A/N: Huge thanks to Miyth for the late night brainstorming session that took the first, rather lackluster draft of chapter 1 and helped me figure out a new game plan for the entire thing. And to 29Pieces for her feedback and input as this story has grown and evolved into what it is. Writing could take place in a vacuum, but then it wouldn't be much fun. ^_^

Warnings: First off, this fic starts with a TEMPORARY character death. And then it's going to visit some dark places—depression, suicidal thoughts, and self-destructive behavior. If any of that is a trigger for you, tread carefully. I'll post a warning in the chapter where it's the worst. But even though this fic is gonna explore the unpleasant side of these things, it won't be without hope and healing.
To everyone who is or has ever been in this darkness: you are not alone. Always keep fighting.

Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural aren't mine, but since the show doesn't have the time to explore the implications of the character arc they established for Cas in season 11 (actually starting earlier), I'm going to. Spoilers for the last two episodes of season 11. Some lines from 11x23 "Alpha and Omega."

Prologue

Castiel can't move, can't speak. He can only watch. Subjugating himself to Lucifer is more than just the physical torment of an archangel burning through his vessel. It is also the anguish of having to entrust the lives of those he holds most dear to someone else. Someone who is in every other sense an enemy.

But Lucifer is more valuable than him in this fight. Castiel isn't strong enough to defeat the Darkness, and though Lucifer isn't either, on his own, at least he adds a significant force to what the Winchesters have rallied to their cause.

Castiel fidgets with nervous anticipation as screams and crackling energy echo from outside the metal doors. The witches attacked first, and now the demons. Castiel can see smudges of black smoke swirling up and around through the oxidized windows in the warehouse. Lucifer is letting him watch. Or perhaps the Devil is too concentrated on his impending confrontation with Amara that he's not spending any energy on keeping Castiel locked down. Not that Lucifer has to. Castiel knows this is the best option, and he won't fight it.

The door swings open with a bang, and Amara staggers inside, bent double and clutching her stomach. She is covered in burns and lacerations, much like Lucifer had been after his imprisonment with her. Amara is gasping, and Castiel wishes he could see Dean, wants to make sure her pain isn't somehow seeping through their strange bond and hurting the Winchester. But Lucifer isn't looking Dean's direction.

The archangel grips his spear and leaps forward to stab Amara through the stomach. It is not a killing blow, not yet. That is not their purpose here, though Castiel can feel Lucifer's writhing urge to finish her off. Nevertheless, the archangel obeys when Chuck gestures for him to step back.

Castiel listens as Amara lays her accusations at God's feet. Accusations that echo Lucifer's own aired grievances from earlier that day. Chuck's expression shifts between partial remorse and abject impenitence.

Castiel had borne Lucifer's tantrum in silence, though a part of him had also wished for the chance to vent his feelings of abandonment and betrayal on his father. But in this moment, watching such a scene play out yet again, Castiel realizes it would mean nothing even if he got his chance. He would get the same reaction.

Perhaps he should feel bitterness and resentment at that, but in fact he is too tired to house such draining emotions. And in the grand scheme of things, it no longer matters.

Power crackles on the air, but before Chuck can finish transferring the Mark to Sam, Amara surges to her feet. Chuck is lifted off the ground, choking and flailing like a fish on a hook. Lucifer leaps forward, and Amara snaps at him. Castiel feels Lucifer get ripped from his body, tearing chunks of his own grace out too. Lucifer's essence, glowing in the open air, is blown to smithereens, and the resulting explosion throws Castiel back against a support column. His own life force gives one last, dying spasm, and Castiel has only a split second to think—this was always how it was supposed to end.

Chapter 1

Dean stood in front of his mother's grave. He didn't visit often enough, not even on the anniversary of her death. Maybe because they were always too busy working a case, or averting the next apocalypse. He figured Mary, born and raised a hunter, would understand that. Or it was the fact that Dean knew her spirit wasn't tied to this plane, and talking to a headstone wouldn't bring him any closer to her.

But now, here at the end of the world, it seemed appropriate for him and Sam to gather in this place. Her death had been the catalyst that threw their family into the hunting world. And they hadn't stopped since.

A light snowfall floated down around them, a herald of a dying sun. The flakes reminded Dean of ash.

Dean stumbled toward Cas's form lying slumped against the support column. He started to kneel down, just within arm's reach in case Lucifer woke riled up, when his peripheral vision caught a smattering of dark streaks. Dean lifted his head, the oxygen punching from his lungs. Scorch marks were painted across the back wall. High, arching bands splayed out over concrete.

Wing prints.

He staggered to his feet, backing up to get a full view. Charcoal splays of black feathers branched up and out in an overlapping pattern.

Two, there were two wing prints…

Dean gave himself a small shake, trying to dispel the memory before it choked him. "I like it here," he said suddenly, breaking the solemn silence. "For my ashes."

Sam shifted with a soft rustle of fabric, jaw tight and eyes moist. This was hard for him, Dean knew. And he hated leaving his little brother alone to deal with it all, knew exactly what it felt like. Dean had barely managed after Sam jumped into the Pit six years ago. But Sam had always been more able to adjust than Dean had. Kid would be a mess for a while, but he'd pull himself together. Dean had to believe that.

"Bring…" Dean's voice nearly cracked. "Bring Cas's ashes here too. He deserves to be with family."

Sam's throat bobbed. "You're asking me to bury two brothers in the same day."

Hot moisture pricked at the corners of Dean's eyes, and he tipped his head back to keep the tears from spilling free. "I know, it's not right. I should…I wanted to be there, to give Cas a hunter's funeral. But there's no time."

Dean stared at Cas's still figure lying on the bed. Chuck had zapped the angel's body to his own room, because of course God knew which one belonged to Cas. But Chuck was too weak to bring him back. Cas was gone. Dead. Nonexistent, since angels didn't even have a heaven to go to. It was where they were all going to end up shortly.

"…a soul bomb."

Dean tore his gaze away from Cas's lifeless face to lift incredulous brows at his brother. "Come again?"

"Dean," Sam spoke softly. "You know you don't have to do this."

He shook his head. "'Course I do. I just have to get close. I can do that. Okay? I can do that." And he could. Whatever hold Amara had over him…she had killed Cas. That alone would give Dean the final push he needed.

He stuck a hand in his pocket and fished out the Impala's keys. Sam gave them a look before shaking his head in denial.

"Come on, you know the drill," Dean pushed, avoiding direct eye contact. "No chick-flick moments."

A muscle in Sam's jaw ticked. He lifted a hand toward the keys, hesitated, and then finally took them. "Yeah, you love chick flicks," he tried to joke.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, you're right, dude, come here." He pulled his brother into a hug. Dean had always known this life would be his end. He just hadn't expected the fanfare and the chance to say goodbye.

He honestly didn't know if that made it better or worse.

Pulling away from Sam, Dean turned to face his mother's grave once more. "I know this life was the last thing you wanted for us," he whispered. "But, uh…" Dean rubbed a hand down his face. It was stupid, talking out loud as though she could hear him. He didn't even know why he was doing it, especially in front of Sam. Guess impending death was making him nostalgic. "I hope you can be proud of what I'm about to do."

A lump in his throat threatened to cut off his air, and Dean swallowed hard.

"She is," Sam murmured. He placed two fingers to his lips and then to the top of the headstone.

Dean nodded, hoping it was true. He turned to face the others. It was now or never. "Okay, let's do this."

Dean blinked as he found himself inside some kind of open structure. It had windows, though no roof, and contained a stone path splitting a lush garden. Well, lush except for the blackened flowers withering under a dying sun.

"Dean."

He turned around. Amara was standing in front of a dormant fountain, expression oddly closed off.

"How did you find me?" she asked stiffly.

Dean resisted the urge to roll his shoulder in discomfort. "Does it matter? I'm here to give you what you want. Me."

Amara lifted her brows, seemingly unimpressed. "That's a change," she said dryly.

Dean shook his head, and started to move forward, one slow step at a time. "Well, I can't just watch the world, my friends…" His voice almost hitched. "And my family die. So, if becoming a part of you takes me away from that, then I'm in."

"You… And that bomb in your chest?" Amara cocked an eyebrow. "You think I can't taste the power coming off of you? Please. The problem is you've never been able to hurt me. So what makes this time different?"

"You killed my brother."

Her forehead creased in confusion.

Dean's fingers twitched with the urge to set off the bomb, but he didn't. Not yet.

"Castiel," he nearly growled. "The angel you didn't give a second thought to when you killed Lucifer."

Amara scoffed. "And why should I have?"

Dean clenched a fist. "Because Cas was my brother as much as Sam is."

"I got the sense you weren't thrilled with his decision to let Lucifer possess him," Amara countered.

"No," Dean allowed. "No, I wasn't. But no matter the mistakes he's made, he's still family. I need him. And I need Sam. Just like they need me."

Amara regarded him for a prolonged moment. "So you've come for revenge," she said simply.

Dean opened his mouth, but then hesitated. He'd come to save the world, to save the last remaining members of his family. But revenge? No. He'd been down that road before, and it never led anywhere good. Plus, Cas wouldn't want that to be Dean's last act on earth.

"No," he said quietly, shoulders sagging. "Revenge will get you out of bed in the morning. And when you get it, it feels great." He paused. "For about five minutes."

Amara flicked a wary gaze at him.

"No," he repeated. "I'm here because I don't have a choice. What you're doing to the sun—"

"That's not me," she interrupted, then let out a huffed breath. "With my brother getting weaker, the scales are tipping. Away from light."

Dean mentally reeled back in understanding. "And into darkness."

"Into nothing." Amara shook her head. "When God's gone, the universe, everything, will cease to exist. Including me." She took a seat on the rim of the fountain. "My brother betrayed me. He locked me away for billions of years. He sent you to execute me!" Steely eyes flashed dangerously.

"No, no," Dean gushed out. "No, he zapped me here, yes, but he didn't want this. This wasn't his idea. You're family. He doesn't want you dead. He doesn't want any of this." Dean hesitated. He'd come here to kill her, to save the world. To die in a blaze of glory. But…what if there was another way?

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked carefully.

Amara glanced up sharply. "No! I just wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make him pay."

Dean nodded in understanding. "You wanted revenge." Crap, was he really doing this? "I've been there. Me and Sam, and even Cas, we have had our fair share of fights. More than our share. But no matter how bad it got, we always made it right, because we're family. And when everything goes to crap, that's all you've got. Family!" His heart twinged at all those he'd lost over the years, the people he'd loved who went beyond the bonds of blood.

"And you might be an all powerful being, but I think you're human where it counts." Dean swallowed hard. "You simply need your brother."

Amara let out a derisive sound. "Just stop."

"You don't want to be alone," Dean pressed. "Not really." He took another step closer. "Hell, maybe that's why you wanted me. But deep down, you didn't really want me. 'Cause I'm not him. Maybe I can kill you. Or maybe I can't. Maybe if I pull this trigger we all live happily ever after, or maybe we all die bloody, or maybe it doesn't matter! Because maybe there's a different way. So I'm gonna ask you again: put aside the rage, put aside the hate. And you tell me, what do you want?"

Amara lifted her gaze to meet his, eyes suspiciously moist. At least she seemed to be actually wrestling with the question. Maybe Dean didn't have to detonate the bomb…but was he doing this because his connection to her was overruling his rationality? Or because this was the right thing to do?

I wish you were here to tell me that, Cas.

Amara suddenly stood up and whirled toward the other side of the fountain. Dean's eyes widened when he saw Chuck sitting there.

"Why did you bring me here?" Chuck demanded, stumbling to his feet in alarm.

"Brother, I…" Amara tilted her head back toward Dean in uncertainty. She seemed so…lost, in that moment. Lost and hurting.

Dean nodded his encouragement. He'd played Dr. Phil between God and Lucifer; why not God and his sister next?

Amara turned back to Chuck and took a deep breath. "In the beginning, it was just you and me, and we were family. I loved you, and I thought…I knew, that you loved me."

"I did." Chuck moved closer. "I do."

Amara shook her head and gestured to the garden. "But then you went and made all these other things. I hated them. I hated you for needing something else." She looked away, pain evident on her face. "Something that wasn't me. And then, you locked me away, and all I could think about was making you suffer."

Chuck took another step. "You had your reasons."

"I did," Amara agreed fervently. Her eyes were glistening again. "I thought revenge would make me happy. But I was wrong." She cast another look around the garden. "What you've made…it's beautiful. It took me a long time to see that. I know we can't go back to the way things were. I don't want to. But I wish…I wish that we could just be family again."

Chuck smiled tightly. "I do too." He held out his hand, and Amara took it. Light began to glow from between their palms. The sky grew bright, and Dean looked up as everything was enveloped in a blazing white aura. He lifted an arm to shield his eyes, hoping that wasn't the sun exploding…

But then the light faded, and instead of the red haze of a dying star, everything seemed restored to normal. Amara's hand was on Chuck's chest, pouring energy into him. God took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders as color suffused his pallor in a healthy glow.

Dean couldn't even form words. Had it actually worked?

Chuck turned to face him. "I think, we're just gonna go away for a while, and…"

Dean nodded, still slightly stunned. "Hey, yeah, family meeting. I get it."

Amara actually looked…lighter, like a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She seemed…happy. And Dean wanted to be happy for her, he did. But he knew the weight of reality that was waiting for him when this was all over, and part of him had been hoping he wouldn't have to face it.

"But first." Chuck walked toward him.

Dean stiffened as Chuck held a hand over his heart. He felt something tug at his core, and then all that buzzing energy he'd been carrying started slurping out into Chuck's hand. The last of the souls vacated his body, and Dean gasped in a harsh breath.

"Better?" Chuck asked.

Dean wasn't sure. "What about us? What about earth?"

"Earth will be fine. It's got you. And Sam."

Dean stared at him incredulously. That was it? Since when was the earth in Dean's and Sam's hands a good thing? Besides…they didn't have Cas with them anymore. Unless… Dean's throat constricted around the words he couldn't seem to form as he watched Chuck walk back toward Amara and take his sister's hand. She actually smiled.

"Dean…" Amara said, almost shyly. "You gave me what I needed most."

Should he say, 'you're welcome'?

"I want to do the same for you."

Dean didn't have time to ask what that meant before she and Chuck began melting into swirling smoke of black and white. The two columns funneled up together and dissipated into the sky, leaving Dean feeling alone and empty. He stood in that garden for a long time, struggling to process that he hadn't died, that the world was actually saved without a bigger catastrophe being unleashed.

But everything wasn't okay. There was yet another hole in Dean's heart. One he'd have to figure out how to live with. And given he hadn't done such a great job the last time Cas had been dead, Dean honestly had no idea how he was supposed to manage. At least Sam would be spared part of that agony with Dean not being dead. And now they both could give Cas that hunter's funeral like the angel-turned-brother deserved.

Dean finally pulled out his cell phone and dialed Sam's number. The line clicked before the first ring even finished.

"…Dean?"

His heart cracked at the desperate hope in his brother's voice.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me. We're all good here. Can you come pick me up?"

Castiel lurched upright with a harsh, gasping breath. The oxygen filling his lungs burned, and he rolled onto his side as violent coughs wracked his frame. What…what was this?

He blinked dazedly at the beige coverlet underneath him. He was on a bed. In the bunker. Castiel looked up at the familiar grey walls, old wooden furniture, and aluminum desk lamp sitting on a small writing desk. He was in the bunker, and…he was alive.

Castiel swung his legs over the side of the bed and surged to his feet. His vision blurred and he nearly pitched forward onto the floor, but managed to catch himself against the wall. His head throbbed, every fiber in his body aching.

His body. Lucifer was gone. Castiel remembered Amara ripping him out…

Castiel jolted upright again. What happened to Dean and Sam? He stumbled toward the door and into the hall. Everything was so quiet. Castiel staggered into the war room, but no one was there. The entire bunker seemed empty save for him.

He turned toward the stairs leading up and out. If the world was ending, all he'd have to do was look outside. Yet the moment he took a step forward, he was suddenly seized with an overwhelming, vice-like terror. It compressed upon his chest, crushing his ribs, and Castiel found himself doubled over with hands on his knees as he sucked in desperate breaths. No, not again. Not this again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the paralyzing fear to stop. He was an angel, dammit.

Except, turning his senses inward, Castiel felt the tattered edges of his grace. When Lucifer had been ripped from him, the archangel had had his claws hooked deep into Castiel, and the separation had been violent. It reminded Castiel of how his grace felt after Rowena's spell had twisted and poisoned it.

Why was he alive? God must have brought him back again, which meant Amara hadn't hurt Chuck too badly as Castiel had thought in his last moments. But then where was everyone?

Straightening with great effort, Castiel took a forced step toward the stairs. Each one after that was agony, but he pushed. He needed to know.

He cracked the door open, letting in a wash of brilliant daylight. He blinked as his eyes adjusted, taking in the blue sky, trees across the gravel drive. The world seemed intact. Had Amara been defeated after all?

Castiel backed up and eased the door shut. He turned back to the empty bunker. Were Sam and Dean…dead? Or, were they just…out, after having saved the world? Castiel should look for them.

But the moment that thought entered his mind, it was quickly followed by a crushing heaviness upon his shoulders. He was alive. Again. He'd thought for sure this last time would be it, that it would all be over. He'd…he'd wanted it to be over.

But God had brought him back. That, or Castiel was simply cursed. Cursed never to find peace, no matter how much penance he tried to do. And if Sam and Dean were dead, and he was alone…

It was too much. And he was just…so tired.

Castiel sank onto the top step and dropped his head into his hands. Why?

A/N: Bring on the angst...