Author's Note: Wow . . . that finale was . . . wow. I'm still in shock. Thankfully, (or maybe not?) I have a lot of time to process it. Season 9 wasn't my favorite, but the finale really changed things for me. I'm looking forward to season 10. So, this story was one that I had to write after seeing the finale. Major spoilers for the season 9 finale. Seriously, last warning. Please enjoy!

"Sometimes, the best way to help someone is just to be near them."

—Veronica Roth

"Sam?"

Castiel walked in and placed a salad in front of the youngest Winchester. The angel grimaced taking in his friend's ashen skin and red, puffy eyes. He'd returned to Earth as soon as he had gotten Metatron settled, only to find out it was too late. Metatron had succeeded and now Dean was—

He blinked against the burning in his eyes and the sudden wave of grief. He shook his head, forcing an inner calm to wash over him. He had to be strong now, for all the times that Sam had been his anchor in the storm, and also because he knew Dean would want someone to take care of his little brother.

He turned to face Sam and noticed that the youngest Winchester wasn't even making a move to pick up the fork and eat the salad. It was like he had shut down completely—shock, is what they called it? The angel knew he had to get through to his friend somehow, someway.

"You need to eat." Castiel urged gently, pushing the salad closer towards Sam. His friend simply ignored it and sighing softly, he returned to the kitchen. He forced himself to not look at the mugs that lined the counter. They contained a variety of cheesy one-liners and various cartoon figures. One in particular—world's best big brother—caused his hand to tremble as he brought down the glass cup towards the sink. How many mornings had Dean been in here making coffee in that mug? Maybe he and Sam had exchanged jokes while he used that mug? Had it been a gag gift or one given with sincerity?

Jesus Cas, you take everything so seriously. Lighten up!

He nearly dropped the cup as Dean's voice filled his mind. He forced himself to put the cup down before he broke it. He gripped the counter and forced himself to even his breathing against the sudden sharp stab of pain. He had to be strong now. Sam needed him.

He reached for the cup once more and filled it up with water. Turning around, he re-entered the other room. Placing the cup down by Sam, he pulled up a chair and tried to make some sense of Sam's blank expression. His lips were chapped—he needed some water.

"Drink some, please."

Sam shook his head, but did not meet Castiel's gaze.

"Sam, I know this is . . ." He faltered, unsure what to say. Dean would know what to say—he always knew—but now, it was just he and Sam. Castiel had to take charge, had to try and fix things because at the rate Sam was going, the angel was worried he might try to do something . . . desperate.

"I am here for you." He settled for, reaching out and placing a warm hand over Sam's clammy one. The youngest Winchester barely registered the touch and continued to stare on at the room where his brother's body laid. Castiel hadn't had a chance to pay his respects yet—he'd rushed down only to find Sam in tears and he had understood immediately what that meant.

Losing Dean . . . losing a friend that he considered a family member—more so than of his brothers or sisters in Heaven—it hurt, to say the least. He couldn't imagine the pain that Sam was going through.

"Sam? Please, I need—"

"Cas?" Sam asked, his voice raspy. "Did you catch Metatron?" It was the first sentence he had spoken since the angel had arrived.

"I did." Castiel replied with a quick bob of his head. "But Sam—" He rose from the table, swaying a bit. The angel reached out, but the youngest Winchester placed his hand on the table, steadying himself.

"I'm going to get some sleep." He turned and vanished down the hall without waiting for a response. Castiel grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. He needed to get Sam to eat and drink something soon. He'd have to start getting ready for a hunter's funeral and contact Dean's friends and allies. Before that though, he'd have to get Sam back to a functioning level. Yet, now that the youngest Winchester had retired back to his room, the angel knew what he would have to do now.

Pay his respects.

"Hello Castiel." Crowley sat in a chair beside the now empty bed. The angel's eyes bugged out comically and he was about to reach for his angel blade when the King of Hell quickly added on, "We should talk."

"I . . ." He shook his head, trying to process what was happening. Dean's body was gone? Crowley was here? Why? To rub it in their faces that the Winchesters would no longer be a thorn in his side? "Where is he?"

"Just sit down, would you?" The demon replied calmly. His expression lacked his usual charm and smirk. In fact, the King seemed quite saddened, though Castiel couldn't fathom why. Losing Dean had to be a plus for him—even if Dean and Crowley had teamed up a few times before. "So, first of all, I suppose I should congratulate you on the return to Heaven." He extended his hand but Castiel stared, dumbfounded. "Right. We'll talk alliances and plans later."

"I'm going to ask you one more time," The angel rose up from the chair, pulling all his available grace to make him appear foreboding and powerful. "What have you done with Dean Winchester?" His voice echoed with the voices of angels that had come before him and the room lit up with the light of Heavens. Crowley flinched, but showed no other signs of discomfort.

"Dean Winchester is . . ." He let out a shaky laugh. "Well, this is a bit funny, I suppose." Crowley met the cerulean gaze of the angel. "Dean Winchester is a demon."

Something snapped in Castiel, like a rubber band and suddenly, he found himself sinking into the chair, his grace vanishing back within him. He ran through those words over and over again, but the meaning barely sunk in.

"What . . . did you say?"

"Dean Winchester is a demon." Crowley repeated softly. "The Mark of Cain kept him alive, so to speak."

"Where is he now?" His voice was shaky; his hands trembling. He couldn't believe this was happening. He had thought Dean was dead and gone, but now he was alive, but a demon?

"He's safe." Crowley answered. "He's getting used to his powers and new life—"

"I need to see him!" Castiel shouted, jumping up from the chair and pacing the floor. "Sam needs to know and I—"

"Easy there," The demon began, rising regally from the chair. "Look, Dean just went through something huge. I think it would be best if we kept this a secret between the two of us—"

"But Sam—!" The angel protested.

"If Dean were to see Sam, I can't guarantee he wouldn't attack him." At Castiel's perplexed look, the King shrugged. "The Mark of Cain coupled with the injuries he sustained with Metatron have left him in a bit of a hazy state. He barely remembers his own name and he prefers to stab first and talk later."

"But . . . he will regain his memories?" Castiel pressed, trying to keep his cool after this deluge of new information.

"He will. It will take some time though."

"How long?"

"Five months."

Silence.

"Five months?" Castiel echoed.

"Maybe less, maybe more." The Monarch of Hell brushed past him, going to stand by the door. He smiled, almost ruefully, before facing the angel once more. "Just let me do what I can."

"I can't keep this from Sam. He'll never forgive me—" Castiel shook his head, refusing to believe that this was his reality. They had achieved so much, the three of them. How could this be happening to them now? Sam was barely breathing, Dean was a demon and Castiel? He was an angel running on borrowed time.

"If you tell Sam and he goes running to his brother's side, like we both know he will," Crowley began deliberately. "He will die. Dean will kill him, make no mistake about that."

"I . . ." He let out a short breath. "I understand."

"Good."

"Wait." Castiel reached out, wanting to stop him. "Why are you doing this?"

Crowley just smirked, a bit of his old self lighting up his face.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

And then Crowley was gone.

"Sam?"

He pushed open the bedroom door and saw the Winchester staring out the window. A cool wind blew through his hair and Castiel could tell from his stance that the youngest Winchester was functioning on sheer force of will alone. His body trembled, but he seemed to give it no heed. Nothing mattered but the grey sky that seemed to expand outwards forever.

"Sam?" He tried again, knocking on the door just a bit. That startled the other man out of it and immediately, his hazel eyes locked onto Castiel's. Even in the dim sunlight, the angel could see how red they were. "I wanted to see if you wanted something to eat."

"You don't have to stay." Sam muttered, emotionless. "I know you have Heaven to—"

"I'm not leaving you." Castiel swore, voice low and dangerous. How could Sam think—after everything the two of them had been through—that he would just walk out on him? They were family.

"I've been alone before." Sam scoffed softly. "I'll be fine." He sucked in a shuddering breath and grimaced as a tear rolled down his cheek. He tried to wipe it away, only for another to take its place. "I just . . . I can't do this."

"You're not alone, Sam." The angel interjected quickly. "I'm here. We're family."

"If I had just gotten over the whole Gadreel mess sooner," He sniffed, tears now fully running down his cheeks. "Maybe, he wouldn't have gotten that stupid mark in the first place."

"Sam, you cannot blame yourself." Castiel told him softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You had every reason to be angry."

"But I keep thinking, that if I had just told him how I felt and apologized that maybe we could have," Sobs began to cut off his voice. "We could have been okay. And Dean . . ." He forced himself to breathe and tried to calm himself. "He would still be alive. If I had just—"

Castiel couldn't stand to see his friend in this state. Without thinking, he threw his arms around Sam and hugged him fiercely. He wanted to tell the truth, that Dean was alive, in a manner of speaking, but he couldn't. It broke his heart to know that he would have to keep this secret. Still, with a sobbing Sam in his arms, he knew that he had to keep silent. He couldn't risk Sam's life. Maybe it would mean the end of his friendship with Sam, but he had already lost one Winchester today.

He refused to lose another one.

"It's okay," Castiel soothed. "I'm here. We're going to get through this."

Sam just continued to cry.

They burned a fake body.

He had one of his new followers in Heaven conjure it up. He knew every detail had to be perfect for Sam, but it killed the angel to see the youngest Winchester pouring the lighter fluid over what he thought was his older brother's corpse. Castiel had offered to go bring people to the funeral, but Sam had refused.

"I need to say goodbye." He mumbled.

So, Castiel had given him his space. In the firelight, he saw Sam's solemn expression in his eyes, the sheer defeat that seemed to be washed over him. He had lost everything—his last family relative—and the angel knew he would have to keep an eye on him just in case the grief got the better of him and he tried to take his own life.

Bobby had told him once that the brothers couldn't function without each other. Those few hours at Cold Oak, he'd been told, when Dean sat with his baby brother's corpse, the gruff hunter was sure he was going to burning two brothers instead of one.

They just don't function right. It's like one cannot go on without the other.

"No." Castiel breathed. He would keep Sam alive. He would wait for the five months to end and then he would accept the punishment that Sam saw fit to dole out.

Five months.

He wouldn't fail.

And at the very edge of where the firelight extended, coal black eyes met his.

"Dean." He breathed.

But the figure was gone, lost to the darkness.

Author's Note: I will probably write more about the season 9 finale but I had to get this piece up. Please review if you have a second! Thanks!