Use Your Illusions, Chapter Three

[wanderamaranth]

Title: Use Your Illusions
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Warning(s): blasphemy, violence, language
Spoilers: Up to and including the promos for 6x19, "Mommy Dearest"
Pairing(s): eventual Dean/Cas, past Dean/Lisa
Authors: wanderamaranth  and quantum_witch 

Summary: In trying to defeat Raphael’s armies, Castiel has employed a desperate and dangerous gambit which backfired in the worst way, and now must turn to the Winchesters for help. Meanwhile, Dean slowly comes to understand he doesn’t have all the time in the world to accept his 'stupid girly feelings'. And Sam finds himself, quite literally. Every possible wall comes tumbling down, for everyone.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. No profit is being made from the creation, promotion, or publication of this work of fiction. We're not taking ourselves too seriously, and don't expect you to, either.

 *~*~*~*

<<Chapter Two

The small corner of the heavens that Castiel's group of rebels occupies can be compared to a thick woods in the mountains, nearly impassable to those who don't know the terrain. The angels in his army have protected its location with powerful Enochian wards for two years. Deep within its borders, Castiel's stash of weapons is secured, sealed with even more wards. Though everyone knows of the armory, still Castiel only trusts a few angels with the words to open it. Balthazar, of course, is one of those angels.

Deeper still, lays another stash of weapons that only he and Balthazar know about, and which they visit more and more frequently as the war drags on. It is this area that Castiel sits in now.

Surrounded by the comforting aura of power, he tries –as Dean would put it – to recharge his batteries. Lately, it seems to take more and more energy just to keep moving. His spirit is weaker than he's ever known. Even when he was all but human and had lost nearly all faith in his Father, and in Dean, he did not feel this fragile. He reaches out a shaking hand to the white glowing cache of souls, pushes his non-corporeal fingers in and sighs when the power flows into him. The light dims slightly as he drains them; he's been trying to ration how much he uses, but at the moment, he feels he needs this.

Castiel knows that if Rachel discovered this particular habit, other angels can as well. He must be careful. Another turncoat is a risk he cannot take, especially as there is no guarantee they would confront him like she did. Remorse at her death buffets him, but he swallows it down. He doesn't regret his actions, what he had to do. Having regret is akin to stating that you would not make the same choices if faced with a similar dilemma. And he recognizes perfectly well that, given the same stakes, he would drive his blade through her heart in an instant.

Soon, he knows, he will have to face questions from the Winchesters. They couldn't have failed to hear the Mother's remarks about him. They are –contrary to the belief of some – not stupid. They will figure out that something is very wrong. How he'll explain, he doesn't know. He's put them off repeatedly, and they are getting frustrated with him. The moment of revelation is inevitable.

His heart is heavy and clenches painfully when he realizes that Dean will likely hate him forever if – no, when, Castiel tells himself harshly – he discovers the entire truth.

*~*~*~*~*

Bobby scratched his beard and yawned. He'd been reading almost non-stop since yesterday, determined to find any other method of taking down Eve. So far, absolutely jack squat had presented itself. Sam was helping, reading on the other side of the study, but Dean had gone to bed, which was just as well considering Bobby didn't yet know how to broach the subject of Castiel.

He clicked open one more link on his computer. A name leapt from the screen, impossible to ignore.

"Sam, get over here."

Sam carefully set his book aside and came. Leaning over Bobby's shoulder, he asked, "What is it, what'd you find?"

"Check it out. 'The Treatise on the Left Emantion', it's called. Written by a pair of rabbi brothers back in the 13th century. Whole lot of contradictory stuff, but there's one thing that stood out. They claim there's two Liliths."

Sam bit his lip, waiting for the ball to drop. "Really? Well, that would explain what Eve meant back in the diner, I guess. About how she was Lilith, I mean."

"Yeah, looks like it. Seems the first one was married to a demon…"

Not quite, Sam thought with a tiny smile.

".. and the second was the one God made for Adam, who refused him and ran off with Lucifer." Bobby squinted at the screen. "And then Eve, the actual Eve, was made after that. Lucky Adam," he added, sardonically. " If this is true, it sure makes identifying the Mother harder. Two monsters named Lilith, pretty uncreative."

Sam laughed quietly, "Yeah, but they aren't much alike otherwise…"

Bobby looked up at him curiously. "Oh really? What makes ya think so?"

"Uh, well," Sam said, with an innocent face, "one was a human that became a demon. The other one was never a human at all. So… I guess they could have different outlooks on life? Um."

Bobby chuckled. "Okay, you can play monster psychologist, I'm just gonna go with my old-fashioned views, I guess."

Sam sighed and moved back to his own side of the room. This was getting really close to home, and he wondered how long his own secret would hold.

*~*~*~*~*

Castiel's troops are recovering from another hard-fought skirmish in which they successfully took down a small group of Raphael's angels. They'd captured one, in hopes of convincing him to change allegiance.

Which of course was pointless as ever.

As Castiel gives the order to execute the prisoner, guilt tears another tiny hole in his heart. He thinks of Sam Winchester, who'd been soulless for a year and yet never so robotic as Raphael's troops. If just one of his brothers or sisters would listen to him...but that, Castiel knows, is an unrealistic hope.

Angels are born and trained to be obedient soldiers. To disobey an archangel's directives would have been unthinkable a few human years ago. Those who do and choose to join Castiel behave differently than they did before, but not by much. They are more autonomous, yet still desire someone to give them marching orders. Which, Castiel supposes with a grimace, is lucky for him—otherwise he'd be fighting this war alone.

Raphael's angels, on the other hand, are more like mobile statues than even Castiel's troops. They act as though they are incapable of individual thought or action. Programmed. Not for the first time, he wonders if Raphael has worked a spell on them. He had once said 'their hearts are mine'.

The idea that Raphael may have meant those words literally is one that, if Castiel needed sleep, he's sure would keep him awake at night.

Castiel wishes he had the capacity to sway others so completely, the charisma that seems to come naturally to Raphael. It would make his job easier, could help him control the nearly impossible mess he's created by dealing with the Mother of All. It would give him the keys to Heaven, and the power to take and remake it into what he hopes his Father would have wanted.

God help him, he hopes he's doing the right thing.

*~*~*~*

Lying back on the old mattress in Bobby's spare bedroom, Dean stared at the ceiling in the dark. He wondered what Castiel did while he was away, how that worked.

Did angels evaporate, scatter like stars into the heavens, when they left their vessels? For that matter, where did Castiel keep his vessel? Was Jimmy still in there? He kind of thought not. How could the poor dude survive two explosions?

"I hope you're in Heaven now, Jimmy," Dean murmured. "Even if Heaven isn't such a great place to be anymore." He sighed as he added, "It'd have to be better than being blown up all the time."

There was just so much about vessels, the angelic civil war, and heaven that he didn't know about. Dean may have repeatedly complained that Castiel didn't tell him anything, but he was also aware that was partly his fault; he didn't push because he was afraid of what he'd learn.

He let himself slowly drift off, Castiel's face in his mind. Not for the first time, the image comforted him. Castiel had helped him sleep so many times. Much more, he's certain, than the angel realized. It went beyond those times Castiel had entered his dreams or chased away nightmares of hell with a tap to the forehead. Sometimes just picturing those steady blue eyes that always held Dean in place, thinking of his resolute spirit, or even recalling different instances where angel clumsily dealt with the world, gave Dean enough peace of mind to relax into sleep.

Not that he'd ever admit such a thing, to anyone.

Bobby's voice shouted up the stairs, waking him before he was properly asleep. Grumbling, Dean trudged down to see what the hell was so important.

When he heard what Bobby wanted to tell him, Dean wished he hadn't gotten out of bed.

*~*~*~*~*

Castiel used to feel fear almost constantly, and it is with only a mild sense of concern that he comes to see he no longer does. He realizes he has become numbed by the war, by what he's been doing to endure it.

He hates himself. Used to hate himself even more than he does currently.

But now, even the hate is growing numb.

He wonders if this is how Sam felt when he'd been pulled back from Hell. What a surprise that had been, seeing him alive and walking around. He'd say "well", too, but that wasn't exactly true; Sam had been soulless, because of Crowley's actions. Not accidentally, either. A bargaining chip.

Not just against the Winchesters, although he's sure that had been a bonus, but against Castiel. To protect Dean, Castiel would do… almost anything. It was clear to everyone, it seemed, except for Dean himself. (The irony of that was not lost on Castiel.) Yes, he'd do anything to protect Dean.

So he had. The price of Dean's safety was not so high, all things considered: just hiding his morals, burying his conscience, and selling both heaven and himself. He'd pay more, if the result was Dean's well-being.

If it was just the matter of the souls, of his ill-advised actions with the Mother, Castiel thinks that Dean might eventually forgive him. But there is one secret he's kept that Castiel is certain Dean would not forgive him for, because it involves Sam.

While Sam's human soul had been missing, there still had been something animating the young hunter. When Castiel had reached inside, what he'd found shocked him to his core, still rattles him to think upon.

He plans to never tell Sam (and by extension, Dean) the truth, and hopes the human soul will heal enough to keep that truth repressed once the wall Death placed inevitably falls, as it had done all his life. Castiel's not ashamed to admit that Sam frightens him. But Sam being aware of what he truly is could be overwhelming, devastating. If it destroys Sam, it will obliterate Dean, which will render Castiel's existence meaningless.

Yes, he knows full well how dependent he is on the human. Learning human feelings has been wonderful and horrible, but it's kept him from giving up. He loves Dean, and it's glaringly obvious to more people than he's comfortable with. It makes Dean a target, an Achilles heel, just as Dean and Sam are for one another.

Castiel doesn't think it would work were the roles reversed. Dean has shown how little he cares about his safety sometimes, often enough that the angel wonders if he is just a tool to the Winchester. Something to be used, and then discarded. Yet Castiel will not, can not, stop loving the stupid, frustrating, beautiful soul inside Dean. That soul contains, as they all do, a spark of his Father's power, and Dean's in particular shines brighter than any other on earth.

Castiel seems to be the only one to think so, of course.

He wishes, just once in a while, that the single part of him that doesn't seem to grow numb – his foolish love for this foolish human – would.

*~*~*~*

"'The Winchester Psalter'? Wow, that's an ironic and slightly freaky thing." Dean raised an eyebrow at the computer, looking at the scanned pages of an illuminated medieval book. "So what's the deal besides pretty pictures?"

"It's this page," Bobby said, turning the screen toward Dean. "Supposed to be a hellmouth. More exactly, Purgatory." The picture showed an angel – an archangel, specifically – with a key, locking the door to the pit. Monsters of all kinds were trapped within the circular mouth of hell. The entrapment itself was a living thing: it appeared to be some sort of dragon.

Dean chuckled, "Okay, so what does that have to do with us? We're not the ones trying to get into Purgatory. From what we know, Raphael isn't gunning for there either, and it's not like Gabriel is still around for us to worry about."

Sam chuckled, though he didn't feel any humor at the idea. Gabriel was a whole other can of worms he couldn't afford to open right now. But worse still, he knew what the image really represented. Because of it, he was sure he knew what was really happening.

Oh Castiel, he thought sadly, what have you done?

"What does this have to do with us?" Dean repeated when neither Sam nor Bobby said anything. He wished he could just go back bed and dream about other angels and why the hell was he thinking that? He shook his head.

"Well, it might be nothing but…" Bobby hesitated. He met Sam's eyes but found no help there. "…You heard the Mother, Dean. She said Castiel released her from Purgatory. And if this Psalter is right, an angel is the only being who could do it."

Dean froze, eyes narrowing in a sudden rush of anger. "That bitch was full of shit, and you both know it." He looked from Bobby to Sam, and found no support there; just a silent sympathy. It only made him angrier. "Whatever she said, it was just to mess with our heads." Even to himself, his words sounded plaintive, the denial of a child.

"Okay, maybe you're right," Bobby said, in a way that Dean knew meant he was humoring him. "But we can't ignore every word she said. There was truth there too, and like it or not, monsters don't tell lies all the time. They like to gloat, especially when it's the truth they can hang over our heads."

Bobby's reasonableness really got on Dean's nerves. He waved his hands aimlessly, trying for any other rationale. "But a picture's just… a picture. And besides, it's an angel locking the thing up, not..."

"Or unlocking," Sam's voice came quietly.

Dean spun toward his brother, wanting to shout traitor! at him. "No. Don't say that. This is Cas... Cas wouldn't do anything like that. It's not the way he's built, man."

Bobby cleared his throat. "We don't want to think it, Dean, but we know something's off. You know, too, boy, in your gut. We're gonna ask him what's what."

He noticed then what Bobby and Sam had done, understood that they had already planned an interrogation, without Dean's input. They were simply letting him know, as if they were doing him a fucking favor.

"No, wait, not this way," Dean huffed, his voice desperate now. "Let me just talk to him—"

"How many times have you tried, Dean? He'll just say he'll tell you when he can," Sam responded gently. "Things have gotten really bad, and if Cas won't make the time to tell us, then… well, we'll just have to make him take the time."

Dean felt sick, but he closed his eyes and nodded. Taking a deep breath, he made the lamest call possible.

"Cas, hey, uh, can you come down a minute? We've found something… important. Some old book with something in it... and, uh, we could really..."

*~*~*~*

Castiel hears the prayer, knows it's half-hearted, but he craves Dean's presence and can never refuse.

Dean, I'm coming. Of course. Always.

*~*~*~*

As soon as Castiel appeared in Bobby's living room, he smelled a very familiar fragrance and froze. Eyes widening in sudden understanding—the reluctance of Dean's prayer, the way the three hunters stood around him in a semi-circle—Castiel made to immediately leave, but it was already to late. Dean dropped his lighter and the ring of holy oil snaked around Castiel's feet, trapping him.

Oh Father, no, it's too soon, too soon…

It would always be too soon.

"Dean," he said, voice carefully steady, "what is the meaning of this?"

Dean and he locked gazes, as usual, but Dean didn't say a word. Perhaps he couldn't; his throat worked but nothing came out.

Sam's forehead crinkled in what looked like concern. It would be he and Bobby, then, that would be leading this questioning. In some ways, Castiel was thankful. It would be harder if Dean were the one interrogating him, to hear the accusations trip off his tongue.

"Cas," Sam began, "We have some questions. About the Mother."

"I've told you about her…" he hedged, not knowing why he bothered with evasion at this point. It was over, and he knew it.

"But there's more, isn't there?" Bobby pressed.

Castiel's eyes swung away, not focusing on anyone's face. "I don't know what you're asking."

Lies, Dean thought, loudly and clearly. Castiel winced. He had never not looked Dean straight in the eye. The older Winchester had once told him that Castiel was the most painfully honest person he had ever known. Although his thoughts and emotions were more jumbled after that initial outburst, Castiel could still feel them rolling just beneath the surface of Dean's skin, could well imagine what was racing through his mind, things like: How long had this been going on while I wasn't paying attention?or perhaps-

"Months," Dean said, and Castiel jerked at how accurate he'd been. "You've been...for months, and I..." Castiel's throat constricted in fear.

"Look, Cas," Bobby said carefully, "we heard Eve say you'd called her up, released her from Purgatory. We don't want to believe it, because she's obviously a twisted bitch. But… well, we just have to ask. We just wanna hear it from you."

"But I haven't anything to tell you –" Castiel began uneasily.

"Bull," Dean barked. Castiel's gaze rose to see the hunter's white-faced worry. "We know the Mother was raised by those dragon freaks. They had a fucking instruction book. Thinking back on it now, that book—old dead language, bound in human skin—seems like the sort of thing that heaven would keep its eye on. Pretty powerful weapon, in the wrong hands. The page with all the gory details was missing, but let me take a guess. Her release required virgin sacrifice, am I right?"

Castiel's eyes flicked briefly to the side, but he forced himself to return them to look at Dean directly.

"Yes. A virgin vessel is the only type pure enough to contain the Mother."

"So a demon who's afraid of STD's?" Dean grunted with disgust. "You're admitting to this shit, Cas? I don't-"

"She's not a demon," Castiel responded, cutting Dean off. "She's something much older. Bigger."

"What's that?" Bobby prompted.

But Castiel looked away again. "I couldn't say exactly what –"

"Bull!" Dean said again, growling. "I don't care what she is, I just care that you're lying about shit and that you told dragons to sacrifice virgins to a monster. Virgins, Cas! Innocent girls!" Dean's face was red and strained.

Then Castiel laughed, genuinely laughed aloud, startling all three men and himself. "What would you have suggested as a replacement, Dean? Myself? The '4000 year old virgin', I believe you once called me?" He could feel his face split into a broad but sickly grin, knew his vessel's eyes were a little glazed. "I'm afraid that wasted trip to the brothel wouldn't have made me any more suitable. I wasn't what she needed."

Dean stepped back a pace from the circle, eyes wide and horrified at Castiel's behavior. The angel never laughed, never smiled like that. All Dean could pull from him, if he were lucky, was the slightest of huffs, the barest twitch of his lips. Nothing like what we was seeing now. This was… it was just wrong. An icy stab went down the hunter's spine and his heart seemed to twist inside his chest. All Dean saw looking at that smile was the wrecked shell Cas had been in his visit to 2014.

Oh God… Was his Cas already gone?

Dean must have made some sort of broken noise, because Castiel continued to chuckle softly, almost breathlessly. "Well, then. I see being coy is pointless. If I have nothing left to lose here, then losing the war won't be so bad, will it?"

Bobby and Sam glanced apprehensively at one another, clearly wondering where this was going. Dean could only stare, his lips trembling and forehead pinched, waiting for the end of the world.

Castiel paused a moment; the crackling of the fire seemed very loud. Dean's gaze on the angel's face was almost tangible. It was intense, pleading with him to tell the truth while simultaneously begging for the truth to be a complete lie. Whatever he did now, Castiel knew any possibility he may ever have had with Dean was dead. He shook with the need to spill everything, to bleed his secrets onto the floor at Dean's feet.

Breathing deeply, he said slowly, "I didn't directly order the dragons or tell them what to do, but I didn't try to stop them, either." Castiel spoke haltingly, as if choosing the right words would lessen their impact. "The instruction book is not a heavenly weapon. It came from… Crowley. He gave it to me, to pass to them…"

*~*~*~*~*

The angel frowned at the demon, distrust and borderline hatred etched on his face. 'Why are we talking to this abomination, Balthazar?'

"Now, brother, he's not nearly so dreadful as you make him out to be," the other angel said consolingly, pouring himself a drink. "For one, he's got excellent taste in liquor." He knocked back his drink and then reached for the metal mixer, intent on making another. "Martini, Cas? No?" Sighing at Cas' stone face, he muttered, "Somehow I am not surprised."

"A Scotch for me," came the demon's smooth request. "You being over there already and all." Crowley stretched out on the angel's luxurious sofa and glanced around. "Nice digs, Balthazar. Didn't think angels liked anything that wasn't stark as a Quaker's shack. Very posh," he said, approvingly.

"Not all angels have sticks up their bums, Crowley." Balthazar quirked a half-smile, handing the snifter to the demon. "Some of us appreciate the finer things, the things that make life on earth worth living." He looked significantly at Castiel, where his brother still stood stiffly across the room. "Some of us understand that keeping earth intact is important."

Castiel growled, "You know that is all I want, Balthazar, but this method-"

"I know, Cas, I do know." Balthazar approached him with concern etched on his face. "But you're losing, and you know that. I don't want Raphael to win, because I know exactly what he will do to the world. Still, I don't want to fight, and I wish you wouldn't either...but since you're the determined, persistent thing that you've always been… this could be just what you need to tip it all in your favor." He turned back to the bar, speared an olive with a toothpick and plopped it into his glass. "It's not the most savory situation, I agree. The dry cleaning bills alone one accumulates while working with demons..." Balthazar trailed off at the sour, warning look on Crowley's face. "But! Well...enemy of my enemy, etcetera. You do understand that, Cas."

Crowley smiled smarmily (which admittedly Castiel believed was the only type of smile he was capable of). "Look, you remember me, don't you? That I was somewhat instrumental in helping stop your little apocalypse a year ago?"

Castiel's lips pinched. "Of course I do. I was there."

"Then you know I have a vested interest in preventing a second one. Raphael's plans would deprive me of my place in the world. My motives are entirely self-serving, if that eases your conscience, duckie. You two are just accessories. I could probably do without you, but things will be so much easier with your cooperation."

Crowley's reasoning didn't ease Castiel's mind at all, but he nodded anyway. He wouldn't have even agreed to this meeting if he hadn't been desperate. "Tell me what you have in mind. I'll decide if it's worth my time."

"Fair enough," Crowley nodded, sipping his Scotch. "Right to business. I am the current King of Hell." At Castiel's suddenly tense posture, Crowley scoffed. "Keep your sword tucked away, dear. Power vacuums are irresistible. Someone has to wear the crown, and who better than yours truly?" He set his empty glass on the low table in front of him and waved his hand flippantly. "The demon you know, and all that. I don't want another apocalypse, and I don't want to rule the earth or conquer heaven. Fact is, I don't want anything else but what's downstairs. Believe me when I say there's more than enough fun to be had with that many insane murderous beasts to last me a dozen lifetimes. But it's not nearly so simple as stepping onto the dais and putting on a crown. Which Hell doesn't really have, by the way."

At Castiel's blank look Crowley sighed and elaborated. "A crown? But it would be a lovely accessory."

Balthazar sighed with lessening patience, "Do get on with the details, old fellow. I'm sure my brother would like the Cliff Notes. After all, there is a war raging at this very moment."

Crowley snorted. "Getting to the point. Demons are, the lot of them, bloody rotten bastards who don't recognize any authority that hasn't been in charge since the dawn of time. In other words: Lucifer, one of the original Fallen, or a chief torturer. King of the Crossroads doesn't translate, to most, as an effective King of Hell, you see. They aren't so much rebelling against me as just being themselves, the arrogant, chaotic, uncontrollable little piss-ants." He insulted his subjects with almost indulgent amusement. "I need a tad more firepower to clamp down on their stupidity, to flex my muscle… so to speak..." Crowley smirked, giving far more meaning to his words than he truly needed.

Castiel's skin crawled. "Please get to your point a little faster," he ground out. "I find myself with an increasing desire to smite you."

"Moving on," Crowley scowled, "I need souls that aren't demonic. And I can't gather human souls fast enough to serve my needs, they have to willingly sign themselves over first. Obviously I can't access the souls in Heaven. So what's left is monsters. There are not as many as I'd like on earth, and finding, then pulling them, is too bloody slow. Which is why I need to access the place they go when they die, to get the whole lot of them in one big all-you-can-eat monster soul buffet."

Castiel's brow drew in confusion. "Monster souls don't go to Hell when they die."

"No, indeed they don't. I mean Purgatory." Crowley waited a beat for that to sink in, then continued. "I've been trying to beat a location out of the buggers, but so far none of them are feeling very chatty. I've got a few tricks to use yet, might be getting there. Meanwhile, the leftovers are still bloody tasty. And," he gave a twisted grin, "we could share the spoils, you and me."

"Why in Heaven's name would I want these souls?" Castiel's tone was incredulous. "You're making no sense."

"Power, you simpleton," Crowley snapped. "Souls are power, thought you knew that. Each one, no matter where they came from, has a little spark of your God inside them, and that makes them powerful and valuable –"

"The only thing worth owning in this economy," Balthazar reiterated from his spot by the bar. He sighed, looking contrite. "I wasn't just collecting them for fun, brother. They kept me from being discovered. That is, until you found me. Don't worry," he said, at Castiel's look, "I didn't harm any of them, and they aren't bound for hell when they die. All I needed was a little taste and then I could shield myself."

"Though they are far more versatile than that," Crowley put in. "They've got a thousand and one uses. I'm looking for the power to command the idiots down in Hell. You could use it to win your war." The demon waited for a moment, and added, "I know Raphael has you badly outgunned right now, and it's not likely to get any better using your old-fashioned techniques of honorable combat. Big brother isn't going to play by the Code Duello... he's looking to win. By any means necessary. You know it."

Castiel was still and intense. His silence made it clear that Crowley was right. "Balthazar," Castiel appealed to his brother, "if you would just give me the weapons you stole-"

"I can't, Cas. I honestly can't right now." Balthazar winced. "I have a few on hand, minor things. The rest I hid away. Rather too well, unfortunately. I intended to make a treasure map of sorts, but I was running a little too fast and didn't have a chance, so… I've lost track of them." When Castiel snorted in disbelief, Balthazar said, "I am truly sorry. I do, however, intend to search for them, and will turn them over to you when I find them. But until then, it can only be to your advantage to try another route. Power is power. Once you have the weapons as well, there will be no way for Raphael to succeed."

Castiel turned this over in his mind, still not liking it. He opened his mouth just a slit, saying, "I won't sully my honor to win."

"Then you might as well walk out with a white flag because you're only gonna die bloody," Crowley muttered. "Over and over and over again. So will everyone else who ever opposed Raphael's reign. Including your Winchesters. I'm sure Raph has a special corner of Hell already picked out for those boys."

Crowley's words sank into Castiel's heart as Balthazar picked up the thread. "Brother, I know how fond you are of them, and while I think they a weakness, I know you won't abandon them. So we aren't asking you to."

"I am," Crowley interjected sourly, downing the rest of his Scotch.

"But you cannot protect them fighting the way you have been. How many of our brothers and sisters have you slain already in their name? How many troops has Raphael lost already in the name of your protective instincts? You know he will not be merciful towards them." Seeing Castiel begin to waver, Balthazar continued, "How many angels have left your side and returned to Raphael, the side certain to win? How many of them know just how far you'd go for your pet humans, and are even now whispering that into our dear brother's ears?"

When Castiel remained silent, Balthazar nodded sadly. "So you see there's nothing else to be done. And there's really nothing wrong with using a weapon to your advantage, Cas. It might be get your mitts a bit dirty, but... think of it this way: you won't even be harming any humans in the process! They're only monsters. The same things you and your humans have killed on a regular basis already. How can this be any different? You rid the world of a few monsters, and you—how would they put it?-charge your batteries while doing it."

Castiel was going to agree, and they all knew it. It felt so wrong, but everything Balthazar and the demon said made so much sense. There was no way he could risk... and it was sure to help the cause. In the long run… how could it be truly bad?

"How… how could this be done?" he found himself asking.

*~*~*~*

Castiel paused in his tale and looked up at Bobby, Sam and Dean. They didn't show an outward reaction, and were standing in silence around the circle of fire. He sighed and looked upward.

"You were…" Dean began, his voice so hoarse it sounded as if he'd been screaming, or holding back tears. "You were working with Crowley…"

"Yes. For the greater good, but yes."

"The greater good?" Dean spit, "We don't work with demons, we don't work with monsters. Not for any reason! The greater good be damned!"

"Damnation is preferable?" Castiel shot back angrily. "Or is it preferable to be at the mercy of an archangel who has no actual mercy? What I've done is reprehensible on many levels, Dean, I know. You don't need to spell it out for me. But everything I've done is for the greater good."

Silence fell again, with Dean breathing harshly through his nose, lips pinched together in a white line. His eyes twitched as he tried to control himself.

"Do you think that's all? Let me continue to demonstrate the depths to which I've been reduced," Castiel muttered, his eyes once more unfocused.

*~*~*~*

"I've already sullied myself enough," Castiel snarled as he stood in Crowley's new palatial home, listening to the demon unveil his latest plan.

"You're already in the dirt neck deep, Cas. What makes you think anything extra will make the slightest difference to the quality of your soul now? Dirt on top of dirt… smut on smut... it's still dirty. Your God don't measure layers: sin is sin, and you, darling, are a sinner. Now will you do it, or not?"

"What, kill you?" Castiel laughed softly. "I would be more than happy to."

"Very funny," the demon smirked. "My bones are carved with the spells necessary to send me to Purgatory and not to destroy me. It's not a task I'm looking forward to, by the way, but I don't trust anyone else to do it. So there's little choice...unless you wanna take my place?" Castiel twitched.

"No?" Crowley mocked. "Right. Didn't think so. So you torch me in front of the Winchesters and we'll eliminate two problems at once. They'll stop pestering me and can go back to feeling morally superior and smug in the knowledge that they're not working for evil old me, capturing Alphas. Maybe that'll ease their terminal angst a notch, eh?" Winking, Crowley admitted, "Yeah, probably not. Worth a try, though. And when I'm on my little vacation to the second happiest place under earth, you tell the dragons to start chucking virgins down the hole. When I find the Mother I'll tell her where to go to, and she'll do the rest."

"How do you know she'll even be willing to help us?" Castiel asked. "She's not been to the surface in thousands of years. Even with her oldest enemy returned to action, she might not care-"

"You're acting like she thinks like us, mate. It's part of her nature. She's old, primordial old, and trust me when I say that the older a creature is, the less advanced their intelligence and the more likely they are to just follow instinct. It's programmed." Crowley glanced sideways at Castiel. "Some might even accuse angels of the same problem." Before Castiel could open his mouth to protest, Crowley waved a hand. "Yes, yes, you are advanced, thanks to the glowingly positive influence of your sweet humans. Wonderful example you chose to follow, I must say." Licking his lips, he added, "Dean Winchester is certainly a fine figure of a man...and if one has to follow a human, well..."

The lusty tone of voice wasn't lost on Castiel, who was angry to feel his face growing warm.

"You can stop teasing, Crowley," came a low but feminine voice in the corner of the room. "He's whipped and he already knows it. Just finish talking so we can move on with the entertaining bits."Meg's hungry gaze raked Castiel head to foot, and his temperature went from warm to cold.

"Oh yes, let's focus on you, shall we?" Rolling his eyes, Crowley said, "In my brief absence, Meg shall assert her influence over our fellow demons – which has always amazed me, she's so very convincing, must be the cleavage – and watch over Hell until I return. She knows better than to cross me, don't you sweetheart? Few little fail-safes in place, few little hellhounds who don't answer to anyone but me, and so on." Crowley grinned at her resigned scoff. "When we've got the Mother out, Meg will do her little black magic and retrieve me—promptly," he stressed, with a warning glare, "and it's back to business as usual. You've got the weapon you need to defeat Raphael, Cas, and Meg and I get what we want too."

Meg hummed, "Queen of the Crossroads isn't the worst deal I've had. Queen of Hell would be so much yummier…"

'And you know well that you're simply not my taste in consorts, darling,' Crowley drawled. 'Nevertheless, the other deal is more than acceptable. However, it all hinges on whether Cas here is willing to deal in turn.'

"Why do I need to strike a deal for this?" Castiel rumbled, his heart racing.

"Because, Clarence, I'll be a crossroads demon, and we have rules, despite what Heaven may think. Everything I'm involved in will require a kiss." She licked her lips eagerly. "Even if it's secondhand deals, we'd all have to play a part in it, so it's kisses all around. We could do some practice runs, if you'd like. I hear you're a little unschooled."

Castiel's eyes blazed. "I would not like that. You may wait until the moment of the deal, and not one second sooner."

Crowley smiled gleefully. "Ah, that must mean we're in agreement. You and I can skip the kiss, since I know you would only bite my bloody face off. Pity. Meg will be our intermediary."

"I'll need two kisses, in that case," Meg chortled. "Think you can come through, Clarence? And start using a little Chapstick. Those lips are pretty but look kinda dry," she pouted, as if she hadn't been literally almost salivating at the prospect of their bargain moments before.

Heart thumping in anxious fury, Castiel nodded. "Give me the plans and we'll get this over with."

*~*~*~*

"My God," Bobby breathed. "Are you saying that Crowley's not dead? And Meg was in on it?"

Castiel nodded, eyes closed. "Yes, to both. It was painful for me, if you must know."

"Right," Dean rasped, his chest heaving a bit. "Kissing that slut looked like it was a huge chore."

"It was far from pleasant, Dean." Castiel's eyes snapped open and bored into the hunter's. Sarcasm dripping from every word, he growled, "Why do you think I was watching the pizza man? I had to prepare myself any way I could. And no other option was presented to me."

There was a significant, gravity-filled pause, and the glares between them could have set fire to the entire room.

"Okay, um…" Sam cleared his throat loudly and rubbed his face, uncomfortable in the presence the blatantly revealed UST between his brother(s). He tried to wrap things up quickly, "So, ah.. you and Crowley, monster souls, sending him to Purgatory, Meg was in on it... uh, is that all?"

"Is that all?" Dean demanded, his voice shrill as he finally wrested his gaze from the angel and stared at Sam. "Isn't that already the most insane shit you could possibly imagine?" He whipped back to Castiel, cold rage warring evenly with devastation. "Cas, you… you're so much better than this. I would never have believed you capable of anything like this. Please… God please, just tell me you're lying... that you've been watching too many crappy made-for-tv movies and you're writing a bad script to send to Hollywood. If you are, I wanna be sure I don't buy a ticket."

Castiel laughed again, caustically. He didn't even answer, just hung his head until the laughter began to sound more like gentle sobs.

"I've told you before how badly the war is going. Badly is an understatement. It will still be a miracle if we win, despite everything, no matter the measures I've taken. When I lose, you will need another miracle just to survive. I don't think you understand. Raphael plans to raze the planet. There will be no more earth, no more humanity. Billions of lives, gone." He turned away briefly, ashamed of the tears in his eyes.

"Everything I've done... I prayed, every moment I could stop moving, prayed to Father for a sign that I was doing the right thing. I prayed for any other option than what I was doing, I prayed to be stopped before I became something irredeemable. And I got no answer. I never get an answer…" He stopped for a deep, shaky breath.

"Yes, lives were sacrificed. But more angels have died than humans or monsters combined, you should know. I have a limited number of brothers and sisters. When we are gone, there is no replacing our kind. Our Father isn't around to make more of us. When I'm gone, Raphael will slaughter those who remain loyal to me. His army will be all that remains alive."

Castiel looked into each of the human's eyes, one by one. "I hope you understand the magnitude of what I've done now. The regrettable things I've told you I had to do, for the sake of winning. For the sake of freedom, not peace." He clenched his eyes shut again. "I may lose. I probably will lose… but I can't just give up. Not now, I mustn't stop. I have to save you all."

Castiel's voice cracked at last, and he choked out a sob, fighting the urge to fall to his knees and failing. "I must… I must save you, Dean."

Dean's breath came harsh and fast. Tears were pricking his eyes at last; he had to leave the room. He'd held in his emotions for too long, and they were threatening to overwhelm him. He whirled and stormed out, the screen door to the porch slamming behind him.

Bobby waited for a heartbeat, staring blindly at the angel trapped in the circle of fire, then went after Dean.

For a few moments, Castiel did nothing but gasp out broken sobs, tears – the first he'd shed – streaking his face. He couldn't win, he couldn't possibly win, and Dean hated him…

He didn't realize the flames were gone until Sam touched his shoulder. The angel jolted, and raised his wrecked face to the young man. "Cas, it's okay." Sam spoke gently, as one does to the injured. "I understand what it's like. Dean does too. He'll remember that as soon as he stops being an ass, you'll see. We know what it means to have to fight to win at any cost. We've both done bad things that we regret. You wouldn't believe how badly we...well, yeah you probably would."

Sam sighed and ran his hand through his long hair. He tugged at Castiel's sleeve to get the angel to stand, then led him to the kitchen table and poured a glass of water. Sam forced him to drink it, only speaking again when Castiel had gagged down several swallows full.

"Listen, we can help. We'll find a way to help and we won't give up. We never do, you know." Sam smiled wryly, though Castiel didn't respond. He just continued to drink the water, although now he was sipping it.

Sam sighed and broached the subject he'd been dreading since Castiel first admitted what he'd been doing with the souls. "You're addicted, aren't you?"

Castiel's forehead pinched, and he looked up with a genuinely puzzled expression. "What are you talking about?"

"To souls. You've been feeding on them for most of a year. It's giving you a boost you can't get any other way. You haven't been able to stop, and you've tried, haven't you?"

"I require them. I can't maintain the power I need to fight otherwise…"

"If you say so. But take it from someone who's an addict themselves. I've used the same excuses, for the same reasons. It never has a good ending." Sam breathed softly, leaning toward Castiel, lowering his voice even more. "I know it's not going to be easy to defeat Raphael without that power source, but… there may be a way to control the Mother…"

"I never said I was going to use the souls to control her," Castiel said.

"You didn't have to."

Castiel rubbed his hand across his eyes and groaned. "I don't know of any other way. I've exhausted my knowledge and resources."

"But I do know a way," Sam whispered, touching Castiel's hand to get his attention.

The angel blinked, clearing his vision, and met Sam's firm gaze. He saw the slight golden ring in Sam's eyes, and sucked in his breath in shock. It couldn't possibly be there unless…

"The Mother is the Leviathan," Sam said. It wasn't a question. "She'll come when I call."

Castiel shook as he asked, very quietly, "What do you remember?"

Sam's answering smile was relaxed, even gentle. "Everything."

Chapter Four>>

*~*~*~*

Author's Notes: Both "The Treatise of the Left Emanation" and the "Winchester Psalter" are actual religious historical texts.

The Treatise of the Left Emanation is a Kabbalistic text by Rabbi Isaac ha-Kohen, who with his brother Jacob traveled through Spain and Portugal within the 1260 to 1280 time period.

The Winchester Psalter is an English 12th century illuminated manuscript sometimes known as the Psalter of Henry of Blois. For more information on it, go to its wiki page here. The illustration that Bobby shows Dean is this: