As soon as I had stepped in the motel suite, I knew something was wrong. I could feel Cassie's grace in the air, but it was a thinner feeling than it should've been. I took the lead, completely ignoring the others. I turned the corner of the wall behind which the bedroom was. I couldn't take a step further. Ketch and Sam passed beside me, talking to me. I didn't hear them. I already knew what had happened in the room. It was a deep feeling inside of me… And I knew that feeling way too well. It was the same sensation that came around when Raphy died at Castiel's hand, same thing with Balthazar. I never liked that feeling. Though I always got it before everything went South, I still hated it, because I could never do anything about it.
The two hunters stopped beside the bed and turned to me. They talked, waving at me, panicked. Footsteps came to my ears.
"Stop your brother from coming here. He can't see this." I simply said, passing beside them and kneeling close to the bloodied vessel of my young brother.
I didn't hear the rest. I was counting every wound and cut Cassie had. A faint part of his grace was still trying to heal him.
"I promise you, Cassie, I won't let you end up like the others" I whispered to the inanimate corpse in front of me, gently brushing his dark hair like I used to do when he was still a baby angel.
I touched his forehead and concentrated on his grace. Piece by piece, it was reforming itself, healing Castiel's wounds. I could feel my own grace failing me, but I didn't care. It would regrow faster than his. Under my fingers, Castiel slowly shifted. When I looked down at him, his vessel's blue eyes were wide opened.
"Hey there, Cassie!"
"Stop healing me. Your grace is not…" he protested, trying to stop me from what I was doing.
"I know. Don't care." I cut him.
His eyes shifted across the room, looking at the blood on the walls. I removed my fingers from his forehead.
"He's fine…"
Cassie's eyes locked in mine.
"Don't play dumb. I know you're looking for Dean-o. He's locked himself in the bathroom"
"Why?"
"Long story short: our dear Dean-o has memory problems. He remembers some stuff, but never fully and, well, he remembered doing this." I explained pointing at him and the walls. "Pretty sure he wanted to escape it."
"Then the bathroom wasn't the best choice," Castiel replied sitting up.
"Hey, careful!" I reprimanded him, making sure he was alright. Gosh, he looked awful. "Why not?
"Because this is where I put the demons' corpses," he answered.
