AN: I'm sorry for the long delay! Especially after the end of the last chapter!Lo siento.

* * *

Perseverance: a lowly virtue whereby mediocrity achieves an inglorious success.

– Ambrose Bierce

Cas struggled through the mud as fast as he could. It was ironic, in a way that wasn't funny at all, that now that he was fully on the side of the Winchesters – like a brother, Sam had said – he was weak. No wings, waning powers. He was no faster than a human now (although he was much stronger). He could not fly, and while his senses were far sharper than a human's, he could no longer read minds without a great deal of work and healing was difficult and took real focus. Now that Cas was doing what he always should have been doing, he was, in his own opinion, fairly useless.

Cas went down on one knee and struggled back to his feet. He knew what Sam and Dean would say. They'd tell him that they were "only" human and didn't have any powers. That he didn't need to be able to fly or have any powers to do good. Well, Sam would tell him that. Dean would roll his eyes and tell Cas to suck it up, but either response would make him feel better, honestly.

Or at least, they'd make him feel better once Sam was safe and back to normal.

Baako's old Victorian was right in front of Cas now, finally. It had taken a long time to walk far enough to get a signal. Cas had been gone for over four hours. The whole way back, he kept hearing Dean say, "Get back to him," in a voice that leaked fear and something that sounded like anger but wasn't. Cas could imagine the look on Dean's face. The look that said Cas had made the wrong choice again. If he let himself, Cas would picture the look Dean had given him at the moment he'd obliterated Sam's wall...a decision with reverberations that would never stop affecting Sam as long as he lived. A decision that might have been kinder if it had outright killed Sam.

Dean's face hadn't showed anger then. It had begged Cas. Not Sam. Please, Cas. Anybody and anything except Sam.

Cas took an unnecessary breath as he made his way around to the back of the house, a human affectation that he'd adopted. The scene was much as he'd feared it would be. The door hung open, loosened from its top hinge like someone had simply run through it instead of opening it. Inside, the two pairs of handcuffs dangled, empty and bloody, from their respective bars, and one bar of the cage curled sharply down toward the floor, broken loose from its top mooring. Sam, naturally, was gone.

Cas didn't bother to indulge in self-recrimination. Sam was weak and confused, and Cas could catch up to him and fix this by keeping him safe. He just had to find him first.

It proved a lot harder than Cas had expected. The silt didn't hold its shape enough to offer clear footprints, and though Sam was injured and disoriented, he was also a Hunter, born and raised. For hours the two played cat and mouse through the abandoned town. Cas' sense of urgency grew as the sun began to sink. Sam was definitely hiding from its rays, staying mostly inside from what the angel could tell. It would be nearly impossible to find Sam after dark.

Cas had been two steps behind all afternoon, relying solely on his hearing and the Hunter instinct that he'd tried so hard to cultivate. He could feel that he was closing the gap now, but Sam could probably feel it too.

Though he'd been hoping for it, Cas was still surprised to catch a glimpse of a struggling figure against the darkening sky. Sam was a few hundred feet away, and he seemed to see Cas too. He hunched as if in fear and scuttled out of sight behind a barn that leaned back like an old man, its once red paint nearly gray with age. Cas pushed himself faster, ending up sliding down the shallow slope in front of him on his backside. Not that it mattered; he was already completely coated in mud.

Sam was out of sight when Cas rounded the barn, but the angel could hear him. There was skittering, too loud to be from bugs or mice, and the sound of heavy breathing. Both sounds were muted, and Cas turned in a slow circle, frowning at his surroundings. Sam was inside something. Something concrete, judging by the sound of the scratching. Cas' gaze fell on a silo made of poured concrete blocks. The top had tumbled off long ago and was mostly buried in the pervasive mud. The entire remaining structure was cockeyed toward Cas and the barn it guarded.

Cas tipped his head and listened harder, absent-mindedly and fruitlessly wiping at the mud on his coat. Sam was definitely inside the silo, not trying to quiet his breathing. "Sam?" Cas called on a hunch. He kept moving toward the silo, looking for an entrance. Maybe it would have been smarter to try to sneak up on the nascent vampire, but something told him that things had changed, though he didn't know how.

"Cas?" Sam's voice, even muffled by the wall between them, was obviously wrecked. He sounded weak and weary and confused.

"How do I get inside to help you, Sam?" The mud here was even wetter than elsewhere, to the point that it took extra effort for Cas to even stay on his feet. He kept his frustration out of his voice, though. Sam actually sounded like himself, and Cas didn't want to waste his opportunity.

"I, uh...I dunno." There were a few more sounds of movement. Then a small sound of pain, which likely would have been a cry from anyone other than a Winchester. "I'm...I can hardly remember anything, Cas. I'm...I'm...you should stay back."

Cas' heart twisted. Sam sounded pained. Defeated. No, not defeated – like he'd made up his mind. Like he'd given up. "Wait, Sam. Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't. It's not too late." Cas ran forward to the silo and flattened a hand against the wall right where he could hear Sam moving.

"Cas?"

"I'm here, Sam."

Sam sniffed audibly, like he was steeling himself. "Cas, I think, uh, that it's too late here. I'm...I'm barely able to re-remember that I'm human." Strangely, the thready tone of Sam's voice and the pain underlying it only made him seem stronger. "I won't...I won't last. Cas, you'll have to...Dean won't be able to, so I need you to kill me. I won't be a monster. Not again." Despite everything, there was no give at all in Sam's words.

"Sam." Cas' voice failed him for a moment. "I cannot do that, Sam. You know I cannot. I won't. You are my friend. My brother, remember?"

"That's why –" Sam tried, but Cas wasn't having it.

"No, Sam. I promised that I would look after you, and that means not giving up. Not ever." He felt like apologizing, even though it was counterintuitive.

"Okay." Sam's voice had dropped to a near whisper, and even Cas could hardly hear him. "You need to step back, Cas."

Cas rolled his eyes, thinking Sam was warning him that he was about to attack again. That was what Cas wanted, because it would mean he could recapture his friend.

Instead, there was the sound of running steps inside the silo, then the crash of a body hitting the far wall. "No! Sam, no!" Cas called, near panic. Was Sam trying to kill himself? There was another rush and crash, and the entire silo trembled under the assault. Cas still didn't know where the entrance was, so he acted without thinking, smashing his hands into the wall in front of him to get to Sam faster. His strength pulverized the two blocks right in front of him. Before the sound of the crash had even died down, the silo wall gave an ominous creak. Between its already precarious tilt, the damage Sam had caused the structure, and Cas' strike, the silo was done. Gravity alone held the ridged blocks together, and now gravity was pulling the whole thing toward the ground. Toward Cas.

The top of the silo hit the hay loft of the dilapidated barn, slowing the descent for a split second, then the silo buckled in the middle like an eggshell. A heartbeat later, the weight carried the tired old barn down with it. Which meant the concrete blocks and the wooden beams landed on Cas.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Maybe it was stupid to grin when you had a centuries-old vampire pinning you to the ground, especially when you were in the middle of its lair and trapped inside. Dean grinned anyway.

He was too damn proud of the success of his strategy. Of the fact that The Winchester Bloodsucker Ganker of Extreme Badassery was buried in Baako's stringy neck by the force of his own leap. Was the strategy a bit reckless? Well, yeah, but so was tracking down the vamp on his own and going into the freaking catacombs (which still felt a little surreal, but story of Dean's life on that one) to find Baako.

Baako made a sound that was more than a scream and grabbed Dean's neck, unable to reach forward to bite without further impaling himself. Fireworks exploded in Dean's vision, but he pushed up harder with the dagger and with the broken barrel of the flashlight. The latter both caught the blood flowing down from Baako and pushed into the soft skin under the vampire's chin. The twin forces drove the monster's head back and gave Dean just a little more room. His chest was on fire and he twisted the dagger just a little, feeling it catch against Baako's spine.

"Will...you...die...already?" Dean panted out. It was the moment of truth, that fulcrum of reality when he didn't know which way things would tip. What would happen first? Would Baako crush Dean's windpipe or would Dean move the dagger far enough to kill Baako?

There was no uncertainty. No doubt whatsoever in Dean's mind that he'd win because he wasn't just trying to live for himself. Baako was acting on the instinct of every animal, human, and monster just to survive. Dean was trying to live because otherwise Sam would die.

Whether it was because of that or from some other reason, a spare moment later, the pressure was gone from Dean's chest and neck. He rolled to his side and hacked uncontrollably, being careful not to spill the precious blood from the flashlight casing. Even over his own coughing and the rush of his heartbeat in his ears, Dean heard Baako scuttling away. The sound was broken and uneven, a wounded animal fleeing.

How the hell Baako could even move, Dean had no idea. He was full of dead man's blood – that's what the WBGoEB dagger did.And his head had to be half off. Dean rolled cautiously onto his front and sat up even more slowly, listening as hard as he could. He never underestimated the strength of the wounded, dying, and desperate. (Not since a wechuge that was missing half its limbs had rallied to nearly eviscerate Dean, anyway.)

All that happened was that the sounds of Baako dragging his broken body away got farther away until they faded completely. Dean still didn't trust it, but with the cavern magnifying any sound and him pretty much in the middle of it, there wasn't any way for the vamp or anything else to sneak up on him.

Since he couldn't risk the potential key to Sam's cure in the handle of a pathetic plastic flashlight, Dean propped the makeshift container between his thighs and pulled out the stoppered bottle he had inside his coat for that purpose. He also grabbed the penlight he always had on him, flicked it on and put it between his teeth like he was looking for a problem under Baby's hood.

The transfer went perfectly, and Dean still didn't hear the slightest sound from Baako, which made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Stupid not-dead vampire that Dean still needed to worry about. He didn't have time for the asshole. Didn't have time for any of this. He could still hear Christopher saying, "It gets exponentially worse."

His precious cargo safely stowed in an inside pocket of his jacket, Dean climbed to his feet. And almost went back down. Huh. Too many fights, too many bruises, too little food or sleep. Dean braced his left hand against his torso. And possibly a cracked rib. Hopefully just sprained, but that's not what it felt like.

Deciding the injury was just one more thing that he didn't have time to worry about, Dean used the little penlight to find the way back out. It offered a pathetic amount of light, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing. He walked cautiously and gingerly back down the twisting hallway that had led him there, wondering how exactly he was supposed to get out.

At the juncture where the corridor split in two, Dean froze. He could hear sounds coming from the left, the only way he hadn't explored – toward the smell of death.

"It won't work," Baako hissed from Dean's left. How did he even have vocal cords left?

Dean pressed his back against the wall, but his anemic light couldn't reach far enough into the gloom to show him the vamp. He couldn't take another hit, he thought, and instead of the machete, pulled out the Colt he was carrying. (Too bad it wasn't the Colt Damn, he missed that gun.) "It will," Dean answered, mostly so he could figure out where exactly Baako was. "I've seen it, more than once."

"After how long?" Baako's voice was farther away now, and Dean swore a little. It was naturally a trap, but if he didn't follow, he'd have to watch his back. And maybe, like all rats, the bastard probably had a back way out of his hole. "His mind is gone by now. You'll have to put him down like a dog."

Dean snorted. Didn't Baako know anything about the Winchester brothers? His flashlight illuminated some fresh, dark blood, and as Baako moved, Dean could hear how he dragged his body. "Not doing so great, are ya, Skippy?" he taunted, his posture so tight his poor, abused back muscles complained. He weighed the dagger in the same hand that held the flashlight, expecting to be jumped at any time.

"Even if Samuel isn't lost to insanity, you may have the wrong vampire's blood."

Dean smiled and it wasn't a nice smile. "Doesn't matter. I got blood from all of you. You know, when I was torturing and killing your entire little family. Gotta say, I didn't expect one of 'em to want you dead. I'm gonna fulfill his wish, then go cure Sam and forget all about you, asshat."

Baako hissed and gurgled angrily but didn't attack. "Christopher would have come around in another decade or so," he argued, the words growing more garbled. Then he changed tacks. "You foolish human! You cannot simply cycle through our blood. If you try the wrong blood in your cure, you will change him permanently. What will you do then, Hunter? Will you kill him? Will you lock him up like an animal?"

Fear and bile rose in Dean's throat. What if Baako was right? And what if Dean guessed wrong about whose blood they'd used? Christopher hadn't been sure… "You're a shit liar, fanghead," he growled out to cover his own fear and uncertainty. He didn't care that he was now making footprints in Baako's blood. He'd like to put a footprint on the vamp's face.

Baako laughed, a wet, unhinged sound. Why did he keep backing down to where the smell got worse and worse. A horrid thought struck Dean. What if he had someone alive in here, just in case it all went to shit and he needed a snack? "I'm not lying, boy." There was a slight echo behind him, and Dean realized that they must be above what Baako had called his charnel pit.

Dean knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. Baako clearly had a tell before he attacked, something he really should have figured out in his thousands of years of existence.

Baako leaped toward Dean, but Dean had already started firing at him, two bursts of two shots each. The hand that had barely brushed Dean's sleeve fell back, and for a moment, Baako was perfectly illuminated in the beam of the little flashlight. He stumbled backward and flailed for a second, arms outflung. Dean was bizarrely reminded of Gollum. No, of Hans Gruber.

Dean fired twice more, the impacts finally knocking the dying vampire over the edge behind him and out of sight. "Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker," said Dean with a breathless laugh that was as much shock as amusement. "Those were for Hooch."

The echoes of the sickeningly wet slap of Baako's landing died away and Dean listened with all his might. His little penlight couldn't come anywhere close to penetrating the depths of the natural hole in front of him, but there was absolute silence. No sound of breathing or anything.

"Anybody down there?" Dean called after a good five minutes of nothing. "Anybody need help getting out of a vamp lair?" Again, the echoes lapsed into silence. After another ten minutes of nothing, Dean's shoulders came down. If there had been anyone down there in a vampire's version of a pantry, he had no idea how he'd have gotten them out.

Hopefully, he could get himself out. And hopefully, Baako had been lying about the whole the wrong blood will make Sam a bloodsucker forever thing. Unfortunately, hope was a cruel son of a bitch who hated the Winchesters.

Dean limped back down the hall – really, it was a bit embarrassing to be this beat up just from a few vampires. They were just monsters. Overpowered, sadistic monsters, but still.

Lapsing into a kind of just-get-there trance was a good thing in this case, because it meant that Dean hardly noticed Baako's grisly tchotchkes. In fact, he didn't realize he'd gone the entire way back until sunlight speared his eyes.

The good news was that the rock wasn't completely blocking Dean's exit. The bad news was that the space left was barely wide enough for him to slither through. The worse news was that it was seven feet up, and he was in no shape to jump.

"Can't be helped," Dean sighed aloud, as if that would make it true. He stared up at the opening for a few long minutes, trying to wish it closer. Of course, wishes hated Winchesters as much as hope did. And now Dean was flat-out stalling. With one more sigh, Dean tucked away the penlight, the gun, and The Winchester Bloodsucker Ganker of Extreme Badassery. What he wouldn't give for a Winchester Elevator of Elevating. Or even some Winchester Stairs of...Stairing. Yeah, he might be losing it a little.

Dean sighed once more and began to painfully scale the rocky wall, grateful that it was uneven enough to offer plenty of hand- and foot-holds. Even lifting his left arm from his side made his torso throb, and trying to pull himself up with that hand sent him gasping back to the floor, luckily landing on his feet. He breathed carefully for a few minutes, the time weighing on him again. He had to get up there, and now, for Sam. Dean swallowed, grit his teeth, called himself a few unfriendly names, and started again.

Using his left hand no higher than his bottom ribs and only to stabilize himself, Dean made his way up, swearing silently because he had no breath to do it out loud. Twice, he nearly fell again. He knew if he did, that would be it and he'd lie in the stupid hole until someone found him or he died of dehydration. Not an option right now.

Finally, Dean found himself squirming through the open space. The action shifted things that didn't want to be shifted. But somehow, he made it out and laid on the dirt drawing pained breaths. He stared up at the sky and willed away the black spots in his vision. At last, they abated enough for Dean to roll over and climb to his feet. He skirted the ruins, mostly so he didn't have to lift his feet.

Baby was an oasis, not the least because he could lean against her and catch his breath. With her help (moral support, anyway), Dean worked off his jacket, folded it over itself a few times, and tied it over the hurt rib. He wasn't willing to take any longer for first aid, but he needed that. He could actually stand up almost straight once his makeshift support was in place.

Dean rubbed his eyes and acknowledged that he needed a little more help to keep moving. He popped the trunk and uncovered his super secret stash of the little energy drinks that Sam said were dangerously –

Dean's hand froze reaching for them. Not so secret after all. On top of his little stash, hidden under a blanket that was so dirty it didn't really fold and a pile of balled-up fast food bags, was a note written in handwriting Dean knew as well as his own. Only use if you really need them, because too many will make your heart explode. Stay safe. – S

Tears blurred Dean's vision for a second as he reached for a handful of the little bottles. To him, there was no greater need. "I'm comin', Sammy," he whispered.

* * *

AN: In the book and movie Return of the King (the last in JRR Tolkein's Lord of the Rings trilogy), the character Gollum falls off a precipice into boiling lava.

Hans Gruber is the antagonist of the movie Die Hard. He dies when he falls from an upper story of a sky scraper. The "yippee-ki-yay" line is a direct quote from the protagonist of the same movie after Gruber calls him a cowboy. Despite the language, I couldn't help but have Dean quote it in its entirety, not after TV rules didn't let him finish the quote in season 12, episode 22, Who We Are when he uses the grenade launcher.

Kathy: Isn't the nuckalevee a horrific thing? Not my invention this time. Of course you want the story about the cross country trip! I love that about you. And that you appreciate my little details. I'm so so glad that the torture scene wasn't too much. And now Dean is taking energy drinks. I may have fun with that. So, I took care of one cliffie, but not the other, or kind of did another one. Whump for Sam! Whump for Dean! Whump for Cas! Everyone gets whumpage! Heh.

Timelady66: I had too much fun naming the dagger. Just for you, I played with the name a little in this chapter. Thought you might like the Winchester Stairs of Stairing. Personally, I can't stop imagining Dean wearing a glowstick necklace and Baako trying to bite him and getting thr glowy stuff all over his fangs! Thanks for that -- it's awesome. *giggle*

Chiiva: Sorry, sorry! This was an unusually long wait, but it should come faster going forward. So happy to have you reading!

DearHart: That would have been awesome to have VampSam to the rescue! I didn't think of that. Dean took care of business though.

Christine: That was an exceptionally good question! And your scenario is excellent...it inspired me. Ang-pire is my new favorite thing. It may have to make it's way into the story. So much good stuff in this comment!

muffinroo: Your reference to kinder pits made me literally snort coffee out of my nose. So happy that you like the WBGoEB. It sounds like a weapon from the game Munchkin. I love the idea of psycho Sam the vamp to the rescue but, alas, I wasn't that creative. And yes, Sam definitely needs you about now!

radpineapple: Thank you! I appreciate all of your comments so much. Sorry for the wait. :-( Aren't catacombs a fabulous setting? I wanted Baako in catacombs, so I invented some in Louisiana. LOL

Shazza: Janice said I had to give you some nice hurt Dean after you asked so nicely...so his condition is half your fault. Hehe.

Atlasina7: Ope, sorry for making you wait, especially after you had such lovely things to say! (Ope is a midwest thing, or maybe just a Michigan thing.) You're welcome for creepy catacombs!

sfaulkenberry: The slow losing of Samness is a fabulous phrase! I'm glad it worked for you. I never can think of good, snappy names for things, but I had fun with the totally overblown name. And I've always thought of Dean's boots as shit-kickers.