Sam nearly knocked his laptop off the table when his phone began to ring.

He had just set up the GPS tracker in an attempt to get a fix on Dean's phone. Sam could only think of two credible reasons that Dean wouldn't have picked up or returned his call; either he was off having some sort of macho crisis (which, if that was the case, Sam was going to beat the crap out of him) or he was in serious trouble.

"Dean?" He hadn't bothered checking the caller ID before answering, mentally kicking himself after the fact. The whole being hunted by angels thing had his nerves on a razor's edge.

"Close, but no cigar," the all-too-cheerful voice on the other end chirped.

Sam sighed. "Garth, I'm a little tied up at the moment. Can we talk about the scroll later?"

"Well actually," Garth's voice cracked over the line. "still got nada on the scroll. I was callin' coz I've got some pretty clear demonic omens right under your noses."

"In Whitefish? Garth," Sam huffed. "are you still tracking us? We told you we weren't exactly available at the moment. You got anyone else in the area?"

"I know, I know," Garth sighed. "There's no one else besides you two. Now, naturally, I tried calling Dean first, but his line was goin' straight to voice mail."

"Yeah," Sam said, beginning to get irritated. "That's kind of why I'm a little busy-"

"Hold your horses, ya idjit," Garth interjected, making the hairs on the back of Sam's neck bristle. "I did a little cross-checkin' on the GPS. Dean's phone is right on top of the location the papers show the disappearances've been happening. So, either your brother's already there handling it solo, or-"

"Or he's in serious trouble," Sam's heart sank. He was almost certain that Dean had gone out to a bar last night. It was the Dean thing to do if he was having some sort of meltdown. "Garth, gimme the location..."

He wrote down every word Garth gave him and ended the call, startling when he turned around and found Cas staring at him from just a couple of feet behind. The fallen angel was already dressed, angel blade secured in a holster at his hip.

"Jesus, Cas!" He ignored the scathing look it got him from the former angel. Sometimes he forgot- mojo or not, Cas could be a freaking ninja when he wanted to be.

"I'm going with you," Cas intoned, his eyes steady on Sam's as he spoke.

"No way," Sam shot back. "Dean would kill me if you got hurt."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, drawing himself up and squaring his shoulders back, his mouth a tight line of outrage as he did his best to get in Sam's face. Despite the height difference, it was still mostly effective.

"Sam, I have been a soldier longer than your species has been a thought. I have fought literally countless wars. I stood at your brother's side at the End and fought my way through Hell for years against legions of demons. Your brother has faith in me because I am 'bad-ass'" the ex-angel finger-quoted "and I will not stand by as though I were some invalid when I could be at your side in your brother's absence."

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, holding Castiel's intense gaze for a long, terse moment before withering beneath it. He knew Castiel had a point. Despite the fact that Castiel was still getting accustomed to a lot of things, becoming human didn't make him any less a warrior with thousands of years of experience.

He knew that if Dean were in his position right now, he'd probably have a fit, arguing that just because Cas had been a soldier of Heaven didn't mean he had to put his ass on the line for them every time. Sam didn't have it in him to argue with Castiel after his righteous speech, though.

"All right," Sam sighed, backing down. "You can come, but try not to forget- you're not the Man of Steel anymore."

"I wasn't asking permission," Cas murmured as he swung his jacket on. "And I don't understand that reference," he added sheepishly.

Sam smirked as he gathered his own equipment. Some things never changed.

[XXXXXX]

Dean woke slowly to the late morning sun that filtered through the boarded up window that provided the only source of light in the dingy room. He opened his eyes, staring at the warped plywood ceiling, motes of dust swirling in the eddies of his exhale.

With a wince and a groan, he lifted his head and found that he was seated in a sturdy wooden chair. An attempt to wipe his eyes revealed the reason that his shoulders were sore- his wrists were bound behind him with heavy twine, not allowing for much movement beyond rubbing his wrists raw.

"Yep," he confirmed to the empty room. "Definitely getting too old for waking up tied to a chair."

He glanced around the sparse room, trying to orient himself and determine his current whereabouts. It looked like some sort of office, probably a warehouse or a construction site. It had the musty smell of old cardboard boxes and rot, so he was betting on the former. In addition to the chair he was tied to, there was an old metal desk with one leg missing, leaning haphazardly to one side and a filing cabinet that had been divested of its drawers, papers and manila folders strewn about the floor.

He tried to recall the previous night through the lingering effects of the alcohol induced fog. He had gone to the bar, and...

Oh, right. 'Hannah'.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, turning his eyes pointedly toward the ceiling and the Heavens beyond. "You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?"

It would just figure that the cosmos would throw this at him right in the midst of the biggest identity crisis of his life. That or God was seriously just out to fuck with him. Either was plausible at this point; he was Dean Winchester, after all.

Things had been going good with Hannah right up until they got to her 'place'. Despite being three sheets to the wind, he had driven them in the Impala, following her directions and finding himself in the industrial district of the town.

He wasn't a moron. He knew from the moment they took the turn toward the rows of warehouses and railway ghostyards that something was fishy. He'd been drunk and cocky, though, playing along. A hunt was almost as good as getting laid, he reasoned at the time. At least he wasn't 'broken'.

True, he'd come mostly unarmed, apart from Ruby's knife and the Colt 1911 in the glove compartment. The gun probably wouldn't do him much good, but the knife, if he could distract her long enough...

"Cristo," he spat once he had put his Baby in park.

Hannah recoiled, hissing, her black eyes narrowing in contempt as she lunged at him.

He reached for the knife sheathed at the small of his back, but found himself yanked out of the car a split second before he could close his fingers around it.

The bitch had at least three accomplices waiting for them at the warehouse, now holding him by his arms as Hannah sauntered over to him, a darkly seductive smile on her full lips. It would have been sexy as hell if it weren't for those coal black eyes.

"Dean Winchester," she purred, sauntering around the front of the car toward him as he struggled against the two demons holding his arms. "Man, you're dumber than you look, and that's really saying something."

"You know," Dean grinned, lifting his chin in a smug gesture of defiance. "somewhere out there, there's a tree busting its ass to produce oxygen so you can breathe. I think you owe it an apology."

The demon smirked wryly, folding her arms.

"You probably know what I want," she said, tilting her head to one side and giving him a contemplative look.

"Well that's just not gonna happen now, is it?" Dean tried again to jerk his arms away from his demon captors. "I mean, I was all for it, you know. Beauty is skin deep, but damn, ugly is to the bone!"

Hannah rolled her eyes, losing patience. "Where's the angel?"

Shit. Seriously? Freaking Heaven and now Hell on their asses? Cas better feel fucking lucky that Dean liked him or this could go way south.

"Let me consult my magic 8-Ball," Dean glared. "Oh, sources say go back to hell, bitch."

The demon just smiled, walking toward the roll up door of the nearest warehouse.

"Given your history," she said as the sound of her voice receded past him, "your brother won't be far behind you. How long do you think it will take him to track you down? A few hours? A day, tops?"

Dean growled, his struggles renewed. "Not if I gank you first!"

He felt himself manhandled roughly as his captors turned him around, facing the demon woman once more.

"Shut him up," she said idly as she pulled up the door.

He remembered the rush of adrenaline as he fought for all he was worth, doing as much damage as he could to his captors, and then darkness as he was overpowered. It was just embarrassing, really, getting owned by a handful of bottom feeders.

He sighed, trying to roll his shoulders into some sort of comfortable position, wincing as the twine bit into his wrists.

Come on, Winchester, he thought to himself. You're not this much of a wimp.

The twine was rough and bound tight enough to make his fingers cold and tingly, but he could still move them. It would take a while, but the material was thready enough he thought he might be able to pick his way through it, breaking it a fibre at a time.

Without Ruby's knife it wasn't going to be easy getting out in one piece. Fortunately, demons weren't the brightest bunch, as a rule. They hadn't incapacitated him (yet), and though he wasn't as quick as Sam, he knew the exorcism by heart just the same. It was going to be tricky, but he had little other choice if he wanted to get out of this alive.

He'd just have to work fast, and pray that Sam hadn't started freaking out like a mother hen over the fact he'd basically disappeared without a word and not shown back up.

[XXXXXX]

Sam winced when he saw the Impala parked half up on the sidewalk with the driver's side door swung wide open outside the old warehouse, but at least he knew they were on the right track. Castiel gave him a strange look when he withdrew the keys from the ignition, quietly shutting the door.

He shrugged, then turned to look at the dilapidated warehouse they'd found themselves in front of.

It looked old, worn down. The exterior was corrugated steel, covered in layers of spray paint from who knew how far back, the few windows high up were mostly broken out, yellowed with dust and age. The roll-up door of the loading dock was standing open and inviting, clearly not a trap. Oh no, an invitation like that? Yep, definitely not a trap.

"Crap," Sam sighed.

The fallen angel hung near his side, giving him a questioning look.

"Pretty much a guarantee that Dean's in there somewhere," Sam explained.

"It's a trap," Cas monotoned.

Sam inched toward the door, nodding for Castiel to take the other side. The angel picked up the cue, drawing his blade as he crept around to flank right. If anyone was waiting to greet them at the sides, he reasoned, they would cover and take them down before they could get taken out themselves.

Sam knew that the gun wouldn't do much good against a demon, but Dean had the knife, leaving Cas as the only one between the two of them with a weapon capable of ending a demon permanently. The gun was more of a distraction so that Castiel could take them out. Castiel was handy in a knife fight, even without his angelic abilities. He and Dean had both seen him fight before, and it was nothing short of impressive.

They weren't disappointed. Two demons were waiting for them in the gloom inside the loading dock, pouncing on them as they rounded their corners.

Sam fired two shots, one in each side of the demon's chest as it rushed him. It barely slowed him down, but it was long enough for Sam to hear Cas's demon shriek in pain, followed by the familiar flickering and crackle of energy that signaled the hellspawn's death.

He followed the shots with a round-house kick to the remaining demon's jaw, which was thwarted mid-strike when the demon grabbed his foot with both hands, throwing him off balance and swinging him into a pile of boxes.

He regained his senses quickly, pulling himself out of the debris just in time to see Castiel rush in low at the demon, driving the angel blade into its throat and ending it in a spurt of crimson.

"Sam," Castiel called, cool and collected. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just gimme a sec."

"We don't have a 'sec', Sam," the former angel chided. "We need to move. Now."

Sam nodded, pulling himself up and dusting himself off. Fortunately, years of practice had made him an expert at getting tossed into shit, and he managed to walk away from this particular fight with nothing more than a slightly sore knee. It hurt, but it didn't impede him too much, so he was good to go.

He checked the GPS on his phone one last time to be sure, and saw that they were pretty much right on top of Dean's signal.

"We should split up," Castiel suggested. "We'll cover more ground."

Sam shook his head. "No way. We stick together. We don't know how many of them there are. If we split up we're just inviting a swarm."

Castiel considered this for a moment, then simply nodded- heading toward the upper level.

As soon as they crested the top landing, they were met with the sounds of a struggle from somewhere not far down the long, wide hallway.

Sam raised his pistol, the pad of his index finger resting lightly on the trigger guard as he inched his way forward, keeping his aim steady over Castiel's left shoulder. The former angel kept a few paces ahead, blade in his right hand, tensed and ready.

The nearer they got to the end of the hallway and the faint glow of natural light that filtered through a door to their right, the clearer the sounds coming from around the corner became.

"Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et- OOF!" That was Dean's voice. Sam could hear the impact and the crash that followed the words of the exorcism, followed by a howl of rage as the incantation continued. "Congregatio et secta diabolica!"

Castiel turned and nodded sharply at Sam, then dashed the last distance toward the door.

"Cas! Wait!" Sam hissed. But it was too late, the fallen angel had already made his way to the door and disappeared beyond.

Sam huffed in irritation and worry, then jogged to catch up.

One demon was already on the ground when he came through the door into the dusty office.

The other was halfway there, falling away from Castiel's blade.

Dean was tangled in what looked like the remains of a metal work desk, a dopey grin plastered on his face, covered in blood and dust and God knew what else.

"Took you long enough," he slurred over a split lip.

And then he promptly lost consciousness.

Castiel looked to Sam and raised an eyebrow.

Sam sighed, holstering his gun and moving to hoist his idiot brother out of the rubble. "I'll drag his ass downstairs. Who knows if there are more of them, so keep a look out."

They didn't encounter any resistance on the way out, however. Sam loaded Dean into the back of the Impala and Castiel climbed in with him, cradling Dean's head in his lap

Sam sighed as he got in behind the wheel, feeling like a freaking chauffeur or something.

He smiled, though, knowing that Cas was watching over his brother. It took a lot to knock Dean down, but he didn't seem to have any severe injuries when he'd checked him over before hauling him out. He figured the stubborn son of a bitch would survive. They'd both been through worse than a few demons using them as punching bags.

"Cas," he called back once they got out of the industrial district. "See if you can wake him up, if he's got a head injury, probably not the best idea to let him take a nap..."

Castiel said nothing, but a few moments later he heard Dean groaning from the back seat, followed by what almost sounded like a coherent cuss word.

"The hell'm I doin' in the back seat," Dean mumbled, trying and failing to sound authoritative.

"Being rescued," Sam offered back. "You're welcome."

He heard the movement behind him as Dean pulled himself up. "Yeah? Well who the hell asked you to? I had the sons of bitches..."

Sam glared into the rear view mirror at his jackass brother.

"Don't you bitch-face me, bitch."

"Dean," Sam sighed in frustration.

"I'd've been fine Sam," Dean growled back. "You shouldn't have come down here. In case you hadn't noticed, it was a trap. They're after Cas."

"It was a poor trap," Castiel observed in an off-hand tone, but it didn't cover the irritation or the relief that Sam could hear in his voice.

"Pull over," Dean ordered.

"No, Dean," Sam huffed. "We need to get back to the cabin."

"I am not riding in the back seat of my own car," Dean bitched.

"Deal. I'm not stopping."

"Sammy," Dean growled in a warning tone.

"I said no, Dean! We're not stopping until it's safe."

"Dean," Castiel admonished. "You are injured, and there may be other demons in the area."

"Oh, now you're taking his side," Dean blurted petulantly.

"I'm not taking anyone's side," the angel retorted.

"And what the hell were you thinking, Sammy?" Dean was yelling now. "We're supposed to be protecting Cas, not dragging him into our God damned fights!"

"I didn't drag him, Dean!" Sam was really beginning to get tired of Dean's shit. He pulled this crap every freaking time. He knew it was a way that Dean let off frustration when he was worried, but seriously! Cas proved he could take care of himself back there. It pissed him off that Castiel had only that morning preached about Dean's faith in him, and then Dean goes and pulls this crap on him?

"I would have come regardless, Dean." Castiel's tone was low and foreboding. Apparently the fallen angel's patience with the elder Winchester was wearing thin as well. "As I told your brother before we came to find you, I have been fighting for thousands of years before you."

"Yeah, but that was when you had your mojo," Dean countered. "You're not fucking Superman anymore, Cas! You can't just go walking into crap!"

"I am well aware of my limitations, Dean," Castiel said, starting to sound truly pissed.

"Are you?" Dean prodded the pissy angel. "Because if I remember right, last time you got in a scrap you got yourself sliced up pretty good."

"And I survived it," Castiel growled. "As I have survived just now."

"Look," Sam said, trying to derail this before it came to blows. "Can you two please knock it off? At least until we get back to the cabin?"

"Shut up, Sam," rebounded at him in stereo from both occupants of the back seat.

Sam sighed, getting the sudden urge to bang his head against the steering wheel as his brother and the fallen angel started in on each other again. Was it always going to be like this? God, he sure hoped not. Maybe he shouldn't have had Cas wake Dean up just yet, after all.

.

(A/N: Whew! Sorry for the long delay between chapters! It's been kind of a crazy week on top of getting a surge of inspiration from the muse that guides my hand on Ride the Lightning. I did not forget this verse, though! Thanks to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed so far, and an extra especially big squishy thanks to Ninjakittee for her diligent beta work! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!)