A/N: Ooh boy, this one shot got long. I wanted to write this fic after Mr. Ketch's line in 12x8, "I do enjoy an angel," and the creepy way he looked at Cas, but given how the mid-season finale ended, I decided to wait so I knew how to set things up after the boys escaped the government detention center. Last week's episode left things quite different from what I'd been planning, but I adapted the set-up to make it work. And the events of 12x9 sure fed the angst even more with this one...

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!

"Ends and Means"

Castiel pulled into the gravel lot behind the diner Mary had asked him to meet her at. Her blue car was there, and so was she. But Castiel frowned as he parked behind a beige van, for she wasn't alone. Mick Davies and Arthur Ketch from the Men of Letters London Chapter were there as well. Given Mary's aversion to working with them previously, Castiel was surprised to see the three of them together. And though he himself had considered the British branch of the Men of Letters useful—and somewhat more reliable than many of their other 'allies'—Castiel always found something about them, Mr. Ketch particularly, slightly off-putting.

He turned his vehicle's engine off and exited the car. "Mary," he greeted. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, then flicked a glance at the two men. "Well, that is, Mick asked me to call you. He says they need your help with a case."

Castiel blinked at her dubiously. Why hadn't she mentioned that when she'd called? Did…did she think Castiel would refuse to help? Like he had when he'd passed that vampire case onto her? That had been different. He wouldn't actually have been much help on that hunt. Though, Castiel couldn't fathom what the British Men of Letters with all their resources could possibly need his assistance with anyway.

He surveyed the three of them, taking in the Brits' normally calm and casual postures, and Mary's somewhat fidgeting one. "I wasn't aware you and 'Mick' had been working together," Castiel said.

Mary winced. "I didn't think Sam and Dean would be very happy about it."

Castiel's lips thinned. No, they wouldn't. And Castiel didn't want to be the one to tell them, though he also didn't like keeping secrets from the Winchesters. But he'd grown closer to Mary in recent weeks, and felt a certain loyalty to her as well.

"What's the case?" he asked. He supposed since the British Men of Letters had helped recover Sam and Dean that Castiel should return the favor.

"A particularly nasty one," Ketch spoke up. "But one which should be easily taken care of with your unique assistance."

Castiel was about to ask what exactly was meant by 'unique assistance,' when the side door of the van to his right suddenly flew open and two men in suits poured out. Castiel didn't even have time to think of drawing his blade before they'd grabbed his arms and snapped a set of Enochian handcuffs around his wrists. The sigils instantly quashed his grace, and Castiel tried to jerk away, but one of the men produced a leather collar, which he deftly latched around Castiel's neck. Then it was like his limbs had been steeped in mire, and he found that he could barely move. The two men seized him by the arms, holding him firmly between them.

Castiel turned his head toward Mary in dismay, though she was looking equally stupefied.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. Maybe she hadn't known the British Men of Letters had planned this.

Mary shot Mick an accusing glare. "You said you needed Castiel's help."

"And we do," Mick replied.

Castiel tried once again to shrug off the men gripping his arms with vice-like force, but with his powers locked down and his body sluggish, he didn't possess the strength. "Then what is this?" he growled.

"Well," Mick hedged. "It's a tricky matter. I'll explain on the way." He turned back to Mary. "Thank you for your assistance. We'll be in touch."

She whipped out her gun. "No. I'm not letting you do this."

Mick gave her an exasperated look. "Come now, Mary, I promise we'll return the angel when we're done, safe and sound."

"You said you wanted to be allies. Friends. This is not how you treat them," she retorted. "Now let him go."

Mick sighed, and flicked a look at Ketch. The British agent didn't even blink as he drew a pistol from inside his jacket and pointed it at Mary.

"No!" Castiel pitched forward, but was yanked back.

Instead of a bullet, though, a dart struck Mary in the shoulder. She jolted, and then blinked dazedly at the red tuft sticking out of her jacket. A split second later, her eyes rolled back and she promptly collapsed to the ground.

Castiel shot a scathing glare at the man. "Why you…"

"Relax," Ketch replied placidly. "It's a mild sedative. She'll wake up shortly."

Mick walked over, slipped his arms under Mary's shoulders, and bodily hauled her into the backseat of her vehicle. He shut the door with an almost gentlemanly care, which completely belied the repulsiveness of their traitorous behavior.

Mick nodded to the men holding Castiel. "Let's go."

Castiel struggled as he was manhandled into the back of the van. Ketch climbed in after him and grabbed a chain that was bolted to the inside panel, which he clipped to a loop in the collar, restraining Castiel's range of movement. He gritted his teeth, incensed and mortified at being chained like an animal.

The two nameless lackeys climbed into the front seats, and Mick joined Ketch in the back. The door was slammed closed, and then the van lurched with an infusion of gas.

Castiel glared at his captors. "What do you want?"

Mick folded his arms across his thighs and leaned forward. "As I said, we need your help with a certain matter."

"Then why the chains?" he retorted. "Why not ask?"

Mick grimaced. "Again, as I said, it's tricky. You see, there's a house we've been looking into. It's been abandoned for years, ever since a series of mysterious murders took place there. Turns out it's inhabited by an evil spirit, though one of such strength and power as we've never seen before. After some effort, we discovered that whatever entity it is, it was summoned from Purgatory nearly a century ago, and bound to the house. Therefore, the normal methods of extermination obviously won't work."

Castiel furrowed his brow as he glanced between the two men. "What does that have to do with me?"

"We've attempted to banish it," Mick explained. "Exorcise it. But it attacks the instant someone enters the building, possessing them and then not relinquishing control of the person before killing them. We've lost three men already."

Castiel frowned. "I still don't understand the reason behind this." He lifted his cuffed wrists in illustration.

"We've determined that we cannot destroy the spirit while it is incorporeal," Ketch put in. "Only when it is possessing someone is it vulnerable to magic on this plane, but as we said, it kills our men before we can complete the ritual."

Castiel felt an icy coil of dread curl through his stomach.

Ketch's lips quirked slightly as he gazed back with something like excitement. "As an angel, your vessel would be strong enough to contain the spirit while we perform the spell to destroy it."

Castiel clenched his jaw. "A monster won't try to possess an angel."

"Not normally, no," Mick said. "Which is why the bindings are necessary. The spirit won't sense what you are until it's entered your body, and by then the collar will prevent it from escaping while we perform the banishment spell."

Castiel could only stare at them incredulously. They were serious? The plan was ludicrous at best, and disastrous at worst. If the spirit did try to possess Castiel—and he wasn't discounting the possibility, given the state of his grace and the sigils—it could theoretically harness his powers and smite the entire lot of them.

"This is not wise," Castiel tried to warn them.

Ketch merely smirked smugly. "Don't worry, angel, you'll survive the exorcism. You went up against the Devil himself and came out victorious, after all." He roved his gaze up and down Castiel. "A truly valuable asset."

Castiel's stomach turned at the gleam in the man's eyes. It held a certain sort of awe, but not out of respect. More like a greedy appreciation and desire to possess.

And chained as he was, Castiel felt like little more than a tool who had absolutely no choice in the matter.

Mary's head was fuzzy and there was a crick in her neck. She struggled to open her eyelids, which felt as though they'd been glued shut. Where was she? What had happened? The disorientation made her heart rate kick up and panic flood her system. It was too much like when she'd suddenly found herself in that park in her nightgown.

But this wasn't then and she wasn't helpless. She pushed herself upright and blinked several times in an effort to get her vision to clear. Brown smudges gradually bled away and solidified into leather seats. She was in the backseat of her car. How, why…?

Castiel!

Mary lurched for the door and pushed it open, nearly falling out onto the gravel. The car Castiel had driven to meet her was still parked several feet away, but the van was gone. She was alone in the back lot.

She reached a hand up to clutch her throbbing head. How could she have let this happen? She'd asked Cas to come meet her, hadn't told him about Mick's request. She'd worked a few cases with the Men of Letters, and had thought they truly shared the same purpose of ridding the world of monsters. But Castiel wasn't a monster.

Mary forced herself to take a deep breath and think. Mick hadn't said they were hunting Castiel. He said they truly did need the angel's help, and that he'd be returned. That had to mean they didn't want to hurt Cas. But there was no way Mary was going to let them get away with this. They'd betrayed her trust—made her betray Castiel's trust.

Her heart clenched. She needed help, but she was afraid of having to tell her boys what she'd done. Her mouth twisted bitterly, remembering how not too long ago she'd railed on Castiel for making a mistake and losing her boys. Now the roles were reversed.

She took another deep breath, and pulled out her cell phone to dial Dean's number. Sam might have been less likely to explode on her, but she'd take the anger. She deserved it.

"Hey, Mom," Dean's cheery voice greeted.

"Dean. Dean, something's happened."

His tone immediately shifted. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm fine," she said hurriedly, even as she rolled her neck and winced. "It's Castiel. The British Men of Letters took him." She bit her lip at the beat of silence on the other end.

"What do you mean those bastards took him?" Dean erupted. There was a muffled voice in the background, and then a shuffle and click and Sam's voice entered the conversation.

"Mom, what happened?"

Mary squeezed her eyes shut against a swell of shame. "I've been working with Mick. On cases."

"You wh—" Dean started.

"We have the same goals," she cut him off. "Or I thought we did. Now I don't know."

"Mom," Sam sputtered. "Are you saying they decided to take out Cas?"

"No! At least, I don't think so." She shook her head. "They said they needed Castiel's help with a case, so I- I called him. But then they snapped restraints on him and shoved him into a van. I tried to stop them. They…they shot me with a tranquilizer gun. I just woke up."

A sharp inhale crackled over the line. "Where are you?" Dean demanded.

"Jenkins, Kansas." She pulled the phone away from her ear to glance at the time. "They couldn't have more than an hour's head start."

"I'm pulling up the GPS on Cas's phone," Sam said. "With any luck, they haven't turned it off."

Mary waited, biting her lip and hoping that was true. Because she didn't know how else to find where they'd gone.

"Got it!" Sam exclaimed. "It's pinging off a tower outside Brass Hollow. Looks like it's halfway between you and the bunker."

Mary straightened, the staunch resolve of a hunter filling her with steely determination. "I'll meet you there." She hung up and stormed around the car to climb behind the wheel. She'd made a lot of mistakes in her life, had many regrets. But this one she was going to fix.

Castiel tensed when the van slowed to a stop and the men up front climbed out. Ketch reached for the chain to unhook Castiel from the panel while Mick pushed the side door open and hopped out. Then he straightened and spread his arm in beckoning for Castiel to follow.

Castiel gritted his teeth at the false show of amiability, but if he didn't move, they'd likely just drag him out by the wretched collar. So he shuffled forward and stumbled out of the van, his limbs still feeling heavy. Ketch was right behind and placing a firm grip on his arm. Castiel knew it wasn't to help him find his balance.

Before them stood a large, two-story house set in the middle of a vacant field. There were no other structures for at least half a mile in each direction that Castiel could see. The house itself was a ramshackle dwelling that looked like something befitting a horror movie. Castiel never would have been unsettled by such a place under any other circumstances, but with the sigiled handcuffs and collar, and knowing what awaited inside, his stomach was beginning to churn unpleasantly.

One of the other men took Castiel's other arm, and with Mr. Ketch, began tugging him toward the front door. Castiel instinctively tried to recoil, but with his grace tamped down, he wasn't strong enough to simply throw these men off. The Men of Letters stopped at the base of the porch and shoved him forward. He caught himself on the rickety banister, and shot a scathing glare over his shoulder as they backed away, afraid to get too close and risk the spirit possessing one of them again.

"Now be a good angel," Ketch said. "And let's get this done. The sooner we vanquish this evil spirit, the sooner we can all go home."

Castiel clenched his jaw against the urge to smite the insolent man where he stood. Not that he could, bound as he was. He turned to face the door, swallowed hard, and slowly climbed the steps.

The aged wood gave a long, low creak as he pushed it open. Inside, the small foyer and empty den were musty and dim, smeared dirt on the floor that looked like frantic patterns left behind from someone trying to escape. Castiel took a few steps further inside, and suddenly the door slammed shut behind him. He jolted. The air was thick with malice, an oppressive presence oozing from the very walls. The foundation groaned.

A puff of glacial air buffeted Castiel's face, and in the next instant he was slammed with a massive, crackling force that bore down on him from all sides. Pure evil plunged into his mortal shell, coursing through his marrow and going straight for his heart with blackened barbs. Castiel dropped to his knees under the malevolent wave. His grace pulsed in response against the vile invasion, knocking back the spirit before it could snuff out his consciousness and take control.

It recoiled sharply in surprise, lingering in Castiel's extremities. "What are you?" a sibilating voice hissed.

Castiel could barely entertain the thought of responding, too busy fighting against the roiling nausea of such filth and corruption hooking into the edges of his grace and picking at it. It was too much like Lucifer, like the attack dog spell, burrowing deeper into him. And this entity was old, almost as old as the Leviathan.

The spirit squirmed, coiling its putrid essence around Castiel's and squeezing like a snake. "Angel," it spat.

The front door banged open and the Men of Letters swarmed in. The two suits carried spell supplies, and swiftly dragged over a small end table to set them on. Ketch stepped forward and began to recite a litany while they mixed the ingredients. Mick stayed in the background, watching shrewdly.

The spirit inside Castiel hissed sharply and tried to flee, but it was bound by the collar. It fizzled with rage. "Clever." It made a battering attempt to wrest control away from Castiel next, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the assault.

"Hold it, angel," Ketch instructed.

The spirit tried to worm its way further, bearing down on Castiel with ruthless force. He gritted his teeth and fought to hold his mental ground. His lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen. Ketch's voice turned muffled, the world reducing to the blood roaring in Castiel's ears and the sinister susurration echoing through his mind.

"You their bitch?" it fizzed. "The cur sent into the cage fight?" The spirit slithered around him, eliciting a shudder. "Mhm, yes. You're nothing more than a dog to them. I see you're bound."

An external whomp of power struck him, nearly knocking Castiel flat on his back. He felt the spirit judder, but it didn't shake loose. Yet. Castiel just had to hold on.

The spirit brushed against his grace again, this time with a purr. "I can free you. Just let me have control and I'll break the chains."

"No," Castiel grunted. He bowed forward, fingers splayed across the floor as he tried to hold himself up.

"You think you're helping them?" it hissed. "You're nothing to them. These filthy humans have dared to fetter you. An angel. How can you abide it?"

Castiel didn't respond, but it didn't matter. The creature was in his mind, could see it all.

"You're trying to prove something, aren't you?" it whispered. "That you're not weak. Not a coward. Then let me out. Let me show them they never should have dared to bind an angel of Heaven."

Castiel flinched as another barrage from the spell slammed into him. The spirit snarled in response, but only crooked sharpened talons deeper into Castiel's grace. It would shred him when it was banished. Just like the attack dog spell. Just like when Amara ripped out Lucifer. Castiel was already nothing but tatters and barely healed tears; what if this killed him?

"Exactly. Don't let them win. You think I'm the monster, but who's really evil here? They don't care who they sacrifice to get what they want."

Castiel tried to shake his head. No, he wouldn't listen…

Images of Sam tied to a chair in a dirty basement, hair damp and foot horrifically burned, flashed through his mind. Of that British Woman of Letters banishing Castiel before she shot Sam point blank. Of the other one ramming an SUV into the Impala and attacking Dean.

"They won't stop, you know," the spirit wheezed. "Not unless someone stops them… And you're not strong enough. Look at you. You're a ragged, frayed excuse for an angel. Captured and subdued so easily… You couldn't even take on one vampire…"

Castiel choked on a cry as another blow struck his back, almost shattering his wings and driving him to the floor. He felt a fracture run through his core. There was so much magic in the air he couldn't see straight, couldn't tell which was the spirit and which was the spell. He didn't know how much longer he could hold out. And for what? To protect these men? These men who spouted defending mankind but who showed a complete lack of regard for humanity. How long would it be before they decided the Winchesters were problems that needed to be taken care of? And why was Castiel pushing himself to the breaking point to help them?

Castiel gave himself a sharp shake. No, he couldn't… But the spirit was right; he just wasn't strong enough. Not strong enough to stop Sam and Dean from being taken, not smart enough to take care of one measly vampire, and just not enough to rescue the Winchesters on his own when they'd finally been found—when they had finally rescued themselves.

Castiel couldn't do it anymore. And so he stopped. Relinquished the fight with a wave of despair and crushing acceptance. The spirit surged forward, pushing him back to the recesses of his mind, just as the front door burst open again.

Castiel had only a split moment of horror and regret as Dean and Sam stormed into the house, and then the spirit lashed him down, and he felt his body rise of its own accord.

Dean was a master at taking in a scene in an instant, though this time his attention fixated on Cas on his hands and knees, wrists handcuffed and a friggin' collar around his neck. And that son-of-a-bitch Ketch was reciting some kind of spell. Dean charged the man.

"No, wait!" Mick shouted, surging forward to stop him.

In his peripheral vision, Dean saw Sam intercept Mick while Dean tackled Ketch and knocked him to the floor. He managed to get one punch in before one of the other thugs kicked him hard enough to send him flying backward. The sound of a gun's safety being clicked off drew their attention, and Mom was there, weapon trained on them.

"Don't," she warned.

"You don't understand!" Mick exclaimed from where Sam had him pressed up against the wall.

Dean saw Cas get up off the floor calmly, and with a single snap, break the handcuff chain. The pieces went rattling across the floor, and then Cas reached up to rip the collar off as well. Dean barely had a moment to wonder how that was possible, when Cas's face split into a manic grin and he chuckled darkly.

Dean stared at him, heart dropping into his stomach. "Cas?"

Ketch pushed himself off the floor with a grunt. "You have to let us finish!" he snarled.

Dean watched in horror as Cas's eyes turned to black marble, and purple-brown veins started crawling up the sides of his neck in putrid puce colors.

"Oh, you're finished," a sharp hiss spilled from Cas's mouth, and Dean's heart seized with memories of the Leviathan. No.

Ketch lunged for the spell bowl, but Cas—or whatever was possessing him—flicked his wrist, and the Brit went flying backward into the wall. Another Man of Letters whipped out a silver blade covered in runes, but before he could even use it, the demon had torqued his fist, and the man's neck jerked 120 degrees with a sharp crack.

Opaque black eyes snapped to Dean. "Mhm, I'm going to enjoy this," the creature sibilated.

"Cas, fight it—"

The monster strode forward, but then jolted as Mary fired a bullet into its shoulder. It spat a vitriolic sneer at her, flinging its arm and sending her crashing into the wall.

"You're not screaming enough," it pouted. "I want to hear more screams."

"Dean!" Sam shouted, and he turned in time to catch the crow bar his brother tossed him.

Dean whirled back around, brandishing it, but not sure what exactly he was going to do. He didn't want to hurt Cas.

"Cas, buddy, come on."

Still the creature advanced, and Dean had no choice but to take a swing at its head. The iron cracked against Cas's cheek with a reverberation like thunder. It didn't faze him. Cas grabbed the crowbar and used it to toss Dean across the room. He hit the hard floor and rolled until his back knocked against the wall. When he looked up again, Cas was stalking toward Sam, but then he suddenly went rigid and snapped his gaze toward Ketch, whose mouth was moving quickly in barely audible syllables.

The monster seethed and started toward him, hand outstretched. Sam tackled Cas, driving him to the floor. Dean scrambled up and ran over to throw himself at the angel as well. He had no idea what Ketch was up to, but hopefully it was an exorcism.

Cas bucked and thrashed beneath him, trying to throw them both off. Dean took a punch to the gut that winded him, and then got knocked away. Sam flew past him a second later, and Cas staggered to his feet, cheeks flaring almost the same color as the veins crawling up his face.

Ketch raised his voice and quickly recited a final string of words, and Cas's back suddenly arched rigidly. He shook as though in a seizure, choked cries gurgling in his throat. Puce vapor spewed forth from his mouth, spinning into a whirlwind along the ceiling. Crackles of electricity spritzed across the amorphous being, until with one loud snap, it popped and fizzled into nothing. Cas crumpled bonelessly to the floor where he continued to shake and twitch.

Mary moved first, rushing to Cas's side and dropping down next to him. She placed one palm across his forehead, the other hand behind his head, trying to brace it as he curled up on his side and writhed weakly.

Dean exchanged a stunned look with Sam, but was finally jolted from his stupor when Ketch climbed to his feet and Mick stepped forward from the corner he'd been cowering in.

"Well," Ketch said, tugging his dress shirt down. "You boys almost mucked that up."

Dean narrowed his eyes. He had no idea what the hell they'd walked into here, but he damn well wanted answers for what happened to Cas.

Mick was gazing down at Cas with a frown. "I'm surprised the spirit gained control. I thought for sure an angel would be strong enough to hold it."

"Wait a second," Sam interrupted. "You planned this?"

"We had no other way of evicting the spirit," Mick explained. "It was only vulnerable when possessing someone."

"That's what you wanted Castiel for?" Mary spoke up, eyes wide with horror.

"An angel wouldn't die from the experience," Ketch said. He pursed his mouth in something like disappointment as he regarded Cas. "Shame, though. I'd been expecting more from this one."

Ire erupted in Dean with the fury of a hurricane, and his fingers itched with the urge to draw his gun. "You bastards."

Ketch leveled an unbothered look at him. "It all worked out." He cocked his head and tossed a rueful look over his shoulder at the dead Man of Letters. "Mostly. Your interference could have cost more lives, you know."

"How about your screwed up plan could have cost Cas his!" Dean lobbed back.

"That would have been regrettable, but unlikely," Ketch said blithely.

Dean was starting to see red, and so help him…

It was Sam who spoke first, before Dean could actually go through with shooting these bastards.

"Get the hell out," Sam said, voice low with deadly intent.

Ketch and Mick exchanged a look, and Mick gave a subtle nod.

"Do thank the angel for his cooperation," Mick added.

'The angel.' They never even used Cas's name. Dean furled his hands into fists.

Ketch and the other lackey went to pick up their dead colleague and carry him toward the door.

Dean took a step after them when they reached the threshold. "You come near him again and I will kill you," he warned.

Ketch sighed. "That's what's wrong with you Winchesters, and why you're so ineffective protecting this country from monsters—it's just an angel."

"No, he's not. And that's what's wrong with you. Now my brother said get out."

Ketch simply lifted his eyes in exasperation, but exited the house.

Dean watched to make sure they got in their van and started to drive away before he pivoted back to Cas. The angel was still trembling in Mary's arms, eyes closed and pallor ashen. Sam was already kneeling next to them, hand hovering worriedly over Cas's shoulder.

Dean met his mother's gaze…and didn't know what to say.

Sam craned his neck to look in the backseat for the umpteenth time since they'd started the drive back to the bunker. They'd managed to get Cas to the Impala with some effort, and the angel was currently curled tightly against the door of the backseat, forehead pressed to the window and eyes gazing hollowly at the surrounding night. He hadn't said a word this entire time.

Mary was following in her vehicle, but even so, the Impala was filled with a tense silence, everyone processing what had gone down in their own private mental silos. For Sam's part, he was still a little in shock that Mom had been secretly working with the British Men of Letters. For one thing, today proved beyond a shadow of doubt that they couldn't be trusted, that their methods were unscrupulous and they didn't care who got hurt as a result of their 'missions.'

Sam knew his mom hadn't turned Cas over to them, hadn't known what they were going to do, but every time he looked behind him at the despondent angel, his heart constricted with anger. Not at Mary. Just…the situation.

He wasn't sure what Dean was feeling, though, and now wasn't really the time to ask. They needed to get Cas back to the bunker and tucked into a bed, because he still looked awful, kind of like after he'd been cured of the attack dog spell. At least the bullet wound in his shoulder had healed quickly. Small favors.

They finally pulled into the bunker's garage and parked, and Sam hurried to exit the car so he could open the back door and help Cas out. Cas was already pushing his way out of the backseat, though, and when Sam reached out to give him a hand, the angel flinched away from him. Sam froze, unsure what to do as Cas swayed slightly. But Cas was holding an arm up halfway as though to ward him off, gaze averted, and without saying a word, stiffly shuffled toward the bunker entrance.

Headlights flashed behind them, and Sam turned as Mary's car pulled in. A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked, and he moved off after Cas. Sam's shoulders sagged.

Mary climbed out and slammed her door shut. "How is he?"

Sam didn't know who exactly she was asking about, but the answer would be the same. "Just give him some time."

She dropped her gaze to the ground, then back to her car. "Maybe I should go…"

Sam stiffened. "What? Why?"

"I can see that Dean needs some space right now. And Castiel…" Her voice hitched. "What I did…"

Sam stared at her incredulously. "You didn't do anything. They tricked you!"

Mary shook her head. "I shouldn't have been working with them in the first place. Especially after…" She lifted her chin to meet his gaze directly. "Aren't you mad about it?"

Sam's jaw tightened. "They came through a couple times before," he carefully allowed.

"They were behind your abduction. Your—" She reached up both hands to rub her face and let out a strangled sound of frustration. "I just wanted to do some good again, to save people. And it sounded like they could help with that."

Sam nodded soberly. "I get it, I do. And so does Dean. He's just…almost losing people, he can't deal. Before you came back, we had a few close calls with Cas." Sam's throat tightened at the memories as well. "He just needs some time."

Mary's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Castiel shouldn't forgive me."

Sam's mouth quirked slightly. "That's the thing about Cas—he always does. I don't think he knows how to hold a grudge."

Mary's expression softened. "Yeah, I can see that." But then the darkness of regret and grief was back in her eyes.

Sam gave her a sympathetic look. "Come on. We both could use something to eat."

They headed inside and down to the kitchen. Dean wasn't there, probably making sure Cas was okay. Sam went to the fridge and started digging around for something edible he could put together.

"Um, I think all we have at the moment is bologna sandwiches," he said apologetically.

Mary's mouth twitched. "That's fine."

Sam set out the condiments and they stood in silence as they made their own sandwiches. Mary set hers aside and started making a second one, but paused halfway through slathering mustard on a slice of bread.

"Does Castiel…I know he doesn't usually eat, but…"

Sam smiled. "No, it's a good idea to make him one, just in case. Sometimes when his grace gets low after a beating, human sustenance helps."

She frowned. "I'd kind of always thought of him as invincible."

Sam automatically tightened his grip on the butter knife he was holding. Yeah, it was easy to think that. Sometimes Sam fell into that trap too. But Cas wasn't invincible. Not anymore. He broke and bled just like the rest of them.

"Cas doesn't like showing vulnerability," he said quietly.

Mary hummed thoughtfully.

They fell silent, and not long after, Dean came into the kitchen. He roved his gaze over them and the sandwich fixings, and Mary lifted the plate she'd made for him. Dean regarded it expressionlessly for a moment before something in his eyes shifted, and Sam saw the weight of his brother's anger start to bleed away. Dean accepted the plate and moved to Mary's other side at the counter.

Figuring they should talk—and hoping Dean would take the opportunity to do so—Sam picked up the plate they'd made for Cas and went to check on the angel.

Cas's door was closed, and Sam knocked, but there was no response. He rapped his knuckles on the wood again before twisting the knob and letting himself in. Cas was laying on his side on the bed, facing the wall with his back to the door. He'd pulled off his shoes and overcoat, leaving both carelessly dropped on the floor.

"Cas?" Sam called softly. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

Cas didn't respond. Frowning, Sam moved around the foot of the bed, and found Cas simply staring at the wall unblinkingly. Sam inched closer.

"I brought you a sandwich in case your vessel could use some food," he continued.

Cas didn't acknowledge him at all.

Pulse stuttering, Sam set the plate on the dresser and moved closer to touch Cas's arm. The angel shifted, curling in on himself tighter and turning his head into the pillow to avoid Sam's gaze. Okay, so he wasn't catatonic, but shit, what was this?

"Cas?" Sam prompted again. "Come on, talk to me."

Cas still refused to say anything. Sam didn't know what to do. Obviously what Cas had gone through had been traumatic, but Cas had been through lots of horrific things before, and he'd never shut down like this.

Well, there had been that phase of binge watching Netflix, yet there was a laptop in the room and Cas hadn't even bothered to turn it on.

Sam hovered, wanting to help, to do something, but at an utter loss as to what. "Do you need anything?" he asked helplessly.

Cas shifted again, drawing further away from Sam by a mere scant inch on the bed, but the message was clear.

"Okay," he said, fidgeting uncertainly. "I'll, um…I'll be around if you change your mind." He cast one last worried look at the laconic angel, and forced himself to retreat. Sam had never had to deal with Cas like this, but maybe his brother had. Because this was kind of scaring him…

Dean chewed slowly, which took quite a bit of effort on his part, as he was famished and typically scarfed his food down anyway. But that was the point: he wanted to focus on something else at the moment and not the big fat elephant sitting between him and his mom. It wasn't even that he was mad she'd been working with the British Men of Letters behind their backs—okay, maybe a little mad. Nice to know keeping secrets just ran in the family.

But Mom had made it clear pretty early that she was her own person and wanted to do her own thing. First it was hunting, then it was leaving and not hunting, then hunting again. And maybe it was better for her to have the Men of Letters as backup since she didn't seem interested in calling Dean and Sam.

But dammit, this was Cas. He was family, and for those bastards to do what they did…to use Mary to do it…Dean wanted to go back to that house and kill them all.

"Dean," Mary started, shattering the downward spiral of his bloodthirsty thoughts. He jolted, and quickly swallowed his mouthful.

"I'm sorry," she said morosely.

"Wasn't your fault," he automatically replied. "They used you. They used Cas. That's what they do. All they care about is getting their way."

Mary dropped her gaze to the last bits of crust from her sandwich. "I still should have told you what I was doing. You- you deserved that."

Dean rolled one shoulder in discomfort. This dynamic they had, of his mom being someone he had to protect, yet at the same time being this independent enigma he couldn't seem to fully understand…he still wasn't used to it.

He let out a humorless smirk. "Not like me and Sammy haven't gotten into bed with some unsavory characters in the name of the good fight."

Mary was silent for a solemn moment, and her gaze drifted toward the door and corridor that led to the dormitories. "The ends don't justify the means," she said quietly.

Dean's chest tightened. No. No, they didn't. But it wasn't like they weren't all guilty of it at some point or other.

Sam came back into the kitchen then, expression pinched. "Hey, Dean, did you talk to Cas?" he asked hesitantly.

Dean shook his head. "I knocked, he didn't answer. Figured he wanted some space."

Sam's mouth tightened further. "We might have a problem."

A thrill of fear shot through Dean. Was Cas hurt worse than he let them see? Was there some side effect of the possession, or the exorcism? Dammit, he should have barged into Cas's room and checked on him, personal space be damned. "What's wrong? Is he okay?"

"Physically, I think so. But he hasn't said a single word since we found him in that house. And now he won't even look at me. He's just lying in bed and staring at the wall."

Dean frowned. Okay, well, dude had been through a lot. "Maybe he just needs some time."

Sam shook his head. "I don't like it, Dean. It's like he's withdrawing into himself. Way worse than after the attack dog spell."

"The what?" Mary spoke up.

"Uh, this isn't exactly the first time Cas has been possessed or under a spell that made him, um, try to hurt people," Sam replied with a grimace.

Dean snorted. "It's not even the second."

His stomach dropped as the implication hit. It wasn't the first time Cas had been possessed…and attacked the Winchesters. There'd been Rowena's curse, but also Lucifer. And Naomi before that. And the Leviathan, which this recent experience had seemed so frightfully reminiscent of. Jeez, that made this the fifth instance?

Dean found himself once again envisioning putting a bullet in Ketch's brain.

"Maybe I should talk to him," Mary said, startling him, and both he and Sam shot her dubious looks.

"Uh, what?" Dean couldn't help but blurt. She and Cas may have bonded a bit while Dean and Sam had been in that government detention facility, but Mary didn't know half the stuff that Cas had gone through that might be fueling this mental withdrawal now.

"I know what it's like to be possessed and hurt the ones I love, remember?" she said, giving them both pointed looks. "That ghost killing children?"

Oh, well, true. But Dean and Sam had similar experiences too.

Sam shifted his weight awkwardly. "Um, Mom, I know I said Cas wasn't the type to hold a grudge, but considering things, maybe you trying to talk to him isn't really a good idea."

"You're worried he'll get angry," she said.

Sam flicked a nervous look at Dean. "Uh, yeah."

Mary nodded as though that was the deciding factor, and stood up from the barstool. "Any reaction is better than nothing at this point, right?"

Dean blinked. Uh, that wasn't what he was going to say…

"I don't know…" Sam hedged.

Mary put a gentle hand on his arm. "You said Castiel doesn't like to show vulnerability. Has he ever just lost it and let his emotions out?"

Sam glanced at Dean again, brows lifting slightly in question.

Dean frowned. He had a pretty clear memory of Cas beating the crap out of him in an alley when he'd gone to say yes to Michael. But damn, that'd been years ago. And yeah, Cas had had some minor outbursts since then, most recently when he'd killed Billie, but in general, he kept things close to the vest.

Dean cleared his throat. "We, uh, haven't exactly been good role models in that department."

Mary's eyes crinkled with understanding. "Let me try."

Dean just shook his head and gestured for her to have at it. Hey, if his mom could take over the chick-flick moments so Dean wouldn't have to deal with them, all the power to her.

But deep down he was severely worried about his best friend, and Dean knew he would do absolutely anything to help him.

Mary paused outside Castiel's door, hand hovering over the knob. She'd faced her sons over what had happened and her role in it, and now she had to face Castiel. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open.

The room was dimly lit, casting a faint halo over the unmoving lump on the bed. Mary's chest constricted. She'd seen the angel desolate and crestfallen when the boys had been missing, some of it from her own harsh words when he'd first told her what happened. But there'd still remained a glimmer of fortitude in the face of crushing odds. Now…now, there wasn't even that, and part of it was due to Mary once again.

"Castiel?" She edged her way around the bed slowly so as not to startle him. She remembered he'd told her he didn't need to sleep, but maybe after the recent trauma he would.

Except his eyes were open, staring blankly at nothing as though not fully in the room.

"Castiel?" she tried again.

He didn't respond.

Mary inched forward and gingerly lowered herself to the floor so they could be at eye-level, but she didn't reach out to touch him. "Castiel, I am so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen, for you to get hurt. If I had known that's what Mick wanted you for, I never would have called you."

Cas didn't move, didn't even twitch. After the micro seizures he'd initially suffered post-possession, he was eerily still.

"I don't expect you to forgive me," she went on. "And if you want me to leave, just say so and I will."

She waited with bated breath for a reaction, anything. And she meant it; she'd leave if Castiel wanted. But he'd have to break his seal of silence and say so. Hopefully that would be enough for Sam and Dean to come in and help him through the rest.

Finally, Castiel slowly dragged his gaze toward hers. "It wasn't your fault," he said, voice so soft and raw she almost didn't hear it. "You didn't know."

Mary felt some of the dread that'd been bearing down on her lift at the genuineness in his tone. Sam was right; Castiel didn't know how to hold a grudge.

"I'm still so, so sorry."

His gaze started to shift back to the wall, and Mary had to resist the urge to reach out and grasp his shoulder at the fear of losing him to despondency again.

"Castiel, what happened wasn't your fault, either," she pressed. "That spirit tried to hurt Sam and Dean, not you. And they know that. We all know that." She shifted, her knees starting to lock. "My first hunt back, I got possessed by a vengeful spirit. I almost killed Dean. It was horrifying and traumatic, but he knows I'd never hurt him intentionally."

Even with her recent, willful, mistake, she hadn't meant to hurt her boys. And she did know that they knew that.

Castiel was silent for a moment longer, and Mary was afraid he'd withdrawn again, except his eyes were glistening.

"You have no idea how many times I've hurt them," he whispered. "How many times someone or something made me hurt them."

Mary held her breath. So Dean had hinted, and part of her wished she knew everything behind that agonizing admission, but another part of her knew it wouldn't change anything.

"It was never you. Castiel, Sam and Dean told me, it was never you."

He flashed her a gut-wrenchingly broken look. "It was this time. That spirit…I was fighting to contain it, like the Men of Letters intended. But it…I was…" He gritted his teeth and averted his gaze. "I gave in. I gave up. Just like that case in Lancaster. And you and Sam and Dean almost paid the price."

Mary's heart broke at how hard he was on himself, demanding so much more than anyone should. Mr. Ketch had called Castiel 'just an angel,' but he had it wrong. Looking at Cas now, torn up over things that were beyond his control, Mary knew that inside, he was just a man.

She finally reached out to gently touch his forearm. "Castiel, you are one of the strongest people I know. But strong doesn't mean invincible." She saw that now, with him. "I fought that ghost possession with everything I had, and still couldn't stop it on my own. Neither me, Dean, or Sam would expect more from you simply because you're an angel."

He looked away again, but there was a slight tremor in his jaw.

Mary's own voice quavered with her next statement. "We're a team…we're family. We're there for each other when one person isn't strong enough on their own. That's how it's supposed to work."

And she would never turn to an outside source for help again.

Castiel let out a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes closed. But the emotions were there, breaking loose. Mary crouched on the floor beside the bed in silence and let them come.

Sam sat at the study table with his laptop, trying to keep himself occupied while he waited for Mary to come back from talking with Cas. He wasn't having much success with that, though, because the longer time stretched, the more he worried that Cas just wasn't going to snap out of his current state.

Dean sat across from him, nursing a beer that he hadn't really drank much of since opening it. They hadn't talked yet about what they were going to do about the British Men of Letters. The organization may not have been a group of supernatural monsters, but they were starting to do more harm than good, and that was something the Winchesters couldn't let go for much longer.

But right now their priority was Cas.

Scuffing in the hallway made Sam look up, and he stood as Mary emerged with Cas in tow. He'd put his trench coat back on, but his eyes were bloodshot and he still looked a bit sickly. At least he was up on his own two feet.

"Sam, Dean," the angel began, voice gravelly. He raised his arms in a helpless gesture. "I'm sorry."

Sam moved forward and put his arms around Cas, drawing him into a fierce hug. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"But I—"

Sam squeezed harder, cutting him off. "Nothing, Cas." He met his mom's eyes over the angel's shoulder and gave her a grateful smile. "I'm glad we got there when we did."

The angel tentatively lifted his arms to return the embrace, and Sam held on a few seconds longer until Dean cleared his throat. He pulled back, prepared to deliver a snarky retort to his inappropriate brother, but Dean slipped in to take Sam's place, pulling Cas into a fervent hug as well.

"I will kill them if they come near you again," Dean said gruffly, a vow of violence never sounding so fiercely protective. Cas didn't even bother to chastise Dean for it, but shuddered slightly in the hunter's arms.

Sam's jaw tightened. Cas wasn't unscathed by this, and Sam didn't know the full story yet. Hell, he may never get it if Cas didn't want to tell them. But maybe it was time Sam made more of an effort to draw the angel out. This whole thing with the evil spirit and Men of Letters, with Lucifer and the attack dog spell—Cas had been through a lot recently. More than the Winchesters had had time to properly address.

Sam resolved to change that, starting now. And when he met Dean's gaze as his brother continued to hold onto their best friend, he recognized the same promise gazing back at him. Even Mom was looking at them with similar determination. Not that long ago, Cas had said they meant everything to him. Well, he meant everything to them, too.