Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed.

* * * * *

His vision had gone nearly black and screams still rang in his ears when he became conscious of a new sensation. Someone had a tight grip on his arm, trying to pry it away from the meager protection his body could offer. He lashed out automatically, doing his best to knock the offender away. The searing pain felt as though it was burning his very bones; he wasn't going to let them make it worse. He couldn't let them make it worse.

"Do it!" someone roared.

He tried his best to keep his arm against his body, tried keep it protected, but the grip was too strong, and—

Something cool and wet suddenly took the place of the burning pain, covering not only his wrist but most of his arm and chest as well, and he staggered from the sheer shock of it.

"Cas?"

Someone shook him lightly, and he blinked slowly, looking up from the ground to find Sam holding his arm away from his body and Dean standing beside the two of them. Dean held the now-empty container of orange juice in one hand, the other on Castiel's shoulder. And there was blood running from a gash in Sam's lip.

"Cas?" Dean prompted again with another light shake. "Are you all right?"

"It…hurt." At a level far beyond anything he had ever experienced. Granted that his experiences with mortal-type pain were limited to the injuries the demons had inflicted and that Dean had cleaned, but the feel of holy water against the manacle had been orders of magnitude worse.

"Yeah, we got that much," Sam said, releasing Castiel's arm and patting his free shoulder lightly. "Holy water was officially a bad idea." He frowned and then licked his lip, reaching up to wipe the blood from his chin.

"Holy water?" Dean demanded, stepping back. "Holy water is supposed to burn demons, not…."

"It wasn't him," Sam said before Castiel could react, turning Castiel's wrist around and examining the deep red marks on either side of the Marked band. "It was some kind of reaction with the metal."

"Great." Dean put the orange juice bottle down on the table and rubbed his forehead. "It figures. Then again, I guess we've never exactly stuck Ruby's knife in a bucket of holy water, so maybe that's a normal reaction for demon-metal to have. Assuming they're even made of the same stuff...how many kinds of demon-metal do you think there are, anyway?"

A pounding at the door made all three of them start, and both Sam and Dean reached for their waistbands and the weapons held there.

"Is everyone okay?" a male voice called. "Open the door!"

"Come on." Sam pulled Castiel over to the nearest bed and pushed him into a sitting position, reaching for the bag that held the aspirin, while Dean went to the door.

"Can we help you?" Dean called through the wood.

"Open the door!"

Dean glanced back and then twisted the lock.

A blond man, shorter and wider than Dean, pushed his way in, looking past Dean to give Castiel and Sam a sharp look. "What's going on? We just got two reports of someone screaming in pain."

"Oh, it was nothing." Dean waved a hand, moving to block his view. "Just our…cousin. Burned his hand on the radiator."

"We're in the middle of Arizona. Our rooms don't have radiators."

"Uh, right. We brought our own. Travel size. Boy Scouts, you know, always prepared." Dean planted a hand on the man's chest and pushed him back out the door, shutting it firmly and relocking it.

"Travel size?" Sam asked, flipping open the top on some sort of tube that he'd pulled from the bag. "Boy scouts?"

"Yeah, screw you. I vote we get out of here now before anyone else gets curious. The holy tax accountant's got a hell of a set of lungs." He rubbed his forehead again.

"Not a bad right hook either," Sam muttered, wiping his lip again before applying a layer of white cream to the two red bands of skin around the manacle on Castiel's wrist. "He's going to need another shirt, though."

"Shirts I've got." Dean leaned over to examine Sam's efforts and then winced as he shifted to stand fully upright again. "Does that even work on demon-metal burns?"

"Well, it can't hurt." Sam studied Dean for a moment and then shook his head. "Look, you do the bandaging and I'll repack, all right?"

Dean nodded and sank down on the bed beside Castiel, bandaging his wrist neatly. Sam tossed a dry shirt in their direction and then stuffed what little they'd unpacked back into the bags, adding a few of the food items he'd purchased as well.

"On the road again," Dean muttered, shouldering one of the bags while Sam took the other two, and the three of them made their way down the narrow hallway towards the street. "Keys?" Dean asked, holding out his hand.

Sam stared for a minute. "Dude, you've got a concussion. You are not driving."

"Uh, yes, I am."

"Uh, no, you aren't."

"Sammy, give me the keys." Sam rolled his eyes and pushed open the exterior door, letting the bright sun shine into the hallway, and Dean winced, pulling away and digging around in his jacket until he found a pair of dark glasses. "I am so going to kick your ass."

Sam didn't comment on the muttered threat, heading for the car and tossing both bags he carried into the trunk. The bag Dean carried followed—along with what Castiel assumed was yet another threat—and then Dean gave in and climbed into the back seat.

"Hey, Dean, was thinking earlier that maybe the two of you could hole up somewhere near the main library in Phoenix, see what you can dig up there," Sam suggested as they turned back onto the highway.

"And where are you planning on going?"

"Detroit. Uh, Castiel, pull that belt down across your chest and buckle it, would you?"

"Detroit?" Dean asked, leaning forward to take the metal buckle from Castiel and jam it into an odd looking latch.

"It looks like Jo might be in real trouble…figure we owe her and Ellen enough that someone ought to go check up on her."

"Well, you aren't going alone."

"Dean, it's not a big deal. I've hunted alone before."

"Yeah, when I was in Hell. Now, I'm back."

"Uh, hello, notice the beat up angel about two feet to my right? Kind of a priority at the moment." Sam made a dismissive gesture. "Like I said, it's no big deal. I'll be back in a couple days."

"Check a map, Sam; it'll take you a couple days just to get there."

"Unlike you, I don't have any problems flying. I can catch a flight when we get to Phoenix, track her down, and fly back as soon as I'm done. You two keep working on the whole manacle thing."

"No."

"Dean—"

"No, Sam," Dean interrupted. "You hunt alone and you end up pulling freaky Jedi mind tricks and hooking up with demons. Not going to happen. We go together or not at all."

"So we either forget about Jo and whatever trouble she might be in or...what? Stick Cas in a safe deposit box for a couple days? That'll work well."

"I am a warrior of God," Castiel cut in. Which might not mean a great deal bound as he was, but it did mean that he wasn't going to hide away—or allow himself to be hidden—like a helpless child. "And, once again, my name is Castiel."

"Uh…right. Sorry." Sam twisted to look back at Dean, and the two of them were engaged in silent conversation for few seconds before Sam turned back around. Much to Castiel's relief since it seemed that at the speed they were moving Sam should really be keeping his eyes on the road in front of them. Granted that said road was straight and fairly deserted, but as Castiel was currently trapped in this mortal shell, he'd just as soon it not become any more damaged than it already was.

"Road tripping to Detroit just in time for winter," Dean said with a sigh. "This ought to be fun."