Use Your Illusions Chapter Six

[wanderamaranth]

Title: Use Your Illusions
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): blasphemy, violence, language
Spoilers: Up to and including the promos for 6x19, "Mommy Dearest"
Pairing(s): Dean/Cas, past Dean/Lisa, past Sam/Eve
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.

 

<<Chapter Five

*~*~*~*

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!"

"Would I kid you about something like this?"

Dean was barreling as fast as he dared down pothole filled dirt roads. It was edging towards dawn, which meant it'd been at least an hour since the Behemoth had taken Castiel and the Horn of Judgment. An half hour during which Castiel was subjected to the whims of his megalomaniacal sister, a half hour where the archangel held one of the few keys to releasing Lucifer from his cage. They'd left Bobby behind with Vern, hoping that he'd be able to extract useful information out of his 'friend' about 'Clay', but Dean wasn't holding his breath for a miracle on that front. He'd fooled Dean, which was not easy to do; he doubted Vern had even known what he'd befriended.

And while Bobby was busy with that, he and Sam had been searching for a crossroads, but it seemed the town of Enoch didn't have one. Not a single crossroads in the whole goddamn place that wasn't right smack in the middle of suburbia and therefore worse than useless.

So they'd driven a good ten miles out of town, through unbelievable amounts of twisting roads that went everywhere but directly across another fucking road. Finally they'd headed west into the desert scrub.

Sam had turned on his GPS and found a grid of roads, what looked like it had been meant as a housing development before the market collapsed and it was abandoned. The roads were still unpaved, so it was a safe bet no one would see them do their deal.

"Here! Right ahead, about a quarter mile." Sam said, and actually pointed out the windshield, as if that would help Dean with his sense of direction.

"Fucking finally!"

Dean jerked his baby's wheel hard. She skittered off the side of the road, and he'd thrown her into park and was climbing out before the engine's rumble completely cut off. Sam scrambled out of his seat behind him.

"You got that shovel?"

"Yeah, Dean, I've got it." Sam planted the tip into the dirt at the center of the crossroads. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Dean stared, nerves jangling. "What do you mean am I sure? This is Cas, Sammy! Of course I'm sure!"

"You just... we don't know what the demon will ask for. What we'll have to barter."

"Whatever it is, it's worth it."

"Dean-"

"I said it's worth it, Sam. Whatever I have to do. So if you're not going to dig that hole, give me the damn shovel, and I'll do it."

Jaw clenching, Sam gave an apprehensive glance at his distressed brother. "Fine." He set his foot on top of the spade's brace and dug in.

*~*~*~*

"Well, well. Sam and Dean Winchester," came the unwelcomingly familiar feminine voice, "to what do I owe this nearly orgasmic pleasure?"

"Meg?" Sam coughed. "Oh my God."

Dean stepped toward her, snarling, mouth grim. "Just shut up. We're here to make a deal."

Meg snorted. "Figured that much out, cupcake. You did plant a box at a crossroads. Wasn't expecting a party where we braid each other's hair and have sweaty pillow fights. Fun as that would be." She tipped her hips at a saucy angle. "When I heard you were ringing, I just had to pop up and see for myself what it is you want so very badly."

"Really? Queen of the Crossroads making time for little ole us? You shouldn't have," Sam needled her, but Meg just grinned, smug.

"Oh, so you know about my new job, do you? Someone's been tattling. I wonder who." She licked her lips. "And just where is our naughty Clarence?"

"That's why we're here, to rescue him. Raphael has him, and you're gonna get him back for us."

"I am, am I?" Meg frowned as she sauntered closer, then ran a dark-tipped nail down Dean's chest. "So pushy. Nothing happens without mutual consent. Though I do like it a little rough—"

In a flurry of motion, Dean had her spun around, back pressed to his chest, the demon-killing knife held under her throat. "Call it a hunch, but I'm betting you'll consent."

"Dean, honey," she purred, "you're pretty but you're an idiot." She reached out a hand in front of herself and twisted it into a fist, and Dean released the knife with a gasp. Meg stepped away, laughing merrily.

"I'll give you anything you want," Dean gasped, and Meg paused, staring down at the hunter. "My soul? It's yours."

Her face went cheerfully blank, what passed for a professional mask slipping over her features. "Not nearly enough. You're asking me to snatch an angel, sweetums. From the grip of an archangel? Baby, I'm good, but that trick's a little harder than rolling over and playing fetch. I need a bigger bone, and your dirty little soul's not gonna do."

"Meg, that's not all we need," Sam interrupted.

Turning her dark eyes toward him, she teased, "Sammy, looking good. There's something different about you."

Sam reached in front of himself, made a fist and twisted it, just as Meg had moments before. She fell to her knees with a pained gasp and released the hold she'd placed on Dean. He sucked in a lungful of air, trying to speak, but Sam forged onward, ignoring Meg's wheezing and Dean's gaping-fish impression. "There's an item we need you to retrieve, too. Raphael has the Horn of Judgment."

At that, Meg twitched and her face went slack. "Oh," she gasped. "Hell." Absently Sam released the psychic hold he'd placed on her, and Meg exhaled in deep bursts as she glared at him. "That changes things."

"Yeah, kinda thought it might," Sam said darkly.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean coughed as he regained his feet.

Meg made an amusing cooing sound at him, as one does a small child, then turned her focus back to Sam as she struggled to her feet. "News down in the Pit is that Luci misses you, Sammykins."

"Stop with the pre-show and just tell me your price," Sam demanded, interrupting her to prevent any further secrets from spilling in front of Dean. "Cas is in trouble, right now."

"Can't, sugar," Meg heaved an annoyed sigh. "Something this big and juicy, I have to go through the boss. This is a deal of a lifetime, and he'll want to clear it himself. Control freak."

"Then what the hell are you still doing here?" Dean barked, struggling to his feet and glaring acidly at her. "Go ask!"

"Hmm, so bossy. It's kinda charming, in a brutish way," Meg snorted. "I totally get what Clarence sees in you."

"Just go, please, Meg?" Sam cajoled in frustration.

Meg grinned at him with better humor. "Only because you asked so nicely, Sam-I-Am." A wisp of sulfur and she was gone.

Dean leaned against the Impala, breathing like a racehorse. "Oh God, Sam." The shock was finally setting in, Sam could see it. "Oh, my God, what's gonna happen to him? Cas, I—"

Sam was moving toward him, to comfort in whatever way he could think of, when Meg popped back into the road.

"Mmm, Sammy, the way you're looking at Dean could give a girl ideas," she said.

"What'd Crowley say?" Dean asked, pushing off the Impala and striding towards the demon. "You going, or are we gonna have to appeal to another power?"

"Please," Meg rolled her eyes. "If you'd had any other options, you would've used them. But, lucky for you, boss man was willing to deal. No groveling required. I think he has a soft spot for your angel."

"The terms, Meg," Sam said.

"Fine." Her lips pressed into a thin line, clearly displeased that he was spoiling her fun. "In exchange for fetching our charmingly smutty little angel and the Horn, I'm going to require something from both of you. Technically, it will be treated as if we're brokering two deals. One for each request. Got it?"

When they both reluctantly nodded, she grinned. "Aww, I like this. You guys are always so nice when I have something you want." Neither had to say anything—Dean narrowed his eyes and Sam's posture shifted—but she must have sensed their patience was gone, because she tutted under her breath and continued.

"First—Deano. I bring your boyfriend back, the Pit gets your soul."

The hunter flinched, but nodded. It wasn't unexpected.

"Don't get so excited, sweetheart: there's more. Crowley says Castiel has access to something he wants. Convince him to share. You don't, and Crowley'll gift-wrap your angel and leave him as a parcel on Raphael's doorstep."

Dean hesitated. "I can't make Cas do anything he doesn't want."

Meg snorted, "Please. He'd dance naked down Hollywood Boulevard if he thought it'd benefit you, Dean. I'm sure you'll find a way to persuade him." She sighed. "But Crowley said you might say something to that effect, so I'll sweeten the pot. Stop Heaven's civil within 10 days, you get to keep your soul, and Crowley will re-negotiate for what he wants from Cas directly." The demon wrinkled his nose and shrugged her shoulders, a playful smirk dancing on the edge of her mouth. "Isn't that special?"

"Done," Dean said without blinking.

"Mmm, so decisive. C'mere," she beckoned, pursing her lips exaggeratedly. "Gimme some sugar."

"Not so fast," Sam said, holding an arm out to hold Dean back.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean sputtered at his brother.

"The rest of the terms first, Meg." Sam didn't remove his eyes from the demon to glance at Dean, didn't even lower his arm.

A flash of red flicked over her eyes, but was gone just as quickly as it appeared. "Separate deals, Sammy, remember?"

Sam shook his head. "We're a package deal and you know it, Meg. So stop the bullshit."

Her jaw ticked as she spoke. "The rest, then. I deliver the Horn to you, Sam, and you go back into the cage with Lucifer."

Taken aback, Dean said, "What? Why?" He'd expected a demand for Sam's soul, maybe, which would have been bad enough, but this? Wasn't going to happen.

Meg shrugged. "Like I said, Lucifer misses Sam. I think Crowley's just looking for a way to pacify the old man, to be honest."

"No. You get the first part, not the second," Dean said.

"Not your decision to make, Dean," Meg sing-songed. "Whattaya say, Sam?"

"It's not happening," Dean insisted. "We'll find another way, Sam."

Finally his brother turned to look at him. "So it's okay for you to sell your soul for one person but I can't barter with mine to save the world and all of heaven?"

Put that way, Dean supposed it sounded ridiculous, but he didn't care."That's right," he said. "Exactly."

Meg and Sam snorted at the same time, and then shared a look of long-suffering. To Dean it looked too much like they were friggin' bonding over something (something unflattering towards him) and he resisted, barely, the urge to cuff his brother upside the head.

"How about we make the stakes more interesting," Sam said, causing Dean to yelp, "More interesting?" but Meg to tilt her head to the side. She seemed intrigued.

"More interesting how?"

"Dean, Cas and I win the war in five days, we all walk away. Dean keeps his soul, I stay out of the cage, and if Crowley still wants something from Cas, he tries to broker a deal with him the old-fashioned way. And hurry up."

All the protests Dean had died on his tongue as he blinked, amazed, at Sammy. It was a ballsy counter-offer that sounded too good to be true. The last time he'd stopped the end of the world all he'd had was a day, his car, and a mix-tape. Five whole days plus his whole family on his side and a promise of possible semi-normally at the end? There's no way they'd fail.

Meg still had to agree first, though, and Dean didn't see her doing that. There was nothing in it for her.

She bit her lower lip in feigned indecision, but her eyes told a different story. She insinuated herself against Sam, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him. Holy shit, she was really-

"Done." Squealing girlishly, she said, "I should really be pissed at you boys, but I have to say, I'm kinda impressed. I mean, most people-"

She was cut off as Dean pushed Sam away and, being just as brutish as she'd claimed earlier, grasped Meg's head and forced a kiss, quick and brutal. The demon stumbled away when he released her, the back of her hand going to her mouth, eyes wide.

"Go get him," Dean growled. "Now."

*~*~*~*

He had been so utterly blind and without senses while he traveled through the earth that Castiel was nearly certain he'd died again. But no, he became aware again as he suddenly found himself lying on the ground, coughing and gasping in pain from his beating. He was in a desert, still on the physical plane, possibly not far from where he'd been taken.

Perhaps twenty feet away sat Raphael, on a grand chair in the middle of nowhere, an ice-cold Cleopatra in a smart suit. Even in the darkness of pre-dawn, it seemed she sat in a spotlight.

Such arrogance, Castiel mused, rolling over with a groan, perhaps even more than my own. How does she not fall because of it? Not for the first time, he wondered about the justice in his Father's world.

For that matter, why were they still on earth? Were Behemoth's powers grounding the archangel as well? No… she was humming with power. Castiel sensed more than one grace attached to Raphael. Oh Father, help us. Her claim that her followers' hearts were hers… It was true.

Castiel stared at her in true horror. He'd been a soul junkie, eating monsters and had planned to take any he encountered after opening Purgatory. But he had never taken a human soul. And he'd never have dreamed of stealing from his own family. Regrettably, he'd killed them, but their grace died with them, did not go to feed his own.

Raphael was a cannibal.

Daring to whisper aloud, Castiel asked, "Sister, what has happened to you, to turn you into something so dark? You were once the Healer of Heaven, why are you now a butcher?"

Moving her gaze from the distance to Castiel's face, she said, "The only change in my method of healing is to cut away the disease and cauterize the wound. I believe I told you once that medicine does not always taste good. And this earth is a disease, Castiel." She looked past him again. "Besides, what you think is immaterial. My followers gave their grace to me willingly. They understand the meaning of obedience."

Castiel rose shakily to his feet and would have responded, but at that moment the Behemoth appeared beside Raphael, handing her a large bag and muttering into her ear. The archangel listened closely, gave the nearest thing to a smile she could make, and nodded toward Castiel.

The monster came and dragged Castiel stumbling forward, then pushed him to his knees at Raphael's feet. He faced the archangel, steadfast yet resigned. Dark eyes fell upon his face without truly meeting his gaze, as if acknowledging his existence was hardly worth the effort.

"Castiel, you genuinely are more trouble than you're worth sometimes. If not for a certain desire of my own, you'd have been evaporated ages ago. I've had several chances."

The words stung as deja vu swarmed Castiel. He'd thought something similar about Dean, not a half-hour past. Further proof that he was more like Raphael than he'd readily admit, even to himself.

He muttered, "I may have been imagining things, but I seem to recall you've already blown me up once before. Raphael, if your only wish if for my obedience and subservience, you know you will not have it. Why draw this out?"

Raphael's mouth pulled in slight annoyance. "Sadly, that is not all that I wish. You alone have the key to something I desire."

Castiel scoffed. "You will not have the Horn of Judgment, Raphael."

Raphael's lips twitched in the nearest thing to a smile she could give. "But I already have it." She indicated the bag in her lap. With a tug, it opened and revealed the Horn.

With a horrified gasp, Castiel stared at the instrument. "How…," he whispered, then looked back at the archangel. "No, please. You honestly don't know what you're doing if you bring on the apocalypse. It's wrong, Raphael, it's not what Father would want, and deep down you have to know that." He knew he was pleading shamelessly but nothing was left to him now.

Raphael gave a small chuckle. "Oh, Castiel, it is amusing how you believe Father's wishes are to let this earth continue its miserable existence. Humans suffer endlessly, it would be a blessing to end it all. You kneel here now, feeling how easily humans break, desiring nothing more than release from that pain. These pathetic sacks of skin and bone. If not for the need to inhabit a vessel to walk this wretched planet, I wouldn't touch the inside of this walking corpse." She flicked the wrist of the body wrapped around her grace. "That will mercifully change when humans are gone. I have no use for the planet anyway."

"Then why destroy it, if you don't want it?" Castiel shook his head in frustrated confusion. "Leave it to the humans, just go back to Heaven and ignore them!"

Raphael's eyes grew hard. "They are everywhere in heaven, too. There is no place an angel may rest that is not tainted by the stench of their presence. If I were able I would happily seek ways to blot them from the very fabric of reality. What I can do is make sure no more can be born to populate this plane of existence. They must cease here, in order to cease there."

Castiel's teeth ground together. "Humans don't bother us in Heaven, why do they matter to you? Without their heavens to tread, where would we go? I don't understand you. Humans are what enrich and power heaven! There's no logic in what you're saying, Raphael!"

Raphael waved her hand again, and Castiel's felt every one of his wounds scream in agony, bones that were already broken seemed to snap into even smaller pieces, blood that pooled inside his body began to spill from his mouth. He coughed, ragged and wet, and collapsed forward onto his hands. He would have cried out for it to stop but didn't want to give Raphael the satisfaction. He couldn't even hope for swift death. That was not the archangel's style.

"You will not make assumptions about my motives," Raphael said sternly as she released him to whimper weakly. "You will merely listen to my words."

Castiel spit blood on the ground and refused to raise his eyes.

Raphael went on, "I am inclined to spare your pet humans, even to allow them space in Heaven without interference, if you give me what I want."

"What could I possibly give you?" Castiel rasped as he swallowed, completely lost.

"The keys to the kingdom, as it were. The final circle of Heaven."

Castiel froze. He knew of the circles, that Heaven reached into dimensions he'd never visited. He was too low on the chain to be allowed beyond the third, where angels stationed themselves when not on earth. He'd been there twice in all his existence. Anna had been commander of that realm for a long time. Raphael and Zachariah had shared control of the second circle. Gabriel, until he'd vanished, had been in charge of the first, the one closest to earth. Perhaps that was what made him desire this realm more than heaven itself.

But how Raphael expected him, of all angels, the mere Angel of Thursday – which even Castiel had never fully understood – to access the seventh heaven? It was so ludicrous he very nearly laughed in the archangel's face.

Raphael seemed to sense this, and motioned to Behemoth, who clamped a hand on Castiel's shoulder. The angel moaned with pain as the crushing paw pushed him downward, and he felt the ground literally begin to swallow him. He cried out then, in fear as much as pain. The stone of the earth closed around his legs and hands in a vice-like grip. Raphael would torture him again, and Castiel would break. But he would suffer endlessly this time because what Raphael wanted was impossible to give.

"Now, Castiel, it's time you receive revelation of a different sort," Raphael declared smoothly.

Castiel felt tears begin in his eyes as he tried desperately to brace himself.

"There is a secret that has been kept from you for a very long time." Settling back into her throne, Raphael steepled her fingers, playing the benevolent ruler bestowing wisdom upon her subject. "When you were made, you were among the very last of us. Father turned you over to the care of your elders, as He did with all younger angels. We existed like this for eons, and the system worked well enough. He oversaw things, let us know He was proud of our work. Then… He left. But He before he did He gave instructions for your care, very specific ones. You were to be trained by the archangels, to be readied for a higher position. Higher," Raphael growled, "than all of us."

Castiel's heart very nearly stopped beating, and his eyes darted around in confusion. Nothing Raphael said made any sense. He began to wonder if his sister had discovered the unique torture of constant psychological bafflement.

"You see, Father had created the seventh circle for Himself on the seventh day so that He could rest. His throne is there, unfilled at the moment due to his decision to abdicate. But His intention was that you, Castiel, you, the youngest of angels, be raised so high as to take His place until He returned."

Castiel's mind collapsed under the weight of those words. They must be in some language that he didn't actually know, yet sounded like English. Perhaps if he transliterated the sounds into Enochian, they might become sensible. But no, it was gibberish. His mind was gibbering as well.

What the hell was Raphael saying? Castiel knew that his mind was reaching permanent derangement.

"Yes, it is hard to believe, I know," Raphael said, falsely sympathetic. "But you were meant to be an archangel when you were grown. Destined, in fact, to be placed ahead of all the Host. And the greatest of all ironies is...despite our best efforts, you still ascended to that position of honor."

Castiel felt his vessel sway forward as much as it was able while trapped in the earth. Raphael snarled, "You became an archangel and never noticed. One look upon our Father's face gave that to you, yet you didn't even feel it, did you? So nearly fallen at the time that you couldn't see Him even while standing in His kitchen awaiting my strike. His hand on your shoulder, looking so very proud of you…"

And Castiel's mind suddenly snapped into control again. For one second, he was still and his heart at perfect peace, as this information sprouted like a hidden seed in the deepest part of his grace. Then his head lifted slowly, and he regarded Raphael with such calm that the (other, he thought, and lesser) archangel was momentarily stunned. His eyes settled into an almost gentle expression, and he said, "Then clearly my mission has always been the righteous one, what I was destined to do. Father left me this precious thing to guard. And I have followed a perfect path all along, everything I've done for the greater good… it has been greater than I knew." His grace sang with joy, and the light of it hummed along his skin. Even Behemoth couldn't press it down so tightly to prevent the sensation.

Raphael scowled, growing furious. "You may know what you are now, and you may believe in your insane cause, but you still cannot succeed. I have the Heavenly Host at my command, inside and out, and tens times what you have. You know I will not stop, nor can you hope to win in a direct fight."

Castiel nodded, his concern still present but less immediate. God did not bestow tasks upon those he felt incapable of completing them. It would likely be difficult, and bloody, but for the first time in months he felt that there was a real chance he could win the war.

"Then you know it's pointless to even think you could control the seventh Heaven. But, if I have that for myself, then I am inclined to allow this earth to survive."

Castiel scoffed lightly, licking blood from his lips. "Of course you would. Until you grew tired of the human population growth in Heaven and decided leveling the earth would be the best idea after all."

Raphael's scowl turned to a smirk. "Unnecessary. True, humans souls still bound for Heaven when I take the Throne will reach us safely. Hell can deal with its own, as always. And I will abide by my promise to leave them be. There won't be any more of them coming along afterward."

Castiel froze, suddenly less confident. "What do you mean?"

"Why, the souls stored under the Throne, of course. All the souls not yet born. They will be useless so I will simply abort them."

His grace retreated into his body again. "Souls… there are souls… I was meant to protect human souls as well as Father's seat…," he whispered so softly even he barely heard it.

"Yes, well, that's all moot." Raphael gave a single barking laugh. "You have no choice in this matter, Castiel, and you will die again and again until you realize this." She waved her hand once more.

The Behemoth, looking genuinely bored now, stepped forward and grasped Castiel's hair in a giant fist. He lifted almost gently and shook the angel's head, as if to get his attention or considering what action to take. Castiel whined, ready to have his neck snapped or torn in half. But the Behemoth released his hair and moved to wrap both hands around his waist. And he yanked upward, hard, pulling the angel from the stone in one hard pull.

Castiel wailed in agony as flesh tore from both legs and hands, and he was tossed onto his side. His nerves screamed as the blood pounded through his veins and soaked the ground beneath him. He lay there panting for breath, his mind buzzing with shock, and randomly noticing that the sun was now up and illuminating Raphael from behind like a classical angel's halo. He felt an hysterical giggle rising in his throat as he choked on fresh blood.

"Make it easy on yourself, brother," Raphael sighed, attempting to sound reasonable. "I have the Horn. I am one breath away from destroying your precious earth and your beloved pets. Give me what I want and I will put the Horn into the armory again, lock it away and not give it another thought."

Castiel heaved great sobs, face against hard earth, wishing he was buried in it once more, perhaps forever. He could not win any direction he went.

But Dean… Dean would have said Go down fighting and take as many of the bastards as you can down with you. Even in his anguish, Dean's words gave Castiel the strength to make his decision.

Then, incredibly, he heard in his mind Sam Winchester's voice, Cas, we're getting you, we've got a way, just hang on.

Castiel held his breath, then responded weakly, Raphael has the Horn.

Sam's voice was strong and confident, No he doesn't.

And in the next breath, Castiel was falling helplessly into Dean's arms in the middle of a dusty crossroad. Sam had the Horn in his hands now, and Castiel smiled as he fainted.

*~*~*~*

Dean howled in horror at Castiel's wounds, shouting for Meg to finish her spell. She grumbled and healed the angel, but didn't bother to clear the blood that covered them both. She then snapped her fingers disdainfully and a hex bag fell into her palm. This she threw to Dean and said, "To cloak Castiel from the other angels," in explanation.

"We didn't negotiate for this," Sam said, staring down at the bag in Dean's hands.

"Nope. But what good would Clarence be to the boss if he got himself snatched right back up by big sister? Crowley protects his investments."

She took two big steps back.

"Well, boys, if that's all you need, I'll be off. I feel so used. My first really big deal and I wind up rode hard and put away dry. It's just not fair."

"Shut up," Sam barked, "And tell your damned boss to fuck himself."

"Yeah, he probably will, just in celebration. I plan to not be in the room when he does." Meg shuddered, grinned sourly at them, and vanished.

Dean cradled Castiel's limp form, rocking and begging wordlessly for the angel to be all right. Sam shook his shoulders, speaking urgently, "Dean, c'mon, he's alive. But we have to get him to the motel now before anyone sees us." Dean allowed Sam to forcibly hauled them up and throw Cas over his shoulder while steering Dean to the Impala, were he deposited them in the back seat. The drive was tense, filled with Dean's muttered prayers for a long time, until he finally addressed him.

"Sammy," Dean said, not looking up as he threaded his fingers through Cas' hair. The warmth of Cas' scalp was reassuring to the touch. "What did you do to Meg at the crossroads?"

"I don't know—"

"Don't bullshit me, Sam. Too much of that has gone down between all of us. Whatever it is, just tell me, and we'll deal with it." Hesitating, he said, "Does it have anything to do with your wall?"

Dean had the grim satisfaction of seeing Sam jerk, his hands flex upon the wheel. He recovered swiftly, but Dean had his tell. He hadn't wanted to be right.

"I don't think we should do this right now." Dean went to protest, but Sam cut him off. "Dean, I swear to you that I'll tell you what's going on. I just think-"

Keeping his voice low and steady, Dean said, "Freaky psychic shit, Meg's comments, showing up at just the perfect moment in the bar.. I assumed you summoned Balthazar, but that doesn't answer the question of how you knew we needed you right at that moment...it's almost like you were talking to Cas while he was in the bar. But that's ridiculous." In the suddenly thick silence, he swallowed hard and said, "Right, Sammy? Cas was just supposed to get us, wasn't he? Not have all this happen. And Meg..." As the pieces fell together into a pattern that Dean could see but didn't want to believe, he said, "Please, Sammy, just tell me this is the demon psychic junk again and not something else."

The car slowed and Sam flicked the turning signal as he eased the Impala into the motel parking lot. He didn't speak until they were parked directly in front of their door; the silence had already given Dean his answer, if he'd chosen to accept it. But he clung to the hope that he was wrong, that the strain of all the emotional upheavals the past several days made him connect things that weren't there.

"I can't." Sam's voice, though low and soft, carried through the darkness. "The wall fell, Dean."

Dean sat, stunned, his fingers clenching into Castiel's hair, until Sammy came around to help pull the angel out of the backseat. He didn't say anything as they carefully walked him into the room, nor when Sam cautiously suggested that they get Cas cleaned up and check for injuries, just in case.

Dean had never fussed over Castiel much. Whenever he'd been hurt, Dean had taken him to safety and sometimes laid him on a bed to rest, but that had been the extent of care. Castiel had always been able to heal himself, and Dean wasn't one to wait on someone hand and foot (except Sam when they were young, and only when the kid had been very, very ill).

But now the situation was dire and far more personally involved. Dean allowed Sam to help him with the first part – stripping and washing an unconscious Castiel-just to get it done quickly and efficiently. After they put Cas into a pair of sweats and one of Dean's old t-shirts and lowered him onto the bed, Dean finally spoke.

"Would you have ever told me? On your own, without me grasping for answers in the dark?"

Sam looked at Dean through his lashes. "I wanted to. Just wasn't sure how. It wasn't exactly something I could just dump on you."

"What are you?" Dean asked, in that same dejected, tired, old voice.

"I was an archangel."

Green eyes slid shut at the admission, and a single tear rolled down Dean's cheek.

"So you aren't my brother," he croaked, sinking down onto the mattress beside Castiel.

"Dean, no." Sam rounded the corner and stepped in front of Dean, crouching down so they were face to face. "I am your brother. I fell. Just like Anna. I made a decision and was born human, with a soul and no memory of who I was." Placing a hand on Dean's shoulder, he continued, "It's why Azazel wanted me. Why Lucifer wanted me. They somehow knew I was going to fall before I'd even decided to, knew I was going to end up with mom and dad and you."

Dean was quite for a long, tense moment. Then he said, "You're still you. You haven't..."

"No. I'm not an angel, not anymore. I never will be again unless I go looking for my grace." He squeezed his shoulder. "And I don't plan to."

"What was your name? Before, I mean?"

"Samael."

Dean reached over to Cas, pulled one of his hands into his grasp and to run his thumb across the knuckles on the back of the fine-boned hand. Sam watched the action with a peculiar look on his face.

"So you're still my brother?" Dean asked, hopeful but with a tinge of fear. "You're still Sammy?"

"I'm still your brother," Sam said, fighting the urge to reach out and hug Dean. "Only difference is now I remember I'm Cas', too."

Dean released Cas' hand as if it'd grown red-hot, a flush high on his cheeks. Sam laughed at the reaction. "Cute. Don't worry, Dean. I'm not going to ask what your intentions are or give you the hurt-my-brother speech. You already have my blessing." He looked over at the still angel. "Both of you. You guys deserve to be happy."

Sam stood and said, "I'm gonna-" and jerked his thumb towards the door, "get some sleep." He didn't say that he was going to give Dean time to process, or that he was allowing him to have the time alone with Cas that he obviously needed, but it was clear. Dean nodded.

"Thank you, Sam."

"What for?"

"For telling me." Dean swallowed. "Don't get me wrong, I still think this is fucked up and I still intend to kick your ass for not telling me sooner, but...thanks for this. Now."

Sam smiled. "No problem, Dean." Giving into the impulse, he went over and gave him a hug. "We'll talk more in the morning."

"Now that's something to look forward to," Dean said dryly, but when Sam pulled away, he didn't feel as much tension as he'd expected. Sam had chosen the right thing to say to ease his immediate concerns.

Sam then left them with a wink, saying he knew how much Dean needed time alone with the angel.

*~*~*~*

Castiel slept most of the day, and when he slowly awoke, Dean was hovering over him, face pinched with worry.

The angel regarded him with mild surprise, then his lips twitched into a tiny smile. "I am very glad to see you, Dean."

Dean exhaled as though he'd been holding his breath for hours. "God, Cas, what the hell happened? No, no, wait, I don't want to know. I'm just happy you're here." He smiled stiffly but sincerely, and squeezed Castiel's fingers.

This was also a surprise; in Castiel's experience, Dean would rage, yell and swear when he was worried or angry, unless he thought it was extremely serious. He must think the angel was worse off than he felt. "Dean, I'm fine at the moment. There's much to do, I should—"

Dean stalled his effort to sit up. "No way, man. We've got a little time, and we're using it to recoup. Period, no arguments."

With a quirk of his mouth that should have been a smile but still managed to seem pained, Castiel lay back down. Even that small movement was tiring; perhaps Dean was right to be concerned. "Very well. Should we discuss strategy?"

Shaking his head, Dean said, "Nope, full vacation for at least twenty-four hours. Get used to it."

Castiel regarded the hunter and saw that he was trying to school his face into light-heartedness, but the creases under his eyes and tight jaw gave away the lie. With a rush of warmth, Castiel understood now what he meant to Dean. The man had cared enough to call up a crossroads demon – Meg, he hazily remembered – and bargain who-knew-what for Castiel's sake. He also knew that Dean was very unlikely to discuss the terms of the deal during this 'vacation' so the angel set aside his plans to question him about it.

They sat on the bed for a time, mostly staring at each other. Castiel could hear Dean's heart pounding as if it were attempting to jump out his throat. Agitated and seemingly desperate for distraction, the man reached for the TV remote, "So, let's see if..." Castiel touched his hand.

"Dean," came the smoky voice that had begun to give Dean riotously impure thoughts the last week, "I would rather sit in your presence silently, if we can. I… missed you."

His heart nearly stopped for a second, then Dean nodded and sat next to the reclining angel. Things were about to get intense and deeply personal, he knew, and he had residual discomfort with the thought of touching certain areas in more than a cursory way (which he'd had to do earlier when they'd washed Castiel). But this was Cas, and that really did make it entirely different. He'd admitted honestly to himself days ago that he was curious and, frankly, no one else made him feel anything like Cas did, so… it was a natural decision to make. Certain things would take some getting used to, but hey – a guy should know exactly how to please another guy, right? It would be pleasurable for them both. Damn it, he was over-thinking everything, again.

He reached out and laid his hand gently on Cas' chest, rubbing his fingers in circles over the angel's heart. Castiel looked pleasantly surprised at the gesture, and lifted his own hand to rest lightly on Dean's without stopping him. There it was, the Moment.

And then he had to spoil it.

"Uh, Cas, there's something I've been meaning to ask for a while. Is Jimmy… still in there with you?" Dean asked hesitantly.

Castiel's fingers stiffened on Dean's hand and the stroking paused. "No. He's been gone since Raphael first smote me at… at Chuck's home," Castiel's tone was strained and he closed his eyes. "I didn't know it at the time, but he was disintegrated and I… absorbed his soul. He was the first, and it was an accident. I regret that he will never reach Heaven, nor ever return to his family."

Dean swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. He was a good dude."

"Yes."

Secretly, on a selfish level, Dean was relieved Jimmy would not be present when he and Castiel took things further. That would not have been cool at all.

Knowing it was possible the Moment had passed, (or rather that he destroyed it with his ill-timed question) Dean inhaled deeply. Then decided what the hell? Moment or not, he was going for it.

He moved forward quickly and pressed his mouth against Castiel's. The angel breathed out in surprise as Dean inhaled that breath like it was life itself. Fingertips came up to cup that stubbled jaw and his thumb moved in gentle circles to coax Cas's mouth further open. When it did, he slid his tongue in and smoothed it against the angel's, soft and wet and so so very good. This was far easier and better than he'd expected. In fact, it was freaking wonderful. He found himself lifting up and settling halfway over Cas's body, one leg between his knees, their hips pressing together lightly. Dean deepened the kiss and heard the first moan from Cas' throat, answered it with his own. Castiel's hands gripped his waist, and Dean felt himself growing erect and eager.

Then he was thrust backward as Castiel scrambled away to sit against the headboard of the bed, eyes wide and clearly afraid. Dean sat open-mouthed for a second, then creased his forehead. "Cas, I'm not gonna hurt you."

"I know, but this… I can't," Castiel breathed harshly, shaking his head.

"But… I…," Dean huffed in frustration, then turned away. "All right. Okay. We don't have to go there." He wasn't sure if he was relieved, disappointed, or just plain hurt by the rejection.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel tried, "we… angels are simply not made for this."

Incredulous, Dean turned back to him. "You're kidding. Cas, I felt a little something happening down there. I've seen evidence that angels aren't junkless." (Unfortunately proven by Gabriel's performance in Casa Erotica 13, and this so was not the time for that memory.)

Cas frowned at him. "You're mistaking me for my vessel. Of course it will react to the proper stimulus. It did achieve erection when I watched the pizza man penetrating the baby sitter, after all." His frank words made Dean blush, causing the hunter to turn away again. Castiel took a deep breath. "This body still isn't me. I'm an angel, and we aren't meant for the procreative act—"

"Jesus, Cas, it's not like we're trying to make a baby here," Dean groused, grimacing at the angel's frustrated huff. He lowered his eyes, saying, "I'm not gonna push. I just would've liked to share this with you. Who knows if we'll ever have another chance after tomorrow—"

"I don't believe this," Castiel narrowed his eyes and pulled completely upright, crossing his arms. He looked very inch the affronted virgin protecting his virtue. "Dean, I'm not unaware of your 'last night on earth' speech. Not only is it traditional among human soldiers before a great battle, but Jo told me of your efforts to seduce her the evening before her passing."

The angel's eyes shuttered, whether from the memory of their lost friend or (Dean thought this more likely) from the idea that he was to be just another in a long line of 'last night' stands. "While it's a natural human instinct to bring both fleeting comfort and a chance to pass on genetic material to a potential next generation should they die the next day, it really has nothing to do with—"

Dean growled in amazement and flung himself off the bed. "God damn it, Cas! I'm not making some lame ass excuse just to fuck you! It's actually very likely we are gonna die tomorrow, and this is the only damned way I know how to show you what I feel! I'm not good with words. I only know how to express myself physically, like...this." The hunter waved a hand between them, encompassing their close proximity. "I'm sorry that's not good enough for you, or proper, or...hell. I just don't know what else to do." He stopped ranting and raised his head, eyes to the ceiling as though begging for help.

Castiel was silent for several beats. Then he said, very softly, "Dean, I could offer an alternative to fucking me."

That word coming from the angel's mouth gave Dean an unexpected shiver. It was simultaneously shocking and really, really arousing. He lowered his head and raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

"Angels have a different manner of...sharing themselves. They commune with one another by intimately merging their separate graces. They embrace and… I suppose you'd say 'attune' themselves. I don't have a better word." Castiel's eyes roamed from the ceiling to the floor and the window beyond, anywhere but Dean's face. " As I've said before, I never had occasion to try it myself, but the process is known to me. I think it could be done in a similar fashion with a human."

"Do tell?" Dean turned slowly and inched back toward the bed. Cas unwound his tense posture a bit.

"When I've reached into the human body to read their souls—"

Dean halted him swiftly. "Whoa. From what I've seen that's about as far from erotic as you can get. Unless you're seriously masochistic and into fisting." He shuddered violently, face twisted in horror.

Castiel sighed and turned back towards him, squinting. "Will you let me finish, Dean? It's not the same thing. When I do that, I insert my vessel's physical hand into the person's physical form. Painful, but the quickest method, and, as you say, not remotely erotic. What I'm suggesting not dissimilar, except...it is far more gradual, and doesn't involve my vessel. I can press my grace slowly into you, through every pore of your body, until it brushes your soul. Gently," his voice lowered, eyelids drooping half-open as he regarded Dean, "perhaps sensually."

Dean felt a shiver at the angel's deep tone, and with renewed interest approached the bed. "Should I sit back down for this?"

"Yes, that would be best," Castiel whispered.

The hunter sat, taking Cas's offered hand and scooting closer. The angel's eyes were steady on his own, more focused and intense than he'd ever seen. He felt a spiraling sensation, falling slowly into the blueness, as warmth seeped into his skin. Every inch of his body tingled and yet felt loosely pliant, as if it were being slowly stretched, including places he'd never allowed another to explore.

Cas brought his mouth within a breath of Dean's ear, and he smiled. "You may feel my grace pushing into areas that you consider very private. Tell me if you'd like to stop."

Dean breathed deeply and relaxed further, surprised at how pleasurable he was finding the sensations. He grinned. "No, ah, keep going…"

He was slowly, gently invaded. Absolutely everywhere, head to toe. When Castiel's grace brushed his soul, they both knew it instantly. There was a literal spark which jolted them, but was not painful. The light bulb on the bedside stand crackled and went out, enveloping them in darkness. Cas gasped and, unable to stop himself, Dean wrapped clinging arms around the angel. The embrace was returned as the energy played inside Dean's form, stroking and pulsing. His body stiffened and relaxed in turns, and he could feel his cock growing deliciously rigid. Dean groaned in want, turning his face toward Cas's, begging for the angel's mouth. Castiel obliged.

Dean's lips were soft but demanding, and Castiel let the hunter devour him. It was physical, yes, but it seamlessly blended with their coupling, which made it feel right, divine. Dean's body was all but vibrating against his own, seeking further connection but allowing him lead. In return he rippled his grace inside the hunter's body, an undulating motion that brought further gasps of need from them both. Everything was growing to a peak, and Cas was determined to give his human as much pleasure as possible. He pushed a little harder with his grace, caressing every molecule of energy in Dean's soul. It throbbed in time with Dean's heartbeat.

Shaking and groaning, Dean felt his whole being lift and crest, spill over the edge, and he was coming so hard he could hardly breathe. He was slicked with wet heat, yet his body felt it wanted to give more. His head spun helplessly as Cas gasped and twitched against him. The angel bit down on Dean's lips as his hips ground against him, once, hard and insistent. "Dean," Cas moaned, praise and warning all rolled into one. The man could feel Castiel's grace spasm blistering-hot through him as the tv set flicked on and white noise crashed through the room. The back of Castiel's eyes began to glow. Dean could see traces of his grace through the angel's parted lips. Somewhere outside the motel room door a car alarm began going off; it wasn't the Impala, so it didn't matter. Dean closed his eyes and reached for Cas, forcing their mouths together with bruising intensity. Through his shut lids Dean saw a flash of light. A burst of warmth tingled across his tongue. He smiled, satisfaction rolling through his body.

For a long moment they sat, pieced together like a puzzle, breathing each other in and out. Slowly, as slowly as he'd pushed in, Castiel slid his grace out of Dean's body, tugging tiny moans from the human. They both collapsed backward, at angles across the bed.

"Damn," Dean whispered, eyes unfocused at the ceiling. Silence fell. Then, "damn" again.

Castiel hummed a gentle laugh. "Not precisely, but I understand the sentiment."

Dean grinned and turned tiredly to see an angel looking utterly debauched against the pillows. "So," he said smugly, "not a virgin anymore. How do you feel?"

Cas pondered this. "Strangely, both exhausted and energized."

"That means you did it right." Grinning wider, Dean did his best to roll over and press closer. Head and shoulders mostly draped across the angel's knees, he toyed with Cas's fingertips where they lay limp on the sheets. "Pretty sure you had a little angelgasm of your own."

With a chuckle, Cas said, "I suppose you could call it that. Though I, ah, am also a bit sticky."

Laughing, eyes widened, Dean glanced toward Cas's lap, only inches from his face now. "Well, well. Looks like the vessel decided to join in after all."

Castiel's face flushed pink but he smiled. "As I said, it responds to the proper stimulus. Which is, apparently, you." He leaned forward, hovering over Dean for a moment, eyes warm and intense. "I love you, Dean," he whispered.

Dean sighed with contentment until his heart tightened at the edges. This was it. This was their one and only time, he just knew it.

That fear must have shown on his face, because Castiel placed his hand over that aching heart, and said, "My strength in battle will be twice as great as before. So that I may return to do this every night until you are tired of it."

Dean huffed, bittersweet. "Now that's impossible."

Chapter Seven>>

*~*~*~*

Author's Notes: The concept of seven levels of heaven is pulled from Kabbalah Jewish mysticism. Under that system, certain angels govern certain levels of heaven. The leader of Seventh Heaven is the angel "Cassiel", who has the responsiblity of guarding-yup!-God's throne and the well of souls that reside underneath it. More info can be found on the wikipages for "Heaven" or "Cassiel".