Chapter 4:

Dean took his cell from his pocket as he walked into the motel room, dialing Castiel's number. "Yeah, we're at a motel right now. You can pop in. Super 8 in Carlisle, Oklahoma, room 15." As expected, a subtle flutter of wings sounded as barely a warning for Castiel's jack-in-the-box-like appearance directly to Dean's right, and he hardly managed to keep himself from startling. He took the photo out from his jacket, handing it over to the angel. "The brand right there," he said, pointing to it as Sam shut the door. "Was noted in autopsy as a tattoo, but—."

"It's the brand of Pestilence," Castiel said, his tone grave. He looked back to Dean. "When did her death occur?"

"Four days ago, Thursday, 3:41 AM," Sam answered.

"And over 400 more deaths since," Dean repeated, folding the photo back up and putting it in his jacket. "Look, Cas…I've got to ask." He let out a rough sigh, ruffling his hair anxiously. "The other horsemen we had to deal with…the rising of the witnesses…Samhain…all this stuff…I mean…aren't there any other angels out there besides you rooting for our side?"

Castiel gazed evenly at Dean for a long moment, unsure of where his line of thought was going, and shook his head. "I have no idea."

"So is it just gonna be us?" Dean asked, anger edging into his tone. "Always just us? We're going up against the devil here, the damn extinction of the human race and we've got no help on this. Mulder told me there was sulfur found in their blood and…. I mean, this could've been the Croatoan virus, and we've still got no backup. We need help. So all the angels are up there going, oh well, too bad for these mud monkeys, let's let Lucifer wipe 'em out and see what the big guy upstairs cooks up next?"

"Do you think that I am even in any sort of communication with other angels?" Castiel barked at Dean. Dean blinked, not accustomed to an angry reaction from the angel. "I am in exile, Dean, a renegade as far as my superiors are concerned, with a fraction of power that I have had at my disposal for longer than you can comprehend. This is not one of your…your movies where I use an untraceable cell phone to contact my brothers and sisters to find us more allies. I am in hiding," he said, accentuating each word forcefully, "because I disobeyed direct orders. Even if I were to make contact with one I trusted, we do not know how many are working with Zachariah. And I cannot defeat Heaven. We…cannot defeat Heaven. In that sense it would be as if you were to walk into the headquarters of your FBI and attempt to defeat them. This, here," he said, waving to their surroundings, "this is all we can do." He stared at Dean for a moment, and then looked away briefly before meeting his gaze again. "We have no help. I assumed you understood that fact by now."

At that, with a brush of air harsher than normal, Castiel disappeared.

"Goddamnit," Dean muttered, looking around the room, though he knew he wouldn't find Castiel. He walked over to the table, falling harshly into a chair, and banged his fists on the table. He was silent for a long moment. "Touchy subject, I guess."

"Maybe you should try not alienating the best ally we have right now," Sam shot at his brother, going over to his bed as he took out his laptop.

"Dude, I'm just pissed," Dean snapped. "I think I've got the right to be."

"But why take it out on Cas?" Sam exclaimed.

"I wasn't taking it out on him! I was just—." Dean sighed, letting his head fall into his hands. He shook his head and leaned back into the chair, bumping the table a few times with his fist.

"He's alone, Dean," Sam said quietly. "More alone than…he's ever been. More than we can comprehend, I'm sure. He can't even find God, the one thing he's always believed in. You take away the one thing someone believes in…. I'm impressed he's doing as well as he is."

"Yeah," Dean murmured. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "It's just…he's an angel. You know?" he asked, looking over to his brother intensely. "I mean…Christ, if he can be taken down by loneliness, what chance in Hell do we have?"

Sam stared at his brother tiredly for a long moment before he sighed and shook his head. "One problem at a time, man," he muttered. "Apocalypse first. Then we deal with the emotional angel."

"Right," Dean grunted. He paused for a long moment before he clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "Alright. You get your geek on. I'm gonna call Bobby and see if he's got some info on this thing and…we'll try to pull some sort of plan out of our asses."

"But if it's demonic, it could work," Sam stressed.

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah, but firstly, Special Agent Logic won't go for it, and secondly, it doesn't solve the actual problem of the demon spreading the diseases."

"We've got no leads on how to stop this thing so far, so we may as well try this," Sam said firmly. He folded up the piece of paper in his hand and held it out to Dean with a slight glare until he took it.

"Fine," Dean muttered, putting it in his jacket. "You're right, it's as good a plan as any. You keep with the research and mapmaking and I'll go tell Mulder we're gonna use magic to fix this."

Sam smirked slightly as he sat back down at his computer, taking the pen from behind his ear and chewing slightly on the end as he stared at the information on the screen.

The area swam with a sort of organized chaos as Scully watched another patient on a gurney, this one a twelve-year-old boy, be handed off to an ER nurse. Everyone was in full-body HAZMAT suits, close-fitting so they could still do their jobs. Although their jobs had turned into regularly flying the constant onslaught of infected into the quarantine and pumping them full of drugs that they knew wouldn't cure them.

Scully's Bluetooth beeped in her ear, signifying a call, and she raised her hand to press the button on the side through the suit. "Scully."

"It's me," Mulder told her. "I've got something for you to try and I need you to not dismiss it. Can you do that?"

Scully narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"It isn't dangerous, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Promise me that you will try this."

"My God, Mulder, we're up to our elbows in suffering, dying people with no end in sight. I'll try anything you want, just give me something," she snapped.

"I want you to administer the treatments you're giving the patients with one more ingredient. Holy water."

Scully blinked, her eyes widening, and then narrowed back into frustration. "Are you joking?" she exclaimed.

"Scully," he said firmly, "try this, okay? Even the boys don't know if it'll work, but what do we have to lose?"

Scully consciously lowered her voice, even though nobody was paying attention to her and even if they were there was too much chatter to hear her, especially through her suit. "Where would I even get holy water?" she asked.

"I've got the rite. You can bless it yourself. You're wearing your cross, right? The gold one?"

Scully's hand involuntarily rose to rest over where her necklace rested on her chest and she swallowed tightly. "Yes, I'm wearing it."

"Can you get some sterile water for this and get someplace private?"

Scully let out a long sigh, closing her eyes for a long moment before nodding. "Fine. Just…just a second."

Five minutes of dodging nurses and doctors and scientists later, Scully was in an empty lab room with two liters of sterile water and her cross, which she had also sterilized. "All right," she muttered. "Go ahead." Mulder carefully recited the rite and Scully repeated it. "Exorcizo te, creatura aquæ, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in nomine Jesu Christi, Filii ejus Domini nostri, et in virtute Spiritus Sancti: ut fias aqua exorcizata ad effugandam omnem potestatem inimici, et ipsum inimicum eradicare et explantare valeas cum angelis suis apostaticis, per virtutem ejusdem Domini nostri Jesu Christ: qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos et sæculum per ignem."

Scully dropped her necklace into the beaker. "Okay. I…now have holy water."

"Can you administer it without anyone noticing?" Mulder asked.

"Ah…I guess I can use a syringe to put it in the saline solution of their IVs," she told him. "Nobody'll know the difference. How much?"

"They said about 10 ml will be adequate. Call me if this goes somewhere."

"Will do." Scully pressed the button on her Bluetooth, letting out another sigh, before she went into a nearby drawer. She took out a handful of plastic-wrapped syringes and started filling them with the water.