an:/

My laptop gave up on me before Christmas. I sang for it a lovely dirge entitled 'Why have you forsaken me you merchandised demon, I thought we had a deal' (it's a working title).

And now I have a lovely new desktop, built just for me, with all the room in the world to hold new stories.

I also feel like I should make a point of saying that Cas doesn't die in this story. Just... you know... in case anyone was worried.

I wouldn't do that to you guys. I like Cas too much.

so, have a chapter.

l'chaim

"Son of a bitch." Dean's short, hard words rang off the close confines of the little room as he reset his knee. That evil little coffee making witch had managed to dislocate something- bruise something, fracture something positively vital to Dean's main means of mobility. But despite the swelling and the stabbing pain, he found that his leg could almost hold his weight. He would have to take it easy for the next week or so.

Or, in an effort to maintain the pretense of self destructive foolishness that he had kept up so well for the past twenty years or so, he could pull himself up to his feet and shamble out of the room. Probably tearing ligaments, or who knew what else, with each stubborn step. Dean was nothing if not consistent in his ways.

He had come to with a splitting headache, blood dried and crusting in his hair, still tacky on his face. The girls were both gone. His phone was on the floor, halfway across the room. The smell of violence in the air.

How could he just lay there whimpering when that familiar scent was calling to him?

With the first turn of luck all day, he didn't have to hobble far before he found Sam, of all people, risen from his basement without an ounce of help from Dean. His brother was filthy and wide eyed, leaning heavily on a short metal pole. He'd made a crutch to spare his own injured leg. Sam was a resourceful kid like that. Dean wished that providence had given him such a fine walking stick.

All he had was a wall.

But it was a good wall.

It had gotten him this far without a hitch.

He had no complaints.

Sam was taking up the majority of a narrow hall, his broad back to Dean, who was on the verge of saying something smartassed and startling him- right up until he caught a glimpse of the hall beyond.

There were unhealthy lines scratched over the floor, burnt out candles, and blood.

Blood and blood and blood.

And… legs?

Someone was laying at Sam's feet.

And Sam standing over all of it with this air of importance and worry.

For whatever reason (and it probably said something about the mess that Dean really was), he recognized those shoes and pants, those short, strong legs that were splayed out on the floor beside his brother. They were Cas'. Of all the things he could recognize. Cas' shoes. Cas' legs.

"What the hell happened?" He found himself whispering, not sure if they were still trying to be sneaky or what at this point.

Sam looked over his shoulder, tense and ready to start swinging for just a second, but he eased up a fraction when he saw it was only his brother. "Dean, oh god, I need your help. Cas is hurt."

Nothing else needed to be said. Dean went from mild worry to instant panic.

He hobbled up beside his brother to look down at Cas, and Dean's blood went from fire to ice.

Someone had hurt his friend. Someone with a death wish had been stupid enough to lay a finger on Castiel- and Dean would not leave enough of them behind for any kind of positive ID.

He didn't know when it happened, but he was on the floor, crouching in the narrow hall, touching Cas' face and shoulders. "Hey. Hey, Cas. Wake up." It was a simple command. It was the only thing he needed in this second. He needed Cas to look up at him. He needed to know that his friend was still alive.

He had to be alive.

Angels couldn't die.

They didn't die.

Not like this.

They didn't look like this when they died.

So Cas couldn't be dead.

He couldn't.

"Fuckin' Cas. Wake up." Less of a request and more of a plea, and Dean didn't like, and chose not to address how his voice was cracking.

"You should not waste your efforts on him." A voice said, a voice that wasn't Sam's or Cas' and sure as all hell wasn't Dean's. "His Grace is gone now and an Angel without their Grace is as good as a corpse. He just doesn't know it yet."

The hunter looked up to see the little girl from the Gardens who had been crying alone in a dirty room some short time before- except something very profound had changed in her . Dean had other things that were far more pressing to him than the obvious evil that had moved into the child, but the change was still unsettling in some deep, brain stem horror kind of way.

"Sam, what the hell is that thing?" He didn't take his eyes from the child, suddenly so very certain that looking away would be one of the last mistakes that he would make.

"I-I don't know. But she said she can help Cas."Sam said softly, like he was chiding Dean, worried that his big brother might upset the horrible thing standing on the far side of the hall.

Dean tightened his grip on the Angel's jacket, bearing his teeth. "Then help him." He wasn't the most trusting sort of person, but he would deal with the obvious possession later, right now all that mattered was that Cas wasn't moving.

The non-little girl smiled with teeth stained red. "It's been so long since I've walked among humans. What happened to the bowing and fawning and fearful acclamations? Are you all so demanding and forceful now?"

"If you don't fucking do something to help right this god damned minute you're gunna' see me get real forceful." Dean was a living breathing threat. He could feel the slightest rise and fall of Cas' chest under his hands, but it was so weak and Dean was afraid. Fear made him violent. It always had.

"You wouldn't want to hurt this innocent child." She said with a slow, easy confidence.

"If he dies because you don't help then I will kill you." No middle ground.

The child chuckled, low rolling sound like distant thunder, it prickled the hair on Dean's arms and made his stomach clench.

"I did not go through the trouble of finding a suitable vessel just to be threatened by someone's pet." She put a small red hand on her hip, angry little lines at the corners of her small red mouth. The suddenly aggressive stance was offset by a clumsy wobble as she struggled to retain her balance.

"Pet…?" Dean let his eyes flick up to Sam for just a second. "Pet?"

"Pet." The child's rumbling voice said firmly as if it clarified anything at all.

"I don't-" Dean felt an awful noise crawling up through him and he choked it back down. "Help him, you creepy son of a bitch!"

"And in exchange?" She cocked her head to one side, expectant.

Dean had had enough and he pulled his gun, pointing it squarely at her round little face, not sure if it could hurt the thing, or if the creature even knew what a gun was. "I don't make deals with monsters."

"Then bid him farewell in my place. He was a good brother to give his life for mine." And then she was gone with the thunderous sound of wings.

Dean wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to yell for her to come back, to give her whatever she wanted if only she would make Cas wake up.

Instead he bunched the sides of the Angel's jacket and pressed it to the wet, open gash- putting as much pressure on it as he could, feeling the nauseating give of muscle and things that were best to never be touched by things like hands and rumpled coats.

Cas groaned softly and it was the most beautiful damn noise in the world.

If Sam heard his brother's grateful sob he didn't say anything, just put a hand on Dean's shoulder and shook him slightly. "He's… Dean… I don't think-"

"Sam, what happened to the other girl, the one that roofied you?" Was that his voice? It couldn't be his voice. Dean was supposed to have a strong voice. He sounded like a wounded animal.

"I don't know. I-I haven't seen her."

"She's got to be around here somewhere. Cas didn't do this to himself." And Dean knew it had to be the older girl, knew it couldn't have been the thing in the child. Because if nothing else, the tray in the corner with bloody instruments was set too high for someone so short.

"And what if she did?" There were times when Sam was less than helpful.

Dean struggled not to swear at his brother. "Then she can fix this. She can fix Cas."

"She serves poisoned coffee at a Starbucks, Dean. She's not a surgeon."

"She'll fix him then I'll kill her." Maybe he meant 'or', but there was really no reason to correct it. The sentiment wouldn't change.

"I can hardly walk, Dean." Sam was whispering, sounding more like an apology than anything else, like Cas was already gone. "I can't chase her down for you."

There were only terrible things left in Dean. "Hold Cas together and keep him breathing until I find the bitch."

"Dean-"

"You will fuckin' hold Cas together." He demanded, and Sam who had never been all that good at following orders before tonight was suddenly kneeling next to him.

"Press here." Dean instructed like this would be his brother's first time trying to keep pressure on an open wound, not the hundredth.

Sam's hands settled into place and he couldn't seem to look at his big brother, or Cas for that matter. His eyes were closed tight and maybe it was just his way of dealing with this, or maybe he was just giving up.

Dean stole his brother's crutch and with grim determination he went on a witch hunt.