Sorry for the delay, here's the next go-around. Only two more left! Cheerio!

~o(Supernatural)o~

Castiel stood admirably by the heavy iron door. Hands behind his back, he watched and listened, effortlessly following the scores of dust drifting off the quavering cavern walls. Yips and horrible squalls echoed fiercely on the outside; shrieking howls and hammering knocks occurring almost constantly. A small frown marred the angel's face when the pounding increased, by every few seconds it seemed...

The insidious beasts were fighting to break in.

Though a bit relieved they were protected inside this cavernous holdout whose walls were built with about a foot of salted iron alloyed with a quantity of rich titanium, along with the invisible angelic sigils he burned into them, it was inescapable to the celestial being how perilous the situation became.

Cut off from the outside world with no reception, with any and all frequency disrupted to call out for help. With one of the troop in grave condition and the rest worse for wear; with little weaponry and even fewer ammunition shells, plus the added benefit of slim supplies…yeah, long story short, they all were like sitting ducks. Eventually—only the Almighty knew when—the enemy was going to find a way in. Either by way of force, or with themselves going out by the Last Stand Clause Act—no doubt started by the shorthaired one—they will have to come to term with the beasts soon.

But amid the clangor and the lethal threats, Cass stood firm, defiant, as though there wasn't a single shred of fear. As though this was a part of some plan he expected to follow through.

He needn't turn around to see what the rest of the group were up to, for he could see it in his mind. Bobby with a rudimentarily splinted arm held close to his chest, carried on diligently in restocking all the rifles and pistols with ammo, refusing to give in to despair. A large patch of red shined through the navy fabric wrapped around the appendage, a near permanent grimace marking the old man's face.

The two Winchester men were on the cot over on the far sidewall. Sam was in and out of the state of unconsciousness. Breathing harsh and ragged, his body constantly shook, his pallor the color of cauliflower. Occasionally he'd cough and spurts of blood shot out, followed shortly after by another seizure.

Dean sat beside him, watching helplessly on the sidelines. The seizures weren't as horrible as the first bout, but they were still excruciating to behold. Growing less in intensity, but more in number, Sam's back arched off the bedspread, his body growing tense and solid as a pillar of wood. More blood would ooze out of his nose and ears along with a groan or a pained mewl. Every time, Dean grabbed his hand, softly issuing reassurances, desperately trying to give whatever encouragement he could. But all the while, he felt his words were like a patch of dandelions in the wind: quick to wilt and fly away, their effort futile.

The last attack was bad. Sam shouted and cried for so long, it was a wonder his lungs hadn't burst. He thrashed some more, his hands fanned out in sheer agony. Dean held onto him, saying what he had to, fighting hard to not give up. The longer Sam struggled, the more Dean's heart splintered and cracked. He didn't know what to do, or what was there to be done. He felt empty and pathetic.

It was until Sam flipped over and fell off landing on the concrete with a horrible crack that Dean forgot his feelings. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled his baby brother up against his chest and held him tight. He hoped Sam was able to acquire the memo. He hoped that Sam understood that he wouldn't have to fight Lucifer alone. He had to keep telling him that.

He had to keep telling himself that.

Eventually the seizure wore off and Sam exhaustively had drifted back into oblivion. It was then the chills had set in, along with the perfuse sweating, and the high fever, which had Dean puzzled.

Since then he continually sponged the beaded perspiration off Sam's forehead and neck, occasionally pulling the gray scratchy covers up past the soaked shoulders. He had said nothing to the others for the short while they were stuck in the safe room. Confusion mixed with worry for his brother was evident in his eyes. So many rampant questions raced through his mind, he could not choose one to ask.

More time had gone by and the monsters were still there, clamoring, hollering, scheming for a way to get in. Dean looked forlornly up at the ceiling. The pit in his gut was widening giving way into hopelessness, and he didn't like it. It was so unlike him. This feeling of unknowing, of uncertainty. Failing to come up with a better plan, or a plan nonetheless. He had absolutely hated who he had become, so much he was about ready to puke.

Bobby finished with the arsenal unit and came over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "How's he doing?"

Dean shrugged, airing out his damp and bloody flannel shirt, before clumping it back together and smoothing it over Sam's brow. "I don't know," he sighed tiredly. "I think Lucifer pulled back a little bit for now. But something's not right Bobby. I don't like the way he's so clammy and out of it. It's like he's sick or something."

Bobby leaned in closer and gave Sam a once over; afterwards nodding in agreement. "Yeah, it does. Damn boy. Uh, I'll see if I have any antibiotics or medicine. I don't know if I do. It's been awhile since I've put anything down here. Memory's a bit dodgy."

"That's alright. Find what you can," Dean said.

Bobby went to his cabinets. "I think I've got some Tylenol or Advil or something ruther 'round here."

"That won't help any," someone called out.

Both Dean and Bobby stopped and turned an inquisitive eye to Cass, who still had his back turned to them. "What do you mean?"

"No medicine or human interference can help him. Don't waste your efforts," the angel proclaimed, whirling around to face them.

"Then what can we do. We can't just leave him like this," Dean snapped.

"I'm afraid there isn't anything you can do Dean. There isn't anything I can do, even if I wanted to."

"Don't give me that," Dean stood up, gazing murderously at his friend. He had had enough of cryptic answers that only led to more questions. After all that had happened in the last twenty-fours hours, he was ready to explode. He needed answering, and he needed it now. "What the hell is going on Cass? You haven't said anything from the moment we got in here. Now what is it that you know?"

Cass shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Dean huffed. "Bull. You of all things know that I can spot a lie about a mile off. I may not be what I used to be, but I can still tell when you're not telling me something. Now what is it? What is happening to Sam?"

He stiffened his posture, sticking out his chest a bit to show he wasn't messing around. Bobby came up from behind, backing him up. From the usual avoiding glancing and the slouched shoulders, it was confirmed that Castiel had known something.

Cass's gaze softened, now resting on the pale flaccid creature on the bed. "It's poison," he answered. "Lucifer is poisoning him…from the inside out."

"What?" Dean took a step back. Whatever he was ready to hear, that was not it. "P-poison? I…I uh…I didn't hear you correctly."

"Unfortunately you did Dean. From what I gathered being inside his head for a brief moment, and what I see now, there's nothing else to conclude. Yes, Sam is being poisoned. But you knew that already."

"Huh?"

"You only fought against some of it," Cass gave him a steely look, making him very uncomfortable. "Were you not chased? Did the memory of your mother not turn into something wrinkled, an abomination. And did she not attack you?"

Dean turned away, thinking back. Yeah, he was chased by things. Nasty, ugly things. Was that the poison Cass was referring to?

"She bit you," Cass went on. "And what did you feel after that?"

"I…uh. I felt dizzy, disoriented. I couldn't even stand up."

"Exactly. This is what Lucifer feels he has to do, because he wants out. Since he had been trying to find a weakness, some way to break past Sam's defenses for so long, this is his last resort. Poison him. Poison his memories. His core. His soul. Weaken him so that his defenses are down, so that he can…" he trailed off.

"Can…what? So he can what Cass?" Dean blurted unintentionally.

Cass looked him squarely in the eye. "To break free."

The two men were stunned. Their faces frozen, in disbelief what they heard, in revulsion at the exploding image in their heads. That too they weren't expecting to hear.

Dean licked his lips. "Break free? As in…" he mimicked an explosion with his hands.

"Yes," Cass replied. "The seizures. The attacks. That's Lucifer trying to burst out of the skin he's in. Only Sam won't let him go so easily, and he's angry."

"Okay, now you're confusing me," Dean sat back down on the cot, rubbing his face. "What do you mean Sam won't let him? Why doesn't he just up and leave like…like what you did with Jimmy…or his daughter? You guys can do that, you know!"

"True, but this is not like any other case. Somehow, some way, there was a bond forged. I am uncertain if this was made in Hell or before then. It is a link that tethers the accompanying angel to its chosen vessel, done by an unspeakable act. An act both selfish and unredeemable…"

"Well, who did it? Lucy or Sam?"

Cass shook his head. "When a bond is formed, no one other than the two themselves is aware of who created it, if it was the vessel's choosing or not. But when it is made, know this that the only way for an Angel to escape is to first destroy the soul…and then disintegrate the body. Once the bond is formed, it can't be undone."

This time Bobby took a seat on the cot, donning the same expression as the man beside him, for both were in shock and suffering from terrible nausea.

Dean shuddered. It felt like he was on the edge of a giant precipice, the rockface slowly crumbling at his feet. Just when he believed he had gotten his brother back, now he hears the splendid news that he might lose him again…and this time for good. He felt the tears well up when Sam's pained groan rang among the walls.

He sent a silent beseeching plea to the Angel by the door. "You're telling me you can't find this link, this brand of some kind and zap it away. Something like this happened before, but we burned it and problem solved."

"It is a sigil cloaked by magic. It's even invisible to my eye," Cass sighed. "I'm sorry Dean. I had my suspicions about this, but I wasn't a hundred percent sure until I saw what Lucifer was doing with Sam with my own eyes."

The bottom of Dean's lip trembled. "So you're telling me there's no hope. He can't be saved…that I have to wait here and watch him die. There's nothing you can do. There's nothing I can't do or anyone else?"

"No," Cass replied solemnly. "The only one who can is Sam. He has to kill Lucifer up here," he patted the side of Jimmy's head with a finger. "You went in to help him do that, and you failed."

"He was too damn strong Cass. He was gonna kill Sam. There wasn't anything else I could have done," Dean raised his voice. He was angry now, downright livid. Yeah, he was pulling excuses out of his ass, but in his defense, the guy really did hand their asses to them. But that didn't mean that the nerdy guy in a trenchcoat could place the blame on him. How was that going to save Sam?

"You had the talisman I gave you, right?"

"Yeah. How else did you think we got out?"

Cass rounded on him. "Then you had a way of destroying him."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Say what?"

"That trinket that you carry has the power to put to end the life of a Warrior of God. It is a very important object that has lasted for over three millennia. It has killed many warriors, and it has the power to kill Lucifer."

"Oh nononononono! Hold up!" Dean resumed his full height again, glaring. "First of all, you never said a damn thing that this freakin' holy cross thing could kill him. You just said that it can get me and Sam back out of his head, that's all."

"Yes, that is among many of its properties. And yes, I did say that…because I couldn't tell you much else. I couldn't chance that Lucifer had been listening. If he were to know that you had carried this and take it from you, we'd be in far more peril than you would know."

"So how was I to know that it could kill him?" he pulled out the large heavy cross. "When were you going to tell me?"

"Well, I suppose I was hoping that you would somehow use it and it would do the deed," Cass exclaimed hot-headedly. "All I know is I wasn't suppose to tell you. You were supposed to figure it out on your own. Guess not!"

"What is this thing Cass?" Bobby finally spoke up, studying the talisman Dean had pulled out. The man had gone incredibly quiet since and it took the other two by surprise that he was still there. "If this was made over three millennia ago, then this can't be a Christian relic. The Cross hadn't become idolized in the Christian and Catholic ideology until after Christ. So what is it?"

Cass paused, taking a gander around the room. He found a chair over by a dusty desk and took a seat. He gave a long hesitant sigh before saying, "It is a ornament that is very hard to obtain and very hard to keep. It was used during the Great War that ended with Lucifer in exile. The shape is not of that of the symbol humans use for the Son of God. It is something else entirely. The four points are indicative of the four Cardinal directions."

Bobby leaned in as Dean took a step forward, both of them eager for more intel.

Cass continued. "This talisman, this object, at one time, was the hilt off of Michael's sword. It is what put Lucifer into Hell."

The two men's eyes widen to the size of saucers.

"You see, the four points are not just symbolizing the main directions: North, East, West, and South. The directions themselves mean certain realms. North, heaven. West, Earth. East, the pit…and South…death."

"Death? As in," Dean drew a finger across his neck.

"Precisely. During the battle between the two brothers, before Lucifer was sent into Hell, the East end of the Hilt struck him. If he was struck by the South, the tip of Michael's blade, his energy would have been canceled out, much like any Archangel sword can with us. To this day, it is unknown if Michael had intentionally put Lucifer in exile or he was sent there accidentally. But is it known that he was hit by the side of the hilt."

Dean now sat back down, feeling his legs wobbly. He never could get his head wrapped around the whole history of religion thing.

"Either during the battle or afterwards, the hilt broke off, but still contained its power. Since then it was kept in hiding. No one had seen it or heard about it, except for a few rumors of its keeper. Until recently, I had found its keeper…but he was already dead. The talisman was still kept safe, and now we have it."

Dean huffed. "Well that's all just fine and dandy news. But how does this help us? How can this 'broken thing' help Sam now? I mean, do I have to get back in there and have a round two, now that I know I have a weapon?"

Cass pursed his lips. "No. It's too late. Sam is already awake, and Lucifer is at work. I'm sorry Dean, but I don't know how to help Sam. I don't."

At the desolating sadness in his friend's voice, Dean felt the pit in his gut grow to crater size. The vortex of emotion was yet again reaching its climatic point, and he was suddenly struck with a sense of vulnerability. He felt an even bigger sense of helplessness, and he had no idea of what to do.

"There's…there," a lump formed in his throat. "There's nothing…no one we can go to. Anyone who has any idea how to help," he looked to his friend again, and for a brief second, he could've sworn he saw a ghost of a smile coming from Cass. That went away when Cass shook his head once more.

"I do know of someone who could possibly be of some help. Who would know what to do or who to go to, but I can't reach him from down here. This place is blocking any kind of signal I could put out…" A howl from a gargoyle sounded at the door, giving them all a shiver. "Besides, we're at a slight disadvantage with our friends outside. We would need a plan to get out of here first."

Dean closed his eyes, fighting hard against the depression that threatened to settle in. He nearly forgot about the forces that rained down upon Bobby's house, trapping them inside the canister of a room. He gave Bobby a quick glance before turning back to Cass. "What did you mean they made a pact? That they came together?"

"As I've explained to Bobby before you came back, the Angels are here because they view Sam as a threat. They aren't working with the demons and the others. They're bidding their time, trying to figure a way to eliminate your brother. They know Lucifer is still with him, and now with Michael out of the picture, they won't risk him returning to be their next adversary."

"Wonderful," Dean sighed. "Alright. What else are we dealing with? That thing that nearly bit my head off, not something I'd remember seeing in the demon catalogue."

"Those are Skemies. They're not exactly ancient, but they are from Godly descent…so to speak. Sometimes Pagan Gods when they were real bored, when their human subjects were no longer fulfilling, they liked to experiment. Cross species over with one another, between human or any other unnatural thing they viewed in their eyes, and those things would be the result. Those things, at one point, were known as the gods waste disposal. They could eat any and everything given to them. And they also had had an immense craving for flesh and bone. Especially bone marrow. Most of the time they would live in caves, underground, anywhere where populaces are slim. But now-a-days you can find them lurking around hospitals and labs."

"Gross."

"Yes," Cass agreed. "Most of them were killed off through time by hunters or by the gods themselves, but as you saw, there are a few left. As for the others, the demons must've created a pact with them. Obviously since we had set up defenses they are unable to break past, so they needed something else. Other creatures we weren't aware of. Other things that can easily get them through."

"Do they want to kill Sam too?"

Cass was hesitant. He toyed with the answer in his answer first. "I…I don't know if they all want him dead. I don't think so. But I do know the majorities do want him dead. They fear him. They believe their leader is finished. And if Sam survived, their only conclusion is that he will come for them next. It will only be a matter of time."

"So basically you're saying the odds are against us right now?"

"Yes. Basically yes," Cass piped. "We're in a deep load of shit."

Bobby and Dean coughed, laughing a bit at that statement. "Second that."

Dean stood again. "Alright. Guess there's only one thing left to do now."

"And what's that," Bobby stood up.

Dean looked him square in the eye. "We leave. Take em' all on full force, try to get out of here."

"Are you gone sum kind of crazy boy? You have noticed we are slightly low on manpower, hardly have any arsenal, and we're up against practically all the supernatural things we've ever encountered, right?"

"Bobby we don't have a choice. Sam doesn't have much time left," he looked to his pale and barely conscious sibling, "And if we can just get from this room just a few feet, maybe Cass could do his mojo real quick. Beam us out of here and take us to this person who might know what to do."

"He does have a point Bobby. It's something we could try," Cass said. "It's a suicide mission, but yeah, we could do it."

Bobby sighed in annoyance. "What is it with us coming up with horrible plans?"

"That's just how we roll, I guess."

"I knew it! You were going to be the death of me…again."

Dean smiled. "Wouldn't have it any other way Bobby. All right let's do what we gotta do and let's get rolling."

Yep, action time! Yeah, this was kinda of a downer. But we're saving up for next time. Get ready, it's gonna be a ride.

Just FYI, the tidbit about the talisman is made up. Hell, in fact everything in here is fictional. No misconceptions or misjustifications towards the Christian theology were intended. No flames please. And the Skemies also were part of the dark recesses of my mind too. Any similarities to any real creatures are strictly coincidental. Hope you enjoyed.