Fallen

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dean and I sit in the hospital waiting room. Dean's leg bounces restlessly. I rub my hand up and down his back trying to calm him down. It doesn't work much, considering I'm freaking out too.

After neglecting to finish the Trial, Sam got even more sick than he already was. As if that was even possible. Though I suppose that's better than what would've happened had he finished. Dean came back just in time to tell us that Sam would've died. I don't know what I would do if we lost him. Especially after we'd grown so close tonight.

All the angels fell from Heaven as we were taking Sam to the Impala. Dean updated me on everything that happened after we were first told to wait in the waiting room. Metatron is responsible for the angels falling. My father went to Heaven to try to stop him, but he apparently failed.

"But that doesn't matter, we'll deal with that later," Dean says once he's finished. "What about you, sweetheart, tell me what's up with you," he frantically says, taking my hand in both of his. I can tell that he's just desperately trying to get his mind off Sam. I don't blame him. "What happened with Crowley?"

I tell him about Crowley biting Sam (like the child he is) and about Abaddon breaking Crowley free. Then I tell him the whereabouts of my grace.

Sam and I were able to successfully interrogate Crowley about my grace while we were doing the injections. He said that Naomi had taken it from him shortly after he'd taken it from Cas. He said that she mentioned something about me being "an abomination that didn't deserve to have any grace." Bitch. If she thought that, then she should've saved us all the trouble and just taken it in that field. Why even bother to help us? Why waste everyone's time?

"Naomi?" Dean asks. I nod. "Son of a bitch," he mumbles, shaking his head.

"What?"

"She's the one that told me about what would happen if Sam finished the Trials." He chuckles, then his smile instantly fades. "All this time she was just acting like she was helping us." He shakes his head again.

I raise my free hand to rake my fingers through his wind-blown hair. His eyes close, and he leans into my touch. "Like you said," I begin. "Angels are dicks."

Dean smiles. I move my hand to cup his cheek, and he opens his eyes. He lifts my hand that he still holds to his lips and kisses my knuckles. I try not to think of what Crowley said. If I think about it to much, guilt will start to engulf my body. I'll feel guilty for even touching Dean. I don't need to feel guilty. Not now. Dean needs me now. And anyway, I will tell him everything. Just not yet.

The next morning, the two of us wake up in our seats in the waiting room. Dean had fallen asleep on my shoulder, still holding my hand in both of his, and I with my head leaned against the wall behind me. It was definitely not comfortable at all, but I'm just glad that we slept.

I'd started combing my fingers through Dean's hair again, and he started nodding off. He would jerk his head up and blink hard. I knew he was trying not to fall asleep.

"Shhh, it's okay, baby, you can relax," I'd said. "It's okay." I started humming a lullaby my mom used to sing to me, and I suppose that mixed with my petting his hair did the trick to put him to sleep.

Dean and I don't hesitate when the doctor tells us we can see Sam. Though it takes us both a moment to stretch out the kinks in our necks and shoulders first. We enter the room to see a comatose Sam lying there peacefully. The doctor tells us that he's not likely to recover, then she exits the room.

My hands fly to my mouth immediately. Though I haven't known him long, I feel like he's been a part of my life forever. Tears begin to pool up in my eyes. Dean puts his hands on my shoulders and pulls me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me. The doctor says the standard "I'm so sorry" and exits the room.

I gently pull away from Dean and look up at him. The tears slowly roll down my cheeks. "Dean, I-"

"Don't," he interrupts. I know what he's doing. He's in denial and refuses to be sappy about this. That's just the kind of person he is. He won't let me say that I'm sorry just like the doctors always do. He just won't allow it.

I simply nod and take his hands. He leans down and gently brushes his lips against my forehead. I free my hands to place them on each side of his neck. "W-we'll figure something out," I say. "We will."

Then we sit on opposite sides of Sam, Dean with his back facing the door. I instinctively grab Sam's hand and squeeze. Dean just sits looking at his brother. I know that he's hurting, but he won't dare cry in front of me. Or anyone for that matter.

Suddenly, Dean is looking down at the floor beneath him. "Cas? Can you hear me?" He says. "We need your help. Sam needs your help." He pauses then looks up at me.

I decide to give it a try myself. "Dad? Please, if you can hear us, we need you."

Calling Castiel 'Dad' doesn't seem so strange to me anymore. I think watching the angels fall has something to do with it. Seeing them fall had greatly saddened me. I'd cried a bit upon witnessing it. Dean didn't understand why, and at first, neither did I. But I figured that the angels are technically my people, so seeing them being banished from their home just really got to me. I guess Dean figured that out too, because he hasn't said anything else about it.

Dean and I wait, but nothing happens. Finally, Dean speaks again. "I'll be right back," he says to me, getting up from his chair.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

My words bring him to a halt. He hesitates. "Bathroom." He glides to the door, and it clicks shut behind him before I can get a word out.

I turn to look back at Sam. I rub my thumb back and forth on the back of his hand. My eyes start to swell again. "I'm so sorry this happened to you, Sam," I croak. "You don't deserve this. You don't." A tear falls from my cheek onto his hand. I wipe it away with my thumb.

I know that this isn't my fault, but I still feel like it is. They started this Trial business before they even met me, so I really had nothing to do with it. But I guess blaming oneself is just a normal human reaction to something like this. Even though something like this isn't exactly normal.