A/N: This is an ANGSTY fic. I didn't think I could write something more painful than Soul Crossed, but, er, yeah. It started with just an AU idea, and then progressed into some heavy stuff. So be forewarned, this is not happy, though there will be comfort and hope at the end. Possible triggers with canon-typical torture, depression, and suicidal thoughts.

Thanks to 29pieces for beta reading. Lines from the episode "Point of No Return" will pop up throughout several chapters. They're not mine. Nor is the show or its characters.

Chapter 1

Castiel was unaccustomed to such…human feelings. He was an angel, a soldier, built to follow Heaven's orders. And yet since the First Seal was broken and the Apocalypse was looming, Castiel had begun to feel—fear, doubt, fondness for his human charges. Most recently he'd become acquainted with the emotion of anger. Which was strange, for he had executed orders in the name of righteous anger, righteous wrath. This, however, was completely different. It twisted at Castiel's core, coursed through his blood to the point he wanted to let it explode and hit something. After all, he'd seen Dean lose his temper in such a manner. But that was the problem: Dean was human, and Castiel was not supposed to feel such things. Plus, it was Dean he wanted to hit at the moment.

After everything, the eldest Winchester had run off with the intention of saying yes to Michael. Castiel and Sam had caught up with him, though, dragged Dean back to Bobby's house and locked him in the panic room. But Castiel was still angry. He'd given everything for the Winchesters, so they would not be forced into destinies they did not want. And Dean was throwing all that back in his face, declaring the sacrifices and pain worthless.

And now there was another feeling, one that brought near-crippling pain without the cut of a blade. Castiel's eyes registered the angel banishing sigil Dean had painted on the wall in the panic room, and yet his mind could not process what he was seeing. Not until Dean had spoken with a callous, triumphant smirk, "Hey, Cas," and slammed his bloody palm on the sigil. Then Castiel's world had erupted in blinding white light and searing agony as the power of the sigil plowed into him, ripping him from the earthly plane. Castiel had experienced the bitterness of betrayal when Uriel had turned on him, but it had not hurt as much as it did coming from Dean.

Castiel tumbled through the ether until the current of the spell deposited him roughly on a smooth marble surface. He lay there for a moment, dazed and trying to catch his breath. Whorls of white, gold, and peach clouds floated in an endless canopy void of sun, moon, or stars. Heaven only needed the light of the divine. Adrenaline spiked through Castiel; he needed to move, now.

Pushing himself up, he flexed his wings in preparation for flying back to earth, but they quivered in response, the sensation of tingling needles running up and down the nerves. Castiel cringed against the pain. His wings had been singed in the nova-like force of the sigil, and could not support flight at the moment. He'd need to find somewhere to hide instead.

Castiel stumbled to his feet and began to weave his way through the polished field. Perhaps no one had noticed his crash landing, and he might slip away without raising an alarm. He should have known better.

A thwack of wing beats announced the arrival of three angels come to investigate the disturbance. Castiel broke into a run. They did not raise a shout upon spotting him, but Castiel felt their intent home in on him as they gave pursuit. He ducked into one of the halls, darting between opal pillars in the hopes of losing them.

One angel materialized directly in front of him, and on instinct, Castiel threw a punch that caught the angel off guard and sent him smashing into a support column. Castiel dropped his angel blade into his hand and kept running.

A swish of wings rushed past him, and Castiel whirled, throwing up his blade to block a blow aimed at his back. Metal clanged with a resounding echo throughout the hall.

"What do we have here?" the red-headed angel spoke, a gleeful grin splitting his face. "Castiel."

Castiel shoved hard, throwing his attacker back. He whirled, only to come face to face with two more angels. They converged on him simultaneously, and while he was able to parry one blow, the other angel swooped in and wrenched Castiel's other arm behind his back. The flat of a blade struck his wrist, knocking his own sword from his grip. Then his other arm was grabbed and yanked taut, trapping him.

The red-haired angel stepped forward, grinning wider. "Welcome home, brother. Oh, Zachariah is going to love this."

Castiel struggled to break free, but his grace was still raw from the effects of the banishing sigil, and with him being cut off from the Host, his strength was considerably less than his brothers'. Oren, the red-headed angel, stepped away for a moment, canting his head as though listening to something. A moment later there was a flutter of wings, and Castiel's former superior was standing before them.

"And what do we have here?" Zachariah roved his gaze up and down Castiel, shrewd eyes taking in every detail and savoring it with a delighted glint in his eyes. "Oh-ho, is this Dean's work? Guess when you taught him that banishing sigil you didn't expect him to turn around and use it on you, hm?" Zachariah stepped closer and reached out to straighten the collar of Castiel's coat. "Now what, pray tell, did you do to piss him off?"

Eons of training urged Castiel to duck his gaze deferentially, yet he fought to keep his head up. He would not be cowed in the face of corruption.

"Hm," Zachariah continued, nonchalantly brushing some dirt from Castiel's shoulder. "Does it have anything to do with why Adam Milligan isn't where he's supposed to be?"

Castiel swallowed hard. Zachariah would naturally be furious about yet another wrinkle in his grand plan to secure a vessel for Michael.

The seraph's hand moved to grip Castiel's tie, jerking the lower angel's head forward. "Where is the boy, Castiel?"

"It doesn't matter," he ground out, chest constricting with grief as the full weight of the situation hit him. "Dean's ready to say yes."

Zachariah's brows furrowed first in doubt, then with contemplation. He let go of Castiel and took a step backward. "Really? I'd suspect a trick, except I'm guessing that's how you ended up here. Tried to stop Dean-o, did you? I've learned the hard way that once that kid's set his mind on something, well…" Zachariah shrugged, face cracking into a grin. "So you gave up everything for that mud monkey and he signed your death warrant. That come as a surprise to anyone here?" He spread his arms and looked questioningly at the other angels. They didn't verbally respond, though their smug smirks were answer enough.

Castiel gritted his teeth, heart clenching with the hard truth of the matter. Did Dean realize what he was doing when he banished Castiel from the panic room? Had he given any thought to the fact that Castiel was wanted by every angel in Heaven, and sending him straight to them was essentially sending him to his death? Had it occurred to Dean at all? …Had he cared?

Probably not. Dean had decided to say yes, decided to herald in the ending of the world. Whether here in Heaven or later on earth, Castiel would die because he'd chosen to side with the humans. And they would lose.

Zachariah clapped his hands together and rubbed them gleefully. "Let's go wait for that call, shall we?"

Castiel gave one last, half-hearted struggle before the angels restraining him flapped their wings and he was whisked away to whatever punishment Zachariah had in store. Somehow, though, Castiel couldn't imagine it'd be worse than what he was feeling now.

Sam was going to strangle his brother. Or pummel him. Or both. How could Dean do this to them? After everything they'd been through? After Dean's spiel about how they were all each other had, how they 'keep each other human'. Now all of a sudden Dean didn't trust Sam to resist the Devil? Didn't believe in his younger brother? That's what Dean had said, right to Sam's face.

"I don't believe. In you."

That son-of-a-bitch had no right, not after everything. They were going to make their own future. That's what Dean had said when they'd reunited after a stretch apart. And Sam had believed. He'd decided to fight with everything he had, because his older brother had his back. And now Dean was willing to throw it all away, to go say yes to Michael and become an archangel's condom. Thank goodness Sam had Cas to help him track Dean down and stop him before he did something irreversible. But then the angels had to go and resurrect their half-brother, Adam, and Dean's self-sacrificing, protective instincts were rearing up all the more fiercely. Sam knew his brother felt desperate, felt the weight of the world on his shoulders—like Sam didn't? But he'd never expected Dean to go and do this. The angel-banishing sigil on the wall, Cas's absence, and the empty panic room said it all. Dean was going down this path, the rest of them be damned. Well, not if Sam had a thing to say about it.

He glanced at his cell phone as he steered the Impala one-handed through the streets of Sioux Falls, the GPS in Dean's phone blinking steadily as Sam closed in on his brother's position. Dean hadn't taken his beloved car to his doom, either because he couldn't bring himself to abandon her as callously as he was everyone else, or he just didn't want the raucous engine giving his escape away. It made Sam angry all over again.

He finally pulled alongside the curb when the signal showed Dean was nearby. Putting the Impala in park, Sam scanned the street and sidewalks, wondering what the heck his brother was doing downtown. A patch of hunter green wove through the crowd, and Sam snapped his full attention toward the familiar jacket. He squinted through the windshield. Why would Dean be walking up to a street side preacher…? Oh no.

Wrenching the door open, Sam bolted from the car and across the street. The preacher was falling to his knees as though in prayer, and Sam's heart leaped into his throat.

"Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name—"

Sam barreled up the sidewalk, and before he could think about it, had clocked the preacher so hard he crumpled like a paper bag, falling back behind a pile of garbage.

"What the hell—" Dean started to exclaim, but was cut off when Sam grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into an alley. There he shoved his brother against the wall.

"Are you crazy, Sam?" Dean tried to push him off, and Sam finally snapped. All his feelings of anger and betrayal erupted like a volcano, surging out through a mean right hook. His fist collided with Dean's jaw with a thud that sent the older Winchester onto the pavement.

"Me? You're the one about to throw it all away. Everything we fought so hard to protect!"

Dean spat a glob of blood onto the ground before looking up. "Yeah, 'cause we've done such a bang-up job," he caustically retorted.

"So you're just gonna throw in the towel? Make all those sacrifices meaningless? Ellen and Jo died for nothing?"

Dean staggered to his feet and threw himself at Sam, the full force of his weight propelling them both back against the other wall. Dean's fist slammed into Sam's cheek once. "They did die for nothing!" Then again, and Sam tasted blood. "The Colt didn't work. There's no way to stop the Devil."

Sam ducked the third swing and drove his knee into Dean's stomach. The air punched from his brother's lungs with a heave, and Sam took the moment to hit him again. Grabbing the back of Dean's jacket, Sam swung him around and threw him against a chain-link fence. Dean hit the ground hard.

"We'll find a way, Dean!"

He coughed to re-catch his breath. "And in the meantime how many more are gonna die? What about Adam? I told you, no one else is taking a bullet for me."

Sam moved to loom over him, but Dean didn't get up. "You know what, you're so full of shit," Sam snapped. "All that crap about me not being strong enough. What does this make you, huh? You're the one giving in."

Dean glared up at him, clutching his ribs and wincing with each breath. "I'm doing what I have to!"

"No, you're doing what's easy. The coward's way out."

Dean's brows shot up with indignation. "You think becoming an angel condom is easy?"

"Yeah, because then you don't have to watch it happen. Don't have to keep fighting." Sam swallowed hard, his expression softening just a fraction. "I know you're tired, Dean. So am I. But we can't…the world is counting on us to fight. Even when it feels like we've got nothin' left." He paused, throat growing tighter. "And if you do this…what am I gonna have? Who's…who's gonna keep me human?"

Dean looked away, and Sam slowly sank to his knees on the cold, damp pavement so he could look his brother in the eye.

"You're right not to have faith in me," Sam admitted sadly. "I'm not strong enough, not without you. But I've always had faith in you, Dean. Always. And I know that you're not doing this now because you believe it's right. If you think about it for more than a minute, I think you'll realize it, too."

Dean shook his head, eyes glistening with moisture. "Just stop, Sam."

"You're the one who said we had to stick together. That it was the only way we'd stop that future you saw from coming true," Sam pressed. "I'm here, Dean, and I'm not going anywhere."

Dean glanced back with a bleak look. "And if that future comes true anyway?"

"It won't be your fault. But…I swear to you I won't let you down, Dean. I won't say yes to Lucifer. If that's the last thing I can give you…"

"No, Sam." Dean pushed himself upright. "I'm sorry, I never should've said that to you."

Now it was Sam's turn to duck his gaze. "You're right, though. I've been weak before."

Dean's hand reached out to grip his shoulder. "Hey, no. Don't go down that road again." He let out a sharp breath. "Dammit, I'm a real jackass."

Sam's mouth twitched. "Kinda."

Dean gave him a light shove, but then his expression quickly sobered again. "I…I don't get it, Sam. Why are you still bettin' on me?"

He shrugged. "You're still my big brother." Sam glanced over his shoulder toward the street, hoping the preacher didn't wake up soon. Standing up with a grimace, he held his hand out to help Dean up. "So, ready to get back in the ring?"

Dean winced as he straightened, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Guess I don't have much of a choice."

"Nope," Sam agreed, and started heading back to the Impala. He slowed as he approached the car, but Dean didn't veer around to the driver's seat or ask for the keys; he simply slid into the passenger's side with a grim air. Sam got behind the wheel and started the engine.

"So, uh, how pissed is Cas?" Dean asked nervously.

"Dunno. He wasn't back yet when I left to find you." Sam angled a sidelong look at Dean. "That was a dick move, you know."

Dean ran a weary hand down his face. "Yeah, I know."

When he didn't say anything else, Sam cleared his throat. "You gonna actually apologize, or just pretend it didn't happen?"

"What is this, kindergarten? Cas'll understand."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned his attention fully on the road. He'd talked Dean off of the ledge—for now, at least. But he still had another obstinate brother waiting for them back at Bobby's, and a host of angels gunning for them. Sam may have claimed he had faith in Dean, but the truth was he didn't know how they were gonna survive this shit storm.