Two tall, lean figures walk into the room, both of them males. Dean can hear himself growling louder, his body tensing to pounce. The taller one, who has an archangel blade gripped tightly by his side, throws a stern look over Dean's shoulder, his gaze locking on Cas.

"Castiel, you were warned not to pursue this...abomination."

The Angel sneers the last word, as if the very thought of Dean is staining. Dean growls fiercely, stepping forward, but hesitates as Cas grips his arm tightly.

"Perinel, this doesn't have to end in more bloodshed."

The Angel, Perinel, nods in agreement.

"You are correct, it does not. Not our blood, that is."

No more talking. Perinel aims directly for Dean, his archangel blade now raised, intending to strike him down as quickly as possible. Dean immediately goes on red alert. He wants to wait until the douche bag is close enough, then cut him in fucking half. He isn't scared of two clowns like these, he can easily take them.

Just as Perinel reaches Dean, and Dean grasps his own blade low, intending to plunge the blade in his stomach then slice upwards, he loses his balance as a strong and insistent force pushes him out of the line of fire, knocking him into the unoccupied table, and sending it back a few inches.

Dean watches in silent horror as Perinel doesn't notice he isn't aiming for Dean any more, or maybe he just doesn't give a rats ass. Dean steadies himself and rushes back to push Cas out of the way; but he's too late. The blade plunges into Cas's chest, and Cas cries out in pain. Perniel's expression changes to one of pity as he withdraws his blade, and Cas crumples to the floor, clutching his chest, blood already seeping through his fingers. Seeing Cas in agony on the floor, and the stench of metal now caressing his nostrils, Dean loses his hold on his dark side. The Angels were going to fucking regret this.

Its over within a minute. Blood stains Dean's blade, and most of his face and clothes, even some in his hair, and spatters hang on the walls like proud pieces of art. The Angels are dead, their vessels ripped to pieces, beyond repair or even recognition. Dean's panting, sweat mixing in with the blood on him. Pure hatred and uncontrolled rage is throbbing in his veins, and he's sure he's going to implode. His emotions were very unstable since he came back from, well, the dead. The bastards hadn't pushed, but catapulted him head first over the edge.

A low agonized groan grabs Dean's attention, and he sees Cas, lying on his back on the floor, blood soaking his shirt and fingers; but still alive. The dark emotions disperse as quickly as they had emerged. Only one thought was drumming in his mind now; save his Angel.

Shoving his blade into his belt, he kneels down next to Cas, his hand on the one Cas has clutched to his chest. Cas's eyes are unfocused and glazed, staring up at the ceiling. Waves of pure panic bubble under the surface of Dean's skin; what if he can't save him?

-Flashback-

Dean watches as Sam's mouth opens, then closes, opens, then closes again. The grin is still plastered on his face, but for some reason, it doesn't feel as good as it did a minute ago. Sam is no longer backing away from him, but he isn't coming closer either.

A few minutes of tense silence stretch on. Eventually, Sam runs a shaky hand through his hair, never taking his eyes off his brother.

"But...how? It's not...you're..."

Dean rolls his eyes in annoyance. Why is Sam wasting time talking? He's back, and he's far from dead. But Sam looks far from happy. He looks...terrified. Dean tilts his head to the side, a confused expression on his face.

"What's the matter with you?"

Sam's eyes widen, and he shakes his head in disbelief.

"Me! You died and your're acting like its no big deal! And...your eyes!"

Why is Sam suddenly obsessing about his damn eyes?

Dean marches to the nearest bathroom, throwing the door open carelessly, causing it's hinges to creak painfully. Switching the light on, he stares into the mirror, his jaw clenching tightly. He doesn't recognise what's staring back at eyes are black, pure demonic black. His face is deathly pale, cuts and bruises plastered all over it. His hand circles gingerly around his chest, and comes into contact with the not healed hole from where Metatron stabbed him. Killed him.

His mind trails back to what Crowley had said, about Cain, the blade, its reluctance to let go. He bares his teeth maliciously. The smarmy demonic bastard. His blood starts to boil, igniting a fire in his veins. A fire that wants to consume everything, and everyone. Unstoppable. Unquenchable. He's going to make Crowley suffer, way past the point of begging for the sweet release of death.

After all, paybacks a bitch.

-end flashback-

"Cas, come on man, you gotta stay with me."

Dean pries Cas's hand away, to get a good look at the damage. Blood is still draining from the hole in his chest, but the blade missed his heart completely. Lucky son of a bitch. Dean rips the sleeve off his own shirt, using it to apply pressure to the wound. He glances back to Cas's face, and his eyelids are closed, and Dean freezes, his blood instantly turning to ice. Is Cas?

He uses his free hand to open one on Cas's eyelids, searching for signs of life, and he sighs with heavy relief as he see's that Cas is still alive. Weak and badly injured, but alive. Dean leans back, still applying pressure to the wound.

He has to take care of Cas, make sure he recovers and gets back on his feet. But...how? Its been so long since Dean had to actually take care of someone else, he isn't sure he still knows how. He sure as hell doesn't look after himself any more, because he simply doesn't care. He might die tomorrow, and he just doesn't give a crap. But Cas...Cas is a whole different story.

The bleeding eventually slows down enough for Dean to release most of the pressure. Cas is still unconscious, but Dean knows that's better for now. If he was awake, he'd be in unbelievable agony, and Dean couldn't watch that. He looks at the scattered remains of the Angels, and he realizes they have to move. More Angels will come.

He knows he shouldn't move Cas, not while he's this injured, but there's no other option. He arranges himself into a crouching position, and then scoops Cas up, as gently as possible, into his arms, and carefully carries him out of the door, bridal style.

The sooner they leave town, the better.

Thanks for the follows and stuff guys, much appreciated :)