don't want is to lie here all night and wait for you to write back. But that's exactly what's gonna happen here. Because I need 'Cause I'm scared that Because

Don't leave us out of this because you feel like you have to deal with it alone. Suffering and penance are not the same thing.

Please don't leave me behind again. –Dean

Hello Dean,

Traveling has kept me away from writing. I apologize for making you worry, though I wish you wouldn't. I realize that I am a new human, but I am not young in any sense. I have watched your kind and studied your habits and when I would like to get "toasted" I would appreciate it if you wouldn't patronize me as if you have all ownership to my "rights of passage" into humanity. Inebriation isn't sacred. You taught me that.

The angel I encountered last night is a former fellow soldier named Ambriel. She still has her grace and with it all her "mojo," as you would call it. I have advised her to keep her usage to a minimum so that we can remain hidden in plain sight. Her vessel is hardly inconspicuous, and she needs someone to travel with. I've chosen to trust her, for now. I don't remember her from my millennia in heaven, but something tells me she has a story to tell. I owe her that trust. I can only assume that she is an innocent, reminiscent of all the thousands I slaughtered in heaven.

I hope my report has been sufficient.

- Castiel

May 15, 2013: Outside the Headquarters of the Men of Letters

"Cas?" Dean kept his voice low and his steps loud as he approached the recently fallen angel. "Cas you should come inside."

"Not until they're all gone," came the hoarse reply, "Not until I've seen them all."

"Cas, you can't-"

"I can." Castiel didn't look down from the inky sky, where the fiery trails of falling angels still bled through like the afterglow of a fireworks display. He'd been staring up at the wreckage of Heaven since they'd arrived back at the Men of Letters bunker, stepping out of the Impala calmly as Dean struggled to aid a fading Sam inside. It had been forty minutes of hovering and ibuprofen and cold washcloths before Dean had realized that Cas hadn't followed them inside. A sick twist of anxiety had coiled in Dean's gut as he thought maybe Cas had gone again, had just left without even a goodbye, but no, he was there, exactly where Dean left him. Castiel stood, as stoic and angelic as ever, but his hands shook, and the shudder of breath that was the exclusively human.

"C'mon man," Dean tried again, "You…we…people. They can't stand outside all night. Trust me, it'll hurt in the morning."

"Good," Castiel's voice was a shredded whisper.

"Hey-" Dean laid a hand on Castiel's shoulder and was rewarded with the sharp thud of the Impalas' frame against his back as Castiel shoved him away, rough hands on his chest. Castiel's eyes widened in shock and fear. He pressed a shaking hand against his throat for some reason, backing away from Dean like a spooked deer.

"Dean, I-I'm sorry," he stammered, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Dean reassured him, grimacing slightly. Yup, that was gonna leave a few bruises. He stepped forward, reaching out to Cas again, slowly, but the angel flinched away.

"Please," Castiel begged, "Please…don't touch me right now." He had his hand covering his neck again and Dean wondered just what the hell it was Metatron did to him. Whatever it was, Dean thought venomously, the little bastard was going to pay. Castiel was looking back to the sky, and Dean didn't have to see the tremor in his friend's shoulders to know that there were tears streaming down the former angel's face.

"I'm gonna head back inside," Dean told Castiel's back, "The door's not locked."

Castiel gave a barely perceptible nod, and with a sigh Dean returned to his brother's side.

It was early the next morning when Dean, nearly passed out in a kitchen chair, heard the soft open and shut of the heavy iron door, and Castiel's muffled steps make their way across the threshold. Dean's eyes fluttered closed. It was done. The angels had fallen.