Hello my friends! You are all amazingly awesome! Thank you again for all your reviews, alerts, and favorites! This chapter took longer than usual, it kind of got away from me. I try to keep each one at around 10 pages, this one is 16. Crazy, I know, but I didn't have the heart to break it up into two smaller chapters.

Also, I borrowed a line in here from 7x12. It doesn't have anything to do with the plot and is in no way spoilerific for the show. It just kinda popped in there. If you can figure out what it is, I'll bake you virtual cookies!

Now on with the show!


When Sheriff Jody Mills offered Bobby Singer her parent's old house in Lake Preston, South Dakota as a new base camp, she'd been expecting a number of weird things to happen.

But a supposedly dead archangel showing up and demanding that they demon poof the house had not been one of them.

Yet it had happened. Two hours ago.

After the guy had convinced Bobby that he was indeed Gabriel (Yes, that Gabriel!), which she might add had taken just about everything except the kitchen sink, paranoid bastard that the old hunter is, he'd vanished again with wink and a promise that he'd 'be home before curfew'.

So they'd ended up spending an hour and a half painting devils traps and salting every nook and cranny. And now she's sitting in the living room winding down with a cup of tea and a book while Bobby finishes the last couple windows in the basement and they wait for the angel to come back.

Even though she's expecting something to happen, the group of people that materializes in the living room still scares the shit out of her.

The archangel is there, along with Bobby's two boys, and a guy she doesn't recognize that looks kind of like a half-naked, beat-up homeless man. Oh, and a hopefully just unconscious woman that she just noticed lying on the floor next to the fireplace. She realizes that she probably looks like an idiot just sitting there and staring, slack-jawed.

But hey, can you blame her?

The angel wastes no time in magicking a knife out of nowhere and making a swift cut across his forearm. Then he starts... finger painting on the bay window with his own blood.

What the hell has she gotten herself into?

She apparently had made some sort of noise in her surprise, because now there are hurried footsteps thumping up from the basement and suddenly Bobby is bursting into the room, shotgun in hand.

"Is that bastard back?" he exclaims as his eyes dart around the room. He rears back as if he's been struck when he spots their unexpected guests, mouth hanging agape in shock. Ha. At least Jody isn't the only one. "What the holy hell?" he stammers, lowering the muzzle of the shotgun.

"They followed me home," Gabriel explains, not pausing in his- well, whatever the hell he's doing. He jerks his head back in the direction of the strange group he'd arrived with. "Can we keep 'em?"

"What-"

"Help," the homeless man says all of a sudden in a voice that sounds like he's been smoking two packs a day for longer than he should have been alive. That's when she notices that Dean looks terrible; the kid looks dead on his feet. The guy is practically holding him up. Bobby had mentioned that he hadn't been doing well lately. But this- this goes way beyond 'unwell' or 'under the weather'.

Sam swears and grabs his brother from the other side, helping the filthy man ease him into her father's old brown armchair. He squats down and reaches to move the hand Dean has clutched over his stomach.

"Cas?" Bobby breaths out, staring at the man. Cas? The name sounds familiar. Jody mentally sifts through the conversations she and Bobby have had in the past few weeks and comes up with an answer.

Cas. Castiel. The angel friend that dragged Dean out of Hell and helped the boys stop the Apocalypse. And then, most recently, went bat-shit crazy trying to win a war in Heaven and exploded in a lake with those leviathan things. That Cas.

Another resurrected angel. And here she'd been thinking that one was impossible enough.

"Hello, Bobby," he greets distractedly, leaning heavily on the arm of the chair for support. She can see under the dirt and grim, getting a closer look, that he's covered in burns and lacerations. How the hell is he standing? Oh, angel, right. He's focused intently on watching as Sam peels back his brother's shirt. There's a small amount of blood drying and sticking the cloth to the pale skin of Dean's abdomen.

"What's wrong with him?" Bobby asks, his worry for his surrogate son clearly overpowering his shock. He sets his shotgun down next to the door and makes his way across the room.

"Dizzy," Dean hisses out; his voice sounds shaky, like it's taking considerable effort to speak. Yeah, he's definitely not doing too hot. His eyes are shut and his head is back, pillowed against the back of the chair, his hair damp with sweat and his cheeks flushed with fever. His breathing is slightly too quick to be normal and his jaw quivers every now and again, like he's trying not to chatter his teeth.

"Fuck," he groans, abruptly clamping his hand over his mouth and leaning forward. Jody springs into action and grabs the waste basket next to the couch, hurriedly shoving it in Sam's waiting hand. They make it in time, and Dean is sick all over the plastic container instead of the floor.

"Is that blood?" She gapes in horror as the young man vomits up a small amount thick, dark red fluid. He coughs and gags, spitting a couple times in the basket for good measure.

"Tastes like it," Dean confirms in a raspy voice, reaching up to wipe his mouth on his sleeve and leaning back again as Sam sets the basket aside. The younger Winchester isn't looking so well either. His hair is matted with half congealed blood in a few places and there are dark red streaks covering half of his face, already drying and starting to flake off.

"Shit. Gabriel, a little help here?" Sam hollers, head craning around the chair to look at the archangel. The guy's impromptu art project is covering most of the window now; red squiggles that look kind of like crudely-drawn constellations cover the panes.

"Gimme a sec, big boy. Making sure nobody crashes this little shindig," Gabriel calls over his shoulder as he starts working on the only empty piece of glass left. Jody is glad the house is on the edge of town, far from the prying eyes of neighbors. It's dark outside now anyway, but this would have been hard to explain in the morning otherwise. She's already going to have to explain to her brother why there are pentagrams painted over every door and window. It's a good thing neither of them has any intention of selling the place, she has a feeling it's going to be seeing a lot of wear-and-tear in the immediate future.

"Take your time," Dean grinds out. "Not like'm dyin' or anything."

"Damn, Dean. Don't even joke-"

"Who's jokin'?"

"What happened?" Bobby asks again with more force, settling a hand on Sam's shoulder and peering at a small, angry red scab on Dean's abdomen. Jody can't see very well from over the top of his head, and she's no nurse, mind you, but it doesn't look that bad.

"That his blood? Wound looks days old," Bobby says, fiddling with the bill of his hat, something Jody has noticed he does when he's nervous.

"He got that like- like an hour ago, looked way worse then. Demon got him with some kind of needle," Sam explains in a rush, clearly anxious about the injury. "No clue what was in it, but I was hoping-"

"That I could fix it." Gabriel comes over and squats down next to Sam, examining the area. His hands and arms are miraculously clean and unmarred now. "I can try, but no money back guarantees."

"No," Castiel says suddenly, reaching over and placing a halting hand between Dean and Gabriel. "Did you see what the toxin looked like?" He addresses Sam while leaning back over and checking Dean's pulse.

"I'll do you one better," Sam says and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a glass tube filled with pink goo. Castiel glances up at the vial and the corners of his eyes wrinkle with strain as he looks back down at Dean. His lips press together and pucker slightly as the muscles in his jaw work furiously. He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring in a gesture Jody recognizes as an effort to remain calm.

"Angelic healing will do no good," he laments hoarsely, his voice suddenly very sad and defeated sounding.

"Whatever it is, it is... immune to us. Exposure to such energies may even accelerate the process." Silence reigns for a moment as everyone else absorbs that information, Dean's ragged breathing the only sound in the room.

"...Missed your nerd angel voice." The elder Winchester breaks the silence, his voice slightly distorted from fever. Castiel's eyes narrow and he reaches up to check the man's temperature.

"I believe you're delirious, Dean," he diagnoses as he pulls open one of Dean's eyes. It's glazed and bloodshot as it swivels up to focus on the angel.

"Still true."

The angel withdraws his hand and rests it on the back of the chair by Dean's head, his face becomes unreadable as he gazes down at the the young man.

"So what is this slime, exactly?" Gabriel asks after an another awkward moment of silence, taking the vial from Sam and examining it. The contents shine iridescent pink and cling to the sides of the glass as he twists the tube in front of his face. It looks almost like nail polish, Jody thinks, but being the only woman in the room she keeps that thought to herself.

"That's whatever Crowley's been up to."

"Crowley?" Bobby interrupts. "You didn't tell me you knuckleheads were pokin' that bear."

Sam clears his throat. "We, uh- we had back up," he offers lamely.

The old hunter's eye twitches. "Back up?" he repeats in disbelief. "Well, look how well that went! I swear, I oughta throttle-"

"Easy there, Papa Smurf. I put them up to it." Gabriel raises his hands, one still holding the vial, in surrender. Jody barely catches the look of surprise on Sam's face as the angel steps in on his behalf.

"That just gets you added to the list, Feathers," Bobby exclaims, voice rising in a telltale way. Okay, time to put a stop to this.

"Knock it off or take it outside," Jody intervenes, putting a hand on the older man's shoulder. "Don't make me use my mom voice."

The old hunter folds his arms over his chest and sets his face in a hard, serious expression, but remains silent. The archangel, on the other hand, looks at her with a slightly amused, perplexed quirk to his mouth and raises an eyebrow.

"Sounds kinky."

Bobby turns bright red. It would be great teasing material for later if Jody didn't feel heat rushing to her cheeks as well.

What the fuck kind of angel is this guy?

"Gabriel," Castiel chastises with a heavy sigh.

"Alright, alright." The archangel crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his shoulders.

There's a beat of silence.

"So he's made some sort of, what- virus?" Sam asks hesitantly, probably testing the waters of the conversation.

"I don't know its intended purpose," Castiel answers flatly. His eyes haven't left Dean, Jody realizes. It's almost sweet. "But I know what it has done. They put the women in my cell when they were finished with the procedure." His face pulls tight in memory.

"And what then?" Sam asks harshly, getting up and towering over Castiel. "They burned from the inside out? Until there's nothing left but charcoal?" He grabs the guy's shoulders roughly, shaking him. It seems more like an act of desperation and fear than anger.

"Until it destroys their soul," the angel says quietly, not meeting Sam's eye. And Jody doesn't have to be a hunter to understand what that means. She feels a cold dread settle in her chest. Oh God, Dean...

"What?" The younger Winchester freezes, mouth parted and eyes wide in horror. He lets go of the angel as if he's been burned and stumbles back a step, his eyes immediately going to his brother.

"...Friggin' figures," Dean grunts; his shoulders bob in a minute shrug. It sounds like he tries to sigh, but the air catches in his chest and he coughs instead. He weakly reaches up to cover his mouth and when his hand comes away it's flecked with blood.

"That explains a lot," Gabriel says, his voice suddenly soft and serious. "We couldn't find any of those women's souls in Heaven. I asked Mort about it and he hadn't even reaped any of them. Part of the reason he agreed to help, he was curious." And Jody has no idea who this Mort guy is, but if he reaps souls then she's not sure she wants to know.

"Goddammit, you got Death involved in this too?" Bobby pipes up, voice rising again. Yeah, she definitely doesn't need to know any more about this guy. "Who else was there? The damn Easter bunny?" He sounds angry, but she can hear the sheer worry under it. Dean might as well be his own blood and facing the death of your child, pending or past, is an awful, devastating-

Don't you go there right now, Missy.

Dean makes a sound that's somewhere between a wheezy laugh and a wet cough. "...'n bitch... Meg," he utters, it sounds like he's fighting to stay awake. Bobby looks like he's about to blow a gasket. Jody squeezes his shoulder again and it seems as though he quite possibility literally bites his tongue to keep from tearing the boys a new one right then and there.

Castiel chooses that moment to continue. "The toxin attacks the body first, then eventually moves on to the soul. It destroys it, tears it apart."

"Dean said that Death told him souls can't be broken apart," Sam says uncertainly, still standing tall and intimidating next to the dark-haired angel. Castiel's stormy eyes flicker to Gabriel.

The archangel holds up his hands again, waving them as if warding something off. "Oh, no. You take this one, lil' bro. I've tutored the kiddies enough for today." Castiel looks confused by the statement, but nods and obliges anyway.

"You can't cut off pieces of a soul as you please, that is correct," he begins, dragging his eyes up to look at Sam. Blue meets blue and whatever Sam sees there finally makes him back down. His posture changes, shoulders sagging tiredly as he runs a hand through his hair and grimaces as it inevitably sticks in the tangled, bloody mess. That's going to be a bitch to wash out.

"A soul... though immensely smaller in scale... is like a star, a burning ball of energy. The energy, it's... fluid, constantly ebbing and flowing within, so it is impossible to target a specific portion to remove. Even trying to siphon off an arbitrary amount of its energy is incredibly dangerous." Castiel's eyes slide to Bobby and he just stares for a moment. The old hunter grimaces and reaches up to rub his chest.

"That reminds me, Cassie. I owe you a big bro ass-kicking later," Gabriel chimes in. "After we save your princess, here."

"..er'a princess," Dean mutters tightly, cracking open a glassy eye, then shutting it immediately and groaning. The kid is still hanging on to consciousness apparently. And still trying to make wise-cracks, no less. Jody isn't the only one that takes comfort in that, she notices. Castiel's lip twitches upward and a little of the tension leaves his shoulders as he continues.

"Like a star, a soul can be destroyed, its energy dispersed back into the universe. But unlike the death of a star, it is not a... common occurrence, or even an eventuality. It's a... vile... unnatural thing. Much like the death of an angel," he explains.

"Why would Crowley wanna do something like that?"

"Judging by the conversation we witnessed, destruction of the soul is not his intent. I don't know what he's trying to do." His voice gets deeper and rougher with his frustration. "Two weeks ago, the woman started burning instead of mutating. They used regular woman at first-"

"Virgins, lil' bro," Gabriel says and Castiel's eyebrows knit together thoughtfully.

"Now how do you know that?" The curiosity behind the question makes Jody ask it before she can stop herself.

Gabriel gets a sly look on his face and begins to answer but Sam swiftly cuts him off. "You don't want to know- believe me," he says emphatically. "Just-" He waves his hands at Castiel. "Just keep going. Please."

"They began to... interrogate me about vessels long before this stage. It appears they may have anticipated the need for stronger subjects. They... extracted... two names six days ago."

"The day before the first vessel went missing."

"Yes."

"The first vessel, Kate..." Castiel pauses to swallow after the name, eyes darting around the room before finally settling back on Dean. "Lasted approximately sixteen hours, much longer than any previous girl and her body remained... mostly intact... afterward. The women before her lasted two, maybe three hours at the most and burned to cinders."

"And that's why the cops didn't find any other bodies, there were none to dump." Sam concludes grimly. "Did this happen to her?"

"I can't be sure, she was possessed for much of the time. With the others the demon would abandon the body shortly before death. However, it was... forcefully expelled form her body and she became herself again for many hours before..." he trails off, swallowing again. His hands tighten their grip on the chair. "She was unwell, but able to communicate. We discussed... what had happened to her; she remembered the procedure."

Sam glances at Dean again, his jaw clenches and there's an air of palpable determination about him. "We have a sample of the stuff, there's gotta be something we can do. Any spells that can ID that goo?"

Castiel's eyes narrow in thought. "I'm afraid modern science surpasses the supernatural in that respect. There are many identification rituals... but none come to mind that would be applicable here."

"Then why don't we take the human route?" Sam asks, his voice sounds almost hopeful.

"Hate to break it to you, but I'm no Gil Grissom. We don't exactly have a forensic lab up there." Gabriel points out.

Bobby speaks up at that. "And I'm guessin' that you can't just whip one of those up, right?"

"Doesn't work that way, sorry Gramps."

And then Jody gets an idea.

"My brother runs a private surgical clinic," she suggests. Greg is going to be ticked with her for calling in the middle of the night like this, but oh well. This is more than worth suffering through a few awkward holiday reunions. "I could give him a call. He could probably run a few tests on it. He lives in California, but I doubt that will be a problem." She eyes the brunette angel uncertainly. "Will it?"

"AngelEx, at your service." Gabriel pockets the vial. "Go call him. And I'll need the address." He looks back at his brother. "The brand on your ribs is my own secret recipe, it'll hide you while you recover."

Castiel nods silently.

"Unfortunately you're under house arrest though, for now anyway," Gabriel warns as he moves to leave the room.

The archangel pauses as he passes Sam and frowns, patting the man on the shoulder. Sam blinks in surprise, his face now remarkably clean of blood, and offers a small half-smile. "Thanks," he says softly.

"Anytime, Sammy." Gabriel smiles back and follows Jody into the kitchen to call her brother.


Sam and Bobby move Dean over to the plush plaid couch to try to make him more comfortable while Gabriel and the sheriff- Jody- Sam mentally corrects himself, are in the kitchen. By the time they come back out and Jody has announced that she's going with the archangel to meet her brother, Dean has fallen into a feverish sleep. His breathing is still too-quick and shallow and his face is flushed, but other than that he shows no outward signs of illness.

The two disappear and return fifteen minutes later with some grim news. They won't get the test results for at least a day. Which will be too late if Kate's timeline is anything to go by. It frustrates the hell out of Sam to be so close to an answer, something, anything that will help save his brother, only to have it sit beyond his reach.

Jody then volunteers to take the girl they'd rescued to a hospital and Gabriel offers to drop them off on his way to do a few 'errands'. The archangel assures them all that he'll be getting the woman an angelic babysitter while he's gone.

Before they disappear again, Gabriel lets them in on the fact that apparently holy oil is like having cayenne pepper rubbed in a wound for an angel. And that makes Sam cringe because Castiel is absolutely coated in the stuff. The dark-haired angel is not happy with his brother's revelation, insisting that he's fine and that they 'have more pertinent matters to attend to than his personal comfort'.

In the end, Sam watches with fleeting amusement as Bobby practically drags the 'masochistic fool angel' in the direction of the shower, taking an old AC/DC t-shirt and a pair of jeans that Sam found in his brother's duffle (since he's closer to Castiel's size) with him. The former trickster had luckily had the foresight to zap their belongings with them from Rhode Island.

All of this leaves the Winchester brothers as the only occupants of the large living room. Sam sits on the edge of the couch, keeping a close watch on his brother and brooding over their research dead-end.

Dead. Just like your brother's going to be, Lucifer's playful voice drifts into his head.

Shut up, he snaps mentally, reaching to squeeze his scar. He's really not in the mood for his own crazy shit right now.

Dust in the wind, Sammy, the voice sing-songs back.

"I said Shut Up," he snarls aloud, digging his thumbnail into the calloused skin of his palm. Thankfully no one is around (or conscious in the case of his brother) to hear the outburst.

Or maybe he isn't alone after all; someone clears their throat in the doorway.

Damn.

"Water's runnin', he musta figured it out," Bobby grunts as he reenters the room and sits in the chair Dean had previously been in. Sam nods absently as his gaze settles back on his brother and for a moment he just stares, wondering how things could have become so desperate so fast.

"We'll find something," he hears Bobby say, though whether it's for his benefit or the old hunter's own, he isn't sure.

"Yeah," Sam agrees, trying to sound sincere. Because, dammit, they haven't been through all this just to get Castiel back and lose Dean now.

"How's the noggin'?" Bobby asks, beginning to leaf through one of the books he's amassed at the house.

"Fine now," Sam says automatically. Gabriel had been unusually thoughtful, healing him like that.

"You know what I mean, Sam. Lucifer still stoppin' by for tea?" The old hunter flips a page.

"...Sometimes," Sam admits. "But it's been manageable." His surrogate father slides his eyes up to give him a look that says You so sure 'bout that, boy?, before flicking his eyes back down to his book. And that's when Sam realizes he's still got a death grip on his hand. He relaxes the muscles in his fingers slowly and rubs the pad of his thumb over the crescent moon indentation the nail has left behind.

"It's not worse because of...?" Bobby trails off, glancing up in the direction of the doorway.

"Cas? No," Sam assures him. He sighs and runs a hand through his now-clean hair. "I'm not angry with him, you know."

"He busted your grapefruit, Sam-" the old hunter begins to argue.

"I know. Believe me, Bobby, I know. But-" He pauses, looking back down at his brother. "...Remember what Dean said? About blanket apologies? Life's too short," he says, looking up at the old man. And it's cheesy as hell, but it's true. He half expects Dean to wake up and congratulate him on having his period or something stupid like that. In fact, he'd welcome the smart-ass comment right now. Something shrivels in his chest as he realizes that he may never hear another one of his brother's wisecracks, may never fight with him about the music in the car again, or-

Stop being such a little girl, Sam. He can almost hear his brother berate him. And even if it isn't really his brother saying it, it still has the intended effect. He stops the angst-riddled train of thought in its tracks and focuses back on reality.

Bobby stares down at the elder Winchester and slowly nods his head, sighing. "Yeah, I hear ya," he finally concedes, going back to his book.

"Speakin' of... how's Dean been doin'?"

Sam feels the urge to laugh, but the sound dies before it makes it out of his throat, its ghost leaving his lips as a harsh sigh. "He says he's fine." He motions to the figure on the couch. "But he hasn't been eating much, been drinking too much, hasn't been sleeping well. Oh, and apparently those dreams were all from Cas."

"What?" Bobby demands, looking up sharply.

"Yeah, Dean told me that the room we found Cas in was the one he'd been dreaming about. And Gabriel told us that apparently when Cas dragged Dean out of the Pit, he left a piece of his grace in him. My guess is that's what caused the Vulcan mind-meld."

"Well, what the hell would he do that for?" Bobby's eyebrows disappear under the rim of his hat in surprise.

"His soul was touched by darkness when he broke the first seal." They both start at the rough voice. Castiel stands in the doorway, clad in the jeans and t-shirt, his wet hair standing up at odd angles. The sight is almost enough to make Sam laugh. Almost. The clothes are a little too big, the jeans hang a bit low on his hips under the loose t-shirt. Sam makes a mental note to find the angel a belt later.

"Darkness? Hell, everyone's soul is 'touched by darkness' at some point. Part of the humanity package deal," Bobby points out, closing his forgotten book and placing it aside. "What gave you the right to just stuff him full of your mojo?" His voice grows steely with anger.

"This was in the literal sense," Castiel elaborates. "The demonification had already begun. I used a piece of my grace to purify his soul and reverse it." Well that makes sense Sam guesses, why Gabriel couldn't have explained that in the first place annoys him to no end though.

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Sam asks, not as upset about the matter anymore.

"I didn't want to fuel your brother's ridiculous preconceptions that he was some sort of monster that didn't deserve to be saved." The angel perches himself on the arm of the couch next to his brother's head and stares down at him. And now it makes sense, again Gabriel's abnormal compassion surprises him.

"Why didn't you take it back after it'd done its job?" Bobby asks, the question is more subdued; he doesn't sound as upset now either.

"Because he still needed it," Castiel says softly, continuing to gaze down at the man. It's cryptic, a both frustratingly and comfortingly Castiel answer, and it warms Sam's heart for some reason. Glancing at Bobby, he sees a shadow of the fond expression the man gets sometimes when he thinks Sam and Dean aren't looking and he knows he's not the only one that really missed the angel.


An hour later Dean is still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a stuttering rhythm with each labored breath. He's still feverish, but his temperature is stable and he hasn't vomited since that initial time.

Bobby sits in the armchair he claimed earlier, pouring over a text on souls, and Sam still sits on the edge of the couch, researching on his laptop. Castiel is on the floor next to the couch, bent over a promising tome about Sumerian blood spells. He'd moved down there some time ago even though there's another perfectly good armchair a few feet away. Sam doesn't bother to point that out though because he's guilty of the same thing: neither of them want to be too far away from Dean.

None of them really react when Gabriel and Jody return with the news that the woman is severely dehydrated, but will be fine.

"I did some homework while Jody dotted the T's and crossed the I's at the hospital," Gabriel begins, leaning against the wall next to the window. "Crowley's not dicking around, that lab's already been stripped to its skivvies. And Mort isn't gonna help us with Dean-o," he says with a sigh and a shake of his head.

"Probably watching with a damn bag of popcorn," Sam says bitterly. Of course, he hadn't really expected Death to be willing to help them. There's nothing in this for him and Dean has always been a thorn in his side.

"Probably," Gabriel agrees with a look of distaste. It makes Sam wonder if he and Death had had some kind of argument. "I'll look around upstairs," Gabriel offers as a consolation. "Tear up the whole damn attic if I have to," he mutters with annoyance and disappears. And now Sam is sure there had been an argument and he's really glad he hadn't had to witness it.

Jody joins in on the festivities shortly after that, bringing sandwiches and coffee from the kitchen. The caffeine is welcomed by all, including Castiel much to Sam's astonishment, but the food goes untouched.

Hours pass. They're swiftly running out of time.

A horrible idea begins to lurk in the darker recesses of Sam's mind. An idea so outrageous and disgusting that he refuses to even think about it yet, let alone suggest it.

"That scientist... apparently he was working on some type of stem cell research. Dr. Peter Olson, semi-famous in the field of stem cell related gene therapy, won an award two years ago for his work in 'trans-specie mutation of sharks', " he reads off the screen then rubs his eyes. "So that stuff is some kind of stem cell serum?" he asks, thinking aloud. His mind goes back to the poor woman they'd found in that padded room and he begins to feel sick.

"Sounds like the plot to a bad horror movie," Bobby murmurs as his eyes drift to the figure on the couch. "So Crowley's cookin' up some kind of- what? Demonic super-solider?"

"The mutation causes a violent, unstable reaction in the soul. Whatever was used must have be powerful. There are not many things that can reap that kind of devastation," Castiel says, looking mildly ill himself. "...I think we can rule out sharks," he adds as if it's necessary. Sam bites the inside of his cheek when he realizes that the angel probably thinks it is.

Several minutes pass filled with the clicking of a track pad, the turning of pages, and the sipping of coffee. The idea Sam has been ignoring prods insistently at his consciousness, like some kind of mental Chinese water torture.

Finally, he can't take it anymore.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," he complains in frustration. He stands up, dumping his computer on top of a pile of old books on the coffee table. "We're running out of time." He begins to pace.

"I'm afraid I have nothing better to offer," Castiel says, looking up tiredly. The poor guy looks absolutely ragged. His cuts and burns haven't even begun to heal and he keeps rolling his left shoulder and wincing like it's stiff or injured or something.

"I-" Sam hesitates, finally beginning to consider gruesome thought he'd been fighting with. "I have a really bad idea." He halts his pacing and rubs the back of his neck.

"You do realize," Bobby says carefully. "Your last 'really bad idea' landed you in a hole with two archangels for a year and a half."

"But stopped the apocalypse," he shoots back. Bobby screws up his mouth and glares for a second, but then his shoulders sag in defeat.

"...Fine. Let's here it."

Sam's throat suddenly feels tight and his heart rate picks up. God, he can't believe he's even suggesting this. "What if we," he starts weakly, then pauses to try to swallow passed the lump in his throat. "What if we... kill him."

Silence.

Castiel tilts his head to the side. "Are you suggesting..." he says very slowly, as if talking to a small child. "...That we kill your brother?" The book he's been reading falls to his lap.

Sam's stomach churns. "Yes," he confirms.

Silence.

"You're right," the angel agrees, the corners of his mouth pull as if he's in pain. "That is a terrible idea." And yet Sam is suspicious that Castiel is running the scenario through his head now too.

"You wanna explain that, Einstein? Last I checked we were trying to save him," Bobby says incredulously.

"We would be saving him, we'd save his soul," Sam explains. "Would buy us some time," he adds.

"It's... a valid argument," Castiel concedes, looking very uncomfortable, like he's just swallowed something disgusting.

"Your birdbrain isn't considering this too now, is it?"

"Yes," the angel admits. "However, there is a strong possibility that your brother will go to Purgatory in his current condition. That cannot be allowed to happen," he says adamantly.

Sam hadn't thought about that. Well, that isn't completely true. He's tried very hard not to think of the fact that, even now, his brother probably isn't human anymore.

"Then we'll just have to go get him," he decides without much mental debate.

"Are you insane? Sam, you're suggesting we pop Purgatory again?" Bobby's voice begins to rise.

"Only if he goes there!" Sam begins to raise his voice too.

"Do you honestly think he would want that? For us to risk letting something else out?" Bobby shouts. And Sam knows Dean wouldn't want that, but he's almost beyond caring about it at this point.

"It's his soul, Bobby! HIS SOUL!" he shouts, shoving a shaky finger in his brother's direction. His nostrils flare and his chest heaves and his head aches with the stress of it all as he stares the older man down. Bobby stares back, jaw clenched and hands white-knuckled on the armrests of his chair.

A tense silence fills the space between them.

"You both misunderstand my objection," Castiel cuts in, his voice calm, but his face tight with anxiety. "It is not just a matter of retrieving your brother from Purgatory," he addresses Sam. "Because I would not hesitate to go in there and get him if it were that simple." His blue eyes shine fiercely with the certitude of his words. And Sam understands what he isn't saying.

I'd pull him out or die trying, Sam.

Sam takes a deep breath, scrubbing a hand over his face, and tries to calm down. He notices offhand that Jody is missing from the room; she must have slipped out some time during the argument.

"...What are you gettin' at?" Bobby asks, having apparently regained some of his own composure.

"Dean Winchester is one of the most reviled names in all of Purgatory. Not just because of the countless souls he has sent there, but also because they hold him responsible for the death of The Mother. Millions upon millions of souls, souls of this world's waking nightmares, all with a personal grudge against him. He would know no mercy. They are insatiable, vengeful things. There would be nothing left to save." The angel's voice grows rougher as he explains, and his head bows as his words become strained. "I will not condemn him to that."

Oh.

And Sam realizes that if there is a living being that knows anything about the desires of the denizens of Purgatory, it would be the angel in front of him. The being that had housed their power and had been driven insane by it.

"Just like you couldn't leave me in the cage," he says without thinking and wants to kick himself when the angel flinches.

"Sam-"

"I'm sorry, Cas. I didn't mean it like that." I didn't mean to open that can of worms right now, he adds mentally.

"I should be the one apologizing-"

"No, Cas. I know. I know that you really were just trying to save me. I know that you tried. And if you hadn't I'd- I'd probably still be in there." And even as the words pour out of him he knows they're true. Castiel may not have gotten all of him out, but he had certainly gotten the ball rolling. Who knows if he'd ever have gotten out of there if the angel hadn't tried.

Castiel stares at him.

"That doesn't mean the lying was okay though. Pull that again and I'll kick your ass, man," he adds, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. Bobby snorts and mutters something about idjits, looking back down at his book. Castiel stares at him hard for a moment longer before he blinks and looks back down at his own text. But Sam notices that the corner of his mouth has turned up. He's gotten the message. Good.

He sits back down, reaching for his computer again. Several minutes of silence follow. Sam's frustration begins to mount again. They're back where they started and time is still ticking down-

Castiel suddenly makes a very un-angel like noise of surprise. Sam jumps, almost dropping his computer and whipping his head up.

Dean is clutching a fist full of the angel's shirt.

"Dean?" he asks, taking in the changes in his brother's state. His breathing has reduced to a shallow pant now and his face is contorted in a grimace of pain. He's shaking violently.

Goddammit, what now?

Castiel gently tries to shake free from the grasp, but when Dean doesn't loosen his grip he ends up just twisting around in the shirt and grabbing hold of the man's shoulders. Dean's eyes are moving rapidly behind their lids.

"He's dreaming," the angel states as Bobby comes to hover. Sam sighs in relief. It's just a dream.

That's when Dean's body erupts off the couch, arching his back and gasping for breath. His eyes snap wide open, glassy and unseeing.

Then he starts screaming.

"That ain't no dream," Bobby shouts over the sound.

"No," Castiel admits helplessly as he pushes down on Dean's shoulders, trying to stop him from hurting himself. Sam takes hold of his brother's thrashing legs, helping the angel in his effort to subdue him.

"This shouldn't be happening so soon," the angel says and he sounds so desperate and dammit, Sam hears his voice actually crack. His mouth is open, white teeth bared with the effort of holding Dean down and his eyes are wide, caught between panic and terror. Sam's never seen the angel's expression so open, so lost.

It scares the shit out of him.

The angel's words finally sink in and he realizes that this is it, he's going to watch his brother's soul just- just snuff out like a fucking candle. And, God, he's never heard Dean scream like that before. It tears at his heart and makes him feel numb all over and Goddammit, this just can't be happening.

"Gabriel," Castiel suddenly calls and the archangel instantly appears in their midst, immediately springing into action and moving help.

Light begins to rapidly pool in Dean's mouth and eyes and Gabriel freezes above him, transfixed, his fingers hovering just above his forehead. And Sam wants to ask why the hell he's just standing there, wants to yell and rage at the archangel for not doing a fucking thing while his brother writhes on the couch and his fucking soul burns out, but the words never make it out of him. Instead he stares mutely as a small, soft glow pulses to life in Dean's chest and swiftly gets brighter.

"Is that..?" Gabriel asks in bewilderment, eyebrows shooting up.

"Yes," Castiel affirms in a rough whisper with equal surprise.

All Sam can do is watch as the light keeps getting stronger, snaking out from under Dean's shirt in painfully-bright tendrils and licking at his body as it continues to arch and spasm in the throws of agony.

"Cover your eyes," Castiel warns loudly.

Sam helplessly obeys, clamping his eyes shut and throwing his arm over them as the burning white light flares blindingly.


Dean knows he's asleep, but that doesn't make it feel any less real.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

He's standing in a small diner. But that's not what bothers him. It's not the smell of greasy food that wafts over the plastic counter from the kitchen either. Or the cheap photography on the walls. Or the single row of booths lining the ugly green-and-brown wall opposite the counter. What does bother Dean is that he doesn't have to turn around to know that there's an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner behind him. Because he remembers it from the last time he was here. Because this is the diner in Grants Pass.

The one they'd faced Eve in.

The one where he'd killed her.

Murdered, something whispers; a cold breath of air grazes his ear. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end as he twists around, searching...

There's nothing there.

"Hello, Dean," the inevitable voice greets from behind him. He slowly turns back to the counter, and there she is, wearing his mother's face, just like last time.

"You're not real," he replies, glaring and trying his damnedest to will her away. It doesn't work. Figures.

She sighs and leans over the counter. And now he can see right down her shirt. Which is gross because even if they aren't really his mom's boobs, they're still made in her image.

"Not anymore, thanks to you." Her mouth curls in annoyance.

"What can I say? I aim to please." He shrugs, crossing his arms and shifting his weight. But he's totally not fidgeting under the bitch's glare, because dead monsters don't frighten him. Except zombies, the lock-picking bastards. And hellhounds. Do hellhounds count? He's not really sure. But, yeah. Totally not fidgeting.

"Why are you here?" he asks, trying his best to sound exasperated. He's tired and he doesn't want to spend more time in her presence than necessary, even in his subconscious. Especially in his subconscious.

"What? Don't want to spend time with mommy dearest?" She smiles viciously.

"Joan Crawford, you ain't. That chick was actually scary. So cut to the chase, bitch."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" And before he can tell her what exactly she can kiss, she's suddenly right in front of him and his arms fall to his sides like they're made of friggin' lead. Eve puts her hands on his shoulders and the touch is like pure ice; it permeates the layers of his clothing and chills him to the bone.

"I'm here because of that little supernatural cocktail you shot up," she informs him.

Oh, Goddammit.

"What?" He can see his breath now. His stomach starts to ache and he feels too-hot against her icy hands.

"That was me." She grins, hands sliding down to his chest, leaving his skin numb wherever they touch. "Well, made from me anyway." She looks gleeful as her hands begin to sink into his chest. It feels like freezing knives and- dammit- he still can't move. "I'm inside you," she whispers, leaning in close. He fights not to cry out against the pain as her hands sink deeper and the ice spreads through his veins.

"Such a bright soul," she murmurs and- fuck- it hurts as he feels her hands flexing within him. Her fingers twist and pull at something in his chest and he can't hold back anymore. He screams, screams for help, screams for his brother, screams for Cas, screams for anyone. Because- God- she's killing him, tearing him apart and he doesn't want to die like this, alone and helpless and so cold.

Make it stop. Makeitstop. Makeitstopmakeitstop- ohgodplease- makeitstophelpmehelpmeplease -

And deep inside him something wakes up.

A warmth springs to life in his chest, pushing against the cold of her hands and radiating comfort and peace and an overwhelming, wonderfully warm- so warm- emotion that he doesn't quite recognize. Eve's mouth forms a small 'o' of surprise as she's repelled and a laugh bubbles up from somewhere inside him.

"What's this?" she demands and if he didn't know better he'd almost think she sounds afraid.

"Surprise," he whispers hoarsely. And it is a surprise, for them both. But he doesn't care, doesn't worry, because the warmth builds and fills him, pushing the ice away completely. He looks down and a light is shining there, in his chest between her hands. The light winds up her arms and his gaze travels up, following it.

Eve features begin to shift, her eyes widen in panic.

"No, stop!" she cries, her blonde hair melting away, replaced by short black. The ugly mustard-colored waitress uniform stretches and morphs into a familiar tan length of cloth. "This isn't OVER!" she shrieks. And It's suddenly her turn to scream as the light grows and her face melts away under its brilliance, reforming into the familiar visage of Castiel. The angel's eyes flare into existence like two sapphires.

The light finally dims, but remains visible, shining out from between the fingers of Cas's hands where they're pressed against his chest, the warmth of it still coursing through him. He stares, utterly confused and relieved, at the angel.

Cas smiles back.

An honest-to-God real, beautiful smile. Dean's never seen the angel look so genuinely happy.

He's a little sad this isn't real.

"Cas?" he asks, unsure.

"Dean." The angel's voice is a low, soft rumble as he leans in. Dean is surprised at the action, but he doesn't pull away, doesn't dare to breathe as he feels the angel's breath ghost on his cheek...

"Wake up," Cas whispers warmly in his ear.

And everything goes black.


A/N: Aaand cliffhanger. I know, I know. I'm terrible, I'm sorry. This was another one of those tricky chapters. Full of drama and explanations and all that fun stuff. And the obligatory AC/DC t-shirt. Because I think almost every supernatural fic I've read has had one. There's a dash of Destiel and a hint of Sabriel in there as well. Oh, and convenient doctor brother is convenient.

Also, about the warding Gabriel put up... I couldn't mash it in there so we're just going to pretend that the characters all already know that there's a loophole with angel proofing: If they're in your blood, they don't keep you out. That's why Gabe can pop in and out. Makes sense if you think about Cas's sigil use over the years. (I spend way too much time thinking about this stuff.)

I'd love to hear what you all think, so please review! :)