A/N: I think it's time we got some resolution, don't you? Again, huge thanks to everyone who encouraged me to expand this fic from the original one-shot. I'm so glad I did. ^_^
Some lines lifted from "The Great Escapist."

It was only a matter of time before the shit hit the fan. Dean watched the video Kevin had emailed him from some remote server or whatever, listened dumbfounded to the words that spilled from his mouth, frantic and anguished.

"I'm dead, you bastards!"

Kevin hadn't split, hadn't gone into hiding. Crowley had gotten him after all, after Dean had sworn it was impossible. He angrily swiped a stack of books off the table, sending them crashing to the floor. He should've moved Kevin to the bunker, should have done more. And now Crowley…god, he was just a kid.

"I'm sorry. I know it was my job, but I—but I couldn't…"

Sam and Cas watched him in silence, and then Sam was clicking the links Kevin had left them and printing out all his notes. Dean snapped out of his internal torment and tried to ring Garth, though he didn't answer. What a surprise. Garth had been MIA longer than Kevin. Dean called around to a few more hunters, but none had seen the quirky nerd. One bit of good news…depending on how one looked at it—no new prophets seemed to have been called. Which meant Kevin wasn't dead, but likely being tortured at the hands of Crowley. And they had no leads.

Except Kevin's notes, which they immediately got down to going through.

"Hmm," Sam murmured after a while. He picked up another page and compared it to the one he'd been reading. "There it is again, every time."

Dean looked up. "What?"

Sam angled the paper across the table so he and Cas could see. "This symbol? I know it."

Cas furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "I read Kevin's notation on it: it's the mark of the Scribe of God, Metatron."

"Okay…?" Dean flicked his gaze between the two of them.

"But I think I've seen it before," Sam continued eagerly. "I mean, it was a long time ago. It was one of my, uh, humanities courses at Stanford."

"They taught Word of God at Stanford?" Dean snorted.

Cas cocked his head. "I highly doubt that."

Sam shot them both exasperated looks. "No, uh, it was an overview of Native American art—I think it's a petroglyph."

"A petro-what-now?"

Sam pushed out of his chair. "Give me a minute."

Dean threw one hand up impatiently as Sam strode to the bookshelves and skimmed various spines.

"I'm sorry I can't help you get the prophet back," Cas said somberly.

Dean shook his head and rested his arms on the table. "It was my job to protect him."

"You can't save everyone."

A hard lump in his throat threatened to choke him. That's what Cas had said when he'd told Dean he'd chosen to stay behind in Purgatory. Dean hadn't gotten Cas out. And then when Cas was back, Dean hadn't been able to save him from Naomi. Now Kevin… Well, screw that. Yeah, he couldn't save everyone, but it wasn't everyone he needed to save; it was a few choice people. It was the people he cared about more than anything in the world.

Sam suddenly slammed a book onto the table and pointed to the symbol on the page. After a hasty history lesson and debate, Dean finally agreed to drive out to Colorado looking for the actual "Messenger of God." Though really, Metatron was hiding out in the mountains with a bunch of Indians? It was probably going to be a colossal waste of time and gas, but it was the only way to get Sam to calm down. His little brother had wanted to come, but no way was Dean letting him make the trip in his weakened condition. Plus, Cas couldn't even go, and now Dean was paranoid that if they left him alone, Naomi would find the bunker and take Cas away while he and Sam were gone. So to compromise, Dean got stuck chasing the wild goose while his brother and angel got to stay home and relax.

Turns out it's not paranoia when they're really out to get you. He hadn't even made it a full mile away from the bunker when a woman with red hair wearing a business suit was suddenly standing in the middle of the road. Dean swerved to avoid hitting her, running the Impala off the pavement and into a few scraggly bushes.

Son-of-a-bitch!

He whipped his head around, but she'd vanished. Scrambling out of the car, Dean only made it three steps before there was a flutter of wings that made his blood run cold.

"Dean Winchester, I believe you have something of mine."

Sam's phone buzzed as the caller ID lit up with Dean's name. "Dude, you haven't even been gone ten minutes," he answered.

"Sam Winchester," a cold, female voice responded.

His spine went ramrod straight. "Who the hell is this?"

"That's not important," she replied cooly. "What you need to know is I'm outside your secret bunker, with your brother."

Sam's hand tightened around his phone, and he saw Cas glance up sharply from his reading. "What do you want?" he growled.

"Castiel and the angel tablet."

No. Sam exchanged a wide-eyed look with Cas. There was no doubt his angelic hearing was letting him eavesdrop.

"Bring them out," the woman continued. "Or your brother is on the first train to the next life. I wonder if he's headed up or down this time." The call clicked as she disconnected.

Sam jerked the phone away from his ear and stared at the darkening screen. Shit, was that Naomi? How had she found them? Dean hadn't been gone long enough for her to capture and torture him for information, not that he'd ever give up the bunker's location. But what had she done to get his phone?

Cas pushed out of his chair abruptly, scraping the legs across the wood floor. "You have to let me out."

"Cas, hold on, think for a minute!" Sam's heart was racing, but he needed to keep his head clear if he was going to save his brother. "We don't have the angel tablet, remember? If this is Naomi, she's not just gonna accept that."

"She still wants me."

"Yeah, and there's no way in hell I'm handing you back over to angels to be tortured." Or brainwashed again.

"But Dean—"

"Dean wouldn't want that either." Sam ran a hand through his hair. They didn't have much time. He really didn't know how long Naomi would wait before she started hurting Dean. And Dean was alive. Because angels couldn't get into the bunker, so Naomi needed leverage. Unless she just planned to wait and starve them out. Dammit, what was he supposed to do?

"Sam," Castiel said firmly. "We have no choice."

His stomach twisted into knots. How was he supposed to sacrifice Cas for Dean? Or vice versa?

Sam dropped his gaze to the sigiled bracelets on Cas's wrists. Taking them off would mean powering Cas up, which they definitely needed. But would it also mean opening him up to Naomi's control again?

"Leave them on," Cas said, a slight waver in his voice. Apparently he was afraid of the same thing. "When we get out there, you can trade me for Dean."

"That's not what I'm doing, Cas," Sam nearly growled. Wasn't it though? How the hell was he supposed to take on an angel by himself and actually succeed?

"I know, Sam," Cas said with gentle understanding. "But it will appear that way. Just like with the Wookiee in that movie we watched."

Sam blinked. Cas had just pulled a play from a pop culture reference. And Dean had missed it.

It wasn't a bad plan though. It wasn't a good one either, but Cas was right: they had no choice.

Sam sprinted into the other room and retrieved their angel blades, then met Cas at the foot of the stairs leading up to the door. Cas's shoulders were pulled taut as he stared intently at the warding keeping angels from passing in or out.

"Here." Sam held out one of the angel blades—Cas's angel blade.

Cas's mouth tightened as though it might bite. "Sam, if…"

He pressed the sword into Castiel's hand and closed the angel's fingers around it. The last time that blade had been used, it'd almost killed its owner and Dean. But Cas had fought Naomi's control that time, and Sam believed he could do it again. "I trust you, Cas."

Cas stared at the sword for a long moment, fear, doubt, and determination warring across his expression. But he finally gave a slow nod and slipped the blade inside his coat sleeve.

With that, Sam took a deep breath as he marched up the stairs to disarm the angel warding.

Castiel blinked as he stepped into the sunlight. It was like being born, emerging into a brand new world he'd never laid eyes on before. The fresh air was instantly intoxicating, full of aromas of pine, cedar, wet leaves, and a myriad of other scents he didn't have time to process or bask in. For ten feet away stood another angel. Castiel knew that instinctively, though he didn't know her name. She wore a pinstripe suit, red hair pulled back in a bun. A few feet away from her, Dean sat on the ground, one arm wrapped around his torso as though holding against pain. His eyes widened as Castiel and Sam emerged.

"Sam, no."

"Be silent," the angel snapped.

Castiel heard the rush of wings and felt the presence of two more angels materialize behind him. Sam started to turn when the female flung her arm out, and Sam went flying through the air to land next to Dean on the ground, grunting as he hit.

Castiel wanted to move toward the brothers, but he found himself inexplicably frozen in terror as the red-headed angel slowly approached him. She roved her gaze up and down his form, pursing her lips.

"Oh, Castiel. What have they done to you?"

His brow furrowed.

She tsked and threw the Winchesters a contemptuous look. "They've been keeping you prisoner all this time. We searched everywhere for you, Castiel, but this warding they have…" She gestured at the bunker behind him.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Who are you?" Castiel knew the answer though, as something cold slithered through his stomach.

She smiled, yet it was anything but kind. "My name is Naomi. I'm here to rescue you." She snapped her fingers, and the sigiled bracelets split apart to fall on the ground.

Castiel felt his grace swell with newfound freedom, and his first instinct was to spread his wings and soar into the ether. But the other two angels were standing close, flanking him, yet there was nothing friendly or supportive in their proximity. Not the way Castiel felt when Sam and Dean sat next to him at the table or on the couch.

"Now, that's better, isn't it?" Naomi said pleasantly.

Castiel couldn't help but flex his wings tentatively. They ached from disuse. He lifted his gaze to Naomi again and found himself giving a small nod.

"Good, it's time to come home now, Castiel."

"Cas, no!" Dean cried.

Naomi whipped her hand out toward the Winchester again, and he doubled over, coughing up blood and clutching his stomach.

"Dean!" Sam gripped his brother's shoulders, holding him up as he retched.

Panic flared in Castiel. "Don't!"

Naomi spun toward him, arching her brows in disbelief. "Don't…?"

Don't question.

"Don't hurt them," he forced out in a quiet, pleading voice.

She stared at him. "Castiel, these humans are vermin. Look at how they imprisoned you! To corrupt you, to use you for their own selfish ends."

He wanted to shake his head, to argue. No, Dean and Sam hadn't used him. They'd been patient and kind, and treated him…like family. They were trying to protect him. Even now, they were watching him, eyes terrified as though they were afraid for him and not themselves.

"We're supposed to be their shepherds," he said instead, unsure why there was a slight quaver in his voice.

Naomi looked at him sharply. "Not always, angel." She shook her head. "It seems your time away from Heaven has clouded your mind. It's understandable. I can't imagine what lies they filled your head with."

"You bitch!" Dean snarled. "You're the one who screwed with his head!"

"Just go, Cas!" Sam shouted. "Run!"

"I told you to be silent!" Naomi snapped her fingers, and suddenly the Winchesters' mouths were moving, though no sounds came out. She smoothed her suit jacket as she turned back to Castiel. "Now, bring me the angel tablet, Castiel."

Follow orders.

"I can't."

Her eyes sharpened, flickering with malicious intent. "You…can't?"

"A demon named Crowley has taken both the angel tablet and the prophet." Castiel blinked. Why had he told her that?

Naomi's expression slackened in disbelief, but it quickly turned to ire and she whirled on the Winchesters. "You fools!" she spat. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" She waved her hand, and an invisible blast of power flattened Sam and Dean into the ground. The brothers writhed under its unrelenting gravity, silent screams ripping from their muted throats.

"Stop!" Castiel lunged to drag Naomi away from the Winchesters, but the two angels behind him were quicker and grabbed his arms, wrenching them painfully behind his back. His outburst at least served to distract Naomi though, for she released the brothers and turned to face him.

"Excuse me?"

Castiel struggled uselessly against the two angels. "Leave them alone."

Her eyes roved up and down him like a predator. "Are you questioning me?"

Don't question.

Castiel gritted his teeth. "There's no reason to hurt them."

Naomi reeled back as though in shock. "Every single time," she muttered. "No matter how many times I erase those rebellious inclinations from your mind, you still fall back into them."

Castiel's blood ran cold. He'd assumed Naomi had wiped his memory just the one time. But it had been more? How many? How many times had she torn into his head and washed it clean? Who was he anymore? A blank slate, something to be written over and programmed?

Don't question.

Follow orders.

He looked toward the Winchesters, who lay gasping for breath. These past several weeks with them, Sam and Dean had emphasized Castiel's free will in almost everything. It had been confusing at first, being told he wasn't allowed to leave, but then them insisting he choose what to do with his time. They had encouraged him to make his own decisions, and respected them when he did. They pushed him to question, and never ordered him around.

Naomi followed his gaze, lip curling in disgust. "I'm going to give you one last chance, Castiel. Be a good angel and do as you're told. Kill them."

Castiel stared at her in horror. No.

Don't question.

Follow orders.

He flinched at the insistence of those commands, throbbing within his mind like drills. No, he didn't want to hurt Sam and Dean.

He just wanted to be a good angel.

But what did that even mean? The voices in his head were screaming now, demanding obedience. That's what made a good angel. But how could it when the commands were wrong?

"You're not a bad angel. Hey—do you believe me?"

"—shows an angel helping a human. Several times, in fact. Because he wanted to. Because it was a good thing to do."

"I asked Abdiel why he continued to travel with me. My 'good deed for Heaven' had been completed, the village now equipped with the knowledge they needed to ward off demons. The return journey to the colonies would be no less treacherous, but that was not Abdiel's concern. Still, he brought me food when game was scarce, kindled my fire when my fingers were too numb to strike a flint, and sat with me when the shadows of the night began playing tricks on the mind of someone who knows far too well what may be hiding in them. And though I feared my question would send him away, I could not help but ask why he continued to watch over me.
'Because,' he had said. 'I am an angel of the Lord.'"

Castiel felt something small crack deep inside him. I am an angel. A servant of Heaven. Shepherd of man.

"No," he said, not even realizing the other voices had suddenly silenced.

Naomi blinked. "No?"

Castiel drew his shoulders back, still restrained by Naomi's lackeys. "No. I will not hurt Sam and Dean." Because they had done nothing wrong. Because they were good men, fighting the evil in this world though it cost them everything. And now Castiel saw clearly, though it broke his heart, that angels had become one of those evils. This was not God's will.

Naomi gaped at him for a long moment, a vein in her neck bulging. "Why don't you ever fully obey?" she seethed.

He met her gaze solemnly. "I don't know." Then Castiel looked toward the Winchesters again, their eyes wide with fear. "But it's the right thing to do."

He dropped his angel blade into his hand and jammed it backward into the thigh of the angel on his right. With a cry of agony, the angel staggered back, and Castiel spun around to face the second. That one was taken by surprise, and couldn't draw his blade before Castiel drove his into the vessel's chest. Bright white light exploded from the mouth and eyes.

The wounded angel brandished his sword and lunged at Castiel, but he threw his own blade up in time to block. The impact vibrated down his forearm, yet there was something swift and instinctive unfurling inside him, and Castiel dropped his blade in order to grab the other angel's wrists. Using the strength of his opponent's own momentum, Castiel arced the sword down and around to plunge upward into the angel's chest. He died in an explosion of grace like the first.

Before Castiel could retrieve his blade, an invisible force slammed into him, propelling him backward to smack against the outer wall of the bunker. Pain lanced down his spine, and stars momentarily danced across his vision as he slumped to the ground. It was then he felt something warm trickling down the inside of his cheek, and when he lifted the back of his hand to his face, it came away smeared with bright crimson.

Blinking through the haze, Castiel raised his head as Naomi marched toward him. He tried to get up, but she snapped her fingers, and his head cracked back against the concrete. A combination of red and glowing white fizzled across his field of vision.

"I'm done trying to fix you, Castiel." The glint of an angel blade appeared in her hand.

His head felt like it was splitting open, and he couldn't get his legs and arms to react to the threat looming over him.

"You're an aberrance, a mistake that never should have been created." Naomi sneered. "Something I intend to rectify."

"Hey, bitch."

She twisted around just as Dean thrust an angel blade into her sternum. A surprised gasp choked in her throat.

Dean was solid fury, eyes blazing as he pressed his face near Naomi's startled one. "You will never touch him again."

With that, he twisted the blade. Naomi's back arched, and a split second later, blinding light exploded outward in every direction. The concussive force hit Castiel head-on with a whoomp, drowning him in a cascade of blackness.

Dean wrenched the angel blade from Naomi's chest, letting her drop to the ground. Then he snapped his gaze to Cas as his friend started sliding sideways down the wall.

"Cas!" Dean bolted to his side, catching his shoulders before he cracked his head on the cement. Rivulets of blood were streaming from his eyes. No, no, no. Not again. Please.

"Cas, wake up!" Dean cupped Castiel's face. "Don't do this, dammit! Open your eyes."

Sam dropped down beside him, hands hovering as though he didn't know what to do. Cas didn't respond or even twitch. He was out cold. Or dead.

No. Three sets of angel wings were scorched into the ground around them. Not four. Cas was still alive. But was he hurt? Had Naomi…?

"Let's get him inside," Dean said hoarsely. He and Sam each slung one of Cas's arms over their shoulders and carried the angel down to his room where they laid him on the bed. Dean retrieved a towel from the bathroom and cleaned the blood off Cas's face, all while memories of a hemorrhaging Cas trying to stab himself assaulted him. This wasn't like last time, he told himself. It couldn't be.

But Dean had no idea what he was dealing with. Both times Cas had started bleeding from his eyes had been when he'd refused to obey Naomi. But was the memory wipe she'd performed something she actively had to do, or was it a programmed punishment and she only had to flip a mental switch? When Cas woke up, would he once again be on factory reset? Dean didn't know if he could handle another round of that.

He pulled the desk chair over to sit by Cas's bed. Though the angel had been living in the bunker with them for the past several weeks, he hadn't ever slept on it. Until now.

Dean tore his gaze away from his friend's still face and roved it around the room. There was an ancient tome on the desk, open to the page Cas had left off in his translations. A group of fantasy books sat on a mounted wall shelf, with one sitting on the nightstand next to the bed, along with the journal Sam had given him. Cas had been settling in, gradually making this place his home as much as the Winchesters had. Dean's jaw tightened. That wouldn't change.

Sam had disappeared, only to return twenty minutes later. "I stashed the bodies in the garage until we can burn them properly," he said as he went to stand on the other side of Cas's bed.

Dean barely managed a nod of acknowledgement. Yeah, they needed to take care of that. But at the moment, he couldn't drag himself away. Desperate hope warred with practical despair. Winchester luck, or curse, whatever they called it, always bit them in the ass. Cas was no exception.

Sam gazed down at the unconscious angel for a long moment before speaking. "You heard what Naomi said, Dean. No matter how many times she…" His voice hitched. "He's still Cas. He's always been Cas. That's something she could never destroy, so even if we have to start all over…"

Dean looked up into the pain-filled eyes of his brother. Sam was trying to hold it together as much as he was. But what Sam said was true—Naomi could wipe Cas's memories, instill her Bible Camp brainwashing and bury Castiel's spirit so deep he couldn't possibly find his way out. But he did. Over and over, it seemed. So he would again. Because he was Cas. And because Dean and Sam would be there to help him. To bring him home.

Castiel's lifeless fingers suddenly twitched, and Dean snapped his gaze first to them, then to Cas's face where his eyes moved sluggishly beneath his closed lids.

"Cas?" Both Dean and Sam leaned forward, anxious, hopeful, maybe even daring to pray.

When Cas finally blinked several times and slid his gaze around dazedly, they held their breaths. Dean knew something inside him would break if Cas gave him the blank look of a stranger. But as those blue eyes drifted to the side and gradually focused on him, the barest smile graced Cas's face.

"Hello, Dean."