A/N: Because a few people asked really nicely for one more chapter, here's a special treat! Fair warning, though, if you were hoping for fluff…remember this is me. So, um, angst. ;P But still plenty of additional h/c and feels!

Thanks to Miyth for providing feedback on the first draft. It can be challenging weaving in an unplanned piece cohesively.

"Banished"

Part III

Castiel watched as Dean flipped off the alarms on the vitals' monitors with a well-bred familiarity that probably came from the Winchesters sneaking out of hospitals before. Once the nurses wouldn't be alerted to any fiddling, Dean began methodically and skillfully removing all the nodes stuck to Castiel's skin and the IV cannula in his hand, making the process much more quick and efficient than if Castiel had attempted it himself. Because as adamant as he was about leaving the hospital, he wasn't actually in the best shape to do so.

He could barely sit up on his own, let alone walk. When Sam returned with a wheelchair and pair of sweats and a hoodie, he and Dean had to help Castiel get into the clothes, which was a somewhat mortifying experience. Castiel hated being reduced to such helplessness.

But his dislike of hospitals was stronger, and so he stoically endured Sam and Dean helping him slide his legs over the side of the bed and into the sweat pants before shrugging out of the itchy hospital gown. Dean helped him get his arms through the sleeves of the hoodie so he wouldn't have to stretch too much and pull at his stomach wound. Then the Winchesters were slipping socks over his bare feet, but not shoes. He wouldn't be walking much anyway.

Castiel winced as they then helped him limp the two feet to the wheelchair. His limbs were shaking now, to his aggravation.

Dean snatched the pillow off the hospital bed and passed it to Castiel. "Here, hold this."

He furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"We'll need it for the car."

Castiel wasn't sure how he felt about stealing a pillow, but he wasn't given an opportunity to argue as Sam took up position behind the wheelchair and Dean moved to the door to peek out. With a silent wave, he signaled the coast was clear.

Sam pushed Castiel out into the hall. Dean walked a few paces ahead, keeping an eye out for the doctor or nurse who might object to his release. They passed many rooms filled with patients, and Castiel let his gaze rove passively over the family members sitting vigil by bedsides, or those out helping their ill loved ones shuffle at a snail's pace down the hall because they couldn't walk on their own. Just like Castiel, at the moment.

But he had his own family looking out for him, and he let himself sink further into the wheelchair, secure with Dean's presence in front and Sam's behind.

They didn't take the closest elevator on the floor, but went around to the other side of the wing to use one near a different department. Castiel gritted his teeth as the wheelchair juddered over the door tracks. His grace was still too flayed from the banishing to provide any measure of healing at this point, and though he had assured the Winchesters he'd recover, he actually didn't know when that would be.

When the elevator dinged on the first floor, Sam and Dean picked up their pace just a little, heading straight for the exit. There were more tracks at the sliding doors, and Castiel couldn't help but groan as he was jostled over them.

"I'll get the car," Dean said, and veered off.

Sam pushed Castiel a little further down the sidewalk so they were away from the main traffic of people getting dropped off and picked up. Castiel couldn't believe how exhausted he was when he'd barely moved himself at all, but he was steadily slumping sideways in the wheelchair.

Sam patted his shoulder. "You can lay down soon."

It was nearly ten minutes before the rumble of the Impala disrupted the otherwise monotone stream of hospital visitors and staff. Dean pulled up alongside the curb directly in front of them, and left the engine running as he hopped out and came around to open the back door. Castiel was surprised to find the backseat padded down with blankets.

Dean took the stolen pillow from him and leaned in to fluff it up against the opposite door. Then he gripped Castiel's hand and helped him rise shakily from the wheelchair. Castiel pretty much stumbled into the Impala, dragging himself fully in to collapse against the pillow. He was now glad Dean had thought to grab it.

Sam went to return the wheelchair, and Dean retrieved another blanket from the front seat, which he spread out over Castiel.

"You good?"

Castiel nodded gratefully. In truth, he hadn't given much thought to what the ride back in the car would be like, but this was much better than what he'd been envisioning, and he didn't feel quite so ready to pass out anymore.

Dean slammed the back door closed, and Castiel tracked his reflection in the rearview as he made his way around to the driver's side.

"Nuh-uh," Sam called, jogging back over. "I'm driving. You've been up for over forty-eight hours."

Castiel frowned at that news, even more so when Dean didn't even put up an argument before changing direction and coming around to the front passenger side instead while Sam slid behind the wheel.

"Dean," he said with concern, "you haven't slept?"

"Yeah, well, you were sleeping enough for the both of us," Dean replied nonchalantly. "I'll catch some z's on the drive."

Castiel thought about that for a moment, and the implications. "I'm sorry I worried you," he said quietly.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look before both twisted around to face him.

"It wasn't your fault," Sam said. "But I am making you up a new FBI cover—with business cards that have our numbers on them in case something happens."

Oh, that sounded like a good idea. Why would he need a new cover for that, though?

Dean rapped his knuckles on the side window and waved impatiently at Sam to pull out into traffic. "Homeward bound, let's go."

Castiel squinted as images from Metatron's movie download flitted through his mind. "Am I supposed to be the cat in that analogy?"

Dean quirked a confused look over his shoulder. "What?"

Sam barked out a laugh. "Um, yeah, Cas, I kinda think you are."

"Dude, what cat?"

"The movie Homeward Bound, about the two dogs and cat lost in the wilderness and trying to make their way home," Sam explained.

Dean shot his brother a dry look. "Really, Sam?"

Sam just continued to grin. "The cat went over a waterfall and was separated from the dogs."

"Although," Castiel added, "the cat found her way back to the dogs on her own."

The brothers were silent for a beat, exchanging an unreadable look with each other.

"Yeah," Dean said, somewhat more soberly. "You're the cat."

Castiel furrowed his brow, but brushed the comment aside. "I'm not sure which of the dogs you two are supposed to be," he went on. "You both possess qualities from both."

"Uh, thanks?" Dean replied.

Sam shook his head in apparent amusement. "True. I mean, Dean's older, so he could be Shadow, but he's definitely got the immaturity of Chance."

"Hey!"

"You don't even know who I'm talking about," Sam scoffed.

"You're talking about dogs."

"If we were to make a comparison purely on physical attributes," Castiel mused, "Sam would be the Golden Retriever, Dean would be the Pit Bull, and I would be the cat, since I am a different species."

Sam's brow scrunched up. "Uh, okay."

Dean snorted. "It's the hair, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You know what, we should all watch it when we get back to the bunker."

Dean let out an exaggerated groan. "Okay, enough. I'm gonna get my four hours now." With that, he shrugged out of his jacket and balled it up into a makeshift pillow, pointedly turning away from Sam and wriggling into a comfortable position against the passenger door.

Sam continued to smirk, but then shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror. "You wanna try and get some sleep too, Cas?"

"Alright," he replied slowly. He was rather tired. But even so, sleep did not come readily.

His matter-of-fact statement about being a different species had stirred up thoughts of angels—and subsequently Miriam. Castiel's sister, or at least one of his kind. She had been as lost and hurt as Sassy in that film, but instead of stumbling upon a kind-hearted man willing to nurse her back to health, she had been hunted by Ketch. Because she wasn't human, and didn't deserve the same consideration a human victim would. Not in the eyes of the British Men of Letters, anyway.

Not in the eyes of hunters in general. Because if it hadn't been for Castiel's insistence, the Winchesters—or Dean, at least—would have treated Miriam like any other monster case. Something to hunt. But when it came to Castiel, he had warranted a sleepless vigil, tender patience, and gentle care. Things angels didn't typically give to each other in the first place, but Castiel had learned what family meant from the Winchesters, and had wanted to be able to do that for Miriam. She deserved better.

"What did you do with Miriam's vessel?" Castiel asked quietly, mindful of Dean now asleep up front.

Sam flicked him a questioning look in the mirror. "What?"

Castiel shifted, trying to sit up a little straighter. "You said you found her. What did you do with her vessel's body?"

Sam rolled his shoulder. "Um, we didn't find her, personally," he said, sounding regretful. "The British Men of Letters did. They called to tell us she didn't survive."

Castiel's stomach clenched at the thought of those unscrupulous men desecrating Miriam's memory. There would be no honor in the way they probably burned her empty vessel to erase any evidence of her existence, as if she meant nothing in the first place.

"I'm sorry, Cas," Sam said.

He shook his head, closing his eyes against the swell of moisture prickling behind them. So many angels had been snuffed out over the past several years. Some at his own hands, some because he was too weak to stop it, but always he had only ever wanted to help his family. Why could he never get that one thing right? Even now, when most angels hated him, he had tried to help—and failed. Castiel wondered how many more of his brothers and sisters he would have to mourn before his heart shattered completely.

He must have fallen asleep after all, because the next time he opened his eyes, the sun was much higher in the sky above the Impala. Castiel's back was twinging, and he shifted, trying to relieve the ache, but that only made his injuries protest with lances of fire. Had his grace not recharged at all? Every bruise seemed to throb, making it impossible to find a position that alleviated even a hint of the pain.

"Cas, hey," Sam spoke up. "You doin' okay?"

He tried to push himself up onto his elbows, but sucked in a sharp gasp as pain exploded in his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on breathing through it.

"Hang on, man, I'll pull over."

Castiel wanted to tell him he didn't need to, but he currently didn't have the breath to speak. Perhaps it had been foolish to leave the hospital.

Dean made a small snort as he jolted awake from the Impala slowing down to take an exit for a rest stop. "We there already?" he mumbled.

"No," Sam replied. "Cas needs a break."

Castiel bristled at being blamed for the detour, though he didn't know why it bothered him.

Dean turned around in his seat to give him a worried look. "Crap, I should've thought to grab some painkillers. I don't know if we have enough to actually work on you, but wanna try?"

Castiel shook his head. He wouldn't deplete their supplies when he couldn't be certain it would work. Besides, pain was nothing new to him, and once he concentrated, he could feel his grace weakly stirring, the singed edges slowly regenerating. It would be a while yet before he could mend his vessel, but there was progress.

Sam brought the Impala to a stop, and then he and Dean were exiting the vehicle and opening the back door. Castiel really didn't want to move, but neither could he stay still, the pain in his joints becoming unbearable. So when Dean reached a hand in, Castiel took it, and simply clenched his jaw as he scooted across the seat, trying to force down the pain and weakness by sheer will alone.

He was still only wearing socks, but he wasn't planning on walking that far. Or at all, really. Turned out his knees had locked, and his first step out of the car pitched him forward into Dean. Castiel grunted as the hunter caught him, and then helped him shift so he could brace himself against the rim of the door. Castiel drew in a harsh breath through his nose, then another. Though it made him dizzy, being upright was a surprising relief to the rest of his aching body.

Sam grabbed a water bottle from the trunk, and uncapped it before passing it over. Castiel took a tentative sip, then drank greedily when he realized his throat was actually parched.

Sam was eyeing him carefully. "Maybe we should find a motel for the night."

Dean pulled out his phone and started thumbing through something on the screen. "Wow, you made good time. We're only about two hours from the bunker."

"Dean," Sam said in a low voice. "I think we've reached our max."

"No, I'll manage," Castiel ground out, and handed the bottle back. Then he started inching his way back to the seat so he could sit down again. Sam gripped his elbow to help.

"Cas, come on. There's no reason to push yourself."

"I don't want to cause you an inconvenience," he muttered. "Neither of you have gotten much sleep lately." Because of him. He'd been touched by the knowledge earlier, so why did it prick at his guilt now? "You should sleep in your own beds tonight."

Sam heaved a decidedly patient look at him. "It's not an inconvenience, Cas. This is what you do for family."

Castiel thought about all the times he'd shown weakness or vulnerability in Heaven, whether physically after a battle, emotionally after losing a fellow sister or brother, or mentally when he'd admitted to having doubts. Never had he not been told to soldier on and banish any further inclinations of feelings, lest he be punished severely. Never when he had tried to show love and loyalty to his angelic brethren was it received with open arms and gratitude.

Castiel couldn't keep his shoulders from slumping dejectedly and uttering, "Not among angels."

"Yeah, well, they're all dicks," Dean spoke up. "We've established that."

Castiel lifted a pained gaze to Dean, because he had heard that so many times for years, and for some reason in this moment, it broke something inside him. "Then why do you stick with me?" he rejoined bitterly. "If I'm such a dick?"

Dean blinked at him in surprise. "What? That's not what I said."

"Yes, it is. That's what you always say. 'Angels are dicks.' I'm an angel. Are you unable to put two plus two together?"

Dean's brows shot upward.

"Um, Cas," Sam interjected quickly. "Dean doesn't mean anything by it. You know that, right?"

Castiel shot a glare up at the younger Winchester for his patronizing tone. "It does mean something. It means that even though you call me family, I'm still not one of you. I will never truly be one of you." Not even when he'd been human and finally 'of the same species.'

"How can you say that, after everything?" Dean said, sounding hurt. As if he had the right to be the wounded party here.

A muscle in Castiel's jaw ticked, and he turned his head away, wishing he hadn't said anything at all. Pain and exhaustion were doing nothing to maintain his usual stolid filter.

"I'm sorry," he bit out. "Let's just go."

"Actually, I think we need to talk about this," Dean argued.

"Why? You never like to talk about things."

Sam shot his brother a warning look, then crouched down in the open door so he was eye level with Castiel. "Cas, where is this coming from?" he asked in a gentler tone than his brother. "You know you're family to us. That we would do anything for you."

Castiel shook his head, and reached a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I do know that, Sam." He flicked an apologetic look at him and then up at Dean. "And I'm grateful, I am. But…"

"How can there be a 'but' in there?" Dean demanded harshly, earning another reprimanding glare from Sam.

Castiel heaved a heavy sigh, wincing as it tugged his wound. He leaned sideways against the backseat to hold himself up. That flash of anger he'd initially felt had quickly dissipated, leaving him feeling drained and hollowed out. "It's not the same as belonging."

Sam's brow creased in confusion.

"You wanna talk not being able to put two and two together?" Dean retorted. "How is that not the same?"

Castiel gazed up at him wearily. "Sometimes I don't understand how you see me, Dean—as one of them or one of you. Most hunters would view me as other; the British Men of Letters have made that quite clear. And the angels feel the same, claiming I'm too close to humanity and not really an angel anymore. Maybe they're right. But it means I don't truly fit…no matter the sentiment."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean, both of them silent. Castiel regretted ruining the peace they'd managed to achieve after the incident with Ishim and Lily Sunder, although it did feel a little bit good to finally get that out. He'd been carrying it around for years.

Dean shifted, cocking his head at Sam. The younger Winchester stood up and moved back, giving Dean space to crouch down in front of Castiel. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Okay, I'm sorry."

Castiel stared at him incredulously.

Dean reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "You're not a dick, Cas. Truth is you're a better angel than any of them will ever be. And I'm not blind. I've noticed how those British bastards look at you. Next time we run into them and they so much as glance at you sideways, I will shoot them in the face."

Castiel huffed in exasperation at the impracticality of such a declaration, but Dean was barreling on.

"But you are my best friend, my brother, and that's all I need for you to belong. I…I don't know what you need to make that the same for you."

Castiel's heart twinged at Dean's sincerity and wrecked tone, and he swallowed against a spiky lump gathering in his throat. "I don't know what I need, either," he admitted. That was something he'd been searching for ever since he'd chosen to stand by humanity—and fall by them. "But know that you and Sam are my family, too. And I do see the bunker as my home, with you there."

Dean gave him a wan smile. "That's something, then, isn't it?"

Castiel nodded. To him, it was everything.

"Okay," Dean said after a long moment, and patted his knee. "Ready to get back on the road toward home?"

"Yes."

Sam's face scrunched up in displeasure. "Cas, are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he replied. He still winced as he scooted further back on the seat, but the pain of his injuries seemed a little less now. Or maybe it was the releasing of a burden he had borne for so long in silence and solitude.

Castiel settled against the pillow as the Winchesters climbed in up front again, this time Dean behind the wheel.

"Let us know if you need another break," Dean said seriously. "We're in no rush."

Castiel nodded. He supposed he could do that. Though, he was feeling very tired again, like he could potentially sleep for the rest of the drive anyway.

"Hey, Cas," Sam spoke up.

"Hm?"

"In that movie…even though the cat was a different species, it still belonged with the two dogs."

Castiel's lips tugged upward as his eyelids slid closed. "Yes, it did," he murmured.

Dean let out an audible breath. "Guess we are watching it when we get home," he grumbled, but it didn't sound annoyed. It sounded warm and steady, just like the lullaby of the Impala's engine wrapping them all in a safe, familiar embrace.

And maybe that, plus open and vulnerable honesty without fear of repercussion for the first time in his life, was all Castiel needed to start to realize that he did, in fact, belong there. With them.