Having an attack and going into a coma for two weeks once was bad enough; Dean had been a drunken wreck the entire time Sam was out, was on the verge of calling a real hospital and trying some more secular cures when Castiel showed up and Sam awoke.

Now that it had happened again, there was no question. Both Sam and Dean hated hospitals, but sometimes there was really no choice.

Castiel joined Dean in the waiting room after he was finished at the ER, arm heavily bandaged, worried expression mirroring Dean's. Dean wondered sometimes just how receptive Castiel was to what he was feeling, because much of the time it seemed like he just picked up on whatever emotion Dean was experiencing at the time and threw it right back at him.

They sat side by side, and Dean felt some of the tension in his posture ebb away. He heard Castiel's unspoken question.

"They're running some tests right now, said it would be a few hours. It's high priority. They wouldn't say much else, or maybe I just didn't understand them." He studied the ground as he spoke, squeezed his arms around himself.

"I'm sorry."

"No, Cas, don't. I." He shook his head, took a moment to collect himself. "I know you said there was nothing that could cure him, but. I've gotta try."

"Maybe I was wrong."

A short gurgle of a laugh escaped Dean. "Rare hearin' that coming from you."

"Nonetheless. Maybe… I wasn't all-powerful Dean, not even then. Just because I couldn't… maybe your human doctors will have a solution. If not them, someone else."

Dean leaned back, taking the words of comfort for what they were. "Thanks, Cas." He paused. "Thanks for staying." Here was the support he'd needed so badly all of last year, and with the events of the warehouse still fresh on his mind, he had to wonder how Castiel was here, with a mangled arm worrying with him about Sam, instead of zooming around the planet re-angelified on borrowed Grace. Maybe it should concern him, how terrified he was of Castiel taking off.

"I wouldn't leave you."

They lapsed back into silence then, and waited for the results to come in.

oOo

It wasn't pretty, either, when they did.

"We believe he has a rare form of cancer, although there are a few significant anomalies—"

Dean stopped hearing at the word cancer, the rest of the words blurring together, like he was hearing them from underwater.

Cancer. Did they just say…?

Castiel was talking now, asking something, and the doctor and he talked for a while before a sheaf of scans was handed to Castiel, before the doctor left them alone in the room with Sam's still, still body.

Cancer.

"Dean."

Castiel was talking to him now, but Dean wasn't listening. "Cancer, Cas," he babbled. "Of all the things, I never thought any one of us would end up with—with—"

He felt the sting as Castiel smacked him, hard, across the face.

"Focus, Dean. I need you to listen to me. Your brother does not have cancer."

Dean blinked vacantly at him. "But they just said—"

"They were wrong. Listen to me." Castiel's hand settled on Dean's shoulder, guiding him backwards and into one of the chairs by Sam's bed before pulling up one for himself, spreading the scan sheets over his lap. "As I understand, cancer is characterized by unrestricted cell growth, yes?"

"Right." Dean didn't know where this was going. His world had shattered, did Cas want to talk him through the gory details of it?

"That's not what's happening with Sam."

"What?"

"These MRIs are very useful instruments," Castiel commented, holding up one of the scan sheets. "Surprising how much they reveal."

"Cas!"

"There is a mutation, yes. And it is spreading. But it hasn't formed a tumor—whatever it is, it is literally changing Sam's DNA, and it's spreading. His body is fighting it off like an infection—I believe the doctor said it was similar to when a body rejects donated tissue after a heart transplant. That is the root cause of all of Sam's symptoms that we've observed so far."

"What does that mean?" As far as Dean could tell, all of the babble still meant that his brother was dying. "And what do you mean, his DNA is changing? How?"

"I mean that stopping the Trials didn't stop whatever is going on with Sam, it only slowed it down. I mean that Sam's illness isn't necessarily being brought on by the change itself, but by his immune system fighting it. An exaggerated allergic reaction, if you will. I don't know how exactly it's changing him, but." Castiel swallowed thickly. "I suggest that we let it happen. Shut down his immune system for a while and let it take place."

"You're not serious." Castiel stared him down, and Dean's mouth dropped open. "You're serious! Cas, Naomi said those Trials would kill him, and she was right! For all we know, his immune system is the only thing keeping him alive!"

Castiel's gaze was unwavering. "The other option, from what I've heard, is to send Sam through a treatment process that will likely not work, that may kill him all on its own, if not, at the very best, crippling him for life. Do you want to kill off the tissue that has already been changed? That is not something I wish on him, Dean."

"I'd take a small chance of him surviving over no chance at all!" Dean was standing now, voice dangerously loud, and Castiel was taking it, unfazed.

"I want Sam to live," he told him quietly. "And I believe to do that we will need to let this change—whatever it is—run its course. Even if Sam is different by the end, I would take all of him, over whatever shell of him might remain after the procedures that have been described to me."

Dean was vividly reminded of a similar argument they'd had, long ago, over his brother's soul. His jaw tightened. "You don't even know how he'll change," he said. "Even if what you're saying works, whatever we end up with—would it even be Sam? Can you guarantee that, really?"

Castiel's eyes dropped.

"You can't. Not that you'd care about something like that, would you? Didn't before." Okay, so that was low, but his heart was sinking, sinking, because he wanted Castiel to be right, but Castiel was rarely right about anything anymore and this was Sam they were talking about. They couldn't mess up. And if Castiel was looking at him with a heartbroken expression, well, he deserved it and a lot more. He deserved that from Dean. Except, he didn't, and Dean thought he had forgiven him, and, God, he was just a bitter sack of angst, wasn't he.

And what if he was wrong? He couldn't put Sam through that, chemo and everything, not if there was a better way.

He sat back down heavily, blinking rapidly. He didn't know. Sam's life was hanging in the balance, and he had no idea what to do, to save him.

"I need to think," he admitted. "Is it—can I do that? I don't have to make a decision right now, do I? I can wait—a few hours?"

Castiel came over, gingerly put a hand on his shoulder. "The doctors said he is stable now," he said gently. "Do—what you feel is right." He left the room then, closing the door softly behind him.

I'm sorry. Dean mouthed the words, but he didn't have the courage to say them aloud.

oOo

Sam opened his eyes, and the landscape was unfamiliar. All rolling, grey swells of ground, scraggly, skeletal black trees. Adam was looking at him, and he seemed delighted. That was a change.

"Am I having a nightmare?" Sam asked, and no, he wasn't, or he wouldn't have to ask. He brought a hand to his ear unconsciously, wondering if the herbs had stopped working. Wondering how Adam was still alive. Winchester luck, he thought bleakly.

"Well this is new, Sammy. Now you're dreamwalking with me."

Sam brought his hand down. "That's not possible. I can't do that."

"To be honest," Adam said, "I didn't think we were this close. Maybe at one point, but." He gave Sam a critical look. "Why are you here? You came to search me out, again. Do you miss the Cage that much." He smiled, too widely to be genuine.

"Never."

"It would make sense," Adam said, walking closer. Sam held his ground. "Spent centuries down there with me. You fought the angel, when he came to pull you out. Wondered at the time why he didn't give up, take me instead." He shook his head. "But you, you were so important, angel didn't so much as glance my way."

"I didn't." Sam didn't fight Castiel to stay in the Cage. He, he clung to him, he begged for rescue. Didn't he?

"You succeeded too, sort of. Angel couldn't get your soul." Adam began to laugh, loudly. "I couldn't—couldn't understand it," he wheezed. "I was the one who wanted out."

"You're lying. You're just trying to…" Mess with him. Adam was trying to torture him again, a different way this time. Because Sam didn't save him after he got out.

"You're dreamwalking with me, Sam. What does that say?" Adam shook his head, eyes alight. "I wonder if we aren't both getting what we want, here. Me hurting you, you being hurt." He took another step closer. "Do you miss Lucifer, Sam? Do you miss remembering everything?"

Sam shut his eyes against the madness. Had he looked like that, when his wall broke?

"I remember Lucifer," Adam whispered. "I remember Michael—all of it. How about we look, huh. How about we see what it was like—after you left."

"How did you get out of the Cage, Adam."

"We're gonna go look." Adam tugged at his hand and smiled. "Follow me."

oOo

Dean found Castiel by the vending machine, huffing in annoyance as his bill was spit out, again and again.

"It won't take it if it's folded. Here, let me." He took the dollar gently from Castiel, smoothed the creases before putting it back in the machine. They watched as a small bottle of Coke dropped from the rack.

"We're gonna try things your way."

Castiel didn't respond, just stooped over, picked the soda up.

"I talked to some of the doctors. They said that the new tissue was working correctly, that there weren't any huge differences there. I guess I knew that already, but." Castiel still wasn't looking at him, and it was a little frustrating. "They agreed with you, seemed to think it was actually a good idea to go through with it, since the mutation itself seems to be… harmless. They seemed a little excited actually. Said they'd never seen anything like it before. Apparently there are some meds that can suppress his body's reaction to it. They're gonna give him some right now." If everything went right, they said, Sam would wake up in a few days perfectly healthy. But when did anything ever go right. Dean was scared shitless.

Castiel nodded slightly, began shuffling away. Dean followed him.

"I didn't mean… You know I didn't mean that. What I said. I know you care about Sam. I was—" Afraid, he was going to say, but Castiel cut him off.

"Don't apologize to me, Dean," the former angel said, and Dean could see him playing with the cap of the Coke bottle. "I deserve worse."

No. No, not this again. "Cas, you know that I, I told you that I—"

"It's fine, Dean." Castiel spun on his heel, turned to go to Sam's room.

Dean stood there, staring at the door for a minute, before deciding he could manage to wait in the lobby.

oOo

Maybe Crowley' plan wasn't so brilliant after all. The moment he laid eyes on Kevin, lounging on the sofa watching the news, he had to keep himself from gagging.

Killed his mother, a nasty voice (or just his own voice, it always sounded nasty) said inside of him. Ruined his life—no, no, bad time to think human. Get a hold of yourself. Prophet is a Prophet, he should have seen it coming.

Then the Prophet turned to look at him, and that was definitely hatred narrowing his eyes. Hatred of him? That couldn't be recognition, could it?

"Crowley," Kevin said, and that confirmed it. Good thing the other demons were ordered off detail, because that would have been a major coverblow.

Crowley bared his teeth. "Miss me? Got to say, you've been living in…more pleasant accommodations than I would have expected."

Kevin snorted. "I'm needed. Abaddon was willing to lodge me for a few decades while I finish translating the angel tablet for her, so. I suppose I'll have to alert her you're here so she can eviscerate you or whatever."

He reached for what looked suspiciously like an intercom, so Crowley zipped over, grabbed his wrist to stop him. Bless, he hoped Boy Wonder hadn't developed any other mysterious powers in the interim, like being able to burn demons in their meatsuits with a venomous look.

"I wouldn't, darling," Crowley said. Then, to diffuse the tension, "I'm here to rescue you."

Kevin looked pointedly at his restrained wrist, quirked an eyebrow. "Against my will?"

oOo

It was surprising to note that, as far as evil totalitarian overlords of Hell went, Abaddon of the First Fallen was quite a gracious ruler.

Case in point: she kept Kevin's icebox loaded with alcohol.

"My mooothr… nevr wanted me to get… into…" Kevin waved his hand around unsteadily, indicating the variety of empty bottles they'd littered around the room. Crowley's decreased constitution meant he was pretty smashed, too.

"Ah… 'twas the…" he searched for the word, came up empty "rodent tha' infl'nced thee…"

Kevin flopped to the floor, began laughing uncontrollably. "I wanna leave Hell," he gasped between bouts. "Hateithateithateit." Crowley nodded sagely, eyes blank.

"Lemme take thee out, then," he prompted.

"But you're eeeeviiil~" Kevin sang, and that made Crowley start laughing, too, till they were both shaking, twitching and choking a little bit on the soft fuzzy carpet.

"Wha' abou'… Assbuttmom?" Crowley said, and it was ridiculous how funny that was. He laughed some more.

"Nah," Kevin answered. "She's… all gre'ter good n' shit. Savin' world ri' now."

"Pfah."Crowley made it absolutely clear how much he believed that.

"Not… ideal. If I… Winchesters," Kevin said lamely, and was rewarded with an inexpertly tossed cell that bounced off of his head. "Mm. Okay. I'll leave. Take me to sm'place comfy."

So Crowley might have missed the first couple of times, but he did eventually manage to land them in an upscale hotel in Los Angeles.

oOo

Castiel didn't actually object when Dean crept in the room, didn't mention Dean's douchery, or, in fact, anything when he drew up the other plastic chair to perch on. So they managed that, a sort of awkward truce of Lets-pretend-we-don't-have-issues, each staring rather intently at Sam's sleeping self for a good few hours, silent. Sam would have felt more than a little self-conscious about it all if he was, well, conscious.

When Dean's cell rang, he was so startled he fell out of the chair. "Kevin," he squawked, when he was upright and had managed to flip it open.

"Speaker," Castiel said listlessly.

"So get this, imma outta Hell now…" Kevin drawled, between hiccups.

"You're drunk," Dean said, astute. "Wait… Hell? What the hell, Kevin?"

"Yeah, spent a few decades down there, wasn't so bad. Was on tumblr throughout most of it. Site ate up my life."

"WHY WERE YOU IN HELL, KEVIN?" It wasn't just Dean thinking this was sort of important, right?

"Uhm, Abaddon wanted me to help her mass produce angel bombs? Yeah, that was it. I feel more sober now. And, uh, it was to stop the angels from summoning som'thin', Lovecraftian… Azathoth? So that they could break open Heaven? It's a bit fuzzy. Think she said everyone would die if I didn't."

"That's a mild way of putting it," Castiel said, eyes wide. Kevin didn't elaborate, so it fell to him to fill Dean in. "Azathoth is one of the oldest forces… a force of chaos. If the angels—that's what the ones we ran into must be planning—if they're going to use something of that magnitude to break open Heaven…" Castiel shook his head. "You can't control a thing like Azathoth. It'll break open Heaven so that anyone could walk in, but it would also break open Hell… and Purgatory… and the Cage. The dimensions would bleed into one another. Possibly everyone on Earth would die."

The Cage… he said the Cage. Dean's mind was running in a continuous loop, so he almost missed what Kevin said next.

"—ght. But anyway, I stalled on the recipe, gave her useless info 'cause I figured a better plan would be to shut the angels in Heaven before they became a nuisance to everybody. Then we won't have piles of dead angels and everyone's happy, right? Couldn't call you down there though, sorry."

"So, we can banish the angels back to Heaven?" Dean said distractedly. The Cage the Cage. "Are you sure about that?"

"Pretty sure. So anyway, congrats Kevin, for holding the demons off for upwards twenty years—"

"What are the trials for the Heavenly Gates?" Castiel interrupted, and Dean's thoughts about the Cage were thrown off for a moment as he thought Fuck no now Cas wants to kill himself.—

"I mean, it looked like pretty much the reverse of the Hell Trials. Y'know, they started with a test of physical strength, then skill, then spiritual purity, right? This one goes in opposite order. I think the first is to walk on water."

Castiel looked like he was filing this all away for later use, and Dean was right back in Panic Mode, because that was his default setting now, or something. The Cage the Cage Cas is going to kill himself Cage can't lose Sam fuck what if he doesn't wake up Heaven Trials hell no, no more people dying on me Cage what if Lucifer comes back Cas can't leave not again SamSamSamCasCasSam FUCK—

"There was something weird though, with the Trials," Kevin was saying "It was—well. It said they could only be completed by a Righteous Man or something, I don't even know what that means—"

Dean's panicking stopped abruptly. Oh.

Castiel was looking at him, he knew it, but he wasn't going to look at him. Nope.

"Dean? Dean? Is this one of those things you said you'd tell me later? Dean?"

"Thank you, Kevin," Dean said tightly, snapping the cell shut.

"DE—"

"You're not—"

He avoided looking at Castiel some more. "Well, looks like if I don't, everyone will die, so."

"Abaddon. She's waging war on them."

And wow, did Castiel sound broken when he said that. Dean remembered, remembered it all, I killed two angels this week, my brothers, and I did it, all of it for you, and he really, really didn't want to think about that. "You were gonna jump at the chance just a minute ago."

"That's different. I'm not—you can't—fuck." Dean's pretty sure he's never heard that word leave Castiel's lips before, either. He hears scraping as Castiel stands up from his chair. "I need to leave," he announces. "I need—I hope Sam wakes up soon, Dean, and kicks your ass."

Lots of swearing coming from Castiel, today. Why don't you? Dean wants to ask, but he doesn't. He knows the answer.

He still hasn't looked at Castiel when he's slammed the door shut behind him. He wondered what Sam would do to him if he knew.

oOo

"Fun, isn't it?" Adam enthuses, as Sam holds his head, yelling. "Knew you'd like it. Just think—I have to see this all the time. Why aren't you damaged, Sam? Did the angel fix that, too?"

"How. Did. You. Get. Out."

"But, I guess you are broken," Adam continues. "And you just want me to smash you to bits." He seemed rather cheered by the prospect.

"Fuck you."

"That reminds me—"

But Adam didn't get to show Sam what he was reminded of, because Adam was waking up. Sam was jerked back, back into his own dreamspace and it was all familiarity and heads on spikes and infinitely comforting.

oOo

"I think I forgot to tell them about you," Kevin said, blinking blearily at the demon. Come morning, he would probably remember better why he wanted to kill him, but right now his brain was too addled by drugs to figure it out.

"Probably for the best. They want me dead," Crowley replied. Then. "What was this about Heaven Trials, saving the world?"

Oh. That was why he hated him. He was an evil, murdering demon, who had cut off his pinky and messed with his brain and tortured him and killed his mother. "You can't do them," Kevin said, hunching over in an Aggressive Manner. "You have to be Righteous, pretty sure."

Crowley didn't sleep or dream, but after Kevin dropped off he thought, he thought about Superman, and saving the world, and how annoyed the Winchesters would be to have their monopoly on the Big Fat Hero business wrested from their grasp.

His smile was slow and vicious and demonic, not at all Righteous, but Crowley felt he could work on that.

oOo

The disappearance of the Prophet triggered an investigation, and while a team attended to finding the culprit and tracking Kevin Tran, Abaddon continued to deal with the more important aspects of running a war campaign.

"So. Our options, now." She looked around at her advisors, and only one didn't shrink at her gaze, spoke up. "The angel bullets in store are of a limited supply. Besides the angel bombs—which we do not have—and the use of some old magic—which we do not have access to—there is only one approach we know, a demon-friendly virus that can kill off every other known creature. Including angels."

Abaddon knew what Mantus was referring to. "Biowarfare?" she clarified. He nodded. "Very well," she said. "Release the Croatoan virus."

oOo

Sam wouldn't be up that night, and Dean could not stand sleeping upright in chairs, so it was with some trepidation that he returned to the motel room, that evening, where Castiel was already shamming sleep. It wasn't strictly necessary for Dean to share Castiel's bed when they were in a two-bed motel room, Dean knew, but Castiel seemed to do better with the nightmares, somehow, when he was closer. Dean's own dreams gentled somewhat because of it, but that wasn't the point.

There was an unnatural tension in the air that night; Dean could feel it clawing away at his chest as he shirked most of his clothing, crept over to where Castiel was resolutely faking snoring. They'd been fighting ever since they got to Oklahoma, first over the case, then over Sam's condition, and now this. If Dean were being honest, they'd been fighting most of the time since Castiel became human. Scratch that. They were always fighting.

And Dean couldn't make him understand. That he was doing this for him, too, as well as for Sam. That he was going to save them both from the future he'd glimpsed, the one that loomed closer all the time, haunted him. He was seized, overwhelmed with the urge to tell Castiel all of this, to explain it somehow, but he didn't know how. Communication, Sam would tell him. It wasn't one of Dean's strong points.

He slotted himself next to the former angel, draped his arms over Castiel's in their customary position, while trying to remain mindful of the injured arm. For some reason or other, Castiel's thrashing always worsened just after a case, and Dean honestly wasn't sure what to expect, after today.

He was still filled with that strange feeling, bursting with the desire to tell Castiel everything, show him, somehow, what he meant by all this. Perhaps this was what made him lean forward, pressing a feather light kiss to the back of Castiel's neck.

Castiel turned in his arms, eyes probably just as wide as Dean's own. I don't know, don't look at me like that, Dean thought. "Please," he said. He didn't know what he was asking for. "Let me—I need to—"

Castiel stared, nodded at him mutely, and that was more than enough reason to abandon conversation. They surged together, wind and wave, and for a while, Dean let himself be swept away by it.

oOo

"I need you to promise me something, Cas." They were both naked and breathing heavily, and Dean felt the heat thrumming under his skin like it was a living thing, eating him alive. It was confusing, and alien, but Dean couldn't think about that right then. Maybe he could have a crisis later. Because he had to say this, this one thing.

"What."

Dean propped his head on his elbow, taking in all of Castiel that he could in the dim light, the rush of feeling when he did so almost bowling him over completely.

"You know… what I'm planning to do. I need you to promise me that you won't leave. That you'll just…listen to me, do what I ask." He sighed. "I'm not gonna be able to do this alone, Cas. I'm gonna need… I need your help."

Castiel's eyes fluttered shut, a pained expression crossing his face. "Dean. You can't ask me to…"

"I am, though, Cas. Please." He took one hand to grip Castiel's shoulder, to try and anchor him. "I need you to stand by me on this. You're the only one I can ask."

Castiel's eyes screwed up tighter. He wanted to lash out, at the injustice of it all. How dare he be made to make this decision. To have to choose between the world that he had, in fact, sworn to protect, between the lives of his sisters and brothers and countless innocents, and the life of the one man his world had somehow come to revolve around.

How could he aid in the destruction of this man? It went against everything that he was, every molecule of his being. Castiel knew for certain that what they did to save Sam, if it saved Sam, they wouldn't be able to repeat, not if Dean completed the Trials like he intended. It was impossibly cruel, to ask this of him.

But Castiel knew which choice was the right one, so he gripped Dean's shoulder back, prepared to tear himself in two.

"I will follow you, Dean Winchester," he promised, "Wherever you decide to go."

His tears were silent as Dean wrapped himself around him, rocking them back and forth. Thank you…