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Castiel had kept true to his word, keeping his distance from the Winchesters and staying out of the state of Kansas altogether.
Anything to spare Dean further anguish, and himself.
So he roamed, wandering the United States. He hadn’t had his wings; they never grew back properly, so he still needed a motor vehicle to get around, but he had no friends, no further brethren to commiserate with.
He occupied his time seeking to be of service, helping a boy and his mother and felling a corrupt djinn disguised as a cop to get his pick of meal whenever it suited him.
He terrified the humans, but they were safe. That was something at least.
Yet nothing lessened the misery that lingered within the celestial being. Jack was still dead, and Dean…still couldn’t stand him.
While investigating the djinn, he’d had to call Dean because the djinn chief Cas hadn’t surmised as a djinn yet called Castiel’s supposed FBI superior, and Dean answered the phone. Not Sam.
Their conversation was brief, but no less biting.
Dean still spoke to him with that tone, such brimming anger. Such aching resentment.
“Sam’s been trying to call you. Did you check his messages? Smart. Why would you? I don’t know if you care, but Chuck is back, so watch yourself. And check your damn messages.”
Cas continued to keep his distance until Sam’s messages got more frantic.
So he answered the calls and rushed to the younger Winchester. Dean wasn’t there, but while choosing not to dwell on that, Cas devoted his energy to helping Sam recover from his festering wound in the shoulder.
It had yet to heal since Sam had shot Chuck with the Equalizer.
Cas told Sam that he had shot God with a piece of his own soul which functioned as a bullet at the time. So the angel theorized that a fragment of his soul lingered within Chuck now, because as the self-proclaimed writer explained, what happens to one, happened to the other.
If Sam had a festering wound on his shoulder, so would Chuck.
Cas wanted to probe Sam’s wound to gain information on Chuck’s present whereabouts, as the hunter and the entity were now linked thanks to the Equalizer.
But Sam got ill. And there was only one person Cas could turn to since he couldn’t heal Sam on his own.
Sergei. The unsavory shaman who never hesitated to exploit or maximize an opportunity, damn the consequences and everyone else.
But Castiel took certain measures to ensure he wouldn’t be taken advantage of a second time. So he grit his teeth and made the call while Eileen Leahy, a hunter Sam took it upon himself to resurrect, watched over him.
Castiel also left Dean a message, since he wouldn’t answer the phone. Perhaps he was on a case. He loved to throw himself into a hunt to distract himself from whatever weighed on his heart or his mind.
Sergei answered Castiel’s call. And when the shaman was unwilling to help, which the angel anticipated since there was nothing evident that Sergei could take for himself, Castiel personally threatened to burn him alive.
That compelled Sergei to arrive.
Then Sergei predictably tried to leverage the situation in his favor, demanding a key that supposedly could open a door directly into the Library of Death herself.
How arrogant of him to think that Castiel wouldn’t learn from his mistakes.
He had Bobby hunt the niece of Sergei, and, as despicable as it would be, had taken a picture of her. Since Sam’s life hung in the balance, the hunter readily agreed to help.
For Mary.
“A friend has been watching her. One word from me, and, well, you know what happens. Fix Sam. Now,” Castiel commanded.
Sergei scowled but set Sam back to the way he was before Cas tried anything.
No better, no worse.
“I like this version of you, Castiel,” Sergei remarked as he departed. “It’s very…Russian.”
Castiel rolled his eyes.
Hours later, Dean returned, worry in his eyes, but froze upon running into Cas in the bunker.
Not that he needed to breathe, but Cas felt the air leave his lungs as soon as he set his eyes upon the Winchester.
Still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester.
“Cas…” Dean set his bags down. “I got your message. Is Sam—”
“He’s fine. He pulled through.”
“Good. That’s good.” Dean breathed with a sigh of relief.
Cas tore his eyes from his precious human charge. “Yeah.” He marched forth, towards Sam, where he was recovering with Eileen.
“Great,” Dean clambered to keep up with him.
Sam recounted his experience, fire in his eyes, grateful to Cas for his decision. “I was in his head.” He said about Chuck, “I saw his memories. Dean, Chuck is weak. I think we can beat him. I think we can beat God.” Sam declared.
The others were stunned by such a claim, but they decided to investigate.
Dean had Cas go to see Donatello, yet was dampened by how curt Cas had been with him. However, considering how mean Dean had been with the angel previously, dumping on Cas after Rowena, still cross with him after Jack and his mother, the hunter supposed he couldn’t blame the nerdy angel man.
“Cas,” Dean approached the angel cautiously. He often saw Cas lurking in the war room, quietly stewing. He wouldn’t venture further in the bunker.
I guess…to avoid me. Dean mused sadly.
“Yes, Dean?” Cas wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Not anymore.
Not after Dean blew up at him.
Why does that always something seem to be you?
Dean swallowed his guilt. “About what Sam said. I was wondering if you could bring Donatello here. After everything the poor bastard’s been through, he may not want to come here willingly, and we really need his help.”
“You want him to read the demon tablet to find a potential weakness to exploit.” Cas surmised. He was so smart.
“Yeah, actually,” Dean coughed awkwardly. “That’s right.”
“I’ll go at once.” Cas moved quickly to the exit.
“Cas—” the angel stiffened and finally turned to face the hunter, but Dean was disarmed entirely.
His blue angel eyes were full of sorrow when looking upon Dean. “Yes?”
“Be careful, okay?” Was all Dean could muster.
Cas nodded curtly and headed for the door.
Dean sighed, screwed his eyes tight with regret.
He needed a stiff drink. Now.
Cas dutifully returned with Donatello behind, and while the prophet had his doubts, he reviewed the demon tablet thoroughly.
Which incurred the anger of God.
Which told Dean they were getting somewhere.
Chuck intercepted Donatello as he yelled about the ridiculous stakes the Winchesters always seemed to be embroiled in, “What is it with you people?! Can anything you do be easy?! I mean—” the soulless prophet went back immobile, eyes rolling into the back of his head, and he slumped back into his chair.
The others regarded him tensely for a moment.
Donatello came alive again, but he changed. “But where's the fun in that? This story just gets better and better.” He sounded like…
“Chuck.” Castiel hissed.
“Prophets speak the word of God, sometimes indirectly,” Chuck spoke through the prophet. “Sometimes they're my Bluetooth. So, here's the thing. Usually, I really love our little process. I toss something at you guys, and you slam it right back. It's fun, like tennis. With monsters. But guys, let this one go.”
“Or what?” Dean challenged.
“Or I go all-powerful. Not on you. Not right away. But let's see, there's Jody, Donna, Eileen. Pretty much everybody on your speed dial. So drop it. 'Kay?”
Chuck let Donatello go.
But the Winchesters would not be swayed from their course. As Sam said, their allies and loved ones would never be safe.
Not while living under Chuck’s heel.
So they let Donatello go home and changed tactics.
They were going to Hell.
And see if the archangel Michael, the original archangel they faced a decade ago, was still around, still willing to talk…and give them all a chance.
When Dean had to cut his hand open to bleed into their prepped bowl for the spell to let them into the Pit, Cas was there by his side, waiting to heal him.
Despite how badly things were between them now…
Cas couldn’t bear to see Dean hurt. Not any more than he had to be.
“Open your hand,” Cas beckoned him softly.
Dean obeyed, and the angel let his grace wash over Dean’s wound.
The hunter never thought he’d feel these chills again.
To feel Cas again.
His hand was whole.
Cas moved back.
Dean was half tempted to cut himself open again just to feel Cas once more.
But they had work to do.
They entered the Pit, and Cas led the way, but encountered some ferocious guards along the way.
But the new leader of Hell stopped the assault.
She was clad in red from head to toe, appearing in a jumpsuit that flattered her petite frame. Her bright red locks were in a single long braid as her entourage followed her dutifully to face the ones who dared trespass upon her domain.
It was Rowena Macleod, former witch.
Now Queen of Hell.
“Hello, boys.” She smirked.
The trio was astounded.
“Rowena, but you died—”
“Yes, I recall. When the fissure closed, it cost me my life, and my soul went to Hell, big surprise,” she winked at them.
“And the other demons they just…” Cas hesitated, “handed you the throne?”
“No one hands you anything, darling,” Rowena said. “I took it. Now…why are you here?”
“Chuck,” Dean said. “He’s out of control, and we gotta rein him in.”
“You want to rein in God?” Rowena scoffed.
“We just need to speak with Michael,” Sam urged delicately.
“The out of his head archangel,” Rowena laughed. “This just gets better and better. It matters not, however.”
“Why?”
“He’s gone. Remember, Chuck opened every door down here. Your boy’s left since. He could be anywhere down here or up there, even, on Earth or Heaven for that matter.”
“Rowena, please, we’re running out of time.” Dean implored her. “We need Michael like yesterday.”
Rowena gazed upon the elder Winchester for a long time, making the man nervous.
“Did you not hear the man?” She finally said aloud. “FIND HIM!” She bellowed, sending her demons in all directions, searching for the archangel.
Finally, they had a big shot on their side.
Long time coming.
Rowena took the three visitors to her throne room in the Pit while they awaited word from her subjects. She sat upon her throne, resplendent and happy.
Sam sat across from her, bouncing his legs anxiously, all the guilt of killing her swelling up like bile. “Rowena, I—”
“Samuel, please. You killing me was one of the best things that ever happened. Yes, there are things I miss about being alive. Flesh-on-flesh sex. Amazon doesn't deliver here, yet. But, lads, I'm queen. My subjects revere me. Well, fear me, which is better. I should have died a long time ago. Samuel, be a dear.” She raised her glass to Sam, who took it and poured her more liquor, pointing the man in the direction of where to get it.
Rowena set her attention to Cas and Dean, who remained stewing in silence, picking up on the tension between them.
“What am I picking up from you two?” She pointed between them, “a wee tiff? Tell your Auntie Rowena.”
Cas and Dean merely glanced at one another begrudgingly.
“It’s fine.” They both said curtly in rapid succession.
“Boys, fix it!” She urged. “I don’t have many regrets, but the few I do still haunt me,” Rowena expressed. “Making Napoleon so short was just bitchy. Telling Mick Jagger he had no future when I dumped him. And, well, everything with dear Fergus. Then one day, you die, you go to hell, they make you queen, and you can't make it right. So fix it!”
Cas and Dean dwelled upon Rowena’s words.
Cas wanted more than anything to fix things between himself and Dean. But the hunter had made it clear he wasn’t interested in anything the angel had to say. He was tired of the excuses, and Cas couldn’t change anything. He couldn’t bring Mary back. He couldn’t erase that Jack had been the one to decimate her, nor Castiel’s own other failings.
All Cas could be to Dean now was a helpful ally, if that.
Dean wanted to patch things up with Cas, but after his blowup, Cas appeared to have finally had enough of the man. He was distant, barely able to look Dean in the eyes.
It made Dean’s heart clench with guilt.
He always beat Cas down when he made a mistake, even though he meant well.
He always meant well.
He missed Cas so damn much.
Sam returned, having not been included in the discussion, and served Rowena her drink.
A demon entered the throne room, giving his queen a disappointing update.
“The archangel Michael is nowhere to be found.”
Team Free Will had to return to the bunker after their fruitless search for the eldest celestial.
But Cas had an idea that actually panned out.
He would pray to his elder, to see if he’d turn up, and the Winchesters would stand by at the ready in case he showed.
“Michael...this is Castiel,” he prayed. “We didn't know each other very well, and our last meeting was unpleasant to say the least.”
He burnt the celestial with a holy fire Molotov.
“I know you have been through a terrible ordeal for many years. You've been beyond the reach of Heaven and the reach of Earth. Much has changed with both. Heaven is not what it was. And our Father is certainly not who either of us knew. Michael, there's a battle raging; you are a warrior, but you must understand the nature of this fight. I am not your enemy anymore. I did what I did then to protect my charge. Now we all have the same enemy: God Himself.”
They waited.
And he showed.
“Michael,” Castiel met him in a nearby warehouse.
“Michael, thank you for coming. Do you...remember me?” Castiel asked him.
Michael looked at him sternly. “You called me assbutt, then set me on fire. And you stood by as I went to Hell.”
Castiel frowned. “Technically, I was dead – Lucifer made me combust after burning you.”
“Hm.” Michael glared. “Now you tell me that our Father, our Creator, and the maker of all things is our great adversary?” He scoffed, “Or maybe you came to beg forgiveness.”
“Oh, I didn’t come to beg.”
a lighter flicked from the shadows.
The eldest archangel found himself encircled by holy flame.
He was trapped.
The Winchester brothers appeared before him.
Michael’s eyes hardened.
“Castiel, what have you done?”
“What I have to, brother.”
Dean held out a pair of angel handcuffs.
Thankfully Michael didn’t fight them...yet.
“Even for you, this is monumentally foolish,” the archangel chided.
“Good to see you, Mike,” Dean frowned. He didn’t think much of the angel, given how hard he tried to get Dean to cave and let himself be possessed.
If not for Cas literally beating some sense into him, much would be different.
“Sam,” Michael’s eyes landed on the younger Winchester. “You look well. The last time I saw you was in the Cage.”
Sam swallowed tensely. “That was a long time ago. I’m sorry you were stuck down there so long.”
“Yes, how ironic that I had to stay down there longer than Lucifer,” Michael seethed.
“Michael, please,” Sam stammered, “We need your help. God has--”
“I’ve heard. Repeatedly.” Michael rolled his eyes.
“Then you’re aware that--”
“I’m not aware of anything. You ask me to trust you—the ones who doomed me, you, who let Satan walk free upon this Earth and let your own brother rot in Hell.” Michael fumed.
Sam nodded ruefully. “Doing what we do, I suppose we got used to losing people. Too used to it. So many have died. Adam had already died once before, along with his mother. With Adam, we,” He swallowed bitterly as Dean held his head down in shame. “considered him a lost cause. because we thought we had to. We were wrong.”
Michael laughed bitterly, unnerving the others. “How convenient. Because as I recall, Dean loved you, Sam, so dearly he nearly let the whole world die than accept his destiny, our destiny, and fell the devil himself, all because you were meant to be his vessel.”
“Well, I’m not like you, Michael,” Dean defended, “I don’t abandon my brother. You had your reasons. I had mine.”
“Don’t tell me,” Michael said to the brothers. “Tell him.”
Adam Milligan’s eyes flashed with a glow as the archangel surrendered control and let the young man see through his own eyes and meet the brothers who had forsaken him to Hell.
Adam blinked up at the Winchesters, and Sam and Dean tensed visibly.
“Sam...” Adam said softly, “Dean.”
“Adam...” Sam said, his voice crippled with guilt.
“Michael lets you talk?” Dean commented, surprised, “He lets you be?”
Adam nodded. “In the Cage, we came to an agreement. We only had each other. Lucifer was so mad after Sam got out.”
Sam swallowed nervously.
“Adam, look,” Dean said, “I know we bailed on you, alright, and there is nothing we can say to fix that.”
Adam’s eyes darkened. “Not even an apology? Not even an I’m sorry? Unless...you’re not. Sorry, I mean...”
Sam and Dean fidgeted on their feet.
Michael took back control.
“Enough! Why am I here?” He demanded.
“God has returned. You didn't think the Cage just opened on its own, did you?” Castiel answered.
“If God is back, he will usher in Paradise,” Michael said dutifully.
“No, he won’t, cuz paradise is boring and your daddy’s just looking to be entertained, meaning we’re all his puppets to play with, even you.” Dean countered darkly.
“I will not suffer this. You’re liars.” He pointed an angry finger at his three captors. “I don’t know what your agenda is, but you’re lying!”
“Michael,” Castiel tried to implore, but the archangel released control to Adam once again.
“Hey, me again,” Adam chimed in, “I’d give it a rest. He won’t listen to you.”
The others left the archangel to stew in the room, his only companion being Adam once again.
“So...I’ve been thinking,” Adam said to his archangel. “Maybe...they’re not lying.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hear me out, man – Sam and Dean are assholes, but they try to do the right thing most of the time. I mean, they tried warning me about you and Zachariah, for example – only to spare me, you know, death and/or suffering?”
Michael scoffed, “So you forgive them?”
“Fuck no,” Adam snapped. “But it’s not about me. If they’re saying something’s up with God, it’s because they believe it to be true. And unfortunately, if they believe it, there's a fair chance they’re probably right.”
“I have known my father for all of eternity. I exist, we all exist per his will.”
“I know Michael,” Adam said, “so he’s having a mid-eternity crisis? Or...maybe...you don’t know your father as well as you think you do...” he suggested delicately.
Michael hissed.
“Parents keep secrets. Does it hurt to ask the question?”
“Yes!” Michael thundered. “It would because it would signify I doubt him. I am the good son, his favorite – I cannot question Him.”
“But Michael...he left you in the Cage. For ten whole years. That may not be long for someone as old as you...But it is a substantial amount of time. You saw Hell, you saw the fissure. He opened every door down in the Pit – us getting out was just...something He wasn’t thinking about.”
Michael scowled.
“I’m sorry.”
Castiel returned to his elder not long after Adam gave his two cents.
“Adam?” he asked gingerly.
“Not this time,” Michael replied. “I’ll spare you the effort – I will not betray our Father and everything I believed in. I will not be swayed by the Winchesters, as you have allowed yourself to be Castiel, angel of Thursday.”
“Why not?” Castiel said. “He forsook you. You, the eldest, you who took up his mantle and cared the creation he condemned Lucifer for. You did everything as you thought he expected you to, exalted his name on every corner of this Earth. And he condemned you all the same, leaving you to rot in that prison for who other than He had more power to let you go, his faithful celestial.”
Michael glared at the other angel.
Castiel narrowed his eyes at the immovable archangel. “You know, Michael, I never really liked you. Even when I was just another angel, I thought you were too haughty, too- To paraphrase a friend, you had an entire oak tree shoved up your ass.”
“And you’re too soft, seduced by Dean Winchester and his sob story,” Michael spat. “To think he was declared as the Righteous Man, for reasons that continue to elude my understanding.”
“Dean is a good man,” Castiel maintained.
“Bah! He is undisciplined and softer than you. He is hedonistic, needlessly defiant, casuist, and has put the universe at risk more than once, all to get his way, damn everyone, damn the consequences. But you cannot win,” Michael said. “Not against the Maker of the universe. It cannot be, to think otherwise is folly.”
Castiel sneered. “I just pity you, brother. You were never God's favorite. You’re just a small part of his story, who never even factored into the big picture. Heaven help me, but even Lucifer knew that God couldn't be trusted. But I suppose he was the smart one.”
Michael’s face darkened considerably.
Castiel braced himself.
The archangel tackled the younger celestial to the ground, but Cas was ready for him.
He said what he said specifically to provoke him, get him close enough, and lower his guard so Castiel could show Michael the sobering truth.
“See the truth for yourself, Michael.” Castiel roughly grabbed his brother’s head, imparting to him his own recent memories of Chuck showing his true colors.
Of all the Sams and Deans in all the multiverse, you're my favorite show.
Wait, you're enjoying this.
This isn't how the story's supposed to end!
The story? Wait, what are you saying?
He's been playing us. This whole time. Everything. Because you wrote it all, right? Because we're your favorite show? Because we're part of your story?
The Apocalypse, with Lucifer and Michael, you knew everything that was going on. Why didn't you just snap your fingers and end it?!
Fine! That's the way you want it?! Story's over. Welcome to the end.
Michael shoved Castiel away from him, appalled by what he’d seen.
He knew then...Castiel wasn’t lying.
He wasn’t nearly as clever or callous as Lucifer to do so anyway.
Castiel let his brother be, sitting in the kitchen within the Men of Letters bunker.
Dean lingered in the opposite corner of the room, observing the angel quietly. “Maybe you went too far.”
Castiel shrugged. “Maybe.”
“He’s been in lockdown for a while. What's he doing?”
“He’s distraught, of course. He just learned that everything was a lie, dedicating countless billions of years since his inception to serve a Creator who never respected him enough to care.” Castiel said, “It is a bitter pill to swallow.” He knew that all too well.
The only thing that kept Castiel sane was Dean, Sam, and Jack, even if he was dead now, because the seraph still had something to fight for.
However, so many angels died in the process – Uriel, Anna, Balthazar, Rachel, Inias, Heather, Hannah, and so many more. And for what? None of it mattered.
None of their ideologies mattered.
Because their father didn’t give a damn.
He just wanted...entertainment.
“You good?”
“Honestly? No.” Castiel smiled sadly. “I’m not. But that doesn’t matter. I don’t matter.”
Dean’s eyes widened. “Yes, you do.”
“No,” Castiel said darkly. “I don’t.”
Dean sat across from him. “Cas...you matter to me.”
“I thought I was just the thing that always went wrong,” Cas grumbled sadly.
Dean’s face fell.
The bunker began to rattle as if an earthquake had befell them.
Castiel supposed that was their cue.
He and Dean returned to Michael, who bore a grim expression.
“He lied to me,” Michael said of Chuck. “I gave everything to him, lived every second in his name, and for what? I’m not even the only Michael.” He mused sadly, having seen all of Castiel’s memories. “So yes,” he sighed. “I will aid you.”
Castiel gaped, stunned that he actually got through to the eldest archangel.
“What was done to the darkness can be done to the light if he is as weak as you claim.” Michael shared.
“How?”
Michael presented a spell to Dean and Cas. The seraph reviewed the writing and the ingredients. “Myrrh, cassia and rockrose...”
“And the last, most essential ingredient—nectar of a Leviathan blossom. Flowers that bloom upon the spot where such beasts were slain. But you can only ever find them in one realm: Purgatory.”
Dean and Cas grimaced.
Of course it was, Dean griped mentally.
Michael snapped his fingers, and at once a rift was formed before them at the archangel's command.
“To save you time, I opened a door for you to step through into that realm. I believe you two are familiar with the territory.” Michael gave the other two a knowing look.
Dean and Cas avoided glancing at one another.
“I suggest you move quickly. You won’t have long until the rift closes. It will stay open for twelve hours and not a second longer.” Michael held up his hands, still handcuffed. “Now, if you’ll please…”
Dean let him go.
“You coming with us?” he asked the archangel.
“No.”
“Before you head out, can I talk to him?” Dean asked the archangel. He wanted to talk to his brother.
He wanted to talk to Adam, just one last time.
Michael complied with his request, allowing Adam to face his brother once more.
“Yeah?”
“Adam,” Dean swallowed deeply. “About a year after you fell into that Cage, I asked Death to let you out of the Cage, cuz I figured he’d be powerful enough to manage. But he said no. He said I had to choose. So I chose Sam.” He nodded bitterly, “Over you. And for that I apologize, not because I expect to be forgiven, but because you need to hear it.”
Adam regarded him solemnly.
“I knew him better, hell, I raised him, cuz John – our mother’s death…changed him. Into an awful man.” Dean recognized. “It was hard, always on the road, never able to settle anywhere, changing schools all the time. Eventually, I gave up going to school, since he kept saying I was never gonna do anything else with my life anyway. Sammy kept going, though, and got into Stanford on his own merit, a full scholarship, he said. John yelled at him for that, kicked him out, and they never spoke for four years.”
Adam raised his eyebrows.
“I believe now that he met you while Sam was gone.” Dean shared. “I hope he was nice to you, for the time you knew. He could be nice when he wanted. He just wasn’t always nice to me, or Sam.” Dean smiled sadly.
Cas looked on forlornly: from Dean’s memories, he knew all too well the extent of John’s neglect and abuse.
“I should’ve fought harder to save you.” Dean nodded with regret. “I should’ve turned the world inside out to get you back here, on Earth, and give you a damn chance. You deserved a life, and I recognize my hand in fucking that up for you.”
Adam was alarmed by the tears in Dean’s eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” Dean cried.
Adam regarded him softly. He walked up to his brother.
He gave him a sorrowful smile, tenderly grabbing the older man by the shoulder.
“Since when do we get what we deserve?”
Adam’s eyes glanced upon Castiel, who stared at him in turn. Dean regarded him sadly.
“Good luck, Dean,” Adam said quietly.
He left.
It would be the last time Dean would ever see his brother.