Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters.

Summary: After the events of 6x20, Castiel realizes that he was wrong and he comes up with a suicidal plan to fix things by defeating Raphael on his own. When it leaves him human and with a severe stutter, it's up to Dean to forgive him and teach him how to live and to be happy.

A/N: Destiel.

Mere Words

Chapter 9

Mere words. The power they have. Everything, from starting wars to ending them, hinges on the effects of language. As do the simplest of things. Ordering coffee, saying hello, sharing your thoughts. The balance of the presence and absence of silence make the world go round.

Castiel had hoped that somehow, by miracle, his delayed auditory feedback device would start working again. He tried several times during the day, when he was on his own, but to no avail. However, he was determined to hide it from his friends and especially from Dean. Speaking little at breakfast, he did his best to give the impression that he hadn't slept well and didn't want to be disturbed. When he was left alone to answer the phone in Bobby's office, he slammed the horn down at every call without even trying. That evening, Dean asked him to read to him on the roof, but Castiel faked a headache and went to bed early. The panic was rising with every second he was awake and when he removed the device from his ear, he had to desist himself from crushing it under his shoe.

When he closed his eyes and woke up in the alley, his knees buckled and he sagged against one of the walls. Crowley was standing over him and Castiel curled up in a ball.

"It didn't work out, did it?" Crowley's voice was oddly soft. "I'm sorry." It almost sounded sincere. "You tried, Castiel. You tried valiantly."

Castiel pressed his forehead to his knees and a sob unwillingly escaped his lips.

"Perhaps this isn't who you're meant to be. I think you know what I mean." Crowley came to sit on the ground with him, his back leaning against the wall, his legs casually stretched out in front of him. "You could be an angel again. Dean would understand that. But he wouldn't understand this. He wouldn't understand how you suddenly lost it again. Do you want to disappoint him, Cas?"

Crowley placed his hand on Castiel's shoulder and Castiel didn't shrug him off.

"Haven't you sacrificed enough?"

Castiel nodded. He could barely see anything through his teary eyes. His nose was running and he wiped it off with the sleeve of his trench coat. He felt utterly defeated.

"Come to the warehouse where it all ended. As quickly as you can. Then call for me. I'll help you."

Crowley disappeared and Castiel woke up. Dean's arm was around his waist, heavy with sleep. Castiel moved him slowly. He carefully stepped over Dean, dressed in silence and opened the door. Then he walked back to Dean's sleeping form. He reached out and ran his hand gently through Dean's hair, placed a soft kiss upon his forehead. It was his goodbye.

Castiel took a bus. Then another. Then another. He travelled non-stop. He ate nothing, didn't talk and kept his mind blank. He sat in the bus for eighteen hours, before walking another three to the warehouse. He never needed to ask the way. It was as if there was a tiny bit of his Grace left at the place where Raphael had taken it from him, and now, it was calling him home.

He arrived at his destination at three o'clock in the morning. The last time he strode into the place, he'd been an angel. Now, he was a broken human, wearing running shoes, because he liked them and a blue tie, because it comforted him. Raphael's wings had faded away completely. Castiel tried to find them on the floor, but there was nothing left except a thick layer of dust. He attempted to find his own wings. Dean had never said whether they'd been there too and Castiel had never asked.

He delayed an hour before calling Crowley. The demon made him wait only seconds.

"Castiel."

"C-C-C-Crowley." He wasn't scared.

They were standing far apart and Crowley started walking in his direction. The situation reminded Castiel eerily of the time Raphael had done the same. Just like back then, he made himself stand his ground.

"You want your Grace back, don't you?"

"Y-y-yes."

"And your voice?"

"Yes."

"I have a few conditions, of course," Crowley said silkily, jamming his hands nonchalantly in the pockets of his coat. "You'll be mine, Castiel. Completely. You will never see those Winchesters again. You'll help me find and open Purgatory and you'll give me the souls. All of them. Do we have a deal?"

Castiel hesitated. Then he said softly: "Y-yes."

"Good." Crowley stopped in front of him. "Kneel, Castiel. I'll restore you."

But Castiel didn't kneel. He looked up and met Crowley's eyes defiantly.

"I said kneel."

Castiel took a step backwards, away from Crowley. Crowley tried to follow, reaching for Castiel, but he found himself contained by an invisible barrier. "I-I think it's-it's … you w-who should be knee-kneeling, d-d-demon."

Crowley kicked in the dust that had gathered in the warehouse and revealed a carefully drawn devil's trap. He laughed humourlessly. "Oh, Cassie-boy, you will pay for this. Who's going to get your voice back now?"

Castiel put his hand in his pocket and fished out his DAF device. He placed it in his ear. "I think I've got it, thank you."

An expression of confusion made its way across Crowley's face, but it quickly disappeared to form a sneer. "And your Grace?"

"I have accepted the loss long ago."

"Well, good for you," Crowley spat out. "You've become completely human, have you? Deceit isn't above you anymore, apparently."

"When humans wants something really, really bad," Castiel said carefully, "they lie."

"You got that right, Cas!"

Crowley swivelled around to see Dean Winchester in the door opening of the warehouse. "Wouldn't count myself too lucky, Winchester. I wasn't the only one betrayed tonight."

"Oh, I think you were," Dean replied cheerfully, as he strode forward to stand beside Castiel, careful to avoid the devil's trap. "You see, this connection you made between Cas' mind and your own? It works both ways. Cas was able to show you what he wanted you to see. He never started stuttering again. He didn't leave me. It was convincing though, wouldn't you agree?"

Crowley did a step forward, but was held back by the invisible barrier. Turning away from Dean, he appealed directly to the former angel. "Castiel, it's not too late. My offer still stands."

Castiel ignored him. He looked at Dean. "Can I?"

"The floor is yours."

Castiel took a sheet of paper from the pocket of his coat. He was confident he knew the words by heart as well, but he didn't want to take the chance of accidentally misspeaking.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,

Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion

Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,

Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."

The Latin flowed from his lips with ease. He tasted all the words, felt their power. Crowley felt it too. He started threatening, bargaining, raging and pleading, but Castiel read on.

"Ergo draco maledicte

Et omnis legio diabolica

Adiuramus te.

Cessa decipere humanas creaturas,

Eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare."

Crowley's words had no impact on him. Language was Castiel's, after all. He'd lost it, he'd fought to regain it and now it was his again.

"Vade, Satana, inventor et magister

Omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis.

Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei,

Contremisce et effuge, invocato a

Nobis sancto et terribili nomine,

Quem inferi tremunt."

Crowley began to scream and for a moment, Castiel hated himself for being cruel. But from the corner of his eye, he saw Dean and remembered that this wasn't cruelty. This was justice.

"Ab insidiis diabolic, libera nos, Domine.

Ut Ecclesiam Tuam secura Tibi facias libertate servire,

Te rogamus, audi nos.

Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris,

Te rogamus, audi nos."

Latin was the language of the courts. Castiel had been sentenced, found guilty and had been given his punishment. He'd taken it and atoned. He had been forgiven. Crowley was about to receive his own.

"Terribilis Deus de sanctuario Suo.

Deus Israhel ipse truderit virtutem

Et fortitudinem plebi Suae.

Benedictus Deus. Gloria Patri."

Castiel spoke the last words and Crowley crumpled. Gone, defeated. There was nothing left of him. The King of Hell had become one with his vessel long ago and it had finally disintegrated under the conflicting powers.

"Bobby and Sam are burning the bones?" Castiel asked Dean. They wanted to be absolutely sure there'd be nothing left of the King of Hell and that none of his followers had any chance of resurrecting him.

"They're doing it as we speak," Dean replied. "You played it well, Cas."

Castiel smiled shyly.

"Were you ever tempted? To take his offer, I mean."

"No." It was the truth.

Dean smiled back. "Glad to hear it. How about we go home now?"

"I-I'd like that."

Together, they walked out of the warehouse. Castiel never looked back.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Castiel never achieved complete fluency. His voice would always contain the hint of a stutter and he'd stumble once in every ten words or so. That was alright. When he was with Dean, his stuttering was barely noticeable, but whenever he became nervous, excited or scared, it worsened. Dean thought it was endearing. Castiel chose to see it as a reminder of his own humanity.

They started travelling again, hunting when they had the opportunity, though it wasn't their sole purpose. Dean wanted to show Castiel everything the world had to offer. They finally saw the Grand Canyon. After six months, Sam left them to pursue his old dreams of becoming a lawyer and Dean was happy for him. He and Castiel visited him regularly and on his quiet weekends, Sam travelled with them. They also tried to stay at Bobby's a few nights every month or so, the old hunter always welcoming them gruffly into his home and putting them to work immediately. Castiel noticed how his old room at Bobby's house remained untouched and free from rubbish in the periods he wasn't there.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

After Crowley's demise, Castiel had begun to sleep soundlessly. It was Dean, this time, who dreamed.

Dean found himself in front of a small cabin he'd only seen once before. He'd stayed there during the duration of a single night. A soft knock on the wood and the door opened slowly.

"You're not my Dean."

"You're not my Castiel," Dean replied with a smile. "But you are the one I want to talk to."

Castiel looked vaguely bemused, but then the door swung open wide and he invited Dean in with a hand gesture. "I take it you're from the past?"

"2012."

"It's 2014 here."

"I know," Dean replied. Castiel hadn't invited him to sit down, but Dean did so anyway.

"How did you get here?" Castiel demanded. "This camp is sealed from the outside world. No strangers are allowed, because it's impossible to tell whether they are carrying the croatoan virus. Does anyone else know you're here? Are you going to get us out of this god-awful mess?"

It was odd to hear this version of Castiel swear. Everything about the man differed from the person Dean knew in his own time, except for his physical features and the sound of his voice. "You're dreaming," he replied to Castiel's very first question. "I'm sorry, I'm not here to fix this."

Castiel snorted incredulously. "Then what's the point of you being here? How did you even do this? Only angels can invade dreams and you, Dean Winchester, are still just a man."

"I prayed for it."

Castiel laughed cynically. He grabbed a bottle of liquor from a nearby table and took a gulp, offering it to Dean, who refused. "There is no God. Not anymore."

"Perhaps not in your time. But I didn't come here for theological discussions."

"Good. I have no interest in having them."

"I came here," Dean continued as if Castiel hadn't spoken. "to tell you that I've done it. I've changed your future. This," he gestured around himself to indicate the whole situation, "this will never happen."

Castiel's eyes widened for a moment in genuine surprise. Then his mask slotted back into place. "Did you kill me?"

"No."

"Then nothing's changed."

"You're happy. Back in my time. You're happy there."

Castiel laughed cruelly. It was nothing like the laugh of his Castiel, Dean thought. "Don't play games with me, Dean. You don't know me. You don't know what I've become."

"You enjoy classical music, you like to run and you insist on wearing a tie wherever you go, even when it's summer."

Castiel slowly reached up to his neck where a tie was missing. "I like to run," he said quietly, almost involuntarily.

"You love anchovies, for reasons I can't imagine," Dean continued, getting up and approaching Castiel, who was still standing. "You're capable of driving the Impala, but you enjoy being a passenger more. The sound of the engine still makes you fall asleep. When you get enthusiastic about a Latin text or a book you've read, you stutter when you tell me about. I always listen and nod along, even if I don't have a clue what you're talking about. You're not that great with a gun, but you don't need to be, because you're so much more than just a hammer or a hunter. You don't like coffee, but you swear by tea. You love sitting on the roof with me at Bobby's house. You talk to Sam on the phone and the two of you discuss nerdy things I'll never understand. Sometimes, when you're tired, you stop speaking and I get all worried. And then you say my name the way only you can, as if it's a prayer or a spell, and I know everything is fine."

Castiel, who had kept his eyes on the floor while Dean had been talking, suddenly turned around and started moving in the direction of the door. "I – I can't believe this. You can't come in here telling me things like this. You can't start giving me hope. I won't believe it, Dean. I won't. I can't."

Dean grabbed his arm and prevented him from leaving. Castiel reluctantly faced him and Dean looked into an older version of the blue eyes he'd come to know so well. "You don't have to believe it," He told Castiel gently. "But it's the truth. And it will be the truth, even in 2014. You're happy, Cas. I'm going to make sure you stay that way."

He let go of Castiel's arm, allowing him to walk away to the other side of the room, where he paused at the window, staring out at the camp. He didn't turn back and didn't speak. He didn't thank Dean and he didn't look at him again. It wasn't necessary. Dean had kept his promise to this Castiel of the future. It wasn't the future anymore.

The End

A/N: That was it! I'd love to know what you thought of the conclusion and this piece in general. It was a joy to write, so thank you reading and commenting.