Title: Recrudescence

Author: ghost4

Disclaimer: Not mine... still. The spells to make them mine haven't kicked in yet. Any day now….

Author's notes: Sorry, sorry. I lost my internet connection for the last couple of weeks and have been cut off from cyberspace. It was not pretty. Like, junky going cold turkey, not pretty. I still have the shakes. Not betaed due to technical difficulties and laziness on my part. So all mistakes are mine. The added H/C is for Mikiya, who asked for it.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. It was appreciated.

As always, any comments, good, bad, or indifferent, are more than welcome.

Standing on a hill in a mountain of dreams,
telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.

~Going to California – Led Zeppelin

Cas hadn't been kidding when he'd said he was running low on juice.

Dean sat quietly in the old chair Bobby had rousted out from somewhere, staying close to the table as Castiel worked his mojo.

It was almost painful to watch. The healing was wrenching for both parties. Castiel was damn near shivering at the effort, pulling up the dregs of his power, forcing the long-damaged flesh to mend; and Sam…Sam lay quiescent, a wax-doll, lifeless and cold and indifferent – until suddenly he wasn't, and even in his enforced sleep he was cringing at whatever Cas was doing to him, recoiling, pulling back from the angel's touch. Sometimes he fought against the press of Castiel's hands so much that it seemed to Dean like he was trying to push himself through the blood-soaked wood beneath him, just to get away.

Bobby had been confused by the reaction – and uneasy, reading something nasty into Sam's shrinking away from angelic powers; but it was a worry Dean didn't share. He'd felt the searing pain of angelic healing too many times. Healing wasn't sweet, it wasn't a relief – it hurt to have your meat and muscle pulled closed and your body welded back into shape. It was a bright, hot agony – though, thankfully, one that passed too quickly to be deeply felt.

So Dean wasn't really worried about the way Sam fought against the angel's touch. If the force of Castiel's healing was rolling though Sam as slowly as everything else had been, then he wasn't attempting to escape Castiel's glory… it probably just fucking hurt.

Sam's body suddenly trembled, a low, deep shudder.

"Easy," Dean whispered, catching the roaming hands as Sam began to stir and dig at the tabletop once more. His fingers were already raw from earlier bouts, and Dean didn't want them bleeding. Again. "Go easy, Sam. It's just Cas. He's trying to help. I know it probably doesn't feel that way, but he is."

Sam bucked weakly, trying to twist. Dean stood quickly, catching shoulders that felt like frozen beef – stiff and hard and cool – and pushed him flat before he could pop his sutures.

Not that he was hard to keep down. Sam just didn't have the oomph to put up a real fight. No matter how he bared his teeth and almost snarled, a rumble Dean more felt then heard, vibrating deep in Sam's chest.

"Sam. Sam," Dean soothed. "Trust me on this one. Just…just a little more. Just trust me a little longer. We're going to fix this. We will. I promise. Just… trust me. Please."

Sam's eyes had opened at some point, blood-shot and hazed. Unerringly they had found Dean. And Dean met them unflinchingly, no matter how hard that was.

Right now, it felt way too hard.

Sam's weak struggles slowed. Dean liked to think it was because he was getting through, comforting with both touch and words – but he knew it was probably just exhaustion. Sam was still too… inanimate to be responding to Dean's thin support. Hell, Sam had yet to make a real noise, even as he fought the healing. That strange silence was as piercing as a scream, though; and Dean felt it tearing though him twice as sharply. It shivered him.

"Sleep, Sam," Dean encouraged, keeping the grief and guilt and pain from his own voice. Making the effort to think past his own hurts and needs for what felt like the first time in far too long. "Don't fight Cas. Just sleep through it if you can."

He had no idea if Sam understood him… hell, he didn't know if Sam even heard him. The steady, emotionless gaze never changed. But, whether from fatigue or Cas' will, Sam's eyes flickered closed. His fingers briefly caught at Dean's hand before he was gone again. Dean chose to take it as a brotherly gesture rather than just a random muscle twitch. Realistically, it could have been either.

Physically, Sam was improving. Two hours into the healing and the changes to Sam's body had been…slow, but undeniable. His skin looked less grey; the edges of the wide tear in his chest, while still open, seemed to be pulling less against the stitches; and Dean could swear the scars of what he'd suffered were fading gradually away, like frost melting from the Impala's windshield as the car warmed.

Now, if they could just warm Sam. The limp hand under his fingers was still too cold. The monitor sitting on the table next to Sam's head showed a temperature that chilled Dean just to think about. They couldn't seem to get his body to warm, no matter how many bags of heated saline the doc pumped into his veins, or how many blankets they bundled him into.

But even that didn't scare Dean as badly as the ice he could see glazing his brother's gaze every time he opened his eyes.

Sam seemed to be running cold on more than the physical level.

And Dean had no idea what that meant for his brother.

On the other hand, Cas seemed to be running too hot. Sweat had begun to bead along his hairline, and his face was flushed. He looked almost feverish; and Dean had no idea what that meant, either… or if it was even possible.

"How are they doing?" Degarza asked, breaking into Dean's thoughts.

The doctor was loitering in the door to the kitchen where he and Bobby had been grabbing a quick meal of fast food - food that Bobby had driven almost a half hour to find. Simi-rural life. Great for privacy, sucked for convenience.

Dean shrugged at the doctor. "All quiet, mostly. Guess that's about as good as it gets right now."

The doc made his way over to the table. "Damn," he breathed, eyes wide as he cataloged the changes in his patient. "If you had told me this morning that I'd be present at a miraculous healing before dusk, I would have prescribed the anti-psychotics myself. But now…"

"Yeah. But now." Dean rubbed his eyes and nodded at Castiel. "You should see what he can do when he's fully charged."

"That would be something; though, I'm not sure I could handle it. My world-view can only stretch so far before it ruptures." He glanced at the monitors, checked Sam's pulse, frowned, and checked the hanging bags.

Dean watched the routine drearily.

"Did he come to, again?" Degarza asked, picking up Sam's hand for a second time and looking at his raw fingers.

"Yeah," Dean said, suddenly feeling more awake. "There a problem?"

"Other than the fact that his brain should be non-functioning from lack of blood, and that after the last two times I set up a morphine drip that should have dumped him damn near into a barbiturate coma – but somehow he keeps waking up and hurting himself anyway? No. No problem."

"Funny," Dean said flatly. "Don't quit your day job."

"Speaking of day jobs… what the hell is his?" Degarza looked pointedly at Castiel.

"I'm a soldier." The angel spoke for the first time in hours. His voice was rougher than usual. He straitened up, and Dean winced at the dark patches spreading under his eyes.

"Right," the doctor said skeptically. "With whose army?"

The angel ignored him, looking to Dean. "We are no longer alone."

There was a knock on the kitchen door.

Dean stood, reaching for his pistol. Bobby came around the corner.

"One of yours?" he asked.

Castiel nodded tiredly, stepping back from the table where Sam was thankfully quiet. "Of my kind, yes." The tone was not reassuring.

"So…" Degarza said, glancing between them. "Do we open the door?"

"No need," the angel answered.

And Dean flinched sideways as a…person was suddenly standing next to him, way too close.

She watched with impassive eyes as Dean cursed, and Degraza squawked from where he'd tripped and fallen to the floor. "I don't like being kept waiting." She sounded disappointed.

"Friendly, or not?" Bobby asked Castiel from his place near the doorway. His hand was bleeding again, and hovering over one of the Enochian glyphs he'd inscribed all over the house while Dean was fetching the doctor.

"Neither," said Castiel, with just a hint of contempt lacing his tone. "Hello, Adiel."

"Call off your dogs, Castiel. I bring news."

Bobby waited for Castiel's tired nod before lowering his hand. While the doctor scrambled up and over to Bobby, Dean carefully placed a possessive hand on the table, leaning slightly to block the new angel's view of his brother.

"I've been called a dog by women before, but I have to say, this is the first time it was before I've slept with them," Dean said lightly, smirking.

"I find that difficult to believe," she responded coldly. She turned to Castiel. "Castiel, I would speak to you."

"So speak."

Her eyes darkened in the angelic equivalent of a frown. "Not here."

Castiel glared, a hint of power lending a sharpness to his lax stance. "You do not tell me where and when we speak, Adiel."

"I did not take Raphael's part in this, Castiel."

"Neither did you stand against him."

"It is not my place to act. You know this. And I had no particular faith in you; how should I when you waist your time on these… pets."

Castiel's eyes took on the brightness that passed for angelic impatience. Dean knew it well. "I owe you neither explanation, nor obedience, Adiel. Say what you have to say, and leave."

She tossed her head a bit, a strangely birdlike movement. "Very well. Raphael is still intent on opening the cage."

"Of course he is," muttered Dean, giving the angel a dirty look. "It's never easy."

"He is planning another sacrifice?" Castiel asked, ignoring him.

"No," Adiel answered. "His murder of Selaphiel has set his followers at one another's throats, with only the most devout sustaining his purpose in freeing Michael. The others have fled and turn against him for killing a brother, as well as his breaking his oath to give his own life in sacrifice as he promised. He has lied to them, and they cry out for vengeance. Few will help him; and among those, only Barachiel is strong enough to be sacrifice – and he is not stupid enough to give his life. Raphael has no sacrifice, unless he kills himself. Which he won't." She sounded almost smug about that.

"So he has a new plan."

The angel regarded Dean like he was a new species of bug – interesting, but slightly revolting at the same time. She quickly turned back to the other angel. "Obviously."

"What is it?"

"I have no idea. As I said, I did not back Raphael." The words were dry, and addressed to Castiel. She refused to look at Dean.

"Great. You're just full of useful information, aren't you."

She stiffened, affronted.

"There are only two ways to open the cage," Castiel reminded them.

"Right, by killing an uber-angel, or using the rings. And if he's got nobody to gank…."

"He'll be headed this way," Bobby said. "Remind me someday to beat into you boys that you're supposed to avoid holy terrors."

"Where would the fun in that be?" Dean ran a hand over his face. He wasn't leaving Sam. No way in hell.

But staying was just going to pull the insane archangel right down on them all.

"Fuck."

"Castiel. The rings would be safer in our hands. Yours…or mine." Adiel suggested.

And there it was. Dean felt anger – real, pure anger – prickle across his ribs. Nothing ever came their way for free, not information, and definitely not help. She wanted the rings. The rings he'd told Death himself no one would ever take. The rings he'd been willing to damn his brother to protect. And here she was, not even asking him for them, not even meeting his eyes, but telling Cas to take them. Like he didn't matter, like the little humans who had saved the fucking world, didn't matter at all.

And to her, they probably didn't.

Bitch.

Dean stepped up to her, between her and Castiel, making her see him. "Thanks, chicken-little," he growled, tying to keep the anger in check but hearing some of it leak though anyway, "for letting us know the sky's about to drop. Now shoo."

She glared at him, as if amazed he would speak directly to her. "What?"

"Shoo. Leave. Fly away. Be gone. Get." The last word practically dripped contempt. But hell, he wasn't in the mood to placate anyone. And he owed them exactly squat. Lest of all respect.

Her eyes took on a golden glow, vague but there. Her head twitched again, predatorily, like a robin spotting a worm. "Watch how you speak to your betters, dirt-grubber."

"Betters?" Dean snarled back. "Wow, even the females of the species are dicks. And here I thought all you guys were junkless. Bobby? You want to kick this chick out of here?"

Bobby raised his dripping hand again. "With pleasure."

Castiel winced, but said nothing, obviously prepared to take the zap of the sigil. The angel-chick glanced between him and Dean and Bobby, eyes glowing with an ever increasing frustration.

"Fine. Have it your way. I've done my duty in warning you, Castiel. Raphael will come for the rings, and he won't ask nicely." She sent a sly glance at Sam. "Of course, he'll eliminate this abomination at the same time, so it won't be a complete loss."

"Get out," Dean said softly, shocked at the quiet menace he could hear in his voice, that he could feel heating his blood. "Get out now, or I take you out."

She glanced his way, completely unimpressed – then she was gone, in a flicker of shadow that feathered across the wall.

"What the fuck was that?" Degarza demanded. He was already reaching for Bobby's bloody hand, though his own fingers were shaking. "That felt… she felt…"

"That was a class-one, grade A bitch," Dean answered. The anger was still bubbling in his brain and stomach like acid reflux, sour and painful. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to make this all just stop. He wanted his brother whole, and his father back, and demons and angels both to be only bad fiction.

"She disappeared," Degarza hissed, snatching some gauze to wrap around Bobby's hand.

"That happens," Dean answered absently. He rubbed at eyes so dry they burned. "We are so screwed."

"How can she just…disappear?"

Bobby patted the doctor on the shoulder with his newly wrapped hand. "Bitch or not, she was probably right," Bobby said to Dean, looking not happy. "We can't defend against angels, Dean. Not in the long run. The wards will only go so far."

Dean nodded tiredly, while the doctor stepped away from them. "Angels?"

They ignored him.

"Maybe you should give them to Castiel?" Bobby said hesitantly. "He has a better chance of keeping them away from the others at least."

"No."

Castiel's voice was more than just tired now, it was…almost sad. Dean frowned, confused, and Castiel sighed. "I asked you for the rings once, and you were right to refuse me. I am not…I have not earned the right to bear such a responsibility, or such a trust. It is not my place, and I will not ask again."

"Cas," Dean sighed, "it's not about that. You know I trust you –"

"You shouldn't," the angel said, and his voice was as cold, as inhuman, as Dean had ever heard it. "There are things you don't know, Dean. Things I did. Actions that had consequences which I ran from, that I denied – and worse, that I allowed others to pay. I am not as worthy of your trust as you might think."

For a second Dean couldn't understand the words – he heard them, but the context, the concept of them escaped him. But only for a second, like the numbness that came right after getting shot – then the hollow left behind when the words hit him filled with a tired anger and wariness as quickly as a bullet hole would flood with blood. Castiel still had secrets. Ones that would hurt. Ones he wanted to share.

Dean shook his head almost savagely. "Not now, Cas. I don't have the time or the energy to get into this with you now. If ever." It was triage. Stop the bleeding, deal with the wound later. "Right now, all I need to know is if you can run, get ahead of Raphael and stay there? Are you strong enough to do that right now?"

"I am fine," Castiel stated. The faint defeated look he wore, only enhanced by the shadows in and under his eyes, gave way to a determined air.

Dean believed he was fine about as much as he believed Santa was going to show up this Christmas with a pink pony and a naked chick to ride it, but he'd take what he could get as this point. "How's he doing?" he asked, nodding at his brother.

"He's…healing."

It was true. Even without Cas' hands on him, Sam was still healing, the mangled flesh of his face and neck pealing slowly away like a bad sunburn, and leaving fresh skin in it's wake.

"Can he survive without you for awhile?"

"Yes," Cas answered promptly, and Dean felt better "Obviously the healing is not finished, but he will survive in all ways on his own for now."

In all ways? Well that was…ominous. But whatever. He'd worry about it after the crazy-assed angel was on the other side of the planet. "Okay. Good. Because you're going to need to run…"