A/N: Hi, folks! :D I got enough people asking to see more with the grace extraction and such, I had to tag on an epilogue. Cheers!

"We'll be right here, Cas. I promise."

Castiel looked up at Dean, hoping his expression conveyed trust instead of the fear that ate away at his insides. The hunter's face was only half lit by the lamp next to Castiel's bed, the other half hidden in shadow but just as anxious. The angel nodded.

"If I don't survive the process-" he started, but Sam shifted forward to interrupt him with a hand to the angel's arm.

"You will," he insisted. "I did."

Castiel angled a look his way. "We didn't remove the entirety of Gadreel's remaining grace," he reminded his friend. "I stopped because it was killing you. And you were not as weak as I am now."

"Yeah, but you said it was because my body was reverting to its state before Gadreel. With the trials and all. You don't have that to worry about."

Dean looked down at the needle he held, the needle that Castiel was trying not to look at. "What if we do it a bit at a time?"

"I doubt it would make a difference," Castiel admitted. "And it may cause the remaining grace to burn faster to compensate."

"Yeah, okay, that's not good," Dean decided.

The angel gave his friend a tired smile, reading the uncertainty and self-loathing that were constant, unfortunate companions to the hunter. "Dean," he murmured. "You were right, this has to be done. It's okay."

Dean closed his eyes, tilting his face away. "God, I just don't wanna do this to you, Cas."

Castiel coughed and fought to hold back the tremors trying to rip him apart from the inside. He wanted to say more in comfort, but it was too difficult to form the words. The faster they did this, the sooner it would be over, and the sooner Sam would let Dean help him to his own room to continue recovering from Cole's torture. And the sooner Dean could get the soldier's dead body out of the library.

Sam gave his arm one more squeeze, then sat back. "We'll be here," he whispered, echoing his older brother's words. "When it's done, we'll be right here."

With that promise giving him the strength to see this through, Castiel raised his chin slightly, resting fully back on the bed and wrapping his fists in the sheets. He'd seen how much pain this had caused Sam; he was under no delusions that it would be any better for himself.

"If I don't survive this-" he started again, but was interrupted a second time.

"Survive it," Dean growled. "For us. 'Cause we need you here."

The angel's heart warmed, though not enough to overpower the trepidation as Dean raised the syringe. He closed his eyes as the tip settled against his neck. The needle slid in. And then Castiel's world exploded into pain.

SPN SPN SPN

Dean hated himself. Cas's screams gouged their way through his eardrums to etch permanently into his brain, but it was too late to stop now. The plunger on the syringe was difficult to draw, as though the grace that was killing Cas was fighting him somehow. Like it wanted to stay in the angel, like it wanted to finish what it had started.

Or, maybe it was resisting because Cas would die without it. Maybe it was the only thing keeping the warrior angel alive. Dean tried to squash that thought, because the notion that he was killing his best friend—even if Cas faced certain death if he didn't do this—was more than he could take.

"Come on, Cas," he growled over the angel's agonized cries. "Come on! Hang in there."

"You have to go in deeper," Sam said, sounding nauseated. "If you don't get all of it..."

"How the hell am I supposed to know if I've gotten all of it?" Dean snapped. Sam was the one who'd at least seen this done before, damn it, so why did this fall to Dean to do this to Cas?

No, that wasn't fair of him, he was just stressed. Sam was in no condition to be moving, let alone fighting the stubborn syringe.

The cries cut off as Cas clenched his teeth together hard enough to make his jaw creak. He moaned, sounding so weak that Dean shuddered.

"Dean," the angel gritted out. "Dean..."

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered. Without another word, he pushed the needle even deeper into Cas's neck, eliciting another round of screams that made Sam turn his head with an expression of agony. Still, Dean forced himself on, using all his strength to pull more of the grace into the barrel of the syringe. There was enough of it now that the hunters could see the usually gleaming white light was instead a sickly chartreuse instead. It reminded Dean of swamp scum, like the grace had actually festered inside of Cas. No wonder it was killing him… and no way could they put it back in now.

The angel's body bucked suddenly, nearly wrenching the needle away from Dean.

"Shit! Sammy, you gotta hold him!"

Sam lurched forward to grab Cas's shoulder, grunting as the motion pulled at his own injuries. "Yeah, I got him. Hurry... he's getting warm."

"I know, I feel it. Just hold him, damn it! Cas, hang in there!"

Doubling his efforts, Dean pulled harder and harder at the syringe until the barrel was nearly full. He wondered suddenly what they were supposed to do if the Men of Letters had misjudged the size they'd need to contain an angel's grace.

But then, the pressure on the syringe plunger disappeared, so quickly that Dean almost jerked the entire apparatus apart. A trickle of blood swirled into the barrel; it was done.

Cas went limp. His body, which had been burning far too hot only a second before, now felt cold to the touch beneath Dean's fingertips as he frantically withdrew the needle and dropped the syringe onto the bedside table.

"Cas!" he shouted, patting his friend's ashen cheeks. No response. Dean's voice broke as he called again, "Cas!"

Beside him, Sam wasn't moving, frozen with his hand still gripping Cas's shoulder. "Is he..."

Dean's shaking fingers almost couldn't find their way to the motionless angel's wrist. Silence fell as he searched for a sign of a pulse. Putting Cas in the bed, which had been intended as a way to make him as comfortable as possible, was now going to work against them if he needed CPR.

The hunter's heart froze. "Nothing..."

Sam's breath hitched and he jerked upright, nearly falling over the bed when his wounded legs didn't hold him. "Cas! CAS!"

"Move," Dean snapped, leaning his head down close to Cas's mouth, feeling for a puff of breath while simultaneously watching for a rise and fall of the chest. He dropped Cas's ice cold wrist, feeling instead for his throat. Dean found the carotid artery then held his breath.

The seconds ticked by as Dean prayed to anyone who was listening to spare Cas, pleading to have not just killed his best friend. Finally, he fell limp with relief and straightened back up.

"Got a pulse."

Sam slumped back with an audible breath of relief. Dean ran a hand through his hair, eyes burning as he watched the motionless angel—no… the motionless human—on the bed. Though he knew he ought to do something, like cover Cas up or find a safe place to dispose of the festered grace or help Sam to bed, he needed a minute to get a hold of himself.

"You did it, Dean," Sam murmured.

"He ain't outta the woods yet." Not to be a raincloud, but if Cas was so cold Dean couldn't get a radial pulse, he had to be approaching hypothermic levels. They needed to get his blood moving, get him warmed up. Then there was the fact that no one knew what the stolen grace might have done to his body… Dean still remembered what Lucifer had looked like as he burned through a vessel that wasn't supposed to hold him, and what if Cas was just as bad off? Plus, the angel probably hadn't eaten anything for over a month before getting to the Bunker and he'd thrown most of that up, which meant they needed to start getting him some nutrition.

And all of that was just the physical problems.

"He's freezing," Sam said as he reached out to press a hand against Cas's cheek. "We need blankets. Hot water bottles."

Cas's lips were blue, his face grey. Why had extracting the grace left him so cold? Dean suddenly remembered Cas's protest against becoming human, how he'd been so cold out on the street on his own. He shuddered; they had to warm Cas up before he woke.

"Dean!"

"Right," the hunter said, giving himself a shake. "Stay here, start rubbing his arms and legs. I'll grab some blankets and stuff."

Sam nodded and shifted his chair closer to the bed so he could help. Dean threw one last look at the angel—no, the human—and hurried out the door.

SPN SPN SPN

Everything was dark. Castiel felt his arms like leaden weights at his sides as he turned a slow circle only to find more and more nothingness. Even the bleak emptiness of the dark seemed to have a fuzzy quality to it, though, an abstractness that was just outside of his ability to grasp. Where was he? What was happening?

"Get out," a voice whispered.

A chill rippled through Castiel's heart. "Dean?"

"Get. Out."

"But…" But Dean had promised him he could stay… Dean had promised. Castiel was too numb to even be sad; the words drove all feeling, all sense, all knowledge from his mind.

"There's no room for you," Sam's voice insisted, tinny and hollow. "You have to go. Sorry, Cas."

Castiel turned again, arms coming up to hug himself in an attempt to ward off the freezing wind. "But… I thought…"

"Look, it's nothing personal," Dean assured him from the darkness, though it was no reassurance at all. "It's just… well, we really only needed an angel. Since you're not one…"

"I'm sure you'll find a homeless shelter."

"You can't stay here."

"There's always leftover food in the dumpsters if you get hungry."

The echoing voices overlapped, each one twisting the darkness into an image instead. It was a vivid scene that Castiel remembered all too well. He clutched his chest, not sure why it felt like his heart was beating too hard as he gazed around the grimy alley. He could almost feel the frigid, pelting rain that poured on the figure huddled as far into a doorway as he could.

"No," Castiel whispered, slumping in defeat as he recognized his own shivering form, with nothing but a ratty sweater to ward off the elements. He could hear his own stomach growl, could feel the cramping of hunger. He remembered this.

But above all, he remembered the loneliness, abandoned by everyone from his father to his brethren, and finally cast out by the friends he had given everything to. Used up, and then thrown away.

Castiel sank to his knees, oblivious to the dingy puddles as hopelessness descended. Dean had promised.

"Cas?"

He tensed at the sound of Dean's voice, but it was softer this time. Castiel didn't answer, shivering again from the cold.

"Hey, if you can hear me… I really need you to wake up, man."

Something warm settled onto his forehead, though Castiel couldn't see anything. The soothing heat began to work its way down his face and neck, as Dean spoke again.

"I don't know how much damage that grace did, but I know you can pull through. You just gotta… you just gotta wake up, that's all."

"I don't want to leave," Castiel whispered. "I have nowhere to go."

"Cas? Hey… hey, hey, hey, wake up. You don't have to leave. Come on… come on, man."

Warmth patting on his cheeks now. Castiel inhaled and shifted. Was it really Dean he was hearing? But if this was a dream, it was still safer than waking up and living it for himself.

"I don't want to go."

"You don't have to. I promise. Open your eyes. You're safe! Cas, please."

More feelings and sensations were starting to work their way through the haze. The scene surrounding him faded out back and Castiel peeled his eyes open, squinting against the sudden brightness. It took a moment for the face looming over him to come into focus, wreathed in a halo of light from the lamp behind him. Castiel blinked.

"Dean."

The hunter's expression collapsed from worry to relief. Dean smiled and leaned in closer.

"Hey. Hey, yeah, it's me."

Everything felt sore and heavy, Castiel's limbs weighted too much. Glancing down, he realized it was because he was swathed in blankets. His stomach hurt, the deep ache sending a ripple of discomfort through his heart.

Clarity sharpened Castiel's mind, the events of the past couple of days returning to memory. The extraction process must have been successful, because he was still alive. The corrosive power he'd been living with for over a month was gone, leaving a profound sense of loss and pain in its place.

So he was human now.

"What did you do with the grace?" he asked, not sure why it even mattered. It wasn't like he could have it back.

Dean leaned back in his chair. "Left it in the syringe and put it back in the box until we figure out how to get rid of it."

Castiel nodded. It was hard to think through the ache in his stomach. He struggled to sit up, unwinding himself from the warm blankets.

"Sam?" he asked.

"Sleeping, or at least he'd better be. You were out for a little while. It was, uh…" Dean's voice broke and he cleared his throat. "I was getting worried. As soon as we got the last bit out, you just…"

Castiel looked away. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be."

An awkward silence descended while Castiel tried to sort through feelings and sensations. Already, the dream he'd woken from was becoming hazy, but the horror remained, bringing uncertainty. Dean and Sam assuring him that he belonged with them in the Bunker… had that been real, or part of the dream?

Dean cleared his throat again. "So, um… right before you woke up, you stared, uh… talking. A little."

"Oh." What had been the last thing he'd been dreaming? Castiel's stomach gurgled with unpleasant emptiness, making him wrap his arms around himself and wince. He was so hungry… and cold… Right, that had been in the dream as well.

"Crap, here," Dean said, grabbing a pack of crackers off the nightstand and handing them to Castiel. "You must be starving. I'm gonna throw something together real fast, okay? But first, I wanna make sure that you know… you're with us."

Castiel fumbled to open the packet, though he paused to throw a questioning look in Dean's direction. Yes, of course he was with them; Dean was sitting right there and Sam was apparently down the hall sleeping.

"I mean," the hunter went on when he seemed to realize Castiel wasn't following him. "You remember us telling you this was your room, right? And we're gonna get you through this? And this… this is your home as much as ours? 'Cause, uh… you said you didn't want to go. Well, we don't want you to go either, you know that, right? I mean, you're one of us."

The rush of relief was so powerful it actually drove Castiel back against the headboard, his weight collapsing against it as a profound fear was lifted from him. They still wanted him, then. He still had somewhere to belong.

Dean looked away for a second, then rubbed his face with a hand and sighed. "I wish I hadn't ever made you doubt that."

Through all the heightened emotions competing for Castiel's focus, one rose above the rest. Looking at his friend with compassion, Castiel shook his head.

"Dean. You must know by now that I forgive you. Yes, it was horrible. But through those experiences, I gained wisdom and understanding for the human condition that I could have never found without that time to shape me. I know now that I can survive, because I already have, and this time will be easier."

"Yes," Dean agreed, almost insistent as he turned back to Castiel. "It will be. We'll help you. Me and Sam, we both will."

And Castiel believed that. Though Dean didn't seem to be forgiving himself, at least his conscience seemed a little eased.

"Anyway, I'm gonna go get Sam," the hunter said as he climbed to his feet. "And then I'll throw a quick dinner together. Bundle up in those blankets, Cas, you're still shivering. Are you that cold?"

Castiel glanced down at himself, taking stock. "I think I'm still adjusting," he admitted as he drew the blankets farther up his torso, still clutching the peanut butter crackers. "I- I'll be fine."

He would be fine. Though Castiel had expected this to end in death, here he was. Remarkably, all three members of the little band Dean had dubbed 'Team Free Will' were somehow alive, if a little beaten down. Cole had not destroyed Sam. The Mark had not won control of Dean. The failing grace had not taken Castiel. Against all odds, they had survived.

The thought of how much Castiel still needed to learn about being human was an overwhelming notion, enough to make him balk and force his mind away from the prospect, for at least a while longer. Though Castiel mourned the loss of his angelic nature, he couldn't let that hold him back. There was still so much to do… still a fight to be fought.

They were nowhere near the end of this road, but they were walking it together.