A/N: 100+ reviews?! My heavens, you people are absolutely AMAZING. There are no words to describe how ecstatic I am. Thank you so much for your commitment and for your wonderful feedback!!

Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke.

No matter how striking, how beautiful or how aesthetic something was, nothing made it shine the brightest like its ruin. That was the reason why the great pyramids grew even more majestic with ages of weathering, why toddlers painstakingly built up towers with their multi-colored blocks only to knock it down with gusto, why the world roared with approval each time a great society fell behind their carefully arranged masks of sympathy and horror.

The greatest splendor always seemed to emanate out of depravity, inspiring nobility from tragedy and stillness after the storm. It was the same whether applied to the remains of the Titanic as it lay in the depths of its watery grave, the ashes of Rome and the glorious rainbow after forty days and forty nights of rain… if one knew where to look and was willing to gaze long and hard enough into the face of disaster, there would always be the beauty and strength rising up to take and shape the wretchedness into something worthwhile again. While the hands of man were the greatest agents of destruction, they were also capable of amazing creativity in the creation and rebuild.

There was no such beauty evident in the wreckage of the mansion's interior. Shattered glass littered the marble floors, paintings hung askew or lay where they'd fallen; sculptures were cracked beyond repair and the entire structure looked ready to implode, as if a demolition crew had gone through but had done a half-assed job with the wrecking ball. Now all the scene needed to be another Guernica, to make Picasso proud, was horribly geometrically disproportionate animals and people wandering around, holding their dead and dying.

Perhaps Mason Todd's misshapen form would have to do.

Large, angry welts and third degree burns covered the man's entire body; shriveling the skin and making it slough off in large sections to reveal the raw muscle underneath the epidermis. Blood and milky white vitreous fluid streaked down the clean-shaven cheeks from empty eye sockets and yet the man's face had taken on the appearance of a grinning skull. Laughter, cold and callous, issued from his mouth, opening up the cuts on his face even more.

"Seems like someone needs some anger management classes," came the words, not in Mason Todd's fine tenor voice but in the hiss of a snake, the timbre of a demon. "Why that's touching Gabriel; you really do care for your little brother, don't you? Always had a soft spot for dear Cas myself."

The demon's blood fizzled and evaporated at the light and power emanating from the archangel, but Belial continued nonetheless. And just how far can I push you, Gabriel? "It must be hard," he sighed in mock nostalgia. "You've always been there to protect him, to patch him up, to rescue him from what he was too weak to engage in battle. Because he's not a fighter, is he?" The demon smirked; he wanted to see just how far he could go before the archangel submitted to the mortal sin of wrath that was not of Heaven, but of Gabriel's own volition. Goading an archangel into falling? Ah, now that would be gratifying. "It's alright though, Castiel makes one hell of a fine bitch-"

Brick and mortar shuddered and the giant chandelier that hung above the scene as witness to all that had already happened swung dangerously on its weakening chain as the body was slammed into the far wall; there was a loud crack and a sudden, painful backward folding of the man's frame as his spine snapped in two and Gabriel stood above him, features schooled into impassiveness.

"In the name of the Father, I shalt purge the world of thy vile corruption,"the archangel said, bursting Mason Todd's eardrums and turning all the fluid in the man's cochlear structure and vestibular sacs to steam. The human response would have been to writhe in unbearable pain, but Belial was no man and the demon sneered.

"No matter, old sport. I'll always have my mark on this earth; I'll always have my permanent mark on little Castiel-" His jaw split into pieces as if someone had slammed a baseball bat into his mouth. Teeth scattered everywhere and the demon choked on blood as the coppery liquid grew thick within his mouth but Belial grinned wickedly, exposing gums and drooling blood as he continued to speak through the frothing mess of a mouth.

"Oh yes brother, I branded dear Cas as my own…" The demon spat out a mouthful of blood and what looked to be a tonsil, flicking out his tongue. "And you should've been there to see his face when I ravished him- and the taste of his tears, how exquisitely delicious-"

Out of all the beings God Almighty had ever created, man was always the most praised and discussed, probably because human beings were egotistical, conceited bastards who liked to think that they knew it all; who liked to believe that they were the center of the universe (until Galileo proved that little theory to be false). It was natural then, for them to speak and write extensively and exhaustively about nothing other than themselves; natural for them to boast of their close connection with the Maker and Creator of all. However, it was the archangel that was the closest being capable of reflecting the Lord's temperaments; could carry out the orders of Heaven and dispense the most fearsome wrath of the Father through fierce and merciless judgment.

Mason Todd might not have been able to see anything, but from within the vessel Belial saw the reason why Gabriel was the archangel that all the Catholics prayed to, why he sat at God's left hand- an honor that not even the Prince of Angels himself received. Certainly Michael was lauded for being the valiant warrior who cast Lucifer from Paradise, but Gabriel was hand chosen by the Lord for the task of bringing to Earth the greatest news since the dawn of Creation. Free from the physical restraints of a human vessel, unbound and standing there in his true form, the archangel shone with all the glory of Heaven and for the first time in a long time, Belial was afraid.

There was no fearsome glare from smoldering silver green eyes this time, no hard set to the jaw or clenching of a fist- all those were simply superfluous gestures, acts of human conduct to indicate rage. There was no way for the overwhelming wrath of God to be made evident through mere behavior. The archangel was no longer responding to the demon's mocking himself for the light that surrounded his already blinding form had no place on the conceptualized wavelength of mortal comprehension; it was the response of an incensed Father to the torture and ridicule of one of his sons, it was the vengeful mark of the Lord himself.

The demon cowered within his meatsuit, holding tightly onto Mason Todd's form now more than ever. Earlier, he'd done it just for the sake of putting the man through indescribable pain at the hands of a livid archangel; now it was because he knew that if he tried to flee in his demonic form, Gabriel would smite him in an instant. No. No!!

This was not the end, this could not be the end for him; he was second in command of all the legions of Hell, second to only Satan himself!! The Apocalypse was imminent and the Earth would soon belong to Lucifer, the greatest being to ever live, he who surpassed even God and the world would fall into the embrace of those who were thought to be the damned-"Clementia!!" The demon howled as Gabriel closed fingers around his throat, burning the skin, burning clean through the skin. "Deus sanctus, concedo clementia!"

Mercy. Holy God, grant mercy.

Yes, even demons believed in God, even those that had fallen turned to their former Father in times of desperation. But there was no guarantee that the Lord would answer.

"Release my servant."No longer an inquiry or a demand, no longer the words of an angel for the sake of his brother; it was the command of the Almighty, words that all creatures, no matter to what their allegiance was to, were compelled to obey.

Belial's face contorted; the voice twisting out of Mason Todd's mouth was a pained howl as he tried to resist the hand and power of a deity far more powerful than the forces of Hell. "I hold Castiel no longer!" The demon shrieked out, babbling in demonic tongues as Gabriel's form burned brighter; the archangel's face was a mask of impenetrable light. Another part of the ceiling crumbled, generously showering the scene below in a rain of rubble. The large, dazzling beautiful chandelier wobbled dangerously, once, twice. The chain supporting the giant piece of art was breaking, the links weakening and the glass shards reflected the confrontation below.

"A lying tongue lasts only a moment." Gabriel lifted a hand and the demon screeched in agony, slowly being pulled from his vessel's tortured body. "But thy wicked soul shalt dwell in the depths of the eternal fire until the Day of Judgment."

Mason Todd fell limply, brokenly, to the floor strewn with the tokens and trinkets of the material world that would never last. His spirit cried out for salvation, finally having been freed from the demon's grasp, for salvation and for forgiveness. He'd been forced to live through the horrors that Belial performed, a helpless puppet in the demon's hands and Mason knew of the torment the blue-eyed angel had endured; he had shuddered in disgust at having his body used as a tool for inflicting further suffering. He knew where the angel was being kept, he knew how to shatter the glass observation panels with one direct blow to a specific weak spot at the panel's bottom right corner and yet he could say nothing. Forgive me Lord, for having fallen prey to an agent of evil-

The beautiful celestial beings descending from the shaft of light that fell from above seemed to know his thoughts though- "Rest, son of Adam, be at peace"- and Mason allowed himself to be caught up in the gentle embrace, at last no longer having to fight with the demon inhabiting his mortal shell. As his soul entered into the fields of Paradise, with his last coherent thought, the young man's lips moved in a silent whisper.

"Safehouse."

Stupid maniac billionaire- BANG.

Damn wartime safehouse bunkers- BANG.

Fucking glass- BANG.

Dean reared back, smashing the butt of the shotgun once again into the already fractured glass panel, repeatedly and with the strength of a man possessed, mind whirling at a rate faster than he could comprehend. I've got to get Cas out of here and to a hospital; he's not going to survive with that much blood loss… He'd read somewhere that the human body contained 6 liters of blood. For some reason, that number had always stuck with him.

Six liters of blood. Sixty-six seals. Six hundred sixty six was the number of the beast foretold in Revelations. Six Dawns, Six Hours. God, he was so sick of the number six-

"You're stronger than I thought," Sam mused aloud thoughtfully, settling back for an instant and flexing his fingers as if totally unaware of his brother not more than twenty feet away, banging against the transparent barrier like a madman. The younger Winchester observed the skeletal framework of wings made up of the angel's broken and rotated posterior ribs, of the cartilage connecting the bones to the spine that he'd ripped apart with his bare hands and a frown creased his features.

This still wasn't good enough.

Castiel still drew breath, if the ragged, wheezing, shallow gasps could be called that; the angel was still hanging onto something that kept him alive. Was it faith, or hope, or was it just pure damn stubbornness? Sam's eyes narrowed. It had to be something deep within the angel, something that blades could not pierce and blows could not weaken, some sort of resolve untouched by Belial's wandering hands or lustful gaze- But I'll one up him too, because I'm going to make your God sorry that he ever let you sons of bitches interfere into my brother's life, into mine.

"Tell me what it would take to finish you," he said in a casual, conversational tone as he stuck his arm deep into Castiel's torn body, in entirely up to the elbow and twisted his wrist around, feeling his fingers drag against the slick internal walls of the angel's shuddering frame, knocking against bone and breaking through everything that held a human being together… until his fingers closed around something cool and pulsing weakly. Hello, what's this?

Sam clenched his fingers into a fist, crushing the orb within his grasp and all of the angel's muscles contorted violently; Castiel's back arched, his head was thrown back and from his open cavern of a mouth came a howl of primal, unintelligible suffering. So this is what makes you tick, hmm? Interesting. And I just what effect ripping it out of you would have.

He had no more strength and now the tears flowed freely because he had no more pride; there was no more will left within him and as his grace melted, sliding over Sam's fingers like water, Castiel felt consciousness slipping, felt himself spiraling down into the shadows of a downward stretching tunnel that dipped into the depths of the darkest places ever known to the souls of the living and the dead. Was Dean really there, or was it just another figment of his overloaded mind? Did his brother really not recognize him anymore? Had his Father really abandoned him?

He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me. O Lord by your hand save me from such men…

The panel was weakening under his relentless assault, cracking at the edges and ready to give way when Castiel's piercing cry rung out and something within Dean's mind quite literally snapped. It was audible, at least to him, like the snapping of the angel's bones and suddenly he was seeing nothing through a haze of red. His muscles acted upon their own accord and the hunter threw his entire body weight against the glass, falling along with a shower of glass into a pool of crimson that hadn't quite dried yet. It soaked through his clothes and was slick against his skin. He rose up, slipping once and dripping blood that wasn't his; bringing the shotgun around to point it at the one standing there with his arm buried in the angel's back, ready to pump this monster full of slugs-

"I want you to watch out for Sammy, okay?"

He froze.

"Yeah Dad, you know I will."

Just what had he assured his father of? What had he agreed to so long ago; what had he said that put John's mind at ease, knowing that both of his sons were going to be alright without him, that he could walk to the gates of slaughter, and willingly at that? Dean's fingers slipped against the trigger but not from blood this time and his hands were suddenly shaking. He knew what he'd promised; the words were burned forever into his memory, words he could hardly believed he could have uttered. He had promised his father that he would kill Sam if the younger Winchester ever went too far down the wrong path, if there was no way to bring him back to reality but he never thought that such circumstances would ever occur; he never thought that it would come to this.

Dean Winchester never knew that he would have to choose between his pain in the ass little brother and the angel that now seemed more of a brother nowadays than anything, between one of his kin infected with demon blood and a soldier of the Lord… between Sammy and Cas.

And all because of my stupid pride, because I thought that I knew my brother well enough to haul him back from whatever trap he would fall into, because I told myself I would defy the nightmares and never let those things come to pass, all because I was too damn stubborn to believe that there was something I couldn't protect Sam from.

But this was reality; this was no dream although it could pretty damn well be considered the mother of all waking nightmares. He was a hunter and he never faltered but this shot was open wide and he couldn't bring himself to pull the damn trigger because it wasn't a ghost or a demon that he was facing down but with that feral snarl on his face, Sam had never looked more animalistic. Dean brought the shotgun up to his shoulder again, aiming for the leg-

BANG.

The metal-plated ceiling arched upwards with the single shot that lodged a slug into its surface. A shotgun cartwheeled through the air, having been ripped out of its owner's hands and the man himself was flying backwards out of the glass cell and down the length of the hallway, thin fingers digging deeply into the cloth-covered shoulder and wrenching him backwards.

A grunt of pain mingled with a startled groan escaped Dean's mouth and all the breath left his lungs in a whoosh as his back hit the floor hard and strands of long, dark hair were tickling his face. The hunter automatically drew in his knees and sent his legs shooting outwards, into the individual's stomach and knocking the slight frame away. He looked up, winded, noting for some absurd reason that he was lying a good ten meters away from where Sam stood behind the glass, grinning appreciatively at the person who'd knocked his brother away. There's no way that was human.

"He's mine so don't you touch him," Ruby hissed getting to her feet, pitch black eyes staring into hazel green ones. The demon advanced, a shard of broken glass clenched in her hand. "And no man will take my Sammy away from me!"

Your Sammy? Dean's anger flared up to enormous proportions and he struggled to sit up, armed with nothing but his fists and feet, with his teeth and the boiling infuriation that sent strength that wasn't his own streaming across his chest and down his veins. He knew he wouldn't be able to win against a demon but at this moment he couldn't possibly care less because he wanted to choke the life out of the bitch that dared to lay claim to his brother like he was an animal, and somehow he knew, something deep down inside his gut was telling him that she had something to do with the state Sam was in right now… or maybe was it just denial speaking?

The girl she was possessing may have been brain dead, but demons were automatically more attuned to their senses, having spent too long in Hell to not appreciate every single real sensation- that wasn't pain- that could be perceived on Earth. Ruby heard the barest swish of clothing and whisper of movement, caught whiff of the lingering scent of some citrus flavored perfume and whirled around, arching backwards and away from the flash of the flickering lights against glinting amber-tinged steel.

Not nearly far away enough though. A hiss slipped past her lips as the sharp edge of a blade opened up a long, but shallow laceration across her torso. Fuck! Reeling backwards, Ruby spat out a curse and focused through the haze of pain draping across her vision, catching a glimpse of a silver crucifix swinging on its chain around a light brown neck and raised black eyes to meet a gaze equally dark. "Stupid bitch," the demon sneered, though warily keeping one eye on the dagger grasped tightly in the other's hand. "Little girls shouldn't play with sharp objects; you better put that down and stop trying to play the part of the Good Samaritan before someone gets hurt."

Marie twirled the light blade once with expert skill, eyes narrowed. "Bring it, demonio puta," the nurse challenged, ready for the counterattack. Guess what bitch, this 'little girl' spent more than enough time playing with sharp objects when her older brothers ran with the Latin Kings and since you aren't human, Hippocrates's "above all, do no harm to anyone" doesn't really apply to you.

"This isn't your fight," Ruby drawled, inching closer.

"Wrong." Marie lifted her chin and glared darkly at this creature of abomination hiding behind a young girl's flesh; she could see the darkness that the demon was composed of, could smell the sulfur of its existence and the crucifix burned as it lay against her skin in the presence of such evil. "I am a servant of the Lord and above all, my duty is to defend the Truth and the Word of the Almighty." It's in my blood. True, she had no earthly idea as to what task she'd been chosen for and why; true she was shaking inwardly with fear and prayed for the courage and strength to waste this unclean soul, but Gabriel's authoritative words and magnificent voice resounded within her mind.

"You have found favor in the eyes of Heaven, daughter of Eve. We have work for you."

The demon flicked a lock of dark hair over her shoulder, leaning slightly as if ready to spring forward, to pounce upon her prey. "Well, then I'd say that your duty is another way of saying death." Ruby smirked and lunged, hands outstretched and fingers claw-like, reaching for Marie's throat and Dean was scrambling to his feet; he couldn't let another innocent person die on his watch. Not her too, goddamn it!

She was ready for the approaching demon but before she had a chance to draw her foot back or shift her weight into a more defensive stance, Marie heard a whisper in her ear. What? In those sparse moments, time was suspended. A bead of sweat dropping from Dean's brow hung in the air, the hunter himself seemed frozen with one foot in midair and arm reaching outward for her; mouth opened in a silent yell. The demon girl's body was entirely in the air; her face contorted in a fearsome sneer and Marie turned her head, gazing upon the grisly scene of the angel being tortured to death in slow motion. Comprehension and stunned realization dawned upon her features. …Yes, I understand. Of course. I would do anything to serve God.

Pure white light flooded the entire underground bunker, emanating outwards from the nurse's petite frame and threw both Dean and Ruby backwards again, flinging hunter and demon sidelong on the ground. Dean immediately flung an arm over his eyes; Ruby was cowering on the ground and shielding her own face from the near-unbearable brightness and God only knows what Sam was doing. Every panel of glass shattered, the light bulbs burst into flame and what seemed to be a ribbon of lightening twisted its way down into the tunnel, crackling electric and fizzling like an exploding star, burning brighter and brighter-

It disappeared.

Dean took his hand away from his face and propped himself up as best as he could on one arm, squinting blearily at the young Latina woman's back. "Marie?" he managed to ask roughly and coughed, throat suddenly feeling like someone had stuffed five pounds of cotton candy into his mouth and down his esophagus. "Are you alright?"

She was facing away from him but he immediately knew it wasn't her. There was something different about the way her shoulders were squared, in the way she slowly turned her head and Dean knew that there hadn't been that glint of molten silver in her headstrong dark brown eyes before. "Gabriel," he whispered. Beside him, Ruby shrieked aloud and scooted backwards before scrambling to her feet, cutting her fingers to ribbons on the glass strewn all about in her haste to get away but Dean wasn't focused on her; as of right now he didn't give a damn if she went and crawled back into whatever hole she crawled out of because something registered in his mind right then. Sam. Castiel. Shit, no.

The archangel turned away and toward the other end of the hall, eyes landing on Sam, and then to Castiel's torn body. Terrible fury dawned on Marie's attractive features, physical manifestations of the archangel's rage at seeing his little brother tortured so and the nurse lifted a slender arm, thrusting a palm outward and toward the one covered in the angel's blood, toward the cause of the tears that had cut twin tracks through the grime on Castiel's cheeks, that had ripped him open like a butcher setting to work on a slab of meat. Sam was slammed backwards, hand jerking out of Castiel's back and head banging hard against the wall with a tremendous 'crack'.

"No!" Dean hollered, struggling to rise as his brother slumped to the ground, knocked out or possibly even dead, he couldn't tell from this distance. Gabriel was moving swiftly across the length of the hallway, feet crunching over broken glass and the hunter felt panic drenching his body in a cold sweat because he didn't know how pissed off archangels reacted, and it was clear that Gabriel was even beyond that point. Got to stop him- He couldn't let Sam become a piece of charcoal or a pile of ashes, no matter how twisted the younger Winchester seemed to be at this point he was still his little brother, he was still his Sammy.

"Gabriel, stop!" Dean was running, arms and legs pumping furiously, more urgent than he'd ever been before because goddamn it, he wasn't about to let this happen! Vaguely, it crossed his mind, the futility of him, a mere human being, telling an archangel of the Lord to do anything, but at this point it didn't matter; he was desperate and Marie's slim form was standing above Sam now, her brown hand was lifting dangerously-

"Brother."

It was a broken, shaky whisper, a fragile exhale of a word but somehow above the pounding of his own heart Dean heard it. Apparently the archangel heard his brother's barely audible plea as well because Marie turned, and with a quick flick of the wrist, the chains binding Castiel tight were flung away and the angel's limp body pitched forward, directly into Dean's arms.

Holy- The stench of blood hit his nostrils full force and the hunter couldn't help it, he gagged upon seeing the torn open back; Dean forced the bile down and shut his eyes tightly against catching a glimpse of the angel's spine. Castiel had already lost probably more than half of the six liters of blood that circulated throughout the human body and though he'd never been to medical school or even passed the biology course in high school, the hunter knew that the body within his arms needed go under the knife immediately; there was no other way to fix this situation. God, please don't let it be too late; it can't be too late-

Yes, Dean Winchester was praying because kneeling there, pools of blood soaking through his jeans and holding the rapidly cooling body of his angel's vessel and with his brother lying off to the side, one twitch away from being reduced to nothing but a smear on the floor by the wrath of an archangel, there was nothing else to do but pray for help from the Almighty himself. With eyes squeezed shut, he couldn't see anything that was happening and so all he could do was clutch Castiel's still form to his chest all the tighter, protectively covering the angel with his own body as the world seemed to spin like someone had taken the entire terrestrial ball and shaken it like a snow globe.

"Sir? Sir, are you alri- Holy Mother of God!"

"Someone get a gurney out here, stat!"

"What the hell is this?!"

Dean raised his head, blinking against the strobe lights and his arms fell uselessly, bonelessly to his sides as they took Castiel, strapping the angel onto a gurney on his front with his head turned to the side, oxygen mask firmly attached to his pale, bloodless face. Exhausted hazel green eyes took in the frantic men and women dressed in pale blue and green scrubs scurrying around, yelling about morphine and the OR, and transfusions of blood- none of it made sense to him anymore. It was a nightmarish scene of overly bright colors and sounds that kept fading in and out of audition, growing louder and softer in volume until he couldn't stand it- but upon turning, the hunter caught sight of something that made everything else seem almost normal in comparison and he fell to his knees, the rain washing away the blood on his hands as a sob rose up in the back of his throat.

Gabriel stood at the entrance to the Emergency Room, still inhabiting Marie and simply standing there, watching as Castiel was taken into the hospital. There was no expression on the nurse's features and the archangel was completely dry thanks to the awning above- save for what Dean would swear upon his life was a single, solitary drop of moisture falling from a dark brown eye tinged with silver.

A/N: I am SO SORRY for the late update! I hope that this chapter makes up for the long wait. Hope you enjoyed it!