Next chapter kiddos. Not a ton of reviews this time around but I get it. I'm a bad person and I left y'all in suspense for WAY too long. Mea culpa mea culpa mea maxima culpa. But, I have come back much sooner than last time so hopefully, this will help win some forgiveness. For those who did review, I hope you enjoyed your sneak peek. It was sent with lots of love. For thos ewho would like a sneak peek, leave a constructive review on this chapter and thou shalt recieve one before the next chapter is posted. Hope you guys enjoy!

Ch. 18

Empty As A Gourd

"You were never there when I thought you were." -Anonymous

Dean opened his eyes slowly. His eyelids felt swollen, puffy, dry, almost like they did after a long night of drinking. Dean tried swallowing but too soon realized there wasn't enough moisture in his mouth and the walls of his throat seemed to stick together. Dean blinked again and coughed dryly.

The incessant beeping of a heart monitor started to grate on his nerves as each pulse of sound made his head twinge painfully. Dean hadn't felt this beat up in a long time. Every inch of him ached in a way that made him never want to move again. His left arm was wrapped tightly against his chest, and he could only feel a faint prickling in his fingertips. Dean stiffened for a moment in panic as the memories of what landed him in that bed in the first place came rushing back. Dean tried to sit up but hissed at the white-hot pain it caused and leaned back into the pillows.

"Mmm,"

Dean blinked again in surprise and focused his gaze on the messy pile of blonde hair that was strewn over the side of his bed and draped over Avery's face. Her head was resting on her right arm, and Dean realized quickly that her other hand was wrapped loosely around his. Dean zeroed in on their joined hands and felt a wave of confusion rush through him. Her wrist was red and swollen, and her knuckles were bruised dark purple; nonetheless, her hand was wrapped around his.

Dean could picture quite clearly in his mind what had probably happened. Avery waiting anxiously in the emergency room while he had been wheeled away in critical condition, and finally, when the doctors had patched him up and stuck him in one of the many sterile rooms of the hospital, they had led her to him.

He looked around the room and noticed the awkward solitary chair near the door, how it was not quite centered. He then glanced down at the chair Avery now occupied. She'd pulled it up next to Dean's bed and, what, gripped his hand? Tried to wake him? Pleaded with him to be okay? Had she fallen asleep during her fervent vigil?

It was both the most likely and most unlikely scenario at the same time. If he and Avery had been closer, then Dean wouldn't have even blinked.

But they weren't close. They weren't even friends. Hell, they hated each other.

"I don't hate you."

"You-you don't?"

"No…do you hate me?"

"No."

Dean blinked again. Had he an Avery really come that far? It felt like yesterday to him that they were at each other's throats, ready to tear each other limb from limb. But now? Now Avery was holding his hand at his sick bed…and Dean wasn't pulling away.

Dean closed his fingers around Avery's hand slowly and tried not to think too hard about why before he closed his eyes again, and fell back asleep.

—

When Dean's eyes opened again, he noticed that Avery was no longer at his bedside.

A doctor with bright blue eyes and sandy hair walked into the room holding a clipboard. Avery wasn't with him, and Dean immediately sat up a little straighter.

"Mr. Jackson, I see you've finally made it back to the land of the living."

"Finally? What do you mean? Where's Avery?" Dean asked in quick succession. The doctor crossed his arms behind his back.

"You've been in a coma for a little under a week."

Dean felt like he'd been punched in the gut. A week? He'd been out for a whole week? And it suddenly made sense why Dean had been so stiff. A thought struck him like a ton of bricks. If He'd been in a coma for a week then what had happened to Sam? Why hadn't he found them already? Had Avery called him? Stalled? Had the angel riding Sam's meat taken off with him?

"Your wife is back in her room where she should be."

Dean blanched at 'wife' but let it slide for the moment. He'd have to ask Avery about that later.

"Her epilepsy has been out of control after the trauma you two endured. I've never seen such a violent case before. We've had her on every anti-convulsant known to man, and nothing seems to help."

The doctor set the clipboard down on Dean's bed tray, "Despite this, your wife likes to sneak out of her room, and the hospital, whenever it suits her." The doctor crossed his arms.

Dean smiled tightly, "That's Avery all right, stubborn as a mule." The worsening seizures must have meant that Avery's visions had been getting more and more frequent. Dean couldn't help but think it was because of whatever Cain had done to her. He remembered when Cain had palmed Avery's forehead that night at the ranch. The way her eyes had rolled to the back of her head and blood had poured from her eyes, nose, and ears.

"Have her seizures always been this bad?" The doctor asked. "Your wife wouldn't tell me anything about her medical history."

Dean rolled his eyes internally. Of course, she wouldn't say anything about her medical history. She didn't know her medical history. All she knew was that she was schizophrenic and even that wasn't real anyway. What could she possibly tell the doctor?

The doctor looked at him expectantly, but Dean just shrugged, and the doctor sighed, "Sir, we're doing our best to help her, but you have to help us do that."

"When can we get out of here, Doc?" Dean asked, and the doctor looked taken aback.

"Mr. Jackson, your wife's condition is very severe. I strongly advise that she stay under medical supervision until she improves. Not to mention your injuries—"

Dean smirked, "I'm sure we can handle it."

The doctor shook his head, "I don't think you understand—"

Dean cut him off, "I understand perfectly well, doc, we've been dealing with this for a long time."

His face flushed and a vein on his forehead bulged with frustration, "Then you know that a severe enough seizure can cause brain damage, among myriad other complications if the patient doesn't receive immediate care? This is wholly irresponsible, and I daresay negligent—"

"Stephens!"

Both the doctor and Dean jumped a little and turned towards the entrance of the room. An older doctor with thick white hair and dark eyes stood fuming in the doorway. The doctor Dean had been speaking to shriveled under his glare.

"A word, please," The white-haired doctor motioned towards the hallway and the doctor who'd been scolding him clenched his jaw before leaving the room.

Dean listened to their hushed argument impatiently. He wanted to find Avery and get the hell out of dodge. The week they'd spent at the hospital waiting for him to wake up was one they couldn't afford. Sam was doing who knows what with an angel still stuck inside of him and Abaddon was still on the loose and actively hunting Avery down. He didn't have time for whatever emergency room drama these two doctors had.

The white-haired doctor walked back into the room and closed the door behind him leaving his subordinate to wait outside in the hall.

"I'm so sorry about that, Mr. Jackson. I'm Dr. Mathews, the attending physician. Now, I'm going to perform a few cognitive and reflex response exams to assess your brain function."

"I'm fine, doc," Dean insisted.

"You were in a coma for a week, son," Mathews smiled good naturally, "I think we'd better be safe than sorry, hmm?"

Dean suffered the doctor's tests until finally, Mathews nodded to himself, "Seems everything is working as it should. You should count yourself lucky. Now, about your shoulder…"

Dean didn't like the way Mathews had trailed off. "What about it?"

Mathews crossed his arms behind his back. "When you were attacked, the blade tore through the muscles in your shoulder, and did extensive damage to your brachial plexus."

"English, doc," Dean interrupted.

"There's a bundle of nerves right behind your clavicle," The doctor lightly rested to of his fingers on Dean to show him the area he'd been referring to, "up near the neck and between your shoulder. It controls much of the function in your arm. When you were attacked, the knife managed to get lodged up here and do quite a bit of damage."

"What are you saying?" Dean pressed.

"I'm saying that your injury will take several weeks to heal, and even then you may never regain full function in your arm. Optimistically, we're looking at eight to ten weeks, and that's just recovery after surgery." Mathews finished.

Dean was gobsmacked. Eight to ten weeks? That was way too long, and even after that, he wouldn't get full function in his arm. An injury like that would be a massive hindrance to any hunt, however simple.

"So what, Doc? You telling me I can't play major league ball anymore?" Dean joked weakly. Mathews looked at him sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, I wish there was more I could do. That being said, we have an excellent physical therapy program, and hopefully, after a few months we can get you to about 75 percent function."

A few months, 75 percent function, physical therapy, what a fucking joke, Dean fumed. He and Avery couldn't stay one more day let alone several months. Dean thanked the doctor and told him he would think about it. Mathews looked surprised at that but left Dean to his own devices.

Dean sat in bed for the next hour and a half still reeling. It felt like the whole world was falling apart around him. Avery was seizing every other second, he was out for the count for at least two months, Cas was in the wind hunting down his angel buddies, Abaddon was causing a ruckus, and Sam had an angel riding co-pilot. It was too many things at once. He didn't even know where to start.

Dean closed his eyes and banged his head against the backboard. And if that wasn't enough to deal with, there was the quickly evolving mess of his and Avery's relationship. First, they hated each other, now they didn't, or something. She's holding his hand, and he's cuddling her by accident. It was all bullshit, that chick flick crap that he couldn't stand, but this was his life now.

The door to his room opened and closed quickly, and Dean's eyes flew open. Avery snuck into his room dressed in a white hospital gown with blue dots.

"Avery!"

She looked at him for a moment and drew the blinds closed in his room before peering out the little window on the door. "Okay, I think we're clear."

"The clear?" Dean asked. "What do you mean?"

Avery crossed her arms, "I'm not supposed to be here. They're scared that I'll seize and bang my head against something."

Dean cocked an eyebrow, "Should we be scared about that?"

Avery rolled her eyes, "I think we've got bigger fish to fry."

Dean smirked half-heartedly, "Well then sweetheart, we'll cut to the chase. D'ya miss me?"

A strangled laugh bubbled from her throat as she tried to suppress the relief and concern she was feeling. Dean knew he was beaten to hell, and so did Avery, but he must have looked better than he had a week ago. "You look like shit," She finally managed.

Dean looked at her and pursed his lips. I guess not that much better, He thought. "You don't look too great yourself." She looked weak, pale. Her lips were cracked and dry. Dean blinked when he noticed something off about her face. "Are you wearing makeup?"

Avery blushed and looked away. The bruises on her face, under her eyes, and on her neck were lightened by a thick layer of concealer. "Uh, yeah…people kept giving me weird looks when I left the hospital. I thought this might help a bit."

Dean shifted again stiffly.

"Look, Dean, I—I'm glad you're okay. I thought—" Avery shook her head.

"C'mon," Dean smirked. "You think a couple of demons can take me out?"

"We got our asses kicked." Avery frowned.

"Last I checked, we won that fight," Dean shrugged but winced when the nerves in his shoulder burned with pain.

"Yeah, we still got our asses kicked." Avery crossed her arms.

"Well…" Dean looked at her, and she bit her lip.

"If I hadn't distracted you, that demon would have never—"

Dean sighed. "I gonna stop you right there. What happened wasn't your fault."

Avery went to protest, but Dean cut her off, "And even if it was, what's done is done. You can't change the past."

Avery pursed her lips, "Maybe not, but that doesn't mean I can't fix the shit I fucked up."

She rounded towards him and started unwinding the tight gauze around his arm and shoulder. When he was finally free, his arm dropped limply to the bed. Dean stared at his swollen mangled shoulder for a moment before Avery clutched his hand. Dean blanched at the tight but gentle grip of Avery's warm, slight fingers. "What are you—-?"

"Just shut up for two seconds, would you?" She snapped and closed her eyes. Her face was screwed up in deep concentration, the space between her dirty blonde eyebrows wrinkled, but nothing seemed to happen.

After a few moments of uneventful silence, a low humming filled the room, and a blue-white light started to shine from behind Avery's eyelids, the thin capillaries in her skin staining them light pink. The metallic scent of ozone stung Dean's nostrils, and he felt a burning sensation fill his arm and shoulder.

"What the—" Dean felt the muscles in his shoulder lock. It was not unlike the feeling of being electrocuted and having your muscles tense due to the electrical current. Blood started to trickle from Avery's nose, dripping down her chin, and staining her hospital gown. Dean tried to wrench his hand away from hers but found that he couldn't. His arm wouldn't move. The bite of Avery's fingernails against his skin made him wince as her grip grew tighter.

"Avery, stop!" He yelled over the whining pitch, but she didn't listen. Tears started to roll down her cheeks, and her lips turned blue and bruised. The vibrant red of her blood cut through the pallor of her skin. Dean used his other hand to pull the one Avery gripped away from her. It all stopped in that same instant. The sound, the light, the metallic scent, she crumpled to the floor, and Dean jumped out of bed to kneel next to her.

"Avery! Are you okay? What the hell was that? What did you do?" Dean asked in quick succession while pulling her up slightly off the floor. Dean ignored the slight hitch in his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered and opened, no longer an unnatural glowing white, but the familiar cool grey Dean was used to.

"I've been… practicing." She said weakly and wiped her nose. Blood stained the back of her pale white hand and smeared against her lip. She looked at her hand for a moment before she let it drop while her other hand tightened around the fabric of his hospital gown.

"Practicing? Practicing what?" Dean asked. A shudder rushed through her body, and she swallowed.

"Dean, press the call button."

"What? Why? Are you okay?" Dean repeated.

"I'm gonna have a seizure. Call the doctors."

Dean's eyes widened. He laid her down gently before he leapt up to grab the tiny remote that sat on the edge of his bed. He pressed the red button three or four times and knelt back down next to Avery.

"How's the arm?" She asked, and Dean frowned. Her blonde hair was splayed out on the floor like a halo around her head.

"How's the—" It suddenly dawned on Dean that the pain in his shoulder had almost completely vanished. The sensation had returned, and all but the slightest hindrance of pain somewhere deep in his muscles kept him from moving it completely free. All of the aches and pains that Dean had pushed to the back of his mind, until then, were gone as well.

Dean didn't have time to marvel at what had just happened because almost as soon as he'd figured it out, Avery's back arched impossibly and she started to convulse. Foam gathered around her lips, and her muscles jerked randomly. Her arms were flailing to the sides and her eyes were rolling to the back of her head. The door burst open, nurses and doctors flooding the room and pulling Dean away from Avery. One of the nurses rolled her on her side so that the frothing saliva didn't enter her lungs. She tried forcing a mouth guard type device into Avery's mouth with some difficulty but eventually managed to get it in so that she wouldn't bite her tongue off.

The nurse that had pulled him away from Avery pressed her palms against his chest and pushed him towards his bed. "You have to lie back down, sir."

"But—"

"Gimme 50 CCs of diazepam," The doctor ordered, and a different nurse swiftly handed him a syringe with a long thin needle. In one fluid motion, he jabbed Avery with it and depressed the plunger until all of the drugs was in her system. Slowly but surely, Avery's bucking slowed to random twitches. The nurse that was pushing him scolded him about the discarded gauze and his exposed shoulder, but Dean wasn't paying attention.

Dean was watching as the doctor stood up and left the nurse who had handed him the syringe, to sit with Avery.

"Is that it? You're not going to do anything else?" Dean asked.

"There's nothing left to do, sir. This is as good as its gonna get until the episode is over." The doctor said.

"Nurse Roberts, please help Mr. Jackson back into bed."

Dean pulled away from the pushy nurse, "I'm fine, I can do it myself." He snarled.

The doctor frowned at his no longer wrapped arm and how easily Dean had moved. He stepped around Avery and started probing Dean's left shoulder gently.

Dean gritted his teeth against the mild burning pain it caused, "Hey, back off!"

"That's impossible," The doctor muttered. "Your arm was mangled. I watched the nurse change your dressings."

He probed the arm again, and his eyes widened, "How— you shouldn't be able— it's a miracle!"

Dean pulled his arm away and glanced at Avery who was still twitching and jerking in the nurse's arms. Miracle? Yeah, right.

—

I opened my eyes and blinked against the harsh white light of the hospital overhead lamps. Everything throbbed with dull pain from my toes to my temples.

"Hey, you're awake."

I turned my head to look at Dean. His face was pinched with anger.

"That was some stunt you pulled."

I sighed, "Yeah, well, what can I say. You had it coming, Winchester."

Dean clucked his tongue, "Don't be cute with me."

"Oh, you think I'm cute now?"

"Avery—"

"Dean." I mocked.

He shook his head. "What were you thinking?"

I studied him for a moment before answering. The bruises on his face had faded almost completely. They looked weeks old instead of the fresh purple they had been earlier. "I thought that you couldn't be down one arm. Especially if it was my fault, you were down an arm. So, I fixed it."

"Yeah, and you almost died." Dean scolded. I scoffed.

"I didn't almost die, Dean."

"You didn't see it." He argued. "You didn't hear what the doctors said. They told me that if you keep going the way you're going, you'll be a vegetable."

"Vegetable isn't dead, Dean."

"Yeah? Well, it might as well be."

"Who cares?" I asked honestly. Dean blinked, taken aback.

"I mean, you know what you need to do to get Sam back. You don't need me. If I'm dead, then I'm no longer dangerous. No one can use me if I'm gone."

Dean stared at me silently. His face was blank, devoid of emotion.

"Since when are you suicidal?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not suicidal."

"You just said that you didn't care if you live or die."

"That's not the same as wanting to off myself." I bit back.

"Alright fine, but why risk killing yourself for me, huh? We're not friends. You don't owe me anything. Why me?"

I felt my throat tighten and my heart beat faster. Why him? It was a good question. One I didn't want to answer.

"We're not friends?" I whispered, and Dean blinked.

"Are we?" He asked, and I sighed. It was a good question. One we obviously didn't know the answer to. I decided to drop it. This wasn't the time to figure out if we should buy each other best friends forever bracelets and skip into the sunset together.

"There isn't a reason," I looked away. "I healed you because it was the right thing to do."

Dean stood up. "I don't believe you."

"That sounds like your problem, not mine." I closed my eyes and leaned back into the pillows. Dean's tired sigh filled the room.

"We need to leave."

"I know." I didn't open my eyes. "Have you called Sam yet?"

"He should be here in a couple of hours."

"Is everything ready?"

"Yeah."

I opened my eyes and looked at him. He had turned his back to me, and his arms were crossed. "Are you ready?"

Dean cocked his head to the side slightly, not quite turning to face me. "As I'll ever be."

—

Sneaking out of the hospital wasn't difficult. There was so much commotion that all Dean and I had to do was wait for the nurses to get distracted and then slip past them. We were back on the road in ten minutes, and we arrived at the motel where we'd be meeting with Crowley in fifteen. Everything was ready.

Anthony was reading a magazine on the couch, a jug of holy oil was stowed in one of the closets, and a pair of Enochian engraved handcuffs were in Dean's back pocket. The weakening wards were painted on the walls. All that was left to do was wait for Sam.

I crossed my arms, leaned back against the wall nearest the door, and closed my eyes for a moment. Ever since I'd healed Dean's arm, I'd felt weak, tired. Slater had warned me that my powers were out of whack, but I'd never thought that using them would do this. Whatever Cain had done to pull those memories of Colette to the forefront of my mind had broken a dam. Bits and pieces were coming back little by little. It was violent and painful, but I was remembering. And when I remembered how to heal others, there was no way I couldn't heal Dean.

Something cool and wet hit the back of my forearm, and I opened my eyes. Dean was frowning at me and holding up a glass of water.

"Drink. You look like you're going to pass out."

I blinked at him and nodded before taking the glass. Our fingers brushed for a moment, and I jumped, the slick glass slipped from my loose grip and smashed to the floor. "Shit!"

Dean rolled his eyes and stopped me with a firm grip on my forearm before I could stoop down to pick up the shards of glass. "You need to rest. Your nerves are shot."

"I'm fine." I bent over again to clean up the mess, and he pulled me back up.

Dean looked at me and said slowly. "I'll get it. The last thing I need is for you to slice yourself open." His hand was still wrapped around my arm.

I shot Dean a weak glare, and he cocked an eyebrow at me. "I'm—"

"Fine," He finished for me. "Yeah, I know."

He wasn't facetious. He wasn't taunting me. He was…I don't know. It suddenly occurred to me that Dean was very much in my space. I wanted to say something witty, make him scowl at me and retreat, but couldn't find the will to. I liked that he was in my space. I didn't want him to stop being in my space.

"Okay," I said softly. Dean just nodded silently, and I let him pick up the glass. My arm still burned from the warmth of his missing hand. I watched him take the pieces over to the trashcan for a moment before I sat down on one of the beds.

Crowley watched the exchange with bored eyes and sighed loudly, "When did you say Moose would be arriving?"

"Soon," Dean bit out.

There was a sharp rap at the door and we all stiffened. Dean looked at me, and I felt a knot of anxiety tighten in my gut.

Crowley huffed, "You weren't kidding."

"Dean, open up!" Sam's muffled voice came from behind the motel door. More frantic knocks and Dean squared his shoulders.

"I'm coming, Sammy, don't get your panties in a twist." As soon as Dean had unlocked and opened the door, Sam came bursting in.

"Where the hell have you two been? I thought you were dead or Abaddon had—" Sam paused and looked at Anthony and then Crowley. "What…is going on here?"

"We're having an intervention," Crowley said with mock gravity. I crowded Sam slightly so that he would take a step further to the left.

"An intervention? What are you talking about?"

C'mon, Sammy, Just on more step…

"Sam, I need you to calm down," Dean said sternly.

Sam scowled. "Calm down?" Sam moved closer to his brother, and I pulled Dean's Zippo lighter out of my back pocket. "You two disappeared and left a trail of bodies behind you—"

Snick

Sam turned in time to see the lighter hit the carpet and ignite the ring of holy oil that Dean and I had laid earlier. The room was silent for a moment while Sam looked at the fire and then at us.

"Dean, what the hell is this?" He asked slowly.

Dean's shoulders sank sightly, and shame pulled his eyes closed. He couldn't look his brother in the eyes. "You were dying, Sammy. I didn't know what to do. I tried praying to Cas, but he wouldn't answer. I didn't know that he—"

"What did you do?" Sam demanded again and sounded almost afraid of what he was going to hear.

Deans lips pursed, "Someone did answer my prayers. An angel named Ezekiel showed up and offered to help, but you were in really bad shape, Sammy. He said the only way to heal you would be from the inside out…"

Sam blinked rapidly, and Dean waited for Sam to process what he'd said.

"Possession you mean," Sam said bluntly.

Dean's jaw flexed under his cheeks, "Yeah."

"Angels can't posses humans without consent," Sam said angrily. "I didn't consent. There's no way—"

"We tricked you into saying yes. It was the only way."

"The only way?" Sam repeated. His nostrils flared, and his fist clenched and unclenched at his sides. The fire crackled around him and filled the silence for a moment.

I decided it was time for me to step in. "That part is less important, Sam." He scoffed at me, but I ignored him and continued. "That angel was lying about who he was. His real name is Gadreel. He was the one who let Lucifer into the Garden."

Sam's eyes widened, and he snapped his glare back at Dean.

"We needed to find a way to get him out of you without spooking him and making him run into Metatron's arms. That's why—"

"You lied to me," He finished. "That's why you lied to me, both of you." Sam shook his head in bitter disbelief. I could see the anger tighten the muscles in his neck and the paleness around his knuckles gave away how tightly he was clenching his hands. If he hadn't been trapped in the ring of holy fire, I'd bet that he'd be throwing fists at his brother.

He laughed coldly, "I wanna say that I can't believe you did this, but I can't. I'm not surprised, Dean. I'm not surprised that you did something so stupid. I'm not surprised that you made this decision for me. I'm not surprised that you took the choice away from me with no thought!" Sam started to yell from deep in his chest, "No thought of what might happen! Of what the consequences would be for anyone close to us!"

"Nothing happened!" Dean yelled back, his face red with frustration. "Nobody got hurt—"

"I got hurt!"

That stopped Dean cold in his tracks. Sam sighed heavily before drawing in a shaky breath. "I thought I was going insane. I kept losing chunks of time and when Avery disappeared…"

Shame burned my cheeks, and I had to avert my gaze.

"I thought it was my fault. I felt so useless, so—" Sam sighed again, "If anything had happened to her…to anyone, because I couldn't keep my shit together for a couple of days I would have never forgiven myself. I felt like shit, Dean. You did that."

I glanced at Dean who was staring at Sam stonily, "No, I saved your life and I'd do it again."

"That's the problem," Sam spat, "I didn't ask you to save my life!"

"Oh please," Dean sneered, "can you even hear me from up there on your high horse, Sammy? You know that if the positions had been reversed, you would have done the same thing so I don't wanna hear—"

"No, I wouldn't."

Dean looked like he'd been struck and my jaw fell open. Crowley who I had completely forgotten was in the room muttered under his breath, "Oh my," and elbowed Anthony who looked like he would rather the ground swallow him then have to bear witness to another minute of their fraternal dispute.

"If it had been the same circumstances, roles reversed… I wouldn't have saved you," Sam reiterated.

"Same circumstances?" Dean asked quietly, almost to make sure that he'd heard correctly.

Sam nodded, "Same circumstances."

I had always thought that when Sam said this in the show it was prompted by Kevin's death. That Sam uttered this earth-shattering statement because he would rather trade his life for Kevin's then bear the guilt of living a life he didn't deserve. Never did I think that he would still feel the same way without the guilt of Kevin's death weighing on his shoulders.

"You are such a fucking brat," I hissed. Everyone in the room looked at me in shock. "How dare you say something like that to your brother after everything he's done for you?"

"Avery—" Dean warned.

"No," I glared at Dean and walked right up to the edge of the flames, felt the heat lick the skin on my neck and face turning my already ruddy skin from agitation to a deeper shade of pink.

"You are so full of shit and you and I both know it. I'm not saying what your brother did was right or that it wouldn't have hurt you or others, but he did it for you. All he has ever done his whole fucking life has been for you."

"He did it for himself!" Sam fumed. "He couldn't stand to be alone, so he tricked me and endangered everyone!"

"That's bullshit! He would have laid down his life for you!"

"Avery!" Dean barked and yanked me away from the flames. "That's enough!"

"But—"

"No! What is wrong with you? You don't speak for me. He's not your brother, and we're not your family!" Dean glowered. "Shut the fuck up and stand over there." He shoved me roughly over to where Crowley and Anthony stood silently and I stared at him for a moment before turning bright red. He was right. It wasn't my place to say anything at all, and I'd just inserted myself into a family dispute that wasn't my business. I still couldn't help but feel a little stung. I'd stood up for him, hadn't I? Dean hardened his gaze when he saw that I hadn't moved, so I ducked my head and took my place next to Crowley.

"Anthony get in the circle with Sam," Dean ordered.

Dean tossed Sam the Enochian engraved handcuffs which Sam fumbled and caught before he glared back at his brother.

"Put those on."

Sam clenched his jaw but snapped the handcuffs on himself all the same. Dean stamped out the flames with his foot and then stood back. The handcuffs wouldn't trap Gadreel in, but they would strip him of whatever little power he had left so that Sam could cast him out.

"Okay," Dean nodded, "Gadreel, if you can hear me in there, we want to talk. The wards and the cuffs are for safety, but we're not your enemies."

Dean waited for a beat a nodded, "Sam, your up."

Sam hesitated for a moment, not quite sure what he was supposed to do, before closing his eyes tightly. Moments passed in silence and I shuffled impatiently for something to happen. Water from the leaky faucet in the bathroom ricocheted off of cheap porcelain with a dull smack and filled the hollow silence. Sam opened is eyes again and let out a frustrated huff.

"What gives?" Dean asked, "Let's get this show on the road."

"I don't know what to do," Sam bit out.

Crowley stepped forward but paused cautiously when dual angry stares landed on him from the brothers. "Perhaps I can be of assistance. That is why I'm here, after all."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

Crowley smirked, "Just a quick cavity search. Pop in and out, done in a minute."

Dean clucked his tongue in disgust, and Sam bristled, "No way in hell, Crowley."

Crowley rolled his eyes, "Now now, let's not be juvenile about this. I wouldn't do anything untoward. Your angel friend just needs a bit of coaxing is all."

"Sam," I said, "He can help. And the sooner we get this over with—"

"Yeah, okay. Fine."

Crowley smirked, "You don't still have that pesky little tattoo, do you?"

Sam looked at Dean and then back out Crowley before sighing and unbuttoning his top two buttons. Sam pulled his shirt down enough to expose the tattoo and Crowley frowned.

Crowley placed a finger on Sam's chest, and a paper thin cut streaked across the marked skin making Sam leap in pain and surprise.

"Ow!" He complained.

Dean moved forward, and Crowley waved his hand, "Oh don't be such a baby. He's fine. Now," Crowley smirked again, "Open wide."

Smoke poured out of Crowley's mouth and into Sam's. Crowley's body collapsed as the last of the smoke left his mouth, and Sam stiffened for only a moment. When Sam's eyes opened again, they were red.

"How interesting," Crowley said with Sam's mouth, "Moose here is emptier than a gourd."

"What?" Dean's eyes widened. Sam's mouth opened again, and smoke filtered out of him and back into Crowley's body.

As soon as everything was set right, Sam gasped and turned to Dean.

"What—what happened?"

"Gadreel isn't in you," I whispered.

"Wait, if the angel isn't in me…" Sam started.

"Then where did he go?" Dean finished and looked at me.

I felt the blood leave my face, "Oh God…Kevin."

Uh oh spaghetti o Gadreel isn't in Sam. And Kevin? I so wonder what might have happened with him *chuckles evilly* Leave a review with questions comments complaints etc. Let me know what you think and you'll get a sneak peek of the next chapter before I post it. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!

Love always,

Lucy