Author Note: Thanks for the reviews, they encourage me to keep writing. Lets me know people are reading! Seems people are pretty open to Crowley-humanized, and he's been fun to write. Enjoy another chapter!

He must have lost at least fifty pounds. Most of that muscle. As soon as the chance came, Castiel was going to inquire with Dean about his brother's health. For his height, this weight was not healthy… and certainly not for someone with the lifestyle that the Winchesters lived.

Crowley was pretending to be passed out on the couch, arms folded over his chest, wearing some black flannel pants and a bright red wife beater shirt. He snored gently and pulled his legs off where they were flung over the arm of the couch, they curled up closer to him, and he continued 'sleeping'. He appears to be so calm in the Winchester's presence. Maddeningly at ease.

Seated next to the little wooden desk at one end of the room, Castiel listened to Dean swear wildly in the bathroom, and the sudden 'clank!' of a razor in the sink. It made more sense a few thousand years ago, men embraced their facial hair… it was less sanitary, but it was simple. It was less painful. Scratching at the scruff on his face that he was currently sporting, Castiel looked down at the thin brown carpet, and waited for his turn to clean up. Perhaps, I will cease shaving.

Castiel had refused to share a room with Crowley, and after what Dean had called, "A terrible twos tantrum" in the lobby, they had ended up with one large room… and a sleeper sofa and couch. I only explained vehemently that I would not reside with Crowley, as he would kill me in my sleep. I don't understand why they would not see that.

Rubbing at the warm grey fabric on his knee, Castiel heard Sam turn another page, and looked back at him. The man was sitting on one of the beds, a thick book that Castiel had not seen before in his hands. Dean finally trailed off his swearing, and Sam looked up. "Hey, Cas, you said that you don't know much about Saul—this angel in Jimmy's daughter. If he won out the battle for her as a vessel, does that mean he's the strongest, or just hopped in first?"

"I have been trying to recall the name to a face…if I remember correctly, he had four of them. He was another class of Angel. One that was… a little less friendly than the rest of us." Castiel gave a light shrug. "You would have seen them as monsters. The Cherubim were—"

"Hold on, Cherubs? Like that weird smiley naked guy?" Dean had exited the bathroom, and had the corner of his towel to his chin, where there was a shallow gash. "Friendly wasn't a problem for him. I still get the jeebes when I see them little fat wing-y babies. So wrong."

"No. Cherubim. Four faces. Multiple wings." Castiel rose from his chair and walked towards the bathroom. "Terrifying, really. None of us really interacted with them. They were not like us. They had no interest in Father's Earth. They just… lingered in heaven, observing us. The angels. None knew what their rank was… above or below the Archangels, or what they wanted. None dared ask. And they rarely spoke to us. " He paused at the doorway, and reached up to itch the stubble on his face again. "If that is Saul, he would have intimidated all the other angels, so I can assume that he didn't make it into a vessel by chance."

"Great. Monster angels." Dean pulled the towel away and looked at the red stain. "Wouldn't you say that's gonna be fun, Sammy? Monster angel? Right?"

Sam shook his head and looked down at his book again. "I'm thinking that maybe… Crowley and I should continue with the first job. The haunting. We'll drop you off with Jimmy's family, and pick you up when we've finished. Garth said this was important, and we're headed that way…sort of."

Leaning back onto the bed to look at his brother better, Castiel saw the distaste for this plan all over Dean's face. "Yeah, you want me to let you take off with my baby, and ditch me with—sorry Cas— night of 'the walking explosive man and the thing that freaks out celestial beings the size of the Chrysler building'? No thanks, I think I'll like all the help I can get."

Putting the book down next to him, Sam sighed, and brushed his hair out of his face. "I can take care of myself, Dean. I'm a big boy, I can go on a hunt by—I won't even be by myself, Crowley'll be—"

Castiel narrowed his eyes, looking between the two brothers. They seem to be having completely different conversations. "I just don't want to need something, and realize oh yeah, Sam's got that in the back'a the Impala. But he's driving off to Rhode Island, so—sorry Cas, kiddo's a goner."

"I'm not an invalid, Dean! I'm still capable of doing the job—you know what, people are dying right now. I'll rent a car if you won't let me go. But one way or another, I'm going. There's no reason to not split up and take care of both problems. You're so busy worrying, you're not thinking logically!" Sam was speaking loud enough to 'wake' Crowley, and Castiel saw the demon's eyes open, and glance over at the fight. He then sniffed, rolled over, sliding fully onto the cushions, and closed his eyes again.

"You're battling Garth for the title of Anorexia Queen, man! You're not eating, you're shaky, you bruise like an old lady— tell me how okay you are again."

Castiel moved from the doorway and walked over to where Sam was sitting. He sat on the bed next to him, and leaned close, looking into Sam's eyes. Sam pulled a strange face, and shifted backwards. "Personal space, Cas. I can get why you hate this, Dean."

"You never completed the trials, correct?" Castiel asked, leaning forward again to make up the space that Sam had created.

"It was going to kill me. You said-" Sam responded, obviously uncomfortable.

Castiel stood up, and using Eliza's method, grabbed Sam's face and forced him to move his position until he was sitting with his legs slung over the edge. Sam smacked Cas's hands away and looked startled. Castiel leaned forward, and put his head on Sam's chest, scowling. "I know. But, the light in your veins, where did it go?"

Sam leaned away from the touch. "Are you diagnosing me… again?"

Castiel grabbed the back of his neck, and pulled him forward again, putting his head back on the other man's chest. "I might not be an angel, but I do have all of the knowledge I had previously. If there is something abnormal affecting you, I might be able to find out what it is."

"Answer the question, Sammy." Dean's voice commanded from the other bed. He is nervous as to what I might find… If I find anything.

"Nowhere, it just sort of faded." The voice sounded muffled due to one ear being on the taller man's chest.

Castiel listened to the steady thumping, and the gurgles of the man's innards a few moments, then straightened up. "Back into you?"

The springs squeaked as Sam moved to what must have been a more comfortable spot, because he stopped fidgeting. "I guess."

Castiel reached up and pulled at one of Sam's upper eyelids, Sam attempted to pull away, and Castiel held tightly to his chin and swiveled his head back and forth. "And you have not seen it since?"

Sam shrugged. "No."

After tilting Sam's head up and down, Castiel held onto his chin and kept him still. "Don't move." Sam became a statue, and Castiel leaned in. "How… would you describe the changes the trials were making?"

Without allowing more movement than breathing, Sam managed to get out a few words. "Uhm—they hurt, and then they burned, all through me, like my blood was on fire, like a fever. But then it would get really cold."

Castiel held onto Sam's chin, and placed his other hand on Sam's forehead. "I assume you lost your appetite then?"

The skin was cool, which was unsurprising with how little fat the man had to help keep him warm, but it felt very dry. "Yeah. I guess."

"And you're not sleeping much either." This was not stated as a question, and Castiel already knew the answer.

Sam obviously hesitated, and then let out a breath. "No…"

Dean pulled Cas away, and looked worriedly at his brother. His lips pulled into a dark frown, and he shook his head. "What do you think's goin' on?"

How do I put this… what's the term… There was no assistance from Jimmy, and Castiel was surprised that he had come to expect it. Gently. "The trails WERE changing him, and not in the way I had expected. I think- but I cannot tell, because I'm not an angel anymore... Which doesn't bother me-"

"Yeah, sure Cas." Dean gave a tight smile and nodded for him to continue.

"-But I have been considering, what would have the power to shut the gates of hell? Wouldn't it be the same thing that opened them?" Castiel's eyes narrowed, and he studied Sam intently.

Sam's eyes looked unsure, then frightened as he followed what Castiel had laid before him. "The De-?"

"An Archangel. I think the trials were…giving power to him that would have been able to seal hell—and would have killed Sam. At least Sam as we know him. Sam was creating an Archangel… or birthing one, in human terms as best they apply in this situation." Concluding his thought, Castiel rose from beside Sam and hooked his thumbs over the edge of his pants. A habit of Jimmy's I must have picked up on. Castiel decided to ignore the slip, and looked over to the oldest Winchester.

Dean froze and blinked a few times. "Do you…. wanna run that past me again?"

"I…bir—wha-what?" Sam just let the word hang there, his tone indicating he thought that was a ridiculous idea.

Castiel tilted his head down and lowered his voice. "He was transforming his soul. He was purifying himself, and considering the demon blood in him, that was no small task. He was making himself into something powerful enough to seal up those gates. He was birthing an Archangel in his soul, and now, he's trapped in-between. It was never released, never realized. He doesn't want to eat, or sleep. Due to a vessel's arrested bodily needs and functions. His body was preparing to be a vessel, it is, a vessel, but it never completed the transition."

Dean looked incredulous, and Sam nodded slowly. The reaction from the younger man was not what he was expecting, and he looked up with resolution in his eyes. "That's…I think he's right, Dean."

There was the familiar sneer from Dean, the one that Castiel knew as his way of brushing off something that frightened him. "You have to be kidding me, Sam's not an Archangel, can you even make one of those? This is the stupidest—"Dean paused, and looked at them both, he must have noticed neither of them were amused. As if ready for battle, Dean's shoulders tensed, and Castiel could see him bracing for a fight. "Fine, so how we fix it?"

"It's only a theory, Dean…and I don't know. I'll need to think… and perhaps study for quite some time." Castiel released Sam's face, and felt the slightly bloody clothes on his body hit stiffly against his skin. "At this moment, I need to clean up." Removing himself from the conversation that would undoubtedly ensue, he snatched the pile of clothing that was a mismatch of Dean and Sam's items, walked to the bathroom, and shut the door. He could hear the brothers talking, and turned on the hot water in the shower.

I should call Amelia. Make sure that the sigils have protected her. If Saul is more powerful than I had anticipated, she could be in danger. The lack of response had become disconcerting. Four days with barely a sound from Jimmy had left him feeling slightly empty. It had become a habit to get input, advice, and even direction from Jimmy on almost every action. But now he was alone in his mind, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

He tossed his dirty clothing into a pile and got into the shower. If there is such a thing as heaven on earth, it might be a world made of hot showers. What would the angels think of that? If they finally won, and this was what they received? Wet wings. He smiled a little at the thought, and realized that his tiredness was probably what made that idea seem humorous. The thorough scrubbing that he gave himself with the soap left him feeling a little more ready to sleep. Clean, warm… small comforts that so many humans are unaware of the beauty of.