At first, Dean thought they had a chance, that they'd gotten away and would be alright. The explosion had sent the demons flying, giving Castiel one quick shot to get through the ranks that surrounded them. But when the first attack came, it was so fast that Dean wasn't sure exactly what had happened. He saw a shadow, heard Cass grunt, and they changed direction slightly. But the second hit sent a spray of the glorious feathers in one of his wings flying, and the two of them tumbled wildly through the air for a bit before Cass regained control.

Now Dean could see them, up close and personal. They bore some resemblance to the pictures he'd seen, the long claws, the hooves on the fighter demons, the horns and the leathery wings. But their faces were indescribable. It was as if their features had somehow melted and then been reformed by a careless artist into something vaguely human, mostly monstrous, and altogether terrifying. Their baleful red eyes stared after them, filled with hatred and bloodlust. As he watched, a third dove towards them, forcing Cass to dodge quickly to avoid being struck again.

Terrified, Dean looked at Cass's injured wing. A patch with no feathers bore the telltale mark of claws, and a silvery substance, like mercury, was oozing from the spot. "We gotta get down, buddy!" Dean yelled. "You're already hurt and you can't fight and carry me at the same time!"

Cass was too busy dodging to respond. The ride now was wilder than any roller coaster, worse than the worst turbulence Dean had ever experienced. Time and time again, Cass was forced to change direction, tucking his wings to dive dangerously low until they were skimming the street itself, dodging and weaving among the moving vehicles. They shot up into the sky and soared over the roofs of the massive skyscrapers. Then they were flying among the buildings themselves, dashing around them. At one point, they passed directly through an office building, as insubstantial as a passing breeze to stir paperwork slightly but otherwise leave no sign of their passing.

But at every turn, the angel found himself blocked and hounded. Once more, he was struck, this time on his other wing, and once again, he tumbled out of control for a moment in a spray of feathers. The mighty wings beat frantically, rapidly regaining altitude, trying to dodge the snarling hunter that snapped at their heels.

Dean kicked at the creature without thinking, and his foot connected with its grasping hand as it reached for Castiel. It yelped in surprise, fell back for a moment, and then immediately charged after them. This time it was clearly going for Dean. Dean kicked it again with all his strength. His foot impacted with its face, sending a satisfying jolt up his leg. The demon yelped again and fell back, falling behind as Cass somehow managed more speed despite his injured wings.

A group dove down from above and Cass gasped and hissed in pain as another hunter landed on his back, digging in its claws to ride the angel. Dean tried to swing at it, but couldn't reach. Cass was holding him tightly with Dean's back against his chest, leaving his own back unprotected. "Cass!" Dean yelled, straining to reach the monster tearing into the angel. "We gotta get that fucker off of you!"

Snarling, Cass flipped over and tucked in his wings, going into a near free-fall that dragged the creature along the side of a building. Glass shattered in a straight line, and the hunter howled, finally releasing its prey. Once again, Castiel's wings were beating freely. But Dean could immediately see that the strength in them was reduced. Cass was injured, and the pain of his wounds was sapping his speed.

"We have to find a safe place," Dean yelled, "and we need to find it now!"

"Trying!"

Cass dove to street level again, flying just above the passing traffic. And suddenly, Dean spotted a familiar vehicle. The black SUV had been equipped with flashing lights and an emergency siren. It tore through traffic after Cass and Dean. "Shit," Dean cursed. "It's the Friendly Neighborhood Warlocks! How the hell are they tracking us?"

"Binding spell. Their demons can see me, and if they got their other focus back, they can see me, too."

"That's how Luke knew what you were when he saw you at the hospital, because he had his fucking gun-staff-focus-whatever it is," Dean groaned. "That is just some bullshit. Even if we can get to a church, they can track us there and just wait us out."

"I'm sorry, Dean. I don't know what to do."

Dean's phone rang. Irritated, he grabbed it, knowing who it was. "Leave us the fuck alone!"

"Winchester, you are going to get our angel and yourself killed." Crowley's voice was calm and pleasant, but insistent. "Can you see the mutts all around you? And the angel is obviously injured."

"So fucking call them off! Dammit!" Dean swore as a demon swooped past, claws swiping at his face. Cass barely managed to dodge.

"I'm flattered that you think so highly of us," Crowley said. "We are, in fact, the most powerful warlocks in the city and this is our territory. But as I have mentioned several times, I can only control so many mutts at the same time. Now that you've broken my staff, that number has significantly decreased until I can repair it."

"My heart bleeds for you, asshole."

"You still don't understand, even though it should be obvious." The warlock's voice was still pleasant, as though they were discussing sports instead of trying to convince Dean to let them enslave an angel. "The only safe place in this city right now is with us. If you're thinking of going to a church or something, you should know that it will keep the mutts out, but not us. We'd be very uncomfortable, I'll admit. We're warlocks. We sold our souls long ago and faith-based protection stings. But we can camp out, wait until you're exhausted, and then simply stroll in, pick the both of you up and carry you out. Honestly, if that angel takes many more hits like it's been taking, we can probably just scoop it up off of the sidewalk."

As if to punctuate Crowley's point, Cass cried out in pain again as a demon slashed at one of his legs. The angel kicked it back and was struck twice more in rapid succession by leaping hunters. More silvery blood flowed, and Dean bit back a sob. "Go to Hell!" he yelled into the phone.

"We will, in time. But first, we are going to have that angel, Winchester. One way or another."

Dean hung up. The phone immediately rang again, but he ignored it.

He looked around desperately, and realized where he was. "Cass, go that way," he called, pointing to the right. "I got an idea. There might be one place where we can get some help."

Once again, Cass was too busy weaving and dodging to respond. Dean had no idea how many demons had joined in the chase, but when he glimpsed the pursuing pack during one of Castiel's wild maneuvers, it was dozens.

Cass raced through two buildings in rapid succession, doing quick turns in each to try to throw off pursuit. Then he abruptly landed with a jolt that made Dean's teeth click together, closed his wings, crouched down and shoved Dean behind a dumpster. "What are you doing?" Dean hissed.

"We're surrounded," Cass replied. "We're finished."

The angel looked tired, hurt, and defeated. He leaned heavily on the dumpster, and Dean's heart sank. "What do you mean?" Dean asked anxiously. "It's over? They got us?"

Cass nodded. "They're up there, and they forced me down. There's nowhere left to go." He hung his head. "I'm sorry, Dean. We're trapped."

Dean obligingly squeezed himself back into the space behind the dumpster. "You did the best you could, Cass. Can we hide here?" he whispered.

"You, maybe," Cass replied, looking serious. "Me?"

And then suddenly Castiel vanished.

Too stunned to move, Dean could only stare, blinking, at the spot where Cass had just been. And then one of the walls suddenly cracked. It glistened, a mercury-like substance appearing as something smashed into the bricks. The dumpster next to him rang with a hollow thud, a dent appearing with more of the silvery liquid. As Dean watched, the liquid changed color, going from silver to blood red as it slowly dripped its way to the ground. "Castiel!" he screamed. "No!"

Before he realized it, Dean had jumped out of his hiding place, desperately searching for any sign of the angel. All around him were signs of immense violence, unseen blows landing against the walls, the dumpster, and the street itself. More and more of the ominous silvery liquid appeared, turning red until the area around Dean was splattered with it.

And then a heavy weight struck him in the chest, knocking him backwards into the dumpster. Searing pain shot through him, originating from his chest where bloody wounds from the tips of unseen claws appeared through new holes in his shirt. Gasping, he looked up, almost seeing the hunter that held him pressed against the dumpster. "No, get off of me! Cass, hang on!"

He swung wildly, fists flailing against nothing, battering the thing for all he was worth. It snarled in annoyance and quickly caught both of his wrists with one hand. The other hand grabbed Dean's throat, pinning him against the dumpster by his neck and his arms. Dean struggled and kicked frantically, cringing as the mouth opened, fangs coming closer.

Suddenly he was jerked forward, the creature letting him go as something dragged it violently off of Dean. Castiel was there, one arm around Dean as the other threw the hunter who'd attacked him at a small group of demons charging forward.

Cass had been badly beaten. Silvery blood covered him, dripping from dozens of wounds. His wings were torn and mangled, more silver now than white. He leaned heavily on Dean, barely able to keep on his feet and panting in exhaustion as he looked up to where a horde of demons hissed and snarled, ready to pounce.

Instantly, Dean was on the move, half-carrying the battered angel along with him as he ran. "Hang on, Cass," he called. "Just hang on! We're close, baby, so close, just please hang on? It's just a few streets over!"

Castiel's only answer was a grunt as he swung at yet another attacking demon. Grimacing, he wrapped his arms around Dean. And then once again, his battered wings opened. They awkwardly beat the air, skimming over the ground as Cass pushed himself on, desperate for more speed.

Dean could see the demons closing in, drawing near to their wounded prey, sensing the end of the chase. The closest one leapt at them and Cass banked sharply. He dodged the attack, but was unable to bite back a cry of pain as he overextended one wing and the quicksilver blood flowed freely.

"There, Cass!" Dean screamed. "Right there, dead ahead!"

Cass fell rather than landed, sprawling heavily onto the sidewalk, wings dragging as they slid. Dean sprang up and grabbed him, dragging him forward until they both collapsed in a heap of limbs and wings onto the stoop of a building.

Dean looked up, terrified, as the demons approached. They moved forward slowly, seeming to savor the moment of victory. Dean clung to Cass. "I love you," he blurted without thinking.

The angel's arms surrounded him, broken wings moving to wrap around Dean. "I love you, too. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Dean held on, feeling Cass trying to shield him with his own battered body as the first hunter sprang forward for the kill. Dean braced.

He was completely unprepared when the demon was suddenly battered backwards by a massive, gleaming shield.

Two women were standing, one on either side of the stoop where they lay. One was Caucasian, her red hair pulled back into a pony tail and her eyes full of fury. The other was African American, her hair tied back with a scarf. She looked just as angry as her counterpart. Both were beautiful, and both were dressed in shining silver armor. They carried shields made of the same material, and in their hands, each wielded a blazing, flaming sword. Their voices were in perfect harmony, singing of duty and anger. As Dean watched, their wings stretched up, arcing high above their heads as the warrior women set themselves for battle.

The fight began immediately. Demons pounded against the shields and armor of the two guardians, trying to reach the pair on the stoop, only to be hacked apart by the blindingly fast, completely in sync movements of the swords. Black ichor flew, drenching Dean and Cass as they lay on the stoop, painting the house and the street. The women slashed and hacked their way through the attacking demons, cutting them down, driving them back until at last the attack faltered, demons drawing back, falling before them and finally fleeing.

In moments, the street was empty. Foul-smelling ichor was everywhere, yet there wasn't a single stain on either of the two women or their equipment. Their armor clanked softly as they returned and stood over the two on the stoop, looking down.

Dean squirmed out from under Cass and helped him sit up. He could hear the song of the two guardian angels now, calmer after their fight and somehow curious, but with a strong note of recrimination. Their faces were set in identical frowns of disapproval.

Castiel raised his head, looked up at them, and gave a small cry. His hand reached up towards them, his song imploring and the chain on his wrist dangling as his eyes pleaded for help. Now that he wasn't being dragged back, the warlock's chains seemed to fade away a short distance from the manacle. But Dean had little doubt Cass was still trapped. Unsure of what to do, Dean let him go and stepped back, keeping one hand on Cass's shoulder.

The two warrior angels were still standing as they were, looking down at Cass. They didn't move, simply stood frowning down at their beaten brother. As Dean watched, he saw the last faint hope vanish from the blue eyes. Cass wilted, letting himself collapse once more down onto the stoop. His head sank, and his eyes closed, a single glistening tear tracing its way down his cheek.

Dean clenched his fist and snarled at the two impassive guardians. "Why won't you help him?" he yelled, not able to stop himself. "He's hurt, and he's trapped! You can see the chains on him, can't you? You can see how bad he is! Why won't any of you help him?"

"Because they don't have free will, it's obviously not in the master plan, and you've made one hell of a racket out here," a voice behind him called softly. "Now stop yelling at the girls and get into the house. You'll be safe here, both of you."

Dean whirled around and stared in shock at the man in the opened doorway. He was a rail thin elderly Caucasian man with a face full of deep wrinkles and a shock of white hair that stuck up in all directions. He wore a white undershirt, saggy blue briefs, and slippers in the shape of dogs. "What?" Dean exclaimed. "Castiel's wings are still out! How can you see us?"

"That's one of the reasons I've got the girls. You call yours Castiel? Mine are Charlie and Patience. And my name is Frank Henderson. I wish I could say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I assure you, I'm extremely pissed off at you both right now. Get your asses inside before someone calls the cops, thinking I'm senile out here talking to myself!"

Dean hurried to help Cass up. Cass grunted, his wings folded back and vanished, and suddenly the world returned to normal. The dripping ichor that covered them and everything else was gone, as were the two warrior angels. All there was was Cass, battered and bloody, struggling to stay upright. Frank moved to assist, and Dean glanced at the door.

They'd come to 616 73rd street, the home of the man with the two pretty ladies.