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Cas slowly came to, and before he opened his eyes he could feel his bruised ribs, his split lips, and the ache in his shoulders from being hanged from his tied wrists. As he opened his eyes, he noticed the dusty stained windows, pews pushed against the wall, and a familiar figure facing away from him standing at the altar.
“So you’re awake! How desperate are you, thinking you can show up and defeat me alone?” The figure turned to face Castiel, fingering an angel blade in his hands. Though he knew what he would see, Cas held his breath for a second as he took in the sight of a face he knew well – a face that he himself had reconstructed many years ago, a face he healed and held many times. But the smile on that face was not the smile of his best friend, his favorite human, but the smile of a stranger in a stolen body.
“What’s wrong, brother? Upset that I stole your toy?”
“You are not my brother, Michael, and Dean is not a toy,” Cas snarled.
His capturer laughed at this. “Oh Castiel! On my world you were strong, and commanding. Angels and humans feared you. But here? What have these humans done to you?” Michael traced Cas’s jaw bone with the tip of the angel blade, and though Dean’s face looked concerned, his expression lacked the years of trust and friendship that would usually come with it. Cas spat in Michael’s face, and was rewarded with a large cut on his left cheek.
“Castiel, you need to learn to respect your elders!”
“And you need to learn to respect a deal,” Cas retorted.
Michael circled around Cas, throwing his long brown coat onto the floor and rolling up the sleeves of his white button down. “Oh Castiel, you know how these vessels work. Once the fool says yes, you’re in for good.” Michael turned to face Cas, “didn’t your puny Novak boy want you out? Yet you stayed.” Cas grimaced at the memory of Jimmy, who was long gone. “Don’t pretend like you’re better than me, little brother, when you’ve been using these humans much longer than I have.”
“Sam and Dean are my friends, and I will get Dean back from you.”
“Friends? Is that what you call people you lie to and betray?” Michael was now inches away from Castiel, staring him down. “I’ve been through Dean’s memories, to learn about this world,” Michael gestured to the space around them with the blade, “and a recurring theme is you letting him down. So I don’t think he wants to go back to the sad life you two had now that he has me.”
Though he knew that these were Michael’s lies, Castiel felt a pain in his chest hearing this in Dean’s voice. He knew he had disappointed the Winchesters many times, and some were too recent to dismiss. But he also knew that Dean did care about him, even if it wasn’t the same way Cas cared about him.
Suddenly the door behind Castiel burst open, and Cas used Michael’s shock as a chance to knee him in the groin. Footsteps rumbled in, and Sam appeared and knocked the angel blade out of Michael’s hand. Cas felt someone behind him and he fell onto his knees, his hands cut free from their restraints. Mary came around him and handed him an angel blade, right before being blown back against the wall by Michael. The archangel knocked Sam onto the floor with a loud thud, and as he pivoted to take a swing at Castiel, the younger angel nicked his throat, releasing some of Michael’s grace. Cas let the grace flow into his mouth and through his body, and though it was only a few drops, he could feel the power tingling his limbs. Michael flailed to heal himself, and Cas slammed his hand against Michael’s forehead, willing himself to feel into Dean’s mind. Rowena’s voice echoed in the chamber as she walked in holding a simmering bowl and chanting an archaic language. The flames in the bowl jumped, and Castiel could feel the spell splitting Michael’s grace away from Dean’s consciousness, and he used the bit of Michael’s grace inside him to give the last push.
Dean’s body and Cas flew away from each other, crashing against the walls and breaking the dusty pews. Grace was floating where they stood, and it appeared to be struggling as Rowena approached, still chanting. The grace suddenly flew into the bowl she was holding, and the flames turned blue as they erupted to the ceiling. In a moment, though, they were gone, and Rowena stood, bowl in hand, as ashes floated down around her. Castiel looked up to see a large burn taking up the arched ceiling, in the shape of a pair of wings.
Castiel stood and rushed to Dean’s side, lifting his head into his lap. Sam appeared on the other side of Dean, shaking his shoulders, “Dean, c’mon, wake up, Dean, he’s gone, it’s okay, please, Dean.”
Dean’s eyes slowly opened. “Michael, where’s Michael, I- ”
Cas let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “He’s dead,” Sam smiled with relief. “He’s dead.”
Mary approached the boys, crouching down next to Sam. “Hiya, Dean.” Dean gasped, “Mom, is it true, is he-”
Mary pointed to the ceiling, and a smile broke across Dean’s face as he saw the burnt wings. Dean grabbed Cas’s trench coat collar with his right hand to pull himself off the ground, and nodded at Rowena when he saw her standing off to the side, not sure what to do with herself. Once Dean got his back off the hard floor, he collapsed into Cas’s chest, releasing his grip on the coat and letting his hand fall between them. Cas instinctively wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled him closer, feeling Dean’s hair tickle his neck. He used the last bit of Michael’s grace to heal Dean of his physical wounds, but the man’s exhaustion was clear. Sam leaned back against the wall and gave Cas a small smile, nodding as if giving Cas permission to comfort his brother. The four of them stayed like that for a few moments, catching their breaths and counting their bruises.
*~
They rode back to the bunker in the Impala, Sam driving with Mary in the front, and Cas and Dean in the back. Rowena decided to stay in town and make sure the air was clear, and no one had protested, given that in the past half a year she had constantly been searching for how to take down Michael. As soon as they had gotten in the Impala, Dean slid into the middle seat and rested his head on Cas’s right shoulder, falling asleep in minutes. Mary glanced at the two of them in the rear view mirror, but Cas didn’t see any judgement or concern on her face, just relief. Cas’s hands itched to hold Dean’s, but instead he settled for resting his right hand on Dean’s left knee, and tracing small circles with his thumb.
Back at the bunker, the group greeted a still powerless Jack, who wrapped his arms around Dean before they each went their own way to wash and rest. Cas stood outside Dean’s door and hesitated before gently knocking.
“It’s open,” Dean called.
Cas opened the door to see Dean sitting on the edge of the bed in his own jeans and flannel, the suit Michael had chosen in the trash. Closing the door behind him, Cas walked over to the foot of the bed and held out the bottle in his hand.
“I, uh, thought you might want a drink, as that seems to be your way of celebrating.” Dean smiled at the gesture and took the beer, opening it with the bottle opener from his night stand. Dean scooted over an inch, and Cas took it as a sign to sit down. A mere few inches were between them, and Cas subconsciously looked down at this space, with his hands in his lap.
“God, Cas, I was so stupid, and I couldn’t even control Michael and he hurt so many-” Dean started to whisper, clenching his free fist.
“Dean, you weren’t stupid, and no one could have controlled an archangel. None of what he did was your fault.” At those last words Cas looked up and met Dean’s eyes, filled with guilt and grief. Dean quickly looked away and took a swig of his beer. “And now he’s dead. Not locked up or in another dimension, but gone for good.”
Dean gave a small shake of his head, “as much as I want to be done with cosmic enemies, I’m not gonna get my hopes up.”
“You can relax now Dean,” Cas met his eyes again. “You deserve it.”
“Hell, we deserve it.” Dean held the beer out to Cas, and surprising both of them, Cas took a sip before handing the bottle back. Dean sighed, clearly still fatigued, and Cas stood to go, but Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel’s wrist. “Stay,” Dean whispered, glancing down at is feet, “just a little bit longer.”
Castiel knew Heaven needed him to keep the power on, but for now, Cas would stay. He sat back down, and Dean’s hand slid from his wrist to gently rest on Castiel’s hand on the angel’s leg. That night, Castiel would hear Dean struggle in his sleep, and call for Castiel, and the angel would slip into his room and lay next to Dean on top of his bedsheets, gently holding the righteous man against his chest, until morning.