"There's dried blood on your wrist

Your dried blood on my fingertip."

~Wires by Athlete

"His pulse isn't slowing down!"

"Doctor, we're losing him!"

"Call down to the nurse's station, tell them to order a blood transfusion!"

"Pulse going erratic again, sir!"

Four voices, all screaming at twenty-nine year old Doctor Joseph Noir, the hospital's own personal prodigy. So young, but the man was a genius. Right now he stood over a sixteen year old suicide victim. He didn't care that most people considered suicide self inflicted, he thought them not to be victims of themselves, but victims of a mental state which they couldn't control. Quiet as the doctor may appear, he was one of the most empathetic, opinionated people there at the hospital.

He pushed a lock of silky, ink black hair out of his eyes. Emergency cases always got his adrenaline going, which was sometimes the only thing that kept him sane. "Nurse Reid, go out to the waiting room and ask his father what his blood type is. Nurse Shaw, prep him for a transfusion. Nurse Wiley and Nurse Taylor…keep doing what you're doing."

They immediately set off to do their appointed tasks. His voice was soft, low, and sometimes nearly inaudible, but it also had a sense of underlying authority to it. Regardless of how young he was, he was respected and obeyed. And right now the life of a sixteen year old boy was in his hands. It wasn't the first time a child's life had relied on his, but it never got any easier, knowing one wrong move on his part could determine whether his patient lived or died. This particular patient had a father, sister, and large group of friends out there, waiting for someone, praying for someone, to tell them that this young man would be okay.

And with all of this in mind, Doctor Noir set to work.


In a state of unconsciousness, quite possibly a coma, James slid into a sweet, peaceful memory.

"What if I can't hold on daddy?"

Castiel smiled warmly, the mid afternoon light making his eyes shine as beautifully as ever, the sun bringing out the shiny brown highlights in his hair. "Just hold on for me sweetheart, I'll be right here."

James tentatively climbed into the swing, Dean behind him and Castiel in front of him. He felt strong but gentle hands push his back, and then he was in the air, arcing upwards. Fear was the first thing that came to mind, but then once he continued to be pushed, he realized he loved it. Laughing gleefully, he kept yelling "Higher!" every time Dean pushed him. Four years old and so full of life. Then again so was Cas, who was due in only two short weeks.

His angelic father had promised to catch him, so as the swing flew into the air and when it reached its highest point, James let go and fell…right into Castiel's arms. The angel smiled and spun him around, the boy squealing happily. Cas pulled James close and kissed his forehead, ruffling the mop of messy hair on his son's head. Dean watched the two with a fond smile.

"Love you daddy," James said.

Cas kissed him on the forehead again. "Love you too sweetheart."

Castiel's words reached James, even in his sleep. "Just hold on for me sweetheart, I'll be right here."


It could have been days. It could have been hours. It could have been minutes.

For all they knew, it could have been mere seconds since Dean had walked into the emergency room, carrying his lifeless son in his arms. But now they all sat in the hard plastic chairs, waiting for some kind of word. A nurse came out and asked them what James' blood type was so they could give him a transfusion, but when Dean brokenly asked if his son was going to be okay, she assumed an unreadable expression and simply said they were doing their best.

Technically James was type A negative, but given his Nephilim genes, Isadora immediately piped up and offered her own blood since they were the same type. The nurse thankfully didn't ask questions, and after she checked with Sam and Gabriel that it was acceptable since Isadora was a minor, she took the girl back to draw blood. Dean could only watch blankly, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. It was like the night Cas died all over again. Only this time, he had a twelve year old daughter crying into his shoulder.

Kerberosel swept in, his parents and Lucifer right behind him. "We came as soon as we heard…oh Dean, Mary, I'm so sorry…"

"Yeah, me too," Lucifer added solemnly.

"Is he going to be okay?" Kerberosel asked, sitting down across from Dean.

"They don't know," the hunter said, his tone flat and cold.

Crowley and Aziraphale took seats to Kerberosel's right, Lucifer taking one to his left. "Is there anything we can do, love?" Aziraphale asked.

Dean shook his head numbly. While Kerberosel and Aziraphale fussed over the very stressed Dean and Mary, Lucifer walked over and sat down next to Sam and Gabriel, running a hand through his shaggy hair and over his pierced left eyebrow. The ran outside had his hoodie clinging to him, and his black beanie was soaked as well. He felt like a drowned rat…and may or may not have smelled like wet dog.

"I don't guess you two have seen Loki recently…" he started awkwardly.

The phone had only rung twice earlier when he'd called before he'd got a sudden feeling of utter wrongness, and then not five seconds later Aziraphale had raced upstairs, saying Dean had called and James had tried to kill himself. Of course Lucifer and Kerberosel and then gotten in the car with Crowley and Aziraphale, Bones staying and calling his parents to let them know what was going on. Needless to say contacting Loki had gotten pushed aside.

Sam sighed. "He's spent all week studying for his end of grade tests, we would have told him but his music wasn't on that he always listens to while he's studying and I figured he was asleep. He may be half archangel, but he's also half human and he needs his rest. I didn't want to wake him."

"Why do you ask?" Gabriel added.

Lucifer glanced over at Kerberosel, then back at Sam and Gabriel. He prayed Kerberosel wasn't wrong about this (not that he wanted Loki to be hurt, but you get the idea) or he was going to look like a paranoid idiot. "I think your son might be in danger."


Green eyes opened, staring blearily up at the ceiling.

Pain…numbness…darkness…he remembered all of it.

Now he just felt groggy and drugged out. Both of which he probably was, if he was correct in thinking that he was in a hospital room. He looked around, seeing the bleak room and a doctor standing nearby, watching him over the edge of black glasses and wearing a pristine white lab coat. Yep, hospital. Great.

James groaned and muttered, "What happened?"

The tall, blue eyed man walked over and stood at the side of James' bed. "Your wrist was slashed open, your sister found you unconscious. But you're going to be fine now." His voice was soft and husky, something James was grateful for given that he had a slight headache.

"Where're my dad and sister?"

"Outside in the waiting room. They didn't want to leave your side but we needed room to work. I'll go tell them your awake," he said, his eyes an icy shade of crystal blue and looking all too light against his pale skin. The only dark thing about the man was his messy black hair. Thankfully he was too tall and too lanky to remind James of Cas…he couldn't have handled that reminder right now.

James nodded weakly and dropped his head back against the pillows once more, heaving out a sigh. Had he really tried to kill himself? So maybe Dean couldn't always look at him the same, and maybe dealing with the death of his father was painful even twelve years later, but he realized right then that his family needed him. Loved him and needed him like air. His angelic powers allowed him to feel their worry, feel the overwhelming relief that poured through them when Joseph told them he was going to be okay. He cursed himself for ever putting them through this.

Dean and Mary walked in, and James had never been happier to see them.


Doctor Noir waited outside James' room for a few minutes before his cell phone started ringing. Sighing, he wandered a little ways down the hall and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Joseph, long time no hear that lovely voice of yours," said a low, sultry voice.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Eva…what do you want?"

"Is that any way to treat your ex fiancé?" she asked in reply, a pout in her voice.

"My fiancé's dead, you're just some piece of trash demon that took her away from me," he spat harshly.

Five years ago, his beloved fiancé Eva LaSelle had been possessed by a demon and tried to kill him. He'd gotten away, but unfortunately said demon had a way of finding him, and though she never made any more attempts on his life, she loved to torment him with teasing and phone calls. It was a constant reminder that a monster was walking around in the love of his life's body. The demon had Eva's soft, curly auburn hair, and Eva's big brown eyes, but she wasn't his Eva.

"Watch it, Dolittle. I could kill you any time I please," she growled, her tune changing completely. "I need something from you."

"From me? I didn't think demons got colds," he said acidly.

"Shut up smartass. I have a little friend here that keeps wakin' up, and he's just all sorts of feisty. I need a sedative for the little bugger. Unfortunately we need him alive." He knew by "we" that she meant the other demons; he knew that she was the leader of a group of powerful, high ranking demons that were all obsessed with more power, more power, more power.

"Let him go!" he said immediately, tensing at the idea of an innocent human in the middle of it.

"No can do sweetheart. Now get me a very strong sedative, meet me at your car in thirty minutes, and come alone, or I send one of my dearest friends to kill you and every one of your patients."

Joseph's protest was silenced by the sound of dial tone. He stared down at the now closed phone, wishing he'd never gotten involved with the supernatural. It had its hooks in…and it was reeling him in more by the day, try as he might to escape its grip. Eva…the bait. The demons…the hook. Him…the fish that would end up out of its element, gasping for breath and succumbing to death at the hands of its captors.

He'd never liked fish, he might add.


Dean pulled James right up off the bed, mindless of the needles and tubes, holding his son with bruising closeness. Tonight he'd thought he had once more lost someone he loved. His own flesh and blood. To think he might not see that smile (however rare it may be) or look over his son's shoulder as he sketched or argue over who got first dibs on the baseball bat whenever a guy looked at Mary the wrong way. God…he couldn't believe he'd almost lost his baby boy. Because age and currently fragile bond aside, James would forever be his baby boy. At that moment, Dean realized how much he'd failed his son and vowed to change that for the better.

"Dad…" James whispered, pulling his arms free of the needles and wrapping them around his father.

"Jamie…" Dean whispered back, using a nickname his son hadn't heard in years. "I was so damn scared. And god, I'm sorry I haven't been there more, I'm so sorry."

James buried his face in Dean's shoulder, his voice muffled when he said, "You're here now."

"And I'm never letting you feel that alone, not ever again."

Mary added herself in, worming her way into James' side and wrapping her arms around his waist. He kept one arm around Dean and wound his other around his sister, holding them as close as his still weakened body would allow. They all clung to each other with a desperation that was stronger than any words, more powerful than any promise or vow. Like any great strength, it was a bond beyond words, a closeness beyond rationality. It was, if such a small word can be used on such an unbreakable force, family.

"I love you guys," Dean murmured.

Tears gathered on Mary's lashes. "We love you too daddy."