"Can I see him?"

Dean looked up from the manacles he had just locked, not bothering to keep the incredulity from his face. "Are you insane?"

Crowley shrugged. "For certain values." He shifted in the backseat, as though attempting to find a position in which one shoulder was not wrenched to the side to accommodate the manacles. "But seeing how he's in there mostly on my account, I reckon it's only polite to pay my respects."

"He didn't do this for you," Dean retorted. "He did this - we did this - to stop you. To end you. It wasn't even a day ago that you were wasting our friends in front of us. You think we did this as a favor to you?"

"You call this a favor?" Crowley gestured at himself as best as he could manage, voice rising. "Do you have any idea what it's like inside my head right now, you ignorant twat?"

Setting his jaw, Dean took a slow, steadying breath as he leveled a glare at Crowley. "I got yanked out of Hell in the middle of what I was doing, too. Yeah. I think I know exactly what it's like inside your head right now. I couldn't wish it on a better person."

He didn't wait to hear Crowley's response; pocketing the key, Dean pulled himself out of the car and slammed the door.

Apparently the expression on his face was formidable; in the endless twisting corridors of the hospital, staff and patients alike took a single look at him and averted their eyes, going so far as to move to the other side of the hallway where it permitted. That suited Dean right down to the toes of his boots.

Sam looked up as Dean pushed open the door to his room, brow furrowing immediately as he registered Dean's obvious displeasure. "What's up?" he asked.

Dean studied his brother for a moment before answering. "Crowley's being a dick. Don't worry about it. You look better."

"I feel better," Sam admitted, looking down at himself. "Not good, by any stretch of the imagination, but...better."

"I'll take it." Dean flopped into a chair and rubbed at his temples. "Cas is out of surgery. And...not better."

The already weary look on Sam's face wilted more. "How?"

"The docs say it's the anesthesia drugs, but - I mean, Anna lost her memory when she Fell, too." Dean closed his eyes forcefully, trying to blink away the sandy fatigue.

"Amnesia," Sam said slowly. "Great. So he doesn't remember anything?"

"He remembered me. Kinda." Dean shook his head. "He was still pretty loopy when I left. Kevin's with him. He'll let me know when Cas wakes up."

Sam sighed, leaning back into his pillows. "You shouldn't be here," he said, his tone heavy.

"Of course I should -"

"No. We know I'm going to be all right, as soon as they decide they can't figure out anything wrong with me. Cas, though -"

"Is also going to be okay. And apparently doesn't remember being an angel, so it's not like he's going to have a hard time adjusting," Dean snapped.

Sam looked taken aback. "Dean, are you okay?" He blinked, as though something had just occurred to him. "Have you even slept?"

"I'm fine," Dean said evasively.

"That's not an answer."

"No, it isn't." Dean shifted his gaze to the monitors above Sam's bed. "So what about you? They figure out what isn't wrong with you yet?"

"It's not sickle cell," Sam said wryly. "And it's not my spleen."

"What is it with you guys and spleens?" Dean muttered.

"What?"

"Never mind. Go on."

"So far they've pretty much only figured out that blood transfusions make me feel better," Sam said, shrugging. "That narrows it down some, but apparently the test results take time - not like your hospital soap opera."

"It's not my -" Dean shook his head. "So we know about as much as we did when you first got here. Great."

"Which is why you should at least go get some sleep," Sam said firmly.

"I can sleep right here." Dean crossed his arms stubbornly and slumped back in the chair.

Looking as though he was about to argue, but then thinking better of it, Sam rolled his eyes before settling back into his pillow. "Fine. I'm sleeping then, too."

"Don't get too comfortable," a cheerful female voice said from the doorway.

Dean opened one eye to identify Dr. Harper before sitting forward, every muscle in his body protesting the postponed nap.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were back already," Dr. Harper said, her smile slipping for a moment.

"Yup," Dean grunted, rearranging himself into a more attentive position in his chair.

Dr. Harper looked to Sam, who dropped his eyes uncomfortably. "Actually, Dean, I was hoping to have a word alone with your brother."

It took Dean several moments to fully process this. "This sounds like something I should hear," he said in a low voice, trying to catch Sam's eye. Sam did not look up.

"It will be," Dr. Harper responded in a conciliatory tone. "But it's something Sam needs to decide how best to share."

Words failed to present themselves for duty. Sam still wasn't meeting Dean's eyes. "Okay," Dean said slowly, standing up. He looked quizzically at Dr. Harper, whose face remained impassive. "Okay," he repeated uselessly. "I'll just - I'll get a snack."

He left the room before either of them could respond.

His phone buzzed against his hip before he'd taken more than two steps from the door. Pulling it from his pocket, he was about to unlock it when his ears picked up Sam's voice.

"Well, that felt shitty."

"We can call him back in, if you'd like," sounded Dr. Harper's voice. "Whatever is most comfortable for you."

"No, I -" A pause. "What's the news?"

He should leave. Dean shoved his phone in his pocket and almost did, until Dr. Harper began speaking again.

"It's far too early for results from the biopsy, but the aspiration looks very promising. Like I thought, it doesn't look like it's cancer."

"I'm sensing a 'but.'"

"Sam, your bone marrow is - I don't even know what to call it. Dying. Dead. It's as though it's been burned and it's necrosing from the inside out. Whatever killed off your blood cells is killing off your bone marrow, too." There was another pause, during which Dean put out a hand to steady himself against the wall. "As far as we can tell from your bloodwork, it's not autoimmune - your body isn't attacking itself - and -"

Sam said something too soft for Dean to hear. "No," Dr. Harper said in a tone nearly as quiet. "You can't live without bone marrow. And yours is damaged enough that the only solution anyone can come up with is a transplant."

"A transplant." Sam's voice sounded thin, stretched.

"They come from living donors," Dr. Harper said quickly, "so the wait isn't long at all once a donor is found. Here's where it get a little complicated. I know you didn't want Dean involved in your test results, and we can continue to respect that...but siblings are usually the first people we test for tissue compatibility."

There was another pause. "Dean, I know you're out there listening," Sam said at least.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. He stuck his head into the room. "What would you have done if I hadn't been?"

"Felt stupid," Sam replied with an attempt at levity, but he just sounded too tired.

Dr. Harper looked quietly amused, if somewhat exasperated. "I would welcome you to the conversation, Dean, but it would appear you're already acquainted with the circumstances."

"I'll do it," Dean said promptly, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. "I don't care what it is. I'll do it."

"There is a certain amount of discomfort -"

"I'd die for him," Dean interrupted in a low voice. "I can deal with discomfort."

Dr. Harper looked slightly taken aback at the quiet intensity of Dean's response as she nodded. "I'll tell the lab to come up and get their tissue sample," she said after a few moments.

"They can have it." Dean looked pointedly at Sam. "If you're okay with me knowing about it, that is." It was petty and he knew it, regretting the words nearly as soon as they left his mouth.

To his credit, Sam only shook his head slightly at the jab, a wordless "not now."

"If you'll excuse me, then," Dr. Harper said, rising from her chair, "I have some labs to order and some other, much more boring patients to see. The nurse will page me if anything happens."

"Thanks, Doc," Dean said. Dr. Harper nodded once to him in farewell, leaving Sam and Dean alone in the room.

"So, what, you were just going to pretend to be getting better until you dropped dead?" Dean asked with a sickly smile.

"I didn't want you to worry about something we didn't have enough information about," Sam retorted, voice more heated than Dean had thought his brother could muster. "We've got fallen angels, a cured demon in our glove box, and Cas -"

"- who is a basket of problems all on his own -"

"Exactly." Sam gestured at Dean. "There was no point in adding to your list until there was actually something to tell you."

Turning the statement over in his head several times, Dean had trouble finding exactly what was wrong with it. "Still," he said, pointing a finger, "you keep me in the loop. You hear me? If something happens and I have to - to make some sort of...decision..."

And with that, the last wall of defense that Dean had been maintaining wavered, then cracked with a snap that seemed to physically reverberate through him. Pressing both palms hard against his eyes, Dean leaned back against the wall again, shoulders hunched, breath coming in sharp, painful gasps as he tried to stave off the tide of enormity he had been suppressing for - well, for years.

"Dean?" Sam sounded hesitant, disbelieving.

"I'm fine," Dean tried to choke out, but it came out strangled and as unconvincing as it was possible to be. "Just gimme a second."

It truly was only a second; whenever these cracks in his exterior happened, it rarely took more than a few heartbeats to get himself under control again. Heart still racing, Dean lowered his hands to push himself back away from the wall.

Sam was staring at him with concern and fear plain on his face. "You're really red."

"It happens." Dean shrugged, tamping down the tumultuous dervish of emotions into a tiny, white-hot ball in the pit of his stomach where it belonged.

His phone buzzed again, forgotten in his pocket, and desperate for anything to change the subject, Dean drew it out and unlocked it.

2 New Messages

Cas is in his room and waking up.

And, the previous message he'd been too distracted to read,

They're moving Cas to a new room now.

"Cas?" Sam guessed.

Nodding, Dean pressed reply. "Waking up. Don't say it," he said loudly as Sam opened his mouth. "I have to stick around for a tissue sample, remember?" He told Kevin as much, with the now-stale promise that he'd be there as soon as he could, and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

"Dean," Sam said slowly, "how are you going to survive once Cas is awake all the time?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you can't be in both places at once."

The question lingered in the air, nearly tangible. Dean sighed. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." He flopped into a chair, leaned back, and closed his eyes. "Now pipe down. I'm taking a nap."

Sam watched anxiously from across the room as Dean's features slowly relaxed and smoothed; it did not do much to erase the careworn weariness that had more or less become a constant in the last few years.

A fitful doze stole over Sam, as well, the hum of the machines that claimed he was still alive lulling him into a listless stupor.

Crowley was exceptionally bored.

The ache in his shoulder was at least something he could focus on - a tangible, physical pain that he expertly drew out of all proportion until such a thing was an absolute crime against good taste. He composed a bloody soliloquy on the wrongs that were being done as he sat alone in the back of the oily box of bolts and springs and scuffed leather.

It was better than confronting the not-so-physical ache in his chest that, though it had been centuries since he'd felt it, he finally came to realize was guilt. Allowing his mind to linger upon it made it swell, rubbing raw against the confines he'd placed upon it. Like an angry bear, he was fairly certain that if he tried to face it head-on, he would come out on the worse end of that encounter. And like an encounter with an angry bear, he'd be damned (again) if he let The Eldest Winchester see him after the fact.

Between not thinking about it and running out of new and exciting ways to whinge about his current predicament on purely superficial levels, he was quickly diminishing his options of ways to amuse himself. Honestly, it was enough to make a demon wish he could sleep.

Disinterested lassitude was no excuse for relaxed vigilance, however, so it was absolutely shameful the way he jumped in surprise as an elbow smashed the glass of the car's window, showering him in jagged edges just before the hand that belonged to the elbow reached inside the car, groping.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Would you stop that? It's embarrassing."

The groping arm froze, then retreated. A face poked through the window next; Crowley recognized the demon lurking behind the human features and stifled a cringe. Of course it would be this bellend of a lieutenant. Still, he could work with the tools he had at hand, even if it meant speaking very slowly and clearly.

"Boss," the demon said in a low, urgent voice, "it's a madhouse down there."

"It's Hell," Crowley responded scathingly. "I'd be more worried if it wasn't."

The demon shot him a look of such contempt that Crowley begrudgingly added a few IQ points to his original assessment. "There's a Knight who is trying to reinstate the Order in your absence. She doesn't have much traction - yet - but if you spend much more time topside -"

"Sparky," Crowley snapped. The demon's mouth snapped shut in indignation at the address. "Do you know why you are second in command?" He paused in the manner of rhetorical questions before continuing. "So you can bloody command when I'm busy." He shook the manacles on his wrists meaningfully. "Your one job is to mind the farm while I take care of the numerous pains in my ass."

The demon raised his eyebrows at the manacles. "Do you need some help with those?" he asked with exaggerated politeness.

Crowley closed his eyes. "Someday, I will be truly blessed with a lieutenant who understands the difficult concept of subterfuge," he said with heat, opening his eyes at the last word. "No," he clarified bitingly. "I need these overgrown children to believe they've got me over a barrel. Which means I need you and all the other peons to stay the bloody hell away from me unless I specifically summon them. Are we clear?" He didn't wait for a response. "Now skedaddle. I'm busy."

After one more look dripping with loathing, the demon shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked away.

Crowley watched him leave, craning his neck until the rows of cars hid the other demon from view, and was about the heave a sigh of relief when -

"What the hell did you do to my car?"

For the second time, Crowley flinched in surprise when he really oughtn't have. "My apologies. An associate of mine attempted to rescue me." He gestured at the broken window. "I know a guy. Good as new. Bulletproof, if you want it. Maybe a bitchin' tint."

"Cut the crap," Dean snapped, peering in the gaping hole in the glass at Crowley. "If someone came to get you, why are you still here?"

"I told him I was detained at the moment." Shrugging, Crowley tried not to let his delight show as exasperation narrowed Dean's eyes.

"No. Why didn't you leave?" Dean clarified, very slowly, as though Crowley were slow to understand.

Leaning forward as much as the manacles would allow, Crowley matched Dean's tone. "Because you and I have an arrangement that we still need to clarify." He swallowed, almost involuntarily. "And other reasons, which I hardly think need enumerating."

It was amazing, watching the little hamster run in its wheel as Dean processed this. "And your buddy just left? Because you said you were busy?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Hello? King of Hell. I say frog - three people jump and one brings me a Frenchman." He gestured at the broken window again. "Seriously, though. I think a forty percent tint would look very classy."

"Shut it." Dean reached through the window with the key to the manacles; trying not to seem too eager, Crowley brought his wrists up as much as he could to meet it. Having them on was a whisper-light oppressive feeling, easily ignored unless one put his mind to it. As the tumblers in the lock clicked, Crowley felt every muscle in his body relax, loosed of a tension he hadn't realized had been building.

"Back to see Castiel, is it?" He asked as he unfolded himself from the car, trying not to tear his already ragged suit on the shards of glass.

Dean's expression became sharp, wary. "I never said it was Cas."

"Please," Crowley replied, giving Dean his best patronizing look, "I can read the writing on the wall. Angels Falling - most of Heaven, from what I could see from my little window - and there's no one else besides Sam for whom you'd tolerate my company to go see." If The Elder Winchester hadn't been so bloody tall, Crowley would have looked down on him with a smile. "Your angel's lost his wings, which puts me in a very interesting position indeed."

Crowley wasn't sure which of his careful phrases set Dean off, but the haymaker that was currently aimed for his temple was the perfect example of wild abandon and suppressed rage that he had been expecting. Just before the punch connected, Crowley caught Dean's wrist in one hand and siphoned that glorious energy off to fuel the tip sideways across the many miles that stood between them and one very helpless former angel.

The hospital room wasn't a private one, but the bed closest to the door was currently empty, the curtain drawn partway around the bed next to the window. As Dean let the door close behind him, the curtain whisked to the side.

"Dean." Kevin's voice was thick with lack of sleep; Dean recognized the tone all too well.

And then, from the bed, "Dean."

This voice was exhausted, too, and in a slightly higher register than he was used to hearing it, but Dean's ears would have picked it out from a crowd in a heartbeat. "Hey, Cas." He nodded a greeting at Kevin, who bobbed a short nod in return and rose from his chair, silently excusing himself.

"Is Sam okay?" There was just the slightest hesitation before Castiel said the name.

"It's complicated." Dean lowered himself into the chair Kevin had just vacated by the head of the bed and reached out to take Castiel's hand. "What about you? You okay?"

Castiel let out a quiet snort of derision. "They literally put me back together with staples and glue, and my head feels like it's made of smoke. Nothing's clear, and I can't grab at any of it, but there are all these shapes that I can't quite make out." He sighed. "Kevin's been trying to fill me in on some of it. It's strange, hearing about your life secondhand."

The knot that had never really disappeared from Dean's middle tightened painfully again. "So the noggin's still not working?"

Castiel shook his head. "Like I said. Shapes. General ideas." He looked up, directly into Dean's eyes with a familiarity that made Dean's breath catch. "You're pretty clear. Or - well, aspects of you." He coughed slightly and looked back down. "You're important to me. And I'm important to you. But...well, Kevin said that it's...it's not like that."

It was phrased very carefully not to be a question, but Dean answered it anyway. "No. It's not." He gave Castiel's hand a quick squeeze before dropping it. "But you're still...I mean, you're important. To me." He swallowed, casting about for a subject change. "What else do you know?"

"Not a lot," Castiel admitted. "Your brother is in another hospital, and you're shuttling between the two of us. Kevin's a little new to this strange little family, and he didn't really know me very well. My name is James Castiel Novak, I'm thirty-six, I'm estranged from my blood relatives and I'm a Hunter."

The last word made Dean blink in surprise. "A Hunter?" he asked carefully.

Castiel nodded. "Demons, monsters -" he lowered his voice - "things we can't talk about around normal people." He raised an eyebrow. "It's how we met."

"You remember that?"

Another nod. "Shapes. Sky's blue, peanut butter is disgusting, demons and monsters are running amok." He shrugged, then winced at the action. "And you," he added, and his voice was so quiet that he actually sounded like Castiel for the barest of moments. "You've been there for me. Always. You're the kind of friend I always wanted and didn't deserve."

Dean didn't know what to do with that. Ignoring it seemed the safest option for now. "And angels?" he pressed. "Anything about them?"

A brief shadow crossed over Castiel's face. "Just that there aren't any anymore."

The knot twisted again and Dean licked his lips. "Well. You're not wrong."

"Dean?" Castiel hesitated. "Is...there something you and Kevin aren't telling me?"

"Oh, there's a whole hell of a lot that we're not telling you," Dean said, shaking his head, "mostly because we're not sure about it either."

The sound of a phone vibrating in Dean's pocket startled them both. A grim little smile thinned Castiel's lips as Dean's hand automatically went to grab the phone. "You're going to leave again, aren't you?"

It didn't sound bitter or disappointed, just flat. It felt like a stab to the gut anyway. "Not this time, Cas." Dean let his hand drop and he reached for Castiel's instead. "I'm sorry," he said after too many beats of silence. "If I was the kind of friend you think I am, I would have been here hours ago." He should say more, but the words that presented themselves were thin, useless. "You would leave all the time," he blurted finally. "It was always something important. Something you couldn't ignore. I always gave you a hard time about it. I get it now." He tilted his head in a tiny shrug before looking at up to meet Castiel's eyes. "Too little, too late, I guess. You don't remember it, and I'm the asshole now."

"You're not an..." Castiel's protest died as the phone vibrated again. "You should make sure Sam is okay."

"Sam's fine," Dean said. "I'm giving him my bone marrow and that'll fix him up. I'm here now." He cleared his throat. "The nurses kept telling me that you were asking for me when you woke up. And Kevin said you were looking for me just before you went down."

"I don't remember much before waking up in the hospital," Castiel admitted. "I don't know what kind of accident I was in. I just - and I was probably imagining it, since you obviously weren't there - I remember you shouting my name." He looked down, and so missed the horrified realization as it spread across Dean's face like an inkblot. "And I was worried about you. That was my first thought when I woke up, that I - I had to find you. That you needed me."

Dean kept his eyes trained on the knuckles of his hand. His last, desperate prayer, just before the fires in the sky had begun - and Castiel had heard it. Had wanted to come, and couldn't, because bare moments later...

"Dean? Are you all right?"

"I need some water. Or coffee. Or something." He needed to walk more than anything, but having a destination in mind would keep him from wandering aimlessly. "I'm not leaving," he insisted as he rose from his chair. "I just..."

Castiel nodded, and as though given permission, Dean strode toward the door with an inexplicable urgency.

"He's not answering," Sam said as he hung up on Dean's voicemail greeting for the second time.

Dr. Harper nodded and sat down in the chair next to him. "Do you want to hear the results without him?"

No doubt the doctor thought she was hiding her reaction well, but Sam, who had spent most of his life deciphering when Dean was not being completely honest about his emotional state, knew better. "I think I probably should."

Unsurprised, Dr. Harper took a breath. "Dean's tissues are close, but they don't meet compatibility requirements. He...can't be your donor."