"What the hell?!" Dean questioned, stumbling, completely disorientated. "What was that Cas?!" Dean's head spun as he turned around to only see Sherlock, looking worse than him, kneeling on the ground, breathing heavily, his shaking hands fumbling for another cigarette. Dean tried to gauge his surroundings, but where he was he was completely uncertain. It was too dark, and he felt too nauseous.

Sherlock met Dean's eyes jerking his head, towards the angel and Sam. Dean sighed in relief. Sam was unscathed. Castiel was standing seemingly unharmed next to him. "What happened?" He demanded of the angel, when he realized that he was resting completely on Sam, his knees buckling beneath him. He rushed towards them. Castiel coughed, blood spluttering out of his mouth. "Easy Cas," Sam reassured him, lowering him onto the ground, trying to keep his head up.

Castiel struggled to move his head upwards to explain what had happened –

But his lungs felt like they were bursting was water. It was if he was being shredded from the inside out. The more he coughed, the worse it became to breathe. "Cas, what's wrong?!" Castiel's eyelids twitched, trying to move his mouth. He could barely make sense of anything. He was still reeling from the pain, the shock of it –

"Is he breathing?" Dean said kneeling beside the shattered angel, checking his pulse before Sam could get the chance. "Cas!"

"He's tried to break through a sigil." Sherlock said quietly. "It must've been much more complex than what I'd set up.

"What do we do?" Dean snapped. "If you're so smart how do we fix him?"

"We can't." Sherlock took a drag from his cigarette. "We have to move him."

"We don't even know where we are!" Dean spat. He was infuriated.

"Dean." Sam said his voice tight and urgent. "He's not breathing."

"Cas!" Dean leaned towards the angel, grabbing his trench coat, blocking out all the strain, pushing down all his fear. There was no time for it.

Caring doesn't save lives. It wouldn't save Cas. He started doing chest compressions. "You're not dying Cas." He said, gritting his teeth. Sherlock glanced to Sam, whose forehead was creased, his arm on Dean's shoulder. Dean was completely unaware. All that was on his mind was saving Cas. "Where's the note?" Sherlock asked. "We have to find the Doctor."

Sam showed it to him. "Cas gave it to me before he collapsed."

"Good. Now call him."

Sam nodded, silently pressing into the numbers into his phone, his eyes on Cas and Dean, as he waited for the doctor to answer, hoping that he would be able to help.

Cas wasn't responding. Dean's face was covered in sweat, his body tensing in panic, which he was trying to press down. He'd seen Cas die before. He'd seen it. But he'd come back. This Castiel before him was as still and motionless, sweaty and pale, and covered in blood as before. And he couldn't lose him. He couldn't bear to fail Castiel more than he already had. Instinctively, he placed his lips to Castiel's mouth, blowing more air into his body. Counting. He could taste salt and sweat. It was hard for him to believe in that moment, as he tried again and again that this person, this man was an angel. This being was an angel.

Angels weren't meant to die.

"Please, Cas." Dean hissed. "Please." His voice breaking, as he continued still, to pump life back into this angel's broken body. "Damn it Cas!" He growled. "Damn you."

Castiel's eyes flickered, widening as he pulled himself upright, retching up more blood. Dean watched him, his arms mechanically moving to support him. Dean could hardly manage to breathe. Cas coughed again. "I think we're all damned." Castiel mused, his eyes half glazed. His mouth curved into a slurred smile. "I think I need more alcohol."

Dean laughed in relief. Castiel's resilience always left him reeling.