A/N: How about that 200th episode this week?! I laughed so much. Dean objecting to, well, everything, and Sam just going with it. "I worked tech in school too." He seemed like a kid in a candy store-"Don't touch anything." Anyhow, here's the next chapter of our little adventure. :D

Chapter 4

Sam gaped at the dark streaks blossoming on Castiel's shoulder. "Shit."

Dean strode over to them and let out a curse of his own. Cas just kept staring at the veins as though they were a fascinating anomaly, and not a sign that he was definitely poisoned.

Crowley made a noise of exasperation. "What, you thought I'd been bluffing?" He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

Cas finally looked up to shoot the demon a dark glare. Crowley simply pulled down a glass from the hutch and poured some liquor into it. Then he nudged the crystal toward the angel.

"Have a drink, it helps."

"Crowley, I swear to God," Dean started.

The demon held up the bottle in a gesture to cut him off. "You signed the contract, mate, remember? Besides, the way I hear it, God is about as reliable as self-sealing envelopes."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Do not think I won't smite you, demon."

"That would be sealing your fate, Kitten. Though I also hear you don't have the juice anymore."

The angel blade dropped from Cas's sleeve again.

"Whoa," Sam jumped in, putting a hand on Cas's arm. "This is not helping. Crowley, shut up. Cas, we still have to stop the gorgon, one way or the other, and we haven't found the protection spell yet. So are you up to helping?"

After a tense moment, Castiel returned his blade to wherever he kept it, and tore his gaze away from the demon.

"Of course I will help, Sam."

Sam gave his arm a light, reassuring squeeze before letting go. "Okay. We know the spell is probably in a book called Erosthenes' Bibliotheca; we just need to find it in this mess." He gestured at the haphazardly placed texts.

Cas gave a slow nod. "Very well."

Sam suppressed a sigh. Of course, Cas was only doing this to help them, never mind helping himself. Dean and Crowley were still stuck in a glaring match, so Sam cleared his throat obtrusively, and they finally moved back to their separate corners. The silence was thick and palpable, broken only by the thunk of discarded books and slosh of bourbon.

"I found it," Cas said a short while later.

Sam abandoned the stack he'd been sifting through and went over to take the three-inch tome from Cas. He immediately flipped to the page he'd memorized from the other text's reference, heart dropping.

"It's in Greek."

"Please tell me you can read that," Dean said to Cas.

The angel regarded him for a moment, taking in both Winchesters' half-worried, half-hopeful expressions. "Yes."

Relieved that something was finally going their way, Sam angled the page toward Castiel, who scanned the paragraphs.

"There is indeed a spell to protect against a gorgon's visage," he said. "The ingredients are odor of weasel, Monkshood flowers, sulfur powder, and sandalwood oil."

"Odor of weasel?" Dean repeated, shaking his head. "Where do they come up with this shit?"

Sam shrugged one shoulder. "Well, I think I remember reading that the weasel is deadly to a basilisk, who also kills with a glare, so maybe they're related…?"

"They are," Cas said. "The basilisk is the offspring of a gorgon and the Midgard Serpent."

Sam's eyes widened. "What? Really? What else from Greek and Norse mythology is real?"

"Sam," Dean half-growled.

Right, focus. He glanced back at the page, unable to understand the directions for how to cast the spell. "Okay, well, Magnus probably has this stuff somewhere…" Sam turned to Crowley expectantly.

With a put-out eye roll, the demon set his bourbon down long enough to snap his fingers. A small pile of mustard-colored powder appeared on the end table, along with several stems bearing a light purple flower whose wide petals curved over its center much like a monk's habit, a bottle of oil, and a weasel's pelt. Sam wrinkled his nose. It smelled fresh.

"Okay," he said, trying not to cough. "What does the book say to do?"

Cas read over the page again. "Mix the ingredients and anoint one's eyelids with the solution while saying the incantation."

"We have to put that stuff on our face?" Dean said in disgust.

Sam gave him a sympathetic grimace. The life of hunters was never sanitary. But it was a small price to pay for saving people—and their friend.

Sam strode toward the hutch and dug around in the bottom cabinets until he found a bowl. Then he followed Castiel's instructions as the angel translated the proportions for the ingredients: five strands of weasel hair, one Monkshood flower, and a pinch of sulfur powder mixed with one-fourth cup of pure sandalwood oil.

"What's the sulfur powder used for?" Sam asked curiously.

"Counter magic and hex prevention," Cas replied. He set the book down and picked up the bowl, turning to Sam. "Close your eyes."

Swallowing his revulsion, Sam complied. Cas's voice dropped an octave as he began speaking a litany of words Sam didn't understand. A moment later he felt a finger rub over his eyelids, depositing a slick, cool substance. His shoulders tensed, waiting to feel a zap of magic or something. But nothing happened. The oil had either dried or absorbed completely into his skin by the time Cas stopped the incantation, and Sam warily opened his eyes. He found Dean blinking uncertainly and reaching up to rub his brow.

"Are we sure this is gonna work?"

"I performed the spell as described," Cas responded. "It should."

"Well, only one way to find out," Sam said, turning to Crowley. "You have a jar or something we can collect the venom in?"

The demon snapped his fingers and one appeared. Sam scooped it up. "Okay, we're halfway there. You know what to do with it once we get it, or are you gonna make us find a spell for that as well?" he said bitterly.

Crowley waved a dismissive hand. "No, that part I know."

"Fine." Sam looked to his brother, silently asking if he was ready to go. At a subtle nod, they both turned to Cas, prepared for the angel to fly them to the gorgon's last known location, only to find the angel listing against the back of a chair, rubbing his shoulder. Shit.

Sam swallowed hard, pulse ratcheting up a notch. "Crowley, what symptoms can we expect Cas to experience?"

The demon shrugged his brows. "Fatigue will set in first, as you can see, followed by weakness, fever, delirium, and finally disintegration of internal organs."

Sam felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. Crowley said the poison in Cas would work along a similar timeframe to the gorgon's venom, which seemed to be gaining speed the more it traveled up the demon's arm. This was bad, really bad.

Dean's face started turning red and a vein in his neck seemed fit to burst. Sam watched his brother curl his fingers into a fist. With a subtle noise, he threw Dean a meaningful look.

You can't kill him yet.

A muscle in Dean's cheek twitched as he forced his hand to loosen. "Alright," he said roughly. "Let's go gank the bitch." He looked at Sam, and the two came to a silent agreement.

Sam pulled out his cell phone and tapped the screen to bring up a map. "Cas, where exactly did you find the gorgon?"

Cas quirked a brow at the screen Sam held toward him. After a moment, he pointed to a spot on the grid, and Sam double-tapped it to get the information.

"It was the only human dwelling in the immediate area," Cas said.

"Yeah, looks like," Sam hummed. "Says here it's part residential, part studio for a blind artist named Eunice Gladstone. Seems she's pretty well-known in most of the state."

"Blind, huh?" Dean asked. "Think that means she's immune to the gorgon?"

Sam shrugged. "Makes sense. Though the gorgon could just kill her the old-fashioned way." He winced at the callous reality of the situation. No matter how many lives they saved, Sam would always regret the ones he couldn't.

Dean scooped up the machete and stuffed it in their weapons' duffel, turning to address Crowley. "Magnus must've had a car around here?"

The crossroads demon made an exasperated noise. "All you boys do is take, take, take."

"Your ass on the line, remember?" Dean retorted.

"It would be quicker if I transported you," Cas spoke up.

Dean paused to glance at Sam again. "Yeah, about that…"

"It's not that we don't want your help, Cas," Sam jumped in before his brother could be insensitive in his overprotectiveness. "But exerting yourself could accelerate the poison's effects. Can you be sure you'll be able to bring us back?"

Cas's expression pinched in indignation, followed by a flicker of doubt as his gaze dropped briefly to his shoulder. He tilted his head and studied the Winchesters. "You do not wish me to come along at all."

"Dean and I are warded, and the gorgon isn't far." Sam tried to convey his intent through his tone and eyes, hoping Cas would understand. "We'll be back in a couple hours, tops."

"Suppose she has fled," Castiel argued.

"Then we'll track her," Dean put in. "It's not me and Sam's first rodeo, you know."

Cas's frown deepened in confusion and unhappiness. "I will not sit idly by while you two endanger yourselves." For me, was the unspoken tag to his vehemence.

"Please, Cas," Sam pressed. Of course we'd do it for you.

After a moment, the angel's shoulders drooped. "I understand. I am a…liability in my current state."

"No, you're just too damn important to risk your life," Dean growled. "Especially when you don't have to. Sam and I got this. Just take it easy for once."

Cas's shoulders stiffened and he looked away from them. "Fine. I will make sure everything is ready to create an anti-venom for when you return."

Sam sighed. Yeah, if he was in Cas's position, he'd be pissed too. But the angel would at least have the chance to get over it, as long as Sam and Dean didn't fail.

"Touching, truly," Crowley's accent shattered the tense silence.

Dean jabbed a finger at him. "And you'd better make sure Cas's cure is ready too."

The demon rolled his eyes. "I said I would. Chill, boys. Kitten and I will enjoy some pleasant bonding time while you two go off and slay the wicked witch." He raised his liquor bottle in a mock toast.

"Car?" Dean demanded impatiently.

"Take the first left corridor, next right, and the garage is the fourth door on the right. Keys are there as well."

Sam shook his head; they needed a damn map for this place. Gathering up their supplies and weapons, he cast one last apologetic look at Castiel before he and Dean headed for the door.

"Sam," Cas said.

He turned, bracing himself for more argument, but Castiel merely materialized his angel blade and extended the hilt toward Sam.

"This will also work against the gorgon."

For a moment, Sam stared at the heavenly weapon, stunned that Cas would trust him with it. At a nod from the angel, he wrapped his fingers around the cool metal.

"Thanks, Cas. We'll be back soon."

Castiel gave a barely perceptible nod, and Sam turned away from the look of resignation on his friend's face.

He met Dean in the hall, and without another word they made their way to the garage. When they opened the door and flipped the light switch, both brothers stopped in their tracks, jaws dropping. The room was more like a hangar, with at least a dozen classic muscle cars filling the space, chrome polished to a shiny finish.

"No, no, no," Dean said. "There's no way a douche like Magnus could have had such great taste."

Rolling his eyes, Sam spotted a rack of hooks on the wall bearing keys. He marched over and reached for the top set.

"Not that one." Dean gestured sharply to the other end of the holder. "Third from the bottom right."

"Seriously?" Sam scowled. Now who was getting distracted? "We're in a race to save Cas's life and you're going to be picky?"

"Hey, the Shelby's going to get us there the fastest," Dean replied.

Sam snatched the keys off the hook and tossed them to his drooling brother. There was a button next to the rack that looked like it controlled a garage door, so Sam punched it. Sure enough, at the far end of the room, corrugated metal siding started rolling up, revealing a stretch of field outside.

The brothers climbed into the sleek, silver, 1967 Shelby GT, and Dean was unable to keep the giddy look from his face as the car purred to life.

"Oh, yeah." He tossed Sam a grin and revved the engine.

Sam smirked as Dean hit the gas and they tore out of there.

Dean slowed the GT Shelby to a stop in front of a large, one-story house with sage trim. Multiple wind chimes, from crystal to silver to gold dangled from the porch, silent in the absence of a breeze. There was a corral left of the house, but instead of horses, it held an assortment of sculptures. Some were full body statues plated in bronze; others were busts set on pedestals. There was a groom and bride in a lovers' embrace, a young woman in an old-fashioned dress with a lace umbrella propped over one shoulder, and even a man in what appeared to be a Civil War era uniform stoically sitting atop a horse.

"Getting a sense of irony here?" Dean asked as he shut the engine off. Sam shrugged his brows, and the two climbed out of the car just as the front screen door creaked open. A woman in an ankle-length skirt and patterned blouse stepped onto the porch. She wore a scarf wrapped tightly around her head and large sunglasses. Were all artists New Age hippies?

"Hello?" she called, head tilted to the side, gaze angled upward as though she were surveying them through her ears rather than her eyes.

"Um, hello, Eunice Gladstone?" Sam replied.

"Yes. Who is it?"

Dean cleared his throat. "F.B.I. ma'am."

Sam shot him a pointed look; they didn't have their fake badges with them. Dean shrugged; it wasn't like she could see them anyway.

"F.B.I." she said in surprise, lifting a hand to press over her collarbone. "What brings you out here?"

"We're looking for someone, a woman," Sam said as they approached the porch. "She's a witness in an important case, but she's scared and went on the run. We really need to find her."

Dean nodded at his brother appreciatively. Nice BS-ing.

"Is that so," Eunice said speculatively.

"Have you had any visitors?" Dean asked.

She pursed her lips for a long moment.

"It's nice if you're trying to help her," Sam said gently.

Dean had to hold back a snort. If only this lady knew what she was dealing with, assuming the gorgon had even bothered to introduce herself. Why hadn't she killed the artist anyway?

"But if she needs protection, that's what we're here for," Sam finished.

Yeah, protection for Cas. And, to Dean's irritation, Crowley.

"There was a woman," Eunice said slowly. "She said she was passing through when she saw my art. We shared tea and muffins yesterday evening and then she left."

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. Apparently the gorgon hadn't left, not if Cas had tangled with her that morning.

"Mind if we have a look around anyway?" he asked.

Eunice frowned. "Very well. But don't touch anything."

"Absolutely," Sam hurried to reassure her. "Thank you."

He and Dean meandered back to the car while Eunice remained on the porch. Dean rolled his shoulders uncomfortably as he reached inside the Shelby for their weapons. It wasn't like the woman could see them, but her standing there was still awkward. Dean pulled out the special machete while Sam drew Cas's angel blade and pocketed the glass jar. Oh yeah, 'milking a snake' was going to be boatloads of fun.

Throwing one last look at Eunice, who still had her head cocked in that weird birdlike manner that reminded him of Cas, Dean turned and nodded to Sam. Together, they strode off to investigate the rest of the property. A barn stood thirty yards back, but closer to them was a large greenhouse with paned glass walls. Sam veered toward it, so Dean silently followed. As they approached the door, Dean spotted more sculptures inside. He was becoming quite impressed that a blind artist could capture such detail.

Wait…

Dean arched a questioning brow at Sam, who returned the look with a wary one of his own. Hefting their weapons, they pulled open the doors to the botanical garden.

Two statues stood on either side of the entrance like sentinels. Both were dressed in modern clothes; one even had reading glasses. Sam eyed them suspiciously. There was definitely an eerie realism to the granite figures.

"We should ask Eunice if anyone else lives or works here, and when the last time she saw them was," Sam said under his breath.

Dean didn't respond. He only hoped the gorgon was still around.

As they crept quietly through the garden, Dean started noticing more statues. They decorated patches of grass between trees and large bushes, some looking serene like timeless works of art. Yet others had slightly wider eyes, as though the models had caught a glimpse of something terrifying before their visage was permanently captured.

Dean's heart began beating erratically with trepidation. He and Sam were putting a lot of faith—really all their faith—in that protection spell. Although, Dean had seen magic work before. Usually the bad kind. He kind of wished they'd let Cas come after all. Even weakened, the angel was badass backup.

Sam suddenly stopped and held up a fist. He jerked his head to the side, and Dean leaned out to peek around a large berry shrub. A figure in a long gown knelt on the ground by a fountain, arms resting on the rim as she gazed into the pool. Dean suppressed a shiver at the mass of tangled red snakes writhing about her head like some kind of freakish wig. He nodded to Sam, and they both moved forward, stepping lightly across the grass as they inched toward the gorgon.

They froze when she suddenly straightened and craned her neck to look over her shoulder. Red irises flashed with fury and she quickly rose to her feet. Dean waited for everything to go black, or whatever happens when you're petrified, but he felt nothing. He shot his gaze to Sam, relieved to find him still flesh and blood. Go weasels.

The gorgon looked them up and down, pausing to note the angel blade and then the machete. "You don't look like angels…"

"That's because we're hunters," Dean replied. He spotted a stump of white gauze, stained red, wrapped around one of the snake appendages on her head. Cas must've done that. Son-of-a-bitch had bent the truth when he'd said he hadn't tried to kill her. Dean didn't know whether to be pissed or slightly proud.

The gorgon frowned. "Then how…" Anger twisted her features. "That filthy demon," she spat. "What did you pay for such secrets? Your souls? What kind of hunters does that make you?"

"We didn't sell anything," Dean snarled, and tightened his grip on the machete.

The woman sneered. "Well, warded or not, you're still out of your league, boys."

Dean grinned. "Let's find out."

"Let's not."

Dean stiffened at the sharp voice that sounded from behind him, and he threw a glance over his shoulder to find Eunice standing in the garden. Dammit.

He was about to ask her to go back outside when she casually lifted a hand and removed her tinted glasses. Sharp green eyes skewered Dean directly.

What the hell? She wasn't actually blind?

He heard Sam give a small gasp, and a chill raced up Dean's spine. If she wasn't blind, why hadn't she turned to stone in front of the gorgon?

"Stheno," Eunice said icily. "For centuries you have been nothing but the bane of my existence. Trouble follows you everywhere."

The gorgon snorted. "Get off your high horse, sister dear."

Dean shot Sam a startled look. Sister?

Both Winchesters turned widened eyes to Eunice as she reached up to unwrap the scarf about her head. The fabric fell away, revealing a bald scalp covered in tightly coiled snakes. One by one they unfurled, green scales glittering like emeralds.

Oh, shit.