Chapter Two

For a second after waking, a whole glorious second, Dean forgot what had happened. He rolled over and groaned as he buried his face in the pillow, wondering what the time was and if he could get a few more hours in before Sam came to wake him. Then he noted the sick weight in his gut and he remembered with a flash of images. Sam in the chapel. Sam falling. Dean trapped, unable to soften his descent to the floor. Sam in his arms. Sam in the ground. Sam dead. His groan became a sob and he forced his face deeper into the pillow, as if he could disappear from the world if he just tried hard enough.

"Dean," a soft voice said. "I need to talk to you."

Dean raised his head and glared at the angel standing in his doorway. "You knocked me out!" he accused.

Castiel nodded serenely. "I did."

There was no apology in his tone and that made Dean angrier. "Don't you ever do that again."

"I will make no promises."

Dean rolled over and got out of bed. He padded in his socked feet across the room, noticing that his boots were gone. As he had been unconscious at the time, it meant Castiel had done it, and wasn't that just creepy.

He shoved his way past Castiel and walked through the hall to the main room of the bunker. He heard footsteps following him and knew Castiel was on his tail, wanting to talk about whatever had his panties in a bunch. Dean honestly couldn't care less what it was he wanted. He had a clear plan: to drink himself into unconsciousness and then to start all over again when he woke up. He needed the liquor to blot out the feelings that were coursing through him, making it hard to breathe. His brother was gone and it was tearing him apart.

"I need to speak to you," Castiel said again.

"Hard luck," Dean said, turning away from the angel. "I'm not in the mood for a heart to heart or, even worse, a lecture."

"I don't care," Castiel said. "This is what's best for him."

Dean's eyebrows rose and he turned back to face Castiel. He was looking to his right and his brow was furrowed. "What the hell? Best for who?"

"For you." Castiel locked eyes on him. "There is something you need to know." He shuddered and turned to the side again. "Well, I disagree!"

This was a new facet in Castiel's usually erratic behavior. He reminded Dean of how he had been after sucking Sam's hallucinations into himself—more than a little cracked.

"Cas, what's going on?"

Castiel stiffened. "This will help him!"

"Hey!" Dean crossed the room and snapped his fingers in front of Castiel's face. "Are you chatting on Angel Radio right now? 'Cause if you are, you can go somewhere else to do it. I don't need to see you playing Girl Interrupted. In case you didn't notice, Cas, I've got enough of my own crap to deal with."

Castiel sighed heavily. "It is that crap that I am trying to help you with. You need to listen to me."

"And you need to stop talking to the voices in your head," Dean said. "I'm not in the mood to deal with Crazy Cas again. Had enough of that shit last time."

Castiel looked a little hurt and then he shuddered as if an invisible someone had just shouted in his ear. If Dean was not so bogged down in grief and anger, he would have been amused. As it was, he just wanted Castiel to take his crap somewhere else and leave him alone.

"You should probably sit down," Castiel advised. "I need to speak to you, and this will be something of a shock."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, Cas, I know you've been on Team Winchester lately and I owe you, but I'm not in the mood to deal with your angel crap. My plate's kinda full of dead brother right now."

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. The gesture was so familiar it pierced Dean's heart like a knife. It was a Sam mannerism, usually saved for when he thought Dean was being especially annoying. Dean wondered when Castiel had picked it up.

Dean picked up a glass and reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table. If Castiel insisted on talking about this, whatever this was, he needed alcohol in him to face it. His fingers curled around the bottle, but the moment they did, the glass was wrenched out of his other hand and thrown against the wall. It smashed and the pieces landed with soft tinkles.

"What the hell, Cas!" Dean growled. He looked up, expecting to see the angel standing beside him, but he wasn't there. He was standing on the opposite side of the table. The only difference was that he now looked a little amused.

His eyes fixed on a spot a foot from Dean and he said, "Was it necessary to break the glass?" He nodded. "I suppose you're right."

Dean's irritation rose. Not only was Castiel interfering with his plan to get drunk fast, he was screwing around with the voices in his head at the same time. He wondered if this was a part of Castiel's stolen grace. Was it slowly making him unhinged?

"New rule," Dean said through gritted teeth. "No smashing anything in here with your freaky angel powers if you want to stay."

"I didn't do it. It wasn't me." He turned to the side. "I am doing the right thing, which is more than I can say for you." He focused on Dean again. "Please sit down and listen to me. I need to tell you something and you're both making it difficult."

"We'reboth making it difficult? Hate to break it to you, Cas, but you and me are the only ones here. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real."

"If only." Castiel sat down at the table and waited in silence for Dean to join him.

Dean knew he wasn't going to get rid of Castiel until he'd heard whatever it was the angel thought was so important, so he pulled out a chair and sat down. "Fine," he said in a tone of forced patience. "What's going on, Cas?"

"I am sorry," Castiel said, not speaking to Dean, "but he needs to know." He fell silent for a moment. "Yes, but your plan was stupid."

"Cas!" Dean barked. "You've got ten seconds to tell me what the hell's going on before I'm outta here."

Castiel stiffened and spoke in a rush. "Sam is still here."

Castiel had lost his mind. He'd been through too much, with Dean becoming a demon and his stolen grace and Sam dying. He had lost touch with reality. How the hell did you help a crazy angel? It had taken being zapped into Purgatory to make him snap back to himself last time.

"Cas, man, you need help," he said.

"I'm not crazy," Castiel said irritably. "I am telling you the truth."

"Cas," Dean said sadly. "He's not here. He died." Even saying the words tore at Dean. He couldn't say his brother's name, perhaps never again. It just hurt too much.

Castiel huffed out a breath. "Yes, he died, but he is still here." He looked at a spot above Dean's head. "I can see that! But how do I show him? Ignoring me now? That's very mature, Sam."

"Let me get this straight," Dean said slowly. "You're seeing him now?"

Castiel looked at him as if he was being very stupid. "Of course, I see him. I am an angel."

Angel or batshit crazy, Dean thought. He knew which one he believed. The worst part was that he'd seen this before. His brother had gone down that particular rabbit hole with Lucifer in his head, and it had nearly killed him.

Castiel leaned forward. "Dean, Sam is here. I am not crazy. He is a ghost."

Dean rocked back on his chair and sucked in a breath. He couldn't be! "You're lying," he said in a small voice.

"I wish I was. Think, Dean. Heaven is closed. Hell is closed. Where is Sam supposed to go but here?"

"No!" Dean groaned, bowing over the table. "No! No! No! No!"

It was supposed to be over. He was supposed to be at peace. He'd closed Hell. Heaven was his reward, not being stuck as a ghost in this crap-storm of a world. He couldn't bear the thought. It physically hurt him, but he knew it was the truth. The veil was the only place to go, they knew that from Kevin. Why hadn't he realized sooner?

He didn't know he asked the question aloud until Castiel answered him. "I didn't realize either. The only one that knew was Sam, and I suppose he thought it was worth it."

"Is he here now?" Dean asked. "I mean, can you hear him?"

Castiel smiled. "Yes, Dean. Why else would I be having conversations with myself?"

"Sammy?" He felt something on his shoulder, like a whisper of a touch. It lasted only a moment before it disappeared, but he was sure he'd felt it.

"That is him," Castiel confirmed. "He is here."

"Oh god, Sammy." Dean fell forward onto the table and cried, feeling soft brushes of touch like a bird's wings on his shoulder.

Sam turned to Castiel, frustration etched in his features. "This, Castiel! This is why you shouldn't have told him."

"He deserved to know."

Dean stayed bowed over with his head on his arms, crying like his heart was breaking. Sam had never seen him lose control like this, and he never thought he would see it in front of other people.

"Yeah, 'cause knowing's doing him the power of good," Sam snapped, patting Dean's shoulder gently. It was taking all his focus to make the touches. It had been a long time since he and Dean had been incorporeal and it wasn't as if he'd been able to practice much in the years between. He'd spent the night moving a glass back and forth across a table. It was exhausting, which in itself was annoying. He was dead now; he wasn't supposed to be able to get tired. So far, being a ghost sucked.

His plan had been simple. Castiel was supposed to keep his ever-flapping mouth shut and let Dean become accustomed to Sam's death before he found out the truth, if he ever did. Sam had argued with all he had, but Castiel was determined. As impressed as he was by the angel's dedication to Dean, he was pissed that it manifested this way. Surely he'd earned the ability to control when Dean found out. He had just died for the world after all. Again.

After a long time, Dean raised his head and looked at Castiel through bleary eyes. "Is he okay? He's not in pain, right?"

Sam rolled his eyes. He was dead. Nothing was painful now. "Tell him I'm fine," he instructed Castiel.

Castiel repeated the words and Dean's face twisted with regret. "Why can't I see him too?" he asked.

"Because you are an angel and he's a human," Sam said. "Dumbass."

"Because I am an angel," Castiel said. "Sam has not yet built the strength to manifest physically."

"He hasn't?"

Sam laughed. "Dude, I've been a ghost for two days. I know you like to think I'm an overachiever, but even I have limits."

Castiel repeated what he had said and even Sam had to laugh at the words coming through in Castiel's deep and somber tones.

Dean laughed wetly and wiped at his eyes. "Okay, so he can see me and hear me, but he can't make me hear him?"

"That is it in essence, yes," Castiel said.

Dean nodded to himself and closed his eyes. "There's something I need to say then. Sammy, I'm sorry. I am sorry for what I did, what happened to me and what I did to you."

Sam grimaced as he remembered. He had stayed in the dungeon for a long time, waiting for Crowley to answer his summons, but he hadn't come. Eventually, he'd accepted the fact he'd failed and was going to have to lay his brother to rest the way he deserved. He'd gone into Dean's bedroom, only to step back in shock when he saw the bed empty. He'd whispered and then shouted his brother's name, and someone had laughed in response. He'd turned and Dean had been there, black-eyed and menacing, standing behind the door. At first, Sam hadn't taken in the eyes or stance, he was just so happy to see his brother alive, but that all changed after a second. Dean's lips had pulled into a snarl and he swept an arm through the air, shoving Sam against the wall. He hadn't spoken a word; his actions had said it all as he had turned away from Sam with a look of loathing and marched from the room, leaving Sam heartbroken and desperate against the wall.

"I should have been stronger," Dean said quietly.

Sam was pissed and that gave him strength. He focused his anger into his hand and slapped Dean across the back of the head with all his ghostly might. Dean's head snapped forward and a hand came up to rub at the spot.

"Sam!" Castiel shouted.

"It's okay, Cas," Dean said, tone dripping with self-pity. "I deserve it."

Sam glowered at Castiel. "Repeat after me, Cas. What happened wasn't your fault, Dean. You weren't yourself. You were a demon. I swear, you say sorry again, I will empty every bottle of liquor in the place down the toilet."

Castiel repeated the words unflinchingly and Dean's face twisted from wrecked, to shocked to amused as he listened. As Castiel finished, he laughed slightly. "Well, it's not like you're letting me drink anyway."

"Moderation, Dean," Sam said.

"So," Dean asked, looking around the room as if trying to see a sign of Sam. "What's the plan?"

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and nodded to Castiel. "Cas needs his grace back and Heaven needs to be reopened again. Basically, we've got to deal with Metadouche."

Dean nodded as Castiel repeated Sam's words. "Hell, I guess we've got work to do."

Okay… This isn't how I imagined the story going at all. I knew Sam would be in the veil, and so I imagined this story would be another angst fest. When I sat down to write though, Sam had other ideas, namely that he would be a snarky git. I'm not one of those writers that can make characters do what I want. They kinda lead me. The reason behind Sam's lightheartedness — which will become more obvious soon — will be explained in the next chapter. Hope you can bear with me until then. If you would rather read something angsty, I recommend Cross That Bridge — it's drama from start to finish.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx

P.S. Dumbass that I am, forgot to thank you for the reviews for the first chapter. It really does mean the world to me to hear from you so if you have a moment, let me know what you think.