Cranberry juice. I bet cranberry juice would cut through the metallic taste that seems to have coated the entire inside of my mouth.

"Alrighty, here we go. John Winchester's famous kitchen sink chicken stew. Jesus, say that three times fast. Time to get some of this down."

I had absolutely no recollection of Dad making any kind of stew for us. Bobby? Sure. Dad? No. Unless it involved ramen noodles and peanut butter, I'm pretty sure Dean's bullshitting, here.

"I'm not hungry. Maybe later."

"You gotta eat something."

Even though Dean made it, I was pretty sure I couldn't get it down.

"Later, Dean."

"This will all still be here while you eat. Look - I'll even do the airplane spoon thing."

"No. We need information on the third trial."

"*sigh* I know we do, but you've been obsessing for weeks. You're not sleeping, you're barely eating..."

Wait for it...

Dean slammed his hand on the table, rattling the silverware. "Sam!"

Aaaaand that's when I decided to step in.

Pushing my chair back, I slowly stood up, gripping the table for support. "Sam...c'mon." Tugging on his sleeve, I pulled him away from GlareFest 2013, where he and Dean fought over who was more stubborn.

There were no winners in that contest.

Sam yanked his arm out of my grasp and stumbled to his feet. Good grief, we were a pair of weeble wobbles.

Running a hand over his mouth, he rubbed slightly glassy eyes and took a step back, looking like a kid trying to escape major punishment. "Just...just let me work. I gotta...there's a lot to go through and we're losing time."

Dean's eyes narrowed as he tossed a napkin on the table. "There a timeline I'm not aware of, Sammy? Something that says you gotta bury yourself in this for two fucking weeks straight and not come up for air?"

Sam shook his head, lips pressed together, jaw tight. He avoided eye contact with both of us, white-knuckling the back of his chair.

"Then take a break. You're sick - burning up worse than her, man!"

Well, thanks.

"I can't." It came out a broken, ragged whisper. "I should...I should keep trying."

Dean's whole demeanor softened. His shoulders sagged, and he pulled at his forehead. "Sam...c'mon…you know I - "

"It's fine...I'm fine." Sam nabbed his book and a couple file folders off the table, passing a hand over his eyes real quick. "I'll be in my room."

We watched him slink away, only slightly grazing the doorframe. If 'slightly grazing' applies when it's several inches of graze. As soon as he left, Dean slammed a chair into the table, growling in frustration.

I sat back down with a small Ooof when my ass hit the leather. Dean's eyes slid to mine before joining me. He practically radiated What Do I Do?, so I figured I'd help.

...Riiiiight after this coughing fit...which bubbled up out of nowhere, deep and harsh, no end in sight. Dean leapt up, grabbing napkins off the table to catch the droplets of blood that were all too familiar now. When it finally passed, I was bent at the waist, panting into a handful of bloody tissues pressed to my mouth.

Our eyes locked as we waited to see if it was over.

One breath. Two. Threeeeee...all good. I slowly straightened, brushing hair out of my face and wiping my mouth. "I am one elegant son of a bitch, let me tell you," I rasped.

Dean held up the garbage can so I could dispose of the mess. "That you are, but you're our elegant son of a bitch."

"Mmm...even better." I swallowed down some water, which only served to slosh the blood around my mouth. Awesome.

He set down the can, blowing out a shaky breath through trembling fingers. Worried, scared eyes searched mine. Two siblings down - one had an easy fix but refused care, the other relished the care, but couldn't be fixed. A perfect Dean Winchester nightmare.

Eager to get back on the Sam track, I kicked him. "Hey, remember when Sam was, like, thirteen, and he spent that summer bitching up a storm about how his life sucked?"

Yeah, okay, the stupidity of that question wasn't lost on me, and we both cracked up.

Dean wiped away tears, still chortling. "Shit, Kate, you're gonna hafta be more specific than that. I believe that was also last month."

I did this a lot, now, talked to them as if we'd been together our whole lives. The trials just...messed with my head. I couldn't keep the two realities separate anymore, so I didn't bother, and they never corrected me. Sometimes events actually matched up - minus my presence - and it changed our whole dynamic. Made things more...fluid.

I flapped a hand at him, trying to stop giggling. "Okayokay, hold on," I wheezed, hand on my chest, desperately trying to catch my breath. "What I meant was...that summer in North Carolina when you lit into his ass, and dumped all the shit you've done for him, all the shit you've given up for him, on his lap, then stormed out of that cabin and left him to 'suck on it' for almost two days."

Dean blinked, staring past me, like he was reliving that incident. "Fuck, yeah, uh, I actually do. Dad was hunting all over the area - "

"And the wendigo in the forest preserve was the first one."

"Jesus, yeah! Wow...that's...wow."

"Okay, so you remember that little speech you gave, right?"

Dean sobered up immediately, seeing where I was headed. "Yeah, but Kate, this was...this was different."

"But nothing, Dean. You spoke how you felt, and there's nothing wrong with that. You always hold it in, a classic martyr." His look turned positively acidic. "You disagreeing?" Now, he huffed. "Right. And sometimes you need to blow off steam, especially when Sam's pushing you."

"He wasn't pushing this time, Kate."

"True," I conceded, "But my point is this. You still needed to vent. Not spit little digs here and there, not passively mention things, not be a douche. Back then, it took Sam a couple days to recover, right? A couple days to...to get over being yelled at, and move forward. But do you remember how you got him to do that?"

Dean shot me a look. "I gotta buy him ice cream and take him fishing, now?"

Huh...close enough to what I remember. "In a way, yeah. Mostly, though? Did you listen to what Sam said in return - why he stopped looking, why he made the choices he did - and are you gonna let it go?"

Dean spread his arms wide. "I said we were good! I told him it's done! What more am I supposed to say?" He frowned and studied me a second before standing up and snagging a blanket off a nearby chair. Shaking it out, he settled it around my shoulders, pulling it tight across my chest.

Clutching the heavy blanket close, I lifted up a corner. "This right here, Dean, what you just did for me? You didn't say a word, but your actions spoke volumes. He needs some of that. He needs you to just...be the big brother who can yell and bitch, but at the end of the day? He's gotta know you'll still love and take care of your little brother."

Dean stared at me a moment, before making gagging noises and rolling his eyes. "Are you fucking serious? That's so…Sam doesn't want that." He paused. "Not anymore, and he hasn't for a long time."

"Really?" I drawled. "Tell that to the emo little boy hiding in his bedroom, because he's afraid you'll accuse him of not trying to save me, like you accused him of not trying to save you."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it, clamping his lips together. Nostrils flaring, I could see him searching for something to say that would counter my argument.

He had nothing.

"You have nothing."

"I have...something." He dropped into his chair and lolled his head back. "Fuck."

Point, me.

"I need a drink." He went to the liquor cabinet. "Goddammit, we're out." He hung his head, making mock crying noises.

Pushing to my feet, I straightened the blanket, huddling further inside. The second I stood, more coughing put me back on my ass. Luckily this wasn't an all out fit, more like a mini outburst, a mild protest over my attempt to simply move like a normal person. Disgusted, I wanted to scrape the taste of blood off my tongue, out of my mouth. It was everywhere.

Dean's hand was in my hair, smoothing wayward strands. "Let's try something like cranberry juice. Maybe it'll cover the taste."

That, right there, is why I love this man.

I hummed, leaning against him, "And you just did it again."

He sighed, pressing a kiss in my hair. "I'm rusty, Kate. It's been a long time since he's needed me."

"Bullshit, Dean," I argued, my voice muffled by his shirt. "He's always needed you. It's just been a long time since he admitted it."

We sat for a minute, Dean's hand on my back, probably feeling the rattling in my lungs that passed for breathing these days.

"Look, why don't you go get your booze and grab me some juice, and I'll...I'll sort through Sam."

Dean snorted, pulling away, eyes searching my face again. "Sometimes, it's like you were always here," he murmured.

I snorted back. "If I was always here," (See? I remembered!) "You two wouldn't be this fucked up."

"True that," he sighed, heaving me to my feet and setting me in the direction of Sam's room. I took a couple steps, holding the furniture for balance. "Sure you can make it? Need me to hold your hand?"

I waved a goodbye with a finger and headed towards the mess that is Sam.

xxxxx

l paused outside Sam's door, admittedly listening first to see if there were any sounds of...I dunno...crying, or...yeah. I dunno.

Shallow breath...and...here we go.

I knocked, rocking back on my heels and biting my lip, not sure what I was walking into. I've dealt with pissy, devistated, overwrought, moody Sam a hundred times over. Each time was an adventure.

"Go away, Dean. I said I was fine."

"Yeah? Well, I'm about to fall over, so how about letting me in?" When in doubt, play the injured card.

Sure enough, the door flew open, so fast that I staggered back a step. "Hey...what're you doing? You okay?"

I tilted my head. "Can I come in?"

"Fuck...yeah, hold on…" He cleared a spot on the bottom of his bed. I weaved over, ignoring said clear spot and claiming a seat right next to his instead, where I could lean against the wall.

He huffed through his nose, dared to give a tiny eye roll (right, because I'm the asshole, here), and finally sat next to me.

Shoulders touching, I could feel heat coming off him, just like Dean said. He also said I've been running a fever, but what the hell do I know? I was always cold.

I rested my head on his shoulder. "You're warm," I murmured.

Sighing, he rested his, on mine. "So're you."

I shook my head, coughing a little. "Nope. It's cold in here."

"Yeah...a little."

Riveting conversation, sure, but sometimes Sam needed a minute. He pulled a blanket over our legs, and even with the one still wrapped around my shoulders, I was still cold.

Sigh.

I reached over, closing the book that lie open on the bed. "What's going on, Sam?"

True to Sam, he really only needed a minute before it's open season on conversations. "I know he said we were okay, but I just...I don't believe him. He was so…*sigh*." And he never needed an introduction.

I know. I snuggled closer, eliciting a sigh, and a little burrowing in return.

"Sam…I know it doesn't matter that Dean was cursed. He said some things that…" Sam sniffled, shuffling his feet and crossing his arms. "...that were mean and shitty and just low. I get that. But they're out of his system, and he knows what he did. You have to trust that it's okay, now." Cue the sigh. "Besides, he's right. You have to slow down. You literally made yourself sick, and you just - "

"Kate." I stopped, listening to him breathe, a little more erratic than a minute ago. "Look, putting him aside for a minute," Now I snorted. "You were right, okay? You got out of the Pit way too easily, and your Castiel showing up like that? What are the odds? What if...what if something's fucking with us? What if Crowley knows what we're doing? What if Lucifer also thinks Michael helped you escape and-and breaks free before we close the gate? What if - "

"What if you're too sick to help when we need you most?" I countered softly, shutting him down effectively. I sat up a little, turning his face towards mine. "Sam. Listen to me. Whether or not Michael helped me free Adam doesn't matter. He's Lucifer's problem - not ours. Like I told you, maybe Cas knew I was in danger because of his grace? I dunno. But again - it doesn't matter. He's gone, now, and it's back to being just us."

I poked his nose, earning a wrinkled up face and a grunt.

"Please. Slowing down doesn't mean you're not doing anything."

Sam had that look - the one where he thinks you don't understand what he's thinking (when you really do) and he only needs to find the right words to make you see with SamClarity. Without even thinking about it, because really - if I'd thought about it, I wouldn't have done it - I took this deep breath, ready to lay the smack down, since my little speech didn't take hold.

That's when another fit began. A bad one, too. Wet and grating, paired with wheezing and a little gagging. It was spectacular. I bled through the few tissues I still held, crumpled in my fist. Sam frantically dove for more, eventually sprinting for a towel, because seriously, this was bad.

A graphic detailing wouldn't add to the image or detract from the severity. Coughing like this happened before, and it'll most likely happen again. I just didn't expect to spray all over Sam's bedspread.

"Shit…" I gasped, choking for air. "Sorry...fuck…" Sam swung my legs onto the floor so I could bend easier. He hunched over next to me, keeping my hair off my face, like I drank too much at a party.

Goddammit.

After an eternity, it slowed, then stopped, and I wished like fuck for that cranberry juice, if only to swish it around my mouth.

At the look of disgust on my face, Sam said, "Maybe something like cranberry juice can knock out the taste..."

I choke-laughed, leaning against him, completely spent. His arms went around me, holding tight, making it impossible to mask the tremor skirting through him. Or me. It was hard to distinguish right then.

Without a word, he gathered up the book and papers, setting them on the dresser. After another sigh and a quick pass through his hair with a shaking hand, he maneuvered me back into bed, wriggled in next to me, and turned out the light.

xxxxx

"Sam! Kate!"

What the hell? I tried peeling my eyes open, but they weren't working.

"Guys! Need some help, here!"

Oooh, that was motivating. Not being the one with crippling Trial Disease, Sam rolled out of bed, yelling back at Dean and pounding down the hallway. I moved a little slower, and a lot less gracefully. But hey - at least I moved.

I found them in the kitchen, hovering over a nicely beaten, heavily bleeding Castiel. Even Kevin came out of his room to see what was going on. All the blood made him nauseous, so he ducked out as quickly as he came in. I'd been so wrapped up in coughing blood and feeling shitty, that I hadn't really checked in on him. I made a mental note to do that tomorrow.

"Why didn't we think of melting down an angel blade into bullets? That's genius." Dean unfolded a washcloth while Sam sat nearby with tape and bandages.

"Yes, well Crowley is nothing short of - " Cas hissed in pain as Dean dabbed at a cut on his forehead. "- genius. He has angels working for him. That's how they found me."

The medkit lie open on the table, supplies scattered everywhere, mixed with bloody gauze and scraps of fabric cut from Castiel's clothing. Christ - how long did it take me to get here?"

"Well, that's just fucking awesome. Maybe next time, stay with us so we can help you." Someone's still a little touchy about being pummeled in that crypt, despite the follow-up healing.

Sam snorted. "Right, Dean, because we'd be a heap-load of help against the King of Hell, a string of angels, and this Naomi, who seems to be pretty powerful."

Dean shrugged, tossing a grin at our brother. "Don't underestimate us, Sammy. Besides, Bunker's warded, right?"

Sam rolled his eyes and unfolded some gauze, watching Dean examine the gaping hole (oh, gross) in Castiel's side.

"Hello, Kate."

I pulled my gaze off his wound, and into those blue eyes. Cas stared, looking despondent, hesitant even.

"Kate! Nice of you to join us," Dean snarked, taking the gauze Sam handed him.

"Shut up. Hey, Cas...what the hell happened?" Willing myself not to cough all over, I cautiously slid into a chair, watching from the opposite end of the table. I wasn't going to be much help, and there were already too many people poking at him.

Cas opened his mouth to explain, but was cut off by Dean. "Naomi and Crowley cocktail," he spat. "Found him lying in the middle of the road."

"Had a sense you were...nggghh...nearby…" Cas grunted as Dean poked a bit more.

"You want stitches, or will you be able to heal yourself?"

Cas breathed for a few seconds before answering. "I don't require stitches, but I would appreciate a bandage. I will heal, it'll just take a little longer than usual."

Sam didn't look so sure about that. "I dunno, Cas, that hole is kinda...uh...big."

Cas nodded in agreement, grimacing again as Dean pressed some gauze to the wound. "It's large enough to stick your hand inside."

We all froze at that. Cas kept wincing, unaware that we were all now envisioning someone shoving their hands literally inside Castiel, Angel of the Lord.

Dean just blinked, unable to even voice a joke.

"I will heal, Dean. Don't worry."

Dean sighed, eyes filled with worry over the third family member to be struck down. "Yeah, okay. But if you don't for some reason, you have to say something, understand?"

"Yes, Dean," Cas sighed in return, leaning back and letting Dean finish wrapping his side.

With nothing left to do but sit still, Cas resumed his non-blinking eyeball examination of me. After a few seconds, I couldn't stand the scrutiny anymore.

"What is it, Cas?" I snapped, irritated because I knew was coming out of his mouth next.

He frowned a little, followed by another sigh. "You're worse," he murmured, not even flinching when Dean jumped at his words, taping the center of the gauze patch instead of the edge.

My annoyance drained away, replaced by a heavy acceptance. It wasn't really a matter of just being worse - that part was obvious. It was more the undercurrent of the message, that when an angel tells you you're worse, you're not just worse, you're screwed.

My eyes flickered to Sam, who I just talked off the ledge. They cut to Dean, who recovered quickly and had just finished correctly taping the bandage in place.

"I know," was all I whispered.

Silence hung thick in the room. Sam busied himself by cleaning up the table. Dean washed his hands, leaning heavily against the sink when finished, his back to us. Cas simply sat there, brow knitted together, contemplating who the fuck knows, seemingly oblivious to the emotional bomb he just dropped.

Unable to stand the morbidity any longer, I slapped my thighs and demanded, "So, does this mean you didn't get the juice, or…?"

Dean's shoulders shook with laughter. He glanced over his shoulder. "It's in the car. I'll get it."

He turned, pausing a second before stepping to Sam, who was apparently busy reading the tiny print on a tube of antibacterial cream. Dean swiped a hand across his forehead, both of them surprised when Sam's eyes closed briefly, his shoulders visibly relaxing. Encouraged, Dean rested the back of his hand on Sam's cheek and neck. Nodding to himself, he gently ruffled Sam's hair. "Be right back."

A little embarrassed, as evidenced by the blush on his cheeks, Sam cleared his throat and shuffled his ass on the chair. "So, uh, Cas, what's Naomi's plan? Why's she so interested in you, besides you running off with the angel tablet?"

Cas shrugged uncomfortably. "She seeks to control me, because she feels I've been…" His eyes cut to the doorway, where Dean stood seconds ago. "...compromised." He sighed. "I believe she is also interested in shutting the gates of Hell, but she wanted the tablet more than anything."

"And now Crowley has it?" I asked, reaching for the blanket I swore was around my shoulders, only to come away empty handed. Dammit.

Cas nodded, regret etched on his features. Sam stowed the kit on the counter and tucked his hair behind an ear, not missing the groping for imagined blankets. "Let's move to the library, where it's more comfortable. Cas, I'll get you something clean to wear."

xxxxx

"And that's what happened," I finished, flourishing my hands in the air like an aerial Ta-daaaa. Still cold, despite the blankets heaped around me, I sipped my cranberry juice (it worked, yay!) and waited for Castiel's take on my new book, Adventures With Lucifer.

The angel was propped in a large armchair, now dressed in sweats and a long sleeved shirt, making him look very un-Cas. He kept a hand pressed to his side, and winced every now and then, but otherwise seemed okay. Cas tried to refuse the pain pills Dean forced on him, but Dean wouldn't hear it.

"I don't need them, Dean."

The pills jiggled on Dean's palm when he shook them. "Just take 'em, Cas. It'll make me feel better."

Sam was also force-fed Tylenol and that chicken stew thing. He took it all, without comment, accepting Dean's actions more than his words, and the grittiness of their relationship seemed to smooth out a bit.

Dean was on his third glass of whiskey, and seemed to relish every single one. He had now three family members down, and definitely needed a drink to steady his hands.

"So...what do you think, Cas? Could Michael have actually helped Kate?"

Good Sam, start simple.

Cas shrugged, his face pinched with pain at the movement. "That's hard to say. I've never actually interacted with him. He was an archangel that just...kept to himself. Our mission is to protect. Lucifer is clearly at odds with that. Michael has reason to be...wary...of Winchesters, and he'd been in the Cage a while."

Dean's face scrunched up. Mouth on the rim of his glass, he said, "You gonna say more than making a list of shit we already know, Cas?"

Castiel's lips flattened. You want blunt? Here's blunt. "The trials are nearly impossible to complete, obviously. Yet they were still designed to be completed, should the need arise. The second trial required going to Hell, not to Lucifer." His eyes seemed to bore right through me. "While I admire your family's ability to do the impossible, I am completely shocked that you made it out alive. An intervention, or two, was absolutely required for your success."

Oh. Well, there you go.

Cas shook his head a little, now staring at Dean. "God wanted these trials to be monumental for a reason. Entering the Cage went beyond that. So while I cannot say exactly whether or not Michael assisted in the escape, I don't see how she would have made it out if he didn't."

A pipe rattled somewhere in the Bunker. Dean swallowed the rest of his drink, setting the glass on the table, reaching for the bottle. Sam nudged his glass closer, eyes begging for a refill.

I tried to ignore the stuttering of my heart. "Oooo-kay, well, that answers that, huh, guys?" Cheerfulness was positively dripping from my mouth.

But he wasn't finished. "As far as the other Castiel entering Hell and bringing you to Charon...it is not outside the realm of possibility, however I can assure you that entering Hell as an angel is extremely dangerous. It weakens us, making us vulnerable until our grace can recover from such a trip." He bit his lip, eyes staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. "Not to mention the burned feathers." Shaking himself a little, he continued. "Entering Hell in another dimension or reality has the same chances of success as you leaving an encounter with Lucifer alive. It would require a lot of grace," He paused, tilting his head. "And I detect additional grace inside you, now, most likely helping to keep you alive."

That stopped me. I sat up, holding out a hand. "Wait a second...there's...more grace in me?" He nodded. "So…"

My wheels spun sluggishly, not as much trying to understand the implications, but desperate to find an alternative explanation for them. Because if I'm grasping this right...

"I'm sorry, Kate. There's no way for me to tell if he survived."

Right…

Quietly, slowly, I let out a breath. Swallowed. Wet my lips and ran a hand through my hair. I was very aware of my brothers watching me, not sure what to do, not sure how I'll react.

I realized I never told them that Cas and I were...well. I could feel the heaviness in my gut, my heart fluttering, the pressure building behind my eyes as a flood of tears geared up to spill down my face.

Forcing a calm exterior, I carefully stood, pulling the blanket close. My mouth opened, and I tried to tell them I was gonna go lie down, but they stuck in my throat. If Cas was dead, no one was protecting my family. If Cas was dead, it was because of me. If Cas was dead…

I bit my lip, and left the room, brushing past Kevin and into the hallway.

He was practically hyperventilating behind me. "Guys! I did it - I figured out the third trial!"

My fingertips skimmed against the wall as I continued walking.

"Kate? Hey - don't you wanna know what it is?"

A small laugh burst out of me, because right then? I really didn't care.

Note: I feel the need to apologize for the delay on this chapter. It was more difficult to write than it should have been.