A/N: So, my apologies for making Bobby a bit of a douche here, but to be fair, he's been through a lot. He gets a pass. This time. Also, a note about Ramiel: it was pointed out to me that in the book of Enoch, Ramiel and Uriel are referred to as the same being, one of the four archangels. I went back and did some further research, and there's a lot of conflicting information. For the purposes of this story, I'm bending the mythology a bit. Ramiel is going to continue to be a separate being from Uriel, and another of the archangels. Thanks for pointing out the error though - I appreciate it!

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Dammit.

"He's your what now?"

"Angel," Sam says, tugging a hand through his hair. "An angel," he says, "not mine. Not like you and - I mean, sorta like Cas is to you, I guess," he stammers, not really sure what he's trying to say.

"He pulled you outta hell," Dean says, still looking a little shell-shocked.

"S' what he says."

Dean peers at him across the den, eyes narrowing. "So where's your scar?"

"I don't know," he says, shaking his head. "Guess I didn't get one. Maybe he's just, y'know, a little neater than Cas, or something." Dean shoots him a sharp glare at that, and Sam throws his hands up. "Just a theory," he says defensively.

"So what did he say?" Deans says, shifting into work mode. "Did he mention why they brought you back, by any chance? Or what the hell's on our asses this time?"

Sam shakes his head. "We didn't get too far past the introductions."

"What happened?"

Sam shrugs, feeling his cheeks go warm. "I fainted," he mumbles, turning his head away and pretending to be very interested in an artifact resting on the mantle.

"You did what?" Dean asks, and Sam can tell from the mirth in his voice that he knows exactly what he said.

"Shut up," he grumbles. "It was... intense."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that's great, Pollyanna. You wanna go write about it in your diary, or you wanna give me some useful information here?"

"That's all I remember, Dean," Sam says, giving his brother a nasty look. "I woke up on the couch this morning feeling like I downed a bottle of cheap tequila."

"So what about the buzzing Bobby heard?"

"No idea," Sam says. "I guess maybe we should talk to Cas about it, find out if he knows anything useful. They're brothers, after all."

Dean looks up at sharply then, green eyes wide with panic. "Shit," he breathes, seemingly frozen in his seat. "Does he know Cas is here?"

Sam shakes his head. "I don't know. I mean, he mentioned Cas, but he didn't say anything about trying to track him down or anything. He seemed to know a lot about us, though."

"Shit!" Dean says again, fumbling around in his pocket frantically.

Sam watches him for a moment. "What're you doing?"

"We gotta get him out of here," he says, and Sams steps close enough to lean over and see that he's scrolling rapidly through his contacts. "Maybe call Quentin out in Salt Lake City. See if Cas can stay there a few days, 'til we figure out exactly what we're dealing with." His voice is rough with a hard edge of fear, and Sam drops a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Hey, man, it'll be okay," he says, trying to sound comforting. Truthfully, he can't quite figure out why Dean is in full-on freak out mode, but he recognizes genuine terror when he sees it.

"No, it -Jesus, Sam. Cas is… he's human now. Do you get what that means?" Sam opens his mouth to reply, but Dean steamrolls over him without pausing for breath. "He's got no mojo, no big guy upstairs lookin' out for him, no wi-" Dean's eyes go round and horrified. "Oh, God, his wings. I didn't even…"

"Dean, man -"

"He's totally human now, Sam. He's like a frigging infant in a grown up body. He probably doesn't even know how to fight. We can try to protect him all we like, but what'll he do when something happens to one of us, huh?"

"Dean," Sam says softly, edging closer like he's approaching a shying horse. "We'll figure it out, okay? We'll keep him safe."

Sam puts a hand on Dean's neck, then drags the one on his shoulder up to run the back of his fingers over Dean's jaw. Dean shrugs away from his touch, ducking his head down and refusing to meet his eyes.

"We got serious shit to deal with here, man," he says, voice gruff. "We don't have time for that right now," and Sam doesn't need to ask what that is referring to. He backs off, hurt gathering like a ticking bomb in belly, just waiting to go off, but he doesn't say anything.

Something's changed, and Sam knows it. He realizes with a sudden inexplicable certainty as he watches Dean messing with his phone, shoulders hunched and a determined look turning his eyes dark, that there may not be anything he can do to fix it.

And then he's not entirely sure he wants to.

**oOo**

Dean is wondering just how much more awkward this can get, sitting in silence and pretending to be extremely interested in his phone, when he knows he's hurt Sam's feelings. Problem is, he just can't seem to get it up enough to really feel a significant amount of guilt. Sure, he feels bad for brushing him off like that, but geez, they're talking freakin' life or death here. Sam'll get over it and things will go back to normal. Whatever normal means for them. At least, that's what Dean tells himself.

He's saved from thinking too damn much when Cas walks into the room, looking so much smaller now that he's not all angeled out. Dean feels the fear gnawing at the back of his mind begin to grow into something ugly and ravenous, looking at how frail, how completely human Cas is now.

"Er," Cas says, raising a hand to his messy hair and running it through uncertainly. "Bobby wanted to me to ask what's taking you… er…idjits… so long in here." Cas looks at the floor, self-conscious, and Dean can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Come on in, Bobby," he calls, and the older man stalks into the living room, muttering something about ungrateful kids taking over his whole damn house.

Sam gives Bobby and Cas the rundown on Ramiel, and Dean thinks it's almost funny, the twin expressions of surprise on their faces.

"My brother?" Cas says, when Sam finishes, something like awe and trepidation in his voice.

"What can you tell us about him?" Dean asks, sitting on the arm of Cas's chair. Cas looks up at him and shakes his head.

"I didn't know him well," he says. "We never served in the same garrison. He's powerful. Extremely powerful. And he Fell, once."

Dean's eyes go wide. "He what?"

"He Fell, many centuries ago. He married a human woman, and she bore him many children."

"What?" Dean says, just as Sam says, "Is that even possible?"

"Yes," Cas says, nodding solemnly. "They are called the nephilim. Half-human, half-angel."

"Shit," Dean says, and it just figures, doesn't it? Like they don't have enough to worry about with demons and angels and everything else.

"They aren't likely a threat to us," Cas says, reading his mind. "Most of them don't develop any angelic power."

"But what about Ramiel?" Sam asks, stuttering a little over the angel's name. Dean gives him a sharp look, and Sam flushes.

"He was restored to his Grace," Cas says, and Dean could swear the former angel looks envious.

"You think he's on our side?" Dean asks, and Cas smiles, but it's far from pleasant.

"Ramiel isn't on anyone's side but his own."

Dean looks grimly over at Sam, who won't meet his gaze. He pulls out his phone again, bringing up Quentin's number.

"I think we should get you out of here," he says, looking down at Cas's rumpled bed-head and feeling a surge of protectiveness swell in his chest.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I think we need to go into hiding, at least until we can figure out our next move."

"He found us here," Sam says. "What makes you think he won't find us there?"

It's a good argument, and Dean is annoyed by it even more for that.

"I agree with Dean," Cas says, and even Bobby looks surprised by it. All three of them turn their heads toward him, and Dean frowns down at him suspiciously.

"That wasn't much of a fight you put up there."

Cas shrugs, but he's no good at playing innocent yet, and Dean can read him like a book.

"It is not the worst idea you've had."

"Gee, thanks," Dean says, nudging Cas hard in the should with his elbow. "But seriously, what gives, Cas? I figured I'd have to drag you out of here kicking and screaming."

Cas cocks his head, giving Dean a confused but patient look. "I can kick and scream, if you like. Does that make it easier for you?"

Sam snickers in the corner, and Dean gives him a pretty clear shut the hell up look.

"I've just never known you to give up so easily, that's all," Dean says, and he can see the way Cas shifts his gaze away, staring down at the floor.

"I am not the same anymore," Cas says softly, and Dean wants to say something to make it alright, but there's nothing to say, because everything is all wrong and he knows it shouldn't be like this.

"You're a fighter, Cas," Sam says, voice brimming with conviction, and Dean is grateful, though a tiny part of him resents that Sam is saying what he couldn't. "We're gonna get through this, you'll see."

"No," Cas says, flat and firm, and Dean looks down at him sharply. "We're not." He shakes his head, mouth turning down in frustration. "Don't you see? I don't want to run for my sake - I want to run for yours."

"What's that mean?" Bobby asks, looking up at Dean like he has all the answers. "What's he mean?" Dean shakes his head helplessly and shrugs.

"I mean, this war…" Cas says, getting a faraway look in his eyes, "… it's not just angels against demons. It's everything. Every monster you've ever fought, every human you've ever saved - they're all a part of it. There aren't just two sides here. This war is going to be fought on every side, and every side will be destroyed."

Dean leans back against the chair, thunderstruck. He can feel Cas's arm pressed against him, and the angel is trembling. He leans in a little, trying to offer some silent comfort, and he's relieved when Cas's shoulders straighten.

"And you think runnin' away is the answer?" Bobby says finally, appalled. "You want us to just give up and throw in the towel, and let all those innocent people die?"

"Towels have nothing to do with it," Cas says, his growing frustrating evident. "But running may be the only way to keep Sam and Dean alive."

Bobby stands up abruptly, looming over Cas. Dean is on his feet before he can even think about it, pressing up into Bobby's space, pushing his chest against the older man's.

"You're gonna sacrifice how many lives to save theirs?" Bobby snarls over Dean's shoulder. "You think they're just gonna run away like cowards when people are dyin' all around 'em?"

"Back off," Dean hisses, shoving his hands against Bobby's shoulders.

"Dean -" Sam says, getting up from his chair, but Dean throws out a hand, stopping him.

"Bobby," he says, pushing at the older man again.

"You think I don't know about sacrifice?" Bobby says, and Dean can see now that there are tears filling up his eyes. "I killed my… I killed her twice. And why the hell'd I do it, if not to save a bunch of assholes I never met from getting killed in a war that ain't theirs to fight? And now you're tellin' me to run and hide and let 'em all die anyway? For what?"

Bobby is breathing heavily, so close and so harsh Dean can barely hear what Cas says.

"For those you love. To keep them safe. To keep them alive."

Bobby flinches, but he doesn't step back. Dean's hands are curled tight around his shoulders, but Bobby's not even looking at him.

"I been fightin' this war a lot of years, boy -"

"And I've been fighting it much longer than you," Cas says, standing up and putting a hand gently on Dean's back. Dean glances over his shoulder, and something in Cas's face makes him loosen his grip on Bobby and step back.

"I think you forget," Cas says, moving toward Bobby, voice low and deadly calm, "I may be human now, but I was an angel of the Lord. I may not have my Grace anymore, but I still have my memories. I remember every life that was ended by my hand to win this war, every innocent who fell by the wayside because victory was the only thing that mattered." Dean realizes, belatedly, that Cas has backed Bobby against the wall, their faces just inches apart. "I have given up my life for Dean, for Sam, more than once, and I will do it again, if it is required of me. I know about sacrifice, too, Bobby Singer, and you would do well not to forget that."

The room is utterly silent, and that saying about hearing a pin drop flits through Dean's head before it's replaced by something else - a humming noise that starts soft in the back of his head, then gets increasingly louder until it feel like the air around him is vibrating with it.

"What the hell?" Sam says, just as a picture frame rattles off the wall, crashing to the ground in a chorus of shattering glass.

They look at each other, confused and not a little frightened, and then Dean feels the floor beneath his feet begin to heave and shift.

"Outside," he says, grabbing Cas's arm and shoving him toward the door.

"What?" Cas says, turning from Bobby, face scrunched up as if in pain.

"The car," Dean says, hauling Sam behind him as he ushers Bobby and Cas into the foyer. "Get in the damn car!"

The four of them stagger out the door and half fall down the front porch stairs, Bobby in the lead as they race for the Impala. Bobby and Cas clamber into the backseat, and Sam yanks open the passenger side door, throwing himself in. Dean spares one last glance for the house, just in time to see one of the columns supporting the porch buckle and give, crashing down in a cloud of thick white dust.

Then he's in the car and he's got her in drive, and they're halfway to the main road before he risks a peek in the rearview mirror.

And he doesn't see a damn thing.