{{ Author's Note: This chapter contains a scene that may be considered mature for some audiences. Triggering content includes self-mutilation, blood, violence and allusions to suicidal ideation. Reader discretion is advised. }}

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A heavy sigh fell from Sam's lips as his brow seemed forever knit in concentration; his gaze flicked between the hand-written sigils on his legal pad to the book beside it. Something just wasn't lining up and he couldn't make heads or tails of it. His attention drifted briefly to Castiel who stood before a large board covered in photos of the details of Selaphiel's cloak; his arms were folded over his chest as he, too, seemed intently focused on his task … and judging by the perplexed yet curious expression upon his friend's face, Sam surmised the angel must be experiencing a conundrum of his own. He then turned his attention to the captive archangel, having almost forgotten she was there.

She was quiet, so painstakingly quiet knitting away with her hair in a bun held up by a pair of needles, her sleeves rolled up and black yarn loosely wrapped around her left arm as she had found a corner of the library within which to pace. He was relieved that she at least seemed to find something to keep her busy. So far, her new hobby seemed to be working … though honestly, he didn't know her as well as Castiel did, so he couldn't be sure. He was certain Selaphiel was still experiencing the excruciating pain her brother had mentioned, but at least she had something to distract her. Truthfully, the archangel didn't seem like the type to complain … or even tell anyone if she was having a problem … and that worried Sam. In a way, Selaphiel reminded him of Dean; he could see the parallels, particularly in the way that both older brothers had a tendency not to ask for help because they didn't want their loved ones to worry about them.

"Yeah, got it. Thanks," resonated the gruff of Dean's voice as he ended the conversation on his cell, re-entering the library and drawing his brother's attention. "All right. Got a lead. Strange streaks of light reported over Palouse Falls last night about the same time Sel went AWOL." Shoving the phone into his pocket, he looked to Sam and froze in his tracks. "Typical celestial bright lights, loud ringing and … what … the hell are you wearing?"

"It's a hat," Sam said with a smile that was just a bit too perky for Dean's taste. Regardless, he seemed rather proud of the knit black beanie hugging his noggin.

"Oooookay," he replied with brows raised before looking to the pacing archangel. "... and what's he knitting now?"

"Uhhh … gloves? I think?"

"Gloves?" Dean scoffed. "What? Are we planning an arctic expedition? Cas? Did he knit you a scarf?" he joked.

Without removing his gaze from the board, the angel caught the expertly-knitted blue yarn of his necktie between his middle and index fingers, flicking the accessory lightly over his shoulder to show his friend. "New tie," he announced before dropping it back into place and continuing to stare at the photos.

"He knit you a tie?"

"Cary Grant and Gregory Peck both frequently wore knit ties."

"Classy," Dean commented as he glanced between his brother and Castiel. "That's great for you guys, really, but I'm not wearing no mittens. It's just not happening and you can forget it."

Sam chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he changed the subject. "So I've been comparing the sigils on these chains and … I don't know if … maybe I'm just reading this incorrectly or something? Cas?"

Castiel turned around with a furrowed brow, still appearing confused but approaching his friend nonetheless to peer over the hunter's broad shoulders as Sam went on. "It seems to be the same binding mantra over and over, pretty straight forward. But there's this one line on one link that has this … this really subtle difference on one of the sigils. I mean, you kinda miss it at first glance; it's tiny, but it changes the meaning of the sigil entirely … and I don't think it was a mistake. Because here …" He picked up one of the shackles, motioning to another sigil. "The same thing happens here. Line after line of the same sort of incantation, but here, this one sigil, this subtle alteration changes the entire meaning of that one line."

Careful, Castiel took the iron shackle within his grasp and studied it closely.

"That must be how Sel was able to escape," Dean concluded. "It's like finding an Achilles Heel. He must've found the weak spot and broke the chain."

Shackle still in his hand, Castiel returned to the board, curiously staring at the photos for a beat. "Cas?" Dean asked. "What is it?"

The angel narrowed his eyes and looked closer. "The same discrepancy happens on the cloak. It is almost undetectable," he explained as the Winchesters both moved to join him.

"This had to have been intentional," Dean muttered. "There's no way someone would put that much detail into something only to mess up."

"Are you suggesting that whoever trapped Sel in the homunculus changed their mind but went through with it anyway?" Sam asked.

"I'm saying that I think this entire scheme couldn't have been pulled off by just one person. Obviously. This had to have been a group of people and at least one of these people was having second thoughts."

"And being sneaky about it."

"Okay. So …" Dean began, brows lifting as he racked his mind for more ideas. "What if this person also had a hand in making the homunculus? An alchemist or whatever? Like, what if those carvings on Sel's bones have one of these faux symbols that he can just, I dunno, trickle out of? Cas? Do you think there might be a couple of these typos in there?"

"It's possible," the angel replied as he glanced over his shoulder to his brother. "Selaphiel?" he asked of the archangel who still paced while knitting on the other side of the library. "Do you sense any discrepancies in your vessel's containment?"

"No," was her quiet and simple reply.

"Well, it was worth a shot," Sam said.

"At least we're narrowing it down some," Dean remarked as he looked back to board. "Positive thinking," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone.

"The saboteur is not an alchemist," Castiel deduced.

"Look, Sel, no offense," Dean suddenly piped up as he looked quickly back over to the archangel, "but that is really distracting. Do you think you could stop pacing for maybe, I dunno, five minutes?"

Sel's bare feet came to a sudden halt, but he did not look up or make another sound as he continued to knit right where he stood. With a triumphant nod, Dean mumbled a satisfied "okay".

"Selaphiel is still becoming acclimated to Earth's gravity," Castiel explained. "The vessel is … top heavy."

"Because I have breasts," she added flatly, attention still focused upon her project.

Both Winchesters smirked at that. "Yeah," Sam agreed. "We noticed."

Dean's gaze slowly looked the archangel from bottom to top as he turned to face her fully. "About that," he started curiously, "Sorry, but … what do we call you? He? She? It's just that Cas refers to you as his brother, but it's kinda … I dunno how this works for angels, honestly."

Without looking away from her knitting, she offered a straightforward and truthful reply without missing a beat. "I am a genderless entity trapped within a man-made human body that happens to have female anatomy. If referring to me as 'her' and 'she' is easier for you, then please do what is comfortable."

Castiel pressed his lips together for a moment, brows lifting before he finally broke the stunned silence. "That is his polite way of saying he doesn't care either way."

"Well …" Dean breathed. "Okay then … not as awkward as I thought that would be …"

Sam kept his eyes focused on Selaphiel as he continued, "So if that body's got the same sigils on the inside, maybe all we need to do is alter a couple of the marks like on the chains and cloak … then maybe Sel can squeeze out of there!"

"Why not just chop of her arm?" Dean suggested.

Castiel shook his head. "That could mortally wound him by permanently severing the energy he has dispersed in that arm. That is … if we could even successfully remove the arm at all." He shifted his posture a bit, clearly nervous about this idea as he removed the angel blade from his sleeve. "He is an archangel. At the very least, it would require an angel blade to cause any damage at all."

"Are you suggesting we CUT HER OPEN and just start carving on her bones?"

"Dean. Sam," Castiel began warily as he turned his attention to his friends. "This could kill him. I am reluctant to attempt it-"

The quiet click of the metal needles upon the floor preceded the archangel's immediate acquisition of Castiel's weapon as she plucked it from his grasp. "Selaphiel!" he exclaimed.

The sickening crunch of sliced flesh resonated within the library as the blade pierced the the archangel's right forearm, white and opalesque light pouring from the wound as he continued to tear into the skin and muscle, revealing the bones within. Never once did she flinch, her expression remaining perfectly calm and in control. "Selaphiel! Stop!" her brother cried out as he and the Winchesters rushed to her.

"Cas! Do something!" Dean shouted, watching the light growing brighter as she made the gash even larger.

"Hold it open," she whispered as the wound started to heal again, the loud ringing filling the library.

"Selaphiel," Castiel protested.

"Hold it open," she repeated firmly.

Not hesitating any further, Castiel sank his fingers into the healing wound, prying it open as instructed to expose the engraved ulna and radius. The sigils were a dull absence of light compared to the blinding glow radiating from her arm.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Sam asked with alarm.

"Yes," she replied with a calm monotone.

"Okay," Dean piped up nervously, "you are officially the most metal angel I've ever met."

Without another word, Selaphiel turn the blade in her hand and quickly attempted to use its tip to draw along the bone. The glow intensified at the first scratch, the ringing growing in volume as the entirety of the bunker trembled with the power that was pouring from her wound.

"Cas!" Dean called out as sparks flew from the contact between blade and bone.

"Selaphiel …" Castiel hurriedly spoke. "This isn't working. The flesh is healing too quickly." Another scratch of the blade along the ulna caused a sharp jerk of the room around them, nearly knocking the Winchesters off their feet. Sam grasped the table while Dean shifted his feet to maintain his balance; both men closed their eyes and covered their ears … and Selaphiel finally flinched. "Selaphiel, stop it!" The pain finally trickled through that otherwise stoic mask as she pressed on, scraping feverishly at the sigil, her body jerking and becoming rigid as she dug deeper. She choked on a quiet cry, caught within her throat, but her eyes never lost the intensity, the sheer will to get out, to break free … and for a moment, she possessed the look of a crazed, caged wild animal, determined and desperate, willing to do whatever it took even if it killed her …

"STOP!" Castiel shouted as he ripped the blade from her grasp and threw it onto the floor with a clanking clatter. Immediately, he wrapped his hands around her arm, closing the wound, the gash healing almost immediately. The light stopped, the room no longer shook and the library was once again quiet.

Selaphiel stared at her brother with wide eyes, visibly distraught and lined with tears that did not fall; both stood still; she did not pull away, though one could garner by her rigid posture that she very well could have knocked Castiel to the ground with little more than a flick of her wrist … but she didn't. Instead, the two angels looked to each other in silence, and Castiel's fingers tightened around her fully-healed arm.

Finally, she turned her gaze to the floor and whispered. "Let go."

"No," he replied with defiance.

"Let go," she repeated through her teeth.

"No. It was killing you."

"I am already dying," she replied with a strained tone, quickly looking to her brother again with a pained expression. A jagged inhale accompanied the brief tremble of her form as her eyes pleaded with him … and Castiel was shocked into silence; one could practically feel the frozen stones falling into the icy pit of his stomach simply by observing how he looked at her, a hurt and frightened expression overcoming his face.

"I won't let you do this," he protested, adamant.

Her whisper was hurried and weak, "Castiel, you are my brother and I love you, but do not make me pull rank. You know I hate pulling rank."

"Selaphiel. Please. I am begging you," he pleaded, holding her arm tighter. Silence, pure silence settled between them, around them, even the Winchesters were speechless as they watched the wordless exchange between the two angels who seemed to hold an entire conversation with just a stare … and then …

Selaphiel's lips parted, as though she was about to speak, a soft breath taken … and then … she released a soft exhale as her gaze shifted to the floor with acceptance.

"Thank you," was Castiel's relieved response.

"So!" Dean interrupted suddenly, his eyes wide and fully intending to steer this conversation into a different direction. "Road trip to Washington! Who's with me?"

All eyes turned to him; Sam's own attention was incredulous. "What?" Dean asked. "I just need to get out of here, guys."

Sam cleared his throat. "If Palouse Falls actually is where Sel got zapped, then I don't think taking him back to the scene would be a good idea. Especially if whoever this is plans to kill him."

"I'll go," Castiel announced.

Selaphiel shot her brother a protesting and protective glance.

"I'll be fine," he assured her.

"And I'll stay here with Sel," Sam conferred. "We'll see if we can't scrounge up some more clues."

"Okay. Great," Dean agreed with a clap of his hands before bending down to pick up Castiel's blade. "And, uh, make sure he doesn't do that stabby thing again, okay?" he added as he looked between them. "Try to keep this place and that vessel in one piece while we're gone?"

"Sure," Sam smirked.

"Good. Cas?"

As the angel started to move away, Selaphiel reached up to grasp his hand with both of hers, holding him in place. Again, the two met for another long and wordless stare. The archangel made no effort to conceal the worry and concern in her eyes. "I'll be careful. I promise," Castiel gently swore to her.

Selaphiel narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Promise," he repeated as he gave her hands a squeeze, patting her arm warmly before slipping from her grasp to join his friend.

{{ To be continued in Chapter 9: In a White Room with Black Curtains }}