A/N: Vivi here! Crazy weekend. Sorry this is so late in the day. Once again, no internet at home. I'm on winter break now, so there may or may not be a few extra chapters in the next few weeks.

Just a heads up: there's a POV change in this chapter.

Enjoy!

Previously on Enter the World:

I scrambled to my feet immediately, but couldn't run. They had Sam and Dean hog-tied. I couldn't leave them like that.

"Allison the Huntress. I am Tristram, Knight of the Round Table."

I couldn't speak. I was terrified. And so, so confused. Why in the hell is he being nice to me when his cronies just murdered my friend and beat the other two to a bloody pulp?

"Are you hurt?" Tristram, Knight of the Round Table, asked.

I shook my head very slightly, not wanting to move while under his cold gaze.

"Are you whom I believe you to be?"

One tiny nod, which, in retrospect, was a bad idea.

"You are Allison, the soul residing in the vessel of Francesca's choosing. The child you bear; this is the fruit of her efforts?"

I didn't move. In my peripheral vision, I saw Dean move around until he finally got to his knees.

"It was foolish of my companion to choose a hunter to sire her object of want. As my vessel would have said, 'she had it coming'." Tristram paused, holding his arms out to his sides. "Brilliant thing, this human I've chosen. He was a student of language at university. Through his knowledge, I've come to speak this absurd incantation of language that is still, against all sense, called English."

I nodded slightly, unsure about what I should do. Can't run. They're faster. Can't fight, they'll hurt the guys or- heaven forbid- kill the baby in the scuffle. And now… I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat and felt a few tears fall from my eyes. No one will be there to save him. No one could save him. Cas…

"Allison, why do you weep? You should be honored to bear such a thing as Francesca and her creation."

I glared at him. Demon or not, he had to get one thing right. "This is not her child."

"I beg to differ. Excuse me for a moment. Soldiers, retain her." Tristram turned away from me, toward the guys, as two of the three demons who had been guarding me moved back to stand by my side; the one barely had to move. I'd been sitting on her foot.

"Don't you hurt them." I growled, jumping to my feet. Both of my arms were caught up within milliseconds, but I still struggled against them. "I'll-"

"My dear lady, I had no plans to harm your comrades." Tristram turned back, but only a little. "The soldiers who damaged them will be punished accordingly. The three of you shall remain unharmed, so long as a few of my requests are met."

"Name them." I said quickly, tugging once more against my captors.

"A lady has no place in business of this sort." Tristram turned around again. "Wake that one."

I watched as a demon in a pretty red-headed soccer mom opened a gallon jug of water and dumped it over Sam's head. He sputtered to life, gasping and pulling against the zip ties, probably cutting himself in the process. I saw him try to say something, only to realize he couldn't.

"I'm over here, Sam. Dean's okay, too. He's right there with you." I said as evenly as possible. "They taped your mouths shut."

Sam found Dean kneeling beside him, then he found me and I knew instantly what question his eyes were asking. I looked away, trying not to start ugly crying.

"Hunters Samuel and Dean. Your reputations have preceded you." Tristram said, his voice booming. "You murdered seven humans today. Had you been under my command you would have already received your sentence. I see that life is not as valued in this age as it was when I walked the earth in my own form. I had such hopes that the opposite would persist as I was led from the hurricane by the demon Francesca, who has become my companion through our damnation."

Dean tried to say something, but it only sounded like a muffled grumble through the tape.

"I have sought you for many weeks now. I do not wish any harm to befall you by my own doing. I have but one request, which will be honored. I have no doubt." Tristram said, moving to stand on the other side of the guys instead of between us. "You see there a beautiful woman, laden with purpose, distressed at her confinement. I would not have expected you to feel any remorse at this had I not discovered the attraction that draws you both to her. A connection very like the family bond calls your souls to hers, as it calls you to one another. My soldiers were well trained to observe these kinds of things. Francesca preened them herself." Tristram moved a few feet closer to the guys, now just four feet or so from where the guys were. "That being known, this is my request. Hear it well, men. I have in my possession the huntress Allison. She will accompany me to an undisclosed location for a short time."

Neither of the guys liked that idea and they showed it. I wasn't too fond of it either. My eyes got wider and I tried kicking the demon in the man next to me where the sun don't shine, but he held on tight.

"Be not enraged, hunters. Once you fulfill my request, you may have her back for a time. She and her offspring will be retrieved once a child is birthed. In exchange for this valuable commodity," Tristram motioned to me with a grand sweep of his arm. "You will give me the demon Francesca. I have searched the earth for my companion and found no trace. The angry harlot has become dear to me; she and I suffered in the very same circle, side by side in the same storm of wind and waves. Her soldiers- those of them that remain, the less violent bastards- reported that she herself dismissed them after she completed the first part of her ill-conceived plan. They left her with three hunters; one of them an angel, no less. I have little doubt that she is in your possession, though I struggle to understand how, as she is not in a vessel. No tracking spell has had the power to find her."

Tristram walked past Dean and came to stand before me once more, blocking my view of the guys. "Make yourselves known once you retrieve Francesca. I will seek you out in a few days time. Your restraints will be removed once myself and my pawn are well clear. Godspeed, hunters."

They didn't like that either. I didn't like how Tristram motioned to his 'soldiers' and they all started walking away, towards the exit. Even the ones restraining me. "No, hey, you can't do this!" I shouted, struggling as hard as I could. "Who the hell do you think you are?" My feet slid along the concrete as I was dragged after the group of possessed people.

"I am Tristram, Knight of King Arthur. And you, my darling, are the vessel with which I will spend my days."

"Oh, hell no. Let go!" Ali shouted, fighting in vain against the two demons holding her arms.

Sam and Dean watched as the group of demons dragged Ali down the aisle and out of sight. The two of them struggled wildly against the ties binding their hands and feet.

"Sam, Dean, help me!"

"Please!"

"SAM!"

Ali's screams and shouts for help faded into quieter pleas tainted with what sounded like falling tears. She was too far away to understand, but they knew she wasn't talking to them.

She knew they couldn't save her.

That stung, ripped at the barely sealed wounds in Sam's heart from what he'd done to her at the club. He couldn't save her- or the baby- then, and he couldn't save them now.

Two minutes after her voice faded, the zip ties began to heat up. It shocked both men, who frantically tried to get away from whatever was burning them. The ties melted through and fell away; there was nothing burning the things that they could find, though their wrists sported very tangible burns now, as well as cuts. They leapt to their feet, ripping the tape off of their mouths as they sprinted for the door.

"Ali!" Sam shouted as he left the store, Dean close behind him. "Ali!"

"Where the hell did they go?" Dean growled, surveying the area around them. "Sam." He smacked Sam's arm and pointed to his right. There, on the ground, lay exactly ten bodies. Each in a state of near consciousness. One of them even sat up and started rubbing his head.

She wasn't among them.

"Ali!" Sam looked back to the parking lot and charged forward.

The two of them looked for any sign of the girl until they heard sirens a few minutes later. Sam was in tears, near hysteria for the second time that week.

"Sam, hey." Dean grabbed ahold of Sam's arm as he started running for the road, desperate to figure out which way they could have gone. He assumed they were in a car. He hoped. "Tristram said he'd bring her back. Sam, they're gone. Hey, look at me. Look at me." Dean took Sam's other arm and forced Sam to face him. Sam looked to his big brother, at a loss. "Don't check out again, okay? I need you here. Ali needs you at the top of your game, got it?"

Sam looked around again, sniffed his nose, tried to breathe, and nodded.

"We need to go back in there."

Sam's distraught face betrayed his confusion.

"Cas…"

"Dean, I'm sorry." Sam breathed, as if it were his fault. "We hesitated, he- he told us to run and we didn't. And now…"

"We gotta make sure, Sam. He'd do the same for us."

Sam followed Dean back to the store just as two police cars came around the corner of the nearest building. They ducked inside and raced to the back of the store, where the whole thing went down.

Dean saw him first and stopped short. Sam ran into Dean, but was no less shaken.

The body of Cas lay face down about two thirds of the way into the aisle. It was resting in a pool of blood, a deep, congealed red by this time. Matching sprays of the sickly red clung to much of the aisle; a lot on the floor, some strew across boxes of cereal with happy cartoon characters on them. Even a streak on the ceiling. There was too much blood to be from just one body, but there were only two other bodies in the aisle. One burly man in cook's garb, and one in a smart looking polo that read 'electronics dept.'.

The blood only held their attention for a few seconds, however.

A pair of big black burn marks, shaped like wings, stretched from his back. The right wing etched an inky scar into the cement crossing much of the walkway, but the left only damaged a few feet of concrete before it discolored the shelf of cereal next to it. The floor, the shelves, the cereal; all of it was pitch black where he…

"Cas…" Dean breathed. He didn't know what else to do.

Sam stumbled back a few steps, trying to catch his breath. I can't- not him, too. She- I can't- She'll come back, she has to. She has to. But Cas…

They heard police yell something about surrender over a megaphone outside.

"Dean." Sam managed to force just a few words out of his brain in the midst of… this. "We have to go." He laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, intent on tugging him towards the back room, where there was a loading bay they might be able to escape from.

Dean jerked away from Sam and walked slowly, hesitantly, toward the red puddle.

"We have to go, Dean. We can't get her back if we're in prison." Sam spoke more firmly this time. He would get her back. There was no doubt in his mind. How he would get her back was another story.

"Sam… look at this." Dean whispered, his voice filled with awe.

Sam looked over his shoulder toward the front entrance, which was hidden by the clothing section. He couldn't hear anything but the megaphone from outside. He thought they'd probably do that- demand the surrender of the attackers who already left- for a minute or so before they came in. Sam jogged down the aisle to stand beside Dean.

As he got closer, he immediately saw what had Dean speechless.

Those weren't burn marks.

Those were wings.

Real, actual wings. With feathers. Coated in blood.

"Is he…?" Sam started to say, only to trail off. He'd never seen something like that before. The wings looked like they'd just torn holes in Cas' coat where they attached at his shoulder blades, but they looked soft where blood hadn't stained them. A few of the flight feathers were damaged or missing. No wonder he'd been having trouble zapping back and forth.

Dean was crouching in the puddle of blood before Sam even saw his brother move, fingers pressed to the angel's neck.

"Sam." Dean looked up at his brother. Sam hadn't seen Dean so shocked in years; this trumped even the paternity reveal of that very afternoon.

"He's alive."

"How the hell does he fly?" Dean grunted quietly as he and Sam half carried half dragged Cas and those massive wings toward the loading bay. Each man had an arm and awkwardly held Cas' body around the base of the wings. "He weighs a ton."

"He's in a grown man, Dean. And those things probably added a couple pounds when they showed up." Sam glanced over his shoulder and Cas' arm at the wings, which were clumsily folded and held in place by Dean's long sleeved shirt, wrapped tightly and carefully around the feathered things. Both Sam and Dean's jackets were coated in blood. Their pants and boots and, well, just about everything else probably was, too. The police would have no trouble in tracking them once they found the huge spill in aisle seven.

"Yeah, but all that red on the floor had to of evened that out, right?"

"Not funny, Dean. He's literally bleeding out." Sam said quietly as he nudged open a large metal door. On the other side was a big open space dotted with pallets of products wrapped in so many layers of plastic that they were indistinguishable from each other. A few trucks were backed into their respective bays, but one of the bays was open. Rather than find a door, which would have taken a few extra seconds, they got right up to the bay and Dean took Cas' weight while Sam jumped down. Cas was lowered carefully, the brothers taking extra precautions with the wings, before Dean joined them on the ground. The owner of the nearest car was gonna be pissed.

Sam picked the lock and got in the driver's seat while Dean manhandled Cas into the back seat of the SUV. He pushed his way in, keeping Cas sitting upright until he could figure out how to lay him down though hurting him. The car was moving even before Dean closed his door.

"Don't go home." Dean warned. "They'll be following us."

"Got it." Sam flew down the road, getting on the nearest highway. "How's Cas?"

"Just peachy." Dean snapped as he gently guided Cas to lay on his side, wings against the back of the seats. He figured that would be the least painful way of doing this.

There was blood everywhere. The whole front of the angel, most of his face, and much of his back were just slick and red and disgusting. Dean had a hard time figuring out where the bleeder was. Nothing was torn; not his shirt, not his coat, aside from the new wing holes. He leaned Cas forward, toward him as he knelt in the cramped space between the front and back seats. Whatever company boasted the leg room of this car model was obviously delusional.

No active bleeding from his back. Damn it. Dean leaned him against the back seat once more. "I can't find it, Sam." His voice was full of urgency and distress.

"Where did you look?"

"Everywhere."

"Obviously not. Head?"

"Head's fine. Well, his cheek's cut-"

"Body?"

"Couldn't find anything big enough to do his."

"Arms?"

Dean did a quick check of both limbs, finding them intact. "Clear."

"Wings?" Sam frowned. Where would the major blood vessels be in a wing?

"They weren't bleeding in the store. No blood under 'em."

"Legs?"

Well shit. There's your sign. Dean checked along Cas' legs, running a hand up and down the nasty, slimy fabric, looking for rips or holes.

"Bingo." He found one, a long tear on the outer side of his leg, just above the back his right knee. Without hesitation, Dean removed his coat and balled it up, pressing hard against the wound that was still gushing blood and soaking some poor soccer mom's fabric seats. He applied pressure to the front of Cas' leg, too, where the femoral artery and the internal iliac and femoral veins converged before entering the pelvis. In effect, Dean created a vice grip, stopping the flow of blood out of and slowing the flow of blood to the wound.

"How bad?" Sam asked, glancing back at them in the rearview mirror, his view blocked by the back of Dean's head as his brother worked.

"Five inches, probably one or two deep. Might have nicked the popliteal artery, but it missed deep and superficial femoral arteries." Dean said quickly, pressing harder on the wound as it soaked his coat through. "And it's definitely an artery. Bright red blood."

"Guess those anatomy lessons came in handy, huh?" Sam said as he remembered evenings spent with Ali and his brother, pouring over old anatomy textbooks from the archives, listening to the former med student spin intricate views of the blood vessels and muscles and organs of the body. She was full of knowledge, throwing in fun facts to keep their attention. Like how some muscles had beautiful tendons; instead of the usual ropey structures, some had thick, wide sheets of amazingly strong connective tissue that shimmered in the light of her anatomy lab. Kind of like fish skin, but less scaly and more sleek. She said it was beautiful. He could still see her smile, the wonder in her eyes as she tried to convince them that there were amazing structures that looked so much better on a body than they did in the books. A strong pang of panic and dread washed over Sam; he took a deep breath, but it didn't make much of a dent.

Sam was glad he couldn't see those structures on Cas at the moment. That would be a problem even the Winchesters couldn't handle.

Hell, this whole ordeal might turn out to be more than the Winchesters could handle. No. We'll get her back. She'll be okay. He'll be okay. Cas will be okay. Everybody's gonna be fine.

"Where are we headed?" Dean asked after a few minutes. The bleeding had slowed, but Cas' breathing picked up and became shallower. "We need to stop soon, he's going into shock."

"Hospital?" Sam suggested.

Dean would have smacked his brother had he not been using both hands. "What are the white coats gonna say when we bring in a guy with real actual wings, Sam?"

"Right. Motel?"

"Home away from home."

They finally decided that Cas would probably be okay on his back if the wings were cushioned by a ton of pillows and blankets. Sam got a room by convincing the clerk at the desk of the Dunes Motel that he was a painter and had spilled a container of red tinted stain on himself at work that day. The clerk didn't say a word, but took his payment and handed over a set of keys with wide eyes.

The brothers quickly brought Cas into the room and set him up with pillows to cushion his wings and another couple to lift his legs. Sam laid salt while Dean continued his vigil of applying pressure to the wound and checking the pulses in Cas' foot. The last thing they needed was for Cas to lose his leg now that he probably couldn't heal it.

"His lips are blue."

"I know, Sam."

A/N: Sorry for potentially making you guys think I killed Cas for a whole week. Meant to post mid-week but finals happened. So yay, he's still alive. Kinda. Leave me a review in this little box at the bottom of the page. I'd love to hear from you! See you soon!