A/N: Last chapter! Thanks again to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed! I'm so glad you enjoyed this story. :)
To guest reviewer Loreley, what kind of coda to 12x9 would you be hoping for? There's one I really liked posted on Ao3 called "Everything" by DarkHeartInTheSky. If that doesn't fit the bill, I'm not opposed to trying to write one.

Chapter 6: A Soul By Any Other Name

Castiel watched in mounting fury as Metatron scuffed his shoe over the Devil's Trap, breaking the line. He pushed against the spell restraining him, which only served to increase the resistance pressing against his ribcage until black edges began to creep along his vision.

"You will never regain control of Heaven, Metatron," Castiel growled. "So what do you hope to accomplish here?"

"Good old fashioned revenge." Metatron paused. "And I think Heaven is still on the table." He turned to Abaddon, who towered over his vessel and managed to look far more sinister compared to the puny Scribe. "Now, in exchange for the Men of Letters headquarters, let's talk about that little angelic soul you picked up recently."

Abaddon narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to trick me?"

Metatron raised his hands placatingly. "Not at all. An angel's soul is powerful, but you don't need it for your army. Whereas I could potentially use it to regain control of Heaven."

"You son-of-a-bitch," Dean snarled from where he dangled against the wall.

Castiel, on the other hand, was stunned speechless. Metatron thought to use his soul to take over Heaven again? Well, that was completely unacceptable.

"Metatron is a liar and master manipulator," Castiel called out to Abaddon.

"Uh, I prefer master strategist," Metatron rejoined, barely glancing Castiel's way. "Think about it," he continued to wheedle the Knight of Hell. "My being in charge upstairs would only be advantageous to you, as I'll make sure all the other angels leave you alone. You can run your little Hell campaign to your heart's content."

Abaddon eyed him shrewdly. "Heaven is currently in shambles and too busy to pay any attention to Hell's dealings," she countered. "And with an angel's soul in my arsenal, I'm not afraid of the cloud hoppers if they ever do decide to rally."

Metatron's jaw dropped open in indignation. "Oh, come on!" He spread his arms in exasperation, then gestured at the Winchesters. "Look, you're even getting two more human souls out of this. Winchester souls. Plus the treasure trove of supernatural lore? That's a pretty fair trade for one soul, even an angel's."

Sam and Dean exchanged horrified looks, and Castiel had to admit that adding the Winchesters' souls to Abaddon's ranks would tip the balance of evil in this world.

Abaddon was silent for a long moment. "Alright," she finally said, and reached inside her leather jacket.

When she pulled out a small glass bottle glistering with a bright sphere of energy, Castiel once again found himself dismayed. The essence wasn't unlike an angel's grace or a regular human soul, except it had prismatic slivers woven throughout. It looked…pure. Which surely couldn't be right; how could something so beautiful belong to Castiel, this thing that made him weak?

Metatron's eyes gleamed with manic desire in the reflection of the soul's aura, sending a wave of disgust through Castiel at the thought of the Scribe touching it.

"Come on, Castiel," Metatron called, glancing his way again. "This way we both get what we want. You don't need to take this wretched soul back, which you know the Winchesters would force you to do, and you don't have to worry about it getting turned into a demon. Win-win. And hey," he exclaimed. "How would you like to stand at my right hand in Heaven? You know that's what you really want, to go back to being a foot soldier. To not carry the burden of leadership."

Castiel gritted his teeth. Yes, that was what he wanted. And on some level he had also known the Winchesters wouldn't accept him not taking his soul back. That didn't mean he would bow at the feet of Metatron, though.

"I'll die first."

Metatron shrugged. "Was worth a shot." He reached out to take the bottle.

An enraged bellow issued from Gadreel then, and he somehow managed to tear himself free of the mystical bonds. Angel blade in hand, he leaped forward with a battle cry. Abaddon jerked back, narrowly dodging the blade. She hissed, baring her teeth as she clutched the bottle in a tight fist. Metatron scrabbled out of the way.

Gadreel slashed again at the Knight, but she ducked under the swing and grabbed Gadreel's arm. She gave it a sharp crank, snapping his elbow. With Castiel's soul still secured in her grip, she delivered one, two, three punches to Gadreel's face.

Castiel fought to lift his arm, his limb shaking with strain, but then he managed to stab his own angel blade through the orange coil strapped across his torso. Energy popped and fizzled, and he dropped to the floor. Abaddon punched Gadreel in the chest and sent him flying through the air until he collided with the narrow stairway.

Castiel lunged at the demon and tackled her to the ground. They tumbled in a tangle, and out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw the bottle containing his soul go rolling out of her hand. Abaddon let out an animalistic snarl and scored her fingernails across his face. The scratches burned like fire, but he ignored them, and wrenched his arm around to stab the Knight in the shoulder. She screamed.

But while a little bit of orange flickered around the wound, the angel blade alone wasn't enough to cause significant damage. Abaddon thrust her palms against Castiel's chest and shoved him away. He staggered to regain his feet quickly, wracking his brain for some way to defeat her. But he didn't know the spell, and Metatron would never cast it himself.

Castiel saw the Scribe go skittering toward where Castiel's soul had landed, but Gadreel came charging forward and intercepted him. They both went flying to the other side of the room in a mass of flailing limbs, some delivering blows, some blocking them. Castiel turned his attention back to Abaddon, but froze as she whipped a hand out toward the Winchesters, who were still pinned to the wall. Blood began gushing from their eyes.

"Stop!" Castiel commanded.

Abaddon's red lips curved upward. "What are you gonna do, angel?" With another twist of her wrist, Sam and Dean started to scream.

Castiel hesitated. He could not allow this abomination to manipulate him. Abaddon was too dangerous, and must be destroyed at all costs. Castiel knew this to be certain, just like he'd known five years ago that the breaking of the Seals must be stopped at all costs. He had been ordered to destroy an entire town to see it done, and so he knew he should be willing to sacrifice the Winchesters if it meant not allowing Abaddon to escape.

And yet…that town had not ended up being destroyed. Sam and Dean had done everything within their power to save it—and had succeeded. Castiel remembered that he'd felt relieved at that. He also remembered that he cared for the Winchesters, so much that it had dictated his actions for the past several years. Granted, his actions had been despicable and woefully misguided. He took a step forward.

Abaddon's eyes darkened, and a muscle in her cheek ticked. Another horrendous scream ripped from the Winchesters' throats.

Castiel stopped. Wasn't sacrificing the Winchesters precisely what Metatron had tried to do? And with that town, neither Uriel nor Zachariah had had an ounce of compunction about killing everyone in it, despite their innocence. They thought humans were nothing more than disgusting worms. Lucifer had thought the same.

Castiel's throat tightened. How then could he follow his divine mandate of watching over humans when it seemed that all the other angels inevitably fell away from their duty? Was Sam right, was Castiel's soul the reason he had held onto his charge so faithfully? If he stayed as he was, just a regular angel, would he continue to protect humanity? Or would he end up like all those other angels who didn't love enough to protect the world instead of trying to destroy it?

Sam and Dean had saved the world, on more than one occasion, and it was because they cared so much. They had taught Castiel to care. And- and they cared about him, even when—especially when—no one else did. Castiel found himself suddenly wanting that back. That family was real, not the one he thought he'd find in Heaven where his only value was in his usefulness as a soldier, a pawn.

Castiel took two steps back. Smirking, Abaddon eased up on her power. Sam and Dean gasped and flailed where they were pinned, their faces painted in macabre streaks of scarlet. Castiel caught a glimpse of glowing light in the corner. Metatron believed the power of a single angel's soul was enough to retake Heaven; perhaps it was enough to defeat a Knight of Hell.

Castiel stretched out his hand toward it. The bottle began to shake. All he had to do was release the soul, reclaim it, and the power would be his to wield. There would be pain. Tremendous, crushing pain of guilt, disappointment, abandonment, and despair. But there would also be joy. The security of feeling loved—and the ability to feel love in return, which was sometimes enough to warm the heart against the coldest winter. You could not have one without the other, for pain made those moments of joy all the more precious.

Abaddon's eyes narrowed as she began to detect his movement, but it was too late. With a jerk of his hand, Castiel sent the bottle flinging through the air to smash against the wall. The glass shattered on impact, and the glowing orb hovered for a split moment before it swirled toward Castiel. His soul whooshed back into him, drowning him in a deluge of emotions. It was overwhelming, and Castiel was momentarily disoriented.

Abaddon lunged, clawed hand outstretched. She slammed into him, driving him back against the wall. Castiel grunted from the impact. He felt the sharp sting of five fingers trying to dig into his chest. Power prickled up his spine, and though his ears were ringing, Castiel thought he heard one of the Winchesters yelling his name. Sam. Dean. He had to save them. How could he have ever forgotten?

Castiel wrenched his arm up and rammed his angel blade into Abaddon's chest, piercing the center. She gasped, her entire body juddering in response. Yet it didn't kill her. Clenching her jaw, she lifted her head, nostrils flaring and eyes blazing as she attempted to claw into him and rip his soul right back out.

"Sam, Dean, close your eyes!" Castiel shouted. With his angel blade still skewering the Knight of Hell, Castiel unleashed his grace, and the radiating power of his soul. The heat of a supernova bloomed within his chest, and light blazed forth. Bluish-white with opalescent sparks channeled down through Castiel's arm and into the blade, right into Abaddon. Her eyes blew wide in a moment of shock before she threw her head back and screamed. The sunburst exploded, whiting everything out.

Sam let out a garbled gasp as the pain in his head and eyes suddenly stopped. He still couldn't see, and his cheeks felt wet and hot. There was a cold hard surface beneath him, and Sam realized he was no longer pinned to the wall. He tentatively raised a hand to his face.

Something swished the air in front of him. "Don't move, Sam," a gravelly voice said, penetrating his confused haze. A second later, he felt two fingers gently touch the center of his forehead, and then he found himself blinking up at Cas. The angel didn't stay, though, and quickly sidestepped. Sam craned his neck to keep him in sight, and watched Cas reach out to Dean and heal him too.

Dean jerked back once the blood was gone, whipping his gaze around in alarm. "Cas?" he stammered.

"Yes. It's over. Abaddon is dead." Cas glanced behind him, and Sam followed the direction of his gaze until he spotted the demon lying on the floor, a burned out husk.

Sam pushed himself to his feet, as did Dean. "What about…?" He cast his gaze around for the jar containing Cas's soul, but didn't see it anywhere. His heart leaped into his throat.

Cas ducked his head. "I have my soul back," he said quietly.

Dean practically sagged in relief. "Finally."

Cas shifted his weight, still not looking up. "Sam, Dean, I'm sorry. I am ashamed of my behavior while…soulless."

Sam gave him a sympathetic smile. "It's okay, Cas. We know you weren't yourself."

Cas shook his head. "The things I said to you…" He briefly glanced up at Sam, only for his face to pinch in pain, and he looked away again.

Sam reached out to clasp his shoulder reassuringly. "I really do understand, Cas. I've been there, remember? And you weren't nearly as bad as me when I was soulless."

Dean snorted. "That's debatable."

Sam shot his brother a black glare.

Dean raised his palms in surrender, then clapped Cas on the back. "I am really glad you're back, man."

Cas gave them a hesitant half smile in return. "I am glad to be back as well."

Scuffing drew their attention to the back of the room where Gadreel was hauling a beaten and bloody Metatron out from behind a broken table. The angel dumped the Scribe unceremoniously on the floor, and straightened as he turned to them.

"Brother, are you well?"

Cas nodded. "Yes. I am…me, again."

Gadreel's stern expression eased. "I am glad." He glanced down at the unconscious Scribe. "I must return Metatron to Heaven's prison before he can wreak anymore destruction."

"Good idea," Dean grumbled.

Gadreel bent down to grasp a fistful of Metatron's shirt, and then the two disappeared with a puff of air. Sam spotted a block of rock on the floor, and went over to pick it up.

"We should probably put this somewhere safe, too," he said, holding up the Demon Tablet. His gaze drifted to Abaddon's corpse. "At least the last Knight of Hell is finally dead."

Dean let out a huff. "Finally. Of course, that means Crowley is the King of Hell again."

Sam sighed. "Better the enemy we know, I guess."

The three of them shuffled out of the brewery, each of them exhausted from that battle. The drive back to the bunker was as silent as the one before, and Sam could tell Cas was stewing in guilt over what he'd said and done while not in possession of his soul. It was one thing to know in your head that you weren't to blame, another to accept it. Sam was well familiar with that struggle.

Dean parked the Impala out front, and they headed into the bunker.

"I'm starving," Dean said, veering straight for the kitchen.

Cas hung back, and so Sam did the same, noticing the almost wistful look on Cas's face.

"So you can't enjoy food anymore, huh?" Sam cautiously mentioned.

"Unfortunately, no," Cas replied, and the fact that he sounded sad filled Sam with a complicated mesh of elation and grief. Cas roved his gaze around the study area slowly as though in serious rumination. Sam wished he knew what to say, but the truth was he had needed time to come to terms with things himself, and that's what Cas needed too.

They hadn't been back long when there was a heavy knock on the door. Frowning, Sam went to answer, and was startled to find Gadreel standing outside.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Sam asked.

"Yes. I merely wanted to assure you that Metatron is now locked away for good, and make sure you had returned safely."

Sam didn't quite know what to make of that. Gadreel had started off as an enemy, one Sam hated with an all-consuming rage, though the angel had proved himself a trustworthy ally since then. How strange their lives were.

Sam stepped back and gestured for Gadreel to come in. Dean came out from the kitchen and quirked a questioning brow at them.

"Please tell me Metatron didn't give you the slip."

"He did not," Gadreel replied. "He has been relegated to the deepest cell in Heaven's prison, and confined to a…" The angel paused. "I believe humans call it a straitjacket."

Sam's brows rose sharply. He suddenly wished Gadreel had a cell phone he could have taken a picture with. Maybe they should get him one, since he was an ally now.

Dean also looked taken aback. "Well, I suppose that's justice. Though you guys should consider a Hannibal Lecter muzzle to complete the ensemble."

Gadreel canted a confused look at him, but quickly shook it off and turned to Cas. "I have told the other angels how you were responsible for destroying the last Knight of Hell. You are a hero in Heaven, Castiel, and I will gladly take you back there so you can see how much our brothers and sisters esteem you."

Cas hesitated for a long moment, but then said carefully, "I- I would like to return to Heaven."

Sam's breath caught in his throat, and he flicked a worried look at his brother. Dean's jaw was visibly tight, but he held himself back from saying anything. Sam was disappointed as well…but he had to remember that Cas had a family up there, and the angel had put the Winchesters before it more often than not, at great sacrifice. If the angels were ready to welcome Cas back, then he deserved it.

Sam cleared his throat. "Hey, Cas, don't be a stranger."

Cas furrowed his brow.

Dean rolled his eyes. "He means don't stay away too long. We're…we're still your friends." His voice started turning rough. "Don't forget about us."

Cas gave them both a knowing smile. "I would never forget you."

There was a telltale gleam of moisture in Dean's eyes, and he quickly looked away. Sam swallowed around a lump growing in his throat as Gadreel reached out to clasp Cas's shoulder, and then they were gone. Sam felt Cas's absence like a gaping hole in the bunker.

"Shoulda known," Dean said gruffly, and turned around to head back to the kitchen.

Sam watched his brother's retreating back with a pang of sympathy, and held onto hope that things weren't as final as Dean was always afraid they'd be.

Castiel was overwhelmed. To be greeted by smiling faces every way he turned, instead of hostility and hatred…it was everything he had desperately hoped for. His brothers and sisters no longer reviled him, no longer spat his name like a curse. No, it was praised. For re-opening Heaven, for restoring their wings, for his prowess in battle at defeating a Knight of Hell single-handedly. It all left Castiel with a very heady feeling.

But amidst all the adulation was an undercurrent of something more—adoration. And that, Castiel did not want.

The angels had asked him to be their new leader, had pledged their devout loyalty to his banner, much like when he had stood against Raphael. But that had been the beginning of his very, very long fall from grace. Castiel did not think his soul was a bad thing, a blight to be ashamed of or to hide, but he also didn't trust himself to lead Heaven in that capacity.

He tilted his head up to bask in the rays of sunlight, enjoying the autistic man's garden for what would likely be the last time.

"Castiel?" Gadreel called.

His mouth quirked ruefully. "I didn't expect anyone to think to look for me here," he said, turning to face his brother.

"I have looked everywhere else." Gadreel swept his gaze around the blooming flora and serenity of the personal heaven. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. But everyone is waiting for your command."

Castiel shook his head. "I'm no leader, Gadreel." Hadn't he said that before?

The other angel looked at him in disbelief. "You are, Castiel. You have always fought on the side of Heaven, for the good of mankind and angels. I do not understand how you cannot see that."

Castiel let out a soft snort. "I am also vain and proud, prone to weakness and going down the wrong path." He shook his head and fully turned to face his friend, gesturing vaguely. "No one out there would stand up to me should I teeter on the edge of making another mistake. They are offering blind devotion, and that will only end in disaster for everyone."

It was the Winchesters, Castiel thought wryly, who were capable of calling Castiel out. If only he had listened all those years ago.

Gadreel frowned, eyes narrowing shrewdly. "You want to return to Earth."

Castiel felt a weight pressing against his chest. He had been faced with this decision before, and it was no more easier now than it was then. But he knew what his heart yearned for.

"I think I can do more good down there," Castiel said. "Or, at least less harm."

"And what of Heaven?" Gadreel asked, looking as though he didn't fully understand. Most angels never did.

Castiel closed the distance between them and clasped his shoulder. "You would make a fine leader, Gadreel. You and a handful of select others should form a council to govern Heaven." He hesitated. "I have a few suggestions, if that would help."

Gadreel studied him for a long moment, but finally dipped his head in reverence. "I admit I do not fully understand, but I respect your decision. And should you ever need anything, please do not hesitate to call."

Castiel smiled. "Thank you, brother."

Gadreel nodded, and with a sad smile, reached out to fly Castiel back to Earth. He dropped Castiel off outside the bunker, and Castiel's heart gave a flutter of trepidation. He wasn't sure of the reception he'd get; Dean always seemed reluctant to take Castiel back after he'd departed for a while. But if he belonged anywhere, it was here, and he had to try.

The Impala was parked out front, which was good, and Castiel made his way to the front door and knocked. He waited a few moments before the sound of echoing footsteps could be heard from within. Then the door grated open and there was Dean, blinking in surprise.

"Cas."

He shifted his weight nervously. "Hello, Dean."

The Winchester frowned. "You weren't gone very long."

Castiel swallowed. "Heaven…doesn't feel like home anymore. Could…could I come back?" He braced himself for Dean's response, but the hunter's expression merely softened, and then Dean smiled.

"Of course, Cas." He stepped back to allow entrance.

Castiel felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he crossed the threshold. It had been a long, arduous road, but he'd found his way home.

A/N: Another happy ending. ^_^ My next fic is going to be a super painful one: a late season 6 AU. That's coming Friday. Also, I have three one shots lined up for the next three Wednesdays. Thanks to everyone who came along on this ride! Hope to see you again on the next one. ^_^