"I still don't like it." Dean looked around the empty, dusty cabin with a critical frown, eyes settling on the wooden door and its single, ordinary lock and chain. They'd had no need to come back to Rufus's cabin for a couple of months now, and he wasn't exactly thrilled about being there now. "I'd feel a lot safer if we were doing this back at the bunker."

"Unless they're right about Cas," Sam reminded him with a sigh. "If he really has – switched sides again, well – we don't know exactly how this is all gonna go down yet, but I'd feel a lot safer when this is all over if he doesn't know exactly where to find the super-secret source of all supernatural knowledge and power. Wouldn't you?"

It was an excellent point.

Having no valid argument to offer, Dean approached the small wooden table where Sam had laid out the supplies necessary to perform the Call of Jacob, eyeing its contents dubiously. He picked up a small bundle of dried herbs and then set it down again. He couldn't bring himself to look at Sam, couldn't bear the sympathetic look he knew he'd see on his brother's face if he did, as he spoke in a quiet, carefully neutral tone.

"And… we're sure it's not gonna hurt him. Right?"

As it was, the gentle pressure of Sam's hand on his shoulder, the softness to his voice, was hard enough for Dean to bear.

"It'll weaken him," Sam reminded Dean, his voice quiet and cautious. "But it won't hurt him – not unless he tries to hurt us. And if he does, well – then, I guess that won't be such a bad thing."

Dean nodded, swallowing hard as he stared down at the table. "All right," he agreed at last. "Let's do this. How does it work?"

"Well, you mix the herbs in this bowl, and carve this sigil…" Sam pointed to an Enochian marking in the open book in front of him. "… into your forearm, letting the blood fall into the bowl. Then you say the Enochian words over it and… that should do it."

Dean grimaced, nodding slowly and rolling up his sleeve as he leaned in to take a closer look at the Enochian symbol Sam was pointing out – little more than a single, swirling line that crossed itself at one point before looping back into the center. "At least it's not too complicated," he sighed, reaching into his jacket for his knife.

"I can do it if you want," Sam offered. "There's no reason it has to be you…"

"Except that you're doing the trials," Dean pointed out. "And Cas said it's… altering your molecules or whatever. What if that makes it – not work, or – or makes you worse, or something?"

"Dean." Sam's voice was insistent but gentle, his eyes warm and understanding as he shifted a little closer to Dean, one large, firm hand sliding out to come to rest on Dean's waist. "I'm gonna be okay. Okay? Stop worrying." Sam leaned down to kiss him, and Dean didn't – couldn't – resist him, but he couldn't bring himself to meet Sam's reassuring smile when they parted, either. "I promise," Sam insisted. "I'm going to be just fine." Sam paused, rolling his eyes a little as he backed off and relented, "But if you feel better doing this one yourself, that's fine, too. It's not like it's going to hurt you."

So Dean mixed the herbs, then took the blade in his hand and steeled himself for a pain that felt almost familiar after so many countless tests with silver blades over the years. This was only a little more than that, and he managed it easily. He read the Enochian from the book with ease – if with a very slight tremor in his voice – and then waited, Sam at his side, both tense and quiet.

Several minutes passed… and nothing happened.

Dean and Sam exchanged an uneasy look. Just as Sam glanced down at the book again, scanning through the spell to make sure they'd gotten it right, Cas appeared abruptly in the middle of the room, his back turned to them. He stumbled a little, visibly disoriented, before regaining his balance and spinning quickly, eyes wide and worried. He frowned when he saw them, his eyes narrowing as he took in the spell supplies laid out on the table – and then paced toward them furiously.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

"Now, Cas," Dean began warningly, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Just take it easy…"

"How did you find me?" Cas's voice was agitated, fearful. "How did you make me come here? I can't be here right now, Dean. I told you, Naomi is hunting me. If she finds me, here, and she will find me…"

"No, that won't happen, Cas," Sam cut him off, his voice soft and reassuring. "The spell we used – the Call of Jacob… do you know what it is?"

Cas froze, staring at them in disbelief – and rising distrust – for a moment. "Yes," he replied at last, slowly. "I know it."

"Then you know that you're cut off from Heaven right now," Dean pointed out, trying to match Sam's soothing, patient tone. "Naomi can't find you, and she can't control you – not until we break the bond and release you."

Cas shook his head slightly, visibly confused, before looking up to study Dean's face closely again. "Why would you do this?" he asked quietly. "Why would you force me to come to you, when you know I need to be protecting the tablet?"

A hot rush of angry resentment filled Dean for a moment at the reminder of Cas's final words before leaving him in the crypt – Cas's insistence that Crowley and Naomi were not the only threats to the angel tablet – that apparently, Dean ranked among those he couldn't trust, as well. Dean closed his eyes, with an effort focusing on what they needed to accomplish and pushing his own personal feelings to the side for the moment.

"We just wanna talk, Cas. That's all," he insisted, cautious and appeasing. "We need to know… what you've been doing these past few weeks."

"You know what I've been doing, Dean!" There was an edge of impatience mixed with pleading in Cas's voice. "I've been running from Naomi! Jacob's Call might prevent her from tracking me, but it does not prevent her from searching out the tablet. That means she could still…" Cas hesitated, looking away and swallowing, and when he spoke again his voice was strained, as if he was trying very hard to stay calm. "… she could still… find it, while I'm away, and if I'm not there to protect it…"

"You know, we could help you with that," Sam offered, his tone mild and even. "If you'd tell us where it is. We're your friends, Cas. Don't you trust us?"

"This isn't about trust," Cas sighed, turning away for a moment, shaking his head. "I just – the tablet… I need…"

"What do you need it for anyway, Cas?" Dean asked, stepping around the table and moving cautiously closer, watching the angel closely as he zeroed in on Cas's unintentional admission.

As he neared Cas, Cas took a step back, a nervous swallow visible in his throat – and Dean's heart sank when Cas couldn't seem to meet his eyes.

That was never a good sign.

"What are you going to do with it?" Sam asked softly from his spot behind the table.

"Why do you care?" Cas demanded with clear frustration, glaring at Sam before meeting Dean's step forward with his own advance, finally looking at Dean with eyes blazing with defiance. "It's not yours…"

Dean resisted the instinctive desire to back off, to flee from the threat of another beating like the one he'd received the last time they'd met. It took an effort, but he held his ground, held Cas's gaze as he replied as steadily as he could manage.

"It's not yours, either, Cas."

"No," Cas agreed, his voice blazing, furious, and his balled fists at his sides did not escape Dean's notice. "It's my father's, and he…" His words broke off abruptly, and he immediately broke eye contact again.

Dean's heart sank.

It was a tiny gesture, a barely perceptible reaction – but it was fairly damning.

"He what?" Dean persisted quietly, but he could hear the disappointment, the defeat he felt in his own voice. "What does he want you to do with the tablet, Cas?"

Cas finally looked up at Dean again, his wide blue eyes impossibly sad as he replied at last, "I – I can't explain, Dean. You – can't possibly understand why I must – I just – must…" Cas gave up with a sigh, shaking his head. "I don't have time for this. I have to get back to – to the tablet. Before Naomi finds it."

And then, he just stood there for a moment in silence. It took Dean a few seconds, and Cas's confused frown, to realize that Cas had been trying to fly away. Cas's second attempt was more obvious. He closed his eyes, his brow creased with concentration – and of course, nothing happened.

"It's the Call, Cas," Sam explained quietly. "You're not going anywhere until we break it. That mark on Dean's arm means you're bound to him, until he decides to let you go…"

Cas glanced down at the barely scabbed over cut on Dean's arm, his jaw setting with determination, and Dean backed quickly away as Cas reached out toward it with one hand.

"No way!" Dean declared, pulling his arm back out of reach. This was one time when he could do without the angel's healing touch.

At the same time, Dean heard Sam raise his voice to say, "Cas, it doesn't work like that. You can't just heal the mark and make it go away…"

A slight twitch of his mouth betrayed Cas's annoyance as Dean retreated until his back hit the table and he could retreat no farther, but he seemed undeterred by Sam's words. Before Dean could react, Cas swiftly followed, closing the distance between them. Dean flinched as Cas reached out two fingers toward his head, vaguely aware of Sam calling out behind him.

"Cas, wait!"

But then Cas touched Dean – and nothing happened.

To Dean, anyway.

Cas promptly collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

As Dean felt the anticipatory tension in his shoulders melt into trembling relief, Sam slowly came around the table to stand beside him, staring down at Cas's silent, prone form.

"Well, clearly he doesn't know much about Jacob's Call."

"Yeah." Dean stared down at Cas, a heavy pit of hurt and disappointment settling in his stomach. "You couldn't have made this easy, could you, Cas?" he muttered.

"No," Sam sighed. "Then he wouldn't be Cas."

"I kinda hoped he'd have a good explanation," Dean confessed, then added after a moment with a little half-shrug, "Or you know – at least that he'd come right out and admit the bad explanation. Like he did last time we trapped him like this."

"Yeah." Sam sighed. "Well," he concluded hesitantly after a long moment, his voice heavy with regret, "looks like we're going to need those Enochian shackles we brought from the dungeon after all."

"What?" Dean looked up at Sam in alarm. "Why?"

"We're not going to find out anything if he's trying to stop us every five minutes. If he keeps trying to put us to sleep, or heal the mark, or hit us, or whatever…" Sam shook his head, giving Dean an apologetic look. "He's not in a frame of mind to listen to reason right now, and we don't have a lot of time. He's just going to keep trying to fight us until he knows for sure that he can't. I think this will go a lot faster if we just… restrain him so he can't even try."

Dean considered that for a moment, and realized that Sam was right. Cas clearly wasn't taking it well, their keeping him here against his will. Even though he couldn't do any damage to the Winchesters at the moment, his efforts could still keep them from finding out what they needed to know. It was better to put a stop to those efforts before they could really start.

"He's gonna be pissed," Dean remarked.

"Yeah." Sam shrugged. "But what's he gonna do about it?"

"Nothing," Dean sighed. "And the sooner he realizes that, the better."

Cas wasn't exactly a small guy, and he was dead weight at the moment – so getting him down to the basement turned out to be quite a chore. He wasn't offering any resistance, of course; but he wasn't offering any assistance, either.

Finally, Dean and Sam managed to get him down the stairs and to the place where they had fastened the Enochian shackles to the floor. They laid Cas down and carefully fastened his wrists into the gleaming silver cuffs before going upstairs again to consider their options.

"I don't like doing this to him, especially when we don't even know if he's done anything yet," Sam admitted with a sigh.

"Me either, but you were right. We haven't got much time," Dean grimly pointed out. "You heard him. He slipped up. He said his father wants him to – do what, exactly, with the tablet? I didn't want to believe it, either, but – it looks bad."

"Yeah," Sam conceded. "And – if it's the difference in hurting Cas's feelings or letting the world die bloody – we haven't really got a choice."

"Right." Dean stared unhappily at the basement door. "Doesn't make it suck any less."

"So… what now?"

As if someone, somewhere had sensed that Dean didn't have a ready answer and acted to provide one, a low rumbling sound began. Dean and Sam looked at each other in alarm as the ground began to shake beneath their feet.

"Cas?" Dean wondered, raising his voice to be heard over the increasing roar.

"Can't be," Sam yelled back, taking a couple of backward steps into the nearest doorway, holding onto the door jamb with one hand and tugging Dean into the doorway with him, with the other. "He's powerless right now, we've already seen that! The spell worked!"

"Then… what the hell?"

Almost as quickly as it had started, the shaking and rumbling subsided, giving way to stillness and silence. The Winchesters stared at each other for a long moment, slowly easing their way out of the doorway.

The table with the spell ingredients had been turned over, the spell book upended on the floor. Sam picked it up as Dean righted the table, then gave his younger brother a worried look.

"That's… never a good sign."

"Hello, boys."

The familiar voice with its taunting note and lilting accent drew Dean's attention in an instant, and he spun to face Crowley, who had appeared inside the cabin, just outside the devil's trap painted in the doorway. Dean drew his gun by sheer instinct, though he was once again reminded of its utter uselessness against the opponent he was aiming it at.

Sam didn't even bother. "Was that you?" he demanded.

"Sadly, I can't take credit." Crowley smirked. "Would that I could, but I'm afraid that was just your standard, ordinary earthquake."

"Earthquake?" Sam's voice was disbelieving. "We're in Montana!"

"Yes, thank you for that update on the obvious, Moose," Crowley sneered. "Hence the 'sadly'. An earthquake of that level, so far away from any actual fault lines, is more than just unusual. It's a portent."

"A portent of what?" Dean asked, keeping his voice even and level despite the tightening in his chest.

Crowley met his gaze, something cold and angry in his eyes. "Judging by the remnants of the spell you just cast, and that mark on your arm…" He nodded toward the sigil carved into Dean's arm. "And the overwhelming stench of 'angel' in the air – metaphorically speaking…" Crowley paused for effect before concluding, "I'd say you already know."

When neither Winchester answered, Crowley continued with a grim, humorless smile. "Seems our Cas is trying to end the world again. And he didn't even invite me this time. I must say, my feelings are hurt."

"How do you know anything about this?" Sam asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "If you're not in on it this time?"

"Hello. King of Hell?" Crowley rolled his eyes. "Anything happens of this magnitude, trust me, Moose, I'm aware. I have my sources – eyes and ears, constantly taking in information – and what they've been seeing and hearing these days is very upsetting, boys."

"We don't know any of this for sure," Dean insisted, hating the tremor in his voice, and the desperation it betrayed. "It might not be true…"

"I'm sorry, were you checked out for the earthquake that just shook half of Montana? Montana!" Crowley snapped, impatience bordering on rage in his voice. "But that's bloody normal, isn't it? Certainly nothing apocalyptic about that. It's a sign, you moron."

"That doesn't mean that it has anything to do with Cas," Sam pointed out, but his tone lacked conviction, and it made Dean feel sick.

Everything else seemed to be checking out.

This was looking worse for Cas – for all of them, really – with every moment.

"Anyway, we've got this one," Dean snapped. He'd seen more than enough of Crowley for the moment. "So you can get lost. We don't need or want your help."

"Don't you?" There was a sharp edge to Crowley's voice, a tense worry in his eyes that belied his cold smile, and it set the queasy feeling in the pit of Dean's stomach to a higher level.

If the King of Hell was scared…

"Because the way I hear it," Crowley went on, his voice quiet but taut, warning, "we have less than three days before it's all over and there's no saving anyone."

"Wait – three days? Where are you getting that?" Sam frowned, alarm clear in his voice.

"The word is that our dear deluded little Cas has already performed the ritual. And from that point, it's three days until the gates open. So it seems we're running out of time." Crowley paused. "But I'm sure you two already have him pouring his precious little heart out, don't you?" Crowley's sharp gaze shifted between Sam and Dean for a moment, before a predatory smile spread across his lips, a cruel gleam in his eyes. His voice was deceptively soft. "No? I can help you with that…"

Dean took a step toward him in instinctive reaction, his fist clenched and ready. "You're not gonna touch him…"

Crowley rolled his eyes in clear exasperation, unconcerned with Dean's threatening advance. "Well, someone's going to have to do something to make him talk…"

"Well, it's not going to be you!" Dean declared.

No sooner had the words left his lips than Dean froze, his heart clenching in his chest as he processed the unintentional implications of what he'd just said. The very idea of hurting Cas on purpose, for information made him feel sick. This was Cas they were talking about, and in spite of everything, he was still the friend that had had Dean's back through Purgatory, that had given up his life for Dean more than once… that had fallen… for Dean.

Vivid images of red and black, the stench of blood and smoke and the sound of panicked, hopeless sobs echoed in Dean's ears, and he closed his eyes for a moment, suppressing a shudder.

No… not going back there, never again… and certainly not with Cas…

"No," he said softly, aware when Sam's gaze darted toward him with visible concern, wondering how much was showing on his face and in his voice. "No – we're not letting you anywhere near him. And – it's not like we could hurt him if we tried," he pointed out. "He wouldn't even feel it."

Crowley's smile widened slightly, a secretive gleam in his eye as he replied, "Oh, there are ways. But you don't think that will be necessary, so I'm sure we'll all be just fine." His final words were sarcastic, angry, and Dean braced himself for a further fight.

But as quickly as he had appeared, Crowley was gone – leaving the brothers with nothing but the taut, anxious silence that stretched between them.