AN: So, this was supposed to be a S7 fix-it. Instead it's proof that I obviously hate myself.

"There has to be some kind of summoning spell."

"A summoning spell for God? Jesus Sammy, don't you think Cas would've tried that during God Hunt 2010?" Dean was frustrated. He was frustrated with himself, with Cas, with God, the real God, not this Godstiel thing, although he was frustrated with that too, with Sam, with everything on this godforsaken rock he calls home. And there was no end of anything in sight.

"Yeah, but Cas isn't actually God, he's just sucked up a whole lot of power, and he's on an ego trip. There has to be a summoning spell for, like, a wayward angel," Sam argued.

Dean had to give him props, Sam was handling his century in hell about as well as Dean had handled his forty years, which was pretty damn well if you asked him. Sam had tried to explain the dream sequence situation he'd found himself after Cas had tore down the wall, and how it had helped him be as well adjusted as he was, but Dean didn't understand it. That's not to say he wasn't grateful, he just didn't understand.

"We already tried an angel summoning spell. Those don't even seem to be working at all, since Balthazar didn't even show."

Sam grimaced. "You can't be summoned if you're dead, Dean," he said softly.

Dean frowned. He didn't want Balthazar to be dead. If he was it would be like Gabriel all over again. Yeah, in both cases, the angels had been dicks, but in the end they'd helped. And if Balthazar was dead, in both cases they'd died for the Winchester cause, and that didn't sit well with Dean. And since the summoning spell hadn't worked it seemed likely that that was the case.

"Yeah well, what the hell are we going to do Sammy? We can't just sit on our asses waiting for Cas to get bored with his God complex. We have to…" Dean trailed off, not knowing what to say. But Sam understood and nodded.

"I know. There just doesn't seem to be a whole lot to do."

Dean licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair, desperate for a plan to formulate, but nothing came except for a knock on the motel room's door. Both Winchester's eyes shot to it and then back to each other, simultaneously reaching for guns. Dean stood as he slid the clip out of his Colt 1911, checking it and then clicking it back in when he was satisfied. He slipped over to the door and looked through the peephole.

His heart dropped to his shoes when he saw Cas outside the door, bent double and clutching his stomach and looking very much like Cas instead of the abomination that's taken to wearing his skin. Dean could see his face, could see how his cheeks were burned and he felt sick when he realized Purgatory's souls must be burning him up from the inside out.

He didn't hesitate, just yanked the door open and grabbed Cas, pulling him inside before slamming the door closed again. Cas barely made it inside before collapsing onto the floor, a low moan pulled from his throat.

"Cas," Dean said, crouching next to the… Angel? God? "It's you," he stated. He didn't need to question it, he knew from the look in his eyes that it was Cas in control instead of the souls.

Cas nodded weakly. "I don't know how long I can hold them Dean. I've wrapped my grace around them to hold them but-" his words were broken off with another moan as he curled around himself. "They're trying to tear through," he finally finished breathlessly.

"What do we do? We have to get them out of you," Sam finally spoke, coming forward and crouching next to his brother.

Cas grimaced and reached into trench coat, pulling out a jar of blood. Dean took it numbly.

"Is this…"

"Yes. Do not ask me where I got it because you will not like the answer."

Dean swallowed thickly but took his advice and didn't ask. Instead he popped the top off and stepped over to the wall. "Tell me what to draw," he commanded, and Cas did, describing in perfect detail the exact shapes and placements that Dean carefully copied onto the wall, trying not to think too hard about what he was using in lieu of paint. When he was done the jar was empty and he just wiped his fingers on his pants leg.

"Now how do we get the souls out of your handy dandy gift wrapped grace package?"

Cas managed to pull himself into a sitting position in front of the blood-drawn symbols. He locked eyes with Dean and Dean saw so much regret there that it made his heart hurt. Cas took a deep breath. "You don't," he said calmly, and then he began chanting.

It took only a matter of seconds for Cas's words to hit home. You don't. Cas's grace was going to get sucked into Purgatory with the souls. Before Dean could react that chant was over, and there was a hole where the symbol had once been, and it reminded Dean eerily of the hole Lucifer's Cage opened into the earth in that graveyard in Kansas.

But Dean didn't have long to stare at the whole because Cas was screaming, long, drawn out, heart wrenching screams of pain. Dean turned to see circles of blood forming on Cas's white shirt as soul after soul was ripped from him. Cas's eyes were glowing like Dean had seen other angel's eyes glow when their grace was burning away and that was not a good thing.

Then the screaming stopped, the lights stopped, and the hole closed with a loud pop. Cas sat for a moment, breathing heavily, teetering on the edge of falling before he gave in as his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Cas!" Dean screamed, dropping to his knees to catch the angel before he hit the ground. Cas opened his eyes weakly, but the gaze was still intense as it settled on Dean.

"I am sorry Dean. I can never express to you how sorry I truly am," Cas said, voice low and strained.

Dean ran his hand soothingly through Cas's unruly hair. "I know Cas. I understand, really. There were better ways you could've gone about things, but I understand."

Cas smiled then, a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Dean," Cas whispered, and Dean knew these words were for him, and for him only. "I have loved you since I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. I am sorry I did not tell you sooner."

"Cas…" Dean said brokenly, but his angel's eyes had closed on their final word, and his chest was no longer rising and falling. Dean closed his eyes and felt a couple of tears squeeze out between the lids. He opened them and looked up at Sam, who was watching him with a pained expression. "I guess the nursery rhyme was right, huh?"

"What?" Sam asked, confused.

Dean looked back down at the angel in his lap, and he realized the lack of ash wings meant he'd died human. Dean wondered if there would be a heaven for him, or if he'd be sent to hell. Or if he was doomed to Purgatory. Dean decided he was better off not knowing. "Thursday's child has far to go," he finally replied softly.