Chapter 1

Sucker for Pain

Dean knew. He freaking knew something was wrong the moment he opened the trunk of the car. He paused and glanced back at the building to see the trail end of Cass' coat entering through the door down the path that lead from the road to the building. Well good. At least he showed up. Sometimes Dean didn't really know with the guy. With pursed lips, he bent down and rummaged through the elaborate array of killing devices they had stashed under a flap. It took iron to kill a witch. Even a witch that somehow knew how to work magic on angels. Fancy-shmancy magic, his butt. It was still a witch. Iron it was.

He took up a handgun already loaded with iron bullets and an unusual iron knife. Good.

Already nervous, he, jogged back to the building and entered with baited breath.

It was empty. They must have gone upstairs. Dean cursed quietly. Why didn't Sam and Cass wait for him? Holding the gun with practiced ease, Dean crept up the stairs. It was silent. Too quiet.

The old apartment building was in long disuse. Wallpaper peeled off the walls and littered the ground like petals, and parts of the piping were exposed for the world to see. It smelled like mildew and smoke. Dean made no noise as he reached the second floor. Empty. The blow out windows littered the floor with glass shards, and outside, Dean could see a thunderstorm threatening to break above them. He waited a second and then perked up when he heard a thump above him.

Cursing, he cocked the gun and jogged to the next flight of stairs. Sammy's voice drifted through the ceiling. "You idiot! That'll kill every-" His words cut off and were followed by a another large thump. Deans blood boiled. He hated witches. Nasty, stupid, experimental creatures, every one of them.

He reached the third floor, which was blocked off by a wooden door, and entered. Empty again. Growling in frustration, he kept on going. How many floors did this building have anyway? He could hear voices clearly now, but every staircase only revealed another empty room. What was going on? Was this some sort of magick the guy had going on?

A sudden sound had him frozen for half a moment and fear thudded in his stomach. Cass screamed again, and it set Dean off, faster and faster up the never ending stairs. Cass didn't make sounds like that. No one as powerful as him should ever make a noise like that. The angel screamed something garbled and this time Sam's voice joined his in protest. "Stop! Stop, you're going to kill him!"

Furious Dean fiddled with the trigger and cursed his own stupidity. He'd just given a power hunger, angel abusing witch fresh meat.

For the first time, the witch spoke up. He had a low, silky voice. "Just one feather, little boy. One feather and I'll stop."

Feather?

What kind of idiot was this guy?

Another staircase. Another door. Another empty room. Another staircase.

"Stop! You don't know what you're doing!"

"I'll just take it from you, then."

Dean's eyes widened. He had no idea what that meant but given Cass and Sam's instant and terrified protests, it didn't take a genius to figure out it wasn't good.

Growling, Dean slammed his shoulder against the door. To his shock, it opened to finally reveal the top floor. His relief only lasted a moment, however, as he took in the situation. The witch was grinning maniacally. Sam was pinned to the wall across the room with magick and Cass...

Cass was in the middle of a slowly tightening circle of holy fire.

But that wasn't even the worst part. Some sort of symbol hung in the air. Cass doubled over beneath it with a groan, and the witch was busy in the middle of a complex sounding incantation. The wind screamed outside, and the air was heavy with electricity. Castiel's gaze whipped up at Dean's entrance and instantly filled with dread and fear. No, not fear. Terror. Castiel was terrified. Oh gods, what was being done to him?

"Dean!" Sam screamed from the wall. He had his hands slammed over his ears. "Close your-"

But it was too late. Before anyone could make any more movements, the room suddenly erupted into light.

It was so bright and intense, there was no way Dean could have avoided it. He dropped his weapons, suddenly paralyzed, and distantly registered the sound of glass shattering. But that was before a mind numbing sound overwhelmed him. It climbed into his ears like whips of fire, and his own screaming joined the screams of the angel.

I'm going to die, he thought disjointedly. I'm blind and deaf and paralyzed and dead.

He couldn't close his eyes.

In his terror, he managed to feel a sense of confusion. He could see something. Some shadow within the light. The shadows arched up, and it took only a second to realize what he was seeing. Wings. Those were Castiel's wings. They wavered and broke and disappeared, sucked into the light.

The noise became even louder, and Dean finally managed to cover his ears. He screamed in agony as it seemed to go on for eternity.

Then, all at once, it stopped.

The floor flew up to slam into Dean's face.

Sam Winchester had experienced some pretty horrible things, but that did not prepare him for the horror he felt when he realized what the witch was going to do. He was going to force Castiel to reveal his true form. And it was going to destroy the angel.

Not to mention anyone nearby.

The moment the room exploded into light, the magick holding him to the wall disappeared, and Sam slammed into the ground behind a table and sufficiently far from the blast that by curling up and keeping his eyes shut, he had some hope of actually get out of this without permanent injury.

The same could not be said for the witch, Castiel, or Dean.

His heart thrumming faster and harder than it had in a very long time, Sam curled up on the floor and refused to think about what had to be happening to Dean.

Dean. Dean. Dean.

He was dead. He had to be. Castiel had killed him.

Sam tried to move but couldn't.

All at once, the light cut out. The room was deadly silent and so dark in comparison Sam stumbled more times than he could count in his mad dash toward Dean's side.

His vision came back a bit with a few rapid blinks, and Sam spotted Dean on his face. His heart plunged. God, please. Please don't let this happen. He fumbled with shaking hands to his brother's side, knowing that he had to be dead. He pleaded out loud but couldn't hear his own voice. There was no way Dean could have survived that. The witch, who had been directly in front of Castiel, was nothing but a pile of ash. Sam pushed Dean over, only to jerk back in shock.

Deans eyes.

If anything, Sam had expected they would be nothing but gaping holes. Singed. Dead.

Instead, they glowed bright with an intense blue familiar to the light Castiel had been expelling only a moment before. However, the light faded an instant later, and Dean's eyelids fluttered shut. Sam took his pulse quickly. The steady, if a bit slow, beat had him sobbing in relief.

Dean was alive. He was alive. Sam had no idea how but he wasn't going to question it.

"Dean, wake up. Say something, Dean." He held his head gently. Sam's voice sounded like it came from underwater. But he wasn't blind or deaf so he'd take what he got. Dean frowned and shifted but otherwise didn't respond. Unconscious. Okay, okay. That was okay. He could deal with that.

Realizing he'd forgotten about the other member of their little suicide squad, Sam laid Dean carefully onto the floor and got to his feet shakily. He blinked and squinted, trying to spot the angel.

There.

Hands in front of him, Sam walked until he got to Cas's side. The holy fire had blown out in the explosion, and the angel was curled in a ball on the floor, his coat seeming to swallow him. He looked smaller in some way Sam couldn't identify. He checked for a pulse and found a weak one. But he was alive. Which was more than he expected. Relieved, he tried to unwind his friend, but Castiel wouldn't move.

"Cass. Cass, buddy, can you hear me?"

Castiel shivered and blinked open glazed eyes. His look of pure devastation was so strong it rooted Sam in place. "De-"

"He's okay," Sam assured him quickly. "Dean's alive. I don't know how but- but he is."

The angel relaxed considerably. His eyes rolled back in his head. Panicked, Sam shook his shoulder. "Cass! Cass, don't do that. You need to stay awake."

But the angel just groaned, his head lolling. Shoot.

Sam's mind spun rapidly. What should he do now?

He should take them somewhere safe. Somewhere they could recover.

Bobby's. It wasn't that far from here anyhow. Two hours at the most. Quickly, Sam scrambled to his feet. He wrapped his arms around Dean under his arms and started to drag him toward the door. He managed to get open the door and froze in surprize when he stepped into the evening air.

He blinked confusedly at the building.

The many stories must have been a trick of the witch. There was only one story in the old house. Relieved he wasn't going to have to drag Dean down half a million staircases, he dragged him to the Impala, softly apologizing when he bumped the man's head. After managing to stuff him into the passenger seat. He ran back inside, paused dizzily at the door, and went back inside again. Castiel had not moved. He shivered and his hair was wet with sweat. That was not typical angel behavior, Sam knew. He dropped down next to him, suddenly exhausted.

"Cass, I can't carry you," he croaked. "You need to get up."

The angel's eyes flicked open. They darted around the room, obviously not seeing anything. He was still asleep.

"Cass," Sam tried again. His vision was steadily returning, and he noticed for the first times, burns on the man's wrists and neck. A result of the spell, no doubt. After what seemed like forever, Castiel managed to shift into a half sitting position.

"I killed him," he croaked. "I killed him, didn't I?"

Sam shook his head and helped him to his feet, taking most of the man's weight on his own shoulders. Cass slumped but managed to put one foot in front of the other. "You didn't kill Dean, Cass. He's alive."

Cass's gaze clouded with confusion. He blinked slowly, and they made it out of the door and onto the gravel driveway. "It's so… quiet," he said softly. "In my head."

Sam frowned, his head ringing. What was he talking about? He opened the backseat door, and Cass crawled in. He fell unconscious immediately, and Sam hoped he didn't roll off if they stopped quickly.

Shaking his head, he nervously got into the driver's seat and checked Dean's pulse again. Still alive. Just not awake. Taking in a shuddering breath, Sam turned the ignition, and the engine roared to life. Bobby would know what to do, Sam told himself. Bobby always knew how to fix situations like this.

Bobby Singer was having a pretty darn fine day until the phone rang. He had a beer, a nice fire in his recently cleaned out fireplace to battle the autumn chill, a comfortable chair, and an ancient text that actually made some sense. A fine day.

But then of course his cell had to ring. With a sigh, he flipped it open, noting the caller ID, and put it up to his ear, frowning.

"This is Bobby Singer. Something wrong, Sam?"

Sam's voice came spilling through the phone so quickly Bobby was a bit disturbed he could even talk that fast. "Slow down. You're gonna eat yer tongue if you go on like that... Who's hurt... Uh huh. What? What kind of crazy idjit... Okay. That's fine. And Feathers?... Shouldn't he just heal?... Oh. Alright, I'll get out the first aid... Witches. Greedy pain in the- alright. How far sure you?... Uh huh. See you in twenty minutes."

He hung up and cursed. He closed his book and got up to fetch whatever he could think might be helpful. Sam said Dean wasn't hurt, just unconscious, but he doubted that was entirely true. A person didn't just stand in front of an exploding angel bomb and not suffer consequences. He got out an on-hand, basic first aid kit, and then thought better of it. He dug into the back of the bathroom cupboard for a more extensive one. Sam said Cass was hurt and not healing, which didn't spell well. Bobby had no idea how to fix up an angel. Hopefully, it wasn't much different than a human.

He spent the next fifteen minutes stewing in a pool of nervous energy. When he finally heard tires on the gravel, he shot up and out the door.

Sam unfolded out of the driver's seat looking like death himself. His eyes were sunken and red rimmed, and he stumbled a bit into Bobby.

"Srry, Bobby," he slurred. "Imma bit dizzy. Think it messed my ears up."

Bobby snorted, irritated that Sam hadn't mentioned his own obvious ailments on the phone. Instead of scolding him it, he opened the front door and the side door. Dean appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Castiel, on the other hand, shivered violently. Bobby grunted, recognizing the priority. "Help me get 'im inside, Sam."

Sam followed orders, and they both half-dragged, half-carried the angel into the house. Dropping him as gently on the couch as possible, Bobby swiped is brow and frowned worriedly.

"Go get Dean."

Sam left. He was obviously a bit stunned. Bobby didn't blame him.

Cass moaned and thrashed, the red burns on his neck and wrists standing out starkly. His hair was soaked, and his forehead beaded with sweat. Without further hesitation, Bobby set to work. He stripped the angel of his outer coat and then his suit coat. He unbuttoned his shirt and, seeing there were no injuries on his chest, moved to the kitchen to get some ice. It was obvious he was suffering from an extremely high fever, but Bobby had no idea what caused it. The burns certainly would not do such a thing. While obviously painful, they would not provoke a reaction like this.

No matter. The fever needed to be broken.

As Sam came struggling inside and fumbled up the stairs to the guest bedroom with an unconscious Dean, Bobby wet some hand towels with cold water and set to attempting to cool the angel down. He used some cream on the burns and continued bustling about, occasionally muttering profanity.

A few minutes in, Cass's eye flashed open. Bobby noted his severely dilated eyes, and then Cass grabbed Bobby's arm and spoke rapidly and desperately in a language Bobby could not understand. He recognized the sounds, however. Enochian.

"You've got 'bout thirty languages you could speak in, idjit, that I'd understand."

Castiel's brow creased in confusion. He met Bobby's gaze, but a moment later, his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Bobby tapped his face gently... And then less so when he did not respond. "Balls... Sam! Where are you?"

"Here." Sam came stumbling down the stairs. He looked down at Castiel with concern. "What's wrong with him?"

"Best I can guess, he's got a heck of a fever, and he's probably in shock. Overheated? He don't seem to know where he is."

Sam blinked. "He shouldn't- that shouldn't be possible. He's an angel, Bobby. Angels don't get fevers."

Bobby glared at him and picked up the wet, now very warm rag off of Castiel's forehead. "Are you gonna argue or help?"

"Sorry." Sam took the rag. "What do you want me to do?"

"Get me some cold water and a thermometer."

Sam rushed from the room, tipping as he walked, and Bobby thought to himself he needed to check Sam as soon as he got this situation handled. The angel murmured again, this time in English. "Dean. Where? Where's... Got to help-help-"

"Dean is asleep upstairs," Bobby assured him. Although, he didn't think Castiel could hear him. This was confirmed when Castiel continued to speak.

"Sam. Sorry, Sam. Sorrysorrysorry..."

Bobby sighed, and Sam came back in with the water, more washcloths, and a thermometer. He frowned down at Castiel, who had slipped into Enochian again.

"What's he saying?"

"I haven't the foggiest. Gimme that thing." He took the thermometer and quickly took the angel's temperature. He grunted. "105. He don't cool down soon, and we might need to throw him in a bath..."

Sam nodded.

The next several hours were stressful, to put it lightly. Eventually, Sam fell asleep sitting backwards in a chair when Bobby went to check on Dean.

He entered the guest bedroom, complete with two beds. Dean lay on one, still unconscious, but looking no worse for wear. Bobby frowned, confused. This made no sense. If Dean was in front of Castiel when he went up in flames like they said he did, he should be a husk. Burnt out eyes. Bleeding ears. Reduced to ash, even.

But there he was, breathing deeply and easily. He looked asleep.

Bobby wasn't complaining, but... what on earth was going on?

Bobby grabbed a quilt out of the closet, spread it over Dean, and then frowned at him. Strange.

Curious, he manually opened one of Dean's eyes and then the other. Besides staying asleep, he looked normal. His eyes were not even dilated like his feathered friend downstairs. Now, Bobby only had to worry whether or not he'd wake up.

Something thumped on the first floor. Bobby sighed wearily and tromped back down. At the sight of Sam, asleep at his post, Bobby smiled a bit.

He came up behind him and tapped his shoulder gently. With a yawn, the younger Winchester opened his eyes again and sighed.

"How's Dean?"

"Still asleep."

Sam nodded sleepily, and his eyes slid down to Castiel. "His fever's gone down."

"Good." Bobby pulled up his own chair and sat. "You look like you've been through a meat grinder, Sam. I'll watch him. Go sleep."

It was proof of how exhausted he really was that Sam only nodded in response and did as he was told. He paused at the base of the stairs and his brow furrowed. "Something strange happened when I got to Dean, Bobby," he said quietly.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Besides him not being roast beef?"

Sam glared at him but was too tired to put any venom in it. "His eyes. They were glowing."

Frowning, Bobby crossed his arms. "Are you sure? You were probably half blind at the time."

Sam considered this but shook his head. "No, I know what I saw. It was..." He paused and pursed his lips. "I dunno what it was."

Bobby waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, he looked pointedly at the stairs. "Go rest, idjit."

Sam complied.

The silence stretched and thickened like taffy. With a sigh, Bobby scrubbed his face and considered the strange young man asleep on his couch. Or... He supposed he shouldn't call him young.

For now, mysteries could wait.

As Castiel's breaths evened out and the night grew longer, Bobby took out his book and sat it in his lap. It wasn't like he was going to get any sleep tonight. He might as well lose himself in the ancient knowledge this book offered.

AN: AND I AM SORRY I KEEP STARTING NEW BOOKS BUT THIS IS IT. THIS IS ME. I CAN'T STOP. I've written several chapters of this and I'm planing for it to be about twenty. What do you think? Worth continuing?