Chapter Twenty

Castiel wasn't really the 'glass is half-full' type of person, or...angel...whatever he was nowadays, but he was relieved that he had managed to obtain two of the three main ingredients that were needed in this cure. Sure, the last one could easily be called the most difficult to retrieve, but he was making good time. It'd been only two days since he'd obtained the Nephilim's bones. He hoped that he would soon have the cure completed.

He had finally found the name of Chamuel's closest friend, who had known him since they had joined the same garrison together. Amriel, whom Castiel had had connections with in the past. They'd been cordial with each other, and that gave him enough hope to find the courage to arrange a meeting with him.

Castiel had contacted him through angel radio. It had been difficult, but Amriel had thankfully agreed. He now stood rigidly in the dark forest where the other angel had instructed him to be. Castiel had a lingering feeling that this could be a trap, but he was willing to take chances.

"Brother."

The voice meeting his ears was warm with greeting, but there was a hint of cautiousness within its tone. Castiel turned, and his blue gaze locked with the intense sea green eyes of a towering African-American man. He loomed over him, possibly taller than even Sam. If this angel wanted to attack him, all he would have to do was make his move.

"Amriel?" Castiel inquired.

"That's me," The other angel responded. "I haven't gone by any other name since the beginning of time." He strode forward and clapped a massive hand onto Castiel's trench coat-clad shoulder. "And how are you, brother?"

Castiel was rather surprised at Amriel's hospitality. "I'm fine, considering the circumstances," He answered. "And you?"

"Grand, my friend, grand." Amriel adjusted the collar of his large black suit jacket and crossed his arms over his chest, studying Castiel intently. "I've seen you in this vessel before...are you meaning to tell me you've been using this very same host for almost six years?"

"Give or take." Castiel replied sheepishly, unable to erase the smile on his face. It'd been awhile since he'd been greeted like this. But a small part of him was still on alert, just waiting for the attack.

"So, down to business, I suppose," Amriel laced his fingers behind his back and began to pace back and forth across the forest floor. "You called me here to discuss Chamuel's whereabouts or how to summon him, correct?"

"Yes," Castiel answered. "I...need his help...in a rather dire situation." It felt wrong, lying to Chamuel's closest friend about why exactly he needed him, but he was desperate enough to do so without feeling too much guilt.

"'Dire situation'?" Amriel pressed.

Castiel tried not to show his anxiety as he replied, as honestly as he could without revealing the truth. "A deadly disease has begun to spread, it has only plagued humanity once before. From what I've heard, Chamuel was involved in the vanquishing of the disease the first time. I need his help to overcome it once more."

Amriel nodded, clearly believing Castiel's claims. "Of course. He is usually involved in curing diseases and demolishing plagues." He stopped pacing and locked gazes with Castiel. "I have been in contact with him ever since the fall. But something seems to be troubling him...I haven't met with him in person, we've been communicating via cell phone." He shoved his hand in his pocket and revealed a glimmering black phone. "I must admit I'm not entirely skilled with it."

Castiel chuckled. "I doubt any of us are."

Amriel shoved his phone back into his pocket. "I think it would be easier if I simply gave you his summoning sigil, if that's all right by you. Chamuel doesn't take well to receiving calls from unknown numbers. He's very cautious, if you understand."

"Of course," Castiel responded, trying his best to not sound impatient. The sooner he came in contact with Chamuel, the better. Even if it meant stealing his Grace. Castiel's flesh still crawled whenever that thought crossed through his mind. It just felt...wrong...as it should.

After an awkward minute of silence, Castiel had a slip of paper with an intricately-drawn sigil shoved into his hand. He studied it intently, examining the certain curves and four separate quadrants to place candles and Enochian symbols.

"Thank you." Castiel told him honestly. "Truly, it means a lot."

"You have no need to thank me." Amriel replied with an easy grin. "It's for the greater good. And that's what we do, correct? Some of us seem to have forgotten our purpose lately..."

"Don't I know it..." Cass murmured sadly. "Well, Amriel...I'm afraid I must be going." He wanted to say something...just something to vaguely apologize for his plans for Chamuel, but his mind was a blank slate.

"Of course." Amriel responded. "Farewell, brother."

He was gone before Castiel had a chance to get one word out.

It was almost like there was an invisible force pushing against Sam's brain, urging him to sleep. And he was losing the strength he'd gathered to resist it. Weariness coated every corner of his mind, and he continuously had to pinch his arm to keep himself awake.

Apparently, his fatigue was noticeable. Corinne, who seemed to be hanging around Dean a little more than she should, had told him multiple times to get some rest. But, of course, Sam had refused. He wasn't going to surrender to the disease. He was beginning to feel feverish, which he could tell wasn't a good sign. Once Dean got real sick, that was when the memories started getting bad.

It'd been almost three days since he'd slept, and he'd scarcely left the hospital. Once, to buy a coffee that didn't taste like bitter hospital water, and then another time, when Corinne insisted he get some fresh air. All he'd ended up doing was driving around the parking lot for about fifteen minutes before coming back.

Dean was getting paler, and Sam was surprised that that was even humanly possible. He looked like one of the ghosts that they'd busted over the years, except in a living, breathing body. His heart rate was gradually going down, and Sam couldn't help but start to lose hope.

Now, as he sat in the chair beside Dean's bed, which had basically become his home in the last few days, his thoughts began to wander to a life without Dean. It'd happened numerous times since they'd begun to hunt together after he'd left college, but he always came back. This time...Sam wasn't sure what would happen if Dean didn't make it.

He exhaled sharply and scrubbed a hand across his face, straightening and stretching his spine. He didn't want to think about what may be. He had to live in the moment, and if Castiel succeeded in gathering the ingredients for the cure, that was all they needed to help his brother.

He just wished Castiel would keep him updated on his progress.

Sam pushed away any pessimistic thoughts and instead focused on his latest memory. His fight with Dad before leaving for Stanford...a no-brainer, obviously. But it wasn't just a bad memory. It'd been part of his heaven when he and Dean had gone upstairs.

After a few minutes of thought, Sam had a conclusion. It wasn't the fight that had been his heaven, it had more specifically been leaving the life that he'd always loathed. His hell was the worst battle him and his father had ever had, and the fact that he had left his family. It should've been more obvious to him.

He sat back in his chair and glanced around the room. It was bizarre...when Dean had first been admitted here to the ICU, this place had seemed cold and foreboding. But now...it was almost familiar. Still cold, but not as much anymore. He caught sight of a glass of water perched on the bedside table and vaguely realized that a nurse must have brought it for him.

The problem was...he didn't remember receiving it.

He probably would have if he wasn't so tired. For what felt like the millionth time that day, Sam's eyelids drooped, threatening to close completely, and he blinked rapidly, struggling to keep them open.

"I keep telling you to go to sleep," A voice that had now become familiar in the past few days remarked. "You gonna do it sometime?"

Sam had been so out of it that he hadn't noticed Corinne approach Dean's bedside. She was now checking the numbers on his heart monitor, which meant absolutely nothing to Sam. She shot him an amused look, but he could see concern etched in the lines of her face.

"I'm fi—"

"And don't say you're fine," Corinne chided. "Because I haven't seen your eyes shut for more than a minute in three days. Look, Mr. Angus, I know we just met a couple of days ago, but it won't be long until I go mother-mode on your ass."

A smile was playing on her lips, and Sam returned it sheepishly. He had to admit, he was losing the battle to sleep, and he supposed he would have to succumb to the need sooner or later, even if it meant entering another memory. "You're right," He murmured, looking to Dean anxiously. "But Dean—"

"Your brother will be just fine." Corinne replied. "I promise. And if he miraculously wakes up while you're asleep, I can guarantee that you'll be the first to know." Her words were humorous, but Sam caught a hint of melancholy in her tone. "Dean is in good hands, Mr. Angus, trust me."

After a pause, Sam responded. "Okay." He relented with a sigh.

But he didn't want to sleep with the demon still perfectly able to take advantage of him while he was out. So, he swiftly whipped up a solution as well as his groggy mind could manage. He grabbed hold of the glass of water and slipped out the rosary that he always kept near him just in case he needed it.

This time, he did.

Sam hid the cup behind the bed and secretly dropped the rosary into the water. It made virtually no sound as it plopped into the cool liquid. And then, under his breath, he whispered the Latin incantation needed to make the water holy. "Exorcizo te, creatura aquae. In nomine dei patris omnipotintes."

"What was that, Mr. Angus?" Corinne inquired, looking to him and raising her eyebrows.

"Nothing," Sam said quickly while downing as much water as he could. Inwardly, he felt the demon writhe in agony and pass out cold. Relief rushed through him...now he could sleep with no worries.

"And you can call me Sam." He added before allowing his eyes to slip shut. He caught Corinne's answer before completely losing his grip on consciousness.

"Okay...Sam."

Crowley closed his eyes, his entire body trembling as shivers coursed through his system, causing a cold sweat to form on his skin. Lola had gone out...again. It was the fifth time this week, and it was only Tuesday. Normal Crowley would have thought something fishy was up, but right now...he wasn't his normal self.

After all, he trusted Lola. Or more...he wanted to trust Lola. So he said nothing whenever she returned after being gone for a suspicious amount of time.

Another shiver traveled through him and he crossed his arms tighter across his chest. Was this what it was like when humans contracted an illness? It'd been so long since he'd been mortal...now it just felt like he'd been a demon for his entire life.

So, now, as Crowley sat against the frame of the elaborate bed, practically destroyed by his and Lola's...activity, he aimlessly watched a rerun of The Notebook on the flatscreen hotel television set. He was tuned into it enough to have some emotion rolling through him as old Ryan Gosling read the story of their life to his amnesiac wife, but he was rather distracted.

What could he do about Dean? The poor chap was dying, comatose in a hospital bed, while his brother slowly surrendered to Mortem per somniatis as well, due to the idiotic actions of his so-called 'reliable' demon assistant.

Speaking of the demon...Crowley figured it was about time to check in with him. The sooner he gathered the ingredients to prevent Castiel from collecting them, the sooner he would be able to make the perfect Heaven with Dean Winchester. Maybe that would cut off that bizarre human feeling of what Crowley realized was guilt.

He reached over and retrieved his cell phone from the nightstand, nearly knocking over the lamp with his clumsy movements. He scrolled through his contacts with a sweaty thumb and found the name 'Moose' almost immediately.

He pressed the call button and just before the first ring sounded, he hoped to the deepest depths of Hell that it wouldn't be the real Sam Winchester who answered. The buzz on the other end of the line met his ears, and he held his breath.

A few rings had sounded, and there was still no answer. Crowley exhaled through his nose, annoyed, and impatiently tapped a finger on the nightstand beside the bed he lounged on. "Come on, come on..." He muttered under his breath.

The last ring sounded, and the call went to voicemail. Crowley let out another huff of irritation and pulled the phone away from his ear. "There are two of you who are eligible to answer...are both of you too busy for my time? Disrespectful." He honestly didn't care that he was talking to himself like a madman.

But the demon must have just missed his call, so he once again selected Sam's name in his contacts and pressed his cell phone to his ear again, clenching his teeth together restlessly.

Someone had to answer...right?

Corinne was now two beds down from Dean, tending to a patient who had miraculously survived a bear mauling two weeks ago. He was in a precarious condition, hovering on the edge of falling into a coma.

She had been told to keep him under with a heavy sedative. If he regained consciousness, there was a possibility that he would collapse into the coma that they were doing their best to prevent if he became exposed to the pain of his injuries.

So as Corinne gradually slipped the sedative into his IV bag with the syringe attached the tube, she heard the distinct sound of a cell phone's ringtone. She cast a quick glance around, trying to locate the sound. Quickly, she focused back on her work and disconnected the syringe once the correct dosage of sedative had been administered to the mauling patient.

Just as the last ring was sounding, Corinne finally realized that it was coming from around Sam and Dean's vicinity. She moved in their direction when the ringing ceased and the ICU was just as silent as before except for the sound of breathing machines attached to a fair number of patients in this division.

Corinne stopped at Dean's bed and furrowed her brow, checking his heart rate out of habit. The minute her eyes strayed from the heart monitor and focused on Dean, the ringtone started up again, surely coming from Sam's pocket. He showed no sign of stirring, so she reached out and gently nudged his shoulder.

"Hey. Mr. Ang—Sam?" She corrected herself, remembering his last words to her before he fell asleep. It took him a minute to open his eyes, but when he did, he was instantly alert, grabbing her outstretched hand seemingly without realizing it.

"What? What?" He panted. "Is Dean okay?"

Corinne smiled slightly, pulling her hand back. "He's fine, Sam, don't worry. Just wanted to let you know your phone's ringing." The moment those words left her mouth, Sam seemed to suddenly register the sound of his ringtone.

"Oh. Uh, thanks." He dug inside his pants pocket and pulled out his phone. But before answering it, he looked to Corinne, seeming to deliver a silent request for her to give him some privacy.

She nodded at him respectfully and retrieved her syringe from the mauling patient's bedside before striding purposefully out of the division without a second glance back at Dean's brother.

The minute Corinne was out of sight, Sam slapped his cell phone to his ear. "H—hello?"

"You sound stressed, love," He was greeted by Crowley, the King of Hell, one of his biggest enemies, on the other end of the line. "But you haven't called...so I assume everything is going smoothly?"

"Crowley?" Sam growled, keeping his voice low. "Why the hell are you calling me?"

"Moose." The demon's tone had changed completely, a hint of anxiety showing in his voice. "A pleasure, as always. I...must have hit the wrong contact name on my list...this call was not meant for you." Even Sam could tell that Crowley was lying. "Apologies for the mix-up. Cheers, then."

Before the demon had a chance to end the call, Sam spoke up. "Cut the crap, Crowley. I'm not that stupid."

"I beg to differ," Crowley responded, his words meant to be insulting, but the strain in his voice prevented his tone from sounding as mocking, egotistical, and suave as it usually did.

"Who are you talking to?" Sam demanded. "What's going smoothly?"

"Always with the interrogations, Moose," Crowley tutted. "It's not right to meddle in other people's business, mind you." When Sam offered no response, Crowley sighed dramatically. "As I said, the call was not meant for you."

"Yeah, I've gathered that." Sam snapped, annoyed.

A silence commenced, and Sam could feel the tension rising between them, even if they were on separate ends of a phone line. Confusion filled him to the brim. Who could Crowley possibly be calling?

And then it clicked inside him. So obvious that he didn't know why he hadn't realized it immediately. The demon. Crowley was trying to get ahold of the demon possessing him.

"You." Sam muttered, his voice hushed. "You're the one behind this, aren't you? You're the reason why Dean's sick and dying...you hired the demon to make sure of it!" His voice was raising as he spoke what he knew was the truth.

"Well, who else is clever enough to kill so subtly?" Crowley answered snidely.

"Why?" Sam asked the inevitable question, his voice desperate. "What has Dean done to you that requires this kind of payback? He's gonna die, Crowley. Because of what you've done. Is that really what you want?"

"Believe it or not, Moose, that is what I want." Crowley remarked. "After all, that has been the end goal since I constructed this plan." He paused for a few moments. "And you want to know why I'm doing this?" He stopped again and waited, when he was met with no response, he took Sam's silence as his cue to continue. "Dean Winchester, your brother, has exactly what I need to create the perfect Hell. He will assist me, don't you understand?"

"You self-righteous ass." Sam snarled under his breath, lowering his voice as a nurse entered the ICU to make her rounds. "What makes you think you can take advantage of Dean like that?"

"Simply because I can," Crowley replied. "After all, this glorious country is the land of the free."

"Yeah, well, the government doesn't give you the right to kill." Sam burst out. In his peripheral vision, he saw the nurse shoot him a shocked look from where she stood a few beds down from him, but he ignored her.

"So you're saying your Constitution is a lie?" Crowley inquired. "Pity...it sounded so promising. Well, I must go, I'm afraid. Ciao." The line went dead before Sam had a chance to say anything else.

He pulled the phone away from his ear slowly, staring at Dean with pressure growing in his chest. The nurse who'd entered had left, probably because of what she'd heard of his questionable conversation with Crowley. "It's Crowley, Dean." He told his brother, massaging his forehead. "Crowley's the one behind this. But don't worry, man...Cass is gonna fix this..." He trailed off, swallowing.

"For both you and me."

Sam stumbled to his feet and hurried swiftly out of the ICU, unsure of where exactly he was going, but he knew that he needed to either find Crowley and force him to help Dean and himself. And, if he couldn't, he would at least try to get ahold of Castiel and inform him of his situation.

This wasn't the first time Crowley had tried to sabotage them, and they had always bested him. Every single time. How was this any different? Sure, Sam didn't have Dean to back him up, and he was fading away fast as well...he could feel it inside of him. But he always had Cass. Whenever they were in trouble, the angel was always willing to step in and help.

Sam passed Corinne just as he was leaving, and her eyes followed him as he left, her confusion at his sudden departure clearly expressed on her face. He turned back to her as he registered the crease between her eyebrows. "Take care of my brother, okay?" She nodded slowly as he held her gaze, and he was gone in an instant.

Sam had absolutely no idea what he expected to do as he clumsily staggered down the bunker's staircase. He could try to summon Crowley, but what would that get him? More snide remarks with a side of infuriating sarcasm.

As he stopped at the bottom of the stairs, he decided to simply call Castiel. It was the easiest solution at this point...if the two of them put their minds together, they would be able to handle Crowley.

But as he reached inside his pocket to retrieve his cell phone, a wave of dizziness swept through him. His arm jerked out and slammed against the railing of the stairs in an attempt to steady himself.

Sam struggled to rationally decipher what was happening, but his brain was too fuzzy for him to think properly. After he had succeeded in pulling his phone from his pocket, it slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. Nausea washed over him and Sam groaned as he felt his body waver and begin to fall.

He was out before he even hit the ground.

Sam watched in confusion as the quick flash of fire hurtled through the air, aimed at Michael. A Molotov cocktail, he realized. It collided with his half-brother, Adam's, body, and he was engulfed in flames. When the fire died, he was gone.

Sam would've wanted to look to his brother, but Lucifer's gaze was focused solely on Castiel, who had thrown the bottle. "Castiel." The Devil said slowly. The sound of his own voice coming out of his mouth when he wasn't in control was bizarre to Sam. "Did you just Molotov my brother with holy fire?"

Castiel took an uncertain step back. "Uh...no."

"No one dicks with Michael but me." Lucifer growled, lifting his hand threateningly. Sam watched in confusion as Satan himself, using his hand, snapped his fingers. In an instant, Castiel exploded in a rain of what looked disturbingly like blood. Sam's heart lurched in horror as he realized that he had lost his friend.

After a moment of stunned silence, Dean spoke, facing Lucifer warily. "Sammy, can you hear me?"

Grief welled up inside of him. More than anything, Sam wanted to reply. To tell his brother that he could hear him, loud and clear. But Lucifer would never grant him that luxury. Instead, he turned to Dean and responded. "You know...I tried to be nice. For Sammy's sake. But you...are such a pain...in my ass."

In a split second, with just a single hand motion, Lucifer threw Dean against the windshield of the Impala at full force, shattering the glass. Before Sam could even react to what had just happened, the sound of a gunshot rang in his ears. An unbelievably powerful force collided with his back and an almost sickening pain spread quickly from his back to the rest of his body.

Reality blurred for a time. How long, Sam wasn't sure. Maybe a few minutes. He felt another hit on his chest, just as painful as the first. It took him a while to realize that he'd been shot. For a minute, he couldn't understand who. Dean? No, he'd been in front of him, lying across the Impala's windshield. Cass...Cass was gone. That was hard to register.

And then it dawned on him. Bobby.

Sam was brought slowly back from oblivion by the sound of Dean gasping in pain. His vision cleared, and the sight he was met with was horrendous. He was watching his own hands beating his brother. Dean had fallen back against the car, and all Sam wanted to do was help him.

"Sammy?" Dean groaned. "Are you in there?"

Sam's heart wrenched, and he wished to God...well, whoever was listening...that he would be able to respond to his brother. But Lucifer answered for him, much to his chagrin.

"Oh, he's in here, all right." He brought back his fist and nailed Dean straight in the face. "And he's gonna feel the snap of your bones." A second punch, and Sam's brother toppled to the ground. "Every single one." Lucifer grabbed Dean and hauled him to his feet. "We're gonna take our time."

Sam was screaming from inside, watching his own hands beat his older brother's body into a bloody mess. Each time that the Devil struck Dean made Sam feel even more nauseous than before.

Lucifer looked down as Dean gripped Sam's jacket in a tight grasp. Sam stared at the older Winchester's bloody and swollen face desperately as his brother spoke. "Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you." Lucifer struck him twice more, hard. "I'm not gonna leave you." Dean protested, his voice spiked with pain.

Lucifer pulled his hands back for another hit just as a glare of sunlight glinted off the roof of the Impala, catching his gaze. Sam knew in that moment that he had to take control, to find the strength to fight back. His eyes searched for something, anything, that would trigger the power inside him to take back his body.

But he didn't have a chance.

The world was fading, Dean's bloodied face becoming more and more blurry. Sam blinked, creasing his brow in confusion. What was happening? Was Lucifer doing this?

"Sam!"

A voice called his name from far away. Sam recognized it. But it wasn't Dean's or even Lucifer's.

"Open your eyes, Sam."

Was that Cass? The realization rushed over Sam, and he struggled to obey his friend's command. Reality invaded his mind without his telling it to, and the minute his eyelids opened a crack, blinding light glared into his vision…

And the dream escaped from his consciousness.

"Sam? Are you awake?"

The younger Winchester let out a small cough and opened his eyes wider. "Oh, thank God." Castiel sighed, sitting back on his feet and helping Sam into a sitting position. "You were on the floor when I arrived. I've been trying to wake you for a half an hour. What happened?"

Once he was upright, Sam took note of his surroundings. He was in the bunker, just at the bottom of the stairs. He looked to Castiel, who was, for once, lacking his trench coat. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and he actually appeared...human.

"Guess I passed out." He responded, as if it wasn't already obvious. The angel gave him a stern look, and he sighed. "I suppose I should get you up to speed." Sam narrowed his eyes.

Castiel tilted his head, a befuddled expression forming on his face. "What's there to know?"

And that expression gradually became permanent as Sam revealed everything that had occurred during the angel's absence. There was a long silence where neither of them spoke when Sam finished.

Finally, Castiel spoke.

"You're telling me that both you and Dean have this disease now?" He inquired, nervously sticking his hand inside his pocket and fingering something. "And you're also possessed? You didn't think this was important enough to contact me?"

"Dean is my main priority." Sam retorted.

"And he's getting worse as we speak."

Everything hurt. His body was on fire, that was all that Dean could rationally understand. Lucifer's fist...no, Sam's fist, was still held high in the air, poised for a second strike. Dean waited, panting, for the hit to come.

But it never did.

Sam's hand unclenched, and he let go of his brother. Dean collapsed to the ground against the Impala, nearly losing his grip on consciousness. But he didn't. He knew it was Sam that had let him go, Sam that had taken control of his body again. Sam's next words confirmed that knowledge.

"It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him." Dean watched through blurred vision as Sam took the Horsemen's rings out of his pocket and tossed them on the ground. "Bvtmon tabges babalon."

Immediately, the grass caved in and the wind around them was sucked into the large hole created in the ground. Sam met Dean's gaze, no fear showing his eyes. He gave his brother a nod and Dean couldn't find the strength to return it.

Sam took a deep breath.

"Sam! It's not gonna end this way! Step back!" Adam's voice broke through the air, and Dean's head snapped to him. A part of him wished it was actually Adam, but he knew it wasn't. Michael still possessed him.

"You're gonna have to make me!" Sam yelled back, unwavering.

"I have to fight my brother, Sam! Here and now! It's my destiny!" Michael protested, desperate.

Sam ignored him and looked at Dean once more. Then he closed his eyes, spread his arms, and began to fall back. Michael ran towards him, reaching out to stop him. But Sam grabbed Adam's jacket and pulled him down with him.

And then they were gone.

Dean kept his eyes focused on the spot where Sam had disappeared for a long while afterwards. Grief was eating and tearing away at his insides, threatening to haunt him for weeks, days, months…

His brother was gone.