A/N: thanks to my guest reviewer idreamofivan! I'm a sucker for the comfort part too... There's a little more here =)

Thanks also to guest Loreley, in case you read this too, for your review on Betwixt ^_^

Only two chapters left, y'all! I know everyone is worried about Sam being unprotected, so let's see what happens.

Cole limped into the motel room and eased himself down onto the chair by the small table. His laptop sat waiting, the screen dark. With the light shining from the floor lamp, Cole could just make out his reflection in the computer screen. He winced, touching his cheek gingerly and scowling. Damn. That bastard had done a number on his face.

Drawing in a deep breath, ignoring the ache in his ribcage, Cole turned the computer on and drummed his fingers on the table while it loaded too slowly.

"Where did you go?" he growled. The soldier slid a hand into his pocket, fingers clenching around a cool, metal object that he pulled out now. A set of keys.

The same set he had taken from Sam.

"Where's your little hidey-hole? You're gonna have to crawl back into it eventually."

The computer finally loaded, a program popping up with a soft ping. Cole's intense glare zeroed in on the screen. Icy satisfaction washed over his aching body like a balm. The tracker he'd sneaked into Sam's jacket pocket while the man was unconscious was working perfectly.

"Gotcha."

Clicking a button to review every place the tracker had pinged, Cole watched as the blinking red dot moved from the barn they'd been in to an unknown set of coordinates not far away. A quick search on his nav app told Cole that it was the nearest hospital. So Sam was probably there, but the tracker didn't stop for long. It continued to ping, on a straight shot along the same road Cole had been tailing Sam on to begin with, until it finally came to a halt on the outskirts of Lebanon.

There, the tracker stopped.

Good enough. Cole slammed the laptop closed and gathered up his things. Sam was contained for the time being, until Cole had finished with Dean. He was already visualizing the rematch in his head, and this time, Cole wasn't going to leave any of them alive.

SPN SPN SPN

Castiel was having a hard time discerning dream from reality. The fact that he was dreaming at all was clear enough evidence how bad off he was, and the moments when he returned to the waking world were filled with confusion and disorientation. The angel wasn't sure how much time he had left, but he had a feeling it wasn't much.

Of course, he'd been feeling that way for some time now, and still his body and spirit kept going. Who knew what sort of timeline he was actually looking at?

All Castiel knew was that he was cold and weak and miserable, so much like when he'd been first cast out into the human world without any grace. It added a layer of chill that the angel couldn't shake, a frank horror which he really didn't need on top of everything else.

Somewhere in the distance, a banging echo heralded one or both of the Winchesters' return. Castiel closed his eyes, listening, but he could only pick out one set of footsteps. Dean. But not Sam?

The angel tried to force a calmer expression on his face, not wanting to appear as run down as he actually felt, as he waited for Dean. Sure enough, a few short seconds preceded a soft knock on the door as the hunter appeared.

"Cas?"

"Dean." Castiel coughed and struggled to sit up straighter. "Sam- Sam's alright?"

"Yeah," Dean assured him, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "He pulled through no problem. Just didn't figure he was really up for a car ride yet. I'll go pick him up tomorrow." The hunter hesitated, eyes shifting over Castiel, before he asked, "How about you? Hanging in there?"

"Yes," Castiel murmured. It wasn't entirely a lie; he was still alive. Still, the angel didn't bother to elaborate.

Dean nodded again, waiting a second, the he sighed and came to sit down in the chair still waiting beside Castiel's bed. "Cas… me and Sammy were talking. About you. And… this thing going on." He gestured to the angel's weakened body and shook his head. "And what to do about it."

Castiel exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. "I hope you've come to terms with the fact that there is nothing to do about-"

"Wait, hear me out, okay, Cas?" Dean interrupted, leaning forward. "Look, um… shit, there's no easy way to say this."

"I already know. Dean, I told you, I'm going to die."

"No, damn it, that's not what I'm trying to say. We think there's a way out, but you're not gonna like it. Look, the grace is making you sick, so… I mean, there might only be one option here. Maybe we gotta take it out."

Silence fell over the pair. Castiel opened his eyes and studied his friend, waiting with incredulity to see if Dean would break into a grin at the obvious joke, which was frankly insensitive and cruel. To the angel's horror, he saw instead only a somber sadness.

Dean… was… serious?

Castiel snorted and shook his head. "No."

"Cas, listen-"

"No, Dean! I said, no!" Castiel leaned over, gasping for air as he felt the attack coming on. Dry heaves interspersed with the coughing fit made his body buckle. The angel fell down onto his side in the bed, too consumed with pain to worry about the pathetic picture he was making. Everything ached, down to his bones, down to his soul. Why wouldn't this just end?

"Cas? Cas!"

Wheezing for air, Castiel managed to gulp in enough oxygen to soothe the tremors in his body. He pushed Dean's hands away, though his muted strength could barely manage. The angel was still reeling, unable to believe his friend would even suggest such a thing.

"Why?" he choked out, a bitter taste in his mouth that came from more than just the blood he was starting to spit up. "Why would you- how could you expect…" Castiel trailed off, no idea how to even form the question.

Dean sat back, awkward and unsure. "I know it's not ideal…"

"Not ideal?" Castiel gritted out. "At least if I die, it's over. Without my grace, I would be human again. And that… I fail to see how I would be any better off."

"How can you say that?" Dean demanded. "Look, I get that you're an angel! But us humans aren't that far beneath you-"

"Is that what you think I'm saying?" The angel shook his head, looking away from his friend. How could he begin to make Dean understand? "It's different for you. You have a home. You have Sam. You're a hunter, so you will always have a purpose. This Bunker… it's warm. It's safe. It's dry. You can get food any time you want it. You can…" Castiel's voice broke, much to his shame, though he barreled on regardless. "You can shower any time you want to. You can sleep in a real bed, with nothing crawling through it. It's different for you, because you're not out there, in the cold, alone with nothing but your hunger. I have no home... No purpose, no food, no money. If I become human, I have nothing and no one. It's… it's just different."

"What the hell are you-"

Dean broke off, his eyes widening. Castiel could see it when the truth registered, could watch the darkness rise into his friend's expression as he finally understood. Dean jumped to his feet, turning his back as his hands raked through his hair.

"Cas…"

The angel said nothing, and for a long moment, neither did Dean. The human's shoulders rose and fell to accompany audible breaths, and only after several deep inhalations did Dean turn back around.

"I…" he started softly, "will never… ever… forgive myself for kicking you out of here."

Castiel sighed. This hadn't been his intent. "You did what you had to, and I forgave you long ago. But I'm no more prepared to endure it again now than I was then-"

"You don't have to!" Dean exploded. "Cas, you don't have to leave! What I did- what Gadreel made me do, it will never happen again. Cas, you didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve any of it. But if you do this… if you become human… you have a home. This Bunker, all the food, you won't be hungry, or- or alone. And you'd have a purpose too, come on, man."

"What, be a hunter?" Castiel asked with a dry, pointed look. "I seem to remember you telling me I was bad at-"

"I know what I said. Screw it. You've always had our backs, Cas, and that's all I need. You've always watched out for us. Even when we didn't deserve it. Dude, you've already got your own room and everything."

The hunter leaned in, grabbing Castiel's sleeve. "Look at me," he said. "I need you to know I'm serious. Your place is with us. Angel, human, whatever. I promise you, Cas, I promise you… you'll always have a home, and you'll always have us. Please, at least just think about it."

The angel sighed and glanced aside. It was hard not to associate humanity with the nightmare of homelessness, of struggling to learn how to act, how to live, without any guidance but what he had managed to pick up along the way.

"I… I don't know if I can," he admitted. "The truth is, I was barely getting by."

"We'll help you. Sammy and me. And who knows? Maybe we'll find a way to get your original grace back. We'll keep looking, but if we don't do this, you might not last that long."

That was entirely true. Castiel's mouth twisted, reluctant to agree even with the promise of safety and shelter. Not that he wanted to die, either. If this was the only way…

The angel took in a deep breath, teetering on the edge of assuring Dean he would consider the option as a last resort, but the words never came out. A spasm ripped through his body, so sharp that it made Castiel cry out from the unexpected pain. He crumpled onto his side again, thrashing on the bed as he was assaulted by a wave of agony.

"Cas! Shit, Cas!"

The angel's stomach cramped from the onslaught. Bile forced itself up and out of his throat, burning the same way his grace had burned when it, too, was forcibly expelled from his body. Castiel barely had time to lean over the side of the bed before he was choking and vomiting.

Somewhere nearby, Dean cursed. Castiel hoped vaguely that he hadn't gotten any of the mess on his friend, but when the coughing began again, ripping his throat to shreds, he forgot about everything but the pain.

Blood spattered from his mouth, followed by another bitter heave. Castiel gasped for air, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes from the complete lack of control he had over his disintegrating body.

"Hey, I gotcha, you're okay. Cas, you're okay."

A trash can appeared in front of his nose, then a surprisingly gentle hand settled on his back. "Just get it all up, you're fine."

Castiel grabbed the trash can and vomited again, but this time there was a soft ringing in his ears—the celestial echo of grace, trying to evacuate before it burned him up.

"Dean," he groaned. "Get out. Hurry…"

"No way. You- whoa, shit."

The hunter had reached out to touch Castiel's forehead, as though to gauge a fever, but he snapped his hand back just as quickly. The brief contact burned like ice. How could Dean be so cold? Or was Castiel just so hot?

"Dude, you're burning!"

"It's… the grace…" Castiel's head swam. If the time had come, he had better focus on saying his goodbye. "Thank you, my friend. For everything. You've been-"

"Stop it."

A rustle of flannel and denim flashed in the angel's periphery as Dean jumped to his feet and retreated. Rather abrupt, but as long as he was out of the way. A second later, though, Castiel heard a splash of water hit the floor and looked up in dismay.

"Dean, no, what are you doing?" the angel gasped out, watching Dean pour water from the bottle over a strip of cloth. "You should run. You promised!"

"Shove it, Cas," Dean snapped as he put the bottle down and returned to the angel's side. "You're not going yet."

Stubbornly refusing to leave, the hunter dabbed the cloth on Castiel's forehead, mopping off the sweat that was beading there. The cool touch eased some of the burn, and Castiel couldn't help but sigh softly in gratitude. When his stomach spasmed again, the angel was left gagging and clutching the trash can he was hunched over, but nothing came up. Finally, the heaving started to dissipate.

"You good?"

Wordlessly, Castiel nodded, though it felt far from true. He swallowed against the acrid taste of bile, then blinked when Dean pressed the water bottle into his hand. The angel nodded again and took a long drink, rinsing out his mouth and spitting into the trash can. When he'd drank his fill, he slumped back against the headboard and closed his eyes, chest heaving from the exertion of the sickness.

Dean didn't say anything as the cool, wet cloth resumed dabbing at the angel's forehead and cheeks, a balm and a comfort that Castiel hadn't been expecting. Though he knew there was no way the hunter could save him, just the attempt was working wonders for Castiel's heart.

He wasn't alone. That meant everything.

"Dude, you're still really hot," Dean finally spoke up. Though his voice was casual, the angel caught the note of concern. "I mean, really hot. If you were human, I'd let you sweat it out, but…"

But he wasn't human, and his grace was not going to be "sweated out". It was going to explode. Castiel wanted to assure his friend he'd done more than enough, and insist once again that Dean honor his promise and get out of the destruction zone, but he just couldn't form the words.

After a second of hesitation, Dean seemed to come to a decision. The cloth was pulled away and the trash can full of sick eased back and set aside. Castiel didn't have the energy to fight as Dean grabbed his arm and pulled it over the hunter's shoulder.

"Come on, up you get," Dean grunted, struggling to extricate Castiel from the sheets.

The angel somehow managed to get his feet on the floor, though when he stood he would have fallen right over if not for the stabilizing presence of his friend. He wheezed, letting Dean half-carry him towards the door.

"Where…?"

"We gotta get your temp down," Dean explained as the pair shuffled slowly into the hall, the hunter still taking the bulk of the weight. "Come on, man, just a little farther. Here we go."

Inch by inch, they journeyed the long march to the bathroom only two doors away from Castiel's. The angel wasn't convinced this would provide any benefit, but nor could he bring himself to push Dean away when his friend was clearly trying so hard. It eased the weight on Castiel's shoulders, lightened the burden in his heart, and urged him to fight—just a little harder—to survive.

"In you get," Dean ordered, not bothering to remove any of the angel's layers of clothing as he helped guide Castiel into the tub.

Castiel sank down, huddled miserably in a ball of sweat and fever, with his arms wrapped around his knees. The sudden stream of cold water hit him hard enough for the angel to gasp with surprise. Icy droplets dripped down his face, though the cool touch barely penetrated the heat radiating from the angel's body.

"Always did have good water pressure," Castiel gasped, not sure why now of all times his mind was turning to ironic humor. More and more during his time here, he was coming to realize just how much the Winchesters had rubbed off on him.

Dean made a strangled sound, a choked off laugh, as he pushed the plug into the drain to let the tub fill. "Yeah," he agreed. "And you're gonna get to enjoy that all you want this time. I promise."

The angel couldn't muster the energy to reply, but he nodded as the cold water started to ease at least some of the searing heat. He wanted to protest that Dean was getting drenched, sitting there and holding him up. Castiel had to admit, though, if his friend were to let go, he'd likely keel over.

Besides, if there was one thing to be said for the Righteous Man, it was that he always kept his promises.

If Dean Winchester said he was going to be there for Castiel, the angel's mind could be at ease. Dean wasn't going anywhere.

SPN SPN SPN

Dean was worried.

Much more worried than he was letting on, or at least he hoped he was being calm and reassuring and under control. He didn't know what condition Cas had been in when Sam had first called the angel, but he seemed to be deteriorating rapidly. Obviously being held captive wouldn't have done him any favors, but by the time Dean got his friend's temperature down to a more reasonable level, Cas was only vaguely conscious.

Getting him dried off and into a spare set of sweats was a chore in itself, but Dean managed to get the angel and himself dressed.

"Okay… come on, up," he grumbled, hoisting his friend to his feet and pulling Cas's arm over his shoulder again. The angel's head lolled as he muttered something about how Dean should go get Sam.

"Sam's a big boy," Dean grunted back, straining to keep Cas upright. "I'll get him tomorrow. Come on, let's get you back in bed."

They were winning no races, but the pair made their slow way back to Cas's room. Dean wondered if it wouldn't be better to keep him closer to the shower, in case that crazy-ass fever spiked again, but the angel would be more comfortable in an actual bed.

It hurt to see how weak Cas was, to see the same angel-of-the-Lord who'd gone up against demons and monsters and archangels now barely able to walk, half-carried by Dean. When the hunter got his friend back in the bed at last, he immediately straightened and took a step back.

"Hold on, Cas," he said. "I'm gonna grab an ice pack from the freezer. I'll just be a minute."

Cas's eyes were already closed, but he nodded. Crap, and Dean still needed to clean up the vomit and disinfect the trash can, and he should make sure the angel got some more to drink…

Grabbing the garbage bin on his way out, Dean hurried towards the bathroom again to empty the can into the toilet before doubling back to the kitchen. Ice pack… water… bleach… paper towels or a mop or something… he ran down the mental checklist as he collected the necessities. By the time Dean got back to Cas's bedroom, the angel was out like a light. His breaths were slow but heavy, face pinched and grey, but at least the fever seemed to be over for the time being.

Hopefully they had a little time now. Placing the ice pack against Cas's forehead, Dean set the water bottle and a pack of crackers on the nightstand. Then he got to work on the mess, having gone through this routine a few too many times over the years.

Not until everything was clean again did he stop to collapse into the chair next to Cas's bed and prop his feet up. Dean crossed his arms, watching the angel in his fitful sleep.

"Come on, buddy," he murmured. "I really need you to pull through. Don't quit on me now, man."

Dean wasn't an idiot; this was bad. When Cas had started burning like that… shit. The hunter closed his eyes, taking a deep, bolstering breath. Their "last resort" was about to become their only option. If it happened again, Dean would have to act, whether they were ready or not. The only thing stopping him now was the fact that Sam was on the job. If there was another option, Sam would figure it out. Dean had to at least give him a little time.

But tomorrow… one way or the other, they'd have to take care of this. Cas was suffering, and Dean couldn't watch it happen. At least the angel seemed to trust that he would be able to stay, though. A ripple of horror washed through the hunter again, remembering how terrified Cas had seemed at the notion of being thrown out onto the streets on his own—again.

Dean could never hope to make up for what he had done, but maybe… maybe proving himself from here on out would be a start.

"Just hold on, Cas," he said out loud again, though the angel was dead to the world. "We're not gonna let you go."