Castiel was in half a daze as he began to hear the whispers. The voice was indistinct, a chorus of mutterings, the last ocean's lick of an echo. It saturated the air with its musical liquor; stroking his chest, caressing the wounds and sores within his broken vessel, slowly binding him back together. It seeped into his skin, a welcome drug. It slipped onto his tongue, weighing it down with a thick honey, preventing him from reply. The voice only asked to be listened to. And it was impossible to deny it that pleasure.

Dean sat on the bed opposite his friend, watching him intently. His brow creased in worry as he saw his friend's eyes twitch. He'd been out for a while. Sam laid a hand on his shoulder, causing Dean to flinch at the casual touch. He naturally expected Cas. "He'll be fine Dean."

Dean could only manage a nod, his breath hitching in his throat. He coughed slightly before looking back up at Sam. "Maybe you should sleep for a couple of hours. You look awful." He remarked. Sam's face was haggard, with lack of sleep, he'd been dragged through a war zone. Not that he didn't usually it was just more prominent than usual.

He shouldn't have let him help him carry Castiel. The angel was heavy.

Sam smiled slightly. "You're probably right." His headache was only getting worse. "Do you think that Sherlock would've left his "mind palace" yet?" Sam mused.

"Mind palace?" Dean said, shaking his head, remembering Sherlock's outburst, how he had declared they get out so he could go to his "mind palace". "Is he five? Do you think he's king there or something?"

"Probably."

He was in the next room of the hotel, having arranged two rooms for them to share. Sherlock had wanted space to think. From what Dean had seen he could compliment Sherlock on three things: his insanity, his brilliance and his ability to lie (seen by the charming way he'd addressed the receptionist, that was the most beautiful display of flattery that Dean had ever seen). If that didn't scare him, nothing would. "Where do you think he got that angel blade Sam?" Dean asked suddenly. Sherlock was an enigma to him, the more he knew about him the more he confused him. He was someone that Dean was uncomfortable working with. But he'd somehow managed to force himself onto this case, and it's not like Castiel could bring him back at this point. Not in that sorry state. He could barely stand without some help. Besides, Sherlock could give away vital information about what they were looking for. Who it was they had been looking for when that route had hit a dead end, since the Doctor was a bust. Needn't let the angels know that they had no idea what to do.

"An angel." Sam said bluntly. "Look, I don't know Dean, but he seems to know more than we do. He could be useful."

"Not enough to let us know what's going on! He could be summoning demons in there for all we know."

Sam raised a hand to his temples, trying to dull the pain. That headache really wasn't ceasing anytime soon. It was quite the camper. Sleep deprivation sucked.

"You need your sleep." He raised his arms in a peaceful manner, trying to remain calm as he added. "But I just – what was with all the shifty eyes back there between you and Cas? Don't think I didn't know nothing was going on. Cas was going all screwy-eyed." He looked Sam in the eyes. "What did Chuck say?"

"It was nothing really," Sam said reassuringly. His face looked earnest, but Dean knew his brother. He had full knowledge of his abilities.

"I'm your brother dumbass, I've seen you lie before. What was it?"

"He just told me to be careful."

"Is that it?" Dean took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his light stubble. Couldn't prophets just give them a straight answer for once? Was it really that hard?

Sam looked away. "He said it to me specifically. Look I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to be mad –"

Dean raised a hand. "I'm not in the mood Sam for your excuses, I'm serious: if you hear anything, any warning from Chuck or who knows what you tell me. I don't care how stupid it sounds."

"Sorry."

"This case: Sherlock, all the demons and angels around. Don't pawn this off as patronizing big-brother talk. I don't trust him. He's smart and insane. That's not a good combination."

Sam rubbed his eyes. "Yeah."

Dean got up, seeing that Sam looked like he was on the verge of collapse. "You should really get some sleep Sam," He said, getting up from he bed. "I'm not carrying you too."

Sam nodded gratefully; "I trust you not to take off Dean," He muttered, before collapsing onto the bed fully dressed, nearly asleep by the time he hit the pillow.

Dean cracked a smile. "I won't."

He pulled up a chair, an uncomfortable one to say the least, and sat watching the two, one hand clenched in a tight fist, and the other itching around the hilt of Ruby's knife. The doors and windows were salted, and he'd set his ringtone to replay an exorcism. He even managed to snatch a couple of hours of light rest, sleeping to the sound of the exorcism recording. It made him feel safer.

After some time, the voice was becoming more distinct to Cas, its wavelength became more familiar to him: it was something from heaven itself. The voice sang Enochian, but in a dialect and a voice that Castiel found impossible to place. He could conjure up no angel in his mind with such a voice as this. But he could recognize the song, it was one that every angel knew. It was one of the oldest songs. One that was sang on creation days. Although the voice was weak, and his connection to heaven being distant, he could feel the life, being pumped into this place. Demons if they had this, under captivity could only taint it. Castiel knew that this source of purity, this beautiful – life-bringing thing was something to be protected.

But the question was who it was or what? Within that strange state of awareness, as the voice began to work miracles in his body a trickle of hope – a stupid dream of who it just might be –

He squashed it down. He would be more powerful. This was not his voice. It was too frail and weak, a whisper. He knew that this was not his father.

Eventually, he managed to mutter out a reply under his breath, returning naturally to his native tongue - Enochian.

The wavelength of communication was broken, as Dean shook him awake. "Cas! You okay man? I thought you might have been delirious." Dean gushed, somehow unable to get himself to shut up. He was too vulnerable when it came to the people he cared about, and he hated himself for it.

Castiel frowned. "I'm fine. My vessel has been completely healed."

"That's great Cas –"

Castiel shook his head. "I shouldn't have healed that quickly Dean. Some being advanced the process."

"Angel?" Dean asked frowning, his full attention on Cas.

"No –" He paused. "It was celestial, but not an angel. I'd recognize it if was an angel. I'm trying to keep my distance from them as best as I can at the moment. I need to keep them away from you, considering your lack of dedication to the cause."

"Look Cas –" Dean began only to be cut off by the exhausted look on Castiel's face. He looked just like his dad in that moment, he knew that emotion, the crumpled frown, slight sag of the mouth: disappointment. It hurt. He wanted to fling that hurt back into Cas' face because screw him. Nothing worked. The universe had designed that Dean Winchester live a sucky life, and he couldn't have any stability. He thought of Lisa and Ben. Those were the only times he could picture himself as actually being some sort of happy.

But he didn't know how to explain this all to Castiel, an angel. He couldn't. Castiel couldn't feel things the way Dean could, and he never would. Castiel was an angel. He wasn't supposed to. He could only see what Dean was doing in the barest terms of betrayal. Dean had failed him. And Dean knew it. And he was sorry. But he couldn't do it anymore. Castiel's anger was still in the wounds on his face, the bruises from the chain link fence. The pain of failure was written into the puckered scabs and the yellowing sickly bruises, forming scars of disappointment. He could only think of the irony that the one that delivered him from hell would be the one to condemn him.

A sickening, ugly and twisted smile upturned his lips. Screw Cas. Screw him. "Well, it'd be a lot more peaceful than hanging out with you. You're a pile of issues." A smirk at Cas' expense.

"I think we're pretty even Dean, in that area." Castiel said quietly. "But at least I haven't given up yet."

"And why is that Cas?!" Dean taunted. The wound that Castiel had opened was burning now, fizzing away at the memories of the person who'd taken redemption away from him. "Do you still think your dad is going to show up?! Well, grow up Castiel, because he's not. That's your wake up call. This is the real world and it sucks. Just go back to your cloud in the sky and drink fifty more liquor stores. You –"

"Shut it Dean." Castiel commanded, staring him down.

Dean stood his ground, resilient, waiting for another blow. Another beating. It was better to see anger there in Castiel's eyes, righteous rage, rather than that crease between his eyebrows; pity. Disappointment. Dean had seen enough of it.

Castiel decided to move on, ignoring his defensive behaviour, no longer participating in Dean's game of who could hurt whom more. This only grated on Dean's nerves more. "We need to get into the hospital. I need to try and get in contact with the wavelength again."

He reluctantly nodded. He forced himself to back off. Stupid, he thought to himself. Stupid. Idiot. He hemmed up all that anger into that box that he always saved for later. He felt he could really use a drink, but his flask was empty. He should've been more prepared. Have an emergency flask supply for when Cas dragged him along to places like this without warning.

Seeing as it was daylight hours, he didn't feel too much regret in waking Sam. Four hours normally sufficed, and Dean wasn't really in the mood for sympathy. He too angry at Cas to deal with those emotions.

"Sam." Dean stated, his one of pity as he saw Sam's struggle to resurface to consciousness, blinking fiercely. His eyes were red. He looked worse than he did last night.

Sam looked like he felt. It was as if he'd just sustained the worst hangover imaginable. His mouth tasted metallic, and his head rang with pain, a horrendous, deafening chime. His ears thumped, as if his brain was getting smashed against his skull in a harsh game of tennis. Groggily, he stood, stumbling blindly as the world spun. Head rush. Pleasant.

His chest felt tight, and before his body could recover from the lack of oxygen coughs racked his frame.

Maybe Dean felt a twinge of guilt. He really did look awful. "Sorry man."

Sam ignored him, pressing a hand against his head, as if that would relieve the pain.

"You'd think that the celestial wavelength would be able to heal this walking train wreck." Dean said drily. Another smirk, a private joke at Cas' expense.

If Castiel noticed he didn't react. Clearly he felt Dean wasn't worth his time.

"Wavelength?" Sam mumbled sleepily, still half asleep in the part of his brain that wasn't pounding incessantly. "Apparently some "celestial being " mojo fixed up Cas in the night."

"You sure you weren't dreaming? Hallucinating maybe?"

"Angels can't dream." Castiel said, his voice thick with the implication of wishing he was able to.

Dean wished he could tell Cas sometimes that being a human is overrated, with the way he reacted to everything.

They all recoiled at the sound of a crash. Dean and Castiel flicked out their blades. Sherlock burst into the room, his shirt speckled with blood, his stolen angel blade covered in a shiny red. "Demons are in the building." He said gruffly, pointing to the stairs. "I yelled Cristo and the cleaner flinched."

Huh. Sam thought. They hadn't used that trick in a long time. Sherlock certainly knew what they were talking about.

Sherlock went on. "She was very weak, she couldn't seem to stay in her body for very long. She didn't even hide her eyes."

Dean crossed his arms; listening intently, ready to dismiss it all as false. Sherlock could be lying for all he knew. "You sure she wasn't trying to warn you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. She was trying to warn me."

Sam frowned at the new found information. "Do they know about the prophecy?"

"Chuck warned you about something?"

Sam's tired silence was enough.

"How many?"

Sherlock shrugged, glancing back to the doorway. His fingers moved to lock it. There were more stumbles, more crashes.

The door began to shake. "Please," Trailed out the pathetic whimpers. The salt in the doorway began to blow away. The demon knew magic. "Stand underneath the Devil's trap." Dean hissed.

"Why are they so desperate?" Sherlock wondered.

Castiel glanced to Sam. "I think it has something to do with the celestial wavelength."

Sam looked down, his hands shaking. He felt weak. The pit of his stomach growled. His mouth watered, as the door slammed down. A grin uplifted his face –

Dean lunged to grab Sam, holding his flailing limbs down. "Don't you dare Sam."

But the evil inside Sam – The thirst –

His thought process only became more scrambled, as Castiel's hand moved to touch the demon's face. "Please GET HIM OUT!" The demon begged, before crumpling to its knees. Sherlock stepped into the hallway. More were converging. "They're trying to get me to take you out of here." Castiel realized.

"Maybe we should let them. Look at Sam, I bet that's why he looks like a trainwreck."

Sherlock gave a small nod, "Obviously."

"Hold me down Dean." Sam growled. "I can't control it." His mouth was thick with saliva, his mouth parched that could only be relieved the by demons dead in front of him, their wounds bleeding –

Dean shook him. He was not letting go. "We should get out of here."

Sherlock glanced up to the devil's trap, as more demons streamed into the room, hissing slightly at the grains of salt. They fell to the floor, arms outstretched in a plea.

An angel materialized in the midst of them. One that the boys hadn't seen before.

"COVER YOUR EYES –" Castiel screamed.

There was a deafening roar. The demons eyes burned out of their sockets.

"There may have been people in this building." Dean snapped.

"Come with us Dean. If you care about your brother."

Two more angels appeared.

Castiel muttered out a reluctant greeting.

"Come with us Dean, if you want your brother to live."

A hand was raised to Sherlock's face, as the blank faced angel sent him to sleep. He bore no interest whatsoever in the genius.

Castiel froze. He was too far away to grab them and escape. "You don't think we'd realise where you'd probably go?" The leader of the three asked, his voice thick with mockery. "This isn't anything to do with you."

"What is it then?" Castiel demanded. "What is the wavelength?"

"Nothing for you to be concerned with."

Castiel backed away, as the angel stepped forward. Castiel knew that this angel –

Richard was stronger than him. He pressed against the window; knife flipped out and his whole body singing with newfound resilience. No one was taking the Winchesters today.

The angels stopped, backing away in confusion. Their confidence crumbled away to fear. Their mouths formed an O shape of horror –

The lights in the room sparked alight before bursting completely. Castiel staggered –

An intense sound was making the walls shimmer. He raised his hands to his head, trying to block out his ears.

Dean watched in bewilderment, curving his body around, arms still gripped around Sam –

"Cas!" He yelled, unsure why the angels were suddenly kneeling, arms drawn upwards and screaming.

Cas blinked, trying to block out the bubbles of protest, from escaping his lips. With great effort he gestured to the window, the source. From the periphery, Dean could see a flash of blue. The Tardis.

A ticket to who knows where in the universe.