Claire awoke to a headache. Not just any headache. Her head was pounding, throbbing, pulsing. She let out a whimper and instantly regretting opening her lips. With a lurch, she sat up right, leaned over, and wretched. Soothing hands were immediately there to push back her hair, and she felt a bowl pushed into her hands as she vomited again. The hands brushing back her sweat-soaked hair were large and callused, and she could hear a masculine voice murmuring reassurances through the pain and the sickness.

"Dad?" she asked and she gagged again. It had always been her father who had held her hair when she was sick; her mother was too prone to get queasy herself to be much help. Even as she had called to him, she knew it wouldn't be her father. She tried to open her eyes, but the dim light in the room seemed to be blinding to her overly-sensitive eyes. She quickly shut them again, her whole body shaking from fatigue.

"It's me, Claire," the voice said a little louder in her ear. Matthias' voice. Tears of relief welled in Claire's eyes.

"Get lost, Matty," she weakly joked as she fought off another wave of nausea pinching her stomach. "It's embarrassing for a girl to be seen like this."

She felt his warm lips press a chaste kiss to her temple. "I do not mind, Claire." The girl felt a warm, happy sensation in her stomach which quickly morphed into queasiness.

"Here," stated a second voice. She felt Matthias shift as he turned slightly to the other person in the room and then a cool cloth was pressed to her forehead.

"Great, I have a whole audience," she groaned, again trying to open her eyes. She managed to squint up at Sam Winchester who was hovering none-too-helpfully over her and Matthias. As if being violently sick in front of one cute guy was bad enough, now Claire had two handsome men staring worriedly down at her. "My life sucks," she whimpered. She glanced down and frowned. She had gotten sick all over the bed before they had managed to hand her the bowl. At least it was that bastard's bed she thought wryly, her mind flickering to memories of Dean. She closed her eyes and pressed her head against the washcloth in Matthias' hand.

"Are you going to be sick again?" asked Sam. She managed to shake her head no, and she felt the bowl being removed from her hands. More tears filled her eyes, but these were tears of embarrassment. It was mortifying to have these two fussing over her like mother hens while she sat reeking of sick. "Want to get cleaned up?" he asked again, apparently reading her thoughts, and she managed a weak nod.

She stood up, her knees wobbly. Matthias quickly moved to her side, holding her elbow to steady her. Sam handed him an over-sized plaid shirt and a pair of worn flannel pajama pants before the pair headed down the hall to the showers. "You and I must talk about your earlier actions, Claire," Matthias began once they were out of earshot of the hunter. His voice was clipped and she knew he meant business.

"Not now, Matty," Claire groaned, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout and trying to look pitiable. She didn't want to have this conversation, not while she still felt so washed out from the earlier ordeal. She pulled away from him, edging closer towards the showers in the bunker's bathroom. "Give me a break. I feel disgusting."

The angel's frown made it clear that he did not appreciate her attempt to avoid the subject. "I forbid you from ever attempting such a foolish thing again," he ordered, plowing forward with the conversation.

She gave him a smirk, trying to muster up the energy to get her sass back. "Easy; there's no more grace left," she said. Her body felt oddly hollow. She had never been aware of Castiel's residual grace until it was gone. The emptiness left her feeling almost light-headed. Another tenuous connection to her lost father had snapped.

"Claire, this is not a joking matter," chided Matthias. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder to emphasize his point. "My life is not worth losing yours."

"Don't say that!" retorted Claire, biting her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Her whole body ached and she felt her carefully constructed persona crumbling around her. She was tired of crying, of being so damned weak. The harder she fought her emotions, the more the tears welled up in her eyes.

"You humans are so...unique...so amazing," murmured Matthias. He cupped her face in his hands, smiling down at her. "I was created to simply be an instrument for the will of Heaven. But you, Claire, you carry so much life and purpose in you. You are truly beautiful."

Claire felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She shuffled her feet, and tried not to squirm too much. She gave him a shy smile and opened her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Claire glanced over Matthias' shoulder to see Sam standing there, his mouth pinched into a rather paternal-looking frown. Her cheeks heated up even more and she took a step back from Matthias' touch.

"Yes, Sam Winchester?" asked Matthias, oblivious to any sense of embarrassment. He stared placidly up at the taller man.

Sam's jaw twitched as he struggled to figure out what to say. He glanced between the two teenagers, from Claire's blushing face to Matthias' absentminded countenance. Claire gave Matthias a gentle push backward, so that he was in the hallway. "I'm going to get my shower now," she said, and shut the door on the two men.

Matthias looked momentarily confused. Sam let out a sigh. 'Were all angels so hopelessly clueless?' he thought wryly. He patted the teenager on the shoulder.

"Come on, let's head to the library," he said. When in doubt, there was always research.

xxxx

Crowley raised his eyebrows inquisitively as Castiel followed Dean into the room. The binding-spell manacles hand been altered so that they no longer bound his hands together. Now they hung on his wrists looking almost like cuffs or gauntlets. The angel smirked when he noticed Crowley's look.

"You two make up?" purred Crowley, sounding simultaneously sarcastic and disgusted.

"It was always a part of the plan," Dean replied with an indifferent shrug.

Crowley let out a derisive snort. "Yes, but I thought we would be brainwashing him first, Squirrel. He is so susceptible to it after all," he sneered, his eyes narrowing as he watched the angel's reaction to his jab. Castiel blanched and opened his mouth to retort, but Dean cut them both short.

"I swear if you two start up I will gut both of you and use your intestines for violin strings," he growled, and Crowley knew that he meant it. The subdued King of Hell turned back to the angel and grinned menacingly.

"So he's a part of the club, then? Should we teach him the secret handshake and the password?"

"I do not wish to shake hands with you, Crowley," retorted Castiel, receiving an eye-roll from the demon in response.

"You are an idiot, Feathers."

Dean took a deep breath, feeling the influence of the First Blade warping his irritation into a rage. The other men sensed his growing ire and promptly shut up, meekly looking over at him.

"Thank you," Dean hissed tersely. "And you're the one that pointed out that we would need Cas' help in the first place, Crowley."

The demon pursed his lips. While that statement was technically true, he hadn't actually planned for the eventuality. He had only used that point to sway Dean in favor of his argument. He knew Castiel would use this improvement in his and Dean's relationship to try to convince Dean that he was still good deep-down inside and to resist the Blade's influence. And Crowley did not want to lose his Knight. With his rule of hell slipping post-Abaddon, he couldn't afford the angel mucking up his plans. The bond between Dean and Castiel needed to stay broken.

"Fine, angel," he simpered, smiling wickedly has he prepared to drive another wedge between them. "Are you ready to help us storm the gates of Heaven?"