Working with his mother was… strange.

It was nothing like working with his father. Mary was the polar opposite of John, taking her time investigating the scene where Sam was taking, looking for any clues left behind, no matter how small. She read through file after file after file in the Men Of Letters library. Nothing escaped her attention, the fire in her eyes. It wasn't a burning, all-encompassing rage like the fire that was once behind his father's eyes; no, this was a calm, calculated fire waiting for just the right moment to destroy everything in its path.

Somehow, it was oddly comforting. The fire in his mother's eyes, the raw determination to get Sammy back was the only thing keeping him sane. That, and the fact that Sam was likely still alive—there had been blood, but not enough to be fatal. Which meant someone had probably wanted information, and took Sam to get it. Revenge was another option, he supposed, although most of their enemies were already dead.

The whole kidnap-Sam-while-Dean-isn't-looking thing didn't smell like Crowley at all; it wasn't his style (not enough boasting and monologing). It didn't feel like Rowena either, she would have run for the hills as soon as it was safe. So in all likelihood, they were facing a new enemy.

Great. Just great. Literally five minutes after they save the world from The Darkness, things go to shit.

They didn't talk much during their long hours of work, but it was a comfortable, easy silence. Watching Mary hunched over a file trying to find something that could possibly make it past each and every one of the Bunker's many defenses, brows furrowed in concentration, oblivious to everything else around her… Dean never realized how much Sam was like their mother, until this moment. He used to think Sam was exactly like their father, but Sam had changed so much over the years, it didn't feel entirely accurate anymore.

Shaking his head, Dean threw down the file he'd been skimming through and rubbed at his tired eyes. This was useless. They didn't even know what the hell they were looking for.

Sam was so much better at this research shit than he was.

"I think we need some help."

He had no idea how long it took, but eventually, something changed. After what felt like days of being curled up in a ball on the cot, not moving, not thinking, just existing, Sam heard something. A beep, a click, like a lock turning, and suddenly a portion of the wall across from the cot was shifting to reveal a small screen. Curious, Sam stood from his place at the cot to peer at the blank screen. The moment he did, the screen glowed to life, a woman appearing. Immediately, he recognized her as the woman who shot him.

"Hello Sam Winchester."

Sam narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything.

"We have been watching you. Shortly from the moment your brother retrieved you from Stanford, we have been in the shadows, watching." When that failed to get a rise out of him, the woman continued, "I suppose you would like to know why you're here?"

He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of reacting in any way, but he supposed she saw in his eyes the burning desire for some answers, because yes, Sam very much wanted to know what the fuck he was doing here. "You are here because you must be tried before the Council for your transgressions."

"What transgressions?" Sam snapped, unable to hold himself back. "Saving the world half a dozen times over while you guys sat on your asses, twiddling your thumbs?"

The woman didn't appear phases however, instead smirking, clearly pleased she had managed to get him to react. "You will be held in this cell until further notice. Make yourself comfortable. And Sam? We'll be watching."

"So let me get this straight. You're friends with… an angel? As in, a real, actual angel?"

"Yup."

Mary blinked. "Okay…" she said, although it sounded like she still didn't completely believe him.

"It takes some getting used to," Dean chuckled, used to people's skepticism by now. "You'll believe it when you see it."

Stepping further out into the library, Dean cleared his throat dramatically and said, "Castiel, I'd appreciate it if you could bring your feathery ass over here cause I could really use some help, Sam's go-"

"Where is Sam?"

Mary practically jumped out of her skin. "Who the hell are you?!"

"Mom, this is Castiel, a friend of ours. Cas, this is-"

"Mary Winchester, wife and soulmate of John Winchester, and your mother, I know. I believe you said something about Sam?"

"Nice to see you too," Dean snorted. "Aren't you even a little bit surprised to see that I'm still alive?"

"Of course I am. Can't you tell?"

Dean stared at Castiel's utterly blank face, wondering if it was his lame attempt at a joke. After several moments of Castiel's creepy blinking, he realized the angel was completely serious.

"…Right. Anyway. Sam's gone missing, and we have no idea who took him."

Castiel sighed heavily. "I look away for one second… How you two so consistently manage to find trouble will never cease to amaze me."

"That's another thing, Cas, why weren't you watching Sam, like I had asked you to in my dying wish?"

"When I felt God's presence disappear, of course I went to investigate. He was dying, Dean."

"And for all we know, Sam could be too," Dean growled. "When we got back to the Bunker, there was a trail of blood, and Sam was gone. Nice job there, guardian angel."

Castiel's eyes widened minutely, the angel's equivalent of his jaw dropping. Dean had very rarely spoken to him with such venom in his voice, such hate in his eyes. But Dean was sick of Castiel's promises to have their back, only to consistently leave them in the wind.

"Dean, I had no idea-"

"Whatever. Are you going to help us or not?"

"Of course I am."