Skyfall

~.

Even if you fall sometimes,

you will have the strength to rise.

- What Faith Can Do; Kutlass

~.

The first thing that Castiel is aware of is the sky falling.

There are comets streaking across the blue depths with startling frequency, plummeting down and landing across the lake and clearing in front of him. Far off in the distance, several of the fallen have landed in the forest and now flames are licking their way up the pines, roaring in their quest to reach the heavens. The lake is smoking, churning with the force of the recent impacts. Heads bob up like ants across the surface of the water, too many to count. Smoke has gathered in the air itself, mixed with a faint taste of ash on his tongue that Castiel knows to be bits of feathers.

Without thinking, he reaches out with his Grace toward his fallen brethren, and that is when he runs into the aching silence.

He can hear nothing. Absolutely nothing. A low moan sounds from his throat and Castiel drops to his knees, tears gathering in his eyes. Even when he had been punished before for aiding the Winchesters, he had not been cut off from the Heavenly Host, not entirely. The silence is deafening in its own right, pressing in on Castiel and stealing his breath. The suffocation only grows in intensity when he remembered his fatal mistake, the one that brought all of this about.

I have murdered my own kind, yet again, Castiel thinks, fingers stretching up to dig into his temples. I was too proud, and I have damned them all.

There is a grating sound that Castiel recognizes as his own sobs. Fingernails drawing bloody trails down his temples, he begins to mumble under his breath, praying to his Father.

"Please," he begs through the tears stinging his eyes. "Please don't let it remain like this, Father. Have mercy."

There is no response. Of course there isn't. Castiel has sinned terribly and there is nothing conceivably enough that could redeem him. His existance is pointless and painful to those he has damned. Fingers scrabbling down his sides, Castiel urges his angel blade down his sleeve, fingers grasping at empty air when it doesn't appear.

"If you will not give my brothers and sisters what they have unfairly lost," he whispers, throat rough with crying, "then, Father, allow me to redeem myself. Let me end my miserable existance." Castiel bows his head forward as more tears trickle down, damning each tear-drop. His forehead touches the ground. He continues to mumble slurred words, transitioning between English, Hebrew, and Enochian.

"Father," he murmers at last, voice nearly gone. When Castiel raises his head again, his forehead is covered in a thin layer of dirt and tears have been smudged across his cheeks and nose. He watches as more angels are cast from Heaven, can nearly hear their screams as they fall down in a brilliant, blazing display. His vision blurs over with tears again and he turns away, unable to watch anymore.

"End me, for I serve no purpose here anymore."

~.

Dean watches in horror as the last of the angels fall. He can see a fire starting at the edge of the lake and knows that the firefighters and police will be here soon enough. We have to go, he tells himself firmly, shaking his head as the image of an angel's wings burning away fills his mind. Got to keep Sammy safe.

Sam is still leaning against the car, shivering. When Dean approaches him, Sam makes a valiant attempt to sit up, but all he succeeds in doing is collapsing in a fit of coughing. He presses a hand to his mouth instinctively - maybe Dean's nagging about manners is finally kicking in - and when Sam pulls it away, it's covered in flecks of blood.

Dean, busy collecting the last of their stuff, looks over to check on Sam and freezes at the sight.

He's going to die, Naomi had said. Cas had been so sure that the bitch was lying, but looking at his brother now, Dean isn't sure. He doesn't know who or what to believe. All he knows is that they have to get out of here now.

"Up and at 'em, Sammy-boy," Dean tries, going for cheerful.

Sam coughs again, the look on his face weakly amused and appreciative of Dean's behavior. "I'd say I have a valid reason to sleep in, Dean."

"Not until we get back to the bunker, do you," Dean retorts, leaning down and taking hold of Sam's right arm. It's like gripping a tree trunk, Dean thinks as he tightens his hold and pulls. Sam hauls himself up with a groan, staggering into Dean the moment that he's fully standing.

"Whoa, whoa," Dean growls, propping up Sam as best he's able. Maneuvering them to the right spot, Dean opens the back door of the Impala and begins to shove Sam in.

"No more shotgun?" Sam wonders blearily. By the look in his eyes, Dean is surprised that Sam is still awake. But he has to stay awake, Dean thinks, alarm pounding in his system. If he falls asleep, Sam has no guarantee of waking back up.

"No lying down," Dean orders, reaching for Sam's seatbelt.

Sam swats his hand away weakly. "I think I can handle that myself, Dean."

"Just trying to help." Dean presses his lips into a thin line and shuts the door behind Sam before hurrying over to the driver's side. Just before he climbs in, Dean can't keep himself from glancing around at the surroundings, just in case Cas was up there when all hell broke loose. Images begin to run through Dean's mind even as he shuts them down: Cas lying in the underbrush, bleeding, alone. Cas lying at the bottom of the lake, eyes open and glassy.

Stop it, he tells himself, and clambers into the Impala. Sam is the priority right now. Sam needs help. Keep Sammy safe.

When did that start becoming his mantra again? Or had it ever not been?

Dean determines that he'd rather not think about that, so he doesn't. Instead, to make sure that Sam stays awake (and to keep himself sane,) Dean reaches for one of his classic rock tapes and slips it in, cranking up the music. Sam groans in the back, and it's so normal that Dean nearly laughs.

But then Dean makes the mistake of looking in the rear-view mirror. Sam's face is gaunt, skeleton-like, and there is blood smudged around his pale lips.

Dean twists the keys in the ignition and pounds his foot down on the gas.

~.

As Dean steers the Impala down the dirt road leading to the Men of Letters bunker, he tries calling Kevin half a dozen times. When at last he parks the car and helps a half-unconscious Sam out, Dean is fuming. Some part of him wonders if something has happened to the dorky prophet.

He tries Kevin's cell one more time. No answer.

"I'm going to stab him in the neck," Dean hisses as he drags Sam toward the bunker door. Once there, he begins banging on the door, wanting to yell but afraid that he'll attract more attention. They might be pretty far out here, but there's no telling who might be listening, especially with Heaven's fluffy puppets gone human.

After about two minutes of banging, there is the sound of the door being unlocked. Kevin sticks his head out warily, the rings under his eyes exacerbated by the light over the entrance. When he sees who it is, his eyes light up.

"I thought you guys were long gone. I've been going crazy back here. All the lights on the control panel were lighting up and I didn't know what the hell was going on, and -"

"Hey," Dean snaps. "Would you mind, I don't know, actually letting us in?" His arms are beginning to hurt from propping up Sam. Sam's head is lolling forward, eyes beady slits.

Kevin's eyes widen. "Oh, right. Sorry." He opens the door wider and ushers them forward, slamming the door behind them. "So what the hell happened out there?"

"Metatron betrayed us all," Dean says flatly, not wanting to add the part where Cas might have been involved, because he can't quite believe that this time. "The angels fell. All of them."

A little squeak escapes the prophet. Face red, he shakes his head and murmers, "I just can't believe that he would do that. I thought he was one of the good guys."

"One would think," Dean answers, voice a little strangled as he begins hauling Sam's dead weight down the hall to the gigantor's room. "But we usually don't have that kind of luck." He really hopes that Kevin doesn't tag after him. He needs to make sure that Sammy is all settled in, and chattering will do nothing to further that process.

But Kevin, as usual, doesn't perform to expectations. "Well, I'm just glad you're both okay. I didn't expect to see you again, not after-" he gestures toward the sky as though it explains everything. Dean's throat tightens.

"If you hadn't notice," Dean snaps, "we're not both okay. Just give us some space, okay?" He feels kind of bad when Kevin's face falls. "Look man, I just-"

"No, I get it," Kevin says, voice shaky-soft. "I'll just, um, find myself a couch or something." He turns and scurries off.

Dean makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, throwing a "son of a bitch" in there before turning his attention back to Sammy.

"Hey, big guy, you doin' alright?" he asks, trying to keep his voice light and failing. The worry has seeped through to his bones and the adrenaline he'd had earlier has started vanishing, leaving him sweating and exhausted.

Sam mumbles something unintelligable. Dean pulls him along faster.

The moment they reach Sam's room, Dean wrenches the door open and leads Sam to the bed, flopping him down as gently as possible. He hasn't been in here much. The room is very Sam, with a collection of law books and other nerd stuff in a set of shelves against the far wall, clothes perfectly organized into colored plaid in the corner closet.

Turning his attention back to the mumbling moose on the bed, Dean methodically strips Sam of his extra clothes, leaving Sam in a wife beater and boxer shorts. When he goes to pull away, Dean's hand presses to Sam's shoulder and he stiffens at the heat. Too hot. He reaches up higher, holding his palm against Sam's forehead for a few seconds. Yeah, definitely too hot. Fever.

It only takes him a minute to get a wash-cloth from the bathroom. When he comes back, Sam is twitching on the bed, a frown on his face. Dean presses the moist wash-cloth to Sam's forehead and his brother sighs, going still. Slowly, Dean presses the wash-cloth to Sam's face and upper torso until he's satisfied Sam has cooled down. Even still, Dean makes sure to tuke an extra blanket around Sam.

Done, Dean heads to the doorway, flicking the light-switch off as he goes. The room plummets into darkness, the shred of light from the doorway illuminating Sam's pale face. All Dean can do is pray now (okay, maybe not,) and hope that Sam will wake up. Heart in his throat, the elder Winchester nearly closes the door, leaving it open just enough so he'll be able to hear Sam, and then heads for the kitchen.

As good as a cold beer sounds right about now, Dean heads instead for the coffee maker, pouring a generous amount of water and coffee grinds in. He's in for a long night (not like he'll be able to sleep when Sam's life is on the line) and plenty of coffee is in order.

While he waits, Dean lies aimlessly in one of the chairs in the main room, reading over a handful of Kevin's notes on the angel tablet. The kid had done good, Dean could admit, especially after being put under so much pressure. Cas had gone full angel on Kevin for a minute there and while Dean was confident that the angel wouldn't actually have stabbed Kevin, he wasn't sure what Cas would have done to persuade him.

Cas. Dean screws his eyes shut and then regrets it as the world swims in front of him. He has no idea where the damn angel is and if he actually had anything to do with Metatron's scheme. As much as he'd like to dismiss it as Cas going back to his old ways - though Dean has no desire to reopen old wounds, primarily those days with the civil war in Heaven and Raphael - there's something that has shifted between them, something Dean can't bring himself to name, and he's incapable of believing that Cas would go behind their backs like that. If Cas had had anything to do with the whole angel-Metatron-revenge scheme, it was because he was coerced.

This time, Dean isn't going to make the same mistake as he had back when Cas was dealing with the civil war. This time he is going to listen first, strike next if necessary. Not like striking Cas would do much good, because - wait. If the angels had fallen, Cas must've fallen too. The epiphany sends Dean's world reeling again, and he's inflicted with a whole new set of worries because Cas may have been watching humanity for millennia, but he doesn't actually know how to live like one.

The coffee-pot stops making the whooshing noises and beeps. The smell of coffee drifts into the room and Dean follows it back to the kitchen, pushing Cas from his mind for the time being. Or, at least, trying to.

~.

Dean is awakened by a soft tapping noise.

Pushing his head off the table, lips disconnecting with a sucking noise, Dean tries to make out the source of the noise. It comes again, but he's still too disoriented to make it out. Dean groans as he realizes that he must've fallen asleep at the table. So much for staying awake and watching over Sammy.

The tapping comes a third time. It's knocking, Dean realizes, already moving quickly toward the door. As he moves, Dean grabs a handgun from the bookshelf near to the bunker entrance, really hoping that something supernatural hasn't found them already.

Loading and releasing the safety on the gun, Dean cracks the door open. He sucks in a breath.

Castiel stands there in the doorway, trench-coat covered in dirt and grass stains, his face dismantled with much of the same. His hair looks like a tornado has hit it, and if Dean looks closely enough, he can see dried blood on Castiel's temples. Damn it.

"Cas?" Dean croaks, unable to look away from the angel's face.

Castiel raises his head and meets Dean's gaze and oh, no. Dean can see it immediately in the dull flicker of Castiel's eyes.

"You're human," Dean says slowly, his voice still too soft, rough with sleep.

Castiel says nothing, does nothing. He only continues to look at Dean with those ancient, shattered eyes, the slight quiver beginning in Castiel's knees the only indication that he must be exhausted.

"How did you get here?" Dean asks. He should really get Cas inside before the angel collapses.

Castiel, of course, doesn't directly answer the question. So, that hasn't changed. "I did not plan on coming here at all."

The meaning of the words hits Dean immediately after.

"What do you mean?" he demands, trying not to be hurt. "Where were you going to go?"

Castiel opens his mouth and then closes it, the movement strangely human. He is human now, a little voice in Dean's head reminds him.

"I am an abomination," Castiel says in his gravelly tone. He makes it sound so simple, so matter of fact, but there is an undercurrent to his voice that Dean can sense. It's just out of his reach. And then, as Dean looks at the furrows in Castiel's temples and the dried blood on his fingernails, he grasps it in all its horror.

"Don't you dare," Dean growls. He pokes a finger at Castiel, regretting it when Cas flinches back. "Don't you dare do that to me."

Castiel tilts his head, just slightly. "I don't see what this has to do with you," he responds softly.

That hurts. "You don't think I care about you?" Dean asks roughly, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he tries to regain his balance. "Do you think I've kept you around all this time because you were a good little soldier?"

Castiel says nothing, but that means everything.

"You've got a damn low sense of self-worth, don't you?" Dean pushes.

He nearly misses the quiver of Castiel's mouth. Castiel, who had been looking anywhere but at Dean, finally meets Dean's frustrated gaze. His eyes are too shiny.

"Get in here, you son of a bitch," Dean orders, wrapping an arm around Castiel's back when the angel (ex, now) refuses to move. "At least have a cup of coffee before you seriously think about ending yourself."

Castiel jerks away, his face suddenly open, raw. Dean can't begin to fathom the pain he sees there, but he knows that he'll try all the same.

"Dean," Castiel hisses. "I have just condemned my entire kind because of one stupid mistake. I deserve to be punished."

"By dying?" Dean snaps. He throws out his arms. "Sorry if I don't understand how that works. How does you offing yourself solve anything?"

"My very existance causes pain and suffering," bellows Castiel. He goes completely rigid, eyes burning with self-loathing. "You felt the very same of yourself when you got out of hell. Tell me Dean, if you did not deserve to live, then how am I any different?"

"Because you showed me that I did deserve to live!" Dean screams. Castiel doesn't move, but his eyes remain fixed on Dean's. "You right, okay, Cas? When I was in hell and when I first got out, I didn't think I deserved to be out, let alone breathing. Not after I tortured so many innocent souls. But you showed me differently. You gave me a purpose, a reason to keep fighting. Without you, I would probably be a demon by now, if not dead."

Dean takes a deep breath, spreading out his hands in a gesture of good-will. "If you thought I was worth saving, then, by God-" Castiel flinches at that, "-I think you're worth saving too. And I'll put everything I've got into making you believe that."

Castiel doesn't speak for a long moment. Dean thinks that if the angel had been in control of his old abilities, Cas probably would have flown the coop right about now. It's what he has always done when things get too difficult, too emotional.

"Cas," he attempts at last, voice much softer now.

"Do not pity me, Dean." Castiel's eyes, narrowed now, dare Dean to contradict him.

"When in my life have I ever pitied you?" Dean asks with a frustrated little nose in the back of his throat. He knew that changing Castiel's mind wouldn't be done in one conversation, but he wishes that it had all the same. Seeing Cas like this sends his thoughts back to the motel room when the angel first told Dean that he was suicidal. It scares Dean more than he's willing to admit. "Just come inside, would you? It's too damn early to be doing this."

At first, Castiel doesn't move, and Dean is afraid that he won't come in, that all of this will have been for nothing. But then there is a shift and Castiel hobbles his way through the door.

"Do you want coffee?" Dean asks as he closes the door behind them.

Castiel shakes his head, not facing Dean. His shoulders droop and then hitch. Little sounds fill the room and Dean places a cautious hand on his friend's back, luxuriating in the warmth that spreads through him at the contact. "Cas?"

Castiel turns, then, revealing his tear stained cheeks and crumpled face. Tiny sobs are forcing their way out of him and Dean's heart throbs in his chest at the sight. Without much thought, he enfolds Castiel into his arms, rubbing his back and murmering meaningless things into the angel's ear.

"All of them," Castiel chokes out, burying his face into Dean's neck. "Falling. I couldn't - I couldn't -"

"Shh," Dean whispers, rocking them back and forth and hoping that he's not doing a rubbish job. "Everything will be fine."

"You know that isn't true," comes the whimpered response as Castiel's body shakes in Dean's arms.

"No," Dean admits, running one hand through Castiel's hair and trying not to admit to himself how much he's always wanted to do that. Now is not the time. "But you know what I always say." He leans back a little, tipping Castiel's chin up until the angel is looking at him through bloodshot eyes. "One ex-blood junkie, a high school drop out with six bucks to his name, and a fallen angel." Dean grins. "What could possibly go wrong?"

If Cas were anyone else, he'd have rolled his eyes. As it is, he growls through his tears, "Everything."

Dean sighs melodramatically. "Always the pessimistic one, aren't we?"

Castiel's only response is to offer up a tight-lipped smile. "I believed you promised coffee?"

"Yeah," Dean says, "but I didn't actually think you'd take me up on it."

Castiel actually shrugs. "I've grown to have a fondness for it."

Dean smiles. "Look, he's adjusting already." He squeezes Castiel's shoulder when the angel's face falls. "C'mon, I think I still have half a pot from last night."

With that, they head to the kitchen, Dean's arm wrapped firmly around the angel's shoulders. Finally, after all this time, Team Free Will is back together.