A/N: Thanks to my guest reviewer, for both this and for the Betwixt oneshot :) Not sure if you're the same reviewer, but my gratitude goes out there anyway! ^_^

Cole shifted in his vantage point on the roof of the building next to the pre-arranged meeting place. He resisted the temptation to check his watch… yet again. After all, Cole had waited this many years to finally have his vengeance. He could wait an hour more.

Squinting through the scope of his sniper rifle again, Cole shook off his distaste for the weapon. He'd always imagined this as a face to face fight, always dreamed he'd be able to tell Dean Winchester why he was about to die at Cole's hands. He'd hoped to look in his enemy's eyes when he killed him, but sometimes plans changed.

Sure, this wasn't the most honorable way of killing a man. In war, though, honor was often a luxury he couldn't afford. Better to take Dean out as soon as he stepped out of his car. Or maybe he'd take a non-lethal shot, leaving Dean incapacitated but alive long enough for Cole to get down there, say his piece, and put another bullet right between Dean's eyes.

Any moment now.

…Where was he?

Cole checked his watch again, frowning. He'd shown up half an hour early so that he'd be guaranteed to arrive first and get to his sniper hole. Two hours later, and no sign of Dean out here in the outskirts of town. The residence Cole had chosen hadn't been occupied in many years, but wasn't so wrecked as to arouse Dean's suspicion in time.

Now, though, with the appointed time well past, Cole was starting to get a warning tingle in the back of his mind. Something had gone wrong. Dean should have been there by now.

The soldier scanned the area again, grip on his rifle tightening. Nope… no one moving. No sign of Dean Winchester. No sign of anyone at all.

Cole's eyes narrowed as he took a calming breath. He couldn't lose himself to the rage now, but if his enemy didn't show up… Well, he'd have to adjust his plan. Maybe having Sam act like nothing was wrong hadn't been the best move; perhaps Dean needed a sense of urgency.

Perhaps Cole should drive back, call Dean, and make him listen to his little brother screaming for mercy.

Right on cue, Cole felt Sam's phone start to vibrate in his pocket. Hmm. Maybe Dean had simply run into an obstacle, and was calling to let "Sam" know that he was going to be late.

Even as he dug the cell out and eyed the number—Bruce Wayne—Cole already knew in the back of his mind that this wasn't the case. Jaw clenching, eyes once again roaming the empty lot where Dean was supposed to have been two hours ago, Cole accepted the call and held the phone up to his ear.

"The next voice I hear had better be Sammy's," Dean Winchester growled in a low, lethal rumble. "Or else you're a dead man."

Cole was going to go back and drive that blade right through Sam's heart. The little shithead had warned Dean after all.

Switching to his backup backup plan, Cole forced a calm demeanor to cover his fury and replied easily, "Dean-o. Guess it's about time you and I had a little chat."

"The only thing we're gonna chat about is how you'd better start running. This is your one chance. Walk away and don't look back, and never come after me, my brother, or Cas ever again. Because I swear to god, you son of a bitch, when I catch up with you, I will make you wish you'd never been born."

Cole laughed sharply. "Well now, that's pretty big words, but you're forgetting one thing. If you ever want to see Sam or the guy with the funny glowing blood again, you're going to do exactly what I say."

Dean paused; when he spoke, Cole felt his skin prickle. "So you know about Cas."

"Sure do, sport."

"And you know what his blood looks like because…?"

Cole smiled, eyes narrowed with hatred for the man he was so casually chatting with. "How do you think? Gotta say, neither one of 'em is doing too hot. So you should probably shut up and listen. Got a pen?"

"No, you listen to me," Dean snarled. "There's no trade. There's no meet-up. I'm not meeting you anywhere and I'm not playing your games. Here's what I am going to do. First, I'm going to get my family back. And then I'm going to kill you."

"Well, you can try," Cole suggested with a light shrug. "Gonna be hard to do when you don't know where they are."

Dean barked in laughter, the sound cold enough to chill the blood. "Why do you think I waited so long to call you? I know exactly where they are, I just needed to make sure you were delayed enough that you wouldn't make it back here in time."

"Right," Cole deadpanned. "You think you know, huh? Impressive. Seeing as I have both their phones and all. So, GPS is out."

"I don't need their phones or their GPS. You messed with the wrong brothers. Sam told me everything I need to know… Cole."

The soldier froze, hand clenched around his sniper rifle. He'd listened to every word Sam had said. Nothing had been close to his name. If the Winchester could do that, was it possible that he had managed to communicate a location?

Was it even possible that, after all his preparations, Dean might slip right through his fingers after all?

At a loss, unprepared for this unexpected turn, Cole merely clenched his jaw in wordless rage. On the other end of the line, Dean's voice dropped another twenty degrees as he snapped,

"Just remember, I gave you a chance to run. And that's a limited time offer."

"You-"

"Time's up."

The line cut off and Cole's temper exploded, the expletives ground out through gritted teeth. He jumped to his feet, caution to the wind, as he swept his gaze around the empty lot, just in case this was all some kind of trick. Nothing. No Dean Winchester. No revenge, no justice, no nothing.

He ran for the car, rifle held tightly in white-knuckled hands. The barn wasn't very far from here, ten minutes at most. He'd made sure that even if a rescue attempt was made, Sam would slow them down. Cole could still stop them.

He could still end Dean Winchester once and for all.

SPN SPN SPN

Castiel hated being trapped like this on the floor. It was too vulnerable a position, curled on his side to relieve the pressure on his arms, unable to do much of anything to defend himself or Sam. How long had it been now? Six hours? Seven? The angel could barely feel his limbs anymore, though he couldn't say that wasn't a blessing of sorts.

Worse than that was the weakness he felt, the weariness that bored in deeper than his bones. Castiel felt it in his heart, in his mind, in the sputtering ball of stolen grace.

"Cas? Hey… you're still with me, right?"

Though Sam's voice was gentle, the angel could hear the quiet fear trembling beneath the words. It occurred to him that he hadn't moved in some time, and perhaps Sam wasn't sure if he was even still alive. Shifting, careful not to pull on the twine circling his neck, Cas raised his eyes to his friend.

"Of course," he murmured. Castiel winced at how rough his voice sounded even to his own ears. Clearing his throat, he added, "I'm here, Sam. How are… how are you doing?"

Sam chuckled softly and rolled his one good eye. "Never better."

Castiel couldn't help but smile at the famous Winchester grit. He shivered, thinking vaguely that it probably wasn't a good sign that he was getting so cold. From the way Sam frowned in sudden concern, it hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Dean will be here soon," the hunter pointed out. "And he knows you're sick. And he knows it's just the one guy, so… he'll take care of everything and then he'll be here, and we'll get you home."

If Castiel wasn't bound in the horrible position that he was, he would have shaken his head in amazement. "I still don't know how you managed to communicate all that," he said. "I had always hoped that maybe someday I would have the same skill, but now I suppose that's not…"

He trailed off, but Sam angrily spoke up.

"Don't talk like that, Cas. He'll be here. You're gonna be fine. You're gonna hold on for me, right?"

"Sam…"

"No, Cas! You know what, I can probably get loose, and then I can-"

"Sam." Castiel sighed, closing his eyes to shut out the heart-rending image of Sam's battered, grief-stricken face. "Listen to me. When you called… I was already dying. The chances of me surviving much longer-"

"I said stop. You listen to me, Cas. You were in a crappy motel room, all alone. I doubt you were eating or getting any sort of healing. We're gonna get you home, into a real bed, get some food in you and get your strength back, and then we're gonna figure out what to do about the grace. But that means you can't quit. Please, Cas… please, keep fighting. I need you here, man."

Castiel opened his eyes again, offering his friend a weak smile. "Then I'm not going anywhere. Maybe when-"

The door of the barn slammed open, thrown open so violently that the old wood nearly splintered. Castiel's heart thudded in his chest as Cole stormed straight for Sam with murderous intent in his eyes.

"What did you do?" the soldier spat, grabbing a chunk of Sam's hair and yanking his head back. A pistol found its way to the hunter's chin and dug in. "You little shit, what did you do?!"

"Cole!" Castiel gasped, forcing his exhausted body to roll up, trying to climb to his feet so he could jump in if necessary. "Stop!"

"Looks like Dean was lying, he didn't come save you after all," Cole hissed. His eyes narrowed as Sam met his gaze with a calm coldness. The gun cocked.

"No!" Castiel cried, lurching awkwardly forward on his knees, but there was too much distance between him and Cole. The soldier slid the gun down to Sam's upper body and pulled the trigger.

Sam's eyes shot open, mouth gaping in wordless agony, as Cole released his grip and took a step back. Castiel shouted again, terrified eyes taking in the blood already seeping through the hunter's shirt. Not the heart, part of Castiel's rational mind realized quietly. Cole hadn't gone for the heart, but Sam was already so injured…

"So," Cole seethed through gritted teeth, dropping the gun and slamming a fist into the helpless hunter's cheek. "I guess…" Another ruthless punch, this time to the stomach. "...we'll just have to do this the hard way."

This time, it was Cole's heavy boot adding to the beating, stomping down on Sam's injured foot with all the soldier's considerable strength. Sam's head tipped back, mouth still open; if he'd had any air left, he would have been screaming.

"NO!" Castiel thundered yet again, making it back to his feet at last. He had no idea how he was going to stop Cole, but the angel was fully prepared to try.

He never made it a single step. Outside, the roar of a car approaching grew louder and louder, all three of the barn's occupants turning their startled gaze towards the door. The car wasn't stopping.

Castiel heard Cole curse and stumble backwards only a fraction of a second before the wall of the barn exploded with the sound of splintered wood and crunching gravel. Debris spiraled in all directions as the Impala's nose poked through bits of lumber and what used to be a solid barrier. Through the dust, they heard a car door slam, followed by a figure of a man charging through. A gunshot echoed.

Cole dodged aside, forced away from Sam and his own gun that still lay at the younger Winchester's feet. Castiel stepped backwards, out of Dean's way to allow the hunter room to fight. His own eyes cast about desperately for his angel blade; if he could just get himself free, he could help.

To Cole's credit, the soldier didn't back down or try to run, not that he could have made it to the exit without going through Dean anyway. Instead, he charged forward, surprising the hunter and taking them both down to the ground. The gun landed with a hollow thud several feet away, though both Dean and Cole seemed too intent on grappling for the upper hand to notice.

"So," Cole snarled, throwing a punch that Dean easily deflected. "That bullshit about already knowing where Sam was…"

"Figured you'd be stupid enough to fall for it," Dean snapped in reply. "I was staking you out from the moment you rolled into that lot. You led me right back to them."

Cole snorted, shaking his head as he wrestled his way out from under the hunter and jumped to his feet. A glint of light flashed in the barn, dimly lit from the overcast morning sky as Cole's switchblade opened with a soft shick.

"Not bad, Dean-o. You really had me going. So I guess Sam didn't tell you my name, either."

Both fighters were crouched, circling each other in slow, predatory movements. Dean didn't even go for his gun, fists clenching in preparation to take Cole out bare-handed.

"Nope. Ran your license plate." Dean paused long enough to meet Castiel's eyes, taking in the angel's predicament, before his gaze settled on Sam.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Castiel would swear he saw blackness start to creep into Dean Winchester's eyes as he saw the horrifying myriad of wounds Cole had delivered to Sam.

"Yeah, take a good look," Cole snapped. "Because as soon as I kill you, they're next."

"Oh, I don't think so."

The two charged, meeting with a clash of fists and steel. Castiel wasn't worried that Dean might lose; he only hoped that when Dean won, he was able to stop himself from going too far. Again, the angel cast around for his blade or any sharp object he could use to get himself free. Cole must not have brought his bag of torture instruments back in from his own vehicle.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, drawing the angel's attention.

Castiel turned back to the fight in time to see Dean dodge back and jerk a dagger out of his boot. With skill born of too many years of practice, he sent it flying blade over end through the air to imbed itself in the far wall of the barn.

"Get Sammy out of here!" the hunter snapped, before his focus returned to his enemy.

Castiel turned his back on the battle and hobbled towards the knife stuck in the wall, though he could still hear the sounds of the fight and Cole's furious tone as he snapped,

"Don't you even want to know why? June 21st, 2003-"

Cole's voice was cut off with a grunt and the sound of a heavy punch landing.

"Yeah, I remembered as soon as I saw your name," Dean seethed. "And you know what? I might have felt sorry for you. But then you went and took my family. Your father was a monster, and you're no better than him."

Castiel heard another blow landing as he finally reached the knife and turned his back to the wall to grope blindly for the weapon behind his head. Dean had his hands wrapped around Cole's wrists, both of them fighting for control of the switchblade. Finally, the hunter ripped the weapon away from Cole and swung, driving it deep into the soldier's arm. Cole bellowed with pain and stumbled away.

Frantically, Castiel managed to extract Dean's knife from the wall and slip it under one of the loops restraining him. It was awkward trying to saw the twine with such a limited range of motion; besides, the movement caused the twine wrapping his neck to tighten. Castiel choked, a harsh hacking sound erupting from his bruised throat. His eyes watered, but he continued the relentless sawing until the coarse rope finally snapped.

Gasping in relief, Castiel struggled to unwind himself from the restraints, still coughing and gagging. Though he could hear the fight in the background, the angel stumbled back to where Sam sat slumped in the chair. The hunter's head lolled forward, eyes mostly closed but flickering now and then in an attempt to stay conscious.

"Cas," Sam whispered, voice thick with agony. "Dean… Stop him…"

"I have to heal you first," the angel insisted, hoping it wasn't obvious that he was nearly seeing two of Sam and that the room was no longer holding still. Deep down, Castiel knew he couldn't put his friend fully back together. At best, he might be able to heal one wound, if he focused very hard.

The latest gunshot had torn through Sam's upper torso; Castiel couldn't tell if it had taken a lung or not but it was surely the most problematic injury. Reaching out a shaky hand, the angel set two fingers to Sam's forehead, feeling for the rent edges of flesh and tissue with his grace. Though his inner light tried to curl around the wound in healing and protection, every attempt kept weakly slipping away. Castiel's breath hitched; he couldn't do it. His grace was too faded, unable to sustain the healing long enough for it to take hold.

"C-Cas?"

The angel swallowed and closed his eyes. Sam's blood refused to stop spilling, and he could do nothing.

"Cas…"

Sam's voice was so weak, trickling to silence. Castiel's eyes shot open; his friend was nearly unconscious, and his life force was starting to wane. He needed medical treatment, immediately, or he was going to die.

And then Dean would be left with no one.

Twisting, Castiel saw with horror that Dean had gained the upper hand. Cole was on the floor of the barn on his back, dazedly staring up at Dean in between vicious blows to the face. Blood mottled the soldier's cheeks, mouth, and nose as punch after brutal punch split his skin and bruised his now defenseless form.

"Dean…" Castiel tried to call out, though his voice caught and broke. "Dean, stop!"

After everything Cole had done to Sam, who had done absolutely nothing to deserve such torture, Castiel could hardly bring himself to be overly concerned for the soldier's well-being. It was the look on Dean's face that frightened the angel… the black, open hatred and pure rage that shattered his righteous aura just as Cain's had done so long ago.

"Dean, please," Castiel begged, unable to bear the change in his human friend. They were losing him. If he didn't turn back from this road soon… he would become something that Castiel had no power to save. "Dean! I can't heal Sam. Help us!" Please, Dean… help.

Something in Castiel's voice must have carried through the fog of berserk fury, overcoming even the influence of the Mark as Dean paused and glanced over his shoulder at the two. The darkness in his eyes flared briefly with greater wrath at the sight of Sam, and Castiel's gut clenched.

"Please," the angel whispered. He shook his head. "Dean, don't do this… he needs you. You won, just end it."

Dean wavered, expression shifting to anxiety, and for a second Castiel almost breathed with relief… until the hatred returned. The Mark on his arm glowed with the thirst for blood, a thirst that had no place in a man as good as Dean. Castiel felt something crumble inside.

"No, Dean. You- you can't give in. Think about Sam. He's going to die, please- please come back." Or else it had all been for nothing. Everything. "Dean, help us."

Dean's chest heaved with sharp, angry breaths, the glare on his face belonging to a stranger. Slowly, recognition returned, and finally the rage faded into worry. The cloud passed, and then Castiel was looking at the Dean Winchester he knew once again.

"Sammy," Dean murmured, before jumping to his feet.

Cole didn't move, staring up at the barn ceiling, breath rattling wetly through bloodied lips. He could do no more than raise a weak hand as the hunter scooped up his fallen gun and returned to stand over the soldier.

Though the darkness was gone from Dean's eyes, it was not replaced by mercy.

"No one touches my family," the hunter seethed. No more words; he pulled the trigger.

Cole's body jolted and his eyes fell closed, allowing a short silence to fall over the barn once again. It was broken by the haggard breath that Sam tried to draw, followed by one whispered word:

"Dean…"

The hunter shoved his gun back into his waistband, turning his back on his enemy and rushing to Sam's side. Castiel stepped back, holding the knife out for Dean to slice through his brother's bonds. Sam tilted forwards, caught only by Dean's waiting hands, though it jostled Sam's battered body and made him cry out in tight pain.

Dean cursed. "Cas, can you…?"

Castiel swallowed. "I…"

"Cas!"

Taking a deep breath, Castiel evaluated Sam once again. "I can't heal him all the way," he admitted. "But…" The angel felt for his grace—Theo's grace—and his heart sank. The little that remained was burning him out, mostly unusable. Soon, it would consume him completely. But if it was the last thing he ever did, Castiel would expend this one final piece in the service of his friends.

Taking stock of Sam's injuries—broken ribs, shattered knee, the bullet to his chest, his thigh, his foot, the bruises dotting his face—Castiel finally settled on Sam's kneecap that Cole had broken with the hammer. It would take weeks, even months to naturally heal enough for Sam to walk or hunt, if indeed it wasn't mangled beyond repair.

Gently, carefully, Castiel laid his palm across the splintered patella. He called on his last stores of healing light, leaving none for himself. Sam hissed in discomfort as the pieces of his knee began to knit themselves back together, the shards pulling in from the surrounding muscle and fusing with ligament and cartilage.

When Castiel was finished, he collapsed to his hands and knees. He turned aside just in time for his body to rebel, vomiting up bile and blood that left him once again choking for air. Distant voices were shouting his name as Castiel's vision began to fade at the edges.

"Dean," he murmured over them. "Take Sam… and go… Hurry."

"No!" his friend yelled, closer to his ear now. "We're not leaving you!"

"I'll only slow you down…"

"Cas!" Sam snapped, also close. "Who do you think you're talking to? I'm not leaving you behind."

"No one is leaving you behind. I'm getting you both out of here, Cas."

The angel almost smiled. He was falling; hands were catching him, lowering him gently to the floor. Then there was nothing.