"Sel!" shouted Sam. It was unknown if the archangel could hear him; on top of the screams, squeals and static blaring from the radio, it was a wonder that Sam could even hear himself. The loud ringing had begun, the midday sun seemed to grow brighter and brighter as the noise grew louder and louder; it had reached the point that both light and sound were painful, not just to eyes and ears, but to his skin … as though burning through his skin and deep within his bones; every fiber of his being pleaded with Sam to stop, to get away from the angel, to step outside and run as far as he could … but he didn't.

He kept his grip firm upon Selaphiel's shoulders, no matter how much she writhed and shrieked, no matter how much the car rattled or how the windows cracked. Only a brief thought crossed his mind to call Castiel, to give the angel their exact location and tell him to hurry, but he worried he didn't even have time for that, or that he would be able to get the information out over the noise, or even that the phone would work in a situation like this.

"Selaphiel! Please! I don't know what's going on, but you have to hang on! Okay?" He grasped the sides of her head. "You have to stop!" What if she kept going? All this energy, someone would notice-the wrong someone might notice, the wrong someone might tell more wrong someones and then Selaphiel would be in very real danger. What was he thinking when he took her from the bunker? Mentally, he kicked himself for such a bad call; hindsight was 20/20 and he might have dwelled on it for a bit longer if he'd had the capacity to think; no, he couldn't afford to retrace his steps at this point.

What had they been talking about just before this happened? It seemed to come out of the blue. Music, right? Selaphiel seemed like the musical sort; there had been much singing that day. Why not give it a shot?

The ringing grew louder; for a moment, it sounded like a distorted version of what he'd heard in his dream, as he had held the egg atop Devils Tower. Obviously, this was different; it wasn't harmonious tones he'd heard; this sounded … broken and dissonant; loud; out of sync … and it was reaching a point where Sam couldn't even hear his own thoughts.

Perhaps that was Selaphiel's problem (or at least one of them); it was Sunday, true, and while she had seemed at peace in the church, it was quite possible the Angel of Prayer had become overloaded with the influx of undelivered messages … that she couldn't hear herself.

"Sel," he began carefully, attempting some calm as he spoke firmly. "Listen to me. Listen to my voice, okay? Focus on me. Please. Just focus on me."

Again, the Lincoln shook with a jagged tremor, the rear window cracking. "Sel! Listen! Listen to me! Just to me! Just block out everything you can, and just … just listen to my voice!"

Blood trickled from his ears, leaving a trail of crimson along his lobes and neck. Sam could no longer bear to keep his eyes open, shutting them tightly from the brightness. Everything burned, everything was suffocating. But he had to keep talking, he had to give Selaphiel something to focus on …

"When I find myself in times of trouble … Mother Mary comes to me …" he began to sing shakily, taking a couple lines to get the melody right; when was the last time he'd sang something? Anything? "Speaking words of wisdom … let it be …" Selaphiel's fingertips again clawed at the roof of the car, but Sam grabbed them and forced them down, holding her arms tightly as he continued. "And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me … speaking words of wisdom, let it be …"

Sam coughed once, wincing from the pain of his ears, but he continued. "Let it be, let it be … let it be, let it be … whisper words of wisdom, let it be …"

Suddenly, everything was quiet.

Suddenly, everything was still.

Hesitant about the calm, Sam opened his eyes to find the angel silent and motionless. "Sel?" he asked carefully, lifting his hand to lightly tap at her cheek. "Sel, you there?" No response. She looked as though she was sleeping.

But angels don't sleep.

After staring at her for a bit, Sam returned to his seat, continuing to watch over her as he took the phone from his pocket, immediately dialing his brother. There was no ring, going straight to voicemail which began with "This is Dean's other cell …" Sam cursed under his breath, disconnecting the call before the tone and then rubbing at his face with a heavy sigh …

Selaphiel's eyes opened. The hunter snapped his head toward her as she inhaled sharply. "Sel! Welcome back."

She blinked, remaining silent.

"Sel, you okay?"

Her lips parted as though to speak, but she pressed them together once more, staying quiet.

"Okay. That was a stupid question, I guess," Sam answered himself awkwardly.

"Sorry …" she whispered weakly. Slowly, her hand lifted to touch his ear lightly, instantly healing the ruptured drums.

"Hey hey, no … no, I'm sure you couldn't help it. Don't apologize, okay?"

"But I used my power … someone felt it … we have to go …" she confessed as her arm fell limply to her lap once more.

"Okay. Back to the bunker-" he said as he started the engine again.

"No," she protested quietly.

"No?"

"Devils Tower."

"Like in my dream?" Sam asked. "You want to go to Devils Tower?" Her acknowledgement came in the form of a slow blink. "That's a day's drive from here. Why Devils Tower?"

"My staff."

"Your … staff …"

"That is where I left it."

Sam could not but give her an incredulous look. "You left your staff on Devils Tower?"

Sheepish, the angel replied, "I probably should have led with that …"

"Ya think?" he replied with an exasperated half-laugh.

…

…

…

Sitting on the trunk of his Impala, Dean removed his phone from his pocket, noticing the missed calls and texts from Sam. Eyes widening, he quickly dialed his brother and waited for the call to connect.

Somewhere in Nebraska, Sam Winchester and his celestial counterpart were sitting at a picnic table at a roadside vendor; the hunter nibbled on a grilled vegetable wrap while the angel sat wordlessly knitting. His phone buzzed and immediately, he set his meal into the cardboard boat and answered. "Dude. Where have you been? I've been trying to call you all day."

"Yeah, no reception out here," Dean explained.

"Did you find anything?"

"Oooooooh yeah. Found a lot of things. Needless to say, we definitely think this is the site Sel got zapped. It's totally angel proofed. Cas couldn't even sense it. Like it didn't exist. And what's more? The place is, like, totally leveled. Scorched. Looks like 1945 Hiroshima if you know what I mean. And there's symbols all over the place."

"Wow," Sam breathed.

"But there was this one path we found that was angel-proofed but … not as well. Sigils, sure, but just like the chains and the cloak, some of the symbols were typos."

"Must have been how Sel was able to escape."

"Exactly. The slightest change in the sigil will change the spell. And it was intentional, so I guess in a way its nice to know that someone on the other team is working for our side. Sort of." Dean glanced over his shoulder toward the sound of a clink. "Oh, and uh, kinda ran into a couple old friends."

Sam's brows lifted curiously. "Good old friends or not-so-good old friends?"

"Sheriff Mills and Claire."

Several hundred feet away, Claire stood with the hilt of her sword at waist level with her right hand and balanced with her left; at her side was Castiel, holding his angel blade in the same position. Jody was pacing a good distance away, talking on her cell phone, more than likely to Alex as the angel instructed the teen on the proper way to parry left, a very simple and basic technique.

"Take a step back," Castiel instructed as they went through the motions together, "pull your sword to about waist level in the turn … and you want to ensure the tip of your blade is directed toward your opponent."

"Okay," she nodded, going through the motion again.

"Same for the right. Parry right, you will want to take a step back with your right foot to turn to the right …" He paused to adjust her sword at the wrist. "You want your blade to be turned up. You notice the triangle shape, there are three sides." He touched each with his fingertip. "Three edges," he motioned to the sharpened part of the blade. "Block with blunt. Strike with sharp."

Back at the Impala, Dean's conversation with his brother continued. "How's he doin', by the way?" the older hunter asked, perhaps a little softer; all the things he had learned about Selaphiel in the last 24 hours had helped him to understand the archangel a bit more … and in all honesty, he'd started to empathize. "He hasn't tried to, y'know, play Operation on himself again has he?"

"Oh, no … no no," Sam protested, clearing his throat. "Nothing like that. He's uh, he's hanging in there." He glanced to the knitting angel. "He had one of his overloads, but he's still in one piece. Still quiet. Still … knitting."

Selaphiel glanced up briefly, arching a curious brow before redirecting her attention to the yarn and needles in her lap.

"Awesome," Dean replied. "I expect the most ugly-ass Christmas sweater by the time we get back."

"About that," the younger brother began, his words nearly drowned out by the sound of a passing semi truck on the street.

Confused, Dean's brow scrunched. "Wait ... are you outside? Why do I hear traffic?"

"It's … kind've a long story …"

"Where are you?"

Sam scrunched his nose in hesitation. "... Nebraska?"

"What."

Back in Washington, Claire gave a thrust forward with her sword. "Good," Castiel said. "You will want to keep your sword close to you. Don't hold it out too far when you parry or you'll leave yourself vulnerable to attack."

"Got it."

"Now, other good defensive moves are the drag and lift," he continued. "To drag, take your left foot … and step out …" She followed along with the motions, mirroring him. "As you're stepping, instead of keeping your hands at the waist, you will be raising to the level of your head, good … and with this, you start with blocking using the blunt edge … but as you are lifting it, turn your wrist slightly and keep the blade pointed slightly down … and that way, the sharp edge can then … cut … into the arm of your opponent."

"You're serious? I could chop off a guy's arm with this move?"

"That's the idea."

"Cool."

"You're taking an archangel to Devils Tower?" Dean blurted out amid his phone conversation, half amused. "Dude, the irony is killing me."

"Very funny," Sam replied.

"You know. I could just tell Cas where the staff is and save you guys the trip. He could just zap in and get it."

"Unfortunately, it's not that easy," Sam sighed.

"It never is," Dean grumbled.

"Sel's got it warded against all angels but himself."

"Smart move," Dean remarked with an impressed arch of his brows and nod of his head … not that his brother could see through the phone.

"So do you feel up to making a detour to Wyoming?"

"Sure. You're having dreams about Devils Tower and otherworldly beings. Totally giving off this Close Encounters of the Third Kind vibe, you know?"

"... what?"

"Nothin'," Dean waved it off with a smirk. "You promise not to try anything 'til we get there, right?"

"Absolutely."

"All right. Meet up tomorrow."

As Dean slipped the phone back into his pocket, he didn't notice the brief glint of reflected sunlight against the glasses of a tall, slender figure watching from the distance.

{{ To be continued in Chapter 14: Have We Fallen Too Far to Rise? }}

{{ Author's Note: Have you ever been writing an outline and you start to get carried away and carried away with a lot of great ideas that you get so far ahead ... but then you look back on where the story is currently published and you're like ... "I still have to write all of that to get to where the outline is" ... and you're just like ... siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. The good news is: I've got PLENTY of story left, with lots of fun twists and turns and angst and action. The bad news is: I got a LOT of writing to do. Please, bear with me! }}