Castiel thought again of those nights studying ancient texts with Sam, of Sam patiently explaining human emotions while he nodded, only half understanding.
When he received the trench coat at Christmas, Dean had mocked him for "dressing like an accountant," but Sam had said, "It suits you."
Those ordinary, warm moments that belonged to friends.
Castiel raised his head.
Dean was being besieged by five mutated demons. His left arm was injured, slowing his movements. The angelic power within him had yet to fully recover, but he was still fighting.
Sam was on the other side, his back against a pillar. His hunting knife was already chipped, and at least three wounds on his body were bleeding. Thanks to the demonic power he had fused with earlier, he alone was holding back a large number of mutated demons.
Castiel looked at everything before him. They could have fled. They could have abandoned him, left this place, and let Leviathan destroy him along with itself.
But they had not.
Because they were friends.
"I was wrong." Castiel's voice was quiet, yet it carried through the entire warehouse.
All the mutated demons stopped moving at once and turned toward him.
"I should not have craved power," he continued. The hand gripping the Angel Blade trembled, but his hold remained tight. "I should not have betrayed you. I should not have... thought I could play God."
He raised the blade.
Pure white light flared from it. This time, there was no trace of pale yellow mixed in—only holy light, pure and originating from Castiel himself.
"I agree." He looked at Dean and Sam. "I am willing to cooperate with the ritual and send all these... things inside me back."
At the same time, deep within the Balance Field, inside the Hunters' Guild.
Wu