dcbb fic: here the deadened strain revive // part four

[burningvigor]

As usual, Castiel worked to keep time while Dean slept (three days, that was all they had), but it was during these quiet moments when his mind would run away from him again. He studied the shadows playing on the cave wall, cast by the fire, and he saw things like demons and angels clashing. He thought of his siblings and realized that he had no idea where most of them were, or if they were alive or dead.

He thought about the two of them here, two living things caught in a world plagued with death, and he had no idea if escape was even possible. Dean kept speaking about “when we get out,” and while Castiel knew in many ways he was lying to himself, it was harder for him to mimic that sort of behavior.

He would get Dean out, at least. If he had to remain behind, then so be it. He knew Dean wouldn't like it, but Castiel had to redeem himself somehow, and this was the best way he could come up with.

As the fire died down, Castiel realized that it felt like the cave itself was breathing. The rumbling sound from before had been punctuated by a slight shifting of the ground beneath them, and despite the fire being gone, it felt strangely warm.

“Dean,” he said urgently. He wished that he could let him sleep longer-it had likely only been a few hours-he knew better than to ignore his instincts.

When Dean didn't stir, Castiel shifted his shoulder slightly to disrupt the place where Dean's head rested. That did the trick, waking Dean suddenly as he sucked in a breath. “What?” he mumbled groggily. “What is it?”

“I don't think we're alone.”

“Huh?” Dean snapped up into a crouch, wide awake now as he searched around for any sign of a foe. “What do you mean?”

“Be quiet,” Castiel ordered, “and listen.”

Dean frowned, but eventually stilled his breathing and closed his eyes. It took him a few moments, but he worked it out. “What the hell is that sound?”

“Note the temperature as well.” Castiel chanced a glance further into the belly of the cave, far past where they'd journeyed, and saw instead of pitch blackness, a slowly growing light.

“Get up,” Dean said, his tone urgent as he grabbed for Castiel's arm and hauled him to his feet. “I don't know what that is, but it ain't good.”

“I have an idea,” Castiel said grimly.

“Okay, mind sharing with the class then?!” Dean barked.

“I believe you've dealt with one before, although in a much more-”

“Cas,” Dean practically yelled as he yanked him toward the cave's entrance, breaking into a full-blown sprint. “Now ain't the time for drawn-out explanations!”

A roar sounded behind them and shook the whole cave hard enough that they both fell off-balance. Castiel hit the ground hard, but managed to land with the parts of his body that weren't already injured. His hand went to the stab wound in his shoulder, but before he knew it Dean had hiked him up to his feet again.

“C'mon!” Dean yelled.

They ran, which Castiel still wasn't used to (though their time in Purgatory was getting him more accustomed to it), and he yelled over the pounding of their footsteps-and of much larger ones racing after them. “If you haven't worked it out by now, it's a dragon!”

“Thanks, professor!” Dean called back, but at that point the time for exchanging words had passed. A very noticeable heat licked at their backs, and they needed to run faster.

As much as Castiel felt that he couldn't keep pace with Dean, who verged on pulling his arm out of the socket as he tried to force him to run faster, he noticed that Dean's hand never left his arm. He didn't know why it stood out to him, especially now, but that tight grip on his bicep spurred him to push his vessel harder.

Finally, the cave's opening showed itself-a relief, when the flapping of wings not his own echoed so loud that it almost drowned out everything else.

They burst out of the cave and Dean instantly jerked Castiel to the side, throwing both of them to the ground again as the dragon erupted through the cave's mouth right behind them, taking chunks of rock off of cave's mouth as it went.

Castiel got an full-on look at it-its slender, long body, covered in metallic scales that shone with the light of its self-generated flame. It sent another burst of it out as it took flight, setting even the snowy ground alight. It made a few circling movements in the sky, almost as if it was searching for them, before it took off across the dark sky to another part of the wasteland.

“You know,” Dean said as he caught his breath, “if it wasn't for the fact that I almost got roasted to a crisp, I'd say that's one of the coolest things I've ever seen.”

Castiel wasn't quite as impressed by it, but he was also a holy being who could perceive things that a human could barely dream of. Not wanting to dampen one of the only moments Dean in which had expressed awe during their miserable time here, he didn't comment on it, instead pressing against a rock to get to his feet again. “Let's be glad it didn't seem interested in us once it chased us out of its territory.”

“Tell me about,” Dean said as he stood with him, one hand on his chest as if to check that his heart was still beating. “We picked the wrong cave to hide out in.”

“My guess is that there isn't a right one,” Castiel replied. He tilted his head up to the mountain peak, which seemed both close and impossibly far. “We need to reach the top of this mountain before the fire does.”

He didn't know if the fire would move that far, but the flames somehow latched onto even the dead earth, scorching through it and growing larger and more consuming with each second. Dean started to cough from the smoke and Castiel took a moment to chart out a path for them, trying to find a safe route up.

They had to stay close, so Castiel grabbed for Dean's wrist and led them forward. These small touches, born out of necessity, had been frequent here. But it didn't mean anything. The wrist, the shoulder, pulling each other along, it was an act of friendship and nothing more. If that's what Dean believed, then Castiel would have to take it as true.

They maneuvered carefully through the flames, a difficult task when both of them had injuries and couldn't move with as much swiftness or flexibility. Castiel knew that a burn wound required even more resources than a bad gash, which meant it was imperative neither of them took a wrong step. He felt the fire against his skin, so hot that he-what should have been impossibly-started to sweat, and knew that it had to be twice as bad for Dean, who hadn't said a word since they'd started navigating the fiery labyrinth.

With only their legs to carry them, outrunning fire was no easy task, and it closed in rapidly. Before he knew it, Castiel couldn't find a clear way through. He and Dean stood back to back and watched as the flames moved in closer to them with each passing second.

“Well, that's fantastic,” Dean said between a series of harsh coughs. “We might just need to throw our coats over our heads and run through, Cas. I-”

Before they could discuss the merit of such an idea, though, something appeared out of the flames and literally leapt through to stand before them. The light cast by the fire showed them an impressive wolf creature. Clearly battle-weary from the scars and the thinness of its brown fur, it was strongly built and a threat nonetheless.

Its voice boomed out from everywhere and nowhere at once, over the sound of the flames. Jump on, it said, and once again Castiel got the sense that the voice was female. I can get you out of here!

It was going to save them? Castiel glanced to Dean, wondering if somehow he knew who this was. A random monster wouldn't have decided to take mercy on them. Mercy didn't exist here, so this had to be someone Dean knew. Dean only shrugged at him. Either way, they were in no position to resist help, even from an unknown source.

They moved forward as a pair and the wolf bent down, its tail whipping around to keep the fire at bay. Once it lowered, they were able to clumsily climb onto its back. As soon as both of them sat securely atop it, Castiel behind Dean, the wolf took off, dashing so quickly that he felt the wind whip through his hair.

“Head for the mountain top!” Castiel called out as he clutched hard at the wolf's fur.

He received no response, but the wolf quickly cleared the fire as it headed straight up. It was different from flying-a more tangible sort of movement, but more exposed than something like riding in a car. Castiel leaned forward to ensure that he didn't fall off, and had to press against Dean's back as a result. Dean didn't react in any noticeable way, which was fine. Between reconciled friends, it meant nothing. A moment where personal space had to be breached, and that was all.

They flew up, and up, and Castiel felt that three day time limit (shorter, after those hours Dean had slept) become less of a burden. Thanks to this sudden offer of help, a small beacon of light in a land that had offered them nothing but hardships, escape finally felt attainable.

The wolf jumped from rock to rock as the slope of the mountain leveled out near the peak, and then pressed forward until they reached a forested area, still spattered with snow. Finally, the beast halted in an open clearing, circled by trees draped in white. It pressed itself to the ground again to let them down.

Dean jumped off first and Castiel followed. When he landed, it jostled his injured shoulder, but he bit back against the pain.

Immediately, Dean spun around to stare the monster down. The fact that he managed to glare at it like it was just another human was remarkable. “All right, helping us out is all well and good, but you better start explaining.” Because Dean knew as well as Castiel did that these things didn't come without some sort of catch. For all they knew, the wolf had brought them here to have a calm, solitary place to devour them.

The wolf looked back at Dean, its red eyes flicking back and forth between them but remaining primarily on him.

I guess it's no surprise that you don't know who I am, it said.

What Castiel struck about this creature was that despite the ethereal quality of the voice, he heard something undeniably human in it. That fox creature-Amy, as it has once been called-had been much the same, although all of her qualities had been the unseemly parts of a human, anger and bitterness from betrayal wrapped up in a wounded soul.

This one's soul, on the other hand, evoked crushing despair and loneliness that resonated far too easily with him. Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, tempted to pull away from the situation. He knew there was nowhere to go, and held his ground.

Dean really stared at the beast now, taking a few steps to the left or the right as if that would help explain anything. “Fuck,” he said after a long pause. “You're a werewolf.”

Castiel glanced over. That much should have been obvious, although he realized he couldn't blame Dean so much for being slow with it when they'd just outrun a dragon.

“... Madison?” Dean guessed, wincing slightly as he bowed his head.

That's right. The wolf turned it head away. I didn't think we'd ever meet again, and honestly, I wish we hadn't.

The name sounded familiar to Castiel, but while he was aware of a large number of the hunts Dean and Sam had gone on before his contact with them, he didn't know every detail. He stood by carefully, waiting to see how this would all turn out.

“Holy shit, me neither,” Dean replied, shell-shocked. “Madison, you've... I don't even know what to say.” His expression pinched in that way it did when he was dealing with something particularly difficult, and Castiel could tell by how the two spoke to each other that the history between them went beyond one hunting and killing the other. He sensed not just aggression, but regret.

I heard you news about you guys when you first got here, it explained, as it shifted around nose sniffing at the air constantly. Likely on the ready for any sign of danger. It took me a while to track you down, obviously. How did you even end up here? It turned toward Dean again, and the question was clearly meant for him.

“It's a long story,” Dean said with a shake of his head. “Madison, you should have stayed the hell away from us. I figure every clawed thing in this place wants a piece of me right now, and you're just gonna get caught up in it.”

The wolf tossed its head, like a horse when it was annoyed, and turned back toward him. I've been here for years, Dean. I know the rules far better than you do. Which is why I brought you this far.

At that point, Castiel could no longer stand to the side and let them have their reunion. He stepped forward, lifting his head to make eye contact despite the piercing red that stared back. That shade was hard for him to endure after seeing it in Dean's eyes, but he couldn't shy away from it now. “Then I was right? The peak is where the door is opened?”

Castiel, right? Most of the news about you down here isn't good, but if Dean's working with you, then...

Dean stepped forward. “You know whatever crap these assholes are spewing, it's bogus. Cas is a friend.”

Castiel looked to Dean, shocked by how easily he could say such a thing. As if nothing he'd done-his stint as God, releasing the leviathans-as if it didn't even matter. Dean had already admitted to forgiving him, but it still didn't feel real. Castiel felt oddly short of breath, and his stomach twisted in a way that bordered on unpleasant.

Madison looked between them and nodded. Yeah, that's definitely the spot. Each time someone comes or goes, it makes a pretty big bang.

Dean grinned. “Madison... thanks.” He stepped forward, his hand twitching as he lifted it slowly.

The wolf shook its head. Please, no petting. That would just be too weird.

“I already rode on your back,” Dean pointed out with a shrug, but pulled his hand back. “I just want you to know that we owe you for this. A lot.”

You don't deserve to be down here, Dean. Castiel took note of how he wasn't included in that statement, but felt no need to argue against it.

“Anything we can do for you?” Dean offered. “I mean, whatever you want-”

Leave it to Dean to act as if he was in charge when he was the human, barely armed and wounded, and Madison was the creature that had suffered the indignities of this place for what must have felt like ages. But humans had that tendency, to make themselves out to be so much bigger than they were.

Castiel exchanged a look with the wolf, and there was a moment of understanding between them. He smiled slightly, without even meaning to.

Nothing like that, she said, shaking her head. I just want to know one thing.

Apparently, she didn't even have to ask. Dean knew. Castiel could tell from the look on his face.

“About Sammy,” he said quietly.

She nodded, and the missing piece of the puzzle came together. Once again, it all revolved around Sam Winchester.

“He's, uh...” Dean paused and ran his tongue over his lips in that way he did when he was nervous. “He's doing as well as he can, considering all the shit we have to go through.”

It was a way to dance around the details, around the fact that Castiel had done some terrible damage to Sam Winchester, and while it had been fixed, some scars could never be removed. But he knew better than to say anything right now. Telling someone who was trying to help them, and who apparently had some level of affection for Sam, about what he had done would not be a strategic move.

I can never trust the things I hear around here, so it's good to hear it from you, she said, visibly relaxing as she cease her pacing and regarded them both. Can you tell him that I still think of him sometimes? And that I don't blame him?

Dean frowned. “Madison...”

“You've done an admirable job of holding yourself together here,” Castiel said suddenly, because he felt it was something she might need to hear. And because out of all the things they'd dealt with here, she felt the most human. “So many of the souls here are ravaged, torn apart and tainted, but you...”

“You still seem like you,” Dean confirmed. “It's gotta be harder that way, but keep it up, all right?”

The wolf huffed, almost in embarrassment, and Castiel wondered if he truly saw that or if he was imprinting human mannerisms onto something that was very much not. Still, she had once been human, and at her core she remained so.

On the other end of this forest, there's a lake. At the middle of it is an island, and that's where the ritual has to be performed. Here's the catch, though.

“There's always a catch.” Dean said the words at the same time that Castiel thought them.

I haven't been that way in a while because that lake used to be where a lot of the leviathans spent their time. Things may have changed after they went Earthside, but you'd better watch your backs.

The leviathans, of course. They had been noticeably absent during their time here, most likely because many of them were still on Earth, either hiding from Crowley or trying to regroup. The one who had posed as Dick Roman hadn't shown himself here either, which meant he was truly dead or he had decided to cut his losses. But right now, Castiel knew that he and Dean didn't pose much of a threat. If they were going to be targeted, it would be as they crossed that lake.

“Great. Well, at least we know what to expect,” Dean said after a pause.

“Is that everything we need to know?” Castiel asked.

Madison tilted her head from side to side, thinking it over, and Castiel was again bowled over by how human it seemed. You know how to perform the blood ritual, I'm guessing.

“We've got that part covered, yeah,” Dean said.

More or less, Castiel thought to himself. The blood of a being from outside Purgatory, and the blood of the corrupted. The sigils ran through his head-of course, he remembered them in painful detail...

In the original ritual, the virgin was a sacrifice. If that still applied, then he knew exactly what he had to do.

“All right, Madison, you better get the hell out of here before something finds us.” Dean's voice caused Castiel to snap back into the present.

You don't have to tell me twice. The wolf straightened up and Castiel watched as the muscles in her four legs tightened, ready to go on the run once more. He got the sense that Madison spent a lot of her time here running, and tried not to think too hard on what years and years of running scared would do to a person. Or a werewolf.

Without asking, Dean moved forward and reached his hand out to drag down the side of her neck. “Sorry,” he said with a rueful smile. “Had to.”

I'll forgive you this one time. She backed up then, disturbing the ground with her massive feet as she glanced over her shoulder, ears twitching this way and that in response to their surroundings. Dean, take care of Sam. That's all I ask.

And with that, she was gone, darting away so fast that it was impossible to know which direction she had gone.

Dean spun in a slow circle, as if he could figure it out and watch her go, but eventually he just turned to Castiel. “I'll tell you all about her, after this.”

“Of course,” Castiel said with a nod. If Dean needed to get something off his chest, then he'd listen. “For now, we should get moving.”

“Hell yeah,” Dean replied. “We're finally gonna get out of this place.”

He made it sound easy, like swimming across that lake would be no obstacle, but Castiel decided to allow it. Before, he would have pointed it out and made it clear just how terrible their odds were, but now he realized that even if it was true, it didn't need to be said.

They headed off across the forest, and as they walked Castiel wondered how far they had traveled altogether since arriving here, if distance was even something that could be measured in this place. Purgatory was surprisingly tangible, most likely because that way pain and discomfort could be felt to their fullest.

“Is it just me, or could you hear a pin drop here?” Dean asked.

Castiel knew that an absence of sound wasn't necessarily a good thing. It could mean they were alone, or it could mean that the things watching them had fallen into a deadly silence. If he concentrated, it still felt as if there were creatures creeping at the edge of his mind. He heard nothing, but he felt it, in his skin and through the bottoms of his feet. Maybe that was just the last remnants of his insanity rearing its head.

They kept walking, and he made a habit of looking over his shoulders. Each shadow left by the trees looked like it might be some sort of threat. Eventually, he shook off his paranoia and focused on the path ahead of them.

But when Castiel suddenly felt hands clamp around his mouth and pull him back, into the trees and then somewhere too dark for him to see, he thrashed and struggled and kicked himself for ever assuming that a bad feeling was a creation of his mind.

---

Castiel's eyes snapped open. He sucked in a breath and instinctively thrashed in place, to escape whatever might have grabbed him.

Instead, he tumbled off of a bed and onto a wooden floor.

Which, given where he'd been and what he'd been doing, didn't-couldn't-make sense. He pushed himself up to his feet and searched the room. It was simple, with a double bed, a closet, a table and a chair that had a familiar jacket draped over it. Dean's jacket.

“What is this?” he asked no one, startled by the sound of his own voice in the quiet space. Castiel stared down at himself. On top of all his wounds being gone, he saw that he was wearing pajamas-a white shirt and checkered pants, similar to what he'd worn as Emmanuel. But this wasn't the house he'd shared with Daphne.

Then where was it? He took in the discolored ceilings and the walls with their peeling paint, but it was a certain smell-of baked beans and motor oil-that confirmed where he was: Bobby Singer's house.

Or so his perceptions told him. Bobby's house had burnt to the ground, and he was supposed to be in Purgatory, so none of this could be real.

Angels couldn't dream, so he couldn't be under the effect of any dream root. Which meant it was some other kind of mind game. He'd have to explore further to figure out what exactly could be behind this, but regardless, he needed to snap himself out of it as soon as possible. Dean was still in that forest, probably trying to get him to come to. Or what if he'd been grabbed by the same thing, or something worse?

Behind the door Castiel heard the sound of a jingling bell and then a scratching noise. Survival mode kicked in and he immediately came up with all the different threats that scratch could embody. A hellhound, a black dog, a werewolf-the possibilities were endless.

He moved to the door to carefully pull it open, and then...

A black cat pranced in, the bell around its collar tinkling as it walked between his ankles and rubbed against him in greeting.

He'd told the Winchesters once that he wanted a cat. Was that what this was about? Something that took his thoughts at random and created an illusion based on them?

He had to get to the bottom of this and see if there was a puzzle to be solved, a way that he could break out of this from the inside. He couldn't expect Dean to be able to save him-for all he knew, Dean was in just as much danger.

Castiel quickly exited the room, with the cat striving to keep up with him. He cautiously headed down the steps, but any attempts to be surreptitious were ruined by the creaky floorboards. He heard a clattering in the kitchen and realized he wasn't alone.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded the corner, ready to fight something off, he saw-

Bobby Singer, with his grayed hair, and his hat that he never seemed to take off, and his long-suffering expression.

“Bobby,” Castiel said. Of course he was here. This was his house, but neither he nor it were supposed to be intact. If Castiel didn't know better, he might have assumed he was in Bobby's version of Heaven.

He turned away from where he'd been cooking up some concoction in a pot, and Castiel fought to keep his expression unchanged. Some made up version of Bobby wasn't likely to notice any odd stares, but Castiel still felt he should be careful, in case the pleasant nature of this not-dream suddenly turned into something else.

“I thought you were gonna sleep all day,” Bobby said. “It's lunchtime already.”

Bobby spoke to him as if nothing was wrong. What a farce. As if Castiel ever saw Bobby when there wasn't some sort of emergency. This created version of him only struck Castiel as a dishonor to the man himself.

But that remark brought up another question. Why was Bobby acting as if it was normal for Castiel to be here, after everything?

“If you're looking for him,” Bobby continued, “he's out with Sam and Jo and one of the junkers.”

On top of Bobby being alive, Jo was too? That implied that Ellen was as well. In other words, all of those mistakes had been undone. It was all so perfect and pleasant that it was too good to be true, and that thought finally made it all click for Castiel. This was the creation of a djinn.

With those three confirmed alive so far, Castiel had to wonder-how far back did this go, and how did all of it fit together? Not that a djinn had to construct a world that made complete sense, he knew. It had to be desirable, and that was all.

Castiel forced himself to stop thinking about it. This world didn't matter to him. It wasn't his in the first place, and he needed to get out.

“He?” he asked. “You mean-”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Don't play dumb.”

Castiel headed for the door. If Dean was here, was it the actual Dean, or one the djinn had created? He needed to know.

The cat continued to follow him. That likely meant that he was its owner, though he really had little idea of how to take care of a feline. He didn't imagine it would be hard, but these were the things he'd never had the chance to learn, and probably never would.

As he stepped outside, Castiel turned around and took in Bobby's house, intact even if it was in as much disrepair as he remembered. Once again, instead of filling him with relief, it felt more like a smack to the face, because Bobby and this place would never exist again in reality.

No matter how appealing all of this might seem on the surface, it didn't mean a thing.

Castiel heard the sound of laughter and recognized it as Jo's. He turned around to see her smacking at Sam with the dirty rag in her hand.

Instead of focusing on the presence of yet someone else who was supposed to be dead, Castiel remained fixated on how Bobby had said that Dean was supposed to be with Jo and Sam. He quickly started for the pair and looked around for any sign of him.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him in greeting and then pointed down, where Castiel saw the bottom of Dean's legs sticking out from under a car, some beat up old thing with a shade of paint that might have once been red. Dean could listen to and understand cars like Castiel could read people's souls. To most, it would seem like an average, everyday skill, but Castiel thought souls were much easier to comprehend than engines.

Castiel held back a disappointed sigh. If this had been the real Dean, he wouldn't have been trying to fix an imaginary car. The true Dean was either trying to save him, or he was dead. Castiel didn't even consider the option that Dean might have made a run for it without him. That would have been the smartest choice, which that was exactly why Dean wouldn't have chosen it.

So then what if Dean was dead, torn apart by some other creature? Would that mean that Castiel was doomed to be trapped in this fake world for the rest of eternity?

Sam caught his eye again, and the smile on his face was so simple, so easily offered, that Castiel was left speechless. It was the first thing since he'd “woken up” that had truly startled him, because that wasn't a look that he'd seen Sam produce in some time.

“Sleep well?” Sam asked.

Jo waved at him, and Castiel nodded in greeting, mainly out of reflex. The cat bounded toward the pair, and Jo was quick to crouch down and offer it attention by petting it.

He should have been petting the cat, shouldn't he? That's what domesticated animals enjoyed. That counted as yet another point against him and his ability to function the way a human did. None of this came naturally. Especially when he'd been transposed from a place where there was no daylight, no cars, no cats that weren't oversized and full of fangs.

“Cas finally woke up?” Dean's voice came from under the car, echoing against the metal.

Jo sighed. “Dean, give him a break. He saved our asses the other day, so I think he's allowed to oversleep this once.”

Sam tilted his head at Castiel. “Are you getting used to it? The sleeping thing?”

Castiel wondered why this imagined version of him was sleeping, if it was now a requirement or a luxury or something he did to make everyone else feel more comfortable. He suspected it was that last option. “I am.” Playing along like this was awkward, but he his guess was that he had to do so if he wanted to escape.

“I told you before, Cas,” Dean grunted as he rolled out from under the car and then sat up, speckled with oil. It was far preferable to the way that Dean's face had looked lately, marked with bruises and smeared with dirt and blood, but at least that was real. “Dreams are overrated.”

Judging from this one, that was true. Although the smile on Dean's face as he looked up at him was so sincere that it made Castiel's stomach churn. Even in Purgatory, even as they'd slowly reconciled, Dean hadn't ever looked at him like that. The last time he could recall that kind of smile was back when Dean had taken him to the brothel.

Sam glanced down at Dean. “So, can you fix it?”

Dean sighed. “I've gotta order a few parts.”

“Oh no, the great Dean Winchester, humbled by a Gremlin? I think I might die from shock,” Jo teased.

Castiel stared at all three of them like they were aliens. But it was worse than that-they were phantoms.

This fake Dean, who could smile like it was nothing, rolled his eyes as he pushed his weight against the car and then got to his feet. He wiped his hands off with a dirty rag. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it'll take about a week for the parts to come in, so we'll wait on that and then we can hit the road again.”

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked before he could stop himself. He didn't need to learn more about some fantasy world, and yet his curiosity yearned to know if hunting was still a part of their lives here, or if the existence of monsters had been removed entirely.

Sam looked to him. “Well, hunting. You know none of us can sit still for that long.”

Jo smiled, but then pinned Dean with a harsh look. “I'm just glad that you're finally offering up the space in your backseat to other people.”

Dean lifted his hands up disarmingly. “Hey, Jo, it was your mom that took issue with you hunting with us. Don't get us involved now.”

“It's good to hear that it's no longer on only your shoulders,” Castiel spoke up, glancing from Dean to Sam as he made his point. If only it could be that way in reality, but anyone who might want to offer the Winchesters help was dead.

Well, except for him, but that was an entirely different problem. Not that he shouldn't be dead by now, but unlike Bobby and Jo, he'd been granted more chances than he deserved. Wouldn't Bobby or Jo be more of a help to Sam and Dean than him? So why was he still here?

“Yeah,” Dean replied. He took a few steps toward Castiel and grinned, which broke him out of his thoughts. “With you and Jo backing us up, we're basically unstoppable.”

Jo gave Dean an incredulous look and Sam only sighed, whereas Castiel was left to stare.

“Jo and I?” he hesitantly asked after a pause.

Sam glanced over and tilted his head in confusion. “Well, yeah. You're coming with us, aren't you?”

Before Castiel could answer, Dean grabbed for his arm and started to pull him away from the others.

“Dean,” Castiel started to protest, but Dean just gave him a look. The right corner of his mouth quirked up, and he raised both eyebrows. It wasn't familiar, and while Castiel didn't recognize it, he was clearly supposed to, in this fake world.

As Dean led him away, Castiel glanced over his shoulder at Jo and Sam, who were looking at each other knowingly.

The fake Dean continued to draw him through the junkyard. Castiel should have pulled his wrist out of Dean's grip, because the real one needed him far more than this fabrication, but he didn't. For once, he wasn't being grabbed with urgency, but simply for the sake of it. It was a new feeling, and not one that he had any particular objection to.

Finally, once they'd moved far enough away that they could no longer hear Jo and Sam, let alone see them through the maze of cars, Dean paused and let him go.

Castiel stared first down at his wrist, then up at Dean, and then around the area. Why had Dean brought him here? Was there some significance to this spot?

His heart hammered fast in his chest, faster than made sense in this situation. It was probably just habit, after he'd spent the past however-many days running for his life. He couldn't just calm down, not when he knew where he truly was. Not here, but a place worse than Hell.

Dean took a step toward him. His hand reached out, and his fingertips brushed Castiel's cheek-

---

Castiel gasped awake, his heart pounding ineffectually against his ribcage-which explained what he'd felt in the dream. Weak and disoriented, Dean's voice still broke through the haze.

“Cas. Cas. Come on, work with me here, man!”

Castiel blinked the dark spots out of his eyes and focused on the waking world. Dean's face floated somewhere above his, and the scenery behind him whipped around at a too-fast pace. He felt pressure against his shoulder blades and lower back, and realized he was being carried.

“Dean,” he forced out. “It was-”

“A djinn, I know,” Dean quickly replied. “I already iced the bastard, or knocked him out, anyway-and we're going for the lake. You lost a shitload of blood.” Dean took gasping breaths between every few words spoken-understandable, seeing how he was carrying a full-grown man and running at the same time. Castiel wanted to be let down so that he could carry his own weight, so to speak, but he could barely lift his arm.

As his body got jostled by each step that Dean took, Castiel's head, which felt like it weighed twice as much as it should have, flooded with pain. He closed his eyes, but that only seemed to make it worse. Blood loss wasn't something that should affect him, but he'd spent most of his time in Purgatory dwelling on his shortcomings, and it wasn't going to do any good now.

“You are really friggin' heavy, though, man,” Dean grunted as he continued to run. “Is it because of all those burgers?”

“Dean,” Castiel murmured, annoyed at the thinness of his voice. “You don't need me for this part. You already know where to go, and how the ritual works.” He sucked in a breath, but no matter how many times he tried, it never felt like enough oxygen reached his lungs. “Just take some of my blood, and-”

Dean skidded to a stop, wheezing from exertion as he set Castiel down on the ground. “What the hell is wrong with you? You think I'm gonna leave you behind, after all this?”

Castiel had to adjust to the sudden change in orientation, swaying in a slight daze as he realized that they had reached the edge of the lake. He stared out across it, his vision blurring and head swimming, before he looked back to Dean. “You have to admit, remaining here would be a fitting fate for me.”

Dean clenched his jaw. He looked up to the sky, as if searching for a sign, before staring into Castiel's face. “Cas, listen. Do you want to know why I held onto that stupid trenchcoat that whole time?” He grabbed for the coat's lapel and gave it a few hard shakes. “It wasn't because I couldn't get over you lying to us, and it wasn't because I couldn't get over you being gone.” He paused to heave out more breaths, the corners of his eyes wrinkled in anger or some sort of desperation-right now, it was hard for Castiel to distinguish. “It was because I couldn't get over you.”

Those words somehow made Dean's expression click in his mind, because Daphne had worn something strangely similar when she'd asked him-asked Emmanuel-if he would like to be hers.

Now it made sense. Even when he'd had no memories, the way he'd cared for Daphne, the way that she had literally meant the world to him, had felt so strangely familiar. As Emmanuel, he'd stayed up some nights, thinking about it, wondering what it meant.

Now he knew.

“All right,” he said after a pause, at which point Dean visibly relaxed.

“Look, we're almost there. The thing is that we need to swim across.” Dean looked searchingly across the lake. While the water looked still, the distance wasn't small. Dean dragged a hand through his hair and sighed. “I'm super as hell hoping angels are buoyant, since that should make it a little easier for you to make it. Sorry, man, but I can't carry you through the water.”

Castiel shook his head. “I wasn't expecting you to.” He squinted and saw a small rock altar on the island. If they reached that, and if the ritual was done right-then the sky would open up and Dean, at least, would make it out. He still didn't know about about himself.

He stood up slowly, and while it took a second or two with his hand resting on Dean's shoulder to find his balance, he did. Castiel examined the water again-but it bothered him, how calm it looked. Madison had mentioned that the leviathans might be here, but instead of seeing their absence as a good sign, it worried him.

“Yeah,” Dean spoke up even though Castiel hadn't said anything, “I don't like it either. But we've gotta get it over with.”

Castiel had waded into water like this before, not all that long ago, but this time he wouldn't do it alone. He drew in what felt like a final breath-as his harsh heartbeat continued to pump his corrupted blood through borrowed veins-and then slowly marched into the water. The ground dropped out beneath his feet almost immediately, forcing him to swim.

Dean swam at his side and while he had more strength than Castiel at the moment-a ludicrous yet true fact-he didn't leave him behind. “You don't need really strong movements,” Dean advised. “Just kick your legs a little and move your arms in small circles and you should move forward.”

Castiel did as he was told, but each time he moved his arms down and back through the water, it felt like an immense effort. This weakness-was this how humans lived every day? How did they manage it?

Dean had convinced him to come this far, though, to at least make it to that altar, and so he couldn't give up. He wasn't going to be dragged down; he wasn't going to sink. He remembered the way it had felt when the water had closed in on him, that pressure and then the deep blackness that had choked him. He remembered that after waking up as Emmanuel, he'd been coughing up water for days.

They made it about halfway to the island when Castiel felt a disturbance in the water, a swaying that caused not by their swimming but something else. He glanced to Dean, who was already searching the immediate area for any sign of what it could be.

With his legs dangling in the water as he paddled forward, Castiel felt far too exposed. He heaved out a few coughs for good measure, even though he'd taken care not to get any water in his mouth, and kept swimming.

But then in a creeping, insidious way, the water surrounding them changed in shade from dark blue to an inky black.

Castiel fought the panic bubbling up in him as he continued to tread water and looked to Dean once more. “I'm not seeing things, am I,” he stated, almost tiredly. He knew that he wasn't. He knew this was real, because he'd made a promise to not run from the truth of things anymore.

“No,” Dean replied, almost grimly. “Pretty sure we've got company.”

Castiel swam faster, forcing his limbs to move even though his body had been drained of blood. Some of the water got in his mouth as he splashed forward, forcing him to pause and cough it up.

And then, as he looked ahead to see how much further they had to go, he saw a long, dark shadow swish past.

“Dean,” he called out urgently, reaching out for him as he tried to stay afloat.

“I saw,” Dean hissed back.

They both knew what a leviathan truly was, of course. Or at least, Castiel hoped that Dean knew, that he had thought to look it up once the things had started wandering the Earth and causing trouble. They'd hidden well enough in those human forms, but in reality they were large, deadly water serpents.

And the two of them were nothing more than morsels of food to it at the moment, if it had its way.

A large splash erupted behind them as the leviathan surfaced (how had it moved around so quickly?), and a second later water rained down on them. “Go!” Castiel ordered Dean. They couldn't get caught now.

Dean broke out into a swim, but with the stroke of someone more practiced at this than Castiel was. Castiel did his best to follow after him, but before long Dean was more than two body lengths ahead of him.

Castiel gasped for breath and ignored the burning in his muscles as he kept swimming. The water around him bobbed more severely and tossed him around to the point that might have made his weakened body ill if he'd had long enough to think about it.

Then, something grabbed at his foot.

Castiel kicked wildly backward, but it wasn't enough. The end of the leviathan's long body wrapped around his legs and dragged him backward in the water.

Caught between panic and frustration (hadn't these things made their lives hard enough already?), Castiel twisted around to face the beast, teeth grit in concentration as his sword appeared in his hand. He was faced with a portion of the serpent (most of its body still hid under the water), covered in faded blue scales, its mouth packed full of jagged teeth. Its pinprick red eyes stared down at him, and it looked proud of its catch.

This thing had most likely been inside of him at one point. He'd pulled in these abominations, and so many other creatures, and they'd decayed him from the inside. He couldn't blame it all on them, though. He'd fallen all on his own, far before then, but they'd made it worse.

He'd purged himself of these awful, ancient creatures before. No, it was more that they had purged themselves of him, had made use of his vessel and his Grace for as long as they'd needed it, and then left him to wash up. Now he could return the favor. This was it, the end, his final chance to put this all to rest.

And he would stay down here and fight it for the rest of eternity if need be.

“Cas!”

At the sound of Dean's voice, Castiel's arm twitched as he flung the sword forward, aiming for the leviathan's mouth. The blade hits its mark-it broke through some of the creature's teeth like they were made of plastic and then pierced the roof of its mouth.

The leviathan let out a ringing, hollow cry and flung its immense body around in the water. While it sent powerful waves toward Castiel, it also gave him the opening he needed to jerk himself out of its grip and make a break for it.

Dean had already reached the island. Relieved as Castiel was that his distraction had given Dean the chance to get that far, he could tell that Dean was waiting for him, that he didn't plan to go anywhere until Castiel stood there with him. He could have at least started to put the ritual together-

When mere feet away from the island, the blackness of the water thickened and deepened around him. The sensation was identical to before-that undeniable feeling that it was going to suck him down, like liquid quicksand, and that would be that. An angel, snuffed out of existence that easily.

One of his feet started to sink downward. The water pulled up over his head, cloying and heavy. Castiel's throat closed, even as he forced himself up, and tried to breathe, to just breathe-

“Not this time!” Dean's yell broke through the sound of the rushing water and the leviathan's screeching. Castiel kicked up again, and saw Dean had waded halfway back in to retrieve him. “I'm not doing this again!”

Somehow, other emotions pushed through the panic as he took in that sight. Relief, that Dean would come for him; guilt, that the one he should have been protecting was saving him now. But more than that, a deep fondness that was very misplaced. Not the time, but it was never the time.

Castiel forced his body forward, straining through the thick water as he reached out with one hand. Dean grabbed hold of him and started pulling with both hands and all of his strength. With each step Dean moved backward, Castiel got pulled further out of the water until they both finally broke free. Dean fell back, Castiel forward, and they landed on the solid ground of the small island.

Castiel spit up as much of the water as he could, but he knew this wasn't the end. It didn't matter that Dean had rescued him this time, because that didn't matter to Castiel nearly as much as getting Dean back to Sam.

Castiel stood up and watched the frantic splashing through the water-the leviathan struggling to pry that blade out of its mouth. But an angelic weapon wouldn't budge so easily.

“Keep an eye on it,” he told Dean before he heaved out a breath and homed in on the altar-or more specifically, the slight indentation in it that was meant to hold their blood. As his sword was serving a much more important purpose at the moment, Castiel searched the area for something else they could use to cut themselves open. There wasn't much to work with, except...

“Dean,” Castiel said as he moved his hand to his shoulder where he'd been stabbed when Dean had been under the siren's spell. “Apply pressure here until I start bleeding.”

Dean stared at him like he had two heads. “What are you, crazy?”

“There's no time to-”

The ground underneath them shook, and both of their heads snapped to the water. The movement of the water, along with brief moments where a sliver of the leviathan's body would peek out from the depths, gave away that it was swimming in fast circles around the island.

It created a pressure strong enough to kick up waves, and a sizable one headed right for them. Castiel pushed Dean out of the way, to the other side of the small piece of land, but they barely made it out of the water's path before a wave hit them from the other side, drenching them all over again.

“Can't we catch one break?” Dean snapped. “All right, let's make this quick.” He motioned for Castiel to give him his arm.

Castiel shrugged out of his trenchcoat on the injured side and then lifted his shirt up to expose the wound.

Dean pulled close, though he kept a steady eye on the water around them. “All right, brace yourself.”

Castiel closed his eyes and then clenched his teeth as Dean added pressure, a dull burn that extended all the way through his shoulder and then down his arm. Painful thought it was, it got the job done; he felt blood oozing out. Would it be enough? Castiel hobbled toward the altar and bent over it to let the blood drip out.

The island shook hard again and would have tossed him to the ground, were it not for Dean grabbing for the injured arm to keep him steady.

Castiel squeezed hard at the flesh around his wound, forced the blood out of his arm like juice out of an orange. Once it had coated the indentation, he pulled back.

Dean released him (he'd been holding on, the whole time) and let out a sigh. “Now how about me?”

The blood of the corrupted was taken care of, so now they needed only blood of a being beyond Purgatory, someone Earth-born. Castiel nodded and pulled Dean toward the altar. “I apologize in advance for this.”

Before Dean could question it, Castiel clenched his hand into a fist. He'd retained just enough power to get the job done, to twist something inside that vulnerable human body and cause Dean to cough up blood.

Dean's eyes widened as his mouth filled with it, but he put it together quickly and bent down to spit into the altar.

This had to be the crudest way that blood had been collected in a long history of spellwork, but Castiel didn't care about technique now. Not when they were this close.

Once Dean had coughed up enough blood for them to work with, Castiel loosened his hand. Dean stumbled back and lifted a hand to wipe at his mouth. “All right,” he said thickly, like his chest was still clogged with blood. “You know what to draw now, right?”

How could he forget? Castiel remembered how he'd drawn the pattern, each line made so delicately, how he'd thought to himself that he'd finally won, that Raphael would pay and nothing would stop him. It was something he wished he could push from his mind forever, but he had to live with it. What was the point of atonement otherwise?

“I need you to distract it,” he said, and then, as if on cue, water crashed against them as the leviathan rose up to its full height to tower above them. It had managed to dislodge his sword, though its mouth and neck were still stained red with blood. That wasn't about to stop it from trying to tear into them.

Dean glared up at it and shot only a quick glance at Castiel. “So I have to be the bait?”

The leviathan threw itself down, the first section of its body slamming against the ground between them. It sent both of them off balance and Castiel fell against the altar and cracked his head against it so hard that his vision went black.

By the time it returned to him, Dean had already gotten to his feet. He literally leapt toward the serpent's body and wrapped his arms around its scaly, slippery neck. “Draw fast!” he yelled down to Castiel as the leviathan pulled back and shook its head wildly in an attempt to dislodge him.

If nothing else, Dean knew what a good distraction constituted, and Castiel wasn't about to waste the time Dean was buying him. He dragged himself up from the ground and dipped his fingers into the mixture of blood. His hand started to shake with memories of terrible decisions, of the betrayal in Dean's eyes, but this time he'd undo that-or as close as he could get to undoing such a terrible mistake.

He was an angel, and an angel did what needed to be done when it mattered most. An angel was able to forget that he was dripping wet, that he was weak from being drained of blood, that there was a ferocious creature doing its best to kill his best friend raging around behind him, and focus on just one thing.

Focus. He had to focus.

All he had to do was get the outline right. It didn't have to be perfect, and with how wet the ground was, the blood quickly slid away into rivulets. But the strokes he made with his fingers were correct, and his purpose was strong and true. He was going to get Dean out of this place.

He didn't know if he'd be going with him, but if he did, this would be the epitome of déjà vu. Even if Dean didn't remember, they had been here before. They'd escaped that demonic stronghold together.

He'd finished. Castiel stared down at the smeared blood, his and Dean's, and felt the power humming within it. He stood up and turned just in time to see Dean get thrown off of the beast's head toward him.

Castiel raced forward to try and catch him, but he wasn't fast enough. Dean hit the ground hard, so hard that it kicked up dust and water. Castiel tensed, because Dean might have broken something-or worse. His heart squeezed in his chest, like it was trying to burst out. Humans were always so, so fragile, and if Dean had landed wrong on his back or his neck...

The leviathan hung above them (was it thinking about how puny they were? Did it not realize that in his true form, he would have dwarfed it?), and Castiel tilted his head up to give it a look of divine wrath. If he'd had it in him, he would have smote the thing with just his stare.

Instead, he raced forward and grabbed Dean under his arms. “Dean!”

Before he could properly lift him, Dean, somehow still awake, wriggled out of his grip. “I-I got it! I'm good.”

“There's no time-”

The leviathan slithered its way across the ground toward them. Its head reared up and snapped toward them like a snake's, jaw unhinged and fangs exposed.

Castiel ducked down and pressed his hand down on the edge of the sigil-

And then, right before the serpent's jaws reached him, a light burst out from beneath them.

It was the sort of power that Castiel should have been able to form with a flick of his hand, but that didn't matter now.

The leviathan crashed back into the water, repelled by the light. Behind them, an ornate set of doors appeared. Light peeked out from under the cracks, and they slowly started to creak open.

Did this mean they'd won?

“Cas!” Dean yelled out. “This is it!”

A gust of air kicked up, strong enough to push Dean toward the opening doors. But while Castiel felt the wind whip through his hair, it didn't urge his body forward.

And hadn't he thought this was how it would turn out? Castiel had told himself from the start that if a sacrifice was necessary, he'd gladly accept that role, but he didn't have a choice either way. Those doors wouldn't let him through.

“Cas?” Dean's voice cracked as he stared back at him.

Castiel felt something in him splinter as he watched the realization wash across Dean's face, that he wouldn't be coming with.

“Cas!” Dean yelled again, as if shouting his name louder would change things.

Castiel bowed his head. “Dean, I have to stay here. I'm... the sacrifice.” He shouldn't have kept it from him. Secrets were what had landed him here in the first place. But knowing this ahead of time wouldn't have done Dean any good. No, at least they'd been able to repair some of their friendship in their time here, had been granted a few quiet moments to talk things over as best they could.

“No-what?! No! Fuck that. Cas!” Dean struggled against the wind, fighting his way back toward Castiel even though his legs shook from the effort. Through sheer strength of will alone, Dean made it close enough that he could stretch forward with his hand, as far as his shoulder would let him. “Come on!”

Castiel needed to stay here. It was his punishment, and he wouldn't begrudge it, he wouldn't hide or run.

“Dean...”

“Whatever bullshit you're about to spout, just shut it! I didn't bust my ass for it to end like this!”

Dean stretched further. His hand brushed Castiel's cheek.

Castiel grabbed for it, an instinct he couldn't take back. He gripped Dean's hand as hard as he'd once held onto Heaven's ideals, and he refused to let go.

Dean grabbed for Castiel's arm and pulled him forward, until they stood chest to chest. Castiel tried to fight toward the doors, but even if he lifted his leg, he couldn't actually take a step.

“Dean!” Castiel exclaimed as he shook his head. “It's no good!”

Dean shook his head and wrapped his arms around Castiel's back, pulling him closer. Castiel lifted his arms to circle them around Dean and return what was an odd sort of embrace. As the wind blew Dean's body toward the doors again, he dragged Castiel with them.

It wasn't supposed to work this way, but since when had the Winchesters ever followed the rules?

As they got closer to the doors, Castiel tucked his head down against Dean's chest, and held his breath. The light enveloped them, and then-

Nothing.

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