Not Exactly Ovid

by ErtheChilde

When Castiel mysteriously disappears the night Dean is reunited with Sam, the brothers hit the road to find answers. But the Apocalypse was not as neatly tied up as they hoped, & pursuit by enemies forces them into "supernatural witness protection". Along the way, new truths come to light, Dean re-evaluates his relationship with Cas & Sam seeks redemption. [short arcs now long eps]

6. 6x03 - The Escapist

Three

Hollett Motor Lodge
Jersey City, New Jersey
Friday 28 May 2010

"Damn it, Dean! Would you cover those up?!"

Sam froze on his way out of the bathroom, clapping his hands over his eyes with the same force as he might have if an angel was about to go supernova in front of him. He tried desperately to purge the image of shapely breasts and narrow hips from his mind by telling himself over and over that they belonged to his brother.

"Take a chill-pill, Sammy, I forgot," Dean's voice said from several feet away, his tone laced with irritation.

Sam could hear him moving around, and then the sound of fabric being pulled taught over skin. Peeking out cautiously with one eye, he saw that Dean was at least wearing a bra now.

Sam glared. "You're always 'forgetting'. You totally do it on purpose."

"Right, because I want my little brother ogling my tits," Dean deadpanned, and then made a face. "Jesus, that sounds so freakin' wrong."

"Exactly!" Sam agreed vehemently. "So cover up!"

"Hey, give me a break – living as a dude all my life don't make me a modest person," Dean shot back as he pulled on a long sleeved shirt. "And let's not pretend you're all innocent in this – we both know how much time you spend in the shower lately. I haven't had any hot water in a week."

"It's – it's not like that!" Sam objected defensively, even though he knew his protests were probably futile. "It takes longer to wash all this hair – and people would start giving us funny looks if I smelled like a guy, okay?"

"And that's why I know you were always meant to be a girl," Dean rolled his eyes and slipped his .45 and the demon killing knife into loose-fitting jeans. "I'm gonna go check out. Meet you by the Plasticar in ten, 'sis'."

The motel door closed behind him, while Sam grumbled out an annoyed, "Dick" and began to check around the room to make sure they hadn't left any traces of themselves behind.

It was going on a week since they had woken up to their transformed bodies, and coping with the change was turning out to be a lot harder than Sam had thought it would be.

Once he had made a grudging peace with what had happened to them, Sam had expected certain differences – especially when it came to the physical. Although the brothers were still relatively strong for women their height and build, there was a significant difference to how they had been before. Sam was sure he had the same proportional muscle mass as he had had before the change, but he was over half a foot shorter now. He didn't relish the idea of going toe-to-toe with an angry vampire in this body.

Since prying the information about Dean's near assault back in Elwood, Sam had been reading up on a few different martial arts styles geared towards female fighters. He was particularly interested in the aspects of KravMaga and Aikido which seemed more defensive in nature and less reliant on the brute force the brothers had been building up since Dad started putting them through his own brand of Marine training as kids.

'Of course, convincing Dean when I finally get around to it is going to be a party,' Sam thought, taking a wet towel to mop up the salt lines he had laid down the night before. 'Anything to do with our spontaneous genderswap is guaranteed to get his hackles up.'

Privately, Sam understood. Their lives had been monumentally screwed up in so many different ways since childhood that Dean naturally clung to the few constants: his bond with Sam, the Impala and hunting were some of the first to come to mind. But on a more basic level, Dean – and even Sam – had always been able to rely on their bodies to do exactly what was expected.

Suddenly their strength was curtailed and even their behaviour was being affected. Sam had noticed in the past week that he didn't have the same endurance in some areas. Whereas before going an entire day without food was just something to be waited out, now Sam found himself becoming snappish and angry if he didn't eat something every three hours. And as much as his brother needled him for being a wuss, Dean was even worse.

On top of the bad mood that resulted from craving food at inopportune times, Dean's bad humour was magnified by the need for frequent stops along the way, usually to find a bathroom. Apparently the change had shrunk their bladders, which was, in and of itself, awkward as hell. Apparently television didn't lie about women liking to carry on conversations in the washroom, whether it was a truck stop in Iowa or in a mall.

Although, granted, Dean's expression of horror at some of the things women did talk about was kind of comical.

But it wasn't just the physical changes. There were emotional differences as well. Sam had noticed that Dean's already short temper had become more volatile, as though he was unable to tamp down what he was feeling the way he usually did. Sam himself was having problems keeping his feelings in check. All his life he had been expected to keep things bottled up, either by Dad telling him to 'man up' or Dean teasing him about being a 'sissy'. He'd gotten better at it over the years – maybe not to the same militant emotional repression that Dean tried for, but enough that his feelings didn't show on his face.

Suddenly, something which had been a minor annoyance in the past seemed insurmountably difficult.

It wasn't all bad, he was forced to admit. Sam found he was better able to focus on more than one thing at a time; he had always been mentally flexible, but he felt like the change had given him some kind of different dimension of thinking. Aggie hadn't lied when she said that she would change the way his brain operated. He found himself thinking about things from different angles or in more abstract ways. It was weirdly fascinating.

Of course, the flipside to that was that Sam felt like he could never "turn off" his brain. Whereas before, his thoughts of guilt and resentment had eventually lulled him into fitful sleep, now he couldn't escape the constant machinations of his mind.

'Which now include Hell, apparently,' Sam thought, making a face.

In addition to Sam and Dean's newfound 'girl trouble', there was the aftermath of their run-in with the faeries to contend with. Beyond Sam's confession to Dean that he now remembered Hell – and exactly what he and Adam had experienced – the brothers hadn't spoken about it. Part of Sam was glad for that, as he didn't particularly want to relive those memories more than he had to, but the other part wished for some kind of reassurance.

Dean had been to Hell. If anyone could understand what that was like, it was him.

But Dean had been more closed-lipped than usual since they left Elwood. He refused to go into details about why he had managed to escape the faerie realm. Sam had even tried to get the story out of him by jokingly asking if Dean had "serviced Oberon, King of the Faeries", but Dean remained steadfast in his silence. It made Sam sure that something had happened there that Dean knew he wasn't going to like if he found out.

"Dude, when has keeping secrets ever worked out? For either of us?" he had tried to argue during a quick stop at a gas station in Akron.

"It's not a secret, Sammy, I just don't want to talk about it," Dean retorted. "It doesn't have anything to do with us right now anyway. We've got people to find."

And that right there was the crux of it. Dean's determination to find Castiel had doubled since the run in with the faeries. He'd even raised the possibility of finding a witch who could scry for him or create a locator spell of some sort. Considering Dean's hatred for witches, the whole situation was troubling. For the first time, Sam was starting to wonder exactly what the nature of Dean and Castiel's relationship had been.

He'd always known there was a dimension to their friendship that he would never understand – Castiel had personally hauled his brother out of Hell, after all – but the rest of the relationship made perfect sense to Sam. Dean had never had a friend in his life, and Castiel's appearance on the scene had been unexpected yet welcome.

Somewhere along the line, Castiel had joined Sam and Bobby in the category of people Dean cared about. It was a good thing, because it sort of weaned Dean away from directing all of his affection and protectiveness toward Sam. But there was still this nagging suspicion that Sam had been nursing since Dean told him he knew Castiel was alive. He had said it with the same adamant certainty he had always maintained when they were searching the country for Dad, like if it wasn't true he might just break.

There was a suspicion trying to work itself out in his head, but Sam wasn't sure if he was ready to sit down and actually think it through.

He shook his head, hoping to derail those thoughts before he started to get too involved in it. 'Maybe Dean's right. This girl-brain is doing weird things to me. I'm never this interested in Dean's social life…or lack thereof.'

He left the motel room and crossed the mostly empty parking lot to where Dean was leaning against the car with a long-suffering expression. He had his arms crossed angrily over his chest and was scowling.

At Sam's raised eyebrow, he growled, "If one more person asks me if I'm cold, I'm gonna full-on Hulk out."

Sam couldn't help grinning. "You could just wear a hoodie in the mornings."

"Do I look like a little emo bitch?" Sam opened his mouth and Dean warningly shoved a finger in his direction. "Don't."

Sam shrugged and heaved himself into the passenger seat.

Dean had been raring to go all morning, intent on tearing Aggie a new one over practically giving them to the faeries. They had been trying to reach her by phone since Elwood, but apparently she wasn't listed and Bobby hadn't provided a number.

Sam was wary of the whole thing. He had read up on Agdistis – the androgynous Phrygian goddess that even Greek and Roman gods had feared due to her wild and uncontrolled nature. Considering her specific brand of magic, he didn't really want to piss her off or give her reason to keep them in their new bodies. Not to mention, she was the only pagan god he'd ever met who hadn't tried to kill or eat them.

Or, well, all of them.

When you were being hunted by the combined forces of Heaven, Hell and hunters, it didn't pay to alienate potential allies.

Instead of pointing this out to Dean, who was less than logical on his best day, Sam had made a case for checking up on Bobby's latest tip before going after Aggie. At least the guy might give them enough of a lead to distract Dean.

The drive from their motel to NYU should have taken them ten minutes, but there was an accident just after the Holland Tunnel that had them snarled in traffic for at least forty-five. During that time, Dean gravitated between swearing up a storm and trying to contact Bobby, who wasn't answering his phone for some reason.

"You shouldn't be on your cellphone while you're driving," Sam pointed out the third time that Dean hung up in frustration.

Dean shot him a dirty look. "Yes, mother."

"Just saying – besides, Bobby's probably busy. Seeing as how he's still trying to get his soul back and all."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, and Sam could sympathize.

Neither of them mentioned the fact that if they hadn't been looking for a potentially dead angel and trying to free the last of their family from Hell, they would be hunkered down at Bobby's place looking for a way to find his soul.

Dean coughed, trying to cover up that awkward, guilty moment. "So who is this guy we're going to see, anyway?"

"Braddock Yong – Professor of Ancient Languages," Sam read the information off of the browser on his phone. He had looked it up the day before, but kept the data stored because Dean had the memory retention of a goldfish unless it was something he was interest in. "He mostly teaches Latin and Ancient Greek, but he also runs a few courses about ancient mythologies. It says here, he focuses on monomythology."

"Which means what, for those of us who don't have a degree in 'Nerd'?" Dean deadpanned, and then before Sam could reply, suddenly yelled, "Christ, move it! He's letting you go, moron!" He glowered over at Sam. "Would it have killed them to have built this damn thing wider?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Right, because obviously when they built this tunnel, they should have been thinking about your busy schedule…"

"It's all I'm sayin'…"

"Hey, I told you the last time we were here that you should avoid the tunnels at all costs –"

"Well, excuse me for thinking we might luck out for once," Dean snapped, pounding the steering wheel.

"Anyway," Sam trailed off, returning his attention to his phone. "Monomythology is a theme in literature. It has to do with the hero's journey."

Dean snorted. "What, like Batman?"

"Well…" Sam trailed off, wondering if he should go into the many ways in which the study of monomythology actually could apply to Batman. He decided against it, knowing Dean's patience was already being tested by the traffic. "Sort of. There was this guy in the late 1940's, Joseph Campbell –"

" – any relation to us?"

"At this point? I wouldn't be surprised," Sam mused. "Anyhow, he wrote this book about how every major story from around the world follows a specific pattern. It basically argued that every hero-story has certain stages or structures that it shares with every other hero story across the world."

Dean sent him a bemused look. "Which has what to do with us trying to jailbreak Hell?"

"Well, I'm not the expert, but a lot of hero myths have to do with the protagonist travelling to the underworld," Sam said, frowning in thought. "I figure that's the angle this Yong guy would be working. I was actually thinking of sitting down with a few of the more famous examples of stories about the underworld, in case there are any clues – but it'd take a lot of time. There are at least thirty I can think of off the top of my head. Hopefully this guy will be able to give me a clue about where to start."

"Well, that's something at least," Dean grunted after a second. "I still think we should take a look at the Horsemen's rings again. We know for sure that they open the Cage."

"Yeah, but they also have the side effect of letting out Lucifer and Michael and starting everything up again," Sam reminded him. "And Michael might just be enough of a dick to use Adam as leverage to get you to say 'yes' this time around."

"Yeah, screw that," Dean muttered, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

The Charger crawled slowly out of the tunnel, and at the first burst of light as they emerged, Sam had to blink a few times for his eyes to adjust. The sun had risen higher in the time that they had been underground.

The lane beside them was moving faster, and Dean inched into it, following the now steadily moving traffic into the close, congested area of the city. It didn't have the same claustrophobic quality of the downtown core, but it was still crowded enough that they knew they had entered urban New York City.

'The Apocalypse has come and gone, and I still never got around to seeing much of this city,' Sam thought regretfully.

He'd never gotten to explore any of the other places he'd travelled while he'd been on the road, either. Despite having seen all the continental US states before the age of twelve, he'd never been given the opportunity to go sightseeing or enjoy anything that made those states famous. At least, not until that terrible year before Dean's deal had come due; he and Dean had made a painstaking effort to see at least some of the wonders of the country, but all Sam remembered from that trip was how his every waking moment had been filled with trying to keep Dean from dying.

'It'd be nice to one day actually take a real vacation,' he thought as Dean took the turn off towards East 84th Street. 'Always wanted to go to Hawaii…'

Hell, even Alaska might be interesting, or Canada, if it didn't involve passports and forging documents. He'd always heard that the people up north were decent folk, and –

'– Sam…please…help – '

He could see Adam on his knees, skin shining with blood and eyes gouged out, lips cracked and bleeding as he pleaded, while Lucifer whispered soothing words in his ear and made him raise the bone-hewn knife above his brother –

Sam shuddered, inhaling sharply as he tried to fight off the barrage of memories. In the reflection of the passenger window, he saw Dean glance over to him in concern, his female face a lot more expressive than he usually was.

Thankfully, he didn't ask if Sam was alright. The question had long since become nothing but rhetorical.

'No point in fantasizing about what will never be,' Sam told himself forcefully, trying to get his thoughts back on track. He had no right to it, after everything he had done; and while Adam was still downstairs, suffering the torture of two frustrated archangels, he was even less deserving of any kind of peace.

Besides, getting invested in a future he wasn't even sure he was going to survive to see was stupid. After all, they were trying to break into Hell. Making plans beyond that was counterproductive.

(*)

The Institute for the Study of the Ancient World was located separately from the other faculty buildings of New York University; it was a nondescript five story building that Dean would have mistaken for an apartment complex if Sam hadn't pointed it out to them. Thin trees lined the sidewalks outside, their leafless branches brushing against the façade in a strangely depressing manner.

'Reasons why people don't pursue higher education,' Dean thought to himself as he and Sam pushed through the arched doors of the entrance. 'I've seen morgues with more life than this place…'

The interior was not much better in terms of personality. A spiral staircase stretched upward, supported by a wrought-iron railing, and the hardwood floor had been so painstakingly polished that even Dean felt somewhat guilty walking on it. Along the walls, containers and displays with ancient looking pottery and sculptures lined the area.

Sam glanced at them with interest, but thankfully didn't linger behind to study them. Dean sensed that his resolve was more severely tested when they passed the institute's library on the way up. The room was large and wood-panelled, with doorways reaching high above them to meet the ceiling. Leather upholstered furniture and glass end-tables took up space in a few corners of the room, while other wooden tables were occupied by students and teachers alike. But it was the books that had his brother hesitating before they continued on their way – uncountable volumes, likely in their first editions, leather-bound and musty-smelling, taking up space in bookshelves that had actually been built into the walls of the room.

"Down, boy," Dean teased at the longing interest in Sam's eyes. Despite the gentle malice in his tone, he was glad that Sam's nerdiness had been unaffected by his stay in Hell. "We're here for a reason, remember?"

Dean had gotten Sam to check the university contact page on his phone earlier that morning, and they had set up an appointment with the professor through the department secretary. She had given them his office number and directions to get there, and Dean was fully expecting Braddock Yong to be a stodgy old British dude with a monocle and a Stalin moustache.

What Dean hadn't expected was to meet a guy about his age, of slight build and with distinctly Asian features despite his dark blue eyes. His hair had the peroxide hue of someone that had fallen into a vat of bleach, and he had it slicked and gelled upwards like that douche that married Posh Spice. If Dean had been his normal self, he would have had at least three inches on the guy, but as was, he felt dwarfed. Yong had a permanent grin etched into his features and wore an honest to god sweater vest and bow tie.

His workspace was another surprise, looking nothing like Dean's concept of what a professor's office should look like. He had expected a desk with piles of dusty old tomes and stacks of papers marked up in red pen. There were some papers, of course, and a computer – but that was where the teacher-vibe ended.

A collection of Hotwheels were parked atop the computer monitor, the most prominent being a miniature model of a golden 2003 Nissan Fairlady 350Z, while a broken iPod and a figurine of Blanka from Street Fighter were perched beside the works George R. R. Martin. A tan toque and a handheld copy of Dragon's Lair were stuffed into a corner next to a bag of chips. Postcards from various locations around the world were pinned to the walls.

"Erica and Jane, right?" the guy said, thrusting his hand out for them to shake. Dean almost wanted to refuse based on the overt friendliness of the guy, which reminded him too much of the Carrigans from Ypsilanti, Michigan. At Sam's significant stare, he bit the bullet and forced a smile to his face. Yong raised an eyebrow as he released his hand. "Wow, you have an amazing grip. Rock-climbing?"

"Grave digging," Dean replied bluntly, earning an annoyed groan from Sam.

"Hunh," Yong remarked, giving them the same onceover they had been getting for a week now. Except the way he did it, there was clearly no interest in them besides the polite kind. "You two aren't the usual type that Bobby sends my way."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I was expecting baseball hats, Metallica shirts and a lot of flannel," Yong said with a warm grin. "Not the Gilmore Girls."

Dean didn't know what Yong was talking about, but considering the bodily wince from Sam beside him, Dean figured he'd somehow been insulted.

"Well, you're not exactly Professor Plum, either," Dean pointed out nonchalantly.

"Just because I study ancient history doesn't mean I like to look like it," Yong said good-naturedly. "Besides, you should see me on Steampunk Saturdays." At Dean's clueless expression, he cleared his throat and went on. "So, what can I do for you today? Bobby didn't give me the specifics."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, and Dean nodded at Sam. Probably best if his younger brother did the explaining, he was better with people.

"You specialize in monomythology, right?" Sam began carefully. "Do you have any insight into heroic journeys to the underworld?"

"Ah, katabasis," Yong nodded.

"What-a-whata?" Dean asked immediately, earning yet another expression of exasperation from his brother.

"Katabasis is a Greek word describing a type of descent – usually to do with moving downhill, but in terms of literature, is taken to allude to a trip to the underworld," Yong explained to Dean in what he recognized as the 'teacher voice'. "Descent into the underworld is a theme common in most mythologies – in Sumerian mythology, Inanna passed through the seven gates of the Underworld for the sake of her lover – the same holds true for Orpheus and Psyche in Greek mythology. The Greek heroes, Herakles, Odysseus and Aeneas all made journeys to the underworld. It's not just Antiquity, either – trips to the land of the dead occur in New World mythology as well, such as the story of the Mayan Hero Twins."

"So there are many different hells," Sam suggested.

'Which fits right into what he said that asshole leprechaun told him,' Dean thought to himself.

"Yes, and no," Yong said. "All of this is speculation, of course, but my theory is that the Underworld – or rather, the Otherworld, which would be a more accurate term – is one huge singular dimension, but with different divisions within it. Kind of like a museum with many different wings – all are connected in some way, but are specific to their purpose."

"So, one place could be the Greek Hades, but another wing could be the Norse Hel?" Sam mused.

"Exactly," Yong nodded.

"So, in theory, you could travel to one hell by going through another, or going around it or something?" Dean asked. "How exactly would you do that?"

Yong studied Dean, his smile fading slightly.

"What exactly is your interest? Considering you're Bobby's friends, I'm going to assume you're more aware of the…metaphysical side of life. But most of the others he's sent my way weren't so much interested in other realms so much as the creatures that come from how to kill them."

The brothers looked at each other again, and Dean nodded incrementally.

Sam took a breath, and then finally said, "We need to find a way into Hell."

"Hell," Yong repeated, glancing from Sam to Dean. "You mean…?"

"Fire-and-brimstone-eternal-suffering-Hell," Dean said resignedly, echoing Lisa's words from two weeks before.

"That's a Christian concept, not really my speciality," Yong said, offering them an uncomfortable smile. His entire easy-going demeanor shifted and he looked away from them. "You should go speak to Professor Fleming over at Medieval and Renaissance Studies. I can set you up with an appointment with him – Arch owes me a favor, anyway –"

"But most religious and cultural concepts from the Middle Ages couldn't have emerged without classical foundations, right?" Sam pressed before Yong could reach for his phone. "Like, Dante's Inferno couldn't have been written without extensive study of ancient mythological interpretations of life after death, right?"

"True, but I get the sense you're looking for a roadmap into Hell, and that's definitely not my area," Yong replied neutrally. "Which is why I suggest Fleming. He's one of those conspiracy theorists – ahem, I mean, hard-core Dante enthusiasts – who believes the Divine Comedy can be used as a kind of instruction book to travel to Hell."

"I take it you disagree," Dean commented.

"Considering no one's ever come back and called the media about their little pilgrimage, I'm going to say it's a bunch of bull," Yong said firmly. "I mean, I've made my career in studying myths about the underworld, but let's be frank. There's no proof that such a thing exists, or if there is a way there, and even if there was, no one would come back from that."

His tone became more strained as it went along, and Sam and Dean exchanged knowing glances. Yong was bitter about something, and he was also lying.

"You sound pretty sure about that," Sam said lightly. "You're rather passionate about something that's supposedly not your area of expertise."

"Also kind of defensive," Dean continued, stepping forward and trying to seem intimidating despite his smaller stature. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sound a little disappointed that Dante's so-called roadmap doesn't work."

"Which makes me wonder, why were you trying to get to Hell, Professor?" Sam finished, crossing his arms.

Yong's friendly smile faded, and a hard look appeared in his eyes. Dean suddenly realized that the cheery, good-natured professor act was just that – an act. "Because I watched my mother being torn apart by Hellhounds when I was ten. Except I didn't know that's what it was until eight years ago, when my father discovered a way to get her back."

"Where is he now?" Sam asked, sounding breathless.

"Probably still there," Yong said stiffly. "I went to see him after he told me about his discovery. I walked into his house just as the portal was closing."

"Wait, portal?" Dean repeated, memories of the gaping black abyss at Stull coming to the forefront of his mind. His heart beat faster at the possibility that they had stumbled upon their first real lead in weeks. "He actually managed to open a portal? How?"

Yong narrowed his eyes at the brothers. "I have no idea. Why the interest? Bobby didn't say…"

"That's 'cause it's none of your –" Dean began, but Sam cut him off with a clipped, "Our brother's stuck down there."

The professor's eyes softened incrementally. "He make a deal?"

"No, he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time," Sam told him, clenching his fists. "We tried to save him, but we were too late."

Sam's tone was wracked with guilt, and Yong paused to study him. He must have seen the haunted gleam in Sam's eyes, because he relaxed back to the way he had been before they broached the topic of Hell.

"How long has he been down there?" Yong asked, weary.

"Two weeks."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Yong sighed, sliding into his chair and peering up at them. He suddenly looked a lot older and a lot more tired than he had seemed in the beginning of their interview. "I figure the longer you're down there, the less likely you are to come back. Right now, I'd say your chances are between slim to none – erring on the side of none. Even if you could make it to Hell, there's no coming back from that. Otherwise, my father would have done it. He was a stubborn son of a bitch, but you don't get out of Hell. That's why it's Hell."

"And that'd be where you're wrong, buddy," Dean spoke up, growing tired of this guy's jaded sounding voice. "We know for a fact it is possible."

"Oh, really?" Yong raised an eyebrow. "You going to tell me you know someone who's been the Hell and back? So to speak?"

Dean leaned forward, meeting and holding the professor's gaze. He didn't say anything, but something of the animal that he had been down in Hell must have shown through, because Yong blanched.

"Bullshit," he murmured, although his tone was uncertain.

"Ever seen the movie Hellraiser?" Dean inquired rhetorically.

Yong's eyes widened, and he shook his head in disbelief. "If you've been there, why do you need my help?"

"'Cause the last time I was there, I was dead – and neither of us got back here on our own, either," Dean replied coldly. "We were pulled out."

"'Pulled out'? By what?"

"It doesn't matter – that option's off the table, so we're looking for a different one," Dean said tightly. "And if what you say is true, your old man found a way to Hell without having to die first – which means he probably knew a way back before he left."

They were all silent at the implications of why Yong's father had yet to return.

"Even if I wanted to give you the information, it wouldn't help you," Yong said after a long while. "As near as I can tell, the whole thing only works under specific circumstances. I've spent eight years trying to interpret my father's research and replicate his results, but I just don't have the resources. No human does, I think."

"Maybe you're interpreting things wrong?" Sam offered. "If your father's writing is as cryptic as some of the stuff our father wrote down..."

"It's not that," Yong sighed. "There are a lot of things he mentioned in his notes that I was never able to track down – I could never tell if he was being literal or metaphorical," Yong sighed. "He talked about gaining the "protection of death" and finding a guide who knew the area. He also talked about a key, or maybe the key, to open up an entrance to Hell."

Dean blinked. "What, are you saying it's kind of like a Ninth Gate deal?"

"Maybe, but without the hot book-dealer and the immolation," Yong answered.

"You hope," Sam added.

Yong made a gesture of assent before continuing. "He also mentioned needing a strong…I don't know, battery or supernatural jumpstart, to make that key work. I assume that's a spell of some sort, but it would mean tracking down some very powerful witches. And I don't know about you, but I like to avoid them at all costs."

"You and me both," Dean agreed. "But if that's the only way this thing works, you're going to have to suck it up."

Yong looked at him for a long time, his brow furrowed as though he was trying to figure Dean out. Then, as though making a conclusive decision, he nodded. "I'll tell you what. If you girls can manage to get a spell that opens up a hellgate, then I'll share the specifics of my father's research with you."

"Really? You're going to go the deal-route?" Dean asked, incredulous and obviously pissed at being called 'girl'.

"If you've really done what you say you've done, then it shouldn't be a problem – and you'll be able to help me find a way to get my father back. Think of it as a means of establishing trust so we can work together," Yong said, and then his grin abruptly returned. "Or you could consider it to be part of your own heroic journey. 'The Road of Trials'."

He laughed to himself, obviously having made one of those jokes only academic people got. Sam probably would have laughed too, but he was looking at Yong with an expression of annoyance.

"You remind me of a Trickster we once knew," Sam said darkly. "It didn't turn out very well for him."

"And that's why I'm not getting my hands dirty in this," Yong said. "I want my father back, make no mistake – but I can't help him if I'm dead, which is what would happen if I tried to convince a witch to open a gate to hell for me." He held out his hand to them again. "So what do you say?"

"I say this sounds a little too much like a deal," Dean pointed out.

"Oh," Yong said, and made a gesture to show them to wait. Quickly, he undid the buttons of his shirt collar, but before Dean could object to the sudden striptease, he caught sight of a design on his skin: a pristinely drawn anti-possession tattoo. "See? Not a demon." He began to button his collar again. "I got the idea from this book series…it's completely unrealistic, but there's actually some pretty useful information in it."

"Let me guess," Sam sighed, weary. "Supernatural?"

"You know it?" Yong asked eagerly.

The conversation went downhill from there, and it was all Sam could to usher Dean out before he gave into his temptation to punch the guy.

"Oh, yeah, right, we're big damn heroes," Dean deadpanned as they stalked out of the building and dodged the traffic heading down the one way street. "I tortured millions of souls in Hell and you spread your legs for the Devil."

"I'm more concerned with the fact that this guy thinks we're going to just go out and find a witch willing to help us," Sam said in frustration as Dean's phone began to ring. "Barring the whole 'evil' thing, it takes long enough to even confirm if a coven of witches is getting up to trouble, let alone track them down."

"I'm thinking Poindexter needs to get out in the field more often," Dean said darkly, digging into his pocket for the phone and pressing it to his ear. "Hello?"

"…" There was defeated sounding exhalation on the other end of the phone. Before Dean could repeat himself, a jarringly familiar voice rasped, "Who am I speaking to?"

Dean froze, his entire body locking up. "Cas?"

Sam stopped walking as well, head jerked to the side as he stared at Dean in shock.

On the other end of the phone, there was a sharp intake of breath, and then the voice growled warily, "How do you know my name? Who is this? Where is Dean?"

With every question, Dean detected a growing note of anxiety.

"Cas, whoa, slow down – it's me," Dean assured, wincing as he remembered that his girl's voice was significantly different than Cas was used to. Still, there was ridiculous sense of relief that rose within him at the sound of the angel's voice – at least until he next spoke.

"I don't know who you are or why you are answering to this number – just connect me to Dean Winchester immediately," Cas ordered. Even over the phone line, Dean could hear his friend's breathing increase –

Since when did angels breathe?

"Dude, are you okay?" Dean demanded. "Fuck, Cas, where are you – ?"

"Enough with your questions! Where is Dean?" Cas snapped, sounding more frazzled than Dean had ever heard him.

"It's me, you moron, just trust me and tell me where you –" Dean's frustrated outburst petered out as he heard the sudden sound of a struggle on the other end, a clicking sound and a static snarl that suggested the phone was being moved around. "Cas?"

He could hear voices on the other end.

" – Mr. Novak, you're not supposed to be here –"

" – Escort him back to his room –"

" – Unhand me, I must reach Dean– !"

"Cas!" Dean cried out, trying to get the angel back on the phone. "Castiel!"

"What's going on?" Sam asked, but Dean shook his head 'no' as he listened to the commotion across the line, which sounded like a physical struggle. Someone yelped in the distance.

" – someone, get a sedative – !"

"CAS!" Dean yelled, but there was no answer between more sounds of struggle – and then the dial tone that told him he had been hung up on.

Without waiting, Dean hit the redial and jammed the phone up to his ear, ignoring the painful pressure of metal and plastic digging into his face. An automated female voice came on the line, the words making Dean's stomach twist into knots.

"Sinai-Grace Hospital. If you know the extension of the person or department you are trying to reach, enter it now. Otherwise, please hold or press zero."

Dean glanced up at Sam as he waited on the line. "Where's Sinai-Grace Hospital?"

Sam's Blackberry was already out and his thumbs flew over the keyboard. A second later, his jaw tightened and he offered Dean a grim look. "Detroit."

Dean ignored the chill that crept up his spine at the name, and nodded. "Better gas up the car."

(*)

"Mr. Novak?" the receptionist repeated, her eyes scanning across her screen and her fingers flying. "Give me a moment."

Dean tried not to let his impatience show, offering her what he hoped was a tired yet encouraging smile. "Sure."

Out of habit, he gave her a once-over; she was petite, redheaded and freckled, greatly resembling one of the nurses from Dr. Sexy, M.D..

Under normal circumstances he would be asking her what time she got off work and planning to ditch Sam very soon afterward. As it was, however, his preoccupation with finding Cas was overshadowing his usual impulses.

That, and the fact that he was still in a chick's body. He'd discovered the hard way that he was more likely to get an uncomfortable look for his attempts at flirtation these days than a phone number.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell that Sam was watching him with that same expression of calculation and sympathy that he had been wearing since Dean got Cas's phone call. By now, it had passed beyond mildly annoying, and if Dean hadn't been resolutely pretending to ignore it, he would have smacked Sam upside the head.

The phone call had rattled him. He had spent two weeks thinking Cas was trapped in some kind of alternate dimension or rotting in the proverbial gutter somewhere.

In the moment that he had recognized the voice on the other end of the line, Dean had felt the same light, swooping sensation of gladness that he had experienced two weeks before when Sam inexplicably appeared alive and topside. That gladness had faded quickly, though, replaced with a gnawing ache of worry.

Exactly why was Cas in a hospital in Detroit?

"Maybe he just drained his batteries doing whatever he did?" Sam had suggested while they drove across state-lines. His voice was carefully controlled, like he wasn't supremely uncomfortable returning to the city where he had said 'yes' to the Devil.

"Maybe," Dean had granted, although his gut and memories of Raphael's snide insinuations had told him that wasn't the whole story.

He had surreptitiously pressed his foot down harder on the gas pedal, thinking for the first time in his life that he was glad to not be driving the Impala. Awesome as his baby was, she was a gas guzzler, and she would have slowed the journey in terms of pit stops and the need to make money for fuel. Not too many of the minor highway stations accepted credit cards, and Sam and Dean were rather broke at the moment.

"You're sure it was him, right?" Sam had then asked for the millionth time in three hours, and Dean had shot him his most exasperated glare.

"Yes, damn it!"

"Because it could be a trap."

"Who else do we know that has my cell number?" Dean had reminded him, also for the millionth time. "Besides, he's the only person I know that can sound that annoyed with me that's not you or Bobby."

Sam had made a face and gone quiet for a while. At the point when Dean had thought he'd gone to sleep, he suddenly spoke up, "You know, it's not like we're wanted fugitives anymore. Not the way we look now. It would be a lot quicker if we hopped a plane."

Dean had tried not to notice how his brother's voice sounded like he was trying to talk down a jumper.

It was a measure of how off his game he was that he had actually considered the proposition for half a second, before his wits caught up with him.

"Not a good idea," he had argued, pretending that his crippling fear of flying had nothing to do with that decision. "We might set off Heaven's radar if we're up there. Kind of seems like their domain, don't you think?"

"I guess," Sam had agreed, although he had obviously seen through Dean's deflection.

"And I doubt they'd let us carry hex bags on board with us, anyway," Dean had continued, more to himself than to Sam. "Plus, I hear lots of airports have x-ray chambers now. Anyone notices the angel tats on our ribs, we'd probably end up on some medical show."

"Okay," Sam had said in a deliberate voice, obviously humoring him. After another pause, he had asked, "Want me to drive?"

"Are you kidding?" Dean had shot back, regaining some of his composure. "I want to get there this year, Granny Winchester."

"You're the one who actually was named for our grandmother," Sam reminded him.

"Shut up."

That had been last they had really spoken. Dean had spent the rest of the drive covering up his contemplations with the local classic rock offerings, while Sam busied himself with setting up two new false identities for them and casting Dean those annoying, calculating glances.

Which he was still doing, Dean realized. He glared at Sam, sending him as strong a 'knock it off' warning as he could manage without actually speaking.

"Oh, here it is. Mr. James Novak," the girl at the desk said, interrupting Sam's answering bitchface. She frowned up at them. "According to the note on his file, he's under strict observation for the time being. No one but his family is allowed to see him, and then only with the permission of his attending physician."

"What? Why?" Dean demanded, frustration at yet another obstacle making him practically bark.

"We're family," Sam interrupted him before Dean could full-on harangue the poor girl further. "He's our brother."

There was no lie in his voice, and even as a woman Sam could turn on the intense, puppy eyes. If possible, the look had gotten more effective.

"Oh, well, let's see what I can do," the girl said, offering Sam a sympathetic look and Dean a glare. Her eyes scanned the screen again as she reached for a nearby folder. "Here's a form you need to fill out to get a visitor's pass, and I'll need ID from both of you – oh. Does your brother have health insurance? It doesn't say in his file."

"Yeah, here," Dean said, yanking out Erica Campbell's license and health card. Even as he practically tossed it at her, he silently thanked a rather absent god that Sam had had the foresight to forge insurance cards for them the week before.

Although the receptionist made a face at Dean's impatience, she didn't even blink at the different names on the insurance and IDs; obviously she assumed that he was married or something. As Sam handed over his own license, she passed over a clipboard and an attached pen. A little more pointedly than before, she told them, "If you could just head over to our waiting area and fill that out? I'll notify the attending you're here and he'll decide if Mr. Novak is up for visitors today."

"He'll decide…?" Dean trailed off in disbelief.

"Thanks," Sam interjected, offering a polite smile as he took the visitor's form and nudged Dean to follow him over to the uncomfortable looking chairs. Under his breath, he murmured, "Dude, relax, she's just doing her job."

"Yeah, well, last time I checked hospitals aren't supposed to be Gitmo. We should just be able to walk in," Dean growled, throwing himself into one of the chairs, while Sam scanned the form.

"Father's name, mother's name – good thing we actually do know this stuff," Sam murmured thoughtfully.

Since meeting the angel after he had pulled Dean out of Hell, the brothers had had ample time to find out more about the original owner of Castiel's vessel, both from occasional information Cas would reveal in a rather offhand way, and then later when Jimmy regained temporary control of his body. Not long after, when the brothers had been hunting separately, Dean had spent some time with Cas and filled his free time in learning all about the short and boring life of one James Novak, on the off chance that they ever had to rescue the poor bastard if Cas abandoned ship again.

He had told Sam everything he had dug up, but he had never actually figured the information would come in handy again.

'Which goes to show, I really need to stop tempting the universe,' he thought as he fidgeted, impatiently staking out the hospital.

He had yet to have a hospital experience that didn't suck; the last few times had been less than stellar. Just sitting in the creepily clean environment brought back memories of choking on phlegm and bile as they battled Pestilence, of feeling a tube down his throat following Alistair kicking his ass, of holding Dad's limp hand after the doctors called time of death, of being told that his heart was giving out after being electrocuted by the Rawhead –

'Yeah, all in all, hospitals are not my favorite place ever,' Dean decided grimly, scrubbing his hand down his face. His stomach felt like it was filled with moths.

He dug out his phone, checked the time anxiously, and then began to idly roll through the list of contacts for want of something to do. His thumb hovered over Bobby's name, and for a moment he considered trying to reach him again. They hadn't heard from the older hunter in three days, but he had said something about a rugarou in Dayton before giving them Yong's information, which meant he might be out of contact for a bit. Still, Dean knew that Bobby was just as interested in finding Cas as they were.

He was just about to make the call, when the receptionist came over with two bright yellow cards attached to lanyards. Apparently Dean hadn't noticed Sam finish filling at the form and bring it over to her.

"Here are your passes," she said, handing them over. Dean took his and hastily shoved his phone away when she gave him a dirty look. "Make sure they're visible on you at all times. I've paged Mr. Novak's attending and he should be here in a few minutes. Visiting hours usually end at eight o'clock, but he might decide your brother can only handle a little company at a time. I would request that you don't make a big production about it if he asks you to leave early."

"Of course not," Sam said before Dean could tell her exactly where to take her requests. "Thanks so much for your help."

"It's not a problem," the girl beamed, and then returned to her desk.

"No, the problem is that we're even here," Dean grumbled. "I hate hospitals." He looked around again, scanning for the doctor whose face he didn't know, and then commented in a would-be-conversational tone, "I wonder if Tessa's around."

"You know, it's kind of sad that you're on first name basis with a Reaper."

"Not my fault you were raised in a barn and never thought to ask the name of yours," Dean retorted with would-be calm.

"I haven't been dead nearly as many times as you have."

Dean was about to respond with something snarky about asshole archangels and time loops not counting, when he felt the familiar sensation of being watched. It was an awareness he had cultivated in retaliation for Cas's propensity to show up unannounced, but at the moment he couldn't detect the same intensity in the feeling as there would have been if it was an angel watching him. Glancing up, he saw that there was a taller, blond man in a lab coat watching him and Sam. From the way he was leaning in toward the receptionist and talking with her, Dean took that to mean Cas's attending physician had shown up.

"Show time," he murmured to Sam, and they both made their way over.

"Are you Jimmy's doctor?" Dean asked when they were within a few feet of the man.

"Yes, I'm the attending on Mr. Novak's case," the man said, remnants of an Australian accent still present in his voice. His tone was carefully polite, like he was used to relatives cornering him for news of their ailing family members. "I'm Dr. Spencer. You're his…sisters?"

"Yes," Sam confirmed, at the same time that Dean demanded, "Is he okay?"

"Frankly, he's a medical miracle," the doctor said bluntly. "Before I was assigned his case, I'm told he was found clinically dead. He was actually brought to the morgue upon arrival here."

"What?" Dean interrupted, trying not to allow any panic into his tone.

"We can thank a very confused forensic pathologist for even realizing he was alive," Dr. Spencer explained. "He was just about to perform the autopsy when he made the discovery. Apparently your brother was in a deep coma and not dead."

"That's good, right?" Sam asked tightly. "There wasn't any brain damage, or…?"

"He was unconscious and suffering from severe dehydration and malnourishment when he was brought up here," the doctor said, flipping through the same form the brothers had filled out. Sam and Dean exchanged knowing glances; the last thing either of them had seen Cas eat was a platter of raw ground beef four months earlier. "Until yesterday, he was in a pretty much vegetative state."

"Vegetative?" Dean hissed.

"Completely unresponsive. Other than opening and closing his eyes during REM cycles, he didn't make any voluntary movements. He reacted to certain stimuli tests, but otherwise didn't respond. We were actually sure that his brain was completely damaged. We really didn't believe he was going to recover cognitive function."

Dean made a strangled noise in his throat, and Sam interjected. "But he woke up."

"Yesterday morning," Dr. Spencer confirmed. "It was like a miracle." He looked up from the form. "You list your primary physician as a Dr. Cara Roberts at St. Francis Hardin?"

"Yeah, she's a friend of the family. She's usually really busy with other cases, but she always makes time to see us," Sam lied smoothly. "She's taken care of us really well in the past."

Despite the serious situation, Dean snorted, and made a herculean effort not the add, 'She sure took care of you alright."

Sam shot him a glare, but thankfully the doctor didn't notice it as he continued, "I've heard of her. She has an excellent reputation in medical circles. You're lucky to know her. And your brother is lucky to be under her care."

"Speaking of Jimmy, when can we see him?" Dean asked, unable to tamp down the impatience in his voice.

Dr. Spencer raised a placating hand, still eyeing them suspiciously. "Just as soon as we clarify something; neither of you is listed as Mr. Novak's emergency medical contact. We have an Amelia Novak?"

"Yeah, that's his wife," Dean said, and then added, "Our sister-in-law."

"We've been trying to get in touch with her for two weeks now," Dr. Spencer continued, frowning in what Dean could recognize as frustration at an unnecessary complication with a job. "She's nowhere to be found."

"Uh, yeah, well…Amelia took off," Sam said awkwardly. "From what Jimmy told us, she just couldn't accept his…eccentric behaviour anymore. She left him and took their daughter, Claire, with her. Since then, Jimmy's been a little more…off."

"'Off'?" Dr. Spencer repeated, frowning.

"We thought Amelia could handle it," Sam continued, lowering his voice some. "You know, Jimmy's…condition."

"You mean his schizophrenia," the doctor said, sounding mildly disgruntled.

"Yeah, that," Dean nodded, keeping his face carefully blank. It was always easier to go along with other people's assumptions than making up a story. "He didn't like to talk about it."

"He hasn't been awake very long, but from what we've observed, your brother displays an undifferentiated form of the disorder. Our consultations with the psych department suggest that his condition is compounded by a multi-layered delusion," Dr. Spencer remarked. "How serious was the disorder the last time you saw him?"

"He was fine," Dean said stiffly. "He was talking about going home and starting over."

"Then something must have happened to trigger an episode or a relapse, because when he woke up here yesterday, he was deeply entrenched in a paranoid delusion," the doctor told them. "Angels and demons appear to feature heavily in his mind, and when he isn't sedated, he often talks about the end of the world and the Devil."

"Sedated," Dean repeated, gritting his teeth.

"Did he call himself Castiel?" Sam wanted to know.

"Yes," Dr. Spencer said. "I take it that's a persistent theme in his delusions, then?"

"Yeah, he thinks he's the Angel of Thursday," Dean said, forcing what he hoped to be a weary smile. "Or he'll talk about trying to find God, or skirmishing with demons."

"Our father was really religious, and Jimmy was always kind of impressionable," Sam offered. "I guess it broke him when Amelia left last year. Since then, he kind of disappears for weeks at a time. We never know where he is until he calls us, and by the time we try to find him he's usually moved on."

Thankfully, Sam's halting lie sounded more like a woman who was uncomfortable talking about her personal business with a stranger. Dr. Spencer nodded, thoughtfully. "That makes a little more sense, at least. But it also brings me to my next question – how did you find out that he was here?"

"I got a phone call from him yesterday," Dean growled, remembering with annoyance the sound of a struggle on the other end. "Or at least, an attempted call. Someone wrestled him away from the phone before we could have a chat. Good thing I have caller ID."

Dr. Spencer shifted uncomfortably. "I apologize if that caused you any trouble. When it became apparent that Jimmy wasn't completely lucid, we made the decision to put him under strict observation for at least twenty-four hours. That means no phone calls, as they might upset him. Also, there is the other complication in his case…"

"Which is?" Dean prompted.

"Your brother was found on the rooftop of the Renaissance Center two weeks ago," Dr. Spencer told them, looking expectantly at Sam and Dean as though they could tell him why. "The police are very curious about how a man in your brother's rather weakened condition could get up onto a roof where all the exits were locked down tight. Apparently the security footage was too scrambled to give them much of a clue."

"The Renaissance Center?" Sam repeated. "Isn't that one of the tallest buildings around here?"

"Yes. The incident made the local news," Dr. Spencer remarked, with a catch in his voice like he was judging them for not coming to get Cas quicker. Dean dearly wanted to take a swing at the dude.

"We live in Iowa," Sam lied. "We never would have made the connection between some guy on a roof and Jimmy. Since he started doing his walkabouts, we've just been hoping we weren't going to get a call that he was dead. Now that we know he's not, we can maybe talk him into getting some help."

"I think the time for talk is past," the doctor said severely. "At this point, I would look into a permanent placement in a psychiatric facility. At least until his condition improves."

"Yeah, fine, can we talk about that later?" Dean broke in, finally losing his patience. "We just drove ten hours to get here and all you've done is tell us there's something wrong with him – which we know. Could we see him now, to make sure he's okay?"

Dr. Spencer offered him a searching look, and then nodded. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry, but please understand we need to know as much as possible about him before we can help." He gestured for them to follow him to the elevator. As the doors closed and he pressed the button for the third floor, he continued, "I should warn you, though, he likely won't be able to say much. He's been sedated."

"What?" Dean demanded. "Why the hell did you go and do that?"

"He had another one of his episodes this morning," Dr. Spencer said stiffly. "One of the nurses was injured trying to restrain him."

"Is she okay?" Sam asked, while Dean privately thought it served her right for trying to restrain Cas like he was actually a crazy person.

'Unless whatever happened to him actually made him crazy,' he added to himself, shuddering at the possibility. Although unlikely, the prospect worried him. What were the odds that they would find Cas and he would be perfectly alright?

"She sustained a mild concussion, but is otherwise fine," Dr. Spencer was saying. "Your brother, on the other hand, has been moved out of recovery and into the psych ward for observation."

Dean clenched his fists, remembering the treatment that he and Sam had been subjected to during their brief stay at the mental hospital in Ketchum. If Cas really had been placed in the psych ward, every time he opened his mouth he was going to be treated like some med student's science project, which the angel – or whatever he was now – definitely did not deserve.

Whichever way Dean looked at it, somehow Cas had given him back Sam, and he owed him big for that. Even if he was a little pissed off at how Cas had gone about it. Still, even as they got closer and closer to meeting back up with Cas, Dean couldn't help noticing the pit in his stomach. Part of it was caused by the complete confusion over what the hell he was going to say to the guy that had basically given him everything. Again.

The other part was very conscious of that gnawing feeling of emptiness where Cas's grace used to be. It amazed him that he had never noticed it before, but now that it was gone he felt like he was running on half a tank of gas.

It was something he would definitely be bringing up with Cas once they were out of the hospital, he decided as they left the elevator. They began to walk down a corridor that still had traces of the scent of blood and urine despite the attempts of disinfectant to cover them, and Dean realized that Sam and the doctor were still talking.

"…the police have been trying to communicate with him since we told them he woke up, but he continues to voice his delusions whenever anyone is around. They're trying to get him on a trespassing charge, at most intent to commit larceny."

"But considering the way his mind is obviously affected, why would he have to worry about that?" Sam asked. "There's precedent for an insanity plea in this case."

Dr. Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Are you a lawyer, Ms. Novak?"

"Uh, I was pre-law at Stanford. But, you know…" Sam made a vague gesture. "Family issues got in the way."

Dean sent him a sharp look that Sam didn't see.

"Be that as it may, there's still the question of how he got on that roof, which might put a hitch in that kind of defense," Dr. Spencer continued. "Here we are."

They stopped at a room at the end of the hall, which Dean was glad to see was within a short walking distance of at least two exits, not counting the windows.

As he looked into the room where Cas was lying, Dean had a sudden terrible flashback to the feeble, broken man that had fallen asleep in the back of the Impala the last time they had been to Detroit. His clothes were folded away nearby, and without that ridiculous trench coat of his, he seemed a lot smaller. There were dark circles under his eyes and his lips were cracked and dry. His skin was pale and wavy, and above the starchy hospital blankets, Cas's arms were bruised in places where Dean supposed IV lines had been attached during his temporary coma.

'He's human,' Dean confirmed to himself in one terrifying moment of clarity.

"Does he really need to be tied down like that?" Sam asked from beside Dean, a strained note in his voice that told Dean his brother had realized exactly the same thing about their friend.

"It's for his own good," Dr. Spencer answered. "We don't want him to accidentally hurt himself, or someone else." He gestured for them to follow him, and they crowded into the small room. Cas didn't even acknowledge their presence, content with staring intently out of the window.

Dr. Spencer adopted a casual, comforting voice. "Good afternoon, Jimmy, how are you doing today?"

There was no response from the figure on the bed, though Dean wasn't sure if this was caused by the drugs in his system or general disinterest with the question.

"You have some visitors," Dr. Spencer tried again, nodding for Sam and Dean to get closer. "Your sisters have come to see you."

This got a reaction at least, but not a very comforting one. Castiel glanced over at them, and murmured in a slightly slurred voice. "I have never seen either of these women before in my life. And neither has Jimmy."

Under normal circumstances, the response would have prompted Dean to curse Cas out for blowing their cover, however it made his chest warm to realize it was definitely his friend lying there. At Dr. Spencer's raised eyebrow, however, Dean schooled his face into an approximation of rueful acceptance, and said, "He does that sometimes. Forgets what's real and what isn't. He sometimes forgets he's not really up playing sheriff in Heaven, if you know what I mean?"

Cas's brow furrowed incrementally, and Dean thought he detected a question in the blue eyes that continued to watch him. Good. Maybe they would actually be able to pull this thing off.

"Hey, Doc, you think you can give us a minute alone with him? It's just, he never really opened up too much to strangers," Sam said quietly, his voice filled with well-meaning emotion.

"Sure. I'll be down the hall if you need me – I need to let the police know that you're here. They're likely going to have some questions for you."

"Why would they want to talk to us?" Dean asked curtly, even though years of pretending to be some form of officer of the law knew the answer to that. "We don't know why he was taking a snooze on top of a building. We weren't even in town when this happened."

"But they will want a more detailed background on your brother for their report. I'll be able to give them his relevant medical history now that I've spoken to you, but they're going to need something else."

"Right," Dean said, pretending his was mulling that over.

Satisfied that they understood, Dr. Spencer left the room.

As soon as the doctor was out of earshot, Dean turned to Cas. The angel's – former angel's, probably – entire body was tense, or at least as tense as anyone who had been pumped full muscle relaxants could be. His eyes were completely narrowed as he stared them down, and Dean felt a twinge of dismay at the realization that Cas didn't recognize him at all. It was the first time the angel – former angel – had ever looked at him with any measure of distrust.

He was surprised by how much that hurt, but forced himself to work past it.

"Okay, buddy, first off – relax, we're not demons," Dean started in an appeasing tone, tugging down the hem of his t-shirt to show off the anti-possession tattoo that Aggie's genderswitch had thankfully left intact. After a pause, Sam did the same. "I know we don't look it, and I ain't gonna lie – these bodies, seriously messed up situation – but it's me and Sam." Something sparked in Cas, and his eyes flitted to Sam and then back with the barest glimmer of curiosity. "Yeah, Sam's back. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Again, Cas said nothing but stared at Dean as though he was trying to figure out a completely complex puzzle. It was close enough to his usual inquisitive gaze that Dean's heart warmed a little more. Drugs or not, it was definitely still Cas in there.

He slunk forward and considered the restraints holding Cas to the hard hospital mattress, while Sam acted as look-out by the door. It was a good thing that Castiel hadn't been assigned a roommate, or their work would be more of a challenge.

Dean sensed Sam leaving the room for a second, and started first on the ties holding down Cas's legs. As he finished with the second one, Sam ducked back in and tossed Dean a bundle of scrubs. "Have him put those on. They'll blend in better than the trench."

"Jesus Christ, Cas, you look like shit," Dean remarked quietly as he worked at unbuckling the fetters. "What the hell did you do?"

Cas looked away without answering, and Dean opened his mouth to ask again, but Sam interrupted him.

"Dude, could you leave the questions until after we get him out of here?" he demanded, glancing surreptitiously around the hallway outside. "We're not going to have much time to pull this off – I'm surprised the doctor actually left us alone with him at all."

"One of the very few perks of these bodies, I guess," Dean said, offering a bitter smile. It was a double standard, he knew, but the fact of the matter was that doctors and police weren't likely to suspect two young women worried about their brother of being anything other than that.

Sam cast a last glance around the hallway, obviously cataloguing potential exits, and then nodded at Dean. "How much time do you need?"

"Fifteen minutes – ten if things go sideways."

"Don't they always?"

"Shut up."

Sam snorted and disappeared again, and Dean heard his brother's footsteps disappear down the hall, smirking at the sound of the familiar gait that even spontaneous body switching couldn't change. Sam still walked like a Sasquatch.

He turned back to his task. "Just gimme a sec, Cas, we're going to get you out of here. Sam's just gone to bring the car rou – ghgh!"

As Dean undid the final strap on Cas's arms, the angel suddenly vaulted off of the bed and shoved Dean back, practically throwing him against the wall opposite the bed. His head cracked painfully back, hitting part of the window frame, while Cas's hands suddenly encircled his throat.

Severely weakened or not, Cas's grip was still impressive.

"Cas!" Dean gasped, clutching at the hands choking him and trying to draw air into his lungs. "Calm…down…!"

"You may not be a demon, but you are not Dean Winchester," Cas breathed into Dean's ear, wrath clinging from every syllable despite his impaired speech. "I built his body up from the bones of the earth. I know every vein and ligament – you are not him."

"Stupid…son of a…bitch!" Dean wheezed, his heart speeding response to the sudden possibility of death by strangulation. His sense of self-preservation warred with the knowledge that if he made any noise he would attract the medical staff. "Not…gonna hurt you…here to bust you…out…!"

"That is impossible, as no one knew my whereabouts," Cas growled. "In fact, I should be dead. There's only one being who would have cause to know my location, and Dean is not that person. You work for a demon."

"Then how…would I have known…that stuff…about Heaven?"

"Demons have been known to use both mortal associates and listening spells in the past. The one I speak of could have relayed our past conversations to anyone," Cas intoned coldly, looking Dean up and down. "Obviously the choice in assassin was the wrong one."

"Assass…?" Dean trailed off, beginning to see spots in front of his eyes. Of course it was just his luck that the one time it would have been nice for Cas to be able to pull his angelic thought-reading mojo, the guy didn't have it. "Cas…!"

"You will likely pass out soon. If there is anything regarding your employer you wish to share with me, now would be the time."

'Shit, shit, shit!'

Dean tried to ignore his lungs screaming for oxygen as he cast his mind back to a point in the past where he and Cas had been completely alone, where there would have been no chance for a listening spell. There weren't very many, and most of them occurred within the confines of the Impala due to the angel's tendency to show up unannounced in the backseat. And considering how Crowley had once hid an enchanted coin in the car to get his perverted rocks off on private Winchester conversations, chances were that Cas wouldn't be impressed with that.

As he began to feel light headed, he suddenly remembered something.

"Dun…evechesh," he managed to rasp, wincing at the jumbled, garbled syllables.

"What?" Cas questioned, frowning slightly and tilting his head to one side. Thankfully, he loosened his grip somewhat.

"'Don't ever change'," Dean bit out, sucking down what little extra air that he could. "'s'what I said…to you after…Zachariah…pulled a…Back to the Future…moment." With every word, the grip on his throat lessened incrementally. "Come on, man…you were with me when the…shit went down. You, me, Bobby…"

Cas was now staring straight into his Dean's eyes, expression searching. It was disconcerting that even as a human, the stare was penetrating. Jimmy hadn't even looked at Dean like that, and that was how Dean knew Jimmy was long gone from the body holding him pressed against a hospital wall.

"You molotoved the friggen archangel Michael, remember?" he continued hurriedly, relieved to find Cas was loosening his hold even more. "Called him 'assbutt'? Which, seriously, Cas, been meaning to ask you about that. Is that another one that's funnier in Enochian? 'Cause you've seriously got to work on your trash-talking…"

Several emotions flickered across Cas's face, ranging from disbelief, suspicion, hope and – finally – recognition. He completely removed his hand.

"Dean," he said, still sounding unsure.

"'S'what I've been telling you," Dean said, trying to grin but not quite managing. "Shit, for a guy that's been drugged, you've still got strength. I guess that's the adrenalin kicking in, huh?"

"I apologize," Cas said, looking forlorn. It was strange to see actual emotions on the angel's – ex-angel's – face. "I did not know…this experience has been disorienting."

"And whose fault is that?" Dean grumbled, rubbing his throat. Cas looked away guiltily, and Dean sighed. "Whatever. We'll deal with that later. Right now, you need to get out of the hospital dress so we can get out of here."

He tossed Cas the bundle of neatly folded clothes.

Cas stared at the scrubs in trepidation, as though he didn't know what to do with them, and Dean groaned to himself. Probably Cas had never actually had to worry about changing clothes. In the days leading up to the Apocalypse, he'd pretty much lived in the same slacks and trenchcoat that he had met Dean with in Pontiac, Illinois.

'Well, now isn't the time to figure out just how much Cas remembers about being human,' Dean thought, and made an impatient gesture for Cas to shrug out of his hospital clothes.

He helped Cas strip down with businesslike quickness and practically yanked the scrubs on, trying not to notice that the scar from when Cas carved a banishing sigil into his abdomen in Van Nuys was still there.

Cas broke the silence as Dean helped him into Jimmy Novak's shoes, which he covered with the surgical shoe covers. "And Sam is really…?"

"What, you really couldn't tell that was Sam?" Dean asked lightly as he shoved the clothes that once belonged to Jimmy Novak under Dad's jacket; the leather was bulky enough over his female body that no one would notice the extra bulge. "'Cause he doesn't look any different from before. Maybe longer hair, you know?" At Cas's confused frown, he added, "Joke, Cas."

"It is good to see that your ability to make obscure jests that I do not understand has not changed," Cas said stiffly, and Dean couldn't help grin back at him at that.

"I'll second that. Now come on. Head to your right and two doors down you'll see a sign for a stairwell. You're going to pretend to be showing me how to get somewhere."

"Why?"

"Because you're the one dressed like a nurse, dude. People will think you work here."

Cas nodded once, to show that he understood, and started out the door. He wobbled a little unsteadily on his feet, but Dean figured no one would notice if they kept to the stairwell. He wasn't sure if there was security surveillance in the hospital corridors, but in his experience there was usually something.

They made it down the hallway without incident and into the stairwell without notice. Still dazed, Cas tripped a few times going down the stairs, and Dean had to grab hold of him. Apparently his adrenalin rush had long since worn off.

"This new form of yours is disconcerting," Cas remarked the third time this happened, scrutinizing Dean in his usual intense way. Despite having been on the receiving end of the stare countless times, Dean had the absurd impulse to blush. "You are much shorter now."

Dean blinked. "That's what sticks out to you?"

"I am not used to looking down at you."

"Yeah, well, it's temporary. Don't get used to it," Dean groused as they left the stairwell and ended up in the main hallway entrance. Dean cursed, having expected to end up on the other side of the hospital, away from the reception area where he and Sam had been waiting.

At the opposite end of the hall, he noticed two men at the reception area; a tall man with dark hair and eyes that were sharp even in the distance, and a shorter, olive-skinned man with a determined set to his jaw. They were dressed in worn yet professional suits and carried themselves stiffly, as though expecting an attack.

Immediately, Dean's mind jumped to 'cops', and as though they could hear his thoughts, they looked up in his and Cas's direction. Dean's eyes locked with the taller one, and he knew in that instant that they'd run out of time.

"Why doesn't it ever go smooth?" Dean muttered, nudging Cas back down the hall. "C'mon, we've gotta move."

"Hey! Stop right there!" one of the cops shouted, but Dean was already ushering Cas back the way they had come, toward the emergency exit that the hospital signs told him were somewhere.

Hospital staff and visitors ducked aside as Dean dragged Cas through the halls, hoping against hope that Cas wasn't going to fall over. He could hear the shouts from the cops and they had to duck one guy dressed as an orderly who tried to tackle him as they went.

They burst out of the emergency exit to where the ambulances usually waited, and Dean was more than relieved to see a familiar piece of black plastic on wheels pull up in front of them.

The driver's window was rolled down, and Sam ordered, "Get in!"

Dean hauled open the back door and shoved Cas in, before vaulting in as well. He hadn't even managed to get the door closed before Sam was tearing off, the wheels squealing angrily as he did so.

"You good?" he asked Cas, who nodded blearily. It seemed like he was trying to interpret just how his lot had changed within the last quarter of an hour. Dean clapped him on the shoulder and climbed over the console into the passenger seat. Once there, he glanced into the passenger side mirror. "Damn. That wasn't as close as usual, but it was still pretty close. Good thing you stowed the license plate before picking us up, I think those cops got pretty close to us."

"We'll need to stop and put them back soon," Sam remarked as he pulled onto the highway, "but we should be out of the city before our pictures hit the local news."

"Good riddance. If I ever come back here, it'll be too soon."

"Agreed," Sam said, and then grimaced. "If we're lucky, no one will make the connection between us-us and girl-us breaking Jimmy Novak out of a hospital."

"Not unless they ever met Cas," Dean granted. He glanced back at Cas, who looked somewhat more diminished sitting in the back of the Charger in scrubs than he had in the hospital. "Even if they had, everyone thinks you're dead, right?"

"Presumably. I have no idea why I am not."

"Well, we're glad you're not," Sam said, trying to meet Cas's eyes through the rear-view mirror. "Kind of hard to say 'thanks' to a dead angel."

"I am no longer an angel," Castiel murmured neutrally.

"Yeah, we figured that out," Dean deadpanned, and sent a glare over at Cas. "Dude, what the hell were you thinking? I mean, don't get me wrong, jumping for joy that Sam is back – but I never asked you to do that. I would have found a way to get him out without you losing your grace or whatever it was you did."

Sam made a disgruntled noise and a wrinkle appeared in Cas's face. "How did you even know?"

"That's a long story that needs a shit-ton of alcohol," Dean replied, turning around in his seat. Off Sam's sudden opening of his mouth, he continued, "And don't start with me on the liver thing, Sam. Surgeon Barbie and Igor said it would grow back and it probably has by now."

"I was going to say getting a former angel drunk when he's just been in a coma for two weeks probably isn't the best idea," Sam retorted.

"Are you kidding? Best idea ever," he grinned back at Cas, suddenly feeling like their problems had diminished by a huge degree. "You're with me on this one, right, Cas?"

But Cas was staring out the window of the Charger, apparently lost in thought. Dean frowned, opened his mouth to figure out what was wrong, but for the umpteenth time today, Sam cut him off.

"Dude, give him a break. He didn't wake up 'til yesterday. He's probably trying to deal with that."

Dean made a face. "I guess…"

"So do something useful and call Bobby with the good news. I don't want to watch you sulk for the next few hours."

"Then don't. Keep your eyes on the road, bitch," Dean retorted, but he brought his phone out and started dialing the old hunter's number.

He couldn't help that his grin resurfaced as he did so.

At the moment, at least, everything was going right.

(*)

It was two o'clock in the morning before they finally pulled off the road near St. Charles, Minnesota. In an effort to get as far from the law and Detroit as possible, they had driven the rest of the day, stopping only once for food despite the gnawing in Sam's stomach. Different metabolism or not, he and Dean wanted to be far from Sinai Grace as they could manage in one go.

Castiel hadn't seemed to mind, but whether that was because he wasn't quite able to notice his own hunger yet or because he was still working the drugs out of his system, Sam wasn't sure. The former angel had complained of cold within the first few miles of the drive. Now, though, he was now wrapped up not only in Jimmy Novak's trench coat but also the heaviest of Sam's hoodies which Dean had dutifully dug out of the trunk.

Sam supposed that when you had spent your entire existence as some kind of holy column of celestial light and power, it took a while to get used to being stuck in a body that sometimes needed help to retain warmth.

There hadn't been much of a chance to question Castiel about it before the former angel passed out in the backseat, and so the only sound in the Charger was the steady rush of heat from the vents. Dean hadn't even made a move to turn on the radio. Although Sam could tell his brother was in a better mood since busting Castiel out of the hospital, he also knew that Dean was restless. He kept sending furtive glances at the ex-angel in the backseat.

Sam understood to an extent. He might not have been as anxious about Castiel as Dean, but he was just as interested in hearing the full story of what had happened; particularly the part relating to how Sam had been brought back to earth, while Adam was still down in the Pit with two pissed off archangels.

He hoped there was at least a good reason for it and that it hadn't just been angelic oversight. Castiel may have understood humans a little better since his last brief stint, but he had spent millennia as an angelic strategist. To him, perhaps Adam was just collateral damage, whereas Sam was seen as an inalienable part of Dean.

It was a true, albeit not particularly comforting notion, and Sam really hoped that wasn't the case; but at least he could understand that logic.

'It still sucks, though,' he thought as they pulled into the tree-lined parking lot of the White Valley Motel, which advertised 24-hour check in. The rest stop was on the way to Sioux Falls, their current destination; that decision had been made when they realized Bobby was still not picking up their calls. Although Sam knew it was entirely possible that the older hunter was just ignoring their efforts at communication to protect them, his own gut instincts made him agree readily with Dean's suggestion to check in.

'And guilt,' he reminded himself. Whatever their problems, Bobby's soul was still compromised. Now that they had Castiel, maybe they would be able to come up with a plan to get that soul back. 'Not that a depowered angel is much use against the self-proclaimed King of Hell, but he might have some ideas.'

Dean had wanted to drive all the way through the night until they reached the salvage yard, but Sam had enough presence of mind to argue against that idea.

"There're probably hunters watching the roads in and out of Sioux Falls," he had argued. "I bet they've got eyes on state highways, too. I doubt they'd care if we were just passing through, but two women and a scruffy looking guy show up to Bobby's place? Anyone who's heard anything about us or Cas would at least check into it."

Dean had mulled it over, and then nodded reluctantly. "Okay. We'll stop for the night and plan our next move in the morning."

Sam knew the easy acceptance was more for Castiel's benefit than for theirs, but he didn't mind that. As far as he was concerned, now that Castiel was human, the guy deserved to sleep on a mattress that didn't have manacles or the consistency of concrete.

While Dean waited in the car with Castiel, Sam headed to office to see to their lodgings.

"Two queens," he said out of habit to the balding, overweight guy manning the front desk, and then amended, "Actually, if you have three doubles, that'd be better."

The guy shrugged, not bothering with any of the idle chit-chat daytime staff would have tried. Sam paid with J. Jett's credit card and then headed back to the car, indicating to Dean to pass the first half-dozen, single storey structures and park at the far end of the circular lot.

Upon following his brother and Castiel into the room, Sam was relieved to see that the motel's conditions were a lot better than the last few dives he and Dean had stayed in; the wallpaper was white and sparsely decorated with fifties-style motorcycle prints, and it lacked the stale, cigarette-sodden scent he had come to associate with motel rooms. A small television and mini-fridge were piled on top of a cheap bureau, and in the corner of the room there was a round faux-wood table and chairs.

Dean helped Castiel toward one of the beds, gingerly lowering him down like he was made of glass. The ex-angel actually seemed to sag a little as Dean pulled away from him to reach for his duffel bag, and Sam winced in sympathy at the sight. Castiel still looked somewhat shell-shocked.

Dean tossed Sam a tin of salt to line the window and door ledges. While Sam worked, he heard the snikt sound of Dean's switchblade and the accompanying sharp scent of blood that suggested Dean was getting ready to paint some protective sigils. Not for the first time, Sam wished there was a better way of shielding themselves than opening a vein or three. He also hoped they would be far away from the motel by the next day, because explaining to the owner why the walls were covered in blood was not how he wanted to spend his morning.

"You should not be doing that," Castiel spoke up, the familiar gravelly tone making Sam jump in surprise when it broke the silence. "Whether the Apocalypse is over or not, your blood is too valuable. Let me –"

"Not gonna happen," Dean cut him off. While Sam started outlining a Devil's Trap beneath the windows and door in chalk, Dean's reflection in the television was pointing a bloodied finger at the former angel. "Your real boy body is probably so out of whack right now, you'd end up knocking yourself out for another two weeks if you lost any more blood."

Sam glanced up, noting how Castiel seemed torn between arguing the point and glowering at Dean; in the end, his lingering exhaustion made the decision for him, because he simply inclined his head and bit out a slightly sullen, "Check for listening spells."

The directive was perfunctory at best; ever since Sam found out about Crowley's special coins he had scoured whatever small surface where such a thing could conceivably be hidden. They humored Castiel, either way.

As soon as they were satisfied that the room was as secure as a random highway motel could be, Sam sat himself back onto one of the other unoccupied beds and allowed some of the tension he had been holding since New York City drain out of him. Rolling his shoulder, he peered at Castiel, trying to figure out how best to approach the situation in a direct, yet still sympathetic manner.

Dean, as usual, had no such scruples.

"Okay, man, before we do anything else, you've got to clue us in on some stuff," he declared, grabbing one of the chairs and swinging it around to straddle it. "Starting with what the hell you did. 'Cause we were under the impression that the Cage was a forever kind of thing. But seeing as Sam's…here…I'm gonna go out on a limb and say someone's been holding back intel."

"Not that I'm not grateful," Sam reiterated hastily, earning an annoyed yet apologetic glance from Dean and a thoughtful frown from Castiel, "but I think we're all long past accepting anything at face-value."

"Meaning: is whatever you did going to come back to bite us in the ass?" Dean pressed, ignoring Sam's unimpressed glare.

Sam was used to Dean being a jerk when he was worried about something or someone; he had lived it every day of his first nineteen years of life, and then when they reunited it had just picked right back up again. To someone not used to that reaction, he might come off as unnecessarily harsh – to an angel who had very little experience with human emotion, it might seem like a personal attack. Close relationship or not, from the brief flicker of hurt that flashed across Castiel's face, he was taking it personal. Gone was the expression of angelic aloofness, and Sam had a feeling they probably wouldn't be seeing it as much in the future.

"Not that I am aware of," Castiel answered stiffly, wrapping his coat tighter around himself. It was so odd on top of Sam's bulky hoody, a huge contrast from the way they were used to seeing him. "If Sam is here, it means the exchange worked. The only –"

"'Exchange'?"Dean repeated, eyes narrowed in suspicion. His voice had that unnatural calmness too it that Sam knew he was coming to a conclusion he didn't like. "So, you did make a deal."

"Not in the traditional sense, but yes."

"If there was a crossroads demon involved, I'm gonna say that's pretty traditional."

"Crossroads demons are bound by sacred law to fulfill their deals to the letter," Castiel replied, stiff defensiveness in his tone.

"And let me guess – your grace was the collateral," Dean bit out, becoming redder and redder with anger.

Sam was tempted to step in before his brother had some kind of aneurysm, but Castiel seemed to have recovered from his discomfiture with Dean's mood, and he met Dean's furious gaze head-on, his chin jutted out slightly.

"It was the only way," the former angel asserted neutrally. "Had there been another option, I would gladly have taken it."

"No one asked you – do you realize how - ?" Dean was standing now, apparently incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

This time, Sam took the opportunity to cut him off, drawing Castiel's attention. "I thought there wasn't an option to begin with."

"I did not know about it before," Castiel told him quietly, almost apologetic. "It was not until I was resurrected at Stull and my grace transformed that I discovered that there was a…loophole."

"What loophole?" Sam prompted.

Castiel looked away, a wrinkle in his brow and perplexed curve in his mouth that suggested he wasn't sure how to put his words. When Dean made an impatient noise and Sam elbowed him, Castiel finally nodded to himself and spoke.

"As angry as my Father was with Lucifer when he rebelled, He was not without hope of reconciliation," Castiel began to explain. "Even as He created the Cage, He hoped it would only be temporary. The Seals He ordained were never the actual way He wanted it to be opened."

"Are you saying all of Heaven and Hell got together to sneak in the Apocalypse through the back door?" Dean demanded.

"Yes. They did not know that the way into Lucifer's Cage was so much simpler – or rather, the majority of them didn't. Those that knew would never have pursued that avenue," he sighed, and offered yet another contrite face. "Had I known at the time, I would have told you. Even if it was more impossible than Sam's plan to entrap Lucifer."

"But you managed to do it, in the end," Sam pointed out, shivering at the mention of his time with the Devil.

"Only after I was…upgraded," Castiel said, hesitating on the final word like he wasn't sure it was the right one.

"Which brings us back to my first question – what did you do?" Dean ground out.

"The way to open the Cage is with the grace of an archangel," Castiel said. "If an archangel voluntarily gave up their grace, it would become a key."

Dean made a strangled noise of understanding, and Sam considered this before exhaling a curse.

"That…makes sense, sort of. I can't see Michael or Raphael ever ponying up their grace to let their brother out of Hell. Even Gabriel never gave up his when he was down here, right?"

"No," Castiel agreed, a shadow passing over his face at the mention of Gabriel. Whether they had known each other or not, it still sucked to lose a brother. Adam's fate prayed on Sam's mind every moment of every day, especially since his memories of Hell returned. It must be a hundred times worse if you had never felt grief before the way Castiel was now. "Not only would they be discouraged by their resentment of Lucifer, but sacrificing one's grace is the equivalent of a death sentence."

"Isn't it the same as Falling?" Sam wanted to know.

"Not exactly. If I had Fallen, I would have expelled my grace from me and with it my memories and self. I would have forgotten everything for the promise of a mortal life."

"So you're saying…?"

"I would have lived out a human life and then ceased to exist. Many of the Fallen believe it to be a worthy sacrifice, but for the most powerful of our brethren, it would have been too much to bear."

He trailed off with a shrug, while both Sam and Dean took a moment to process this information. Before Sam was able to move past both the disbelief that there had been another way to open the Cage and the amazement that Castiel had actually done something so huge for him, Dean was on his feet and glaring down at the angel.

"Are you telling me you could have died?" Dean demanded, eyes flashing.

"I should have," Castiel agreed. "It continues to perplex me as to why I did not cease to be the minute my grace was transformed."

"That's…that's not the point!" Dean spluttered, pacing back and forth in an angry circle. "It was my responsibility to find a way, man, not yours! You could have offed yourself without it working – and then I'd have to deal with Sam being in a hole and – and you being dead."

Dean's words were harsh and critical, and even Sam winced in sympathy because it almost sounded as though he was calling Castiel out for doing the one thing he had desperately wanted anyhow but had never voiced. Clearly Castiel was better versed in Dean than he was in human behaviour, though, because after a second of perplexed staring, a glimmer of comprehension flickered through his eyes.

"Ah," he said, nodding to himself. "I understand now. You are angry because you were worried, and because you are a Winchester, you are lashing out at me to cover up that anxiety. I will bear you no ill for this."

Sam couldn't help the snort of amusement, both at Castiel's words and at the interesting shade of red his brother was turning. He couldn't help adding fuel to that fire, remarking, "Yeah, Dean, you don't have the monopoly on self-sacrifice. Family trait, remember? And at this point, I think it might be contagious."

"What did I say about you and Cas not getting to play together anymore?" Dean snapped accusingly. "There's no teaming up, graceless angel or not."

"If I may ask," Castiel interrupted, clearly not bothered by Dean's hissy fit, "how is it you both knew I was without my grace in the first place?"

"You mean other than the fact you were in a psych ward and didn't smite the crap out of the doctors keeping you there?" Sam asked. He nodded over at his brother. "Dean can tell you that."

"Tell me what?" Castiel asked, attempting to meet Dean's gaze.

Still fuming, Dean continued to glower for a full ten seconds before grunting in annoyance and shrugging out of his jacket and over-shirt, before pushing up the sleeve of his t-shirt up over his shoulder.

"Notice anything missing?" he grumbled, the tone the petulant one Sam recognized as Dean's 'you may got me beat there, but I don't have to like it' tone. "The last two times you died that didn't happen. What's so special about this – hey! What are you doing?!"

Dean's growling complaint turned into a strange kind of yelp as Castiel suddenly moved, getting up off the bed and surging forward faster than his lethargy might have suggested him capable of. He was right up into Dean's personal space, and before Dean could jerk away, he had rested his hand against the spot where his handprint had once rested.

To Sam's surprise, Dean didn't begin to swear or berate Castiel about violating his personal bubble the way he usually would; instead, he went quiet, his entire body completely tense and watchful, as though he was surprised but not threatened. As Sam and Dean watched, Castiel closed his eyes and concentrated, eyebrows knit together.

There was a long minute of uncomfortable silence, before the former angel shook his head and opened his eyes. "It is no use. Whatever shred of sensitivity I once had is completely gone."

"So you don't know why it's missing?" Sam prompted, because apparently Dean was too busy staring at the place where Castiel was holding his arm like he was desperately trying to understand something.

"In an ordinary case, I would say it had healed – the physical mark would have done that anyhow, in time," Castiel mused. "The spiritual mark…It is rare for an angel's grace to touch the soul of a human that is not their vessel. That mark would have endured. Possibly indefinitely."

"And you can't tell if it's still there," Sam realized.

Castiel nodded shortly. "The place where my grace touched Dean's soul in Hell created a permanent spiritual…brand. One which any being with a shred of psychic ability would pick up, even in your new forms." His voice became tight. "Had I retained even a spark of my grace I would have been able to see it. Unfortunately, I no longer possess even that."

Sam's expression of sympathy was cut off by Dean, who finally coughed uncomfortably. "Uh, Cas? The hand?"

Castiel's fingers were still wrapped gently but firmly around Dean's deltoid. Sam would have laughed at the uncomfortable expression on Dean's face if the situation hadn't been so serious.

The former angel blinked, as if remembering himself, and with an odd reluctance, let go of Dean. He took a small step backward, examining his fingers. The distance didn't seem to be enough for Dean, who casually widened it further by leaning back against the cheap wallpaper.

"Moving on – whatever happened, Dean knew there was something wrong with you before we even knew you were gone," Sam explained. "If what you said was true, how did you survive? Because, I'm here, so obviously whatever you did worked. So – not that I want you dead or anything – but how are you still…you know?"

"I have some theories, each as unlikely as the last."

"Aggie said she thought your grace and Dean's soul bonded," Sam suggested, ignoring the stink-eye Dean gave him, whether at the mention of Aggie or a notion as ridiculous sounding as a grace-soul bond.

"'Aggie'?"

"Oh. Right, we never…she's the pagan goddess that made us look like this," Sam said, gesturing to his and Dean's feminine forms. Dean was scowling again.

"You never did explain how it is you came by these new bodies," Castiel pulled a face. He actually looked at Dean like he was insulted or something. "I assume there was some necessity behind it?"

"Well, let's see – demons still hate us, there are hunters pissed off because of the Apocalypse we accidentally started, and your ninja turtle brother is a dick," Dean listed brusquely.

"My…?"

"Raphael," Sam added helpfully.

Castiel looked slightly alarmed. "He is free?"

"Yup. And mad as hell that we stopped the Apocalypse. He wants to restart the damn thing," Dean grumbled.

"And you were AWOL at the time, so we couldn't…the short version of the story is that we needed to disappear without actually disappearing," Sam finished. "Bobby called in a favor and here we are. Sort of."

"And this…pagan…suggested a soul bond?" Castiel inquired.

"Yeah, she kind of implied that when your grace touched Dean's soul, they were kind of, uh, coloured by one another," Sam agreed, ignoring Dean's eye twitching at all the soul-talk. "Like, you had a piece of Dean's soul in your grace and he had a piece of your grace in his soul."

"That is a possibility. And it would have been an infinitesimal piece, as I never paid it any attention," Castiel mused. "That might explain how I survived. It is possible that when my grace left this body, the part of Dean's soul which had become part of it was left behind. It may have acted as a kernel for my own soul to develop."

This theory was met with awkward silence.

"Huh. Strong soul," Sam commented in a would-be offhand way.

"Dean's soul is one of the brightest I have ever seen," Castiel agreed.

"Dean is standing right here and wishes you two would stop gossiping about my damn soul," Dean grumped. "So that's your other survival theory?"

"It is possible that when my grace faded the first time, I became so human that a soul of my own was born," Castiel answered. He paused, considered, and then added, "I believe the reality is likely a little bit of both. My own fledgling soul was too weak to animate this body. When my grace was transformed into the key – and when the part of it which had bonded to Dean's ripped through me – I suppose it was enough of a shock to reanimate this body."

It was another explanation that elicited a tense silence, and Sam couldn't help but be slightly amazed by it. Dean, in contrast, seemed more than freaked out. He adopted the look that Sam usually interpreted as his 'too much damn information' face, and exhaled wearily. "So, who was on the receiving end of this deal of yours, anyway?"

Castiel shook his head. "It is not relevant."

"The fuck it's not!"

"If the deal had not achieved the desired effects, I might agree with you – however, as that is not the case, there is no reason for you to seek out the demon I dealt with. It will not change matters."

"Well, if it's not going to change anything, just give us the name –"

"It's Crowley."

Both Dean and Castiel faced Sam; the latter's face was carefully blank, but the more Sam thought about it, the more sense it made. "He's King of the Crossroads deal, right? Cas wouldn't go to any small-fry demon to begin with, and anyone higher than Crowley would be more likely to gank him than deal with him." Dean looked ready to explode again, so Sam hurriedly finished his thought. "Besides, if what Crowley said about there being demons in Hell that didn't want Lucifer out, he'd need some kind of…firepower to keep himself above the rest of them."

Not the best thing to say.

"You trusted Crowley?" Dean demanded, rounding on Castiel again.

"It was the only option."

Dean gave the impression of wanting to reply, but noticed Sam's expression and made an obvious change in tactics.

"Fucking great!" he complained. "Not only does that son of a bitch have Bobby's soul, now he's running around with archangel grace. Awesome. Add that to the ever-growing list of shit we need to find.

"No," Castiel said, his tone sharp. He was eyeballing Dean with an expression of such ferocious intensity that even Dean paused. "My grace is forfeit – despite the fact that I somehow survived separation from it, I will not allow you to seek out Crowley for it."

"Why the hell not?"

"For the same reason you refused to let Sam save you when you made your deal for his life," Castiel answered tonelessly.

"He's afraid it would invalidate the deal," Sam realized, quiet.

Logic like that, even Dean couldn't argue with, although from the furious way his jaw snapped closed and his eyes narrowed, Sam knew that given time, his brother would try to find a way to do just that. It was moments like this that he was sure that if Dean had had a normal upbringing, it would have been him that decided to go into law, not Sam.

Deciding that it was best to distract him from whatever argument he was coming up with right now, Sam decided to change the subject.

Sam interjected quietly, "Questions aside – are you doing okay? I'm sure this is a huge adjustment for you."

"I am…fine," Castiel answered evasively. Sam and Dean exchanged unconvinced glances.

"You're anything but 'fine'," Sam told him. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Months ago. Raw ground beef," Castiel answered without hesitation. "It is not something I wish to re-experience."

"Uh, no, generally we like our meat cooked," Sam said with a wince. "They didn't feed you at the hospital?"

"The sustenance I was provided with in the hospital did not agree with this body's digestive system," Castiel replied matter-of-factly. "Besides, I do not consider that to be the current problem. If I am recalling the signs correctly, I believe I need to relieve myself."

The revelation was such a stark difference from the last hour's tone and so bluntly put in such a Castiel kind of way that Sam couldn't help letting out a startled guffaw. Even Dean's lip twitched like he wanted to crack a smile.

Instead, he asked in a gruffly petulant voice, "Sure you can handle that on your own?"

"I am not incompetent, Dean, I still retain a few of Jimmy's memories," Castiel replied as he headed toward the ensuite bathroom; Sam couldn't help grinning at the audible annoyance in his answer.

This time, Dean did smile.

"Okay, fine, but if you have trouble, we can always find you a Cheerio to aim at," Dean called after him. "It's how we taught Sammy."

"Dean!" Sam protested, feeling heat flood his cheeks as the bathroom door shut. "Could you be a bit more mature about this? The guy's been human for less than two weeks. Maybe give him time to adjust before you start mocking him and telling him stuff no one needs to know?"

"Sam, I've been forced into a chick's body for a week and a half – no one gave me any compassion," Dean retorted, unimpressed. "Share the misery, I say."

"Right, because you're all about the sharing," Sam rolled his eyes, and then studied his brother. Dean was glaring at the door through which Castiel had disappeared, obviously not yet satisfied with the way the conversation was going.

Sam sighed inwardly, knowing they weren't going to get any further tonight if Dean kept interrupting Castiel to berate him about his latest martyr stunt. It had occurred to him a few times since rescuing Castiel that there was something lurking unsaid between the two of them, more than their usual unresolved issues. Whatever it was, Sam was too tired to play therapist for the two most emotionally stunted people he had ever met.

"I'm going to head out for a bit," Sam said, already starting for the door. "Saw a 24-hour diner down the road, and I'm starving."

"You're going out now?" Dean demanded, leaving off his glaring contest with the cheap motel door to raise an eyebrow at Sam. "That's convenient."

Sam ignored him. "I know it's hard, but can you try not to be an asshole to the guy that busted me out of Hell? It's not exactly the best way to say 'thank you'."

Dean's eyes widened incrementally in a manner akin to panic. "You don't think I'm pissed at him for bringing you back?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, I don't. But I also know that you're giving him the same raking over the coals that you'd be giving me if I had pulled what he did. Which is fine. I get it. You were worried and possibly experienced feelings, but it's over now. We have bigger things to worry about, like trying to save Adam. So while I'm out, resolve your shit with Cas, so we can get started on that. Because seriously, dude, reliving what happened to me and Adam down there is not getting any easier the longer this takes."

Dean's jaw clenched at the reminder about Adam, and while Sam felt a little guilty at using their suffering younger brother as a cue to get Dean's mind back in the game, he also knew it was the best tactic.

He gave a jerky nod.

"We'll talk options when I get back," Sam finished and headed through the doorway.

"You'd better bring back some pie," he heard Dean grumble as the door fell shut.

(*)

'Shoulda made sure he had a pair of brass knuckles or pepper spray on him,' Dean thought a few minutes later, thinking about how Sam's less than intimidating current form might incite some unwanted attention. The highway community they had pulled into didn't seem like it would be very troublesome, but you could never tell. Even when Dean and Sam were in their true bodies, there was always the possibility of some stupid hick starting trouble.

The automatic surge of over-protectiveness that always emerged when it came to Sam flitted away, and Dean felt his stomach – already knotted up with anger and frustration – clench up again in discomfort. For whatever reason, he was now supremely conscious of the fact that without his brother around, he and Cas were going to be alone together. It would be the first time since the angel bailed on him during the drive home from Stull, and Dean remembered that last conversation all too well.

"God gives you a brand new, shiny set of wings and suddenly you're his bitch again."

Not exactly his finest moment, and he could only use grief over Sam as justification for so long. By the time he had pulled into Lisa's driveway, he had come to the conclusion that he had been unnecessarily hard on Cas – especially in light of everything the angel had done to him since rebelling against Heaven. After Sam's return and the realization of Cas's involvement in it, that modicum of regret over a few harsh words had blossomed into full-blown guilt.

'Like I need any more of that in my life,' Dean thought sourly.

He dearly wanted to blame the new girl-brain for the fact he'd been thinking about the latest conundrum nonstop, but he was pretty sure that even if he had been in his own bones, he would have felt guilty about inadvertently goading Cas into pulling so dangerous a stunt. This wasn't like the few hours before Lucifer rose when he had been mad enough and desperate enough to try to convince Cas to do the right thing; it was him bitching about his own problems and Cas putting his own life on the line to make it better.

Once again, Dean found himself contemplating just how to say 'thank you' for something that should never have worked but which he was grateful for all the same.

As Cas returned from the bathroom, ruffled and unimpressed with yet another new requirement that being human forced upon him, Dean was still struggling to come up with the words.

Cas, unaware of Dean's dilemma, cast a sweeping glance around the room and then asked, "Where is Sam?"

"He went to get food. I thought he had a huge appetite when he was a Sasquatch. It's been even worse since he actually became a girl," Dean said with a shrug. "It's a metabolism thing."

"I suppose that is understandable," Cas said calmly, as though it was an everyday occurrence to talk about someone's spontaneous genderswitch.

Dean snorted. "You're taking this whole us-being-turned-into-chicks thing really well."

"I am an angel – or, I was," Cas told him earnestly, naked pain flitting across his face too quickly for him to be able to hide it. Rather than remark on it, Dean waited for him to continue. "As a spiritual being, I was always more aware of the metaphysical state of my Father's creatures before I knew their physical forms. I may now be mortal, but it seems that proclivity remains." He attempted to smile at Dean. "You are you, regardless of the body you wear. If I had not been so disoriented when you came to rescue me, I would have noticed it sooner."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, finding a very odd element of comfort in that statement. When he peeked up, Cas was watching him with his usual look of intense scrutiny

"I got something on my face?" Dean groused.

"You made a promise to Sam," Cas told him seriously. "I could not let you undermine your word and put yourself in danger yet again."

Apparently Cas wasn't as unaware of Dean's thoughts as he had imagined.

"Underm – how did you – ?"

"He told me of it, before he went to Lucifer. He asked me to watch out for you and make sure you kept your promise. I knew you wouldn't be able to, because I know you and I know how much Sam means to you."

Dean clenched his fists, knowing that Cas was right and resenting the hell out of it all the while.

"Fine, I wouldn't have been able to do it," he grunted, glaring at Cas. "But that doesn't mean you should have pulled that shit without even knowing if it was going to work."

Cas blinked. "I may not be well-versed in irony as of yet, but considering how you have lived your life…"

"We are so not talking about me right now," Dean snapped. "Weren't you Mr. Angelic Strategist up there? Exactly what part of handing over your grace to Crowley on the off chance that he could get Sam out of Hell was strategic?"

"There was no other way that I knew of," Cas replied.

"Nuh-uh – I call bullshit on that one, Cas," Dean shot back. "There's always another way. And that way includes friggen' talking to people before you go off and do something nuts without even knowing if it's going to work."

Cas tilted his head to one side, eyes searching. "You are displeased not because of what I did, then…but because I did not come to you with the plan?"

"Yes – no – ugh, this is so messed up," Dean groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face and then pointing at Cas. "Let's get one thing straight – I'm real glad you got Sam back. After all the crap Sam and I put you through last year…Just, thanks, okay?" He didn't allow Cas to protest about being under Heaven's orders at the time, because as far as he was concerned, those other winged dicks had had zilch to do with his resurrection. "But Sam's my responsibility – and if you knew a way to get him out, you shoulda told me. We could have figured it out together and maybe your grace would still be…you know, your grace."

Cas was still watching him with that uncanny amount of understanding that usually no one but Sam ever managed. Dean forced himself to remain still under that gaze and ignore the return of the butterflies in his stomach.

Finally, Cas nodded slowly. "I apologize if I made you worry. Given your history, I did not think you would care how it was accomplished, so long as Sam was safe."

And yeah, that right there hurt; the fact that Cas thought he was so low on the list of Dean's priorities after everything they had been through was a misconception Dean intended to rectify once and for all. "Dude – first of all, there's no worrying going on. Stop making me sound like someone's mother. Second of all, you're an idiot."

Cas looked like he was about to protest.

"No, listen – next to Sam and Bobby, you are the closest thing I have to family. You're like a brother to me. In fact – and I feel crummy saying this, but it doesn't make it less true – you're more family to me than Adam is right now. So damn right I'm going to wig out when you do something as stupid as dealing with the same douchebag crossroads demon that already screwed us over at least twice."

Cas's eyes widened, and Dean was treated to the unfamiliar sight of color flooding his cheeks. "I…thank you, Dean. I…did not know…"

"Yeah, well, don't go spreading that shit around," Dean muttered, crossing his arms and looking away. "I've got a reputation to maintain."

"I will endeavor to keep it to myself," Cas promised solemnly.

There was a beat.

"I assume you and Sam are planning to go after Adam." It wasn't a question, and Dean had a moment's appreciation of the fact that Cas, at least, understood the mysterious workings of the Winchester mind.

"Well, yeah, considering you didn't happen to bring him back up too," Dean allowed. And okay, he sounded a little bit like he was bitching, but he'd never been good at segueing into subtle questions. Along with the gene for ridiculous floppy hair, that particular talent went to Sam.

"I tried, but Crowley would have none of it," Cas said ruefully. "It was either Sam or Adam. Given the circumstance, I believed you would be more concerned with Sam's return than Adam's."

Dean shifted uncomfortably at that, because Cas was right. "So you're not going to talk us out of it?"

"I did warn Crowley that you would be less than pleased at the turn of events," Cas answered. "I know better than most exactly what lengths you will go to for your family." He tilted his head again, a question in his eyes. "I understand that I am of little use to you now without my grace, but if you are amenable…"

He trailed off, unasked question hanging between them.

"You still know a shit ton more than Sam and I do about the mysteries of the universe," Dean stated immediately. He smirked. "What, didja think we were just going to toss you on the sidelines?"

This time, Cas was the one to crack a small smile and Dean felt warmth in his stomach. It had been too long since he had seen Cas with one of those, and it surprised him just how much comfort he drew from it. It occurred to him right then that if certain circumstances had been different, Cas might have ended up dead and he would never get the chance to see that particular expression again.

That thought bothered him more than it should have, Dean realized as Cas strode forward hesitantly and thrust his hand out in front of him. He raised an eyebrow. "Uh…Cas?"

"This is the appropriate gesture, is it not?" Cas asked uncertainly, his hand wavering slightly as doubt crossed his eyes.

"Uh, yeah, no, that's right," Dean rambled, for some reason feeling awkward and stupid placing his hand within Cas's. He intended to shake it in a quick, businesslike gesture, but as Cas's hand tightened around his, he paused. Cas, too, stared down at their joined hands, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Cas's hand – which had once belonged to a guy who sold ad time to AM radio – was soft and possessed of a surprisingly strong grip. It was a stark contrast to Dean's work-roughened one, which even Aggie's transformative powers hadn't softened.

The entire gesture itself felt wrong, somehow; almost inadequate. The fact that he thought so was even more wrong, as it was usually Sam who dealt with the touchy-feely crap and had a tendency to emote uncontrollably.

As though bidden by his thoughts, Sam – who had both the best and worst timing in history – barged back into the room without knocking.

"Dean, we've got to – whoa, am I interrupting something?" he asked, stopping in his tracks and eying Dean and Cas's still clasped hands.

"No, we're good," Dean said, pulling away abruptly and backing up a few more feet. Cas did the same, slowly sitting back onto the bed he had claimed before. Dean cleared his throat, shot Sam a 'don't say a word' glare and asked, "What's up?"

Sam gave himself the minutest of headshakes and then said, "I was barely out of the parking lot when I got the call. Bobby's in trouble."

"What? Why?" Dean demanded, awkwardness forgotten as worry surged up to take its place. "How do you know?"

"I just got a phone call from Jody Mills."

"Who?"

"The sheriff in Sioux Falls? The one whose son I…the one whose son rose from the dead?"

"Why's she calling you?"

"I guess Bobby gave her our number in case something happened. She's been in contact with him since Death visited. Apparently, Bobby hasn't been answering her phone calls and when she went over there, his place was destroyed," Sam explained grimly. "Huge Mack truck destroyed the whole front wall. She's been keeping people off the property, but no sign of him anywhere."

"He must truly trust this woman to compromise your location," Cas remarked idly, once again back in stoic-angel mode.

"Shit," Dean growled. He glanced around the room. "Well, it's a good thing we didn't really unpack anything. Let's head out."

He started back toward the window, ready to erase the salt-line, when Cas spoke again. "Exactly what is it you can do about his disappearance at this juncture?"

"We can do our damnedest to find out what happened to him," Dean retorted darkly.

"It's not safe for you to do so at this time, if what you said about Raphael and your other pursuers is true."

"Screw that, Cas, he's family – he could be dead! And I'm betting it would be our fault."

"It is unlikely that he is dead," Cas reasoned. "Any enemies of yours would have wanted to leave a message if that were the case. Most likely, he would have been taken either to be tortured for information –"

" – thanks for that, Cas –"

" – in which case he would be kept alive as long as possible," Cas finished. "But it might be another explanation."

"Like?"

"Angels."

"That's not good either."

"It depends on the angel. There was one which I spoke to before the events of Stull who might have taken my sudden disappearance as a reason to…check in…on Bobby."

"Well who was it? We can summon his ass down here and find out!"

"No. I am not sure that is the case, and on the off chance I am wrong I will not jeopardize what you have sacrificed to disappear just to gain information," Cas maintained. "It is best to stay as far from angelic attention as possible. Spend your efforts trying to free Adam."

Sam's head jerked up, questioningly. "Is there even a way to do that?"

"Once I would have said no, but considering the things I have seen you both accomplish, I believe there must be," Cas answered. When he next spoke, he was addressing Dean. "I understand that it goes against every bit of your resolve to leave Bobby right now, but going after him right now would be a mistake."

"What the hell do you suggest we do? Sit around with our thumbs up our asses?!" Cas cocked his head to one side, deliberating his own thumb, and Dean rolled his eyes. "Figure of speech, Cas."

"Ah. I see," he said, although he clearly didn't. He glanced back at Dean, and then at Sam. "I assume you have the materials for a summoning spell?"

"Yeah, of course," Sam said.

"Then I require those," Cas said decisively. "As well as your absence. I will discern Bobby's whereabouts, while you both concern yourselves with Adam."

---

Side One of the Not Exactly Ovid Soundtrack:

1. Rooster - Alice in Chains

2. No Quarter - Led Zeppelin

3. Crazy Train - Ozzy Osbourne

4. Keep Yourself Alive - Queen

5. Every Grain of Sand - Bob Dylan

6. Aiplanes II - B.o.B featuring Hayley Williams and Eminem

7. The Look - Roxette

8. Space Oddity - David Bowie

9. Rivendell - Rush

10. Soul Stripper - AC/DC

11. The Logical Song - Supertramp

12. Kickstart My Heart - Mötley Crüe

13. Like A Stone - Audioslave

14. Ever And A Day - A.F.I.

15. Here I Go Again - Whitesnake