A/N: Finally the long-awaited comfort to close this heavily angsty fic. Thank you so much for all the enthusiasm you guys have shown this storyline. And one last shout-out to my awesome beta, 29-pieces-of-me!

Chapter 7: Second Chances

Sam ran through the junk yard, heart pounding and blood roaring in his ears. He'd seen that flash of light which could only mean one thing. But he prayed to God—the real one—that it wasn't. When he skidded around an old pickup truck, he nearly stopped breathing at the sight of Cas on the ground and Dean kneeling over him.

"Dean?" No, please no.

Dean looked up, expression pinched. "Help, Sammy."

Sam stumbled over, and finally noticed the other body lying just beyond them. Ash coated the sparse weeds, and Sam's heart plummeted. "Oh god…"

"He's still alive," Dean broke in. "Michael's dead."

That was Michael? Sam dropped to his knees next to Cas, who was covered in blood once again, a sight that still made Sam's stomach turn. Especially because this was way too much red staining the coat and ground, not to mention seeping blue grace. "What happened?"

"I found Cas and Michael fighting," Dean replied hoarsely. "It's my fault, Sam. I distracted Cas, and Michael got the upper-hand. He wanted me to say yes to being his vessel."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, but quickly forced himself to calm down. Dean was still Dean, and Michael was dead. Cas was…bleeding out. "We should get him back to the house."

Dean nodded, and shifted his grip so he could get one arm under the angel while maintaining pressure on the chest wound. Sam rolled Cas slightly to get a good hold, and swore at the patch of blood soaking his back.

"Shit, Dean, it goes all the way through!"

Dean's mouth disappeared in a tight line. "Cas did it."

Sam blinked in bewilderment as he dug out his handkerchief to press against the exit wound. "What?"

"Michael had him. I couldn't do anything, and he threatened you both if I didn't say yes…" Dean swallowed hard. "Cas stabbed himself so hard the blade went right through him and into Michael. Then Cas killed him."

Sam sputtered in disbelief as he stared at the unconscious angel. How many times was Cas going to commit suicide for the sake of the Winchesters? He's not dead yet, so get your butt in gear.

"Okay, on three." Sam counted, and together they lifted Cas off the ground, each one trying to keep pressure on those wounds while carrying the angel back toward the house. Bobby intercepted them on the porch, swearing up a storm and demanding to know what the hell happened. Sam gave him the same abbreviated version he'd gotten from Dean, minus a few details.

"There's a body on the north end of the yard that needs disposing," he finished.

Bobby grumbled a few indecipherable things under his breath as he held the door open for them. At least it was the back end of his property where no happenstance visitor would stumble across it.

"You taking him downstairs?" Bobby asked.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look; they didn't really want to stick Cas in the panic room again. Besides, with Michael gone, they were finally safe.

Their hesitation was answer enough, and Bobby automatically made his way upstairs ahead of them. By the time they'd gotten Cas into the spare bedroom, Bobby had already laid down some towels on the bed. The brothers got Cas situated on his side, and Sam inspected the gaping holes under the torn jacket and shirt.

"I think the bleeding's slowed way down," he said, though the faint glow that still emitted from the holes unnerved him. "Should we stitch this? I mean, Cas will heal on his own, right?"

Dean's face was a hardened mask, but there was a glint of doubt in his eyes that made Sam nervous. "Can't see any harm in helping it along."

"I'll get the kit," Bobby volunteered, and ducked out.

Sam stayed half-kneeling on the bed to keep Cas propped on his side. He watched Dean, who in turn watched Cas with a profound look of sorrow and desolation. Sam couldn't imagine what his brother was going through, the guilt he must be feeling; he'd finally worked up the nerve to talk to Cas, no small feat for Dean, and now they were faced with possibly losing the angel again. Sam had gotten a chance to apologize to Cas, a chance to start the healing process between them, but even that was nowhere near enough. Cas couldn't die now, not after everything.

Bobby returned with the sutures and bandages, and then took Sam's place bracing Cas so he and Dean could cut away the trench coat, suit jacket, and shirt. When the angel recovered, Cas could repair something as easy as fabric. Probably. And if not, Sam would just buy him new clothes.

They set to work tending both wounds at the same time, Dean taking the front while Sam took the back. They wanted to make quick work in case Cas woke up soon. But the angel didn't stir throughout the cleaning, stitching, or bandaging. Afterward, they eased Cas onto his back, and then Dean moved on to treating the cut above his brow. Bobby went to finally go take care of the deceased vessel out back, and Sam busied himself with cleaning up the bloody towels and supplies, constantly glancing over to see if Cas was showing any signs of waking. He wasn't.

When they'd done all they could, Sam and Dean settled down to sit a quiet vigil over their friend. Dean couldn't seem to sit still though, and kept rubbing his hands together, shoulders taut with tension. He was always more a man of action.

"He's gonna be okay, Dean."

Dean didn't say anything for a long moment, and there was a haunted look in his eyes. "He wanted to die."

Sam stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

"Cas." Dean leaned forward in his chair and ran a hand down his wearied face. "Me and Michael screwed him over so bad he thought he had nothing left to live for. How the hell am I supposed to make that up to him?"

Sam shifted his gaze to the unconscious angel. Cas had lost so much. The war may have been over and the world saved yet again, but the list of casualties was high.

"Like this," Sam said quietly. "By being here."

Dean fell silent, and then laid a hand on Cas's forearm, like a physical anchor able to keep the angel with them. Sam reached over from his side and took Cas's other hand, adding his own tether. They'd been given another chance, despite all the second chances they'd squandered in the past. This time though, Sam was determined not to waste it.

Castiel was slow to waking yet again. And once again consciousness was more painful than the dark numbness of oblivion. His chest and back throbbed, though the rest of his limbs were oddly relaxed, cushioned against a soft mattress that was much more comfortable than the cot in the panic room. His hands also felt unusually warm. Without moving, Castiel pried his eyelids open and found himself looking at a smooth ceiling. He slowly roved his gaze around. Soft rays of light suffused around the edges of a slightly parted curtain, and he recognized one of the rooms in Bobby Singer's house. As though summoned by the thought, the grizzly hunter stepped into Castiel's field of vision.

"'Bout time you woke up, Feathers," he whispered, voice uncharacteristically soft.

Castiel frowned. "How long?" he rasped.

"Twenty-four hours." Why was Bobby still speaking in a hushed tone? "Boys haven't left your side once."

Castiel's gaze drifted down, first to the right and then the left where two heads of brown hair rested on the sides of the bed. Both Sam and Dean were clasping his hands, their grips loose in slumber. That warmth he felt in his palms suddenly spread to his chest. They were safe…and they were here.

He'd been thinking about getting up, but didn't want to disturb the brothers. Instead, Castiel took a moment to catalogue his condition. His chest was swathed in bandages and a quilt had been drawn up over half his torso. His wounds hurt and he was still drained from the ordeal, but he would survive. Somehow, that made him feel even more tired.

"I've half a mind to tell you how much of an idjit you are," Bobby grumbled under his breath.

Castiel furrowed his brow, which seemed to make Bobby snort.

"Yeah, you wouldn't get it. Besides…I know everything you do is with these boys in mind." Bobby cocked his head at the sleeping Winchesters. "And though it's taken a while for these numbskulls to get it, they know now not to take you for granted. We all do."

Castiel felt an uncomfortable tightness in his throat. "Bobby…"

The older hunter shook his head. "You just rest, Cas. This room's yours as long as you need it." He met Castiel's gaze and firmly held it. "Sanctuary."

Sanctuary. Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, overcome by a deluge of memory and emotion. When he'd first taken refuge in this house after being attacked—by Rachel, he now understood—Castiel knew Bobby had begrudgingly accepted him choosing to hide out there. The words the older man just offered, however, bore no trace of guilt or sense of obligation, only a genuine promise. And for the first time since this nightmare had become real, Castiel felt as though he might have a chance to come home.

"Boys." Bobby nudged Dean, then reached over to jostle Sam. Castiel wanted to protest, but the brothers' sleep had already been disrupted.

Dean jerked his head up. "What, what's wrong?" His frantic gaze landed on Castiel, and his eyes flew wide. "Cas!"

"Cas?" Sam mumbled, jolting out of sleep as well. Both of them squeezed Castiel's hands, and he found himself squeezing back.

"How you feeling?" Dean asked, eyes searching with an intensity normally reserved for Sam.

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but then reconsidered his answer. "I've…been better. And worse."

Dean's lips seemed to twitch at that. Bobby gave him a small nod before discreetly slipping out of the room.

"You're gonna be okay though, right?" Sam pressed.

"With time," he admitted, and finally tried to sit up. At a poorly concealed grimace, two hands settled on his shoulders and gently pushed him back down.

"Take it easy," Dean chided mildly. "There's no rush."

Castiel supposed that was true, now that he was no longer fighting a war, souls from Purgatory, or Michael. He glanced down at his bandages again. "Thank you for your care."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck as though embarrassed. "Just don't ever do that again," he grumbled.

Castiel's heart fell with the weight of the past year. "I don't anticipate attempting to raise either of you from Hell again, so I think we can safely say I won't be making the same foolish mistakes."

"I don't blame you for that, Cas," Dean quickly responded. "Not for accidentally letting Michael out instead of Sam's soul, or anything that douchebag did, while he was wearing you or not." He looked away for a moment, and Castiel wondered if he was trying to hide a lie. But when he turned back, Dean leaned forward and clasped Castiel's arm, lowering his voice. "I don't ever wanna see you on the verge of giving up again." He let out a deep breath. "And I'm sorry I had a hand in making you feel that way. I don't deserve it, but…can you forgive me?"

Castiel blinked at him. Dean wanted his forgiveness?

"Me too, Cas," Sam spoke up softly. "We both screwed up."

Castiel dropped his gaze. When Dean had begged him to hold on, Castiel had not given the decision much thought beyond easing Dean's pain. To wake up and find that Dean meant to see it through, that he would not abandon Castiel again…it was more than he'd expected.

"I am not entirely blameless," he managed to say, lifting his gaze to look them both in the eye. "I should have stayed closer, kept better watch on you and Sam after I'd brought him back."

Dean shook his head. "That wasn't your job, Cas, it's okay."

"But it's what friends do."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, well, I hadn't exactly given you a good role model in that department."

Castiel pursed his lips. "But…we're going to try again?"

Dean instantly straightened. "Hell yes. If you want to stick around, that is. Sam and me will get back on the road eventually, hunting monsters like we normally do."

"After you're fully recovered," Sam hastily put in.

"Definitely after you're back on your feet," Dean agreed, with no trace of annoyance or impatience. "You deserve some rest, Cas, I mean that. And when you're ready, if you want…well, the backseat in the Impala has your name on it."

Castiel quirked his brow. "I don't recall seeing my name anywhere on the upholstery."

Sam ducked his head to hide a grin while Dean just rolled his eyes.

"Dean's name isn't on the driver's seat either," Sam explained. "But it's where he belongs."

"Same with Sam riding shotgun," Dean said.

Oh. Castiel considered it for a long moment. Things had been rough between the three of them, but they were taking steps to mend it. Castiel didn't really have anywhere else to go—he couldn't return to Heaven. Yet the Winchesters were offering him a place with them instead. And as he'd secretly felt often during the war, it was the place he most wanted to be.

A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and he let himself relax fully into the mattress and pillow. "I'd like that."

A/N: The End. ^_^ Next week I'll have the start of a "5 Times" fic. I know those are usually just a one-shot, but this one kinda got away from me, so it'll be multi-chaptered. Until then!