Jimmy Novak had consented to being a vessel for angelic grace, for an angel of the Lord that was on a mission from God himself. Jimmy Novak did not consent to this, Dean thinks as he stares down what used to be Castiel. As Dean grips the angel killing blade- useless steel- tighter in one fist, the vessel tilts its head to the side curiously. The eyes that it stares out of do not mirror the action; they simply stare at Dean with flat, unending indifference. "You act as if you have no part in this outcome, Dean," it says in a voice that should be Castiel's but it is all wrong. Instead of one voice, it is many, wrapped into one steady beat of words. Dean thinks of the Exorcist fleetingly before he can help himself; the thought is not a calming one. "Was it not you that pushed him this far? That he had to turn to demons and souls for help?"

"Don't," Dean growls through his teeth, his lips pulling back in his best snarl. "Don't talk out of him like he's some friggin' puppet."

A small, almost smirk fills the vessel's face; bile rises in Dean's throat. "Oh, but that is what he has become," it tells him simply. "Our puppet, our vessel," a pause and then, almost lovingly, "and we are glad to have him. His grace is so… warm, so very heartening."

He nearly chokes on the filth in his throat, spitting as he snarls, "You sonuva- He's not a radiator! He's…"

"He's what, Dean? What is this Castiel to you? His grace seems to have such an affinity towards you." The vessel's hands raise to the front of its trench coat, picking at the layers in a familiar fidget that Dean hates to see repeated with such disregard. Again, that head tilt that Dean used to find endearing. "In your presence he both waxes and wanes… Very puzzling. We wonder if killing you would bring him peace or more trepidation."

The threat on his life does little to bother him- it doesn't even register next to the belittlement of the grace itself. "He's an angel, not a home appliance. You can't use him like that."

"Human hypocrisy at its finest." The vessel takes a casual step to the left- Dean counters with a step to the right. They start to circle each other as the souls speak from the vessel. "From the memories his grace provides, it would seem like that is all you think of poor Castiel. Come when called, heel when told to… You treat him like a dog. No wonder he turned to us, to Crowley." The words are harsh, but the tone in which they are spoken remains neutral. Still, each truth hits Dean like a physical blow.

He staggers over a response. "That's not…" It's not… what? It's not true? Oh, but it is. It's not fair? He shakes his head, unable to articulate; a skill all Winchester's seem to lack.

The vessel actually clicks its tongue at that, shaking its head with a slight jerk that comes off as unhuman. "A righteous man should never lie," it advises, as if teaching Dean a lesson was its primary goal. "It's very unbecoming."

Instead of a snide remark, Dean finds nothing in his mind but… "Cas, I never meant to." He falters for words, comes up empty and has to restart. "You're more than that." But that isn't enough, he thinks as his mouth stumbles on to clarify, "To me. You're more than that to me."

"How sweet." The tone now is condescending, echoing in all the different voices. "But we're afraid it i-"

"Shut up. I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to him." He points to the vessel for emphasis, his eyes set on the flat blue that stares back indifferently. At his words, he sees a glimmer of something stir than die. It heartens him; somehow he knows that Castiel is there. "The thing that you're riding around in? That's my…" Words fail him, like they fail all Winchesters on the verge of catharsis. Once again, he redirects, attacks the feeling from a different angle so he can get his point across. "He's saved my life more times than I can count, stitched me back together when I was nothing more than a wasted soul on Hell's rack…" The list goes on but he can't bring himself to share those details with the abomination that stares at him. In the end he settles for the thought that Castiel already knows. "He's more than a puppet, more than a radiator to warm your pathetic asses.

"He is my friend. Castiel is my…" The word "my" sounds startlingly close to mine, but Dean chooses to ignore that to blunder on. "And if you can hear me buddy," a sheepish smirk quirks at the corner of his mouth without him being conscious of it, "I want you to know that I'm sorry. You screwed up, but I screwed up first. And here I am, supposed to be setting a human example for you. Well lesson one, Cas, humans screw up."

"You do reali-"

"I said shut up." When he snaps at the voices, he doesn't stare at the grace swirling in the flat eyes, but at the hands that are spread out in front of the vessel. It is only when he refocuses that he can look back to the eyes, back to Castiel. "Castiel…" But that isn't right. Restart. "Cas. I'll find a way to get those things out of you. You have my word. I won't screw up again, not on this." It seems feeble on its own, but the next words from his mouth shake with conviction. "Not with you."

Silence fills the space between them for a couple seconds, silence enough for Dean to realize that he is shaking. The voices break the silence with a look that is very close to pity. "Very touching. But he doesn't want us gone, Dean." Dean's head snaps up at that, his grip on useless steel tightening reflexively as if cutting the vessel will make the words go away. "For the first time in a long time, Castiel is not alone. We gave him something that you forgot to, something that you are unable to show to those who you do not deem worthy."

"What the hell are you talking about?" His voice is all gravel, all confusion.

"We gave him a home." There is a significant pause as the grace clears from the eyes and the vessel stares into Dean. "We gave him love."

"Bullshit." But is it, Dean? He shakes his head to ignore those words.

"Oh?" They very nearly manage surprise there. "Are you saying that you love Castiel?" The almost smirk returns, the hands moving to straighten the front of the trench coat as if presenting Jimmy. "Or that you love the idea of an angel on your shoulder, by your side and ready to answer your every whim?" Physical blows; all of them.

"Don't listen to their bullshit, Cas." He is choking on words now, fighting to put each emotion that he typically hides into the usually empty syllables. "They aren't a home; they're a prison."

"We're lying then? You didn't use Cas for your own gain?"

"No, you're not lying," he concedes with a half smirk. Dean's confidence rises to the bait, eager to please with the self-deprecation. "I was an ass, still am." There he shrugs, helplessly and still with that half-smirk on his face. "But I'm sorry- for calling you a dick, for not being there when you needed help, for being so utterly human that I forgot you didn't understand all that crap." The smirk falls when the grace shimmers into the flat blue abyss that he's been staring into. It is replaced by the most earnest tone Dean Winchester can muster. "Now look at me and tell me that I'm lying. You know me, Cas. Through and through." Every single atom, Dean says silently. You put them back in place and breathed life where I had none. "Tell me that any of this is a lie and I'll let you go off on your God rampage." The vessel stares at him silently for a couple seconds, that grace fading and taking Dean's hopes with it. "Tell me." It is a desperate plea, intent on keeping Castiel there for just a second longer.

"Eloquent for a Winchester. But it doesn't change anyth-" Suddenly there is a flare of white that nearly blinds Dean, and when he opens his eyes again he watches the vessel grunt and stagger backwards as if it had been hit. "Castiel?" It asks with genuine surprise in each and every tone. Another flare answers them all, accompanied by a groan as blood begins to seep through the front of the shirt.

All uncertainty evaporates as panic seizes Dean. He steps forward, letting the angel blade clatter to the floor as he reaches out. He wants to touch Castiel, grab him and bolster him to the ground, but the next flare forces him back a couple steps. He doesn't know what to do, but he feels that Cas is hurting and he needs to safe him. He wants Cas. "What're you doing to him?"

"Nothing!" The smallest part of Dean's brain is pleased to hear panic in the different tones; a much larger part of him is pleased to notice that there are not as many voices speaking. "He is- Castiel stop!" There is sheer panic there, much like what Dean is feeling. There is also more blood seeping from unseen wounds, seemingly at random. The vessel falls to its knees with a pathetic groan. A flare of white and Castiel is on all fours, coughing harshly. "You will kill us all."

All at once, Dean knows. It's as if he can see Castiel fighting the souls, tearing them apart with his grace as he reaches for the surface. He recognizes the next flare of blinding light as that of a soul being extinguished. Castiel is fighting; the thought fills Dean with a pride that he wasn't aware he still possessed. The building begins to vibrate with energy as Dean kneels by Castiel's head, his hands raised but uncertain as they hover over the vessel. "Cas?"

Blue eyes meet Dean's and to his immediate relief they are not flat; Castiel rests there, staring at Dean with such conviction that a thankful sob chokes past Dean's lips. Few souls remain, but enough power is leaking from the holes in the vessel that the building begins to crumble. But it is Castiel that is looking at Dean from the vessel, his grace wavering and weak. "Dean." The voice is all gravel and uncertainty, straining as the angel struggles against the remaining souls.

"We'll find a way to save you, Cas." Dean's hands rest on the angel's shoulders, then pull back as if scalded. The vessel is burning up, edging close to explosion; it vibrates and crackles. Castiel is destroying his own grace in an attempt to hold the power in, to lessen the blow. "Don't do this." Tears suddenly fill Dean's eyes; his panic is uncontrollable.

Cas spits up blood, groans and another flare makes all of the windows in the building burst. Dean flinches, raising his arms to cover his face from the blinding light, but remains untouched. Castiel looks up at him, blood staining his lips as he contemplates the human. "I am worthy." It does not sound like a question, the voice is too broken and shaky to hold any inflection at all, but Dean understands all the same because it is Cas' voice speaking.

"You're worthy, Cas." His own voice is shattered, desperate as he reaches for the Castiel's face. All at once Dean is back on the rack, torn in every which way; broken, hideous, and nothing. He hurts in ways he didn't think possible on this plane, blinding hot agony that grabs anything it can and sinks its claws in deep. Watching that bit of grace waver in Castiel's eyes- it feels like someone is ripping out his soul. It feels like a serrated knife is being twisted into his heart. It feels like watching that soldier stab Sammy in the back, like staring at Sam's lifeless body and not knowing what to do. It feels like losing Sam, he realizes with an earth shattering clarity. Dean chokes on a sob, a hand on either side of Castiel's face with no regard for the way his skin begins to sizzle and burn. "You've always been worthy."

A smile, bright and bloody, spreads across the vessel's face. "Worthy." A single word and then there are two burning fingers on Dean's forehead. The burning stops, the tremor of the earth beneath his knees fades away to solid and once he can focus through his tears, Dean sees Sam and Bobby. There is no dilapidated warehouse, no vessel to grab onto, no Castiel to look in to, but the feeling of his soul being sheered… It is all-encompassing.

"Dean!" Sam is at his side now, wrapping his bleeding, blistering hands and yelling at Bobby to get some water and the kit, but Dean can't feel anything save the tearing sensation in his chest. He pulls his hands from Sam's and grabs his brother's shirt.

"Cas!" The word is nearly screamed, his voice breaking with terror as he tries to convey what's happened without the ability of comprehensive speech. "We have to save, Cas!" Before Sam can respond with anything, the windows of Bobby's house shatter and a wave of energy forces all three of them to the ground. The world is rocked on its axis, but no explosion occurs. There is no atomic wave that wipes out half of the planet, only the shockwave that would come before.

"What the hell was that?" Bobby is pulling himself to his feet, shaking from the effort, with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. Dean crumbles to the floor from where Sam has pulled him to his feet, shaking like a man torn apart because that's what he is.

"Cas just saved the world." Sam's summary is the best they have, the only words that anyone will ever speak on the matter. Dean pulls into himself, cradling his ruined hands to his chest as he suffers silently. His eyes are wide and unseeing, tears falling as they wish- he has no control.

"Worthy." Too little, too late. You've always been worthy. It feels like losing Sam; Dean recognizes that feeling well by now, but after careful consideration he realizes that that is not what it feels like at all. No, this new, tearing pain; this immobilizing, all-encompassing agony does not feel like losing Sam, not quite. Because it feels like losing Castiel.

And losing Castiel, Dean discovers as his hand curls instinctively around his right shoulder, fingers aligning perfectly with wear he had been gripped tight and raised from perdition, is different feeling all together.

"Cas saved the world."

A/N: This is the longest thing I've written in one sitting in a while. I've found that when I can't sleep, Destiel runs rampant in my mind. It's all under the cut, my contribution to a possibility of what Season Seven may bring. I apologize for any mistakes and my annoying writer's voice.