Broken Wings

3. The Fall

Castiel stared at the streaky brown surface of his desk, not really seeing the patterned wood. His mind was elsewhere. It always wandered like that these days, but he found there was very little he could do to prevent it from doing so. School was now one big blur in his mind, as were the hours he spent at home – or away from it, as was sometimes the case. Chuck wasn't much company, and not even Gabriel could rouse him out of his depression. But was it depression, he wondered. Cas could sleep, he had no trouble eating, he didn't want to kill himself… but was wishing for things to be okay enough to be classed as depressed?

Cas flinched as something sharp jabbed his arm. He looked round blearily, following the line of the pen to a hand, then up the arm to Chuck's face. "Eyes front," he whispered.

Blinking, he turned to look at the front of the class. A lot of people were staring at him – including Mr Inias. "Castiel," he said, "please stay behind for a bit after class." There was no anger in his voice, just a calm, almost flippant tone, but the looks on his classmates' faces spoke volumes. The general opinion: 'He's in shit.' Knowing he would have to pay attention now, Castiel resigned himself to waiting out the last ten minutes (he really didn't understand what they were talking about), and when the class was dismissed he presented himself in front of Mr Inias.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

His teacher nodded, indicating that he should take a seat, and while Castiel sat himself at a desk in the front row he went and closed the door. "It's come to my attention, Castiel," he began, coming to sit on the table next to him, "that your grades and your work ethic have started slipping quite sharply lately." He paused for a response, so Cas nodded. "Do you think you could explain why?" he asked, not unkindly. When there was, again, no reply, Inias added: "If you don't tell me directly then I'm afraid I'll have to phone home."

Unintentionally, Cas scoffed. Inias raised an eyebrow, and that was that. "I don't think anyone at home would care," he muttered.

"Really? And why's that?"

Castiel shrugged. "They know that's how I am now."

"Yes but why, Castiel?" he reiterated.

"Why?" Cas looked up. "It might be something to do with the fact that in the last month two of my brothers haven't spoken to each other, and I've refused to speak to them because of it. And there's also the fact that Anna is still missing, and nobody but myself or her parents seem that concerned."

Inias sighed. "Castiel, if all this has been affecting you, why haven't you said something?"

He shrugged once more. "No-one wants to know how I'm feeling."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" he retaliated. "My brothers know their fighting upsets me but they won't ask or try to make amends. Anna must know that her absence worries me, but she's never called to see how I am. And it's taken you a month, Sir, to ask me about my grades."

The look of concern on Mr Inias' face was almost scary. Teachers weren't meant to get this involved – it should be family who looked at him like that (and Anna). "Is there anything the school can do to help, Castiel?" he asked. "Counselling, extra tutoring, extended deadlines, perhaps?"

Shaking his head, he stood up. "No, Sir. But thank you." He neither needed nor wanted that kind of hassle, and he left as quickly but politely as he could. Luckily, Inias didn't press the matter. Chuck, however, was a different problem altogether.

"You have to do something Cas!" he proclaimed at lunch.

Closing his eyes, Castiel repressed a sigh. "About what, Chuck?"

"Your brothers?" he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "They're heading down a destructive path. And if you don't stop them –"

"I'm not going to 'stop' them."

"What? Why not?"

"Because nothing's going to happen to them, Chuck."

"You don't know that." Cas tried to return to eating his sandwich, but his friend pushed on. "Look, I know a lot of movies and stories say that the future is unchangeable, that we all have a destiny, or whatever. But what if the future can be changed, Cas? If it's not set in stone, your brothers may not have to –"

"Chuck, I'm not speaking to Michael or Lucifer at the moment. In case you hadn't noticed, they've sort of fucked up my life at home. Besides," he added in a mumble. "I'm more concerned about Anna." Why wasn't anyone else?

Startled by the sudden outburst, Chuck turned mute as he finished off his lunch before quickly picking up his tray and declaring that he had to go to the library to meet Becky. If things hadn't been so bad, Cas and Anna would probably have gossiped about that. As it was, she wasn't answering his texts or calls. There had to be a reason, he told himself: she'd lost her phone, or it needed charging. She couldn't possibly be ignoring him.

If being at school (where Chuck rarely stopped talking) was bad, then being at home was almost twice as bad. Here, nobody talked. Raphael would be occupied with his course work, Michael and Lucifer would childishly avoid each other, Gabriel spent most of his time at Balthazar or Sam's, and Cas refused to speak to either of his squabbling siblings. That is, on the rare occasions they decided to try and talk to him. Nobody asked him about Anna, or how he was coping without her. Oh, they'd been concerned when he told them she'd run away, but just like with their father Raphael had given up caring, Michael was being overly optimistic, Lucifer decided neither of them were worth caring about anymore, and Gabriel became disinterested in the whole affair.

So to say Castiel was surprised when Gabe came and sat down beside him that afternoon was an understatement. "Hey Cassie, what's up?"

There were many ways Cas could have responded to that question, ranging from 'my life is going to ruins' to 'go away you little expletive'. He couldn't bring himself to say any of them though, so in the end he just shrugged.

"Right," Gabriel said, sounding as if he hadn't expected such a response (of course he hadn't. He hadn't even noticed Cas' state of near-depression). "Well anyway, Raph sent me here to tell you that he wants to talk to you. Now. So come on – vamoosh!"

After glaring at him sideways to determine if he was being truthful or not, Castiel eventually complied and trudged upstairs to Raphael's room. He heard laughter coming from Lucifer and Gabriel's room, and wondered what Lucifer had to be happy about at all. Deciding he didn't care, he knocked on his brother's door.

"Ah, Castiel," Raphael said as he slipped in. He put down the book he'd had open on his lap and stared at him from his chair. "Sit down." He gestured to the bed, where Castiel sat a little awkwardly. Raphael's formalities suggested this wasn't an 'I'm concerned about you' talk, and he was suddenly nervous. "How are you doing at school, Castiel?"

Cas shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

"Okay?" he repeated, and Cas nodded. "I see. Well, it might surprise you to know that I had a call from your head of year earlier today. He expressed some of his colleagues' concerns that you aren't performing to your usual standard of late, and was wondering if I knew the reason why."

Cas gulped, wondering if he'd gone pale. "Oh."

"As you can imagine, I was unable to help him," Raphael continued, leaning back into his chair, "but I assured him I would ask and find out. So – why are your grades slipping, Castiel?"

And here was the perfect opportunity to tell someone who would listen and act. Raphael had looked after them all when their father left. He was barely fifteen at the time, still with his own life to try and live, yet he'd devoted it to his brothers – and, Cas now knew, trying to find their father. Amid all the pressure of being a father to his brothers (one of whom didn't even want him to do so), having to keep on top of food and bills where possible, and still finding time to do school work, Raphael was one of the highest achievers in his class. He got into college on a fiercely competitive scholarship, and most of his free time was spent working towards his degree. He was the closest thing Castiel had to a father. If anyone could help him in this dark, dark time, it should be Raphael.

"I don't know," he said quietly.

Raphael raised an eyebrow. "Is it to do with Michael and Lucifer?" Meekly, Cas nodded, and his brother sighed. "Then talk to them about it. Tell them you're unhappy because of them and that it's affecting your school work. They'll soon stop." He turned in his chair, facing his desk and books once more. "Grades are important, Castiel," he said, only looking up when he didn't receive a reply. In a shell-shocked manner, Cas simply nodded, and when no more was said he left of his own accord.

Talk to them? Tell them he was unhappy? Why? If they cared that he was unhappy, they would have noticed. Michael would have said something before they turned out the lights, or Lucifer would have made an inappropriate comment before trying to rectify it. Hell, they might even have asked Gabriel to pull a prank somehow, just to make him smile! He fumed. Raphael hadn't even considered bringing Anna into the equation. No-one had. They'd all just forgotten about her. In that case then, perhaps he should talk to his brothers – both at the same time.

It took a couple of days for Castiel to formulate a plan, but as he dialled Lucifer's number he was fairly confident it would work.

"Castiel?" There were a mixture of emotions in that answering word – worry, surprise, caution, and a hint of happiness with a slither of impatience. His brother was far more complex than people gave him credit for.

"Hello Lucifer."

"I thought you weren't talking to me?"

"I'm not," he said, putting bitterness into his voice. "I want to go to the warehouse but Raphael's being stingy and won't let me go alone."

Lucifer sighed away from the receiver. "Then ask Michael."

"He's not in."

"Gabriel?"

"At Balthazar's."

"Raphael?" his brother almost growled.

"He's busy."

"And he can't spare two minutes to take you to the fricking warehouse?"

"Apparently not."

There was the distant sound of Lucifer cursing before he gave an answer. "It's not happening."

Castiel had expected this. "Why not?"

"Because I have a life too. As pleased as I am that you've decided to acknowledge my existence again, Cas, go pester Michael with your request."

"He's with Dean."

"… And?"

"And I know you're on your own."

He scoffed. "Right. How, may I ask?"

"Alistair and Meg came looking for you five minutes ago. They didn't know where you were. I figured you were in town."

If Lucifer was surprised by this, he didn't let it show. "Well maybe I'm busy in town. The answer's still no."

"Stealing is not a legitimate excuse." There was silence on the other end, and Cas allowed himself a small smile.

"Fine," Lucifer growled. "I'll meet you there."

"Twenty minutes. And if it's any consolation, I called you last for that reason." Lucifer ended the call without a reply, and Cas pocketed his phone. Part one done – part two was downstairs.

"Michael," he said, standing in front of said brother a few minutes later.

Michael didn't hide the shock on his face very well. "Yeah, Cas?"

He looked down at his shoes, shuffling his feet a little. "Can we, uh… talk?"

Putting his laptop down, Michael nodded eagerly. "Sure – what about?"

"Not here," Cas said quickly. "I… I was thinking maybe the warehouse?"

His brother frowned a slightly. "Okay… can I ask why?"

He shrugged. "We haven't been there a while, and it's nice and quiet. We shouldn't be disturbed there."

Michael thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded. "If that's what you want. Give me fifteen minutes to get ready?"

"Of course." Part two done. Next was part three – the tricky part.

Castiel stayed silent for the car ride to the warehouse. Michael tried to talk to him, but he only answered curtly or in mumbling tones. He could tell it frustrated him somewhat, but it didn't really matter. He was trying to work out every possible way the impending confrontation could play out. Most likely, he decided, they would both kick off at him, in which case he needed to come up with a convincing statement to keep them both there long enough to talk. By the time Michael turned off the engine, Castiel thought he had it.

"How far in do you want to go?" Michael asked as they passed through the entrance. Scanning for Lucifer along the walkway or in the corners, Cas suggested they go in further. Michael complied, and they moved through to the next space – where Lucifer stood, waiting. Michael stopped dead in his tracks. "Lucifer?"

Hearing his name, their brother turned, and his expression became something close to pure hatred. "Michael?" he spat in return.

"What are you doing here?" Michael demanded as he stepped forward.

"Might ask you the same thing." Lucifer also moved a few paces toward him.

"You first."

"Fine. Cas said he needed a guardian angel while he played here and roped me into doing it because you weren't free."

"What do you mean I wasn't free?"

Lucifer sneered, "Apparently Dean is of greater import than your own family."

"What are you talking about?" Michael looked perplexed.

"I mean the great and mighty Saint Michael has no time for his insignificant family members."

"'Has no time'?" he echoed furiously. "Do you know how much time I've spent picking up your messes Lucifer? Running around after you to apologise on your behalf to whomever it is you've pissed off or frightened this time?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Lucifer did nothing to hide his smirk. "Ooh, sorry for not paying you more notice, Almighty Mikey."

"Don't you dare –"

"Enough!"

When they both turned to him, expressions saying they clearly forgot he was there, Castiel was pleasantly surprised that he'd been loud enough to get through to them both. The sensation was short lived. "Castiel," Michael said, a frown drawing his eyebrows close, "what are you up to?"

"Did Raphael put you up to this?" Lucifer asked bitterly, and Cas shook his head.

"Not exactly," he began earnestly. "He told me to talk to you both, but not necessarily at the same time."

"Alright then Cas." Michael put his hands on his hips, his mood frayed from the fight. "You got us here. What do you want?"

Mustering up the courage to look them both in the eyes, Castiel put as much force behind his words as he could. "To tell you that you're both being idiots."

"Excuse me?" Lucifer didn't take well to that. Michael stayed silent.

"You're both acting like children," Cas continued, aware that he himself sounded far too young to be saying such things. "All this fighting, sniping at each other, refusing to even see each other – Gabriel and I want it to stop!" He knew bringing Gabe in would add an extra punch, and the message seemed to get through to Lucifer that little bit more at the mention of his trickster brother (who had effectively been his protégé). "Neither of you have asked how we've felt since your fight, but in case you haven't noticed, your actions have deeply affected us." It looked like they were both aware, but he told them anyway; "Gabriel hardly spends his time at home anymore. He stays with Balthazar, sometimes Sam, but never us. I've had no-one to talk to about Anna –" He hoped they hadn't heard the slight hitch in his voice at her name, and continued. "Raphael's upset too. He may not show it, but he's just as fed up with your fights as we are." Looking between them pleadingly, wondering if this speech was all in vain, he asked: "Are you both going to remain the selfish, uncaring individuals you are now, or will you forgive each other, if not for yourselves then for the sake of your family?"

His words stung, and he knew it. Michael flinched slightly, upset about being called uncaring. Lucifer, too, seemed saddened that he, Castiel, was calling him such a thing. He'd been called worse by others, but none of them knew him like his brother; Castiel had used this fact to his advantage. He was their little brother, the one they teased the most, the one they never argued with. They hated upsetting him, and he'd played heavily on that. Maybe too heavily, but it was working.

Lucifer was the first to speak. "How do you propose we do that?" he said slowly, his voice still laced with bitterness. "Raphael's 'truce' didn't exactly go well."

Michael scowled at him. "It did until you broke it."

"You lied –"

"Stop," Cas interrupted wearily. "This is why I brought you both here. You're going to talk – the two of you – about when it all went wrong. Why it all went wrong."

There was a snort. "Like a family counselling session?" Lucifer asked, unimpressed by the idea.

Cas nodded. "I suppose so."

They shared a glance, the first non-angry one in a long, long time (though the resentment was still there). Finally, Michael sighed. "Okay," was all he said, then he led the way up to the walkway cutting across the middle of the space. Castiel felt a surge of delight and anticipation. Part three had been successful. Part four was only just beginning.

Watching his legs swing above the warehouse's concrete floor, Castiel considered again voicing his disappointment in his brothers. Half an hour had passed since they settled on the walkway, and nothing had happened. Lucifer was stood by one window, arms folded, expression stormy, and Michael was stood at the opposite end, hands in pockets, glowering across the space. Somehow, Cas had ended up sat in the middle of them, hanging his legs off the platform's edge and waiting for something to happen.

Eventually he couldn't bear it any longer, and rolled his eyes. "It was Johanna," he said, feeling their gazes switch from cross to confused and shift onto him. "When it all began," he elaborated.

There was a brief pause. "He's right," Michael said softly.

"After she and Mother died," Lucifer added.

Michael looked up, and Cas could see the pain flicker in his eyes. "Do you remember what she looked like?" He wasn't talking about their mother.

Meeting his brother's eyes with an equal measure of sorrow, Lucifer nodded. "Do you?"

He swallowed. "Just."

Cas thought he saw a smile at the edge of Lucifer's mouth. "You cried for weeks afterwards," he said.

Michael stared at him. "I was twelve, Lucifer. What did you expect?"

"I expected you to tell me they were alive." The revelation shocked both Michael and Castiel. They stared at their brother, who had built up a reputation as heartless because of his name alone, waiting to hear more. Reluctantly, he continued. "You were always the strong one, Michael. The one I'd go to if something was wrong. You looked after me, you taught me everything I know, showed me things neither of our parents ever did. You told me how to solve problems, how to make myself feel better after being down. So when you… so when you broke, I…" Seemingly embarrassed, Lucifer stopped and looked away, letting the silence speak for itself.

"So all those tantrums," Michael said, "all those times you snapped at me for no reason – you were just disappointed?"

"I didn't like being disappointed," he admitted, then gave a shrug. "So I turned it into anger."

Michael shook his head, but there was a fondness to the gesture. "You always knew how to be angry."

"Father taught me that," he said ruefully. Cas' stomach twisted at the sudden reference, and he glanced to his other brother to see the reaction.

Michael's face fell. "Don't blame him for this," he pleaded. "He probably had a harder time than we did. Unlike us, Lucifer, he didn't have anyone to turn to. He couldn't talk to his friends, he couldn't talk to us, he even gave up talking to the counsellors. He never meant to get angry."

"But he did," Lucifer said flatly. "And look what happened."

"We all found it tough," Michael reassured him, now making his way across the walkway towards his brother. Castiel twisted round to watch. "Perhaps you didn't see it, but we all grieved in different ways. And that meant we grieved alone." His head dipped slightly, and he shook his head. "We shouldn't have done that," he whispered, seemingly to himself.

"How would you have done it, then?" Lucifer challenged. "How should we have grieved?"

"Grieved?" Michael frowned. "For starters, we should all have attended the funeral, not just Raphael. It would have helped if we had talked to each other more, been more supportive. Convinced Father to talk."

"Hidden his beer?"

A dark smirk. "Perhaps."

"That's all very well and good, Michael," Lucifer said, walking around his brother and past Castiel in the middle, "but why didn't you say so back then?"

Cas imagined Michael rolling his eyes. "I was younger then, Lucifer. I was upset, I was trying to be responsible. I didn't have the time or the courage to tell my family how to grieve. Besides," he added, turning to face Lucifer's back. "Would you honestly have listened to me?"

To their surprise, Lucifer turned back to him with a hurt look. "Yes," he said, sounding offended that the question had even been asked. "Of course I would have. I loved you, Michael – I still do!"

Without a doubt, Castiel believed Michael was thinking the exact same thing he was at that statement: Lucifer never lies. "I love you too, Lucifer," he agrees, "but I don't understand why you have to be so disobedient all the time. It's frustrating –"

"Disobedient?" Lucifer blinked. "That's a bit… militant, don't you think?"

Michael frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean there you go again, always thinking like a military commander, someone who has to be in control. Why do you do that?" Inadvertently, Castiel found himself thinking about the archangel Michael, who had more or less been an army commander himself. Chuck's words of warning pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind, and he had a hard time pushing them away again.

"I don't think like a commander."

"Then why did you say I was disobedient?"

"Because you are! When Raphael told you to –"

Lucifer threw his hands up. "Why does this always keep coming up?"

Michael grew annoyed. "What you said to him was wrong, and you still haven't apologised."

He shook his head. "Raphael doesn't even act like a father to us anymore. What would be the point in apologising?"

"He's our brother!" argued Michael. "That means something to you, I know it does!"

"Raphael is less bothered about this than you." Lucifer shook his head. "Why can't you just get over it?"

"Because I believe that if you hadn't said that to him he wouldn't have become so obsessed with work!"

Before Castiel could work out what was happening, Lucifer was responding. "You're blaming me for his lack of attention towards us?" he cried.

"Among other things, yes," his brother snapped.

"How could you say that?"

He shrugged. "You hate being lied to. You made that pretty clear last month!"

"Hey, you punched me!"

"The truce was working! You were just looking for an argument!"

"Oh, is that what you tell yourself?"

"Just like you tell yourself you're named after the devil?"

"No, don't you start –"

"It means morning star, Lucifer! Do you really think our parents were so sadistic as to name you after the devil?"

"He was an archangel too, you know!"

"That's not my point – you knew your namesake but you told people something else so that you could create a reputation for yourself; now you fit that persona, and whenever one of us tries to put you in line, you rebel. If that's the case, then fine, walk out of the family! I honestly wouldn't be surprised if I was the one who ended up sending you to prison!"

And suddenly Castiel could see his plan going wrong. They were arguing, not forgiving, and it had just become explosive. As soon as he realised that it was going to get physical, Cas didn't think – he leapt up from where he sat, running as Lucifer charged towards Michael, and putting himself in the middle of them both.

"No!"

Castiel felt Lucifer try to grab Michael around him. The force of both of them running at him, together with Lucifer's fury, made Michael stumble back against the glass – which shattered; and without warning, they were flying again, and Cas was seven years old, feeling the rushing air catch and pull at his clothes and hair. Only this time, it wasn't exhilarating, and there was no soft landing to look forward to. He couldn't even see the ground racing to meet him, but he was gifted one final moment of surprise when it did so sooner than expected. Then he was introduced to darkness.

Cas was asleep. He was warm. He felt rather uncomfortable. His entire body ached. He could hear muffled sounds. He didn't normally lie like this. In fact, it felt like he was in the recovery position. Frowning, he tried to roll out, but something behind him prevented him from doing so. What felt like a hand patted his shoulder.

"…lance is here. Can you hear me? Castiel?"

The muffled sound cleared, and it seemed familiar. Light and quirky. Another sound penetrated his foggy state, sharper and longer, and something flashed in his darkened vision. Something bright. What was so bright? Slowly, he cracked open his eyelids, twisting his neck to see who the hand belonged to.

"Gabriel?" he croaked. Through hazy vision, he saw his brother's face, pale white against the almost black sky, flood with relief.

"Oh, thank god!" he breathed. He rubbed Cas' shoulder, reassuring him whilst keeping him on the floor. "Everything's going to be fine, Cas; the ambulance is here, they'll look after you now."

Shivering, Castiel tried to piece together what had happened for him to end up like this. "Where… where am I?"

"You're at the warehouse, Cas." Briefly, Gabriel's face lit up an iridescent blue colour. Confused, Castiel just blinked at him. "You were here with Michael and Lucifer." His brother's tone was serious – too serious. When he paused to give Cas some time to process his words, other sounds behind him started to become more prominent: people talking, someone moaning, a radio, the sound of an engine perhaps? And why was it so dark all of a sudden – and so cold? "What happened Cas? How did you all end up like this?"

Castiel frowned at the question. "I don't know…"

Heavy footsteps dominated everything temporarily, then a stranger appeared and crouched over him. He began asking questions – he asked Castiel questions, he asked Gabriel questions, then after shining a light into his eyes, he gently encouraged Castiel to sit up. Something was wrapped around him, and as Gabriel moved out of the way Cas finally turned to get his bearings – and remembered everything.

A short way away, by the compound security fence, many figures like the one looking after him were crouched over two bodies being moved onto stretchers: Michael and Lucifer. Next to Lucifer was Raphael, dark face unreadable amidst the work of the paramedics (he had worked out who they were now), and close to Michael stood Dean and Sam. Dean looked worried. Sam was watching Castiel and Gabriel, sending Cas a tight and weary smile when their eyes met. But Cas barely noticed it. Michael, Lucifer… they didn't look in good shape. The stretchers said enough; the haste of the paramedics said it all. They both had braces strapped around their heads, bodies kept secure on the stretchers by thick looking black bands. As they were swallowed up by the ambulance one after the other, with Raphael following quickly behind, Castiel felt sick to his stomach.

"Don't worry Cas," he vaguely heard someone – Gabriel? – say. "They're safe now, they're alright. Everything's going to be okay. They'll be fine."

They weren't fine. Michael died thirty minutes into surgery from internal bleeding. Lucifer died in the ambulance from extreme blood loss. The paramedics and surgeons had, as usual, done all they could to save them, but to no avail. Castiel just had a sore back. Somehow, that felt wrong.

The car ride back was like a passing dream. Raphael drove, despite it being Dean's Impala. It had been an ugly agreement – Dean initially refused to let Raphael even look at the driver's door, and when Raphael pointed out how close he was to tears a glaring match ensued. It was only Sam's subdued tone that made Dean relent, but Castiel thought he probably knew it was the right decision. He may deny it, but Dean was an emotionally complex man. At least, that was what Michael said.

Cas glanced across the backseat of the Impala. Gabriel was next to him, in the middle, hands loosely hanging between his legs, eyes focused on nothing as if he were in some kind of trance. Sam sat on the other side of him, expression suggesting deep, possibly troubling thoughts were keeping him occupied. There was no way Dean was talking, and he doubted anything Raphael could say would be a comfort. He knew who would be able to comfort him, but she wasn't here. Later, he decided he would ring her, regardless of her warnings. He hadn't texted her in a while anyway; he didn't want her to think he'd stopped worrying.

Raphael offered to drive Dean and Sam back once they were home, but Dean couldn't even be swayed by Sam this time. It would also be inconvenient for Raphael, who would have to walk home, yet Castiel wondered if that was what his brother had been thinking of. Regardless, Raphael stayed. Dean and Sam left, and with barely a word to each other the Novak siblings agreed to go to bed. Alone in his room at last, Castiel changed quickly before pulling out his phone. He dialled her number and waited.

"Hi, it's Anna. Can't pick up right now 'cause either I'm busy kicking a vampire's ass or my battery's dead. Either way, leave a message after the – no you don't, bloodsucker!"

The message tone sounded, but Cas was left temporarily speechless. That was the first time he'd heard her voice in too long. "Anna. I want – I need to talk to you. It's… Michael and Lucifer. They're… They've died." As he said it, something cracked inside him. Fighting against the sobs that threatened to consume him, he carried on. "And it's my fault," he whispered. He sniffed, rubbing a fist against his eyes when they started to itch. "It's my fault, and I… I just need someone I can trust to… I need your advice, Anna," he finished quietly. "I want to hear your voice."

Castiel hung up. He switched out the bedroom light, lay down in his bed and stared at the empty one opposite, wondering what Raphael and Gabriel were doing. Perhaps Gabe was doing the same as him. Either way, Michael's words to Lucifer about grieving echoed about his mind, and he couldn't help but feel he would be disappointed now. The room felt much colder when he was on his own, and later on as he tried to sleep his half-waking dreams were comprised of memories of happier times.

They were playing Pictionary. Lucifer was drawing for Michael and Cas was for Gabriel, and for the latter team, it wasn't going so well.

"Bicycle!" Gabriel shouted. "Spanner! Wrench! Tyre swing! Car! Glasses! Harry Potter! Owl! Dinosaur!"

Meanwhile, Michael watched intently as Lucifer drew quickly, and when he was done he held it out for his brother to see. "Weighing scales!" Michael grinned.

"Aw!" Cas whined, dropping his pencil and pad. "Gabriel!"

"What?" Gabe asked as their opponents hi-fived. "It's not my fault you suck at drawing." Cas stuck his tongue out, but Gabriel ignored him in favour of a chocolate bar.

"Don't worry about it, Cas," Michael assured him. "You'll get better one day. Lucifer couldn't draw very well when he was four, either."

"Yeah I could!" Lucifer pouted.

Castiel gazed at Michael. "Will I get better when I'm six then?"

"Of course you will," he said, and Castiel beamed.

Next to him, Gabriel's eyes lit up. "Hey, look!" he chirped, and reached for the sand timer before holding it under his nose. "It's a sand-tache!" Though it really wasn't anything remarkable, it was the funniest thing the four boys had seen all day. They showed it to Raphael when he came back from the doctors, and he claimed it made him feel much better. Castiel and Gabriel never won Pictionary, but that didn't mean it was never any fun.

The next day was hard. Raphael and Gabriel wanted to know the details. He asked them how they had known where to find him, but they told him he had phoned home. Castiel didn't remember doing so, and consequently feigned memory loss of any other details. In truth, he didn't want to discuss it. Raphael would be mad, he knew it, and Gabriel would never forgive him.

When their brother suggested they move in to one room together, both Gabriel and Castiel refused to touch either Lucifer or Michael's belongings. It would feel like forcing them out, Gabriel said, and neither he nor Castiel wanted to forget how they liked things: Michael's neatly organised desk, Lucifer's haphazard bookshelf; Michael's family photos, Lucifer's posters; the list was long. Raphael backed down, but Cas wondered if he wouldn't try again one day.

School was out of the question, they agreed. Castiel knew he would never get anything done, and he would rather catch up on work away from other people if he had to – even Chuck. Especially Chuck. Part of him felt bad for leaving his friend in the dark, but it wasn't like Anna had planned on telling him she was leaving. He called her again (several times), but she never answered. Perhaps it was a blessing that she didn't appear in his dreams so much. Sleep was hard enough with memories of his brothers.

"Hey Cas, look!"

Castiel looked up as his brother dunked his fishing net into the red bucket, then crouched down and pointed to the small creature wriggling around at the bottom. "It's a newt!"

Cas frowned at it. "What's a newt?"

Lucifer stuck his finger in, grinning as the newt tried to swim away. "This is a newt. They're like… lizard fish."

"Haven't you learnt about them in school?" Michael asked from behind him. "Mr Tran found some in the pond."

"Can I touch it?" he asked, twisting round to look over his shoulder at his older brother.

"Why are you asking me?"

Taking that as a yes, Cas turned back to the bucket and stuck a finger into the dirty water, startling the newt and beginning a small game of chase round the bottom of the container. "Eew!" he cried when he finally got a touch. "It's all slimy!"

"What is?" Raphael asked, setting his own larger bucket beside a laughing Lucifer. "Oh, you caught a newt Cas?"

"No, I did!" Lucifer cried. "Cas is five – he can't catch a newt!"

"Why not?" he asked.

"You're too young."

"No he isn't," Raphael said. "Michael, where's Gabriel?"

"He went into the forest. He needed a wee."

Raphael nodded. "Okay. Dad says we can't stay for too much longer."

"Aw, why not?" Lucifer whined.

He gestured to his bucket, which was full and smelt funny. "Because we caught a lot of fish. The second tub is nearly full."

"Are we going to have fish burgers?" Michael asked eagerly.

"I hope so!"

Lucifer's face lit up. "Will Mom make her special sauce?"

"Yeah special sauce!" Castiel joined in, looking to Raphael hopefully.

"I don't know," his brother said. "Let's go and ask Dad now. Look, there's Gabriel – Gabe! We're going to find Dad now, hurry up!"

Gabriel skidded to a stop in front of them, out of breath and grinning. "Guys, look!" He held something up to his nose. "It's a worm-stache!"

It was the night before the funeral when Gabriel knocked on his door (just his door now, not his and Michael's). "Hey," he said, poking his head inside. "Can I come in?" Cas nodded from the bed, and said nothing as his brother sat next to him. After a few seconds of silence, Gabriel nudged him in the side, then took a pencil off his desk and held it above his top lip. "Pencil-stache," he said, and Cas smiled.

"I always preferred the worm-stache."

"Yeah, me too." Gabriel returned the pencil, then rubbed the back of his neck. "Raphael says we can drop something on to the coffins if we want."

Cas nodded. "I know."

"Want to see what I'm putting in?" He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar wrapper and a thick Happy Birthday badge. He held up the wrapper. "It's not the original, but this was the first chocolate bar that Michael introduced me to, and this," – he waved the badge – "this was a badge Lucifer got me for my seventh birthday. It squirted water at people." He gave a wry smile. "It doesn't any more, but I loved it. It's what got me into practical jokes." Cas watched him for a moment as his thumb stroked the edge of the plastic disk, seeing a familiar look in his eyes. It was often the look Gabriel got when he was considering leaving, a deep frown that spoiled his youthful features and made Castiel worry. For a second, he wanted to fiercely wrap his arms around his brother and prevent him from leaving, to tell him he was sorry for causing this… tragedy. But before he could make his limbs move, the frown was gone, and Gabriel was serene as he turned to look at him again. "How about you? What Are you putting in?"

Castiel reached under his pillow. He'd thought of it the instant Raphael mentioned doing such a thing, and hadn't considered anything else. Though it wasn't as personal to either brother specifically, it meant a lot to him, and if they were watching him like he so often wanted to believe, then maybe they would know why now, and appreciate it too. "I'm going to make two copies of this," he told Gabriel, who stared at the picture as if it was a piece of impressionistic art.

"I remember this," he gasped. "That was… that was nearly nine years ago. Have you kept it all this time?"

Cas nodded. "It's my favourite picture of us. Nobody else seemed to keep theirs, and I was worried it would get damaged if I didn't keep it safe." He reluctantly handed it over to his brother's waiting fingers. Gabriel stared at it long and hard, brushing his fingertips over first Michael, then Lucifer. He smiled sadly. "They look so young." He gave it back, then after a beat surprised Castiel by saying, "Make it three copies."

"Three?"

"Yeah. One for Michael, one for Lucifer, and one for me." Castiel promised he would, and Gabriel thanked him. "So is that all, then?"

"Yes," he nodded. "I mean, I do have a favourite memory of both Michael and Lucifer, but I believe they spent too much time apart recently." He ran his fingers over the surface of the picture, taking in the smiles on all their faces. "This way, it's as if we're all together again."

The funeral was long and bleak. There was no sun, but neither was there any wind. The only people who turned out besides Castiel and his brothers were friends, the vicar, a couple of Michael's work friends he didn't know, and the school Principal, oddly enough. Castiel half-hoped he'd see their father appear part-way through the ceremony, but when he realised the chance of him hearing of his sons' deaths was slim, he gave up.

The vicar told all in attendance that it was a sad, sad day. He praised both Michael and Lucifer, something Castiel thought Lucifer would find highly ironic, before reading a passage from the Bible. He stopped listening when it became apparent how irrelevant the passage actually was – it had nothing to do with archangels anyway – and instead tried to think of something he'd read in his mother's books, something more appropriate; to his dismay, he couldn't.

Then came the lowering of the coffins. Lucifer went down first, once the brothers had laid their tributes on top of the sleek black box, then a few short minutes later, Michael was put to rest in a similar fashion. Standing in sombre silence next to Gabriel, Castiel looked up at the crowd of people who had gathered opposite them to pay their respects. Raphael had only invited Uriel, who stood tall with his head bowed, expression intense. They had never really known Uriel, but enough for him to be appreciated here and now.

Aside from the people Castiel didn't recognise – was one of them called Ash? – he saw that Michael's closest friends were stood opposite them, looking equal parts distraught and brave; Dean, of course, was managing to hold it all in, and standing at his shoulder was Lisa, a deep frown marking her pretty face. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and she tipped her head to rest it on his shoulder, as if that was all he needed by way of reassurance. Next to them stood Adam and Jo, who was freely crying and cradled against his side comfortingly. Adam, however, looked like the one who needed comforting, and Cas wouldn't have expected anything else from him. He had known Michael the best – as far as Castiel knew, Adam had only ever cried in front of Michael. It didn't seem to matter that he couldn't see now.

Balthazar and Sam had turned up, too – for Gabriel, Castiel imagined, although he wouldn't have been surprised if Sam knew Michael fairly well. He was glad they were here, as uncomfortable as they both looked, and knew that his brothers would be thankful for their presence because it would soothe Gabriel somewhat. He would never admit it, but he could be incredibly sensitive at times. If his friends hadn't come, Castiel would have been left to try and look after him alone. Someone who was alone though was Chuck, who watched him from across the hollow rectangle of earth. Castiel thought he could see a hint of an apology in his eyes, and simply nodded faintly when Chuck smiled at him.

Finally, Lucifer's friends stood near the end of the patch. Only Meg, Alistair, and a girl called Ruby had been invited, but a few more stood a respectable distance away, a quiet cloud of black. Castiel was surprised they had come. Though Alistair looked like he would rather be somewhere else, Meg was barely managing to contain her sobs, and Ruby was doing no better in calming her down. Part of him wanted to believe they were here for Michael as well, but until her boyfriend's name had been mentioned, Meg had hardly been paying attention. He was glad they came, though. It would be wrong for Lucifer to be guest-less.

As the earth was thrown on, Castiel couldn't help but feel that there was someone missing. Anna should have been here. Of course, he'd texted her about it, giving her all the details as soon as he knew them himself, but she hadn't shown. He was aware that the priest was talking in the background, a familiar sounding verse that he'd probably already heard, but it seemed as though his eyes and his mind were separate entities fighting for control – on one hand, it was impossible for him to tear his gaze away from the family photograph, now partially hidden under a layer of pale brown soil, yet on the other hand he couldn't stop thinking about how he wanted Anna here. He could imagine how she'd stand, what expression she'd be wearing, maybe even what clothes – not black like everyone else. Only the Novaks knew that their brothers hadn't wanted a black funeral, but he would have told her. He may have been teased mercilessly, but Michael and Lucifer had like Anna. Michael would have wanted her there, he told himself.

Then it was over. People turned their backs on the hole in the ground, on the statuesque brothers, and the priest left with a softly spoken word to Raphael. The wind finally picked up, biting into Castiel's neck and scratching his ears. That was when the tears arrived – when he felt cold and alone again, and the one person he wanted to make things better wasn't there. He wanted to hate her; he wanted to hate Michael and Lucifer for putting them all in this position. And he did – just as much as he loved them. Finally, he thought, maybe he was getting closer to understanding them. It was just a shame it had come too late.

A tear fell off his cheek, pulled away by the wind. Castiel sniffed, then turned around to follow his brothers back to the car. He was the last person to leave.

Gabriel was crying. The sound troubled Raphael, who hated seeing his brothers upset, but he didn't feel the need to go in and comfort him. They all needed some time alone now. They'd each adjust eventually, move on from their loss, and life would continue. Although, he was slightly concerned about Castiel; it was him who had phoned Gabriel to tell him about the accident, yet he still had no recollection of it. The doctors said it wasn't unusual, but it was unsettling at least. That, and the possibility of a bruised spine…

Raphael dropped his head into his hands, breathing in long and hard through his nose. He was failing – failing at keeping his family together, at keeping his brothers safe. He had failed his father, broken the promise he and Michael had made to him. But what did that matter, a voice somewhere in his head asked. James Novak was gone – if he wasn't dead either, then he was very far away, and Raphael wasn't expecting him back. Why worry about a broken promise to a dead man, one who had promised so much more himself?

Trying to come to terms with what had just happened was difficult, even for him. The paramedics guessed Michael and Lucifer had landed on rotten wood, unlike Castiel, who had landed on a giant bin. The splintered wood and glass had severely cut them both, and the contents of the box Michael landed on had caused unseen damage to his abdomen. He remembered Gabriel's panic, Dean's insistence that they come too, then finding them. God… the blood… He would have to ask Castiel what had happened. He didn't want to, for both their sakes, but he knew it was something that had to be done. School also needed to be told, he remembered, and any applications Michael had sent to colleges needed to be cancelled.

Raphael thought of their mother, of her obsession with angels. What made her believe in them so strongly when things like this could happen? Hell, they were all named after angels. Surely one of them (if they existed) thought to watch over them once in a while! He scoffed at himself for thinking so. Whatever faith he'd had had died alongside his mother and sister, before being finally stamped out by his father – and now this. No, if he was going to believe in something, it was his own strength of mind; for Gabriel and Castiel, if not for the memory of the deceased.