It all starts, of course, when Castiel opens Purgatory. And after that, everything falls to shit.

He's not Cas anymore, Dean thinks. He's not a friend. He will kill you if he has to. And we have to stop him… or die trying.

Cas wasn't himself, not since he'd started working with Crowley. Sam and Bobby had both expected this, but not Dean. Dean had just assumed they were being overly paranoid, though why, Dean couldn't figure. This was Cas they were talking about. Cas would never betray them. Right?

Of course, Dean ate his words later. He always did.

Dean is with Sam and Bobby, trying to come up with a plan to stop Cas, or at the very least, to fix Sam well enough to get him stable. Dean remembers the moment he knew Cas was lying to them.

"Superman going dark side," Cas tries to joke lightly.

Dean's brain splutters to a halt as he hears Cas repeat the words that Bobby used earlier. He realizes that Cas was spying on them, unless he somehow knew about Superman- which he doubted, considering Cas just didn't do pop culture. Dean doesn't want to believe this- that Cas is lying to them, to him, as if it were nothing. Dean manages to recover well enough to say the only thing he can- something to get himself a confirmation. "Guess we won't have to stock up on Kryptonite, then?"

"Exactly."

And Dean knows it's over.

Dean is struggling with himself, because even though he knows Cas isn't Cas anymore, he doesn't want to have to kill him to stop him. He wants to reason with Cas. He wants Cas to give up the souls of his own free will. He wants Cas to reopen Purgatory and everything can go back to the way it was- Team Free Will, and all that.

But it won't be that way, and Dean knows that. Cas broke Sam's wall, trapping Sam within his own mind for days. Cas opened Purgatory and soaked up more power than anyone on the planet had ever seen. He's killing more and more people every day, and it's their job to save those people in whatever way they can- and this time it means stopping Cas.

But for all he knows, they might already be too late.

Castiel hears the sound of Dean's voice pleading with him.

Dean.

What have I done to you now?

The memories are there- Crowley working with Raphael, opening Purgatory on his own, the souls rushing into him- he can't control them, and they take him over before he can even scream. He has regained some semblance of control now, but not really. The souls could overpower him if they wanted to. They're biding their time. For what, Castiel doesn't know, but it won't be good.

I should have listened to Dean.

Dean is saying something else, and Castiel knows Dean was right all along, he shouldn't have even opened Purgatory in the first place. The best thing he can do now is put the souls back in.

Sure, he'll die in the process. But what's the use of living if he can't make things right?

There's only one thing left he can do before he dies.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Castiel turns to the burning symbols on the wall and is consumed by light.

Dean turns his face away as Cas lets the souls back into Purgatory. The light is blinding, and Dean suspects that it would just be better for their general health if they didn't look directly at it. It's like standing next to the sun- heat and light and pure energy flows out of Cas' form as he stands before the door to Purgatory.

Despite everything Cas has done to them, Dean worries that the souls would burn Cas to ashes. Cas is still their friend, and Dean doesn't want him to die, not before he can fix Sam, not before he can even tell him everything he'd always wanted to say…

The light dies down, and the portal closes, and the angel he once called a brother lays still on the floor, not moving, not breathing, eyes closed off to the world.

No, not this, anything but this, anyone but this, not now, Cas, please, open your eyes.

Dean notices he's holding his breath and that he's kneeling next to Cas already. Dean doesn't remember moving.

With a shaking hand, Dean reaches out to Cas' shoulder and gently rolls him onto his back. When he sees the burns and blood covering his best friend's face, he is taken by grief and pain so strong he nearly falls back, but something holds him in place- a tiny little hope that not all was lost.

Bobby is kneeling next to Cas now to. "Is he…" Dean takes a deep breath to steady his voice, because he is not going to cry in front of Bobby and Sam, because Dean Winchester does not cry. "Is he breathing?"

Bobby hovers a hand over Cas' mouth for a moment, then shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

Dean is desperate now. "Maybe angels don't need to breathe," he suggests at last resort, because Cas can't be dead, and Cas always comes back, didn't God always bring him back when this happened?

"He's gone, Dean."

Castiel opens his eyes.

He can tell, from a brief scan of his vessel, that the outward injuries have healed, apparently instantly; his vessel is no longer on the point of exploding, as far as he can tell. As he focuses his eyes, he sees Dean and Bobby kneeling over him, both looking very surprised. They haul Castiel up onto his feet, saying phrases Castiel cannot hear, or doesn't catch.

"That was…" Castiel tries to think of a word to describe the feeling of opening your vessel in such a manner. "Unpleasant."

Dean says something he doesn't quite understand, for some reason, but Dean grabs his coat sleeve and Castiel knows that he hasn't been forgiven, but Dean is willing to try, to take him back, to start over. Castiel sees the soul that he rescued from Hell and knows Dean is just as pure as he once was.

It happens in an instant.

An instant is an interesting thing. If Castiel were to define it, an instant is approximately 4 milliseconds. The instant we are concerned with occurs as follows:

In the first millisecond, something ancient stirs inside Castiel- something older than all of humanity, older than the demons and the angels, older than Michael and Lucifer themselves. It's too big, too powerful to handle. The fact that it has not yet torn Castiel apart is amazing.

In the second, Castiel recognizes the ancient being and gives it a name. Its name in Enochian, the language of the angels, translates roughly to "the Bringer of Black Death" (not to be confused with the Black Death of the Middle Ages, which was, in comparison to this, a walk through a patch of daisies).

In the third, the being becomes aware that it is awake, and begins to seize control of Castiel's vessel. Castiel registers this, and with it a single fact: Dean and Bobby are in danger.

In the fourth and final millisecond, Castiel acts on this. He grabs Dean, who is within his reach and pushes him with all the power he can spare from keeping control of his vessel. Dean needs to know what they're dealing with. "I can't hold them back!" Castiel gasps, doubling over in pain as the bottom half of his vessel is taken.

"Who?" Dean snaps, the hunter already moving to defend himself.

"Leviathan!" Castiel cries out as blackness seeps into the outer range of his vision. He looks up at Dean for what he is sure will be the last time in his existence.

As Castiel's grace fades away, he just barely catches Dean's voice saying his name.

The Leviathans are more powerful when they're grouped together in one place. Unfortunately, most containers are not powerful enough to hold all of them together, so their nature is to spread out as far as possible. This is why the Leviathans are enjoying being out of Purgatory for the first time in many millennia.

The Leviathans don't call themselves the Leviathans, obviously- what secret society calls themselves by their own name? Between each other, they refer to their race as the Superiors, or as the Better, or sometimes as just the Whole. They are the whole of Purgatory. They are the whole reason Purgatory was created. They are here to dominate the whole of the Earth and of humanity, and eventually, of Heaven and Hell. The Whole exists to take the Whole.

The Leviathans have a hive-mind structure. They are like worker bees around one central Queen- so long as the Queen lives, there is always order, and there is no deviation from said order. And their Queen cannot die and will not die. There is no danger of the elimination of the Queen, and therefore no danger of elimination of the Whole.

The Whole likes this vessel and sends many thanks to the previous owner, who is now nearly faded away. It will break apart soon enough, but this vessel will serve its purpose until they can find more. It's a small distraction to destroy the inhabitant's remaining life-force- an angel, as it turns out to be. How nice of Heaven to send a messenger into Purgatory. The Whole turns its attention to the other figures in its presence.

They're both humans- clearly hunters of some kind. The one on the right is taller and show signs of divine intervention but also of demonic deals, though in neither case in any kind of lasting capacity. However, the shorter hunter… He has been both owned by Hell and claimed by Heaven, very strange. He must be the man of the prophecy. The Whole scans the stolen memories from the angel- whose name had been Castiel, they are quick to discover- and finds this man's name is Dean Winchester and he is the Righteous Man, the holy man to shed blood in Hell.

The other things they find very nearly distract them from the Righteous Man speaking directly to them.

"Cas?" Dean Winchester asks cautiously.

The Righteous Man has nicknamed this angel- how sweet. The Whole is momentarily drawn away from their indignation at direct contact to mock this man.

"Cas?" the Whole sneers, using the mouth of the vessel. "Cas is… hmm, he's gone. He's dead!" the Whole explains happily, pausing to drink in the grief and pain on the Righteous Man's face before continuing. "We run the show now."

The Whole grabs the front of the Man's chest and throws him and the older man backwards. They both hit walls and rolling tables at high rates of speed and appear to be injured. The Whole delights in having caused these men injuries and decides to state what is obvious to them.

"This is going to be so much fun."

Lucifer is enjoying himself quite a bit. Being stuck behind a mind-wall for months really does things to you.

After initially making Sam freak out (he should have seen his face, the little bitch), Lucifer follows the Winchesters back to Bobby's house and takes a seat on a chair in the middle of the room. Sam's eyes flicker toward him occasionally and every time he does it, his breathing rate increases just a bit and he looks just a little more crazy.

"Okay, but if you were still in the Cage, why would he drop you in this godforsaken hell-hole?" Dean snaps, agitated at Sam's certainty.

"It had to be a mess, Sam," Lucifer croons, and Sam reluctantly turns his head to face him. "Otherwise you wouldn't believe it was real."

Dean finally glances in the same direction Sam has been, and Lucifer sticks out his forked tongue at him, though he can't see. It gives Lucifer a tiny, childish satisfaction to do so.

"Wait, you mean you're seeing him right now?" Dean says, comprehension dawning on his face.

Slow, aren't you, Lucifer thinks cheerily. He knows full well that Dean is correct and Sam isn't in the Cage anymore, but if he can make Sam think that he never got out…. Well, life's just a big game, isn't it?

Sam nods in answer to Dean's question. "You know he's not real, right?" Dean insists.

Sam looks over to Lucifer, who spreads his arms in indignation. "He says the same thing about you," Sam whispers, looking back to Dean. Lucifer has a strong sense of elation at Sam's indecision.

Lucifer is going to have a great time.

When Dean finally finds Sam and brings him home to a burned-out shell, they panic. They don't know that Bobby had gotten out before the house went down.

Bobby is looking for Sam and Dean. They're in just as much danger as he is- when the Leviathans find out they weren't in the house, they'll be next on the list. He can't give up on finding them until they're with him, but at some point he realizes that he should wait to hear the inevitable police reports.

Within a few hours, the radio scanner crackles and announces, "Ambulance headed to Singer Salvage, 774 Highway 18, emergency called in from male, injuries including broken bones and possible concussion…"

"God dammit," Bobby mutters, revving the engine of his truck and shooting off toward Sioux Falls General. It's only been a couple hours since he rescued Jody Mills from the Leviathan doctors there, and Dean isn't aware about the monsters.

The police scanner continues after a few minutes. "Patients names Dean Smith and Samuel Wesson, headed to Sioux Falls General. Smith has broken leg and assorted minor injuries, Wesson nonresponsive…" Bobby pushes the accelerator down further and the speedometer jumps above 60 miles an hour.

He gets there within half an hour and, after changing into his FBI suit, finds Dean's room. He's asleep. Bobby breathes a sigh of relief- Sam is in a room across the hall.

God knows how they'll get out of this one, but at least they're all alive.

Three weeks later, when Dean reflects on all the events that occurred in the wake of Castiel's death, he wonders if it can't just be a dream that he will wake up from now.

Of course, he doesn't. And it's not really a surprise.

Sam woke up within a day of getting him home from the hospital. They're living in a small cabin that used to belong to Rufus- there's a combined living room and kitchen, two bedrooms, and a basement that's clearly been used for hunting-related activities. They dig out the stores of salt and ammunition rounds and begin preparing for the attack that will happen eventually.

Dean still has Cas' trenchcoat- he'd pulled it out of the lake. It's in the trunk of the Impala, tucked into a corner, a neatly folded bundle of tan fabric. He doesn't know why he kept it, really, but it's there; physically in the trunk, and always on his mind. He lets Sam and Bobby blame his distraction on the broken leg and the stress of facing unknowns, which is of course why he is so out of it, and not because every time he closes his eyes, the bright blue ones look back at him; no, definitely not that.

But the day comes when Dean is left alone in the cabin, and the trenchcoat is still in the trunk of the car parked just outside, and the blue eyes won't stop staring back at him, why won't they leave him alone? Dean was never strong against temptations, so he stands as best he can and hobbles out to his car as quickly as possible.

The trunk unlatches with a small click, and underneath a canvas bag of rock salt and a shotgun, a corner of the tan fabric peeks out at him. He lifts coat out of the truck and gently brushes the salt and the dust off it. Holding it under his nose, he is shocked when a drop of wetness falls onto it; he instinctively looks up into the treetops for rainclouds, but none are there. He's crying into a wad of fabric, which is impossible, because Dean Winchester doesn't cry, but his eyes don't seem to believe him, and Cas, why did you have to die?

Wiping the tears off his face angrily, he slams the trunk shut and realizes belatedly that the coat isn't in the trunk. Well, whatever. It'll just have to come inside then. He limps back over to the couch and flops down, still holding the coat in his hands. His right hand runs over one of the seams lightly, and Dean remembers the way the coat swished when Cas walked and the way the collar was never quite even on his shoulders.

There's no one else home, so what does Dean have to lose? Dean presses his face into the folded coat, and it smells exactly like he remembers Cas smelling; the leather of the Impala, and an undertone of burgers frying at a cheap diner, and an extra something else; something indefinable that made Cas, well, Cas. It smells like home, and Dean doesn't lift his face off the coat, but places it on the arm of the couch like a pillow.

And instead of having nightmares that night, Dean Winchester has dreams.

Sam opens the door of the cabin as quietly as possible- it looks like Dean is passed out on the couch, and Sam knows how hard it is for him to sleep nowadays and doesn't want to disturb the little rest he'll be getting. He closes the door and steps past the couch to the mini-fridge, which he opens and fills with more beer than he knows what to do with (but it'll be gone within three days with Dean and Bobby around).

Something catches Sam's eye as he turns back toward Dean. Not Lucifer, who's making Sam see shattering bottles and bats flying around the ceiling; no, something about Dean. He looks more closely and sees a lightly colored wad of fabric where a pillow would be. It's shaped strangely, and as Dean stirs in his sleep and shifts so his leg is more comfortable, a sleeve falls out of the bundle.

It's Cas' coat.

Sam involuntarily smiles at this. Sam had always known, of course, that Cas preferred Dean over him initially, but they grew closer; never as close as Dean had. It had always been more than a friendship between the two of them. Sam didn't think Dean had ever really noticed; it's nice to him to see Dean finally acknowledging that, but it's too late in any case.

Maybe this will take the nightmares away.

The Winchesters don't linger, either physically or mentally. Once the cast is off Dean's leg, they're back on the road, looking for jobs and trying to hunt the Leviathans down.

They don't know how to kill them, or hurt them, or slow them down in any way. There's a reason they were locked up in Purgatory, and the reason has become obvious in the first month since Castiel opened the door- they're ferocious killing machines with wood chippers for mouths. Bobby finally has to tell them just to take any other job they can find and Leave the black-ooze monsters to me, idgits.

They find a job in insert city name here. All the clues point to the presence of a kitsune, and Sam has a nasty feeling he knows which particular kitsune it might be, though he doesn't mention this to Dean. If it's really Amy Pond, he'll have to get to her before Dean can without Dean noticing.

Sam is doing late-night research on his laptop in another shitty hotel room and Dean is passed out drunk on his bed- just another normal night for them.

But something is different this time; Dean isn't as dead to the world as he normally would be. He's turning over in his sleep, muttering to himself, which Sam knows happened for a while just after he got out of hell, but it's different this time. He's more desperate, reaching for something in the darkness, and after a while Sam hears a distinct word from his brother. Well, not a word really, but a name.

"Cas."

Sam stares at his brother for a moment, wondering what he should do. Usually Dean wakes up from his nightmares on his own. He should've known losing Cas would just add to Dean's guilt and nightmare routine. Before he can decide to leave Dean alone, Dean thrashes out against the bed sheets, fighting off some invisible force and crying out for Cas. Sam hurries to Dean's side, shaking his shoulder in an effort to wake him. Dean snaps awake, sitting up and slashing the air with his knife in the same movement.

"Woah! Hey, Dean, calm down, it's just me," Sam says, taking the knife before Dean can do any real damage to either of them.

"Sam?" Dean mutters, fighting off a yawn as he stretches and blinks his eyes.

"You were having a nightmare," Sam says softly, more softly than he normally would, but he knows how much this would affect Dean compared to other times.

Dean's breath catches for a moment, then returns to normal as he looks at Sam, unimaginable pain behind his eyes. "I know."

"D'you want me to-?" Sam begins hesitantly, then stops himself. Dean doesn't know he saw him with the coat; probably better to keep it that way. "D'you want me to get you a drink or something?"

"Nah," Dean sighs. "Won't help. I'm just gonna… go for a drive. Help me clear my head." Dean grabs the keys and his leather jacket and heads out the door. Sam hears the Impala's engine start and fade into the distance, and he shakes his head sadly.

For the first time in months, Sam prays, not for himself, but for his brother- for someone, somewhere, to take pity on the two of them, and stop this madness; for someone to bring Cas back like he always did; for someone to make Dean happy again.

But Sam knows this is probably impossible.

Two months after Castiel died, Sam and Dean are on the run from the law- again- because the Leviathans thought it would be fun to impersonate them and kill a bunch of people while doing it. This means new badges, new names, new identities, and most of all- to Dean's extreme dissatisfaction- switching up the cars they drive. They can't drive the Impala anymore.

They move the arsenal to a different trunk for every job they work. Several things don't come with them from the Impala- Dean's tape collection and the army men in the ashtray, to name a couple- but one thing does travel with them that is not a weapon or any other useful thing. The trenchcoat reappears in the trunk of whatever car they're driving for the time being. Dean doesn't mention it and Sam pretends not to notice it under the bags of salt and the sharpened stakes.

There are memories connected to anything Cas leaves behind. Holding the coat, Dean can hear Balthazar saying "I think you've confused me with your other angel; you know, the one in the dirty trenchcoat who's in love with you?" and he knows Balthazar was probably joking but part of his mind also knows Balthazar wouldn't joke about his favorite brother that way and if he wasn't joking then I'm even more blind than they think I am.

Dean is pulling off his shirt one day when he freezes and stares at his reflection in the mirror. He knows Sam is watching concernedly, he knows it shouldn't matter, but the handprint on his shoulder is still there, a reminder of what he could've had, branded into his skin. He doesn't want this, but he clings to it as one of the only things he has left from his best friend, or maybe more than a best friend, I don't know anymore.

Seeing this brings a flood of memories back in.

"I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

Dean hesitates, then places his left hand over the print and it doesn't match his hand because Cas' hands were always longer and thinner than his own, but Dean shifts his fingers to the spaces between the fingers on the print and they fit perfectly in the gaps, and Dean doesn't want these thoughts but if I could've just held his hand once and told him what I thought-

Dean hurriedly pulls on a clean shirt and doesn't look in a mirror for the rest of the day, at least not until he's completely wasted and it doesn't matter anymore.

They find a job in New Hampshire that takes them about a week to sort out- it's a wide-spread case of curses and accidents that turn out to have originated from demonic deals gone wrong. Well, more wrong than a normal deal, anyway.

When Sam and Dean finally capture the crossroads demon that has been arranging untimely ends for the various victims, said demon's boss appears. Dean swears violently at the sight of the more powerful demon.

"Nice to see you too, Winchester," Crowley says indifferently, snapping his fingers and causing the demon trap to burn away. The crossroads demon disappears nearly instantly.

"What the hell do you want, Crowley?" Sam asks bluntly.

"I want to help me help you help ourselves," Crowley says idly, picking a microscopic piece of lint off his sleeve. (Only Crowley knows that this is what he told Castiel at the beginning of their arrangement, but no one else needs to know that; it's his best pick-up line.)

"Use English, you fat fuck!" Dean snarls. Crowley raises his eyebrows but obliges.

"Simply put, you don't want the Leviathans killing all of human kind, and we don't want the Leviathans eating potential souls for us to torture. So really, we're all in the same boat." Crowley ignores the obvious scoffing and skepticism from the brothers and continues, "I am, after all, the King of Hell. Between my vast resources, you two blundering oafs, and your grumpy old fart, we might be able to get this done."

"Fuck off, Crowley," Dean growls, preparing to fill him with salt rounds.

"Why should we trust you?" Sam asks warily, clearly beginning to consider accepting the help. (He ignores the former King of Hell's remarks about Crowley- He was always one of my favorites, you know, so cunning, he's really a one-of-a-kind as demons go. You know he's playing you, right? He's always playing you- and allows Crowley to continue talking.)

"The Leviathans hate us as much as they hate you," Crowley insists. "They took out my best dog. They ate my tailor!" Sam and Dean trade glances at this, unable to decide whether to believe him.

"You tried to have us killed. More than once," Sam adds, remembering an incident during his time as a soulless automaton. "I'd call it betrayal, but you're not exactly a friend."

"I'm upset you think that way," Crowley whines, feigning hurt.

"You got Cas killed!" Dean snaps at him. Sam notices the way Dean can barely say the dead angel's name and the way his face goes pale but doesn't comment on it.

"You know, if darling Cassie had just listened to me and waited to open Purgatory, none of this would have happened," Crowley says heatedly. "But no, he had to leave me out in the dust and take on all of godforsaken Purgatory by himself- no, Winchester, I didn't get your boyfriend killed, he killed himself!" Crowley rants, not seeing the way Dean's body has frozen, no longer moving and barely breathing.

"Just show up if you find anything helpful," Sam sighs, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder to get him moving away from Crowley.

Crowley's expression sours further at this. "Of course. That's all you ever use us non-humans for, isn't it? I know that's why Castiel came running to me for help in the first place, instead of you ungrateful bastards." Crowley disappears before Dean can grab him around the neck and strangle him.

Sam doesn't think they'll be seeing him again.

It's about four months after Castiel dies that Sam finally decides enough is enough and this can't go on anymore.

Dean's watching TV- well, not really watching TV, more staring at it blankly while he drinks himself into oblivion again. Why can't he just talk about it? He needs to, he's going to wind up dead- Sam grabs the bottle from Dean, who protests immediately.

"Aww, come on, Sammy, what the fuck?" Dean whines as Sam turns off the TV.

Sam sits down on the bed across from Dean and grabs his shoulders. "Dean, we need to talk." And we're going to talk, God dammit, you're not getting away from me this time.

"Ugh, Sam, go away," Dean groans, throwing himself back into the pillows piled on his bed.

"Look at me, Dean."

"Want to sleep, Sam," Dean mumbles into the pillows. "Go 'way. Talkin' later."

"Dean, look. At. Me," Sam hisses angrily. Dean reluctantly lifts his head enough to so fix one bloodshot eye on Sam. Unfortunately for Dean, his reproachful gaze just made Sam angrier- for God's SAKE, Dean, quit being so sorry for yourself and realize that there are other people that have problems!

Sam closes his eyes and tries to collect his thoughts. "Dean," he begins in a calm voice, "we're talking now. And you know what we're talking about."

Dean grunts noncommittally, and Sam presses his advantage quickly. "You can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Don't know what you're talkin' about," Dean mutters.

"Drinking yourself unconscious every night, randomly wandering out to the car, refusing to look in mirrors when you pass them- oh, you think I wouldn't notice, but I know you, Dean," Sam interrupted Dean before he could protest. "I'm not stupid, Dean. First it was the coat, then the nightmares, then the handprint, you didn't think I would connect these but I did, Dean- we are talking about Cas, and we're talking about him now."

Dean shook his head desperately. "Can't. Won't. Not now, not about Cas."

"Then what, Dean?" Sam snaps. Dean doesn't answer. "Fine. Just tell me one thing, then." Dean won't look at him, but Sam asks the question anyway: "Why does this time matter so much?"

Sam knows Dean understands what he's saying- Cas has died multiple times for them, so many other people have died along with him, why does this one hurt more?

Dean slowly looks up at Sam and locks eyes with him. "You think you know why I do these things, Sam?" His voice is even now, as if all the alcohol has been drained out of his system by Sam's persistence. "Well, newsflash, dickweed- you don't. You don't understand… you could never understand what it's like…" Dean stands and walks out the door to the car, and Sam settles himself for a night alone- again- when Dean walks back in and throws something onto his bed. It's the coat.

"You know, for as long as I've lived, I've never really had anything?" This isn't a question. It's a statement, and Sam knows that answering would just make Dean angry. "I haven't lived in a house since I was 4. Baby was Dad's until I got you from Stanford. I own the clothes on my back and the beer I drink- that's it. Same for you, except you got to have something for a while- you went to Stanford, you had an apartment, and a girlfriend, and your own life. And when Jess died, you could mourn for something that I never even got to have."

"Dean," Sam says quietly, but Dean continues, volume of his voice starting to build up.

"And you know what, Sam? You're right on part of it- Cas was more than just some angel, or some friend, or a best friend even, but I could never have that, because of the demons, and the angels, and the fucking Apocalypse and-" Dean turns away from Sam, takes a deep breath, and holds his hand out behind him. Sam understands this gesture and places the neatly folded coat into his hand. Dean takes it in both hands before turning back to Sam.

"So I kept the coat, Sam. And don't think I didn't try to hide it from you, because I did, but you can't even pretend to know why I kept it," Dean begins again, voice shaking with the effort of keeping it even.

Sam takes a risk and speaks now. "Then tell me why."

"Because- because-" Dean's eyes flicker around the room, then settle back on Sam, who is waiting either for the outburst of anger that is sure to follow or the sudden silence. "I as well as told him to fuck off, Sam!" Dean snaps, and he's on his feet, pacing endlessly. "We fucked him over so much harder than any of our friends or family, we owed him, and we just shoved him away!"

Sam can't even really deny this. They hadn't exactly been receptive to any of his plans. He has to try, though, for Dean's sake. "Dean, we couldn't have reasoned with him, you know that," Sam said reasonably. "The souls took him over."

"It's not just that," Dean says agitatedly. "It's that- we spent so much time together, and we never really said anything. I told him once, I said, 'Never change.' And that's about the closest I got, wasn't it?" Sam's confusion must show on his face, because Dean mutters under his breath, "To saying what I wanted to say."

There it is. The whole conversation seems to have revolved around this one point.

"You know, every night, he shows up in my nightmares. Sometimes he's like he was before the killing spree. Sometimes it's when he walks into the lake. Usually it's just him standing there. Just standing there. Watching me," Dean says, his voice beginning to turn to that dull, depressed cadence he gets before he drinks himself to sleep.

"When he's standing there, I try to reach out to him, but I can never touch him. And I always ask him, 'Where have you been?' and he just says… He just says 'I was here. Where were you?'" Dean mutters, tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes. Sam remembers Dean saying this to Cas just before Cas opened Purgatory. It had been true- Cas could've gotten to Dean any time he wanted. "And I remember- we pushed him away. I keep thinking, if we hadn't just cut him out, if we'd actually tried to help- he might've been okay. Might've put the souls back as soon as he had control of Heaven."

Dean and Sam sit in silence for a little longer, and Sam is just thinking that Dean is done for good, when Dean says, "I wish I could take back half of what I said to him."

"Dean, I… no, I mean, you can't think like that," Sam splutters, finally finding his voice from whatever pit it fell down.

Dean's shoulders are slumped visibly. Clearly, Dean has made his choice here- yes, he can think like that, and he will.

Without speaking to Sam, or even looking at him, he strips off his boots and over-shirt and crawls under the covers on his bed, making sure he's turned away from Sam. Sam stands awkwardly, lifting the coat off the edge of the bed and walking to the opposite side of Dean's bed. Sam kneels and lays the coat next to Dean's head.

"I just want Cas back," Dean whispers brokenly.

"I know," Sam says, his heart breaking as he looks at Dean. "I know."

Three days later, while Dean is out looking at a corpse as FBI Special Agent Harrison, Sam calls Bobby and is greeted with a rough "What d'you want, idgit?"

"Ah, music to my ears," Sam teases, corners of his mouth turning up in a grin.

"Shut up," Bobby grunts. Sam can hear the fondness in his voice. "Really, though, what do you want? It's not as though I'm busy or anything."

This brings Sam up short. "Well, you're not busy, for one thing. You're probably watching soap operas instead of working on a case." Bobby huffs at him, basically just proving Sam right. "And… I wanted to talk about Dean."

"He's not there, is he?" Bobby's voice has a knowing tone to it. Sam wouldn't talk to Bobby about Dean if Dean was in earshot.

"No, he's looking at the body. Listen, something's happened…" Sam recounts the entire episode from three days prior- the anger, the drunkenness, the breakdown- and the entire back story to it- the coat, the handprint, the progressive drinking- while Bobby listens.

When Sam finishes, there is silence on the line for a few minutes. Bobby finally says, "Well, I'll be damned."

"It's a lot to process," Sam acknowledges.

"It's about damn time that idgit got his act together," Bobby mutters, voice crackling as the phone's signal wavers. In fact, the signal nearly drops out entirely. Sam hasn't moved. This isn't normal.

"Sam?" Sam starts as he realizes he's been standing silently for nearly a full minute.

"I'll call you back, Bobby," Sam says quickly, snapping the phone shut and drawing a gun. The lights have begun to flicker and the TV has turned itself on. Sam swears under his breath. Angels. Hadn't they done enough damage already?

The lightbulb nearest the door bursts in a sudden spurt of light, catching the figure silhouetted in the doorframe. It's an unfamiliar face- either a different angel or a new vessel for an old angel. The man standing in the door is about Dean's height but has a thinner build than Dean. Sam backs up, knowing full well there's no way he could defend himself.

"Oh, please, Sam Winchester," the angel scoffs, rolling his deep brown eyes. "If I'd wanted you dead, I could have destroyed you a hundred times over already. I am not here to harm you."

"Can't blame me for being careful," Sam replies, the slight tremor in his voice giving away his tenseness underneath the visage of being calm and collected.

"Would you please be a little more kind? After all, I saved your life once before," the angel says, sighing as if he regrets having done the deed.

"Wait…" Sam quickly racks his brains for any angel other than Cas that saved his life before. Balthazar? No, he's dead too… Not Lucifer, not Raphael… So really, that only leaves-

"Michael?" Sam says incredulously- after all, Michael is supposed to be in the cage with Lucifer (and Adam, Sam thinks with a twinge of guilt). But Sam is out- is it possible Michael and Lucifer could have gotten out too?

"One and the same. I suppose Dean told you about what happened after Anael attacked your parents in the past," Michael smirks, "seeing as you were dead at the time." When Sam doesn't reply, Michael adds emphatically, "You're welcome, by the way."

"Who's Anael?" Sam asks finally, ignoring Michael's flippant comment.

Michael rolls his eyes in exasperation. "They told me you were intelligent… Anael is the fallen angel who tried to kill your parents before you were born. I suppose you know her as Anna."

Right. Sam doesn't want to speak to Michael right now, but he has to know- "How did you get out of the cage?"

"Well, once you took Lucifer with you, it really wasn't that hard," Michael says in an offhand voice. Catching sight of Sam's shocked expression, Michael grins. "You didn't really think Castiel just forgot your soul? Oh, no no no, Lucifer rode you out of the cage like an old, beaten horse."

Sam is still trying to process this when Michael continues, "I heard about poor old Cassie. It must be awful for you… and Dean." Something in Michael's voice sounds like a threat to Dean. Sam immediately shifts his stance and stands to his full height.

"What do you want?"

"Ooh… Manners, Sam. I want to help you get rid of the Leviathans. Also with your little problem." Sam stays silent. "Haven't you told Dean how bad it's gotten now? I mean, come on. My brother running around inside your skull can't be comfortable."

"Why do you want to help get rid of the Leviathans?" Sam highly doubts that Michael's intent is pure. He probably just wants to screw them like Crowley did.

"Because as much as I dislike you smelly meatbags…" Michael seems to catch himself and changes track. "You are, in the end, my Father's children, and I would hate to see you all go."

"You want to keep us around to worship you." As soon as Sam says this, he knows it's true.

"Yes, I suppose. So for starters… I figure I should fix your little problem. The best I can do is fix your wall. Not permanent, but better than having Lucifer running the place, would you agree?" Michael says briskly, approaching Sam.

Sam wants nothing better than to say yes. Lucifer's been getting worse lately- preventing him from sleeping, mostly. The images have become more and more disturbing. Lucifer skins Dean alive while Sam watches, the buildings burn down around him, screaming and sirens and what happens when I can't tell what's real and what's not?

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asks in a very small voice. "You wouldn't have to fix me to help us with the Leviathans. You've got to have some kind of motive."

"I'm disappointed you think like that," Michael says, feigning hurt. "Let's just say… Seeing as you all stopped the Apocalypse and it didn't go too badly, I've taken a liking to you. Even though you've shoved me into the Cage and let a civil war destroy Heaven and let Cas break the Leviathans out." This doesn't connect in Sam's mind- he and Dean, Cas, and Bobby basically destroyed Michael's plan for the Apocalypse.

It finally clicks. "Oh," Sam says quietly.

"What?" Michael snaps, disturbed by Sam's sudden understanding tone.

"You would've lost," Sam says quite certainly.

"That's ridiculous!" Michael's indignation confirms Sam's statement.

"That's it, isn't it? If we'd just let the Apocalypse happen, Lucifer would've beaten you," Sam persists. "So now you're helping us… as some kind of perverse thank-you?"

"Does it matter why I'm helping you?" Michael snarls. "You should just be grateful that I am at all!" Sam holds up his hands to show that he means no disrespect (when in all reality, he means to be as disrespectful as possible). Michael sighs and continues in a calmer voice, "I think you'll appreciate this as a gesture of… alliance, anyway. Not friendship."

Michael clicks his fingers and a smaller man appears next to Sam. Sam catches him as he falls, and, turning him over, sees his half-brother's face. Adam. "What? I- why?" Sam stutters, at a loss for words.

"Well, it's hardly fair to leave him alone in the Cage, is it?" Michael comments, turning away from Sam as Sam lifts Adam and lays him across a bed in the hotel room. "His soul's nowhere near as badly damaged as yours. You may remember why- you had this strange habit of giving yourself up to protect him in the Cage."

Sam's head hurts. He sits on the edge of the bed Adam is laying on and holds his head in his hands. He can hear Lucifer- You think dear old Mikey is gonna save you, Sammy? He can't beat me. He never could- but tries to ignore him, hoping against hope Lucifer will go away. "I don't remember that," Sam mutters as a way of distracting himself from Lucifer's sneering comments.

"Mm," Michael hums in affirmation. "Lucifer would always choose one of you while I was healing, and would… amuse himself. You definitely came out worse. And I couldn't stop him from riding your vessel out, I was injured and trying to protect you and your brother's souls, and when Castiel opened the door… He couldn't tell the difference. I'm not blaming him," he adds as Sam opens his mouth to defend Cas, "I'm just saying."

Lucifer's sneering is directed at Michael now- Ooh, he thinks he's so high and mighty, I swear, I'd like to rip his pretty little face off- and Sam is able to focus a little better. "Can you… Can you bring him back?" Sam asks hesitantly. "Cas, I mean."

Michael's face takes on an ancient sadness, one Sam remembers seeing on Cas' face from time to time- every time another one of his brothers or sisters died, or from time to time, when he was staring at Dean, thinking no one could see him. He looked sad when no one watched. He broke down when the cameras weren't on him. "No, I can't," Michael sighs. "I can't rebuild his vessel, much less his grace. I understand why you want him back," Michael continues. "He was your friend, after all. And more so to Dean. And he was my brother."

Lucifer is screaming at Michael now- You know who else is your brother, you wingless piece of shit? I'm your brother, I've been your brother since the beginning and you never cared about me, not once!- and his head feels like it's being devoured by fire, and Sam presses his hands harder against his temples and wishes Lucifer would just leave, and a prayer starts in his brain automatically, Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil-

Michael is instantly at Sam's side, covering Sam's hands with his own, and Lucifer's screaming in his head fades along with the pain. "He won't bother you any longer," Michael says quietly, satisfied by the results of his work.

The door to the room opens and Sam knows it's Dean, either by the way Michael instantly throws his hands away from Sam or by the exclamation of "Get the fuck away from him!" that follows a second later.

"Dean, it's okay," Sam says tiredly. Lucifer is gone now and he just wants to sleep. Dean disregards this and walks quickly over to Sam kneeling next to him and checking to see he's really okay before rounding on Michael.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean snaps at the archangel, who only raises his eyebrows.

"A friendly party," Michael says casually. "Only fixing your brother's head, don't mind me."

"He's Michael," Sam mutters from behind Dean, who half-turns so as to keep Michael in his line of sight.

"But then, how-?"

"Later," Sam groans, flopping sideways onto his bed. Dean finally notices Adam laying unconscious next to Sam, but, looking more closely at Sam, decides not to ask questions.

Sam jostles the bed just enough that Adam stirs, then opens his eyes blearily. "Dean?" he asks in a very small, quiet voice. "Wha's goin' on?"

Michael smirks just a bit. "I'll be in touch," he says, walking towards the door Dean left open. "Feel free to call if you find anything worthwhile." Michael disappears.

"Um… yeah, thanks, asshat," Dean mutters before kneeling next to Adam. Adam's head turns to meet him.

"Wha's goin' on," Adam insists, slurring his words like he's drunk.

"Wish I knew, kid. Go back to sleep," Dean answers before going back around to Sam. "You can't sleep here, Sammy," Dean says, a little more loudly than Sam appreciates, but Sam allows Dean to heave him over his shoulder and deposit him onto his own bed. Dean removes Sam's shoes and puts them next to the door to the bathroom. Adam doesn't have any shoes- just a plain white T-shirt and old jeans. They'll have to get him some clothes if he's going to live with them. Dean stares at his brothers for a moment before grabbing a beer from the mini-fridge and sitting in a chair across from the two beds.

He's not Cas, but at least they've gotten someone back. Dean says a silent thank-you in his head and hopes Michael hears it.

When Michael takes Lucifer from Sam's head, he freezes time briefly to do so. Lucifer is still screaming at Michael while no time passes, making sure he hears every word.

"Daddy always loved me best, Mikey!" he shrieks maliciously, trying to cover his own personal pain by creating it in his older brother. "I was the brightest and the best of Heaven, and that's why you were so glad to help him cast me down, because now you can finally shine the brightest!"

Michael, residing in Sam's mind for the time being, pauses in the struggle to look Lucifer in the eye. "How can you think that, brother?" he asks, looking genuinely hurt. "You are my brother. I will always love you."

Lucifer freezes when Michael says this, allowing Michael to push him further out of Sam's vessel. Can he really believe that after all this time, one little statement would convince him of his love?

Lucifer resumes fighting when he realizes he's on the boundary and will be pushed out if he doesn't hold his ground. But Michael is going to win this time. Lucifer is nearly over the boundary and a very real fear overtakes him. "Brother, please," he breathes, "Don't make me go back to the Cage."

Michael hesitates, then says, "I won't make you go back to the Cage, Lucifer." Relief so strong he can practically taste it floods through Lucifer's being. "But you only have two options. For one, you can go back to Hell, but be free of the Cage. The other, you can come up to Heaven, but only if you stay by my side at all times."

Lucifer gapes at his brother. Can he be serious? Can he finally go home after all these years? "I can go… home?" Lucifer whispers.

"Yes, brother," Michael replies. "You can come home."

Michael is not the least bit surprised when Lucifer makes his choice.

Sam wakes up about an hour later, bitches at Dean for letting him sleep that long, then tells Dean to go sleep while I look over the files from the morgue. So instead of pulling the "big brother" card and making Sam sleep longer, Dean does exactly what Sam tells him to.

The nightmares are different now. It's not just Cas looking at him, and it's not the lake; now, it's Cas in Dean's position, saying all the terrible things he said.

'You are a child, you know that?' Cas' voice echoes slightly as he yells at Dean in the study of Bobby's house. 'All I want is to stop Raphael. Why does it matter how I go about doing my business? You undermine me at every turn, Dean. It has to stop.'

Dean wants to yell back at Cas, make him see sense, make him understand how stupid he sounds, but he can't, not now that he knows the real reason Cas goes to these extreme lengths to protect him and his brother. 'I know.' Of course, this isn't enough. 'I'm sorry, Cas, I really-'

If it is possible for dream-people to interrupt you, this one does, because dream-Cas cuts across his apology. 'No you're not! You always say you're sorry, but you never mean it.' Dream-Cas steps closer to Dean, anger blazing in his eyes. 'Why can't you just see what I'm doing?'

'I do,' Dean says desperately. 'I see now, I can see now, and I'm sorry, I really am, please, Cas-' Tears start streaming down Dean's face as he tries to convince Cas of his loyalty, and he can't help thinking- is this how it was for Cas all those months ago?

Dean bolts up in his bed, noticing real tears streaming down his face. Sam looks around and sees Dean sitting up. "Dean, are you-?"

"No," Dean whispers, grabbing the keys to the car and nearly running out the door, disregarding the need for shoes or a coat. He unlatches the trunk, grabs the coat, and closes the trunk again. After climbing into the backseat (which had taken some time, because the cold had started to set into his hands and had made it difficult to unlock the car door), he wraps the coat around his shoulders and starts to sob.

Will the nightmares ever end?

Sam finds Dean the next morning, curled up in the backseat of their current car with Cas' old coat as a kind of blanket. Dean doesn't bother to move when Sam opens the door- he's already awake, staring at the back of the passenger seat with curiously blank eyes.

"Dean," Sam whispers. It's nearly three in the morning and Sam doesn't want to wake up their cranky neighbors. Dean glances at him, shame showing in his eyes, then his eyes unfocus again and he's staring at the seat back like it will show him the secrets of the universe.

"Dean, it's gonna be okay," Sam says quietly, and Dean looks at him, clear doubt present in his face. "I'm going to find him."

Dean sits up quite suddenly, Cas' coat falling off his shoulders. "How?"

"I wish I knew," Sam answers reluctantly, knowing that it's not a good answer. "But I'll do my best."

From that day, Sam carries a picture he found of Jimmy Novak in his jacket pocket. When they're working cases, talking to people about various things, he finishes with the same question. "Have you seen this man?"

Most people don't recognize him at all. The few that do say something like "Isn't he that activist who killed all those people?" and usually follow that with a snide comment like "You still haven't caught him?"

This isn't very helpful to either Sam or Dean- Sam because he's trying to find Cas, not get criticized at his lack of success, and Dean because every time someone says that, he ends up swearing under his breath the whole way back to the hotel.

Adam had taken a couple days to get over the fact he was back from the dead, and a couple more to get used to the year 2012, but he was soon acclimated enough that Sam and Dean let him out of the hotel room as long as he had a gun with him. (It's not like he's Captain America; he was only out of commission for 3 years, not 70.)

Dean isn't very happy with letting Adam do much on his own, but allows it. Since he's pretty much gotten over trying to protect Sam from everything, he's transferred this protective obsession onto Adam. Adam pretty much ignores it when Dean tells him to stay out of trouble and make sure what you're shooting isn't human before you do. Sam is the mediator in all situations now.

They take Adam back to the cabin and teach him how to shoot, and both Sam and Dean are unpleasantly reminded of the first time they did this; although, that wasn't really Adam, just a ghoul, but the way Adam responds to their teaching is so similar that while both Sam and Dean know the other is thinking about the time before the fall, neither addresses it. Adam learns how to make salt rounds and stitch wounds and sharpen machetes, and he is soon just another hunter, another Winchester out to fight back against the world. For the first time in 29 years, two brothers become three.

Of course, Adam is never as close to either Sam or Dean as they are to each other. He'd had a family and a regular life before the ghouls came, and he misses them- his mother and his friends. Dean wants to give him the "we-are-Winchesters-and-this-is-what-we-do" speech, but Sam holds him off and instead pulls Adam aside one day while Dean is researching their case with Bobby. "You can't go back, Adam," Sam tells him. "You know that, right?"

Adam is 23 now, but he looks like the 19-year-old they met in the diner (but really, that was the ghoul), or the 20-year-old that Zachariah tricked into being Michael's vessel. Young. Angry. And, behind his green-gray Winchester eyes, scared. But Winchesters don't show fear.

When Adam answers, he sounds about 300 years old. "I know."

Sam thinks, it's good to have him back and out of the pit, but we really didn't need another Dean around here.

Dean misses Cas.

It's stupid to think about, because it makes him sound like a 15-year-old girl, but the fact remains that he does.

Dean's never really prayed. He knows Sam does- or he used to- but Dean could never stick with the idea of a higher power. Once the existence of a God was proven to him, he resorted to being angry with God rather than praying in any way.

The idea presents itself fully-formed in his head before he can really think about it. It's a long shot. Hell, there's next to zero chance it will work. But… it's worked before, hasn't it?

Dean walks out of the cabin and looks up into the night sky.

"Cas?" Dean's voice, rough and gravelly from misuse, breaks slightly and Dean clears his throat.

"Um… Castiel, I, uh-" Should he be doing this differently? Cas always used to come when he called, but what if this time he needs something more official? Maybe he should find something.

Words present themselves in Dean's head- he'd been researching prayers one day and had come across a basic prayer to guardian angels- but Dean disregards them, grimacing slightly as he remembers the words. They'd been mushy and really rather girly. He doesn't want Cas hearing him say that.

"Castiel, angel of the Lord, I- uh, it's Dean," Dean begins again, wincing at how stupid he sounds. "I mean, you know that, obviously. You're all-knowing or whatever. But that's not what I wanted to say…" Dean flounders for a minute while he tries to compose his thoughts. "I just… I wanted to ask…

"Please, Cas," Dean breathes. "Just… come back. For me. One more miracle, Cas, that's all I'm asking."

No one responds. Of course not. There's no one to listen anymore anyway. But Dean wants to be heard.

"You always came back before!" Dean shouts desperately. "Why can't you do it this time?"

Dean's voice echoes out over the hillsides as he lowers his head, hands curled into fists, fingernails pressing into his palms and drawing blood in an effort not to cry, because he has already cried over this angel and he doesn't want to do it again. He vaguely notices that he's bitten through his cheek and angrily spits out a wad of blood before storming back into the cabin.

Why won't Cas listen to me? Dean won't acknowledge that the only thing that would keep Cas from coming to him is that he's gone.