A/N: This is it. Down to the wire to see if the Winchesters can save the day again. Thanks to a.k.a. T.R who wasn't logged in for the review! =)

Chapter 8: On the Wings of a Prayer

Dean's head was ringing and his entire body ached. He wasn't sure whether this was some kind of really bad hangover, or if he'd been hit by a semi. For a prolonged moment, he didn't move, just gradually took stock of his limbs to make sure they were all still connected and in working condition. Static tickled along his skin, but seemed especially concentrated on his forearm.

Dean pried his eyes open and blinked at the floor inches from his face, his cheek pressed against the concrete. Groaning, he brought his arm up to examine it, and blinked some more. Something was off, he could feel it, but he wasn't sure what…

Wait, his arm… Dean jolted upright, his vision darkening as his head throbbed. When it finally cleared, he gaped dumbly at his arm, sans Mark of Cain. And for the first time in a really long while, Dean realized he felt…normal. No sinister whispers lurked along the edges of his mind, no minatory hunger for violence and bloodshed pulsed through his veins. He was himself again.

"What the hell…" he muttered.

Oh no. Dean scrabbled to his feet and looked around. This wasn't his room, it was Cas's. They were waiting for Sam to get back with Cas's grace before his borrowed stuff burned up and…

That stupid son-of-a-bitch!

Dean bolted from the room and sprinted through the bunker, ducking his head in each of the rooms. They were all empty. He paused long enough to fish his phone out of his pocket, and frantically hit one of the speed dials.

"Dean, hey, we're on our way back," Sam said after picking up.

"Please tell me you have everything." He stormed into the library. Dean had hoped Cas wouldn't have been in much shape to get very far, but when he came to the war room, he spotted the front door at the top of the balcony wide open.

"Yeah, we got the box and Cas's grace." There was a slight hitch in Sam's voice that Dean didn't have time to address at the moment.

"Well floor it. Cas did something stupid and is about to blow." He barreled up the stairs and outside, spinning around in search of any signs for which way Cas could have gone. Not toward town; Cas wouldn't risk hurting people. Dean scanned the tree line.

"What'd he do?" Sam asked, voice rising an octave.

"What do you think? He removed the Mark! Stupid, self-sacrificing bastard. I'm gonna kill him." Dean spotted some broken branches off to the left, along with what looked like a few splotched scorches on the ground. "Just get here now, Sam," he barked. "Trace my phone when you do; we'll be somewhere in the woods." With that, Dean hung up and broke into an all-out run.

Branches and bushes whipped by him in a blur of green and brown, and Dean momentarily flashed back to Purgatory, when he'd been running through that endless forest searching for Cas. The angel had abandoned him then too, all to 'keep him safe.' But when was the son-of-a-bitch going to learn that Dean only wanted to do the same for him? They were family, dammit! Family stuck together.

Dean skidded to a stop when he caught sight of a glow suffusing through the trees, painting the trunks in a ghostly pale aura. His heart dropped into his stomach. With a final burst of speed, Dean charged into a wide clearing where he found Cas kneeling on the ground, using his angel blade to carve a sigil through the grass around himself. The angel was literally radioactive now, glowing pale blue as grace fizzled from his eyes and mouth.

"Cas!" Dean started forward, but slowed as the static buildup on the air zinged painfully up his spine.

Cas jerked his head up, and even through the glowing eyes, Dean could see his horrified expression. "Dean, no. Go back!"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He took another step closer, aware now that he no longer had the Mark to protect him.

"What I have to," Cas ground out, and returned to carving his sigil. With a few more jagged gouges through the earth to connect the lines, he let the blade thunk on the ground, then wrapped both hands around his middle and bowed forward. "Dean, please. Go back before you get hurt."

"No! Dammit, Cas, Sam's on his way right now. They have the box and your grace. Why couldn't you just have waited?"

Cas lifted his head with a struggle, and Dean couldn't tell if the blue swirling in his eyes was plasma or unshed tears. "I didn't know if I could hold it long enough, and I didn't want to lose this chance, Dean. Saving you—" He grimaced and curled in on himself tighter. "Saving you, has always been…my mission. Since the moment I laid siege to Hell for your soul. So please, get out of here. I don't want to hurt you."

Another zing scurried up the back of Dean's neck, prickling every hair on his scalp. "Then you'd better keep fighting this!" he shouted back. He noticed that since Cas had completed the sigil on the ground, the growing aura was being reined in, concentrating its energy to that single focal point and angling vertically into the air. When Cas blew, it'd probably look like an alien death ray shooting straight up into the sky.

"Dean," Cas growled. "Why won't you just go?"

Dean plowed forward a few more feet, having to stop once again to breathe through the pins and needles starting to vibrate from within his chest. "Look at me!" He waited until Cas painfully lifted his head again, and then took the last step to close the distance, dropping to his knees on the edge of the sigil. "I am not leaving you. Too many times I turned my back on you, Cas. Not this time."

Castiel grunted. "Why must you insist on being noble now?"

"Because it's a brother's job to be a pain in the ass."

Cas's face was screwed up in physical pain, but there was also a tempest of emotions behind his eyes: regret, vexation…gratitude, endearment. Dean risked reaching out and gripping his shoulder. A jolt of electricity shot through him, but he gritted his teeth and squeezed.

"Just hang on, just a little longer. We'll defuse you and get your grace back, and you'll be fine."

Cas didn't contradict him, and Dean tried desperately to ignore what they'd already discussed, that Cas may be beyond angelic healing at this point.

Cas made a few more strangled sounds in the back of his throat, and Dean continued to hold onto him, bracing his shoulders against violent spasms as the atmosphere around them grew heavier and more charged. Soon Cas was radiating enough heat to stifle Dean's breathing, but he didn't let go. Never again, he silently promised the angel.

"You can do it, Cas. Breathe." He almost told Cas to pray if it would help, though he didn't know who the angel would address it to. But then, even Dean felt the urge to send a plea out to whomever would listen.

"Dean!" an indistinct voice filtered through the trees.

He craned his neck to look over his shoulder. "Sam?" he shouted.

A moment later, Sam came charging into the clearing, Hannah not far behind. Dean felt a thrill of hope at the golden box and glowing vial in his brother's hands.

"Hurry!" he grunted as another convulsion ripped through Cas.

Sam nearly skidded through the dirt when he dropped down in front of them, and then he fumbled with the box's lid. Gripping the wings of one of the angel figures, he finally managed to wrench it open. "What now?"

Hannah came around behind him. "We have to bleed out the charged grace first."

"Wait, what?" Dean exclaimed.

Hannah's attention drifted toward the angel blade lying on the ground next to Castiel. Sam followed her gaze, and then shot a horrified look at Dean and Cas.

"Wha-we can't…" he sputtered.

"Either do it or run," Cas gasped.

Sam looked like he was going to be sick, his pallor a sheen white in the glare of Castiel's nuclear aura. Dean swallowed back his own surge of bile, knowing that just an hour ago, he could have picked up that blade without a second thought, and the fact that it was Cas might have only given him a moment's hesitation. But he didn't have the Mark anymore, and couldn't stomach the notion of slitting his best friend's throat.

In the end, the decision was taken out of their hands, for Hannah pushed Sam aside and crouched down in front of Cas. One hand took the box from Sam while the other snatched up the angel blade. She spared Castiel a brief apologetic look before swiping the sword across his neck in one fluid motion. Blood didn't even have a chance to spurt out amidst the white-hot grace that erupted like magma.

The blazing energy gushed from Cas's throat in a roar that shook the trees around them. Hannah held the box in front of the stream, and the tumultuous grace poured into it, looking way too large to fit inside its small dimensions. And yet it kept flowing, rattling the sides of the paperweight and Hannah's slim hands as though it could burst out again any second. Dean held his breath, fingers locked in a claw-like grip on Cas's shoulders as the angel shuddered with each pulsing ejection.

Finally the last of it spewed from Cas's neck and slurped into the golden box. Hannah slammed the lid closed.

Cas slumped back against Dean's chest, and in the ensuing silence that had fallen over the forest, his ragged, desperate retching for air sent a jolt of terror through Dean. He shifted his hold, leaning Cas back into his arm, and met the terrified gaze of blue eyes blown wide. Blood was spilling out of the gash now.

"Oh god," Dean choked.

Sam scooted forward, unscrewed the cap of the vial, and tipped it over Cas's gasping lips. A tiny tendril of soft blue light, no more than a candle flame against the inferno they'd just witnessed, snaked into Cas's mouth. Dean didn't know what was supposed to happen when an angel took in grace, but surely there had to be something. And yet, Cas's gulps for air were swiftly growing fainter, and the blood had seeped into the collar of his shirt.

Sam exchanged a panicked look with Dean, then glanced helplessly at the empty vial. It hadn't been enough…there'd been such a small amount left over after Metatron's spell, and with Cas taking the Mark off Dean…

"No, dammit!" Dean fisted his hand in the trench coat and lifted Cas a fraction, practically throttling him. "You do not get to do this, you hear me?"

Cas's eyelids drooped to half-mast, the light in those blue orbs dulling.

"Get your ass back here!"

"Dean," Sam's voice cracked, and he tried to extract Cas from Dean's rough grip, but they both ended up clinging to the angel.

Dean shot a scathing look at Hannah, blaming her for being the one to wield the blade, no matter how necessary it was. She didn't even notice the waves of wrath wafting off him though, for her gaze was on Cas, and damn if there weren't tears glistening her eyes.

Even when Heaven had been on their side, for once, what good were prayers in the end?

Dean's vision blurred with hot moisture, first in a gray hue, and then in gold. It grew brighter, stinging his eyes, and he rubbed at them with the back of his sleeve, absently wondering if the fake Ark was about to blow, after everything. But then Sam sucked in a sharp breath and was jostling Cas in Dean's arms.

Dean blinked rapidly until the amber aura coating his sight coalesced into Castiel glowing. But not like he'd been when the grace had been going critical; no, this time it suffused his skin with a warm, healthy radiance, amplifying until Cas was almost completely awash in it.

Dean was too stunned to move away, and then he felt something brush across his arm, faint like the tickle of a gossamer web. In the luminescence filling the woods, great black bands suddenly spanned across the trees to his right, arching up behind Cas's limp form cradled in Dean's arms. The oxygen stole from his lungs as he gaped at the flickering shadows of wings.

And in the next instant, they were gone, along with the golden incandescence. Dean looked down and found Cas staring back up at him, blue eyes clear and alert.

"Cas?" he sputtered, not sure whether to believe what he was seeing. There was no trace of blood on the angel's clothes and neck.

Cas slowly rolled his gaze around the clearing, and finally back to Dean. "Well," he said, his normal gravelly voice never sounding so wonderful before. "I believe that was what you'd call, 'cutting it close.'"

A strangled laugh escaped Dean's throat. "You think?"

Sam had broken into a wide grin, and before Dean could think to do it himself, had grasped Cas by the collar and hauled him up into a tight hug. Castiel's arms hovered for an unsure moment, but then he returned the embrace, which Sam held for a moment longer than necessary. Dean wasn't going to make a jibe about chick-flick moments, though, not when their best friend had just more or less come back from the dead.

Sam finally pulled back, and Dean crushed Cas in a fierce hold next. "I thought I told you never to do that again," he growled.

"Sorry."

Dean let out a shuddering breath, and met Sam's beaming gaze. Cas was okay. They were all okay.

Clearing his throat, he released Cas, and then the three of them slowly got up off the ground. Cas turned to Hannah, who had been standing slightly off to the side, mouth set in a pensive line.

"I'm sorry, Castiel," she said, sounding much more anguished than the situation called for.

Cas shook his head. "You did what you had to. Thank you, Hannah."

She seemed to visibly relax at that, and her gaze drifted down to the golden box in her hand. Just by looking at it, one wouldn't be able to tell there was a cosmic nuke inside, just waiting to go off.

"The unstable grace must be dealt with," she pointed out. "This container will not hold it forever."

"Now that I have my wings back, I can take care of it." Cas stepped forward to reach for the box, and stumbled. Both Dean and Sam were on him in an instant, each one gripping an arm to catch him in case he fell.

"Cas?" Sam called worriedly.

He shook his head as though clearing brain fog. "I'm fine."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, you keep using that word, but I don't think it means what you think it means."

Sam quirked a brow at him, while Cas angled a wry look his way.

"My grace is mine again, but…not exactly what I once was," he admitted with consternation.

"I believe that with time, you will regain your full strength," Hannah put in.

Cas's expression pinched as though he wanted to believe her, but didn't want to get his hopes up and be disappointed later. "Even so," he said in his annoying, matter-of-fact habit. "That grace must still be removed from the earth immediately."

"I got that covered, remember?" Dean said, reaching for his phone. He typed a quick message and hit 'send.' Sam was now eyeing him suspiciously, and whatever his brother may have been thinking was soon confirmed when a fifth person joined them in the clearing.

Crowley's shrewd, almost disinterested gaze swept across the sigil carved into the ground. "You rang?"

"We need you to take that—" Dean pointed at the box in Hannah's hands. "Far away. Like to another galaxy."

"What do I look like, your errand boy?"

"You're the one who started all this in the first place," Dean retorted. "Besides, losing half the continental United States to this bomb will be bad for business, right? So can you do it or not?"

Crowley huffed, but held his hand out for the box. Hannah gave him a rather constipated look of mistrust, but Dean cleared his throat pointedly, and she reluctantly passed it to the demon, taking care to hand it off as quick as possible without risking making physical contact.

"Far away, Crowley," Dean reiterated.

The King of Hell scowled. "That's the last time I do a favor for bloody angels!" he snapped before vanishing in a blink.

"Are you sure that was wise?" Cas asked.

Dean shrugged. "I know he's a douchebag, but one thing you can say for Crowley—he does keep his word."

Sam snorted, but didn't respond to that.

Dean took a deep breath, finally able to relax now that Cas was defused and the unstable grace was safely far away. That just left… "Where's Metatron?" They better not have left the dick ex-angel in the Impala alone.

Sam exchanged a guarded look with Hannah, which sent off warning bells in Dean's head. "Um, he got away."

"What?"

"With the Demon Tablet."

Dean swore.

"At least he is no longer a threat to Heaven," Hannah said.

"Humanity is still fair game." Dean ran a hand over his head. Well, what was a Winchester Hail Mary win without some kind of complication? As long as none of them were slowly dying or going insane, they were in pretty good shape. So all in all, it was a good day.

"I'll find Metatron," Castiel said, tone gruff with roiling emotion.

"We'll find him," Sam corrected, still lightly holding onto Cas's arm, less to keep the angel steady and more perhaps just to reassure himself that Cas was alive.

"Castiel," Hannah spoke up. "There is still much work to do for Heaven."

Dean's gut clenched; he'd just gotten Cas back. Sam's jaw tightened, and he seemed to squeeze Cas's arm almost subconsciously.

"Can't that stuff wait?" Dean asked.

Cas sighed, casting a torn look between the Winchesters and Hannah. "You and Sam no longer need my help with the Mark. And you can call me if you find Metatron first."

"But…" Sam threw Dean a desperate plea to say something. Why did it have to be up to him though?

"Cas…" A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked in discomfort. He was really bad at this, always had been. But that wasn't going to be an excuse anymore. "Just…stay anyway."

Dean thought maybe there was a glimmer of hope in those blue eyes, that same yearning for something Cas was too afraid to expect. A spiky lump settled in Dean's throat. Why was it easier to say when someone was dying?

"Look," he said, the words catching on his tongue like sandpaper. "We're not asking you to turn your back on Heaven. I get it; that's your home too. But…so is here. With me and Sam."

He could feel Hannah's frown, but Dean kept his gaze locked with Cas's, hoping the angel still had some of that creepy see-right-through-into-your-soul vision. Because he needed Cas to believe him beyond a shadow of doubt.

"Yeah, Cas," Sam echoed softly. "We almost lost you today. Please, just stay for a while."

Some of the tension seemed to drain from Castiel's shoulders, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Alright," he said, flicking a look at Hannah. Dean thought she would argue, try to convince Cas to leave, but she simply regarded him thoughtfully and finally nodded.

"I…understand now, Castiel." While her expression was not quite tender toward the Winchesters, it was less harsh. "Heaven owes you a great deal for what you've done. You deserve what you have here." With a farewell inclination of her head, she turned and started striding back toward the road.

Dean exchanged a relieved look with Sam, and they both instinctively flanked Cas as they, too, began to make their way back to the bunker. Back home.

A/N: And another happy ending. ^_^ Thank you to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed! Huge thanks to 29-pieces-of-me for beta reading as well. Tune in next Friday for the first chapter of my next fic, an even angstier story if you can believe it.

Here's a sneak peek of Soul Crossed -

"I'm your new God. A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you."

"Cas, come on," Dean pressed. "This isn't you."

Cas's stoic face broke into an uncharacteristic grin then; Cas's smiles were always subtle and slightly awkward, but this was an almost crazed, exhilarated beam. He shook his head in amusement. "That's true. So I suppose there's no reason to keep up the charade anymore." He began to pace casually, and Dean felt a whole new sense of unease. This wasn't right. Cas was always so still, having not perfected human mannerisms even after three years hanging with the Winchesters.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded.