"So Cas is sure we're not going to have an army of Cambions in a few years?"

"Seemed like it," Dean said, and Olivia asked, "What's a Cambion?" The hushed tones they were using were obviously meant to avoid upsetting her, which she found mildly insulting – obviously the fact that she had let them bleed her in her own living room hadn't demonstrated that she was not exactly a delicate flower – and a bit unsettling, all things considered.

"It's, uh, the child of a human and an incubus," Sam replied.

"An incubus," Olivia said.

"Yeah." Sam offered no more explanation and started packing up the books, herbs, and other things they'd brought with them into backpacks.

"So you're leaving?" she asked after a moment.

"I'm going to go do some research," Sam said, "and we have to add some protections to our hotel room." He paused, and looked up at her. "You'll be safe," he said, and the way his voice softened as he said it almost made Olivia believe him.

She ignored the creeping exhaustion and resolved not to fall asleep. Her bones felt heavy, and her muscles protested every movement she made. Turning on the television was an ordeal. There was a cold cup of coffee on the end table that she finished off, hoping the espresso shots would keep her going through the rest of the night. She dreaded the next day, not knowing how much longer she could stay on her feet, running only on adrenaline and coffee.


"There a reason we didn't tell her what's really happening here?" Dean asked as Sam hailed a cab.

"You think it was a good idea to tell her we think a prince of hell is doing this to her? And to you? Besides, we don't know much about this ourselves. Even Cas isn't totally sure it's Asmodai we're dealing with."

Dean scowled, dissatisfied. "There was something else Cas said," he said after a moment. "He said there's more women all over the world. There's got to be more in this city. We need to find them before they die too."

Sam looked over at him for a long moment and said, "Or before Cas gets to them?"

Dean hadn't mentioned how close Cas had been to going totally off the fucking rails and killing a baby, but he wasn't surprised that Sam brought it up. "Yeah. He said he just couldn't do the last one once he got there, and I believe him, but ..."

"He might change his mind next time."

Dean couldn't sum up the energy to give Sam a yes or a no, wanted to avoid answering because he just didn't want to acknowledge the question. A cab pulled up to the sidewalk, and Sam climbed in first, sliding across the backseat. Dean followed, shutting the door roughly behind him. He missed his baby. He missed being in control.


Sam knew the pain and exhaustion of the past few days was catching up to Dean, so when they got to their room he opened the cooler they had stashed under the bottom bunk bed and handed a beer to Dean and took one for himself.

The book that contained all the symbols they used on a regular basis wasn't strictly necessary since he had memorized the symbols and sigils in it a long time ago. Sam opened it anyway and set it on the table next to the window, opening the drapes and the blinds. He looked over at Dean. "You ready to be bled?" he asked after he had laid out the bowl, some bandages and antiseptic.

"Not really," Dean replied, grimacing. "Wish we had something stronger," he added, lifting his beer.

"I know, shit sucks," Sam replied, taking the recently-cleaned knife he had used on Olivia out of the bag. "How's your knee?"

"I'll keep chewing Tylenol," Dean replied. He rolled his sleeve up and held him arm out, palm up. Sam reached out, took Dean's wrist in one hand and held the knife just above Dean's skin.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Go for it."

Sam sliced a clean line across Dean's arm, taking care not to cut through old scar tissue. He could see a few faint pinkish lines crisscrossing each other, remnants of old fights and other times they'd needed blood. The knife was so sharp it was effortless – for me, anyway, he noted dryly as Dean clenched his fist and hissed through his teeth – parting the skin as if that was how it always was. Dean stood, angling his arm so that the blood flowed down into the bowl Sam held, gritting his teeth and taking a pull off his beer every now and then. He picked up some bandages when Sam nodded that he had enough and retreated into the bathroom to clean up his arm and the knife.

It didn't take long to paint the symbols, since there wasn't much area to cover in such a small room. Dean came out of the bathroom and raised his eyebrows when he saw that Sam was already packing up. Sam moved past him to clean the bowl out and was not surprised to see Dean lying on the bottom bunk, his eyes eyelids heavy, angling his head up to finish off the last of his beer. He didn't reach for another, simply tossed the empty bottle in the trash can across the room and lay back.

"I'm gonna do some research," Sam said. "See what I can find out about Asmodai."

Dean nodded.

"Want another beer?"

Dean shook his head slightly, already on his way out. Moments later, Sam heard him snoring softly. He closed the blinds and turned his attention to his computer.

A little over an hour passed, the only sounds Dean's snores, the whine of the hotel's ventilation system and the noise from the street outside.

When he heard Dean's breathing pick up, Sam looked up from his computer, and when Dean groaned, deep and low in the back of his throat, Sam called, "Dean?"

His groans became louder, more pained and desperate, his breathing heavy and shuddering. He bounded over to Dean's bed, shook him and called his name again. "Come on, man, wake up!" As he gripped Dean's shoulders, he felt that the muscles were tight. Dean's entire body was rigid, one hand clenched into a fist across his chest and the other by his side.

Dean couldn't move. Asmodai was attacking him again. Sam slapped his brother's face, shook him again. "Dean, wake up! Dean!"