And here's the final chapter of this story! Thanks for everyone who read and reviewed! There will be more of this verse coming in the future.

Until then, I'm hoping to get a one shot up next week, but it might take me a little bit to get another multi-chap story ready for posting.

Chapter Four

It was after midnight when Dean was startled out of his dozing state by a whimper, and a thrashing sound. He sat up straight in his chair as the glow from the TV illuminated Cas' form on the bed, jerking around, making distressed noises.

"No," the angel whimpered. "No, please, I don't…I've paid my penance! Stop!" Dean was already on his feet as Cas let out a heart-rending cry. Sam was up now too, joining Dean at the angel's bedside.

"Cas, hey, buddy, wake up," Dean pleaded, reaching out to touch his shoulder, dodging the shuddering wing that nearly clocked him.

Sam flipped on the lamp and Dean fully saw Cas now, tangled in the sheets, tear tracks down his cheeks. He reached down to touch the back of Cas' neck, moving his hand down soothingly between his wings to carefully massage the tense muscles there. "Cas, you're safe. Wake up, it's just Sam and me here."

Eventually, the soothing ministrations seemed to have an effect because Cas opened his eyes blearily and darted his gaze between the brothers.

"Dean? Sam?" he whispered almost hesitantly.

Sam smiled and sat on the bed opposite, leaning over with his elbows against his knees. "We're here, Cas, you're safe."

Cas struggled up onto his elbow, but winced, and Dean reached out to grab his arm. "Easy. You're alright, you want to sit up?"

Cas nodded and Dean helped him against the headboard as Sam stood to get him a glass of water. Dean glanced down to see a small red patch on Cas' shirt and flattened his lips.

"You rip your stitches?" he asked.

Cas winced and looked down, peeling his shirt up to reveal blood seeping through one of the bandages on a particularly nasty wound on his side. "Yes."

"Let's take care of that then," Dean said simply and peeled off the bandage, cleaning the wound and putting another stitch in. Sam brought Cas the water and sat on the other bed again.

"You want to talk about it?" Sam asked him gently.

Cas sighed, focusing on the wall and pointedly not on Dean tending his wound. "What is there to talk about? Of course I dreamed of Samyaza again. It's been a while, but he is always there. He will always be there."

Dean tied off the stitch and taped a fresh pad of gauze over the wound before tugging Cas' shirt down. "I still dream of Hell, of Alastair. That kind of trauma, you don't just get over it, Cas, and it's only to be expected after what happened."

"I just…" Cas looked away a second before he sighed and continued. "I just wonder sometimes if I will ever be whole again."

"Cas, you're not broken," Sam said softly. "Trust me, I felt the same way after I got my soul back, I'm sure Dean felt the same way after he got back from Hell." Dean nodded in agreement. "But the fact is, even if we feel that way, we're not broken as long as we're together. We may need help to hold ourselves together sometimes, but we don't have to do it alone. That's why we have each other to lean on. That's what family's for."

"Damn right," Dean agreed whole-heartedly, sitting at the foot of Cas' bed. "Cas, you know it gets better. You've seen it. Crowley cut you up a little, but we'll gank his ass eventually. In a few days, you'll be able to fly again. You're not crippled, Cas. You weren't before, and you aren't now. You're a freaking warrior and Sam and I have never thought differently. You just have to realize that not all battles are fought with knives and guns."

Cas glanced down at his hands before he looked between Sam and Dean. "Yes, I know. I'm just…tired. I'm tired of feeling this way."

"I know," Dean said quietly, understanding completely how Cas felt. He had been there—on more than one occasion. But he had lived through it enough times to know that it did get better. As long as you trusted in your family to help pull you through.

"Come on, you haven't eaten, how about some soup?" Dean asked, standing up and already heading to the kitchenette.

"Okay," Cas said.

Once he had eaten, Dean helped him get comfortable again to sleep the few more hours they had before dawn. They could start off back to Bobby's now, but Dean knew the trip would be uncomfortable for Cas, and wanted to give him as much of a head start on healing as he could.

"How's your wing?" Sam asked, motioning to the one with the burned feather.

"It's…uncomfortable," Cas admitted. "My grace was damaged as well. I think the feather will probably have to come out."

Dean nodded, having feared that. "You wanna get it over with?"

Cas gave a distasteful look but nodded. "No, but it needs to be done."

Dean went to grab the med kit again, pulling out a pair of forceps to give him a better grip. This was definitely not the first time he'd had to pull one of Cas' feathers, but knowing from past experiences, Cas would feel less pain once the broken shaft was out.

"Sam," Dean nodded to his brother who was already waiting. He nodded reluctantly and bent to hold down Cas' wing so he wouldn't move.

"Ready?" Dean asked.

Cas grunted into a pillow and Dean took that as a yes. He placed the forceps around the shaft of the broken feather and yanked it swiftly and efficiently out.

Cas let out of sharp yell that was muffled by the pillow and his wing jerked involuntarily in Sam's grip. Dean set the busted feather on the side table and quickly grabbed some gauze and peroxide to clean the wing and stop the bleeding, making sure it wouldn't get infected.

Cas panted through it and when Dean had finished, he simply folded his wings across his back and lay with his eyes closed. He looked drawn and Dean felt horrible for having to add to his pain, but also knew that the feather could have gotten infected if left in for too long, and that would have just been worse.

He tucked the blanket around Cas and cleaned up the first aid stuff. He tucked the ruined feather into the box too, not wanting to leave it in the motel in case any demons happened by.

He let Cas sleep for a few more hours as he and Sam checked into the news reports to see if any more demon activity had come up. Thankfully, though, it seemed to have stalled—for now at least. But if they could have a couple weeks for Cas to recover that was something to be thankful for.

As dawn started to show, Dean roused Cas and they packed up the Impala. Cas grudgingly put his wings onto the ethereal plane with a little wince and Dean hated that he had to do this now but it was a long drive and they would just be cramped in the backseat.

"Don't worry, you'll be able to relax back at Bobby's. We'll drive straight through if we can make it," Dean assured him.

Cas nodded and they went out to the Impala as Dean checked out, then they were on their way back to Sioux Falls.

Castiel slept most of the way back to Bobby's house, lying in the backseat. It wasn't a comfortable journey. He hated having to keep his wings on the ethereal plane for long periods of time anymore but when they were injured it seemed to make them hurt worse. However, as he rested, his grace worked on repairing itself and started healing his wounds if not sluggishly.

Unfortunately, he still jolted awake on occasion from nightmares. Seeing Samyaza holding a torch, ready to light his wings on fire, his feathers dripping with oil. Sometimes Crowley was there too. Sometimes Zachariah joined them. It seemed that whenever he closed his eyes that was all he could see.

Once he woke to see that Dean had pulled over to the side of the road, and he and Sam were hanging over the backseat, attempting to wake him, and pull him from his nightmare.

After that, he stayed awake as much as possible, asking Dean to stop to get him a coffee. Dean gave him a pinched look but obliged.

But they did get back to Bobby's eventually, and the older hunter had a warm stew ready for them, his gruff expression not doing much to hide the fact that he was relieved to see them back alive and mostly well.

Castiel, who hadn't eaten much on their trip back, found his appetite return finally as he ate the stew. The warmth that settled into his belly eased some of the tension and anxiety in him. Though maybe being home had some effect on that too.

After dinner Dean checked his wounds and applied new bandages, Cas finally pulled his wings back from the ethereal plane so he could check on the spot where he'd had to pull the feather. It still hurt, but not any more than it should.

"It's still looking okay," Dean assured him, one hand absently running through his feathers around the spot, trying to smooth out the ones that were still misplaced from vigorous washing they'd had to give him. He'd have to groom those out, probably with the Winchesters' help, but he was too tired right now.

Dean's thoughtful grunt caused him to look over his shoulder. "Cas, your feathers look a little…dry?"

Castiel pulled one of his wings around for his own inspection, running his fingers through them. The barbs held for the most part, but some were jagged, and his feathers did have an overall dry feeling and were looking a little worn. Now that he had them on the corporeal plane, he could tell they itched just slightly too.

"It's likely because the soap washed all the good oil out as well," he said. "At least we know it worked. I will have to do an extensive grooming."

"Well, why don't you get some rest and we'll get on that tomorrow," Dean suggested. "You look exhausted, man."

Castiel hung his head, looking at his hands, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't…I don't want to sleep."

Dean pressed his lips together in a thin, knowing line. "I know. Look, if you can't sleep, then stay up and read or something. Just promise me." He grabbed Castiel's shoulder and squeezed until the angel looked up and met his eyes. "Promise me that you're not going to run yourself into the ground."

Castiel nodded firmly. That was certainly not his intention. He didn't want to get there again. He just needed a few days to readjust to remind himself that he was home and safe. "I promise. Don't worry, I know better than to not take care of myself. I don't want to do that again."

Dean quirked a small smile. "Atta boy." He stood and patted Cas on the knee. "Let me or Sam know if you need anything."

Castiel nodded and watched Dean leave, not wanting to admit how being alone made his stomach twist just a little. But he would be fine if he wasn't sleeping, so he grabbed a book from his side table, one of the fantasies Sam had recommended him, and lost himself for a few hours in long drives across America and old forgotten gods.

Eventually, though, his exhaustion won out and he slipped off into sleep.

Of course it wasn't long before the nightmares found him, and this one was particularly bad. In his dream, he staggered across Bobby's yard, just trying to get toward his door. He could feel agony emitting from his wings and in his periphery he could see them, stretching skeletal and horrifying out to either side. Ash from burned feathers fell to the ground, leaving a trail in his wake, and it was everything he could do to keep moving.

When he finally reached the door, he collapsed, unable to go on. Thankfully he heard footsteps and soon the door opened.

"Help," he pleaded, reaching a hand to Sam and Dean who were standing there, staring down at him.

"Why? You're obviously beyond help," Dean said, staring down at him coldly. "Look at you. I've never seen anything more pitiful."

"You're no use to us anymore like that," Sam added dismissively.

"Please, we're family," Castiel whispered.

Sam and Dean suddenly morphed into Samyaza and Zachariah, staring down at his with pure disgust.

"This is what happens when you choose humans over your true family, Castiel," Zachariah said smugly.

"I told you they would leave you, didn't I?" Samyaza asked. "You knew it would happen eventually."

"No," Castiel cried, struggling to his feet again, trying to hide his ruined wings, but they crumbled into dust and he fell to his knees, exactly what they said he was. Useless.

Castiel woke himself with a start, whimpering at the imagined agony, both mental and physical. He panted, reorienting himself. The light was still on, but his book had fallen to the floor, and he had turned to lay on his injured wing, which caused some of the pain from the dream to follow him into waking.

One thing that didn't follow him though, was his fear that Sam and Dean would actually treat him that way. Perhaps once, he'd believed it to be possible, but after witnessing their selfless care during his convalescence, he knew that was truly impossible.

However, his wings really were bothering him, feeling a little itchy and uncomfortable. He needed to set them straight again. He looked at his clock and saw it was almost six in the morning. Sam and Dean might not get up so early since they hadn't slept much on the trip back and he didn't want to wake them. He would have to make do for himself for now.

He got up to grab a long backscratcher from his dresser. He'd found a while back that it actually helped him to perform general grooming on a daily basis without having to ask Sam and Dean for help. He'd always been able to get to the feathers near the tips of his wings, but the ones closer to his back were impossible for him to reach by himself. And since he was using his wings a lot lately, he had to groom them every day to keep them in good condition.

He started working on his uninjured wing first, attempting to smooth the feathers back into place, but something wasn't right, and he soon realized that it was because he wasn't getting any of the oils his wings naturally produced.

Frowning, he reached back to touch the spot on his right wing where his oil gland was, expecting to feel a little oil on his fingers, like touching the side of your nose, but nothing happened, and the spot actually hurt to the touch.

Castiel sighed in exasperation. The holy oil must have clogged his glands, which just made everything even more difficult than it already was.

Castiel slumped back onto the bed, the twisting he had done while grooming having aggravated his wounds. He just felt an all over exhaustion. He realized he'd been fighting it off for a few days now, this feeling of being trapped, of being caged in this state of half angel half human. He'd thought it would be better after learning how to fly, but it seemed he was wrong. He had never had this many issues when he was a fully-fledged angel. He'd molted maybe once every decade, and though he'd had injuries to his wings, he'd had other angels to heal what he couldn't himself. He was eternally grateful to Sam and Dean for what they had done for him, but that didn't change the fact that he was pretty much a mortal, and it seemed that he couldn't really cut it.

Leaving his wings corporeal for the time being to slightly lessen the discomfort, he went down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. After that nightmare, the last thing he wanted to do was sleep again, and it was almost dawn anyway. He gazed sadly out the window. Normally when he got up early like this he would go for a flight, but it would probably be a few days before his wings felt well enough again to do that. He really was a caged bird.

Once the coffee was finished he went into Bobby's study, and sat in one of the old, yet comfortable chairs there, picking up a book from the side table. The coffee did help to warm him a little and it wasn't long before Bobby was up, coming in to sit down at his computer, a cup of coffee in one hand.

"Thanks for making the brew," he said gruffly by way of greeting.

"You're welcome," Castiel said, then couldn't help but add, "At least I can still do something."

Bobby set the cup down on the desk a little heavily, turning around and folding his arms over his chest firmly. "Now, don't you dare go off like that again, son. You sure as hell know better than that."

Castiel huffed a little and shrugged. Bobby rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"You know all three of you idjits always go through this. Whenever something bad happens it's like it's the end of the world, and you all think it's your fault and you're worthless. Well, news flash, all that crap is just part of being human, and you have to grow some tougher skin if you're going to let it bother you. So a demon got the better of you, so you might be laid up for a couple days—you're still alive. That's all that matters."

Castiel ducked his head slightly, but Bobby's words rang with truth and he nodded.

"You went through Hell and survived, son," Bobby told him firmly. "Remember that. If that can't kill you then nothing can."

Castiel finally looked up at the older hunter, feeling a surge of strength come over him at Bobby's words. "You're right."

"Just don't be so hard on yourself," Bobby told him before he turned to sit at his desk and start his computer up, obviously indicating that the conversation was over.

But Castiel did feel better and also decided that he was hungry. He got up to make something for breakfast.

As he was cooking bacon in the pan, Sam stumbled in, running one bandaged hand through his mussed hair.

"Good morning, Cas," he said. "Sleep okay?"

Castiel shrugged. "Not really. But I'm getting there."

He dished up food onto the plates as Sam poured himself a cup of coffee, a little awkward with his gauze-wrapped hands. Castiel felt a twist in his stomach as he remembered the split-second decision that had led to Sam hurting himself—but saving Castiel. He realized he had never actually thanked the young man, which he would have to put to rights now.

"Sam, I'm sorry about your hands, but…thank you for what you did."

Sam smiled genuinely. "No problem Cas. My hands are a lot easier to heal than your wings."

Castiel shuddered at the memory, the possibility of what could have been, and sat at the table, giving Sam one of the plates.

"How are your wings anyway?" Sam asked him.

Castiel sighed. "Unfortunately I think the holy oil clogged up my own oil glands, and my wings are very dry from the washing. I'm not sure what to do as I've never had this happen before."

"Don't worry, we'll figure it out," Sam assured him.

"We also have to decide what to do about Crowley," Castiel added, picking up some of his eggs with a fork.

"The demon we…er…interrogated said that Crowley was looking for Lucifer's crypts," Sam said.

Castiel's brow furrowed. "Lucifer's crypts? That does not sound good."

"That's what we thought," Sam said. "I guess the people that they were torturing were the ones the demons possessed to get stuff out, or stash stuff for Lucifer during the apocalypse."

Castiel chewed thoughtfully. He had no idea what might have been kept in those crypts, but he was certain that none of it could be good.

"But we'll figure all that out once you get back on your feet," Sam told him. "We'll have some research to do anyway."

Castiel nodded, though secretly, he dreaded meeting with Crowley again. Hopefully next time he came face to face with the demon he would be ready.

He and Sam finished breakfast and then Sam pulled out his laptop to see if they could find anything out about how to help Castiel's wings. By that time Dean was up and getting himself caffeinated.

"Well, apparently this is a common occurrence after washing oil out of feathers," Sam said, flipping through several websites. "I think the easiest thing to do is just to put a warm washcloth over them. The heat should help release the blockage."

Castiel nodded and then decided to go back to his room to do it where there was more room and he could sit comfortably on his bed.

Sam got two washcloths and a bowl of hot water and set them on Castiel's bedside table. Dean dunked the cloths and then settled them over the spots on Castiel's wings where he had indicated his oil glands to be. Just having the heat there helped a little.

"Just let those sit for a while," Dean told him. "Then we'll see if it's working."

Castiel waited a few minutes then Dean took them off and gently probed one of the oil glands. Castiel scrunched his face up at the discomfort for the area was still a little tender, but Dean gave a small satisfied sound after a few seconds. "There we go. I think we're back in business."

Castiel sighed in relief as he reached up to prod the gland on his other wing and after a couple seconds felt the oil on his fingers. "Yes, that is definitely better."

"Okay, well, I guess we get to it," Dean said, clapping his hands together.

Castiel started on his flight feathers, Sam and Dean leaving his injured wing to him as they started on the places closest to his body that he couldn't reach. The whole process took way longer than usual since he had to spread the oils through his feathers afresh, but soon his feathers were shaping up again, regaining their glossy look as the barbs were hooked back together.

When they had finally finished, Dean sat back on his heels with a grunt. "Looks like we're done. Next we can braid Sam's hair."

"Shut up," Sam huffed a laugh as he smoothed one of Castiel's feathers down more completely and then stood up. "How does that feel, Cas?"

"Better," the angel replied.

"How about that missing feather?" Dean asked. "Will it keep you from flying?"

"It shouldn't, though I may have to learn how to adjust just a little. But it's still a little bit raw to fly so soon." Which was a shame, because the only thing Castiel really wanted to do was fly.

"Well, I'm not letting you fly until you get your stitches taken out anyway," Dean said firmly. "You're grounded until then."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, but acquiesced. That was fair, he supposed. Thankfully, the wounds should be mostly healed in another couple days.

"Fine," Castiel said, standing up. "That will give me time to research what Lucifer's crypts might have in them, and where we can find them."

Dean's eyes widened and he opened his mouth but Sam chuckled. "Good idea, Cas. I'll help."

Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Fine. I guess I can't stop you from doing research. Just don't get a paper cut or anything."

Castiel smirked and shook his head, but he was truly starting to feel better now. Dean's familiar mother-henning, Sam's quiet amusement, it made him feel at home. And he was home. Even though he couldn't fly at the moment, even though they were on a new case that would likely only lead them into even more danger, he couldn't truly feel bothered because he was exactly where he wanted to be.

"Come on," he told the brothers. "We'll need more coffee."