Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke and Dean's ringtone is 'Smoke on the Water' by Deep Purple.

The gold inlayed symbol was known in virtually every single corner of the world; passed down through the ages and reproduced numberless times to be mounted on walls, kept close to the heart, or as representatives of something greater than all of humanity. Something holier. To some, it was an emblem of either salvation from the hardships of reality and the agonies of damnation but to others, it was merely a figure of two intersecting lines that meant nothing. And here it was, shining brightly up at him on the cover of the book that he had tried to avoid all his life- The Holy Bible.

Of course he'd clutched to the Word of God before, and fervently at that, but at the time he had the excuse of being near delirious with ghost sickness and had the image of a seemingly sweet little girl possessed by one of the most powerful demons of the Pit nearly scaring him to death. Yes, that was good enough of a reason to cling to the volume of recorded words supposedly from the Lord Almighty Himself.

Dean scoffed. The Word of God. Then how come it's never spoken to me? He turned the leather bound NIV over and over in his hands, flipping through the thin, flimsy pages. People were always yapping about how they found solace in God and found a way to seek peace through the storm, or some other mystical mumbo jumbo that made a whole hell of a lot less sense than the craziness that was his life already. This thing has been around for two thousand years and it's given revelation to countless people. So why is it that I'm the one to get the short end of the stick? Getting orders without knowing the who, what, when or why behind any of it and dreaming of angels getting tortured in Hell…

Correction. Angel. Singular. He'd only dreamed of one angel in Hell.

Six days. It'd been six long, torturous days after the entire ordeal and still there'd been no word as to what became of that particular angel who held out until the end, never relenting, never giving the demons the satisfaction of hearing him give voice to his pain. Alastair hadn't gotten one scream out of his victim, and Dean smirked bitterly because he bet that really pissed the bastard off.

Even bound and tortured to an extent that would have broken even the strongest man, Castiel remained steadfast, fighting to the end. His last word had been a plea for mercy from his Commander in Heaven, from his Father. And it was that one word that was burned forever into Dean's memory. The hunter set his jaw, fighting against the hot tears threatening to well up in his eyes. Cas deserved better than meeting his end in Alastair's clutches.

He deserved more than my sorry ass being the only one trying to save him.

"We all came out to montreux-"

Ian Gillan's unmistakable, timeless voice broke the silence, accompanied by the four-note blues scale melody on the electric guitar and Dean jumped a foot off the wooden pew, wincing as the harsh tone grated on his ears in the otherwise quiet church and grimacing at the sudden ache in his tailbone as he landed hard on his rear end. Damn it. I've got to change that ringtone. Transferring the Bible to one hand, he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and squinted at the label.

Sammy. In all its microscopic screen and fuzzy image resolution greatness, the photo ID displayed his brother slouched down in the Impala's passenger seat, head lolled back, zonked out with a plastic spoon stuck in his mouth.

Good times. A nostalgic grin pulled at the corner of Dean's mouth, but the feeling was definitely more bitter than sweet. What wouldn't I give to just go back to those days, when we took the jobs we thought were interesting enough to look into instead of being dictated by this fight between Heaven and Hell. God, he longed for the days when he and Sam used to have the time and presence of mind to sit down in a bar, to hustle some pool, pick up girls, and unwind. Though chronologically only a little over four years had passed since the two brothers had been united again, it felt like ages ago. And all this time, he still hadn't changed the picture.

"We didn't have much time-"

No, more than that actually because you spent forty years in Hell, Dean reminded himself and hung his head at the memory. For the love of all things pure and holy, he was only thirty years old. Thirty! Had he been any other all American man, he would probably be working some desk job in a windowless cubicle, going home to the wife and bratty kids in a little house in the suburbs surrounded by a white picket fence and mowing the lawn on weekends, maybe even having time to watch the Superbowl and tailgate before the big games. Once again his thoughts returned to the alternate reality he'd once been presented with when captured by the djinn and his heart sank with the thoughts of what could've been.

"But some stupid with a flare gun burned the place to the ground-"

Now he had to live through each and every day looking constantly over his shoulder in paranoia, checking for demons and angels alike. He was tired of being a pawn; he was tired of waking up in the mornings and wildly scanning his surroundings to make sure that Hell hadn't risen. But most of all, Dean Winchester was tired of watching his brother warily, as if Sam was some mentally unstable stranger who was fated to turned rogue any minute. It had almost become force of habit now- seeking out his brother's brown eyes to see if they held even the barest shade of black or fleck of yellow. He didn't even know what he would do if those tell-tale signs of his failure ever appeared. Gouge his brother's eyes out and pray that it was all a dream?

But when had God ever answered his prayers?

"Smoke on the water, fire in the-" his phone insisted and Dean flipped it open.

"Hey."

"Dean?" Sam's voice crackled over the line, slightly muffled by the downpour. "Took you awhile to answer. Everything alright?"

Just peachy. Dean bit his tongue and shook his head wearily. Barreling through nearly two weeks with less than ten hours of sleep was really making him cranky. "I'm fine," he mumbled through an enormous yawn that threatened to split his face in two, his mouth was so wide. "What's up?"

"Are you almost done in there? I'm outside in the car, but there's no rush." The reception in the church was more than shitty, but over the static and the percussion of raindrops pounding on the roof, his brother's tone was sympathetic and a held undercurrent of understanding. Suddenly, Dean was stricken with the absurdness of this reversal of roles. This wasn't right. He was the one who was supposed to be the tall, unmovable pillar of solid strength in any and all situations. Sam was his responsibility because Dean was te older brother, not the other way around. Dad asked me to look after you, Sam. And I'll be damned if I let all of this get so screwed up and twisted around to the point that it's you having to worry about me.

"We have a case?" he asked loudly, partially to be heard and partially to facilitate and hopefully at the same time disguise his eagerness to change subjects. If only I could just as easily change what's running around in circles in my head.

"Yeah. I was starting to get the feeling that Bobby was getting tired of us squatting at his place, so I found one in Illinois. A ghost that-" Sam was still talking, but Dean barely heard him. Ghost. Yeah, okay. I can deal with them. Just gotta stock up on the rocksalt and we'll be set. When his mind finally stopped wandering, there was silence on the other end of the line and he frowned.

"Sam?"

"Dude, you sure you're okay?" Goddamn it, Sammy. Stop. There was that worry-filled tone again. Pretty soon his brother was going to be fussing over him like a mother hen and telling him to dry his hair or else he'd catch cold. He stood, barely managing to quell the growl of frustration rising up in the back of his throat when Sam spoke again. "Look, Dean. I know you're worried 'cause you haven't heard anything from or about Cas but you can't let that-"

"Sam!" Dean said sharply, a curt warning. "I told you I'm fine. I'll be right out."

His brother fell silent and Dean found himself immediately regretting his harsh tone when Sam mumbled something along the lines of "right" and hung up. Why do you always have to do that? He railed at himself, rubbing his eyes and wondering how the hell he was going to apologize to Sam for acting like a dick in response to his kindness. You're an idiot, you know that? Getting to his feet, he shoved his cell phone back in his jacket pocket when he noticed the Bible he still held and stared at it as if he'd never seen it before.

After a moment's hesitation, his hand extended forward to replace the book but then retracted twice as quickly because what Dean Winchester knew he needed right now, more than ever, was guidance. His hand inched forward again, but for some reason his fingers did not relinquish their tight grip on the worn spine and his thumb inadvertently traced the gold cross on the book's cover.

Oh, what the hell. Glancing suspiciously up at the crucifix upon the altar, Dean shoved the NIV into his back pocket and turned swiftly, heading down the aisle and toward the large, majestic double doors located at the back of the sanctuary.

He'd reached the doors and was lifting a hand to push them open when a familiar voice rang out, quiet and yet loud enough to be heard over the rain. "Dean Winchester, your audacity is astounding." Pivoting on his heel, the hunter caught glimpse of the androgynous features, as fine as porcelain and with neutral silver-green eyes staring out of a face as blank as a plaster wall. " 'Thou shalt not steal', so is the Lord's command, and you have done so in the Father's house." Gabriel got to his feet, approaching the other with silent, measured steps.

Dean knew that he should've been afraid, for after all, this was one of the only angels powerful enough to be mentioned by name in the Bible, and supposedly one of the few to have ever seen God's face. But for some reason, when he took the split second to scrutinize his own state of mind, there was no fear to be found. He'd seen too much and been through too many circumstances to quake in his boots at the sight of an angel advancing upon him with no expression on his face. "So send a fearful plague on me and my descendants," he snidely remarked. "Or better yet, why don't you smite me where I stand? That'll make the man upstairs real happy, I'll bet."

Gabriel stopped a couple of paces away, drilling him with a sharp stare, but Dean was beyond caring as all the exasperation and anxiousness of the past two weeks mixed in with sleep deprivation rose up and exploded. "You son of a bitch," he ground out and managed to refrain from lunging at the other and dirtying up that stark white suit with a swing of his fist. Of course he would lose if there happened to be a fight, but as of right now, Dean really couldn't have cared less.

"You really are all a bunch of dicks, you know that?" he spat. "My brother and I fought to save Cas from Alastair and then you disappear with him without even a word of thanks. And then you wait six days to show your face again? Did it ever occur to you that we humans are more than just means to an end in this little game, that I cared about what happened to Cas? That I was too freakin' scared to go to sleep at night 'cause I thought that I'd see the demons peeling his skin away from his bones? LOOK AT ME!!" Dean roared when Gabriel turned his face away; the corners of the angel's mouth were turned downwards.

"And where the hell were you, huh? Where were you when your brother was being torn apart in Hell? Sitting on a cloud and strumming a harp? What about your boss, your 'Almighty God', isn't he supposed to be merciful and loving and perfection when it comes to being a Father? Well, I don't think He deserves the Father of the Year award this time around if he's too busy focusing on the bigger picture to even care about one of his soldiers-"

"Are you finished?" The words were delivered in a crisp, articulate, no-nonsense tone and Dean scowled darkly. Are you finished? What does that mean? Like hell he was finished! He was going to talk Gabriel's ear off and make sure that the messenger angel relayed every single damn word to God above, wherever His freakin' throne was and tell Him that Dean Winchester didn't want to be a part of this anymore, not when he had to bury his friends one after another; not when he had to watch a bunch of demons torturing the only angel he'd come to trust and care for and…and…

His own words rang in his ears and Dean moved forward slowly, sitting down heavily in the pew in the last row closest to the door, having run out of steam.

Gabriel watched the lines of anger slowly melt away from the hunter's face and as they were replaced with a forced calm. "Are you finished?" he asked again and, head bowed, the hunter grunted what seemed to be an affirmation. "Castiel cautioned me to be patient with you," the archangel remarked coolly and Dean's head lifted.

"Who said that?" It was a whisper of fragile hope.

"The seal was saved. Lucifer was not granted a vessel and-"

"What about Castiel?" Dean interjected brusquely. He already knew about everything else. He needed to know what happened to the angel who pulled him from Hell, who had gained his respect and trust, the only warrior from Heaven the hunter actually began to see as not only a comrade in this struggle, but a friend. Gabriel was silent and that only incited him to further aggravation. "What. Happened. To. Cas?" It was a demand. So help me, if you don't answer me…

"My brother is…" Gabriel seemed to be at a loss for words, which was strange for the celestial being who'd been assigned the task of being somewhat of the official hotline between humanity and Heaven.

"Is?" Dean prompted, getting to his feet. A feeling of dread was beginning to creep into the corners of his mind, ridiculing and chasing away the fragments of hope and he swore to himself right then and there that if the man upstairs had abandoned Castiel to the wolves like that and then let the perpetually faithful angel die, such a being was no God at all and much less of a Father than-

"Convalescing."

All the air left Dean's lungs in an audible whoosh and he seemed to visibly deflate: shoulders sagging, fists unclenching, head dropping low and internal intercostals muscles pulling his ribs down and inwards as the fight went out of him. Convalescing. It was a fancy way of saying Castiel was lying in some sort of hospital bed (although Dean hoped to high Heaven Cas wasn't being strapped down to some type of stretcher; he'd already had enough of that), covered from head to toe in bandages, probably unconscious and sporting an IV drip. Or however they heal angels up there.

It was a fancy way of saying that he'd been too late to prevent the demons from ripping Castiel apart like dogs with a chew toy and leaving him barely holding on just for Alastair to go fishing inside the angel's chest. Dean closed his eyes tightly but it did nothing to drive out the mental image of Castiel writhing in agony, eyes growing dull and with his own blood splattering onto his pale face as the demon searched for his grace. With the raising of the witnesses, he'd almost gotten his heart ripped out of his chest but somehow; he imagined that what the angel had been through was much worse.

"Dean." He looked up and Gabriel was still giving him that unnerving stare and had he not known better, Dean would've claimed there to be a hint of condolence and reassurance in the archangel's gaze. "This was a victory."

He snorted. Is that supposed to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside? "Yeah? And what about Alastair?" he couldn't stop himself from retorting. "And Anna?"

The change in Gabriel's countenance was surprising and even somewhat frightening. His smooth face darkened, his eyes flashed dangerously and for once, Dean saw not irritation or annoyance in the features of an angel, but pure and unadulterated wrath. Without even noticing, the hunter flinched at the extent of the rage painted across Gabriel's blank face for it was as if someone had taken a bucket of red paint and splashed it liberally over a white canvas.

But it only lasted for an instant. The next second, the archangel's countenance once again returned to its neutral state and his voice was flat, although considerably frostier than before. "The demon will be hunted down and the traitor will be subjected to the swift punishment of God Almighty."

So they both escaped. Dean inhaled deeply and willed himself to remain calm. Don't think about closing your fingers around that ivory neck you once kissed in the heat of passion and shaking the life out of that girl for what she did to Cas. Don't think about gutting Alastair like the pig he is. Just… "Somehow you don't seem the type to just pop by for a chat," he said, attempting to feign nonchalance in order to distract himself. "What, do you have more orders for me or something?"

"No orders," the angel replied evenly, taking one step closer. "I come here on behalf of my brother."

"You're telling me I did him this big of a favor and he can't even manage to come himself?" Dean scoffed, but it was merely to disguise his worry. He knew firsthand of Alastair's expertise and as much as he hated to admit it, the white-eyed demon was indeed, as Ruby once said, Picasso with a knife. Is Cas really that bad off? I know that Alastair didn't manage to rip his grace out, but what else did that monster do? And what did they do to him in Hell?

Gabriel saw through the poorly constructed front. "For an angel, having one's grace forcibly removed results in permanent separation from the Father and condemnation to the Pit." He uplifted his eyes to the rain that pounded against the stained glass windows. "Castiel was already subjected to torment in Hell itself and when Alastair tried to take from him the essence of his soul…" The angel shook his head. "It is truly a miracle that Castiel still draws breath."

"Yeah, glory be to God, huh?" Dean muttered sarcastically. "I'm available Mondays through Fridays, from seven in the morning till midnight. If you ever need me around to save another angel's ass, just pop up out of nowhere and demand that I do what you say and I'll be all too happy to oblige. Or," he started angrily, moving one step closer to the angel, "Or you could just start sending me freaky-ass nightmares without any explanation and let me go crazy trying to figure it out on my own!"

Gabriel's eyes narrowed at the blatant disrespect and he seemed to grow twice as menacing with that simple movement, swelling up ominously. "What they did to my brother in Hell is unspeakable," the angel said in a low, calm voice that was somehow more terrifying than had he been using his real voice. "When Castiel pulled you out of the Pit, it was no easy task because Hell did not wish to relinquish you. He fought fiercely for your soul and when he finally managed to pry you from Alastair's clutches, it was almost at the sake of his own spirit." The angel turned away, face uplifted toward the sky beyond the church's ceiling, eyes turned inward toward some memory too terrible to relate.

"Losing his prize pupil to an angel was a devastating blow to Alastair." The angel's mouth twisted as he spat out the name like it was acid in his mouth. "He targeted Castiel as the sacrifice required for the breaking of this seal specifically because it is his handprint that marks you, and because you are his charge." Again, Dean saw the flash of that unnamable danger in Gabriel's face; mingled with an emotion the hunter hadn't known angels could express- sorrow. "Alastair made my brother suffer in ways beyond human capacity for understanding or imagination. Everything the demons couldn't do to you for fear of damaging your soul beyond repair, they did to my brother a thousand times over."

Dean swallowed hard. He remembered what the demons did to him, and he remembered what they couldn't do, what even Alastair had to say no to and by God… Cas, how did you do it? How did you manage not to break?

"Hell made you an offer every single day after the torture ended. Castiel was tempted similarly, but the deal was a swift death and relief from the torment in the depths of the abyss in exchange for two things: one of his kin for the completion of the sacrifice and Lucifer's intended vessel."

Stunned realization and shock registered on Dean's face. "Sam?"

"Yes. Now you know exactly how much Castiel underwent for your sake." The archangel was staring him down again; Dean could feel the intensity of the gaze but he couldn't lift his head. Why, Cas, why? His mind kept repeating it over and over, a mantra filled with guilty thankfulness. "The Lord Almighty may not strike you down for your insolence, but you would do well to watch your tongue in matters concerning my brother."

The weighty threat was well known because Dean could remember uttering something along the same lines before and he inwardly marveled at the fierce protectiveness the supposedly emotionless angel was displaying. Behind the pomp and circumstance, behind the mask of no expression and speech of some old Gregorian monk, Dean saw a fuzzy reflection of himself- a soldier fighting against the forces of evil at his Father's word, fighting to keep others safe and ready to deliver a world of hurt to anyone who dared to harm his little brother.

"Smoke on the water, fire in the sky-"

Ian Gillan made himself known again and broke the mini-staring contest that had surfaced. Dean pulled out his phone and glanced down at it. Sammy. The hunter cleared his throat and brought the small communication device to his ear. "Hey Sam."

"Dean, you said you were coming out almost fifteen minutes ago." Sam's voice crackled over the line and he closed his eyes, knowing that if not for Castiel, he wouldn't have been able to hear his pain in the ass little brother nagging at him right now.

"Yeah…I kinda got interrupted by an angelic roadblock."

"Cas? Uriel?"

"No, the mail-angel. Gabriel."

"Oh." Sam sounded surprised. "Well, uh… whenever you're done."

Dean hung up and turned to see Gabriel looking at him expectantly. "What?"

"You have an inquiry." Not a question, but a statement. Dean tried to ignore the creepiness of the angel knowing what was inside his head and spoke.

"Is Cas gonna be okay?"

"My brother is strong, but his spirit needs recover," Gabriel replied softly, so softy that the hunter almost didn't hear him. "He bade me come to express his gratitude for your assistance and acknowledges that he is now in your debt."

Aw, damn it. In my debt? Buddy, you're the one who pulled me out of Hell and now you've saved Sam too. I'm the one who's in your debt. There was that stupid sob rising up in his throat again and Dean blinked furiously to stave off the oncoming droplets that threatened to be as heavy as the downpour going on outside. He turned away, embarrassed by such outward show of emotion. "In my debt, huh?" He tried to sound flippant but how the hell was he supposed to do that? "Well I'm not gonna start collecting just yet, so tell Cas to just…take it easy," he mumbled, voice petering out as he shoved open the door. The storm raged on still, but before he stepped into the rain where the tears could mingle with the moisture falling from the sky, Dean heard Gabriel's voice behind him once more.

"I will relay your message."

Not trusting himself to speak, all Dean could manage was a shaky nod as he stepped out of the shelter of the house of God and into the pouring rain, toward where Sam waited in the Impala.

"Dean?" Sam queried when his brother slammed the passenger door shut and turned his face to the window, eyes closed. He tried to peer out the window and into the church that Dean had just vacated, but couldn't see through the curtain of rain. "What happened?"

"Just drive, Sam," came the whispered response, voice thick with emotion and as Sam put the car into gear, he swore he saw liquid that wasn't rainwater trailing down his brother's cheeks.

"How's Cas?"

The elder Winchester passed a hand over his eyes and cleared his throat, letting his head fall back against the chair. He could still smell the ammonia he'd used to scrub the car with in efforts to drive away the stench of sulfur. He could still see Alastair's hand, covered with blood, swinging toward him to grip his throat and he could still hear Castiel's strangled gasp: "Pater."

Father.

The book in his back pocket prodded against his back and Dean tried to grin weakly as he turned to face his brother. Sammy, his little brother, who was still here. "It's gonna be alright, Sam." You're not Lucifer's vessel, we saved the seal, my car doesn't smell like rotten eggs anymore and Cas is recovering. Everything's going to be alright.

Gabriel watched the Impala driving off into the grayness of the storm and shook his head. "You shouldn't be here."

A quiet footstep sounded behind the archangel. "I am safe in the Father's house." The voice was hoarse, weak, and barely audible. Gabriel sighed.

"You ought to be resting in the hallowed halls above." He turned, pinning the other with a stern stare. "I do not wish to have to carry you back to Heaven again."

Sapphire blue eyes shone out of the dark interior of the church accompanied by a chuckle. "Am I too heavy for you, Gabriel?"

"Dean Winchester is a bad influence and he seems to be rubbing off on you."

This time, there was soft laughter and it warmed the archangel's heart to hear it coming from his brother's mouth instead of the dying gasps of several days prior. "You worry too much, brother." Castiel remarked with a gentle smile gracing his lips and vanished in a shaft of light.

The archangel's mouth twitched until it was almost a smile. Almost.

Suddenly he turned his head sharply, eyes narrowed and ears straining to hear the revelation coming from heaven and a deep frown creased Gabriel's brow.

Someone was killing his kin.

A/N: We've come to the end of our journey here…thank you for giving me (and this story!) a chance and I'd like to say a heartfelt thank you to all my reviewers. You guys are the ones that fueled this story and kept this author's imagination going. Give yourselves a hand!

As usual, I'm hopeful that you'll take a second to give me some feedback, as in where the heck do I go from here? I may even entertain requests; who knows? Please review!