Later, if Dean were asked to give a SparkNotes version of the first few days of Cas' fall—a quick cut and dry synopsis of the events that followed—it would go something like this:

Day Zero: Don't be dead.

Day One: Fucking, wake up, Cas. Fuck off, Sam. God damn it, Bobby. Fucking angels, man.

Day Two: Seriously, fucking wake up, Cas. Leave me the fuck alone, Sam, you're fucking annoying me. Also, Chuck is a fucking dick.

Day Three: Cas is up, finally, thank fucking god (not).

Of course, that version leaves out a lot. A more accurate account (which includes Dean's significantly repressed emotional trauma) would be the following:

Day Zero: Cas shows up; literally drops from the fucking sky onto the side of the goddamned highway. He gives Dean a heart-attack; Dean gives Sam whiplash, and some fucking divine asshat gives Cas a really brutal combination wing/grace-ectomy, with a nice side of flayed skin, and near-death experience. Sammy robs a hospital. Dean watches Cas like it's his goddamn job.

Day One: Cas spends mostly comatose, except when he wakes up from nightmares in severe pain. Dean is going fucking insane from Cas' screams and the fact that he can't do a damn thing to make it better. Sam argues that getting through to Cas enough to bring him back from the edge is a pretty big something, but Dean doesn't feel like it's enough.

They change his bandages; Dean obsessively hovers close to him at all times. He snaps at Sam, and grumbles constantly when he's not glowering moodily. Sam mutters about how he "didn't think that Dean could do better impression of a pissed off grizzly," but, as he says, he "apparently spoke way too damn soon." Dean glares at him ('fucking bite me, Sam'); feels fucking helpless and annoyed. It's all seriously improved (not) by the news from Bobby that heaven and hell might be resetting the field for the ultimate cosmic death match…as of yesterday afternoon. So, basically the three of them are enjoying a much deserved, all expenses paid vacation; everything is margaritas and sunshine…Dean drinks, a lot. Sam researches a lot. Cas dozes and then suddenly startles awake, panicked, Dean tries to get him to realize that he's okay (even though he's about as far from okay as it's possible to be), and Sam stands by powerlessly, making sympathetic faces, and the cycle repeats.

Day Two: Cas' wounds are healing more quickly than they have any right to. Dean is not sure whether to be thankful, worried, or extremely distrustful. Sam's theory is that whatever residual grace he has left is being put towards repairing his body before it peters out of existence—like getting one final spark from a dying battery, which would explain why it's not inhuman presto-reparo shit, but just accelerated natural healing. Dean should probably look this gift horse pretty damn thoroughly in the mouth, but he's too relieved that Cas is on the mend—though he's still really out of it—sleeping, waking, screaming.

By this point, Dean is apparently driving Sam insane: "I get that you're worried about him, I am, too," Dean levels him a stare because whatever this thing is between him and Cas, it's not the same, and while Sam is worried, it's not equivalent to the borderline terror that Dean is experiencing. Sam sighs heavily because he knows that, too, "Staring at him isn't going to make him better, man, it's just gonna make you more likely to fly off the deep end and do something stupid before he wakes up." Dean resents that mightily and scowls to prove it, but Sam gives him bitch face #62: I'm right, and we both know it. Dean glares harder, which leaves Sam no choice but to almost physically throw his brother out of the motel room.

"I'll watch Cas. You don't want to talk about all the stuff you're trying to avoid, fine, whatever, but go for a run, take the Impala for a drive, get a drink; I don't care, just get it out of your system, so we can deal with this shit when you come back." Dean is resentful, but concedes the point, and he sulks away, while Sam rolls his eyes.

He goes for a drive. Baby understands (she always does), and, most importantly, she doesn't force him to talk about his goddamn fears and feelings and shit. He cranks up Metallica, rolls down the windows, drums (more aggressively than usual) on the steering wheel. He cruises around town, and it's meditative, familiar, and soothing. Maybe Sam was right, not that Dean will admit it. He gets back to the motel room after gassing up the car and grabbing some grub. He's feeling a little calmer, which should have prepared him for shitty news.

"So get this," Sam greets when Dean walks in, plastic bag filled with liquor bottles and sandwiches.

Dean groans, "What?"

"I got an email while you were out—"

Dean drops the food onto the table next to Sam and his laptop. Gigantor grabs a sandwich. Dean walks over to Cas, peering at his tense, resting, face. Dean frowns and brushes his hand through Cas' hair; his eyelids twitch, but that's the only response he gives. Dean sighs; at least his skin is closer to normal temperature.

Sam watches the interaction with a soft expression that Dean shrugs off, "He hasn't woken up; he was fine while you were out by the way." It's a mark of how concerned he is for Dean and Cas that he doesn't, by word or expression, give Dean the "I told you so" that he deserves.

Dean nods, flopping into the chair across from Sam: "So you got an email…?"

Sam raises his brows, "From Chuck."

"Chuck?" Dean's face is a testament to his incredulity. Seriously, what the fuck? "Chuck, the prophet Chuck? Sells our life story for profit, that Chuck?"

Sam huffs, "That's the one."

Dean has a brief flash—through the annoyance he feels whenever Chuck is mentioned (he's a nice guy and all, but the dude is just associated with too many shitty things in Dean's life for him to feel genuine affection)—of hope…Chuck has like an eye to the divine plan and all that crap, maybe he's got some insight into what the ever-loving-fuck is going on—more importantly maybe he's got some cure all solution for Cas. "What'd he have to say?"

Sam takes a deep breath, scrunches his mouth to the side, "Not much."

"How much is not much?" Dean asks. He's not the most patient person right now.

Sam flips his laptop around so that Dean can read the missive.

Dear Sam, Dean, and Cas,

I, uh, think I finally figured out an epilogue.

Chuck.

"That's it?" Dean is beyond pissed, "What the fuck does that mean?"

Sam raises his brows, cants his head to the side, "Scroll down."

Dean screws up his face in disgust and does so. There's a post-script; it's an address in upstate New York.

"Dude, what the hell?"

"I don't know," Sam shrugs.

"Seriously, what the hell?"

Sam licks his lips and clenches his jaw; clearly Dean is not the only one whose patience is running thin, "Seriously, I don't know."

"Well, did you try calling him?" Dean snaps.

Sam gives him bitch face #13 do I look like an idiot to you? "I called, texted, replied to the email, even called the publisher chick…nothing."

"Awesome, just fucking awesome."

Sam sighs again, and it looks like he's considering something really seriously—something that Dean is not going to like.

"What?" Dean asks, forestalling another round of the waiting game.

"I think we should check it out."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Sam shakes his head, "I don't think so, no. Not more so than usual, anyway."

"How is this a good idea; we've got Cas fucking ripped to hell; Crowley and Raphael plotting some un-holy alliance, and you want to go on a scavenger hunt inspired by Chuck? Really? Chuck? You remember the last time he sent us on a little trip? Zachariah gave me stomach cancer and ripped out your damn lungs," and god knows what the fuck the angelic Boy Scout troop will do to a rebellious and newly human Cas.

Sam opens his palms, "I remember, thanks."

That might have been a little harsh, Dean will admit—or not. He busts out the bottle of whiskey he brought back, and Sam gives him a disparaging glance. Dean pours two glasses full and passes one to his brother. For all the judgmental face, Sam accepts his readily.

"I'm just saying that we don't have any other leads here," Sam has a point, "we're gonna have to come up with a game plan, Dean…this might be a starting point."

Dean resolves to leave Chuck threatening messages until he explains this, but Sam is right: they don't have an alternative except sitting on their thumbs waiting and hoping for something to fall into their laps. Whatever is going to go down, they need to make a move, preferably a preemptive strike, and maybe that move is driving to New York and finding out what the fuck Chuck's cryptic message is about.

"What the hell does he mean he 'came up with an epilogue'?" Dean retorts, and Sam relaxes a little, perhaps because he really needed a stiff drink, but more likely because Dean is at least willing to play along. The way Sam's shoulders unclench leads Dean to realize how tense Sam has been and how much he is walking on eggshells around him. Dean's not really handling any of this well (Since when do I fucking handle anything well, he thinks, I'm the one who makes everything goddamn worse), and taking his shit out on Sam is not really the best way to deal with this situation. He resolves to try and tone down the lashing out. Try being the key word, at least, until Cas wakes up. He will feel so much fucking better if—when—Cas wakes up.

"No idea," Sam shrugs.

"Shit," Dean says, "I guess we're going to New York."

They spend the rest of the day observing Cas, trying to figure out what the hell is going on upstairs or downstairs. Bobby's got nothing new (he's fielding a lot of panicked and disgruntled hunters who don't know what's going on any more than they do—and probably significantly less). They fall into a restless sleep, Sam still at the table with his laptop screen glowing, Dean on the bed watching over Cas, Doctor Sexy hazy in the background.

Day Three: Well, that's the day Cas wakes up. Sam will later find it mildly amusing, "You know, like on the third day he rose again?" Dean less so (that comment actually prompts him to give Sam a bitch face of his own). Cas kind of appreciates the religious symmetry. Bobby thinks it's fucking hilarious, "Feathers, god damn would, idjit." But mostly everyone is just incredibly relieved, and they all show it in their own ways.

It's not a graceful wake up call by any stretch of the imagination, but it does come at the point when Dean is legitimately starting to worry that Cas is just not gonna wake up. Ever. Sam counters that "He's getting better, just look at his arms." "That doesn't mean jack, Sam, he could just be comatose for the rest of his life, or eternity, whatever the fuck Rapheal did to him." Sam sighs, "We don't even know for sure that it was Raphael, Dean." "Whatever, man." Sam's eye roll is audible.

Sam is clicking away on his laptop. Dean is sitting next Cas on the bed "watching" El demonio. Miguel is confessing his undying love to an unconscious Julieta (she's in a coma after a being poisoned by a jealous Daniela). Dean isn't really paying attention (so the irony of the plot is completely lost on him, though not on Sam, who glances from the TV screen to his brother and Cas and back to his laptop with an exasperated sigh every three minutes or so). Dean is zoned out, lost track of the program completely, purposely tuning out Sam's annoyed huffs. He is being way more productive, by staring at Cas' sleeping form; he had tried to will Cas awake (still not working at this point) and somehow in the process he had become entranced just looking at him. Dean is sort of captivated by the swirl of his ear. It's really weird, and he assumes that he's finally losing it; hypnotized by Cas' ear and the messy spikes of his hair and the line of his jaw. He's lost just gazing, which is why he doesn't immediately realize what it means when Cas' eyelashes flutter, and Dean sees a flash of blue, but then Cas' fingers twitch and he blinks, his voice is gruff when he says, "Hello, Dean."

"Holy shit," Dean startles, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder, "Cas? Can you hear me."

"Castiel?!" Sam's fingers freeze on the keyboard, and he swivels like a goddamn hound catching a scent.

"Yes, I can—," Cas clears his throat, tries to move, but crinkles his nose and winces at the uncomfortable sensation it causes, "—I can hear you."

"Jesus, man," Dean feels like he can actually breathe again for the first time in days, weeks, "you scared the fucking hell out of me."

Cas struggles to get up, tugging at the IV line, and hurting just about everything probably, judging by his face; Dean intervenes, "Woah, woah, take it easy, tiger, slow down," Dean helps. His touch causes Cas to cringe, but he's not struggling as hard as he had before.

Sam runs over in two giant strides and kneels by Cas' bedside, assisting Dean and looking at Cas like he's a goddamn miracle. It's sort of like the first time that Sam and Cas met, except that now Cas smiles weekly at Dean's baby brother instead of looking at him like he's an abomination.

They finally get Cas situated, sitting up, propped against a bunch of pillows. He looks uncomfortable, and he keeps grimacing, but he's awake and alert and, as far as Dean is concerned, that's fucking awesome. Sam squats down by the side of the bed peering at Cas' face. Dean has apparently turned into a touchy feel girl because he's stroking Cas' hair and staring at him like the angel made the damn sun rise or some such shit—the craziest part is that he doesn't give a flying fuck because he's so damn happy that Cas is awake, giving Dean that same penetrating stare, like he's memorizing every part of him. The hunter missed it.

"How are you feelin', Cas?" he asks, voice rough but tender.

Cas shifts and winces, "I am…" he stares at his hand, flexing and un-flexing his fingers slowly; he considers his response carefully, "thirsty."

Sam almost laughs, "I think we can take care of that," he shares a slightly worried look with Dean and goes to fetch a bottle of water.

Dean keeps watching Cas, laying his hand on his shoulder, very lightly, "You okay?"

Cas continues to be enraptured by the movement of his own hand, like it's a foreign object attached to his wrist, and this is the first time he's ever seen it; but he shifts his focus slowly to Dean, intently gazing into his face with wide blue eyes, "I am glad that you found me," he states slowly and carefully. Like he's calculating all of his words: maybe he's readjusting to English? Dean's not sure.

"Yeah," Dean doesn't want to think of what might have happened if they hadn't, "Me too." He moves his hand to stroke Cas' cheek, but Sam comes back and he freezes in the motion, clears his throat, and drops his hand back to Cas' shoulder. Cas watches the movement quizzically, before accepting the bottle of water with a bandaged hand. Sam has to open it for him, and he takes a tentative sip with a sigh.

"Thank you," he breathes, eyes closed. For a moment, Dean worries that he's going to drift off again, but he after a moment he refocuses on them.

"Cas," Sam looks closely at Cas' face, "What do you remember?"

Dean shoots daggers at his baby brother, "Dude, he just woke up," because Cas has been comatose for days—really long, painful, terrifying fucking days—and he doesn't deserve the Spanish Inquisition the second he opens his eyes; this is fucking Cas they're talking about, and, though they need to know what the hell they're dealing with, Dean wants to put that off until Cas is stronger, more stable, less likely to disappear. "Give him a minute, Sam."

Sam just shakes his head. He knows what Dean is thinking, understands and respects it, but he's got more perspective, and, though he seems chastened, he gives Cas a supportive look and continues, "I'm sorry, Castiel, but we need to know what happened." He's got that really compassionate voice, filled with warm fuzzies and shit; Dean hates it right now.

Cas averts his gaze to his bandaged arms.

Something is brewing here; Dean wants to protect Cas, shield him from it…and also, maybe, himself. They can't take back whatever is about to come out, and he has a feeling that he doesn't want to know.

"We don't have to talk about this right now," Dean interjects.

"Dean—"

"Sam, he just fucking woke up."

"We need to know what happened to him."

"So we can gank whatever asshole did this; I'm not a fucking idiot, Sam, I know, but it can wait until tomorrow."

"You're being unreasonable—"

"The hell I am—"

"Sam is right," Cas' voice is hushed but certain, and he manages to stop their argument completely, which is probably qualifies as the second miracle of the day, "We need to discuss this."

"Cas, we really—"

"Dean," Cas looks up at him and the hunter feels trapped by the gaze, "it's okay."

It's not at all, and it might be on the verge of becoming significantly worse.

Sam is earnest, he pulls up a chair and leans forward, elbows propped on his knees, "So, what happened?"

Cas frowns, like he's really struggling to makes sense of something, and Dean suddenly doesn't give a fuck that Sam is there; he rests his hand on the back of Cas' wrist. Cas twitches, but Dean doesn't move, and Cas stares at Dean's hand in something like wonder, before scowling again. It's all very weird, but, hey, when is anything normal?

"It's…confusing," Cas begins, slowly and haltingly, "the pieces are jumbled."

"That's okay," Sam reassures him; Dean muses that his brother really missed his calling as a psychiatrist, not that he doesn't do his best moonlighting in the profession with Dean and Cas, "Just tell us what you can remember."

"We were in a battle," Cas enunciates each word precisely, his forehead furrowed and tense, "the armies of heaven, in combat against one another, and…"

Dean briefly grips his wrist encouragingly, and Cas glances up at his face briefly, before looking down again, "It stopped."

"What stopped?" Sam inquires.

"Everything, we were all frozen. There was a light."

"What was it?"

"God," Cas flexes his fingers and finally looks at Sam and Dean, who are both nonplussed, "It was god."

"God?!"

"God?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean really would like to punch the heavenly father in his fucking holy face because, seriously, he shows up now? Seriously?

"I am not." Cas does not look like he's kidding at all.

"So, ah, god shows up, then what?" Sam is proceeding cautiously, unsure whether to be enthusiastic, angry, resentful, or validated, but determined to get to the bottom of things regardless…

"He stopped the fighting, we were paralyzed. Raphael had very nearly wounded me fatally in combat—" Cas says it so deadpan, like it's no big deal, but Dean feels his heart stutter to a stop for a moment at how close he came to losing Cas without even knowing it…he might never have known it…great, now he owes god for something.

Sam swallows hard.

"—we were bathed in his presence, and then…" Cas pauses. His jaw clenches.

"Then?" Dean prods gently.

Sam shoots him a quizzical face, before re-focusing on Cas.

"He spoke to me," Cas takes a deep breath; Dean thinks there are tears glazing the angel's eyes, "It was overwhelming, his attention, his presence…"

"Yeah, I bet," Dean mutters, and Sam would have kicked him, but he is too far away, so he gives him bitch face #18 shut the fuck up. Now is not the time. Dean scowls, he knows all about absentee dads who show up and are suddenly your whole damn world (maybe not as cosmically, but the principle's the same), it fucking sucks ass. Thankfully, Cas misses the brothers' exchange.

"What did he say?" You can tell that Sam is hoping for some mystery of the universe reveal, or some sort of apology to Cas and the brothers and humanity in general, or, at the very least, some kind of catharsis for Castiel from his distant father. His dreams are about to crash and burn.

"He said," Castiel's eyes find Dean's face again, they're desperate and lost, and Dean wants to get rid of that expression, he never wants to see Cas wear it again, and he never wants there to be a cause for it, ever, "He said, 'You asked for freedom.'"

"And?" Sam's trying to stay supportive, but his face is mask of frustration, disappointment, and confusion.

Cas frowns, "And then I fell."

For a moment, all Dean can hear is his pulse beat echoing in his ears. His mind goes blank, white hot, and consumed with anger, and then one though occurs to him, the only one: "I am going to rip that mother-fucker apart."

Cas looks confused, but, also, strangely bolstered by Dean's wrath. He doesn't smile, but his frown softens a bit, "I believe that is, as you say, 'above your pay grade.'"

"I don't fucking care, I can't believe that fucking bastard shows up and—"

"Wait," Sam stops Dean before he can do something insane; looking back, Dean should probably thank him, "you don't just mean 'to earth,' do you?"

Dean stares at Cas, and he's not sure what the hell is happening inside his chest because he feels like all the air has just been sucked from his lungs and he's paralyzed, "Cas?" he tries.

Cas averts his eyes, gazes fixedly at his hands. He flexes his fingers again, slowly, methodically, wincing, "No. I'm…I have fallen."

"You're human?"

Dean isn't blinking He can't move or breathe because it's one thing to think about this, fantasize about it, worry about it, imagine, even assume it; it's totally fucking different to have it be real. He can't process this...

Cas looks at Sam, and then locks eyes with Dean. The hunter has no idea what the expression on his face means; he's never seen it before, a muscle in his jaw jumps.

"Yes."

Well fuck. "I'm sorry, man." He doesn't know what else to say. Cas's eyes skitter back to his bandages, away from Dean's undoubtedly gobsmacked countenance. Sam goes hard core into consoling mode, and Dean lets him.

His brain has sort of stumbled to a stop; short circuited or something. Cause he's not really processing much. He's just staring at Cas, like he's seeing him for the first time (only less suspiciously and violently than the actual first time). Hell, he kind of is looking at him for the first tiem: he's looking at freshly minted, de-graced, one hundred percent human Castiel, who suddenly won't meet his eyes and is answering Sam's questions with a bland tone.

Through the haze (and he's pretty sure that Sam is giving him some good old bitch face #76 dude, what the fuck is wrong with you, get it together here, or, at least, close your mouth, you look like a fish and it's gross), he learns some things. Like the fact that Sam's theory was right: the last residue of grace was responsible for Cas' quick healing time (though not any absence of pain). "Regardless," Cas notes bluntly, "It's gone now." That Cas is not just chilling in the remains of Jimmy Novak; this meatsuit is his own; crafted in Jimmy's image, but completely new and completely Cas'. Sam looks shocked, and Dean feels a sense of anger at the injustice that Cas has been cheated out of years of his life. More proof that god is a dick. He doesn't say this out loud, but he's seething and Sam knows what Dean is thinking, judging by his expression, he at least partially agrees with him. The brothers discover that god, more or less, is responsible for putting the angels and demons in, what Sam paraphrases as a 'perpetual time out.' Lucifer and Michael are in something that sounds like a kind of twisted cosmic family counseling/lockdown; knowing the bastards, that fate is probably a worse version of hell, confronting a literal eternity of family drama sounds fucking terrifying. Monsters have been regulated to purgatory on a case by case basis the exact schema of which Cas doesn't really know. Apparently, god handed down some proclamations when he first showed up. Cas doesn't remember anything of the actual fall beyond god's words, excruciating pain, and waking up screaming yesterday morning.

Cas looks done in, he's still avoiding Dean's gaze, meanwhile Dean can't look away, and Sam is alternating between giving Cas his most supportive conciliatory expression and shooting a wide array of bitch faces at his brother. They get rid of the IV and decide to nix the morphine (which Dean is stoked about), unless it's necessary. They won't have to change Cas' bandages for a while, so they help him to get comfortable. Dean moves to get up, now that Cas seems settled, but Cas reaches for him in an abortive, stilted gesture, unconscious and perhaps unsure. Dean notices it; he also notices the flash of pleading blue that Cas gives him before looking down.

Dean sits back down, scoots over until he's propped against the headboard, "Sammy, why don't you go get us—" meaning Cas "—somethin' to eat? I got things covered here."

Sam gives him a small, guarded smile; it's knowing, though about what, Dean's not sure. Cas sighs somewhat contented at Dean's proclamation and closes his eyes, drifting off pretty quickly (he's still drowsy from the pain meds). After Sam leaves, Dean moves incrementally closer to Cas, surveying his sleeping face. "Are you human?" "Yes." "Yes." It echoes in his head, over and over. He reaches out, tentative, and brushes his hand through Cas' hair, making sure he's really there. Castiel sighs.

Sorry for the delayed update; it's been a really hectic few weeks. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review this story. I hope you'll stick around. If you get the chance, I'd love to hear what you think! Hugs