The third time Castiel woke up, he sat up straight and reached for the can that Sam had sat next to his bed the first time he woke up. He did not enjoy vomiting, although it seemed as though his stomach seemed to disagree with that assessment.

It felt like his stomach was willing and happy to show him what it had been doing.

Castiel threw himself back on the pillows once he was done vomiting and laughed, because the image of his stomach wagging its tail like some loyal puppy was too much for him.

"You okay, Cas?"

Turning his head and looking over his pillows with one eye, Castiel saw Dean standing in the doorway. "Yes. But my stomach is still wagging its tail."

"What?" It was a deadpan reaction and Castiel was simultaneously upset that Dean did not see the joke and was understanding that he did not get the joke. He was thrown at feeling two things at once. They were contradictory emotions and they were felt at the same time, in compliance with each other. He pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes.

Well, he was thinking in better words, his fever must be dissipating.

"Cas?" Dean asked again, he sounded closer.

"My stomach hurts."

"It's probably because he hasn't eaten," the woman, Liz walked into the room. "I was about to make a grocery run before the snow got too much worse. I'll stop and get everybody something." Castiel moaned as he thought of eating. It seemed so… human.

Dean nodded and Liz backed out of the room awkwardly and suddenly, Bobby and Sam were in the room too. He felt like everyone was staring at him, crushing him, the suffocation and tightness he felt before was back. And then, the back of Dean's hand brushed across Castiel's forehead and the world slowed down. It was cool and soft and comforting and Castiel found himself leaning into it. His entire focus was on the feel of Dean's hand. He relaxed and could focus.

And then the hand was gone, Dean sat back and the world crushed down on him again. He kicked at the covers again at the feeling. He felt panic rise up and instead of stopping and disappearing, the feeling continued to rise and he felt it in his shoulders and he swore it flew out of his ears. He sat up, pushing the blankets to pile over the end of the bed and then pushed himself up against the headboard.

"Whoa, Cas!" Dean reached out, "Calm down. It's okay. You're safe. You're fine."

Suddenly a rubber band he didn't know he was pulling snapped, and Castiel turned to face Dean, "I am not fine!" He yelled. He pulled back into himself, tried to pull his wings around his body, but his wings were not there. He did not mean to be so loud.

"Okay!" Dean agreed, "Okay. It's okay. Can I help?"

Castiel looked up at Dean's worried face and felt his panic settling. He leaned forward again and rested his hand in his hands. "The emotions." He said.

"Well," Dean began, "you are human… humans have emotions."

"Yes," Castiel agreed, "But I didn't know they were like this. That you felt them with parts of your body and that you couldn't stop them or slow them down."

"Circuits overloaded?" Castiel turned to Dean, eyes focused for the first time since he woke up, and he felt his head tip to one side. Dean smirked, "It's just an expression, Cas."

"Oh." Castiel felt the room slow down and he knew that they were all waiting for him to do something, to say anything. He lifted his head and took a deep breath. And then he went to swallow what little bile was in his mouth. It was sticky and he felt his face grimacing.

Then Sam was holding a bottle of water against his mouth and suddenly, Castiel could not get enough water, but Dean pulled it away, "Whoa, slow down. Don't get sick!" He followed after the bottle; the water was helping him feel better as he felt it flow through him.

"There are so many rules."

Dean laughed, "Yeah. Again. Welcome to humanity."

Pathetically, Castiel lifted his eyes, and felt the weight of Dean's words. He sat still for a moment.

"Besides the crazy mood swings," Bobby asked from his chair, "how are you feelin'?"

Castiel assessed that question, and decided, "I could use more water. It was good."

Dean handed him the bottle, "Slow sips, Cas." He nodded and greedily raised the lip of the bottle to his mouth.

'Slow, Castiel,' he reminded himself when he had the urge to gulp for days. 'Slow.'

"You remembering anything from the last week yet?" Sam asked, shuffling his feet and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Castiel focused on the wall across from the bed and squinted his eyes as if it would help the memories to return. He shook his head no. He took another sip of water.

"Looks like we're still gonna have to have story time…" Bobby groaned. He smacked Sam, "Boy, get me a beer."

Dean was sitting in a chair next to Castiel's bed. He was leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, concern written all over his shoulders and face. Castiel suddenly felt guilty. They would not be going through all of this if it weren't for him. The need for forgiveness rose in his throat again.

"I'm sorry," he was looking at Dean as his green eyes narrowed in confusion.

"What for?" He scoffed and leaned further forward, "You saved my life."

"You are important." It was true. Even as an Angel, Castiel had felt gravitation towards the hunter. Now, as a human, that pull seemed much stronger and he did not understand why.

He smirked, "And me being important makes you sorry?"

Castiel's eyebrows furrowed at the flaw in him logic being pointed out. "Those thoughts had a connection a moment ago…"

Dean smiled, "You ready to learn what happened?"

Castiel was about to open his mouth to answer, 'yes,' but Ben had let himself into the room.

"I was kidnapped. Almost two weeks ago. Demons did it."

"Yeah," Dean started, "his mother called me early one morning for help…"

"Dean!" Sam yelled again from the bed next to him.

Dean moaned. He was having a particularly amazing dream; one that was far from over and now he was in a sour mood. Rolling over, he eyed the bedside clock – 4:19. Great, now he's really pissed. Dean snuggled down into one of his pillows, trying to get back to his perfect day. He didn't need to be up for another four hours. And now Sam was whining from under his own covers.

"Deeeeaaaan." Came the muffled voice, "C'mon man, get your damn phone."

Phone?

Dean opened one eye and focused his hearing. Sure enough, his phone was vibrating on the night stand.

He snatched it, grumbling something about stupid angels and wasted minutes. "Cas, we have talked about the calling in the middle of the night thing twice now."

The other end of the line was quiet for a moment, "…is this Dean Winchester?" It was a woman. Dean sat up straight, immediately interested.

"Uh," he said intelligently.

"Bobby Singer gave me this number…" the woman tried again. "I'm sorry if…"

"No!" Dean cleared his throat, "I mean, yes. This is Dean." Sam lifted his head off his pillow and squinted in Dean's general direction.

"Hi," the voice started. "This is Lisa Braeden." Still being early, and waking up suddenly and all, Dean rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry that it's so early. I just… do you remember me?"

"Lisa? Yeah, I remember you," Dean cleared his throat again. Cursing himself for having such a hard time waking up.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and turned back into his pillow. "You should really tell your booty calls to call earlier in the night. Seriously."

"Shut up, Sam. She got the number from Bobby." Once again, Sam lifted his head off the pillow. He even propped himself up and started to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "Sorry Lisa. 'Course I remember you. You're Ben's mom. Gumby girl." He forced himself back into the present.

There was a moment of silence before she answered with a small, "Gumby girl?"

"…never mind that." He cleared his throat again. "Well," Dean smirked, as if it would woo her through his cell phone, "what's the occasion?"

"It's stupid, really. I don't even think it's up your guys' alley," she chuckled. "But I don't know what else to do."

"What is it, Lisa?"

"My son is missing."

A half hour later, Sam had showered and Dean had packed his bags and they were loading the Impala getting ready for the hour drive ahead of them to Cicero, Indiana.

"Dean," Sam began to argue, throwing his computer bag into the backseat, "she said it wasn't up our alley. That it was a normal kidnapping."

He paused, resting his hands on the rim of the trunk, "It's been a week since anyone saw him, Sam."

"Does that really mean that we take time out of Devil hunting to search for him?"

Dean looked up at his little brother, "He's important, okay?"

"Why?" Sam slammed the door, "I mean, I know he's just a kid, but you've always taken a special interest in him. Why?"

"Because," Dean said. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

Sam shook his head, "Dean…"

"Just," he slammed the trunk shut, silently apologizing to his baby when she groaned in protest, "leave it alone, Sam. They are old friends. Least we can do is go try."

Sam's jaw twitched; it was a signal that Dean had won. He stalked back into the motel, Sam close on his heels.

"So," Castiel began eyes on Ben, "you were kidnapped by Demons, but your mother did not know it?"

Ben nodded. "I was underground and tied up for weeks. I was alone for a couple days, and then a priest showed up. And then more people were brought in after that. I was fed, and they didn't hurt me or anything. It was weird."

Dean turned his attention to Castiel, "The authorities all thought it was a normal grab and bag, but a little investigating proved that it was a bit more than that."

Castiel nodded, "And the woman? Liz?"

Sam spoke up, "She found us that same morning. She was hurt pretty bad."

"You got everything?" Dean asked from inside the room. Sam nodded and grunted a yes, leaning against the wall outside the door. Dean figured that he would get earfuls during the ride. He grabbed his jacket and paused at the light switch, giving the room a once-over.

"Dean," Sam's voice was serious. Dean saw him reach for his knife. "We have a visitor."

A blue truck pulled up next to the Impala, it had a smooth hum to its engine and a cover on the bed. Out stepped a woman, light brown hair falling out of a braid, her jeans soaked in blood from where a cut on her arm had been resting while she drove, not to mention a deep cut along her hair line. She winced when she put weight down on her left foot, pathetically jumping on one foot to get out of the way to close the door. In her hand – the one that was obviously the one that wasn't bleeding profusely from her forearm – she held a single shotgun.

She paused when she saw Sam and Dean staring her down.

"You the Winchesters?" she asked. Dean saw her finger the trigger.

"Who's askin'?" Dean shot back at her.

"My name is Liz. Bobby Singer told me I could find you here."

Sam sent Dean a look that clearly said 'we don't have time for this,' and Dean couldn't agree more. "Well, he's been doing a lot of that lately."

"Ellen Harvelle told me you guys would help me if I ever needed it." Dean paused.

It wasn't shock that rushed through Dean, but sadness. Another friend that didn't know. Another retelling of how she died – of how she died for nothing. Another round of dirty looks and sad faces. Dean had more sad faces in his life than he really had the stomach for.

"You knew Ellen?" Sam asked.

She smirked, and then winced like she regretted moving her cheek. "Ellen was the one that helped me get started in the business in the first place." Then she stilled as if Sam's words caught up with her, "Wait, knew?"

The boys nodded sadly.

Her shoulders slumped and she stilled against the front of her truck. She seemed to study the ground before adjusting her grip on her gun, "How long ago?"

"About two months."

Liz bit her lip and pulled her wounded arm closer, "She went down fighting, right?"

Dean nodded.

"Good," it was all she said.

Dean took a deep breath, and stared up at his little brother, and then he waved at Liz, "Well come on in. Let's get those injuries looked at." He ignored Sam's face as he said it, but he couldn't ignore the grip on his elbow.

"What about Ben?" Sam asked low enough it was out of earshot.

"She obviously needs our help," Dean gestured to the bloody girl. She had only taken a moment to adjust her weapon in her hand and start their way. "And if Ellen sent her…"

He nodded, "Yeah. I get it." He flashed his flask to his brother. Dean smirked and agreed.

Just as Liz was within distance, Sam threw a splash of holy water on her face. She stood for a moment, trying to calm herself down from the shock. "I should have expected that." She looked up at Sam, "Did I pass your test? Am I allowed in the tree house?"

Dean smirked and walked back into the room. Sam laughed awkwardly, and motioned her on "I'm sorry – we had to be sure."

She nodded, "I understand."

"What exactly got you all bloody?" Dean asked, throwing his jacket back down on the bed.

"A demon," Liz answered. "The first I ever tried to hunt."

"How long have you been doing this?" Sam asked, heading to the bathroom.

"About two years. Hardcore for about eight months," she sat herself down rigidly at the motel's room poor excuse for a dining table. "Witches mostly, a werewolf a few months ago. Uh…" she picked at her sleeve that was soaked in sticky red goo; she made a face – like the sight of her blood was worse than her pain. "A Chupacabra once. But that was with Jo – you know her, right? Oh, God Jo - her mom…"

"Jo's gone too," Dean said, fiddling with the clasp on the first aid kit.

"Well, shit," Liz cursed, leaning forward on the table with her good arm. She looked like she was about to get sick. Dean watched as she shook her head once and then sat up again, sniffing back tears and wiping her face. She still looked nauseous.

Dean wouldn't blame her, "You okay?" Her eyes found something interesting on the carpet and didn't look up at him as she shook her head.

"I got in the game at the wrong time, ya' know?"

Sam came back in the room, wet washcloths and clean towels ready to hand off to her, "I don't think there is ever a right time."

She looked up at Sam, but didn't say anything. She seemed a little… lost. He leaned down and started to clean the cut on her forehead and her eyes found the spot on the carpet again.

"I'd never faced a demon before."

Dean started pulling out alcohol pads and gauze, "And you thought you could handle one on your own?"

"I had tracked it for days. I figured it was alone, I never saw it with anyone else."

Sam refolded the washcloth, "I mean, if you've never faced a demon before, how did you know what to do?"

"Well," she seemed a little wary of a stranger suddenly in her personal space, "every hunter I've come across has their fair share of demon stories. Most are all too happy to share them. It was only a matter of time before I ran across one of my own."

"Word of mouth?" Dean asked. "You went head to head with a demon based on stories that some guys told you over a couple of beers?" Dean hated it when hunters thought they could handle something that was over their heads.

Like killing the devil and saving the world, for instance.

She turned to face Dean with a look that he could not decipher, "Isn't that how it's done? You have a buddy that did it such-and-such way once, so you try it out yourself?"

Sam turned to Dean with a 'she's got a point' face. Dean returned one that said, 'I know, shut up.'

"Why us?"

"I called Jo for help first, but she never answered…" She bit her lip as she turned green again. "Now I know why. Then I called Bobby, to ask who was in the area. He always seems to be on top of that nowadays." She took the washcloth from Sam when he went to clean her arm, "I can do that."

He stepped back, "I'll go find a bowl for the water." She nodded and began trying to take off her flannel shirt. Obviously struggling, Dean stood to help her.

"I'm fine!" she shrugged away from him.

"Look lady," he threw his hands up, "part of asking another hunter for help is first aid. You're hurt. Priority one: get patched up. Then kill monsters."

She blinked up at Dean, her brown eyes full of shame. It threw Dean off his game for a second. "I just…" she looked away, "I haven't failed at killing anything yet. Not until last night, at least. And finding out about Ellen and Jo…"

"Hey, you're still alive, that's what matters. You haven't failed; your job's just not done." Dean swallowed deeply, realizing he seemed to sounding more and more like Bobby these days.

Liz looked back up at him, eyes full of gratitude, "Thanks."

He nodded.

Dean pulled the flannel off her shoulders, down to her black tank top, and noticed she had light cuts down the back of her shoulder. "Man, whatever son of a bitch got you, got you good."

She just started cleaning the cut on her forearm.

Sam came back in and one ace bandage on her ankle, a stitching job on her arm, and half their stock of alcohol wipe pads later, she was all patched up. They talked about the demon Liz faced as she washed the blood out of her hair in the sink.

"I think it's targeting priests," she had said, "three have disappeared from towns outside Indianapolis since last week." The towns were far enough away that the authorities didn't take notice, but Liz did when her research led her to something interesting about two of them.

"They're cousins?" Dean asked, looking over her paperwork. "This Father Smith and this Father Thomas? They're family?"

"Yep," she reached in her bag and pulled out a few more printed newspaper pages. "Then I did some more digging." She started to dry her hair with a towel as she spoke. "In the last six months, there have been twenty seven religious leaders go missing in the New England states alone. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, you guys are the experts in this subject, but didn't a big bad just get released a little over six months ago?"

Sam swallowed hard as he readjusted in his chair and avoided eye contact. Dean rolled his eyes at his brother.

"You think this has something to do with Lucifer rising?" Dean asked in his place.

"That's what I thought to begin with, so I dug some more, and got a lead on a demon. I followed it around for days. She never made contact with anyone or anything, so I confronted her. Got the shit beat out me. Came here."

"Right," Sam said, piling up her research. "Take us to this demon."

"Wait!" Dean stalled his brother's hands, "I can't just leave Lisa and Ben high and dry."

"Yeah Dean, sure. But this is an actual job! With demons and a possible lead on Lucifer. This is what we need to be doing."

He didn't look up to meet eyes, "I promised her, Sam."

Liz stood awkwardly for a moment, "If you were working a job, I'd understand…"

"No," Sam interrupted her, not breaking his gaze from Dean. "This is good work, Liz."

Dean stood and started over to the bed for his jacket, "I'm going to Cicero to help Lisa, Sam."

"Why, Dean? Call her and tell her…"

"What?" Dean turned on him, "That her son is no longer important? That I have better things to do?"

Instantly Sam had wounded puppy written all over his posture, "No, that's not what I meant."

"I know. I'll go check out Ben's case. You go with Liz to do more recon. We'll meet up in a day or two, kill this demon of yours," he pointed at Liz, "and everyone's happy."

Sam stood, "Split up? Dean, I don't like that idea. Not now, not after what just happened with…"

"Oh, come on Sammy." He threw his arms wide open. "You wanted to grow up, have a little space. Here's your chance! Don't prove me wrong."

Liz once again stood awkwardly as she tried to discretely put on a clean shirt and ignore the brothers. She was trying to pretend they weren't there and it wasn't working. She hated awkward situations.

"Dean…"

"Look," he gripped his brother's shoulders, "it's a few days. Ben's case sounds like nothing, but I'm gonna go anyway. I owe it to him and to his mom. You aren't going to go after this demon until I meet back up with you. We're all gonna be okay."

Sam's jaw clenched. Dean knew he won.

"Come get your things out of the trunk."

A half hour later it had begun to snow and the youngest Winchester was sitting passenger to Liz on his way to Carmel, Indiana, and he had a bad feeling. And when Sam had bad feelings, he generally knew when to trust them. The bad feeling was not about Liz – he liked Liz, she reminded him of Ellen a bit – but the bad feeling was not about the demon she was leading him to almost two hours away from Lafayette, instead his bad feeling was centered around his big brother.

And for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why.