Chapter Text
NOW
Castiel stood back up, removed his hand from Dean’s head, and sighed heavily. The older Winchester lay prone on his bed in the bunker, fully clothed, unconscious. Sam was in an identical state in his bedroom. It had taken quite a bit of effort for Castiel to get them here after the attack, after God and Amara had somehow reconciled and left, after the angels in charge in Heaven decided that Sam and Dean had screwed up for the last time.
FOUR HOURS EARLIER
He and Sam had returned to the bunker after Dean left on his suicide mission to confront Amara. Sam was clearly hurting, wavering between denial and despair, but doing his best to hide it, even if he was only hiding it from himself. Sometimes Castiel wished humans knew that their emotions were broadcast through the colors of their auras as clearly as angels’ emotions were broadcast through their wings. On the other hand, most of the humans he’d come to know would have found that information disturbing, given that they often considered emotion to be a form of weakness.
And he couldn’t deny that something had happened within himself too. It felt like something had torn, jagged and gaping, which didn’t make any sense because angels didn’t break. He had seen countless generations of humans come and go, live and die, and never once did he feel like he did today. Still, he’d promised Dean that he’d look after Sam; that was his new mission. And he was going to do everything possible to keep that promise. The irony was not lost on him that he was perhaps hiding a little from himself too.
Sam hadn’t spoken at all on the way back to the bunker, and Castiel was concerned that Sam might shut him out completely. He needed to make some connection with the younger brother, open a door and invite Sam to walk through it.
“Sam, I’m so sorry,” Castiel said as they made their way down the steps from the front door. He knew the moment he said it, it wasn’t enough, couldn’t possibly speak to the pain that Sam must feel. Open the door. “If you want to talk…” Invite him to walk through. “I’m here if you need anything.”
Sam ignored him, going to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator door. He pulled out a beer bottle, stared at it for a long time, then set it back in the fridge and nearly slammed the door shut. Turning around, he brushed past Castiel as he left.
“Sam…”
“Leave me alone, Cas,” Sam said, his voice raw. He headed for the bedrooms.
“Sam,” Castiel warned, “don’t do anything…stupid.” He knew this was the brothers’ code word. Exchanging one S-word for another.
Sam whirled around, his lips in a tight line and his eyebrows drawn close, barely holding it together. “What? You mean like my brother?”
“That wasn’t stupid and you know it. If he hadn’t sacrificed himself, the world would have been destroyed, along with everyone in it.”
“Lot of good that does me,” Sam muttered. “I wish I’d been with him.”
“So do I.” Castiel heard the words come out of his mouth before he realized he’d spoken them aloud. But that admission seemed to snap Sam out of his thoughts.
“Cas, I’m sorry,” Sam said, tears coming to his eyes. “I know you two were close.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel said. “Dean asked me to take care of you. I won’t fail him.”
Sam looked down at the floor. The anger and grief so evident in his aura shifted and allowed a lighter color to emerge. Compassion. “Maybe, uh…” He cleared his throat and finally looked at Castiel. “Maybe we can take care of each other.”
“I don’t need—”
“I know,” Sam interrupted. “But maybe I do.” His mouth quirked up in a quick, painful smile. “And I do need some time alone. I’ll be okay.”
Castiel nodded once and watched him leave. He was able to send out the tiniest awareness to follow Sam. Not enough to intrude on Sam’s privacy, but enough to be certain he was safe. He sat down at the map table, closed his eyes, and waited. He was used to waiting.
A few hours later—two hours, forty-eight minutes, and thirteen seconds to be precise—Castiel heard a key turn in the front door lock. His eyes snapped open, all of his awareness focusing on that one sound. Who else had a key? He stood, watching the front door as it opened.
And Dean walked through.
Barely waiting until Dean made it to the bottom of the staircase, Castiel grabbed him in an embrace that felt a thousand times more powerful than the last hug he’d given Dean. He didn’t want to ever let go. He felt that jagged tear begin to heal itself, and a ridiculous phrase from one of the movies that Metatron had given him flitted through his mind: You complete me.
“Hey,” Dean said, returning the embrace, then after long, drawn-out seconds, giving him a final squeeze before patting him on the back. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
Castiel broke the embrace. “Dean. How are you alive? What about Amara and the bomb? No, wait,” he interrupted himself. “We need to tell Sam.”
“Where is he?”
“In his—” Castiel started, but was interrupted again, this time by the sound of Sam’s running footfalls.
“Dean?” Sam was out of breath. “Is it—?”
“It’s really me, Sammy.” Dean grinned, then grunted as his younger brother gathered him in a bear hug that lifted him off the floor. “Sam,” Dean squeaked. “Can’t breathe.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Sam set his brother down and exhaled sharply. “How did you… I mean…”
“Guess all those episodes of Dr. Phil paid off.”
“What?” Sam asked, confused.
Before Dean had a chance to explain, they heard the front door slam open and found themselves immediately surrounded by a dozen figures in business suits. Angels.
One stepped forward. He was heavyset, gray-haired and balding, and it looked like his face had slipped down his skull, his features losing their battle with gravity.
“Akzariel,” Castiel said. “You can’t be here.”
Akzariel looked down his nose. “I can when you leave the door unlocked.”
“You didn’t lock the door?” Sam hissed at Dean. Dean shrugged and added a guilty smile.
“Who is he, Cas?” Dean asked.
Castiel’s gaze didn’t waver from Akzariel. “Heaven’s torture—sorry, corrections—director,” Castiel said, hearing the anger in his own voice. “Naomi would have reported to him.”
“Castiel, we will deal with you another time,” Akzariel sneered. “Your continued betrayals are an atrocity. But for now, it has been decided that these two pathetic excuses for humans have had their last chance. We cannot allow them to live.”
“You can’t do that,” Sam challenged him. “You fell.”
Castiel didn’t want to let Sam know how wrong he was. Even damaged from the fall, Akzariel, especially with reinforcements, was a significant threat. Moving between Sam and Dean, Castiel stood slightly in front of them. “If you want them, you have to go through me first.”
Akzariel grinned. “My pleasure.”
There was a momentary buzz, a slight increase in static electricity, imperceptible to humans, but Castiel felt it as clearly as a clarion call. He spun around, shoved Sam and Dean to the ground in front of him, then bent over them. With no time to spare, he brought his wings over from the etheric plane with a frantic tug and a crack of thunder, spreading his wings over them and creating a shield.
He was immediately surrounded by intense heat, light, and…rage. He tried his best to keep the energy away from the brothers, but his own wings were still damaged and he knew it might be a losing battle.
The heat and fury were intense and eroded his own energy. He fell to his knees, still trying to keep his wing shield up, then dropped to all fours, and finally collapsed on top of their bodies when everything went black.