So this journey draws to a close and I have no shame in admitting that writing this caused me to shed more than my share of tears. Again I thank my reviewers and my readers, those who alerted and fave'd.

Please forgive me for the sorrow
For leaving you in fear
For the dreams we had to silence
That's all they'll ever be
Still I'll be the hand that serves you
Though you'll not see that it is me

Castiel does not know how long he has been in this place, does not know how long the torture has continued for. Only knows that he is not in Heaven anymore, that it would not be easy to hide him from those who would try to help him if he were still up there. Knows that Heaven would have been the first place that Seraphiel will have scoured looking for him when Zachariah is not watching. But even if she can find him, Castiel has lost all hope that she will ever be able to release him, he does not even know how well he is guarded.

Jael barely bothers with using the physical torture to try and gain information now, Castiel thinks that Jael just does it for the twisted pleasure of hearing him scream. Possibly he has come to the conclusion that Castiel does not have any information to give and now this is just punishment, just a way to drive him further and further towards breaking, listening to him beg for something, for anything, for an end and Castiel knows that the day is coming when Jael will do it, when Zachariah decides that it is time for them to show that along with punishment comes mercy and he almost prays for that.

Almost, because Dean's soul, the hallucination of Dean's soul still comes to him, in the dead of night as his body struggles to put itself back together, his bound grace fighting to be released of the restraints of the human body that, were he free, is his to care for. There is shame in this, that he has been given this body that belonged to Jimmy Novak, that he has allowed it to be battered and tormented and given no thought to trying to find a way to escape on his own. Castiel is weak, and he knows that now. He is weak and he is afraid and he would rather be here begging for death than trying to make his way in the world as a human.

"He will not come, Castiel," Jael has not let up on the comments about Dean. "He cannot come, Seraphiel has him chasing shadows. She is loyal to our cause." Castiel knows that he was betrayed, wonders if it was her who put him here. Heat floods his tormented body and Jael pauses in his work, looks him over with the practised eye of one who has seen Castiel on the brink too many times. "You are growing weak, Castiel," he sighs, laying aside his tools and Castiel knows that it is true. Even with the bound grace to heal him, Castiel knows that his continuing injuries will eventually overwhelm even that and whether his former masters want it or not, Castiel will die.

He wants it, but he fears it. Left alone in this place, with nothing to think about but abandonment and pain, Castiel longs for death, knows that it will not mean any form of release for him. He is as good as fallen, with his death he will either cease to be, which is unlikely, or be thrown into Hell where everything that has been done to him in this place will be repeated for all of eternity and there will be no reprieve, there will be no rest, just repair and begin again, day after day, week after week, year after year, until there is nothing left of Castiel. Just as all that he was is slowly fading in this room.

He lies, facing the ceiling, staring at the blank rock that has been his only view for all too long. Able to make out the lines of the trap above him, the one that binds all but the grace that he needs to remain alive. Jael is just as bound as he inside the circle, though he can come and go as he pleases, and Castiel knows that if he only had a hand loose, only had a weapon to use, he may stand a chance. Except that he is also well aware that he will not, he is too badly injured, too broken and he has no where else to go. He has no one to turn to and he feels sobs that he had thought he was too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to release wrack his damaged body. He wants it all to end and words ghost from his lips, shaking and stuttery.

"Dean, please, Dean," if he could bring his hands up to cover his face, Castiel would, but they are bound, the fingers broken and still he clenches his fists, using the pain to bring him back from the edges of hysteria, so close to breaking and yet he does not want to show how close he really is. Just wants freedom, wants death, salvation, something, anything, but this. "Father." It is a prayer, it is a plea, to an all knowing being who has abandoned him, abandoned the world and has allowed it to fall into the hands of those who would destroy it. It is the final breath of his lost faith, Castiel has no more to give and he knows that when Jael returns he will crack, he will break and he will betray those he vowed he would protect, because if he gives the information the end will come and he has that small hope of oblivion.

He is left alone for longer than usual, given more time to think, more time to prepare for a continuation of the onslaught. His conclusion remains the same, he is ready to give in, his faith is gone, his newly awakened heart is destroyed and the only emotions that he knows are fear and misery, his only hope that his death is swift.

"Please," he begs, because Jael does not bother with the preamble this time, just starts to cut and tear, an artist in his own way, "please, no more." It falls on deaf ears and he can feel the gurgling, despairing scream bubbling out of him.

As abruptly as Jael has started the process, he stops, eyes wide, face twisted in a mask of surprise and the silver tip of a sword poking out of his neck. Castiel stares at the blood that drips from the point of it, unable to believe that there is a possibility that someone may have come for him. Hears his name, the ridiculous nickname that Dean had given him so long ago echoing in his mind.

"Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas," over and over and over. A chant, never ending and cycling through his thoughts. That name that Castiel has wanted to hear for days, has long since given up on hearing.

When the light of Jael's dying grace fades and calloused but soft hands fight with the iron shackles that binds him, Castiel finally takes a look at the one who would rescue him and feels the tiny, almost atomic, stirring of his faith rising once more. Dirty blonde hair, green eyes creased in anger and confusion, eyes that twinkle with an age and a horror that one of this man's years should never have seen.

"C'mon," Castiel is pulled from the table, supported by over six feet of muscle and determination, "let's get you out of here, Cas."

So many dreams were broken and so much was sacrificed
Was it worth the ones we loved and had to leave behind
So many years have past, who are the noble and the wise?
Will all our sins be justified?

Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care.

Artemis