Hey everyone!

It has been FOREVER since I posted anything so I'm really sorry for that. I had some major technical difficulties and lost 5000 words of this thing so I had to re-write it from scratch and I'm still not completely happy with it so if I can get my laptop fixed and retrieve the original then I'm gonna come back to this and re-vamp it to my liking.

I'm sorry if it's not as polished but I really wanted to post something, I figured it would give me the motivation to figure out where it's going, so here it is.

Also... SCOOBYNATURAL! AMIRIGHT? It was freaking amazing!

This is a continuation of 13x15 (A Most Holy Man)

Enjoy ^_^

It was coming to the end of a really long and really weird week, even for Dean. So when Cas called to tell him he was at the airport, Dean grabbed Baby's keys and called out to Sam, who was still hunched over his laptop, where he'd been for hours, chasing leads on the Seal of Solomon.

"You coming?"

Sam shook his head, eyes still glued to the screen. "I'll see if I can find a lead for him to come home to." He said, "You go, it'll take you two hours to get there."

Xxx

Dean made it in an hour and twenty minutes. He pulled Baby into the short stay lot and jumped out, searching the crowds for a flash of beige. There. Dean elbowed his way through and there stood Cas, looking irritable, his hair stuck up messily from the long plane ride, but his face split into a tired smile when he saw Dean heading his way. Dean laughed and reached out to clap the angel on the shoulder, then pulled him in for a quick hug. It had been a very long week.

"How was it?" he asked, taking the handle of Cas' suitcase; full of clothes he didn't need and a bunch of nonsensical papers and a laptop that didn't work, at the Winchesters' insistence that he would attract less attention if it looked like he was on a business trip.

"Eventful." Cas sighed, allowing Dean to roll the case behind them as he led them out of the airport. "I'm glad to be back."

"It's good to have you here, buddy." Dean said. Unsure why exactly he was bothering to drag the case along, except that leaving it unattended in an airport would only cause a panic and attention that they really didn't need. He threw the thing unceremoniously into the back seat and got in, using some of his excess energy to drum on the wheel while Cas gingerly lowered himself into the leather and sighed.

"How was the flight?"

"Please don't call it that." Cas said. "It's an insult to flying."

Dean chuckled, turning the key in the ignition. "Not a fan?"

"Decidedly not."

Dean pulled out of the lot and got back onto the main road headed home. He wasn't speeding. The roads were busy at this time of day and it's not like he was in a rush. He glanced over at Cas.

"That bad, huh? I get it, man. I hate those sardine cans too."

Cas sighed and shook his head. "No, it was fine. Just… loud. And time consuming."

"Fair enough." Dean said. "So, did you get the fruit?"

Cas pulled out what looked like a wad of toilet roll from the inside pocket of his trenchcoat. Dean let out a whoop and Cas smiled.

"Nice. Two of the four. We're halfway there as Bon Jovi says."

"That's actually a very common saying, Dean. Bon Jovi didn't coin the term."

Dean rolled his eyes. Then eyed the roll of tissue. "Why'd you mummify it?" He asked.

"The man next to me kept elbowing me," Cas grimaced, "I thought it best to cushion it. I had to ask the hostess for extra napkins."

Dean snorted at the image of a very confused hostess watching a deadpan Cas stuffing wads of napkins into his pocket.

"Why didn't you just switch pockets?"

"You're not allowed fruit on planes." Cas said seriously.

Dean smirked, "Right. Like we didn't pay for your ticket with a stolen credit card?"

Cas glared at him.

"I don't want to have to go back there." He huffed, "I've spent the past fortnight tracking the tree down, breaking the warding so I could actually get near the thing, researching rituals for the proper way to pluck a fruit without it losing its potency and smuggling it out of the country; all the while avoiding the other angels in the area, probably all that remain of the guard that was stationed there; forgive me for not wanting all that work to get confiscated."

"Angel guards? For a tree?"

"It's a place of holy significance, Dean." Cas said as though that should have been obvious. "Many places like that are – or were – protected. The warding was recent though, probably left before the last of the guards abandoned their post after the Fall. Angels were never meant to be barred from such things." He sounded sad as he said it.

"You did good, Cas." Dean said, "we're halfway to getting Mom and Jack back so I'd say we're doing pretty well."

"Halfway?" Cas frowned.

"We got the blood." Dean explained. "It's been a pretty crazy week, man." Then he launched into the story of chicanery and insanity that had been that last case. He grew more animated as he talked. Sometimes taking both hands off the wheel to gesture dramatically. He felt himself cheering up, despite the weirdness he was spouting. It was good to talk about this, it was good just to talk to Cas about something that wasn't going to end in a worry-fuelled yelling match. They hadn't really talked since Donatello. Dean had been too angry and Cas had seized on the excuse of getting the fruit to allow them both time to cool off.

"So, they were all double crossing each other?" Cas asked as Dean finished with a flourish. He sounded as dumbfounded as Dean had been. It had just been too sitcom, too bad old movie, too bizarre to be real.

"Yeah." Dean said. "I mean, they were all assholes so I get it but still. You'd think going back on your word would go against the mob boss' code at least."

"Mob bosses have codes?"

"Apparently not."

"Well," Cas said, turning his head back to the road ahead, "at least your week wasn't boring."

"Oh please, I'd kill for a boring week. In fact, isn't that part of the plan?"

"That's not funny, Dean."

"Shut up, yes it is."

Cas just rolled his eyes.

"So we're one step closer to completing the spell-"

"-which means we're one step closer to another showdown with Lucifer." Dean finished, shifting uncomfortably in the driver's seat. He knew that there was a reason Sam had chosen the Seal as their next point of focus, and it wasn't because they had a better chance at finding it first. Dean hadn't pushed, he wasn't exactly hyped up about going after the Devil either, even powered down. "And we'll go after him together, Cas."

"He has to be stopped, Dean! Before he regains his power."

"I don't disagree." Dean said, throwing up his hands for a second before resting them back on the wheel, turning right at the next junction. "But we're gonna need a proper plan. You can't go running off on your own on this one, please." His voice came out less firm than he would have liked it. "Last two times you've been around him haven't exactly gone well for you."

Cas grumbled but didn't argue the point.

"I just don't want us to end up in a position where we have to kill him before we can get his grace." Dean reasoned. "He's the only chance we've got."

Cas sighed, long and heavy. "Yes, I suppose he is." He fell quiet then, and when Dean glanced over, the angel's eyes were far away.

"What's up?"

"Nothing, I just… It's easy to forget sometimes that I used to live by the hierarchy of Heaven. God, then the archangels and their chosen, then the Grigori before they rebelled, then the leaders of the garrisons, their lieutenants, the seraphim, then the soldiers and the Rit Zein and finally the cherubs. It was order and it made everything so simple. I knew who I was and what I had to do. I just… I miss being a part of that sometimes. I had no concerns beyond my next mission and protecting the garrison. I miss that clarity."

"Nostalgia's a bitch, huh?"

Cas snorted softly in agreement. "I might not have been a seraph then but I had a good position in Anna's garrison and I had no room for doubt. I knew my place and I was content with that and I never expected anything to change. It was that way for millennia."

"And then you met me."

Cas glanced over at him with a warm look. "And then I met you." He repeated. "I wouldn't go back, Dean. I rebelled because it was the right thing to do; there was corruption and hunger for power in creatures that should be beyond such things; I wanted to stop that, I just never thought that I could shatter it so completely. Now there is one remaining archangel and he stands against the rest. The hosts of Heaven have been largely wiped out and those remaining have lost their wings and have separated themselves into their own factions, each with their own goals and leaders. Who knows if the garrisons mean anything anymore? The order that I fought to protect my whole life has dissolved into chaos largely because of my actions." Cas paused, a strange, pained expression on his face, "I don't regret it, not entirely. I just wish I had been able to find a better way."

"Hey," Dean said sternly, "you did what you could with what you knew, and it's not your fault their whole system was rigged to collapse. If they hadn't been torture-happy assholes then you'd have had no reason to go and bring it all down, right?"

"I suppose." Cas said, clearly unconvinced.

Dean knew that nothing he could say would move Cas when he was stuck in a guilt trip like this, so he settled for changing the subject.

"So what does that thing do exactly?" He asked, gesturing at the padded fruit in Cas' hand.

Cas considered the pile of napkins in his palm, tilting his head as he did so.

"It grants life." Cas said simply, "cell regeneration, healing, a longer lifespan; any number of things."

"Handy." Dean said approvingly, thinking how useful something like that would be on the battlefield.

Cas' eyes flashed to him, stern as though he knew what Dean was thinking. "It is not to be used outside of the spell," he said, "this fruit is dangerous, Dean, its usefulness may depend on the quantity ingested and how it's prepared. Who knows what an excess could do? Eternal life, reanimating the dead... power like that has to come from somewhere. What if it takes life in order to create it? To heal a wound, what if it takes a memory, or time from the end of your lifespan? It isn't something to use lightly, or even at all." He lowered his hand slowly, holding the fruit in his lap, his expression tense and worried. "I would like to study it before we use it in the spell, I would much rather have some idea of the consequences before we invoke them."

"I dunno, man," Dean hedged, "spells can be pretty finicky, one pinch of salt less and you end up with buttercream rather than a seance. Can you do your tests and stuff without it losing its power?"

"I'm not sure," Cas said, pulling out another bunch of napkins from his other inside pocket, his face splitting into an almost mischievous grin, "which is why I brought a spare."

Dean stared at the second lump of wadded tissue in Cas' palm for a few seconds longer than he should have, considering he was driving, then he threw his head back with a roar of laughter. He had to actually pull over he was so overcome. He laughed for a solid four minutes until he was gasping, his eyes streaming. Cas had been bewildered at his outburst, but when it became clear that Dean was not going to stop anytime soon, he heard the angel begin to laugh too, though his mirth seemed to stem more from Dean's reaction than anything else. Dean wasn't even sure why he found the thing so funny. It was a perfectly practical move, bringing one fruit for experiments and the other to actually use, but something about the dramatic reveal, the way that Cas had pulled fruit from his pockets like an amateur magician just struck something in him that he found indescribably hilarious.

"Woo," he said eventually, sitting back with a final, stuttering chuckle, wiping his eyes with a corner of his plaid, "that was funny." His stomach ached from the laughing fit, but it was a good kind of ache.

"Apparently." Cas deadpanned, eyes twinkling.

"Don't." Dean said, holding up a warning finger, "you'll set me off again." He exhaled long and slow, "man, I haven't laughed that hard in a long time."

"I'm glad I still have the capability." Cas said, still looking slightly bewildered, "and at least this time it didn't involve a prostitute."

Dean snorted and glanced at Cas out of the corner of his eye, their gaze swapped memories of a night at a 'den of iniquity', wide, terrified eyes and getting tossed out by security. Looking back, he knew he'd been a dick to tease Cas so mercilessly but really, the look on his face had been priceless.

"We've come a long way since then, huh?"

"Yes, we have."

They shared a look, full, as their looks so often were, of memories and lingering regret.

"Nostalgia's a bitch." Dean repeated, then he cleared his throat and changed the subject, "So, what are you gonna do to this thing?" He asked, plucking the wad of napkins out of Cas' hand and inspecting it; it was warm but not the expected, gross kind of warm of a mushy fruit being sandwiched under a guy's armpit for fourteen hours. Through a gap in the paper, Dean spotted a faint lilac glow. He switched hands to re-start Baby's engine and felt a strange pulse go through his palm. He tossed the fruit back to Cas who stored it, and the other, back inside his trenchcoat. Spinning the wheel to ease Baby back out onto the road, Dean glanced over at the angel who looked far more relaxed than he had done a few minutes ago.

"I'm not really sure yet." Cas admitted, "I'm hoping that Sam will be able to help. Honestly, I don't know much more about it than you do. Angels aren't scientists, we aren't particularly curious creatures. A group were sent to guard the tree and they did their duty, but they didn't think to study it so we never learned more about the properties this fruit could possess. I really wouldn't know where to start."

"Yeah, Sammy's the one you need for that stuff," Dean said, "the big nerd."

Cas scoffed and then sighed, "Even if it turns out that using this fruit is a bad idea, we're going to do it anyway, aren't we?"

"Probably." Dean said, shrugging, "we've gotta get our family back."

"Even if it costs us our lives?"

"It won't come to that."

"It might."

"It's what we've gotta do, Cas." Dean said, "if nothing else, we need Jack, right? Assuming other Michael won't be a problem, Jack's the only thing that even made Asmodeus hesitate and we both know that we can't win against Lucifer when he's powered up. Jack's the only one who's got a chance."

Cas frowned. "That's a lot of pressure to put on a child."

"Yeah, well... it's a hard life."

Cas pressed his lips together and said nothing. Dean let the silence sit for a few minutes, then he reached over and switched on the radio, he flicked through the stations half-heartedly before admitting defeat and turning it back off again with a sigh.

"Cas," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Do you think there's a way to take out all monsters? Like all the evil in the world just... poof?"

Dean saw Cas turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye. "A noble pursuit. Why do you ask?"

"Just something Sam said. He said that we keep just reacting to the trouble in front of us but never actually make a difference." That almost off-hand comment had been bugging Dean a lot lately. He wasn't really sure what he thought about the idea of a monster-free world.

"He said that?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Cas was quiet for a moment, considering.

"Jack showed me a world like that." He said eventually. "I have to believe that he can help bring it about."

"Right."

"Isn't that what we've been fighting for since the beginning? A world without all the bad?"

Dean gnawed at his lip. Cas was right, a world without bad had been his goal, it was why he stuck with hunting, because he was doing good, because he was helping people, if there was a way to end all the cases, get rid of all the ghosts and ghouls and wendigos and vampires and demons, if there was a way to save all the people that would otherwise become corpses because of some big, bad, scary thing, shouldn't he be jumping at the chance? Why did the thought turn his insides to razor wire?

Because what would become of you in a world like that?

He swallowed hard, taking the turn onto the dirt road that led to the bunker and slowing Baby to a crawl.

"Depends on how you define 'bad', I guess. The world doesn't split into human and monsters anymore. You can't tell me that someone like Garth should get wiped off the planet. You can't tell me that someone like Ketch deserves to stay."

"Dean, no one's asking you to choose." Cas said slowly.

"I know, I'm just saying. No one can choose, hell, even Chuck's biased. Ideas like that are usually too good to be true. I don't trust in the idea of a perfect world."

"I suppose it would depend on what we find." Cas sounded confused. "Is this something that Sam is actively pursuing?"

Dean let out a huff of breath, "not exactly."

"Well maybe we should revisit the idea when we get Jack back." Cas reasoned. "I'm not saying it wouldn't be difficult but the end result... Dean, it was beautiful. I would love for you to see it." He trailed off, eyes distant, a soft smile on his face.

"Sounds good." Dean said, yanking on the handbrake and switching off the ignition, pocketing the keys. It would be good, it was the right thing. It was what every hunter dreamed of, to rid the world of all things creepy, bitey and monster-y. He wasn't sure why this was getting to him so much. What did it say about him that his every pore was objecting so strongly that he felt sick? He was just tired probably. It had been a very long and very strange week and he was still reeling from the unnecessity of half of what had happened.

He opened the door and swung his legs out, standing to stretch until his back cracked. Opposite him, Cas got out too and waited patiently for Dean to round the bumper of the impala before leading the way to the bunker door.

Xxx

"Cas!" Sam greeted cheerfully, standing up from the table when they walked in. "Good to have you home."

"Thanks, Sam." Cas said, embracing the younger Winchester when he got to the bottom of the stairs. Dean smiled at the two of them, leaning on the bannister. It didn't take them long to start in on an in-depth discussion of the experiments to be done on the spare fruit. Dean rolled his eyes affectionately and edged around them, leaving them to their nerd talk. He could use a few quiet hours to sort his head out.

Good luck with that.

Dean sighed as he grabbed his laptop and started it up. He hated when he was like this. He hated when Alastair's voice whispered to him from the shadows of his mind, echoing his own doubts in searing clarity. He should never have brought up the whole perfect world thing to Cas, it had been a passing remark on Sam's part, the desperate wish of a tired man. It didn't mean that there was a way, it wasn't actually possible.

What if it is? Castiel certainly thinks so.

Cas was wrong. A utopian planet? Please. Even without monsters, humans made plenty of bad on their own. They screwed up the environment, politics, charity without even trying. There'd never be true peace, people just weren't built for it.

People like you maybe.

Dean rubbed a hand through his hair as he typed a command into Google. Maybe that was it, maybe his objection was born of pure selfishness. A perfect world wouldn't need him. Without monsters, who would need protection? Who would need saving if there was never anything wrong? He didn't have anything to offer a place like that. He knew how to kill, he knew how to torture, he knew more about lore and afterlives and legends than he really wanted to but none of that would mean anything in a place like the one Cas was talking about. Without hunting Dean was nothing.

Nothing but a broken man with a mind full of nightmares.

What would the others do? He wondered. Sammy might go back to law school or, if no one needed lawyers, maybe he'd teach. Dean could picture that suddenly, so vividly it was almost a vision, a hallucination. Sam in a sweater-vest, standing at the front of a class of twenty enraptured eight-year-olds, patiently answering questions, stoking their curiosity, practically oozing enthusiasm for the subject he was teaching.

Mary would find someplace quiet to settle down, somewhere Sam could easily visit, but not with too many people around. He saw it then, Mary reclining on a deck chair at the edge of a lake, a crate of beer beside her, fishing. She'd probably work in a garage, fixing antique cars, attentive and careful to each one that came through her shop. She looked so content as she sipped her beer, oil on her overalls, a warmth in her eyes that had been absent since she came back from the dead.

And Cas? He'd probably travel the world he'd fought so hard to save, inspect every detail in wonder. Another scene flashed before him, Cas stood in a forest in the middle of a storm, without his trenchcoat. The air crackled with electricity and Cas tipped his head back and laughed with pure joy, a laugh that Dean wasn't sure he'd ever heard before, free and happy and beautiful. Not a trace of the guilt or pain that the Cas he knew carried around with him. Cas tipped his head back and closed his eyes, the rain hitting his skin, his shirt clinging to his body in the downpour. Cas inhaled deeply and opened his eyes, which flashed with angelic power and a bolt of lightning struck the ground feet from them. Dean flinched but Cas just smiled wider, lost in the power and the moment, water dripping down his neck and through his hair. Happier than Dean had ever seen him, wilder than Dean had ever thought him to be.

The vision faded and Dean was hit by a sudden, painful pulse of longing. They should be able to have those lives, all of them. They all deserved that happiness. So why wouldn't he fight for it?

Because for them to be happy, they'd need to leave. Alastair crooned. And you just can't let that happen, can you?

Dean shook himself, breathing hard. What was wrong with him? His brain was a mess. What had happened to laughing over Cas holding a napkin-wrapped fruit in each hand? Instead he chose to drag down the mood of having Cas back by working himself up over Sam's daydream. It was stupid, a thing that he didn't have to worry about. They had more immediate problems to focus on. They still had to save Mary and Jack, which meant two ingredients left. Dean threw himself into searching for the Seal, trying to blot out those visions, delusions, whatever, trying to focus. He managed maybe half an hour or so of actual research, scanning through documents and lore, probably nothing that Sam hadn't already discounted but his brain was too fried to concentrate. With a frustrated sigh he closed the laptop again and stood to place it back on his desk.

Worthless. Alastair hissed at him, You can't even get one decent lead. Tell me, Dean, what use are you? Sam and Castiel are the ones trying to get the ingredients for the spell. Do you care so little about your own mother?

He just needed to sleep, he told himself. The three-and-a-half-hour round trip to get Cas following on from one of the most bizarre cases they'd ever worked and followed by a conversation that had jerked him from one extreme to the other had clearly overtaxed his mind. Dean kicked off his boots, socks, jeans and shirt and grabbed a pair of soft, grey sweatpants and an over-large t-shirt to sleep in. Maybe if he actually got into the bed instead of just passing out on top of it he might even manage to keep it dreamless. Even if he didn't, at least it would shut Alastair up. If he could just give his mind a bit of a reboot.

You do know that I'm dead, don't you, Dean? Everything I say comes directly from you, and the one thing you've never been able to run from is yourself. The oily voice had taken on an even more irritating sing-song quality that made Dean want to tear his hair out.

Instead of getting into the bed, he knelt next to the nightstand and opened it, pulling out a bottle. Empty. Great. He set it on the nightstand.

That wouldn't work anyway. Alastair told him, like he didn't already know. There isn't enough alcohol in the world to separate me from you.

"You're dead." Dean hissed, half trying to convince himself.

And yet you know you'll never be rid of me. I'm alive as long as you're alive. I'd say I won in the end, wouldn't you?

"You're not real."

What does that say about you, Dean? You're too weak to move on, too broken to try. You like the world the way it is so that you can pretend that you have a place in it. Newsflash, you don't.

Dean pressed his knuckles into his eyes. The voice was persistent tonight, normally it just made a snide comment or two and left him alone. He could live with that. This would end, he just had to get through it.

Getting through things isn't exactly your strong suit, Dean. You have a tendency to break, remember?

He did. He would never forget; the pain, the blood, the defeat, the shame, it was like a brand that marred his very soul.

I wonder how long it'll take this time.

"Shut up."

You just can't let go, can you? You're so desperate to keep them around that you can't see you're choking them.

"I said SHUT UP!" Dean yelled, snatching up the bottle and hurling it at the wall where it smashed, scattering glass.

"Dammit."

He crossed the room and grabbed a towel from the bathroom door before kneeling next to the mess, gathering together the largest shards and picking the smaller pieces out of the carpet.

Everything around you breaks eventually.

Dean's ran a hand through his hair and tightened his fist, yanking at the short strands. It hurt, good. Pain helped him focus. He took a steadying breath and closed his eyes as his hand clenched in his hair. Alastair was right. He was weak. He was the weakest of all of them. Sam didn't talk to the voices in his head, Cas didn't throw bottles around, Mary didn't clutch at her hair like it was the only thing keeping her sane.

You'll break them too, Dean, you know you will. It's already begun. Mary's trapped in that world because you wouldn't let her leave like she wanted to, Sam's losing his faith and you can't come through for him and do you really think that Castiel would have had to have compromised himself if you had just been able to get the prophet to talk. I taught you how, Dean. Have you forgotten?

"Dean?"

Sam's voice was like a jolt of adrenaline to his heart, he opened his eyes like he'd just been blinking, carded his hand through his hair as though he'd just been midway through the gesture when Sam walked in. He turned to look up at his brother with an easy smile.

"Hey Sam, what's up?"

"What happened? Are you alright?"

"Nothin'," Dean said, as nonchalantly as he could manage, "I just dropped a bottle."

"I heard yelling." Sam's eyes cast around the room as though looking for more damage.

Dean did his best to look offended, "Yelling? Sammy, that was the finest rendition of AC/DC, it's not my fault you don't appreciate my voice."

Sam scoffed, "Right."

He knows you're lying.

"Are you drunk? You don't sound drunk."

"No, Sam, it was already empty."

"Dean, I've been listening to you singing since I developed ears, I know what it sounds like."

You should lie better.

"Whatever, man. There's no mystery here."

"Don't do this, Dean. We're so close to getting them back, to getting our family back. Please. You can't fall apart again."

"Who's falling apart?"

He is.

Dean hesitated at that.

Look at him, he's worried about you.

Dean's eyes flicked to Sam's and he saw the concern, the fear. Sam didn't need this, not after everything he'd been going through lately. Losing Mary and Jack had hit him harder than he'd let on, harder than he'd been able to let on because he'd been too busy trying to pull Dean back from his own edge. Sam was the one who was struggling here. Dean had let his brother become his crutch and he was straining under the weight. Sam shouldn't be worrying about him, it was meant to be the other way around.

Selfish.

"I need you with me on this." Sam said, his face open and vulnerable, the hope that used to shine from his every pore had dimmed to dull, resolute determination, like he wasn't certain that they'd win, only that he had to try. He knew that expression from the mirror, it wasn't an expression that should be on his brother's face. When had that happened?

You're destroying him.

"I'm with you, Sam." Dean said hoarsely, trying to make his tone as sarcastic as possible, as though his worry was misplaced, not needed. "You know you can't get rid of me."

No matter how much he wants to.

"I thought you were getting better." The defeat was evident in Sam's voice and Dean was overcome by guilt.

Look at what you're doing to him. Alastair whispered gleefully, Look how you keep disappointing him. You can't do this one thing right, can you? Not even to get your mother back, not even to make your brother happy.

"Dean-"

He's not even surprised. He expected you to be useless.

And then Sam was kneeling in front of him, eyes wide and worried.

"Dean, let go."

You have to let him go, Dean. You have to let them all go or you're going to break them too.

"The glass, Dean, let it go."

Sam's eyes were on the hand at his side. Dean looked down, confused. His fist had tightened around a shard like the hilt of a knife, blood leaked between his fingers. He stared at it and slowly opened his hand, letting the bloodied glass fall.

"What the hell was that?" Sam asked, snatching his hand to inspect the cut.

Dean allowed his brother to pull him to his feet and guide him over to the bathroom sink. His head felt like it was stuffed with cloth, his thoughts were sluggish, his hand didn't even hurt. It was like that with glass; you didn't notice it was killing you until you were already dead.

Now that sounds familiar.

Sam washed the blood from his hand, the cut wasn't too bad. It wasn't even that deep so instead of stitches, Sam just wrapped it in a bandage from the first aid kit. As Sam tightened the knot, Dean shook himself, forcing away the fog that was clouding his mind.

"It's just been a long, crazy week." Dean said, pulling his hand out of Sam's. "And it was a long drive to the airport. I'm just tired, Sam, that's all."

"Yeah, I'm not buying that."

"Well that's all it is."

"Dean, you just shred your hand open and you didn't even notice."

"Like I said, tired."

Sam pressed a hand to his own forehead and let out a long-suffering sigh. Dean hated that he was doing this to him. He knew that being cagey was only making things worse.

Of course, because he'd be less worried if he knew you were hearing voices.

Dean made to go back to cleaning up the glass but Sam stopped him, pushing him over to the bed instead.

"No, if you're so tired you can go to sleep. I've got this."

"Sam, I'm perfectly capable of cleaning up a broken bottle."

"Then you can vacuum the rest of it in the morning." Sam said firmly, loading glass onto the towel. Dean sat on the bed, sulking, holding his bandaged hand in his lap.

"You don't need to baby me, Sam. It's just been a weird day."

"Right. Going to pick Cas up from the airport was crazy."

Dean rolled his eyes at the mocking tone.

After a few moments of silence except for the small plinks of glass hitting glass on the towel, Sam sighed.

"We've had a good week, Dean. Sure, it was a bit... bizarre, but it's not like it was that bad. We got the blood for the spell and managed to return a priceless relic to where it belongs, we've done worse things. Plus, Cas is back with the fruit so whatever this is-" Sam gestured to where Dean sat, "I don't know where it's coming from."

Dean said nothing. He wasn't being rational, he knew. He just couldn't get those images out of his head; Sam as a teacher, Mary fishing, Cas laughing in a storm. Instead of that being true, Mary was stuck in Apocalypse World and Sam and Cas were both here, miserable, held back by the chains he put on them, by the bond he insisted was more important than anything, by him. Sam just wanted to get Mary back, Cas just wanted to get Jack and Dean had been dragging his feet every step of the way.

"I hate when you get like this." Sam muttered, "I hate it when you push me away."

"Get out of my space and I won't have to."

Anger flashed across Sam's face.

"Fine." He snapped, gathering the glass-filled towel into a bundle and standing. "You wanna be alone? That's just fine. Forgive me for caring about you."

Oh, poor Sam. Doesn't he know that that's the one thing you can never forgive him for?

Dean hated himself as he watched Sam leave, pointedly taking the towel with him rather than dumping it in the trash can by the door. He knew that Sam was gonna go straight to Cas, tell him all about how Dean was losing it. Which gave him maybe an hour before Cas came to have his own talk.

Dean switched off the light and climbed into bed, lying on his back, staring at the stationary ceiling fan above him. He knew what he was doing to them, making them worry because he couldn't keep his own damn crap together. He was supposed to be stronger than this, wasn't he? But somehow he always ended up staring at the ceiling, Alastair whispering to him in the dark. Dean repressed a shudder.

What was wrong with him? Specifically, what had brought Alastair back in HD quality streaming directly into his brain? Sam was right, they were close to having everything. They had a plan, they had a spell, they had half the ingredients, they had Cas. By rights, Dean should be in the library, pulling an all-nighter to find a lead on the Seal, he should be just as gung-ho at the prospect of getting his mom back as Sam was. Instead, he was fixating on a passing remark about a perfect world that he knew he wouldn't belong in. He thought he'd stopped thinking about the future like that. He'd accepted his fate of a bloody end long ago; any hope Dean had had of a life outside of hunting had died when he was six years old and John had begun training him in earnest. No longer just a glorified babysitter while John learned the ins and outs of monster killing. The Dean Winchester of today hadn't been born, he'd been forged.

What part did I play in that, Dean? Alastair purred, Was I the fire or the hammer? I must say, I like both analogies.

"I thought you were all about breaking things, not making them." Dean muttered, fully aware that he was engaging with a delusion but too damn drained to care.

No, that's you. I only broke you so that I could make something new from the pieces. You're mine, Dean. You'll always be mine. No matter how your story ends, your soul will always come back to me.

"No." His voice was half a whimper and he was ashamed of himself for it.

Yes. Alastair hissed, you always were my favourite toy and I don't let go of what's mine, I learned that from you. Billie did say she'd throw you into the Empty. I'll be waiting, Dean.

A soft knock on the door made Dean jump. He didn't answer, he knew it was Cas. He rolled onto his side, facing away from the door, pulling the covers up, almost over his head to hide the shaking. That was an old idea, one that hadn't truly haunted him in years, the idea that after everything, when he was finally dead for keeps he'd just end up right back in Alastair's hands.

The door opened a crack, spilling a sliver of light into the darkened room.

"Dean?"

Dean stayed silent, forcing his breathing into an even rhythm. He heard Cas sigh.

"I know you're awake."

Damn angel senses.

"Sam told me what happened."

Of course he did.

"I told him about our conversation in the impala, how you seemed... anxious at the idea he posed. I'm sorry if I broke some kind of code."

Dean rolled his closed eyes. Cas sighed again and took two steps forward.

"He's worried about you."

Yeah, that was kind of the problem.

"He's angry too." Cas informed him, "It's hard to be understanding when you don't understand."

"Go away, Cas."

"As you wish." The angel seemed to retreat, then paused. "Dean, may I? Your hand."

"It's fine."

"Please?"

Dean grunted and shrugged, which was difficult to when lying on one of your shoulders. It made no difference to him if his hand had a gash in it or not. Dean heard Cas approach and squeezed his eyes tighter. Holding in the flinch that he knew would come when Cas reached for his forehead. Cas seemed to sense his tension because he hesitated, and the touch he was waiting for never came.

Dean cracked his eyes open to see the shadow of the angel hovering over him, tall, taller than it should be given the angle of the light, and two skeletal wings thrown into relief around him. Dean scrambled to turn over, an unexpected panic in his veins. Cas recoiled, withdrawing his hand, clearly startled at Dean's sudden movement. Dean's eyes raked the place where those wings should be. Where they had been in the shadow, the wings that haunted his sleep, stained as ashes on the earth by a cabin in the middle of nowhere. The wings that had changed so much since the ones he had seen in that barn, magnificent, powerful, divine. Dean had had plenty of time to mull those thoughts over when Cas had been dead, plenty of time to feel the guilt of causing that decline, each feather lost, each step further into his fall was on Dean. It was a wonder he stayed.

Maybe he stays because his wings are clipped Alastair snarked.

Dean shook himself. Cas still stood there, arm half reaching towards him, as though unsure how to proceed. The wings weren't there, of course, not that he could see anyway, not even their shadows stretched behind him. Another hallucination. He hoped they weren't going to become a regular thing.

"What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head, "Nothin'," he said, "nothin', I just... I opened my eyes at the wrong time and saw your shadow. Hunter's instincts." He ended with an unconvincing laugh.

Cas' eyes narrowed in that squint he got when he was concerned. "Do you still want me to..." he gestured.

Dean pulled his bandaged hand from under the covers and thrust it at the angel, grateful for the distraction. "Mojo me."

Cas' lips twitched into a fleeting smile and took Dean's hand, carefully picking at the knot of the bandage with a focused expression.

Dean shifted, slightly uncomfortable. He'd been expecting a touch.

"Do you have to do that?" He asked.

"No," the angel replied calmly. "I can stop if you like."

Dean just huffed. He didn't really mind, it was just weird.

Cas pulled the bandage away and Dean winced where it tugged at the dried blood, starting to scab.

Cas looked at the wound the way a doctor might, face impassive. Then he sighed.

"I don't like seeing you in pain."

"It doesn't hurt much." Dean said truthfully.

Cas covered Dean's palm with his own and Dean felt a gentle trickle of warm power, like static. He remembered the sight of Cas in the rain, so joyful to be at one with the nature he loved and he pulled his hand back, sliding it out from between Cas' and glancing at the now unblemished skin.

Cas let it go easily, though his eyes met Dean's.

"That's not what I meant."

Dean scoffed.

"I would like to watch over you tonight." Cas said, "If that's alright with you."

Dean hesitated for a split second, but the words were already out of his mouth, an automatic response.

"No, dude, that's creepy."

"Very well." Cas turned and headed back for the door. "If you need anything, pray to me."

'Pray to me.' It was strangely intimate phrasing, Dean thought, not 'call me' or 'let me know' or even 'I'm here for you', but 'pray to me'. Dean wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Maybe you should take him up on his offer, Alastair suggested slyly. Pray to him, go on. Tell him how you feel. Tell him how pathetic you are, tell him how you're so terrified of the future that you're willing to do almost anything to make sure that you don't have one.

"That's not true" Dean snapped.

Isn't it? Alastair's voice was slick. The way I see it, Dean, and therefore, the way you see it, is that you have a choice. You can fight for your happy ending or you can fight for theirs. You know as well as I do that those two things don't mix. Because your happy ending involves them while theirs don't involve you. You've seen it, you've felt it. You know it's true.

Dean cursed Alastair. He cursed him right up until the second unconsciousness claimed him.

Sooo... What do you think? I swear, at least some of it was phrased so much better the first time I wrote it, I just can't remember how and it's been really annoying.

All opinions and feedback welcome, I love hearing from you guys.

Love Tibbins xx