A/N: Thank you guest Loreley for your review! Haha, good point, that is a crazy family tree! ...and not really a good one. 0_o And all the angels who would have made cool uncles are dead...


Chapter 9

Sam kept twisting around to look into the backseat at Cas. They'd hastily thrown his coats over him in their rush to get away, and now Sam couldn't see his face, turned down and half covered. There was so much blood. It'd transferred to Sam's clothes when he'd carried Cas out of that slaughter house, and now his shoulders and back were damp with it.

"We're gonna have to stop somewhere," he said.

Dean craned a look over his shoulder, jaw tightening. "I want to put a little more distance between us and them," was all he said, and Sam didn't argue.

It was a twenty-four-hour drive to Crowley's lair in Massachusetts, and there was no way Cas could make it on a straight shot, not in his condition. He hadn't roused at their rescue, hadn't seemed to know they were even there, and that left a knot of dread in the pit of Sam's stomach.

After half an hour of barreling down back roads and empty highways at three times over the speed limit, Dean finally pulled off into one of the seediest motels they'd ever seen. The parking lot had more cracks and weeds than it did pavement, windows were oxidized and browned out, and there were broken beer bottles scattered around the building. It was the kind of place that didn't ask questions, which would serve their needs right now.

Sam stayed in the car with Cas while Dean went to get a room key, his gaze darting nervously between the lifeless angel in the backseat and the surrounding tree line, half expecting an army of angels to descend on them. But they'd gotten away clean, and he had to remember that both he and Dean had that Enochian warding on their ribs from back in the days of the first Apocalypse, so the angels couldn't track them. The Impala had similar markings under the upholstery, and once they got inside the room, they'd throw some slapdash sigils on the walls to ensure they were concealed in there as well.

Sam couldn't stop fidgeting, though, anxious to get Cas inside where they could take stock of the damage. It looked…bad.

Dean finally came jogging back out, a leather fob for a key bouncing in one hand. Sam exited the car and opened the back door, crouching down to squeeze Cas's shoulder. His heart dropped into his stomach when Cas's head simply lolled back to gaze up at him, pupils dilated and unresponsive.

"Come on, Cas," Sam coaxed, even as he had to bodily haul the completely limp angel out and hoist him over his shoulder again. Who knew how many wounds got jarred in that process, but Cas didn't make a single sound.

Dean scanned the area for prying eyes as he hurried to the room and unlocked it, pushing the door in and stepping aside so Sam could carry Cas in. The single bed's comforter was stained with a myriad of splotches and cigarette burns, but it had to be better than what was probably on the sheets, so Sam didn't bother flipping the cover over before easing Cas down onto the bed as gently as possible. He clasped the sides of the angel's head, turning his face toward him.

"Cas, can you hear me?"

Cas's eyelids closed lethargically, opened, then slid shut again, like he was having trouble staying awake…or falling asleep. Trapped in some dazed in-between state. Sam straightened and backed up, running a hand down his face; he had no idea how he was supposed to help his friend. He remembered after that brain hacking device had been used on him to expel Gadreel, and how confused he'd been afterward, not to mention having a bitch of a headache for a while. But he hadn't been catatonic. What if whatever the angels had done to Cas had caused permanent damage?

Dean came in with their supplies from the trunk and slammed the door shut. He immediately grabbed a can of spray paint from one of the duffels, shook it, and proceeded to mark up the door. Sam took a deep breath, and steeled himself to start unbuttoning Cas's shirt and reveal exactly what they were dealing with.

He knew what to expect, but he still had to stop and inhale sharply at the various lacerations scored across Cas's torso, along with the handful of deep puncture wounds. The angels had been so thoroughly brutal and ruthless in the short time they'd had Cas in their clutches. When Sam rolled Cas up just a bit to peel the ruined shirt off, he realized that the hole high in his shoulder went all the way through, and that there were half a dozen slashes across his back. A patch of red was already seeping into the motel bedcover.

Sam's throat burned with the acidic tang of revulsion and helpless fury. As he peeled Cas's shirt off the rest of the way, he noticed Dean standing in front of the marked door, a chilling look in his eyes.

"I should have killed that bitch," he said in a low, dark tone that Sam hadn't heard since the days when Dean bore the Mark of Cain. Thing was, Sam understood exactly how his brother was feeling in this moment—and was wishing the same.

"Two of them are dead," he said quietly. And would never touch Cas again.

Dean looked as though it wasn't enough, but he moved in, and together they stripped Cas of his slacks, counting yet another stab wound lower in his hip to add to the list. With wordless, synchronized fluidity that came from years of hunting together and patching each other up afterward, they set out the bandages, salve, thread, and needles. Dean brought out a bottle of whiskey to disinfect with, and they started with the shoulder that was a through-and-through. Something like that normally would have needed an actual hospital, but that wasn't an option, and they were both hoping that Cas's angelic healing would kick in. At some point…

The score marks across his back were mostly shallow, so they ended up packing medicated gauze underneath him and focusing on cleaning and stitching the stab wounds in front, which was a long and arduous process. Cas's eyes remained vacant slits the entire time. Sam didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified that he couldn't seem to feel anything.

When they'd finished those, Dean moved on to stitching one of the deeper slash marks, while Sam leaned over Cas's head and examined the pin holes in his skull. Rivulets of dried blood left crimson streaks down his face and sticky, matted clumps in his hair. Sam grabbed a wipe and gently dabbed at one of the holes. When he'd pulled those pins from Cas's brain, some had been stained red over an inch deep.

"Come on, Cas, come back to us," he prayed.

It took him a long time to clean all the blood out of Cas's hair, long enough for Dean to completely stitch the long gash cut diagonally across Cas's chest. Sam probably could have gone about it more vigorously and gotten it done faster, especially since it didn't seem to be causing Cas any pain, but he couldn't bring himself to be anything but utterly careful with their wounded friend.

He cleaned the rest of the blood from Cas's face and put a couple of butterfly bandages on the cut on his cheek, and was just about to move back and help Dean finish the torso when Cas finally stirred, his head lolling a fraction to the side. Sam froze, and held his breath as he met Cas's eyes, praying for some measure of lucidity. Blue irises shimmered with dazed pain and confusion.

"Sam?" he whispered hoarsely.

Sam could have collapsed from relief. "Yeah, buddy, it's me," he breathed. "Dean's here too."

Cas didn't react to that, or try to move his head in search of the other Winchester brother.

Sam swallowed uncertainly. "How are you feeling?"

Cas gazed back at him, pupils not quite focusing. Sam felt his chest hitch with a new wave of crushing fear, and he reached out to rest a comforting hand on the top of Cas's head, trying to provide some kind of tactile anchor.

Cas's brows pinched just slightly. "I'm cold."

Sam frowned. "Okay, yeah…" They'd stripped Cas down to his boxers in order to reach all the wounds. "Dean and I are still patching you up, but, uh…"

"Here," Dean injected, having gotten up the second Cas said he was cold and gone to pull a blanket out of their bags. Now he spread it out over Cas's legs, pretty much the only part of him the angels hadn't torn into, and tucked the ends under his feet. "We'll get you some nice warm clothes as soon as we finish bandaging these, okay?"

Cas shifted his eyes a millimeter toward where Dean now stood at the foot of the bed, expression furrowing another fraction as though he hadn't realized there was a third person in the room—and wasn't sure he recognized him.

Sam bit his lip and exchanged a worried look with his brother, who was doing his best not to let his devastation show. There was so much wrong here, Sam didn't even know where to begin.

But…this was improvement; Cas had known who Sam was, after all. He just needed some time, just needed to recover from the shock and trauma of what he'd just been through. And then he'd be fine.

Without another word, Sam and Dean resumed the last of the stitching. And while it was a good sign that Cas was starting to come back to them, the returning lucidity was also increasing his awareness of pain, and he started letting out small whimpers and choked moans the more they worked, especially when Dean started on his left wrist, which was a mess of raw and tattered flesh.

"Almost done, Cas," Dean promised. "Just hang in there."

"Do we have any morphine?" Sam asked.

Dean hesitated. "I'd rather not give him any of the strong stuff until he knows his own name."

A muscle in Sam's jaw jerked, but he didn't necessarily disagree. Mercifully, they really were almost done, and then it was only a matter of cleaning all the blood off and taping bandages over the stab wounds and wrapping Cas's wrists. Dean pulled out a pair of sweats from his bag and a flannel shirt and zip-up sweatshirt from Sam's, as the larger size would be more loose fitting over the wounds.

"Okay, buddy," Dean coaxed, "we're gonna get you in something warm, okay?"

Cas's eyelids fluttered up at him. "Dean?"

The look of sheer relief on Dean's face in that moment had to have mirrored Sam's, and he plastered on a bright, encouraging smile. "That's me. Don't try to move, alright? Sam and me will do the work."

They slipped the sweats on first, since those were easiest, and then Dean slid an arm under Cas's shoulder blades and eased him upright. Cas grunted and bit back a cry as Dean leaned him forward. Sam climbed onto the bed next to Cas and braced him from the front as Dean repositioned the gauze from earlier and taped it down. Once done, he grabbed the shirt and manipulated one arm through a sleeve, and then went around to the opposite side to do the other. Cas was still pretty much dead weight in Sam's arms, but remained conscious, even though the process left him raggedly panting by the time they laid him back down.

Sam and Dean stepped back to regroup near the door, now that the work was done.

"What do you wanna do?" Sam quietly asked.

Dean was silent for a long moment before replying in an equally soft volume, "I want him somewhere safe and completely off the radar as soon as possible."

Sam nodded. That meant dragging him halfway across the country in his condition. "We can stop at a hospital, grab something stronger than the morphine," he said. Now that Cas was showing more cognitive function. "But yeah, I think we should get to Crowley's sooner rather than later."

He never thought he'd hear himself say that. But that's where Ryn was, and Sam would feel better once the four of them were together again. Easier to look after each other that way.

"Alright," Dean agreed. "You gonna change first?"

Sam glanced at the blood stains on his sleeves. "Yeah." He wouldn't even bother showering in this rat hole, and so simply used a rag and water bottle to clean up any residue on his skin before changing into a clean shirt. His pants were okay.

Meanwhile, Dean gathered up their bloody articles and stuffed them in a large plastic bag. Sam had no idea if Cas's clothes were salvageable, but they'd keep them anyway. Dean also gathered up the trash from all the suturing, and tossed it in the room's garbage can and set it on fire. Then he and Sam packed up their stuff and took everything back out to the Impala. Getting Cas out required more effort, as he couldn't even walk, and Sam didn't want to throw him over his shoulder again.

Dean ended up backing the car right up to the door, and then he and Sam carried Cas out to the backseat, which Dean had padded with blankets and a wadded up jacket as a pillow. Once Cas was settled, Sam climbed into the passenger side as Dean ran up front to return the key. He was back less than a minute later, and they were finally ready to get on the road.

"Cas, hey," Dean said after he'd slid behind the wheel, and glanced over his shoulder. "Try to sleep for a bit, okay?"

"Okay," Cas murmured.

Dean turned the key in the ignition and started up the engine.

"Dean?" Cas mumbled.

He twisted back around. "Yeah?"

"Is Ryn here?"

Dean glanced at Sam, whose gut tightened with worry.

"We'll see her soon," Dean replied, putting the car in gear. "Just close your eyes."

Sam looked back to see Cas's eyelids finally drifting shut and staying that way. Hopefully he'd actually be able to get some rest. Because they had a long drive ahead of them…and weren't out of the woods yet.


Ryn paced the length of her 'guest accommodations,' which were rather ornate considering they were set inside a decommissioned asylum. The stone architecture made it look like a castle, and the furnishings fit that theme rather well: a plush, king size bed with a royal burgundy comforter against one wall, a set of period chairs underneath an artistic stained glass window, lamps with tasseled shades, and a floor length mirror in one corner. All in all, it was a fairly comfortable prison.

Not that she was being kept a prisoner, leastways not by her host. Just by the situation. It had been two days since Crowley had brought her here, and she couldn't stand the waiting. He'd informed her that first night that Dean had texted him, saying they'd rescued Castiel and were on their way, but it would take them a while. Nothing about if Castiel was alright, no phone call to talk to her directly, unless the demon was lying and keeping that from her, though she saw no reason for him to. And unfortunately, she didn't have the phone the Winchesters had gotten her when she'd moved in to call them herself; she'd gone so long without a cellular device before that she wasn't used to keeping it on her person all the time, and it'd been left behind in their harried escape from the bunker.

Which left Ryn with nothing to do but to take a demon's word for news and anxiously while away the hours. It didn't help her nerves that being surrounded by demons was triggering her protective instincts with the urge to fight or flee. Not that the demons were bothering her. They'd all been keeping their distance, in fact, save for one that had apparently been assigned as her 'manservant' to see to her needs. Other than that, the King of Hell was her only visitor.

And there he was now, like clockwork. The rap on her door was merely a well-mannered announcement, as Crowley never waited for a response before immediately entering. He swung the doors wide open and strode inside, the manservant wheeling in a cart with a tray and covered silver platter behind him.

"Evening," Crowley greeted. "We have a special treat on the menu tonight I think you'll enjoy." He nodded to his demon lackey, who uncovered the platter, revealing some kind of pasta dish dripping with succulent sauce, and a smaller plate with a slice of fluffy cheesecake.

Ryn inclined her head in the expected polite response. "Thank you."

Crowley flicked a dismissive hand at the servant, who bowed out quickly. "And how's the little one doing?" he asked affably, gaze going to the now rather large bulge of her stomach. "Still growing strong and healthy?"

Ryn didn't know how close the baby was to being born, though she figured there was still quite a bit of time.

"Yes," she said, moving forward to pick up the dinner plate. It felt…awkward, accepting the King of Hell's hospitality, but she couldn't deny her physical needs in taking care of herself and the baby. The food always tasted delicious, too.

"Excellent," Crowley replied. "Good to hear."

"Why?" Ryn asked abruptly. "Why are you being…nice? The Winchesters asked you for sanctuary, not bed and breakfast. What self-interests are you trying to serve here?"

He arched an affronted eyebrow at her, but even Ryn could see it was feigned. "Well, I must admit I'm quite intrigued by this little…development," he said, gesturing at her belly. "An angel and a phoenix? Now that's something brand new and interesting."

"Touch my child and I will kill you."

Crowley's lips tugged upward in a smirk. "I'm sure. Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of poking the hornets nest of a certain angel and his horribly co-dependent pet humans."

Ryn narrowed her gaze.

"In truth," Crowley went on, "I've grown fond of the choir boy. Just when you think he's predictable…" He trailed off, waggling his brows at her suggestively. "Things would be so boring without him and the other two throwing cosmic wrenches in the cogs."

Ryn didn't know if she was buying that, but she wasn't able to pry further because a commotion started up out in the hall. She thrust her dinner plate back on the cart just as the manservant came scuttling back in.

"My lord, the Winchesters are—"

Sam and Dean swept in right on the demon's coattails, and Ryn's eyes widened at the sight of Castiel hanging limply between their arms.

"Oh god."

Dean immediately spotted the bed and veered toward it, him and Sam gently laying Castiel down on the plush mattress. His suit and trench coat were gone, replaced with a pair of gray sweats, flannel shirt, and a hoodie jacket Ryn recognized as belonging to Sam. She tried to push her way in to get a closer look, bumping into the taller Winchester as he turned around.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked earnestly.

She gave him a clipped nod, and he finally scooted over so she could get to Castiel. "What happened?" she demanded, settling a hand over his bruised brow.

"Angels," Dean answered stiffly. He turned toward Crowley. "You sure this place is warded enough?"

Crowley was eyeing Castiel's unconscious and battered form with mild interest. "Yes. Trust me, Squirrel, no one's finding this place."

Dean shifted his weight in apparent discomfort. "Thank you."

Crowley canted his head with a small twinkle in his eye. "Don't mention it." And with that, he left, closing the doors behind him and his lackey.

Ryn roved her gaze over Castiel, noticing the bandages wrapped around both wrists. He also had a bandaged cut on his cheek, and more gauze peeking out from under the collar of his borrowed shirt. She moved her hand to stroke a lock of hair back from his face, silently pleading for him to open his eyes. But he didn't. When she reached out her senses toward his grace, she found it buried so deep and dormant that it didn't even respond to her light prodding.

Something else, however, did. Ryn's palm grew warm, and a soft golden light started to suffuse out from it to seep into Castiel. The bruises on his forehead began to slowly fade.

Ryn stared in fascination as she moved her hand to the cut on his cheek, watching the jagged flesh begin to meld back together.

"Wait, you're able to heal him?" Sam asked incredulously.

Ryn shook her head in dazed astonishment and whispered, "It's the baby."

"Come again?" Dean said.

Ryn felt the tendril of energy reaching out, chasing down the waves of pain radiating from Castiel's body. She sensed the gaping hole in his shoulder, and laid her hand over it. Regenerating fire probed deep into the wound, but unlike the harsh burn of her natural flame, this one was tempered by the soothing balm of angelic grace.

"The baby has healing powers," she breathed in awe. Yet even as she felt the wound in Castiel's shoulder begin to mend, it started to leave her incredibly drained by the effort, and she finally had to pull away before the healing had completed. She sagged sideways into the pillows.

"Whoa, hey," Dean exclaimed, suddenly at her side and gripping her shoulder. "What the hell was that?"

Ryn managed to give him a tired smile. "Have to…pace ourselves."

"Yeah, okay." His mouth pinched in uncertainty, but then his gaze drifted to Castiel, whose face was nearly blemish free now. "Okay," Dean said more resolutely. "Just…no overdoing it. There's…" He swallowed hard. "There's a lot."

Ryn's chest constricted, but she nodded. The baby inside her kicked petulantly, eliciting a wince. You're going to be as stubborn as your father, aren't you? she thought ruefully, even as her heart swelled with pride.

And just as selfless and giving.