Chapter Five

Even before the other end of the line went dead, Sam knew that Castiel was in trouble. The desperation in the angel's voice...it had been unmistakable. Anxiety shot through him and he yanked the phone away from his ear. Swiftly, yet efficiently, he turned on the GPS on Cass's cell in order to find him.

After a moment, Castiel's location popped up on the screen. Sam studied it with confusion. It seemed that the angel was near Durham as well, inside some old abandoned warehouse just outside the city limits. But after a moment, the location disappeared. Sam stared at the phone. He hadn't done anything to the GPS, which only meant that Cass's phone had been turned off or broken. It couldn't have been the angel, because it had sounded over the line like someone had slapped the phone away.

"Dean," He called out, striding to the bathroom door and slamming his fist against it to get Dean's attention. Sam could hear the flow of the water pounding against the tub from the nozzle. Frankly, Sam was relieved that Dean had decided to take a shower. He'd been a reeking mess for the past day or two, and Sam had been debating whether or not to tell his older brother to do so himself. "Get outta there, stat. We've got a problem."

Dean emitted a muffled 'kay' of understanding, and Sam headed back to the desk by the window and sat down in the chair. He drummed his fingers anxiously against the wood surface, mind racing. Was it possible that Castiel had been hunting the Nephilim and had been captured? If so, they needed to get to him...fast. If Castiel was killed...well, he didn't want to even think about it. The angel had done so much for him and Dean that he was almost like a brother to both of them.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Dean questioned him, striding out of the bathroom and rubbing a towel through his hair. He threw the thin cloth down on his motel bed while giving Sam a quizzical look. "You look like your puppy ran away." He pulled on a light olive green button down over his black T-shirt and rolled up the sleeves before claiming the seat across from Sam at the desk.

"Shut up," Sam responded, annoyed by his brother's jibe. "Listen...Cass just called."

Dean furrowed his brow, confused by why the angel would call them. "Cass? What'd he want?"

"That's the thing, Dean," Sam said. "It cut off before he could tell me why he called. All I heard him say was my name, and then the line went dead." He paused, allowing his brother to mull over what he was saying. "I turned on the GPS on his cell, and I got some old, supposedly abandoned warehouse just outside the city. Why the hell would Cass be there?" He was suggesting the obvious, and it didn't take his brother long to figure it out.

Dean leaned back in the chair, thinking. "Abandoned warehouse in an isolated part outside of town..." He said slowly, still processing the information. His green eyes lifted to meet Sam's hazel ones, and the edge of his mouth curled upwards into a smirk of triumph. "Doesn't that sound like the perfect torture chamber to you?"

"Exactly what I was thinking," Sam confirmed. "And if we're right, we've gotta get to Cass quick. If this Nephilim is just torturing angels because their existence made her an abomination...then she's not going to care who she kills." Dean nodded in agreement and stood up, shrugging on his military green jacket. "Looks like it's about ten miles from here." Sam said after a fleeting glance at his phone. He climbed to his feet as well and pulled on his own tan suede jacket.

When both Winchesters were inside the Impala, Dean started up the engine. "You'd better floor it." Sam told him. Dean shot his younger brother an irritated look that spoke louder than words. Of course he was going to floor it, he wasn't stupid. This was probably one of the only chances they would get to catch this bitch, and he wanted to get there as soon as possible.

Dean was relieved that this hunt seemed to be taking his mind off the Mark. But some small part of him still wished that he could be searching for Abaddon. That red-headed bitch was the most of his worries, but he had to admit that he had needed a break from his intense daze of determination.

They reached the warehouse in a little less than ten minutes. Dean swore he could hear the wheels of the Impala screech as he skidded up in front of the ramshackle building. The minute he powered down the engine, both he and his brother were jumping out and racing towards the entrance at full-speed, each tightly clutching the smooth hilt of an angel blade.

"So, what's the plan?" Sam asked as they paused at the door.

Dean stole a glance at his brother and shrugged. "When has one of our plans ever worked out? Let's just wing it." Sam's expression was half-approving, half-skeptical, which Dean had to admit was a peculiar look on anyone's face. They stayed silent and listened for any sounds from within. Nothing. Sam looked briefly at him for the signal, and Dean nodded once. He pressed his palm to the rundown door and it fell open, swinging precariously on its rusted hinges.

Both brothers were tense and alert, their hunter instincts on guard. Dean held his blade aloft in front of him, his eyes searching the shadowed warehouse. The moon was concealed by a layer of clouds, so only a dim silver-gray glow illuminated the gravel floor. From what Dean could see, the entire area was motionless, not a single soul shifted. "...the hell?" He said in a hushed whisper. "I thought you said Cass called from here."

"This is the location it gave me, just before the signal cut off," Sam replied, his grip on the hilt of the blade so taut that his knuckles turned white. "I don't know, could it have been scrambled?" Dean gave his brother a look that clearly said he was the last person in the world that he should ask. Sam let out a sigh of irritation, annoyed by the fact that they were so close to finding the Nephilim, and it wasn't here. Still, the younger Winchester trekked deeper into the warehouse, searching for any signs of Castiel or the Nephilim.

And it was a good thing he did. Almost instantly when he turned the corner, he found the bloodied body in a chair surrounded by an angel trap. He recognized the familiar tan trench coat and his heart traveled up to his throat. "Dean!" He called, rushing to Castiel. He hovered his palm in front of the angel's mouth and was relieved when he felt the feeble inhalations and exhalations. "Hey. Cass." He jostled him as carefully as he could, unwilling to injure him even further. The unconscious angel gave no response, and Sam gave up, lifting Castiel's body upwards from its slumped position.

Dean was standing behind him, keeping close watch in case the Nephilim jumped out at them. "He okay?" He asked, gesturing to Castiel. Sam gave him a look that suggested he didn't know. Dean nodded. He was anxious about his friend's condition, Cass was like a brother to both him and Sam, but they needed to stick to the bigger picture here before they worried about Castiel. "Okay. Let's get him outta here. I'm gonna scout the area...see if the Nephilim actually booked it." He headed away from them, holding the angel blade before him.

The warehouse was dark and lonely, the only noise was the sound of Dean's quiet footsteps and Sam's careful attempt to untie Castiel in the background. This is what you would expect an abandoned building to look like…without a living soul inside. The Nephilim was gone. She had clearly been here, judging by Castiel's condition, but Dean assumed that the minute she realized Cass had gained connection with someone, she had beat him up and bailed.

Dean paused by a rusted old pipe dangling off the wall, frowning. There was some sort of dark residue dripping slowly off the end of it. He stepped closer, studying it closely, and reached his hand out. A few drops splashed onto his outstretched palm and he brought it closer to him, touching it with the fingers on his free hand. It was dark chestnut in color and sticky, with a thick viscosity like that of molasses. Dean had never seen it before now, and he was currently unaware of not only what it could be, but also where it could have possibly come from. After looking at it for a moment longer, he realized that he had seen it before...it looked vaguely similar to the dried substance he had found on the dead angel vessel. Could this residue be connected to the Nephilim somehow? Dean didn't doubt it…it appeared as if this warehouse was the Nephilim's hideout for most of the time. But did they really give off a residue? Dean had never heard of it, but then again, he didn't know much about Nephilim in the first place.

Dean shook his head, deciding internally that the substance wasn't a huge deal, and wiped his hands off on his jacket. He grimaced as the sticky residue clung to his skin, scraping his fingers roughly against the grimy wall of the warehouse. "Dean!" Sam's voice sounded from near the building entrance. "You coming?" He could hear Sam's pants as his brother attempted to haul Castiel to the door.

"Uh, yeah," Dean replied. "I'll be right there." He said, rubbing the last of the residue off on the wall. He hurried to meet Sam, who was stumbling under the weight of Castiel's unconscious body. "Hey, hey, hey, here…" He slipped one of Cass's arms around his shoulders and the two brothers supported the angel back to the Impala. They succeeded in loading him into the backseat and each slid into their usual seat; Dean behind the wheel and Sam in shotgun.

When they reached the motel parking lot, they tried to make themselves unnoticed as they dragged a bloody, unconscious man into their room. Thankfully, it was well past dark, and most of the guests staying at the motel were asleep. They staggered across the threshold and allowed Castiel to collapse onto the nearest bed. Finally, the angel seemed to momentarily regain consciousness, emitting a weak groan of pain. "Hey, Cass," Dean spoke quickly. "Don't try to move." He instructed, not even certain that Castiel was hearing him, since he appeared to pass out again the minute he had registered the agony he was experiencing.

Both Winchesters were struggling to extract any medical knowledge they had collected throughout the years from their brains while patching up Castiel's injuries. There was a particularly nasty wound that cut straight into his abdomen, almost slicing through his spinal cord. Dean wasn't surprised that the angel didn't seem to have the strength to regain consciousness. Hell, if it were him, he wouldn't want to. He wouldn't wake up until he absolutely had to.

Dean grabbed a clean towel from the motel bathroom and pressed it up against the injury in Castiel's abdomen. As he applied pressure to it while Sam retrieved a few bandages to hold the dressing in place, the crimson blood immediately began to soak the white material of the towel. "Motel manager's not gonna be too happy about us wrecking his good towels, eh?" Dean commented, looking to his brother with a smirk. Sam appeared unamused, not even cracking a smile as he spread the bandages over the deep stab wound. Dean pulled his hands away, satisfied that the gauze was administering enough pressure onto the injury. "We good for this one?" He asked.

Sam nodded, although he looked rather unconvinced. "Yeah, I think so." He replied, dusting his hands off on his jeans. Both of them finished treating the rest of Castiel's wounds, which happened to be an astonishing array of injuries spanning from shallow, deep, small, large…basically every description of a knife wound you could imagine. "He must've really said something to piss that bitch off," Dean remarked as they finished patching up the last of the angel's cuts and gashes. "Holy crap."

Sam dipped his head in agreement, but he was barely listening to his brother's incessant commentary. His brow was creased in thought as he sat down on the empty bed. He bit his lip, pondering the situation in earnest. They were in a difficult position now, after rescuing Castiel...what could they possibly do to catch the Nephilim? His concentration on the subject was abruptly broken as Dean snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face.

"Hey. You listening to me, geek-boy?" The older Winchester inquired, this time clapping his hands in front of his younger brother's dazed face in order to get his attention.

Sam pushed Dean's hands away from his face, irritated. "Yeah, I'm listening." He responded, his lie so pathetic that it was almost comical. Sam knew for a fact that he had never been skilled at lying, but nevertheless, he always managed to let one slip at least once every week. It was usually instinct that urged him to be untruthful, but sometimes it was for the greater good. Whether it was his own well-being, or Dean's.

Dean gave him a skeptical look that clearly suggested he didn't believe him. Not that it was a big deal, Sam ignored Dean's ceaseless ramblings constantly. So, instead of continuing on with his endless prattling, Dean decided to focus on what Sam had been brooding on. After an awkward pause and a melodramatic eye roll from the older Winchester, Dean spoke again. "Hey, dude. Whaddya chewing over, huh?"

Sam let out a deep sigh. "Look, man…the Nephilim is gonna be pissed when she realizes we rescued Cass. Well, judging from his condition, she'll be beyond pissed." He barely paused to allow Dean to mull over that fact. "I feel like we should use that against her. If we return to the warehouse, we can lure her out by telling her that we were the ones who took Cass. It'll be two against one, and we'll have a better chance at killing her if we have two angel blades."

Dean huffed, pondering his brother's words. "I don't know, man," He began skeptically. "She seems pretty damn smart, booking it when she did. We'll need to use something else to coax her out of hiding." His mind was whirling rapidly, becoming so muddled with his current point of fixation that all other coherent thoughts were pushed to the background. He was struggling, trying to figure out what they could possibly use as bait for the Nephilim.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "But the question is…what?" Both siblings fell silent as the realization broke through. Seemingly in slow motion, each of their gazes slid to look at Castiel's unconscious form, lying motionless on the motel bed. They turned to each other, and although both their expressions suggested they were entirely opposed to the idea, Dean gave a minuscule nod that Sam acknowledged with a dip of his head. It was their only option.

They would use Castiel as their bait.

Neither Sam nor Dean was willing to forcefully awaken the unconscious angel, so, they waited. Not patiently, since not one of the brothers was particularly known for their forbearance, but nonetheless respectfully. And when the blue irises of Castiel's gaze were exposed for the world to see, Sam and Dean were ready. "Cass, hey, hey, hey…" Sam rushed to their friend, helping him sit up. The angel was groaning, his face screwed up in his agony.

Castiel blinked rapidly, struggling to regain his senses. When his vision cleared, he realized that Sam was right in front his face, looking worried. "Sam." He said slowly, letting out a cough as his ragged breathing hitched in his chest. His gaze traveled, finding Dean sitting at the desk by the window. "And Dean." He shivered, chilled, as he discovered that his coat and shirt had been removed. "...cold…" He mumbled, looking back to Sam.

"A blanket," Sam responded immediately. "Dean, grab the comforter from that bed, will you?" The older Winchester promptly obliged, tossing the blanket to his brother before flopping back down in the chair by the window. Cass grunted, wincing as he shifted his weight when Sam placed the comforter over his trembling body. He then cracked a half-amused smile. "What's so funny, Cass?" Sam inquired, climbing off of the bed and claiming the seat across from Dean.

The angel chuckled weakly. "It's like I'm human again…" He explained, grinning wider. His smile faded slightly, and his brow creased. "I can't decide whether I enjoy this or not." Both Winchesters laughed politely, but Castiel could tell that they were entirely into the game. He could sense an underlying of tension in their stances and their tones. "What's…going on…?" He inquired haltingly after a rather long, awkward pause.

He saw Dean take a deep breath in as Sam spoke. "Cass…we didn't catch the Nephilim," He began slowly. Castiel creased his brow, unable to stop the incessant pounding of his heart, and decided to remain silent. "There's only one way that we can successfully lure her out," Sam continued, looking rather uneasy. "And…we need bait. At the moment, there's only one thing that the Nephilim wants, and…and that's you, Cass."

The angel blinked as the realization sunk in. "I'm the…bait?" He asked slowly, the pain from his wounds seeming to momentarily disappear. Sam gave a minuscule nod, remaining silent as he watched him. Castiel's blue gaze revealed no emotion, as usual, but inside, with his newly acquired human feelings, he felt inevitable distress. This Nephilim seemed to be more powerful and much more ambitious than the last one he had encountered, which made her dangerous.

For the first time in a long time, he felt vulnerable. He didn't want to be exposed to the evil in the world. What was making him think like this? That was something Cass couldn't answer. But he looked to Sam, and then to Dean, and then back to Sam, his expression adamant in his decision.

"Okay. I'll do it."