A single solitary candle was lit on the desk next to where Gabriel sat, the black leather-bound book in his hands. He ruffled through the worn pages, merely glancing at the red words, not bothering to read in the dim light.

Castiel stood next to the window, hand keeping the curtain open to watch the dancing shadows of the night. While he could get the vague inclination of trees and leaves, outside the glass seemed to be little more than an intricate waltz of grey and black. Glancing backward, he looked to his brother who still gifted the room his soft golden light. His eyes were naturally drawn to the thick volume and the crinkling of pages as they turned.

"Hey Cas."

Castiel's gaze whipped to the shadows, watching as an entrance formed. He couldn't help but move closer to the bed, his hands gripping the cold metal tightly. From the dark and desolate outskirts, he watched the form of the familiar voice come into view.

Sam Winchester. He watched as the man shuffled closer and Castiel couldn't hear the words coming from Sam's lips, not when the shadows crawled throughout the room, not with the ice-cold panic in his chest. His eyes quickly shifted to Gabriel, who was now standing, glancing towards Sam in silent question, or perhaps a plea.

"He can't see me." Gabriel spoke, his voice a hushed whisper that cut through the static ruminating in Castiel's mind.

With a gesture towards the door, Gabriel silently indicated his departure, leaving Castiel to look back to Sam Winchester alone. The room grew colder with his absence, the golden glow leaving with him. The air was thick with the unearthly buzz that surrounded him. He tried to focus on the words, trying to get the sound to break through the hum of his head.

"-but I wanted to say, I'm sorry, Cas."

Castiel's expression twisted in a blend of relief and torment. "Sorry for what?" Castiel's voice was hoarse. A waging war rumbled beneath the surface as their gazes met. Sincerity ruminated in the depths of Sam's eyes, and Castiel couldn't help the tightening in his chest. The air seemed to be growing colder by the second and the shadows creeped as the candle flickered.

Why is it so hard to hear you?

"I can't lie to you and tell you that I wasn't—that I'm not angry at you for what you did."

"You have every right to be angry." And it was more than that. More than every right, but it was the fact that Sam should be livid.

"But to be honest, I think I kind of understand."

It made Castiel pause, brow furrowing. "Sam, you… you should hate me." He couldn't understand the conviction, the certainty in the bones, but he didn't need to understand it to know it was right. "You should hate me."

"I've made my fair share of bad decisions. I get it. I mean, I let Lucifer into the world-"

"That was different, Sam," Castiel countered, voice laden with bitter acceptance. And it was wasn't it? Because Sam didn't know it was going to end that way and there was an incomparable difference in unintended consequences and deliberate choices. On top of that, Sam could fix it, because that's what the Winchesters did. They saved and they—

And Castiel could only manage to destroy. The feeling boiling in his gut propelled him to pace near the window, the movements just as erratic to mirror the broken edges of his fractured core.

"But I wish you would've talked to us." Sam's words hung in the air, tinged with regret. It made his steps falter for a moment, the ache of longing and regret swelling like a wave and crashing into any semblance of peace he desired to hold onto. "I wish you would've stuck around after you pulled me out."

The candle's feeble glow struggled against the encroaching shadows, and he could do little more than force out his words, "I couldn't, I had to" had to what? He was trying to let them get rest and respite, what the two who had given so much desperately deserved.

"Thank you for trying, by the way," Sam continued quietly as if Castiel had never spoken at all. His gaze was downcast, but words still full of undeserved sincerity.

"No." He paused, glancing to the darkness outside the curtain if only to not have to look upon a life—a light- he tortured, "I deserve no gratitude. Certainly not from you." Castiel's voice wavered, eyes going to the form standing solitary in the darkness. For a moment, he tried to see further, see the light of Sam's soul, but all he saw was the husk of the man in front of him—and even that threatened to falter.

He could remember the first time he met the Winchester, and that soul, marred with inflections of impending darkness, would have been a better sight than the lack of one he received. That soul had held light; light as if to spite the darkness that was meant to be his destiny. What he saw now was a shadow of what it should have been, and in the faintest of senses he could feel it torn to shreds.

He closed his eyes tight, but the knowledge chased him down, and that was something he could not hide from. He knew the feeling in his chest, his pride, his confidence as he delved through Hell. He had seen Dean's expressions, had seen Dean's sorrow—losing his brother was tearing the older Winchester's soul apart and…

How could he leave Sam down there when he could go to Hell himself?

And once he did reach the Cage, down to Michael, Lucifer, and Sam, it was a blur in his eyes. The celestial radiance, it was violent, it was chaos. And he dove into it, gripping onto Sam and fleeing to prevent his presence from being identified.

He didn't look back at the Cage as he flew earthbound.

If he had, maybe he would have seen that Sam's soul had been torn from his grasp, captured in the talons of the Devil's claws.

"And you probably took this as some sort of penance… but Cas, you don't deserve this."

The candles flame flickered wildly, shadows devouring the space they could take. The book, laid bare and open on the table, had those same shadows leaping from the pages, pages that flipped and turned in the turmoil of the room.

"No one does." Sam's voice was nearly lost in the distress, Castiel's gaze could only hold focus on the unsettling presence emanating from the black book. A shiver ran down his spine as a voice, low and menacing, echoed from its pages, words whispering in his mind, venomous serpents slithering through his thoughts.

"You deserve this, Castiel," The voice hissed.

"Don't forgive me, Sam." Castiel's voice wavered, tainted in despair, "the pain I caused…please, don't forgive me."

The room grew colder, air thick in the eerie silence, the hum returning to cloud his mind, the shadows danced with increasing frenzy. Their tendrils reached out, painting his veins black and ensnaring Castiel. The book's pages turned faster, red words bleeding into each other, a twisted chorus in accusation. He closed his eyes tightly, mind looking for a place to flee; to cower and hide.

"We just want you back."

It was like a shooting rubber band, snapping everything around him backwards, desk screeching, book flying, a hand grasping tight onto his forearm.

With wariness, he dared a glimpse to the one holding tightly onto him, hoping against hope to see Sam's face. But Sam was nowhere to be found.

In front of him stood a grotesque creature, flesh darkened and marred from burns and scars. The eyes glowed sinister red and the smell of burnt flesh clung to its presence. Barbed wire covered its soul and essence. Its grip was unrelenting, and its visage bore into his eyes.

And struggle as he might, he was unable to escape the monster.