Hey Cas,

It's me. I mean, it's Sam. I uh, kinda hijacked this little journal. I thought it was just Dean keeping a record like Dad, but it didn't take me long to figure out that you guys have been talking with it. You gotta explain the tech behind that when you get back.

Dean, well. Dean's conked out in a chair at the end of my bed right now. I think he fell asleep sometime this morning, trying to keep an eye on me. I managed to get a pillow under him at least, but I can't move him. I can't do much of anything at the moment and Dean's killing himself taking care of me. He didn't even tell me he hit his head. I just found out when I read your letter.

Listen, I didn't know you and Dean were still talking, but I'm really glad. Dean doesn't want to admit it but I'm not getting any better. He's right, I've been putting up a front, whether to convince Dean or convince myself I'm not sure. The point is, I'm in rough shape. I'm not giving up; we're still looking at options, but I'm scared this might be long term. I'm even more afraid it might be short term.

I know you're on a mission right now. I get the whole 'seeking redemption' thing, believe me, and I want you to succeed. Just um…if anything happens. To me. Just promise you won't let Dean be alone. Ha, I mean, you know better than anyone how crazy he gets when he doesn't have somebody to take care of. So, if I'm not around, let him take care of you, and maybe eventually he'll let you look after him too. Trust me, if anybody in this crazy family needs somebody to lean on right now, it's Dean.

Thanks Cas,

Sam

Sam felt, rather, heard his brother stir as he wrote. Dean woke slowly, stretching out a crick in his neck before he caught sight of the journal in Sam's hands and froze. Sam kept his expression level, finishing his sentence before offering the book back to his brother. He laid back on his pillows, drained, and watched as his brother's eyes darted across the pages, reading his letter to Cas. Dean's face was hard, but the shadows under his eyes were too pronounced for him to look angry.

"See anything you wanna cross out?" Sam asked, trying to decipher his brother's reaction. Dean was silent for a while, and Sam got a glimpse of just how tired his brother really was.

"No," Dean admitted at last, shutting the diary. He gave Sam a once over, checking his pulse and his temperature, before leaving him with a "Get some sleep, Sammy." Sam settled in to do just that, trying to ignore the tackiness of the sheets against his damp skin and praying, for Dean's sake, that Cas came back soon.

Sam,

It's good to hear from you. I appreciate your understanding, and in turn I'll take your request to heart. I don't want you to lose hope, however. I meant what I said in my last letter, I think there is a way out there to fix you. I can feel it in my "gut," as you and Dean would say. I can't promise that I'll be back soon, but when I do I hope I can bring a cure back to you.

- Castiel

…

Bed. Check.

For the first time since leaving the Men of Letters bunker, Castiel had a room with a bed and a shower and little bottles of body wash and shampoo and a bed. After two days with no luck in finding angels and haphazardly trying to stay clean by washing up in gas station bathrooms, he finally broke and let Ambriel mojo her way into getting them a motel room. His guilt was of epic proportions, and he knew any small amount of grace she used put them on the radar for demons. But what was guilt when compared with a bed.

He tried to feel embarrassed that Sam had read his personal thoughts but it felt right. While his "profound bond" was with Dean, he knew that he and Sam had made similar mistakes. Sam understood the need for retribution. To fix what was broken.

His eyes fluttered closed. Sleep or shower? Both were prospects approaching heavenly when he heard a soft knock on the door.

Cas's eyes flew open and he sat up quickly. There was no reason for anyone to knock on his door. Ambriel had a key.

Peeking out the keyhole, he saw that it was indeed Ambriel waiting outside the door. He yanked open the door, the midday heat hitting him square in the face.

"Why did you knock? You have a key."

"Humans need their privacy. I was giving you fair warning."

"I'm not- Fair warning for-" Before he could finish arguing he realized that Ambriel wasn't alone on the sidewalk.

Behind her stood a tall man with dark brown skin and dark eyes, his hair shoulder length and wiry and sticking out in all directions. His ratty t-shirt and too-big jeans held up with a neon colored jump rope pointed towards poverty or homelessness. One more look in his eyes told Castiel that this was no man.

"Hello brother. Haven't seen you since you kicked down my door." His voice was raspy and deep.

Castiel barely had time to brace himself before a fist hit his face.

Hello Dean,

Because of recent events, I realized that I never apologized for the way I… kicked your ass when you were about to say yes to Michael. I had been holding back of course… I didn't have any intention of hurting you in any real sense. Nevertheless, I apologize now.

Ambriel found another angel today. His name is Hadarniel and was once the gatekeeper of heaven, one of the most powerful angels, excepting the archangels. He remembers me for a much less savory reasons than Ambriel did. Let's just say he didn't give me anything I don't deserve.

Like Ambriel, Hadarniel's grace is still intact. However, he… for lack of a better phrase, he seems to have fallen harder. He runs a higher temperature than any angel I have ever known and his skin can burn if touched for too long. Ambriel tells me that her vessel gave her permission to inhabit her, but Hadarniel says that he woke up inside his, disoriented and with no memory of how he got there. I do not know if any of this bears any significance. It could mean nothing.

How is your head?

Your friend,

Castiel