AN: I've got nothing clever to put here, so I'll just share one of my favorite quotes about writing and grammar: "There's not much to be said about the period except that most writers don't reach it soon enough." – William Zinsser

Janice is such a great beta! I can't thank her enough for putting up with me.

* * *

Castiel blinked in surprise at the small woman standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. She'd pestered him on the phone until he gave in and told her where she could meet up with them, and she'd just finished relaying her message from Dean. He might have discounted her words except he remembered her name from some of the Winchesters' stories and the fact that his voicemail backed up her claims. "Er, Ms. – "

"Barb."

"Barb, if Sam and Dean have an emergency, I will be able to assist them. You do not need to come along." There was no logical reason for it.

Barb rolled her eyes as dramatically as a teenager. To make a difficult situation worse, Crowley came up next to Cas. " We will be able to assist them."

Barb waved a hand toward Crowley. "Point to your friend here. We. I am not just going back to home to bake cookies while they're in danger!"

"He isn't my friend," Cas said as Crowley shouldered his way in front of the angel and took Barb's hand in his own.

"Crowley," he purred. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Barb. Do you mind if I call you Barb?"

Barb extricated her hand before he could kiss it. "Not at all. It's my name. Crowley, are you coming too? And do you drive fast?"

Cas didn't have to see Crowley's smarmy smile to know it was there. "Of course I am coming, my dear. Sam, Dean, and I are besties."

"They are most certainly not best –" Cas tried but Barb was already hoisting a truly massive purse back onto her shoulder.

"Which car, then?" she asked. At her insistence, they'd met at a long-term parking lot along the highway. "Mine's more good-mileage than kick-butt fast."

Crowley used his powers to open the door of something that looked fast and expensive and was most assuredly not his. "If you will, my dear?"

Barb nodded briskly, unfazed by his display of supernatural powers, and climbed into the passenger seat, and Crowley smirked at Cas as he walked around toward the driver's seat. "Why don't you keep looking for Lucifer without me while I take care of this?" Cas demanded.

"I could never do that when our dear friends need us," Crowley answered, clearly enjoying himself. It was obvious to Cas that Crowley was doing this purely to mess with Cas. And it was equally obvious that Crowley was going to go off alone with Sam and Dean's innocent human friend if Cas didn't get in immediately. He crawled into a very inadequate back seat and barely got the door closed before Crowley was pealing out of the parking lot. He ended up sprawled across the seat when Crowley executed a sharp turn onto the on-ramp. He could feel Crowley using his power to push the engine past its normal capabilities.

"Crowley," Barb snapped in a voice that said she expected to be heeded. "Stop playing childish tricks and let Cas sit up and get his seatbelt on!" To Cas' surprise Crowley complied. Barb frowned at the rearview mirror. "He barely fits back there. The next stop, we'll switch. He's the tallest one in the car, you know." Her voice softened. "Cas, are you alright?"

"Yeah, Cas," Crowley started mockingly only to startle when Barb smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand.

"Cas?" she asked again, sweetly.

"I am fine. I am an angel," Cas answered, not sure if he should be embarrassed by the unnecessary solicitousness. He knew one thing for certain: he liked this woman. Truth be told, he was a touch intimidated by her, but anyone who scolded Crowley (and got the appropriate result) couldn't be all bad.

"Good. You're certainly not an angel," the woman directed that last at Crowley, the question clear.

"No, indeed. I am the king of Hell."

Barb's hands tightened on her purse but she didn't otherwise react that Cas could see. She met his eyes in the mirror and he nodded. Yes, Crowley was who he claimed. He didn't know just how much Barb actually knew about the supernatural.

"A demon?" she asked, her voice betraying just the slightest hint of uncertainty that Cas had heard thus far.

"The demon," Crowley bragged predictably.

"Just a demon with…" what was that phrase in Dean's movie? Oh, yes. "Just a demon with delusions of grandeur," Cas corrected, proud of himself for getting a shot in.

"I see. Why, then? Why are you coming along to help the Winchesters? And why would an angel travel with you?" Barb asked.

Crowley made a snorting noise and darted in between two cars, clearly "pushing" to make enough room. Cas grabbed the door but noted that Barb did not, which was odd, since she was the only one of the three of them who could die if they ended up in a fiery wreck. "I am the king and want it to stay that way. Dear Castiel and I are searching for Lucifer to shove him back in his cage. They prefer the devil you know, so to speak. Besides, the Winchesters and Cassie and I have a long history."

Cas felt his mouth twist in distaste and quickly schooled his features. "Crowley is only preferable to Lucifer in that he is weaker."

Crowley put a hand to his chest, feigning horror. "And I thought we were getting so close, Feathers! You wound me." He made another humanly-impossible maneuver with the car.

"If only," Cas grumped. "Your driving is putting Sam and Dean's friend in danger. You should allow me to drive."

Crowley laughed aloud. "And get there in three days instead of three hours? Tell you what – I'll wrestle you for the right to drive." He leered at Cas in the rearview mirror. "As long as it's naked mud wrestling."

Cas grit his teeth and grabbed a fistful of Crowley's collar, prompting the demon to swerve and almost sideswipe a truck with some kind of construction machine on a trailer. Crowley laughed aloud, delighted at having gotten a reaction. "Outside, Cas, wrestling outside!"

"I will burn your meatsuit right off –" Cas started, furious with Crowley for being such a...such a...he needed more insults. Considering the amount of time he had spent with Dean Winchester, it was almost embarrassing that he did not have more right on the tip of his tongue.

"Boys! Stop it right this instant," Barb snapped in a voice worthy of an angry archangel.

Ten minutes later, having no idea how exactly it had happened, Cas found himself sitting silently next to an equally silent (and barely even smirking) Crowley while Barb drove.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

More prey. More blood. There was one whose scent they had who still lived and they were mad with it. Denied living blood for so long, denied the hunt they were meant for, their nature buried and diluted by time and breeding with others not of their kind, that nature could not stay buried forever. Now encouraged one time, they were out of control, in a blood-fueled frenzy. Nothing could stop them from finishing their mission.

But they would not be returning to their master. No. They were not the mindless meatgrinders too many assumed they were. They knew he was weak and fearful and refused to take his rightful place as greater than the humans. Well, they would follow his guerrilla warfare no longer. They were literally and figuratively free of his chains, and he'd lost their obedience forever.

They did not yet know if they'd stay together once this hunt was complete. Perhaps they'd select a leader from among them, a long, bloody process. Or perhaps they'd separate to spread carnage and death throughout the human world. Either way, they would not be slaves again. They would not be denied the blood and pain they craved.

Unseen, they watched the big, bright building though the light hurt their eyes. They did not fear the lights or all the people coming and going nor would it be a struggle to get inside. Locked doors were no obstacle to them. But for millennia, they'd been taught to minimize collateral damage and stay laser-focused on their prey. Soon that fetter, too, would be gone. They could sense it, sense their long-suppressed utterly feral nature creeping in. They were not meant for freedom, but they welcomed the madness it would bring.

Their prey that was so close, weak and injured and ripe for them to rend and tear and destroy, and they were so hungry for its screams. Saliva dripped to the pavement and sizzled there.

They were impatient and not willing to wait for long, but for the moment, they simply watched the building and memorized everything about it.

The bright letters on the outside read: HOSPITAL.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Dean sat on one of the pathetic molded plastic chairs that were ubiquitous in hospitals and truck stops alike with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. It probably looked like he was praying, but if he had been, it would only be to urge Cas to hurry his ass up.

Words were directed at him, but he just let them swirl past. He didn't need their assessment of his brother's condition; he just needed to know that Sam would still be alive when the cavalry arrived. Time was, he'd hate having to rely on someone else. Of course, time was he didn't know what it felt like to lose Sam. He now knew the choice between having either his pride or his brother intact wasn't a choice at all.

Sam had taken many (many, many, many) hits in his life, had even died, but rarely had he looked worse than right now. His face was badly swollen – from steroids or something they were giving him, Dean understood – and he was in a medically-induced coma, meaning he was deathly still. Even his eyes, normally darting back and forth under his closed lids when he slept, were still. His skin was parchment-white and his head was bandaged. There were leads and lines going in every which direction and a whole collection of monitors above his bed. He was on medications to keep his blood pressure up and swelling down and a host of other things, but the headline was that a something-level neurologist had to be brought in from Seattle and wouldn't be here for several hours yet, meaning they were in a waiting game. It seemed excessive given the fact that Sam had been talking to Dean when they'd found him, but there was blather about successive trauma that Dean didn't want to think about too much. Somehow, laughing as Sam shoehorned himself into Bernard's stupid car seemed like it had happened years ago instead of hours.

"Sir?" Someone dared touch Dean with a hand on his shoulder and he shrugged it off harshly. He looked up and something in his face made the man, a short forty-something with a graying buzz cut, take a step back, though he didn't stop waving the clipboard at Dean. "Sir, I have to have your signature unless Agent May has a different medical power of attorney."

Dean narrowed his eyes and didn't take the clipboard. "What is it?

The man's professional smile didn't fall but it did tighten a little and Dean had the feeling he'd just ignored the explanation. "It's permission to do surgery to relieve the pressure," he said. "We are going to insert a tube –"

"I thought surgery wasn't an option until the super-special brain guy got here," Dean interrupted. He had listened to the important stuff.

"He's been delayed," the scrub-wearing Nazi explained patiently. "And we can't run the risk of brain damage if the pressure gets too high. Our on-staff neurologist has surgical experience and –"

"No. No local hack is messing with Sam's brain."

Finally, the guy looked irritated. Good. People who were too patient pissed Dean off. "Dr. Pasternak is no hack, agent. He is an excellent doctor with exceptional credentials. It's his opinion that we need to act sooner rather than later. The incoming neurologist will reevaluate when he arrives."

"Still no. Our expert is on his way, and no surgery until he takes a look."

The man argued with him, then somebody else came in and argued with him and someone else yet until Dean stopped bothering to argue back and eventually they gave up. While he understood that they wanted to do what they thought was best, it wasn't happening. Cas could fix just about anything, and he wasn't about to let them risk brain surgery knowing the angel was on his way unless death was imminent.

Dean should probably have been nicer to the people who were trying to help, but he didn't have it in him at the moment. He just kept staring at Sam like his gaze alone was tethering Sam to life. He knew it wasn't logical. Hell, he'd been at hospital bedsides (including Sam's) where there was nothing that could be done. And no he was not going to think about Sam after the Trials.

Finally, Dean was alone with his brother. He scooted closer to the bed. "You did good, you moron, you know that?" he asked softly. "You figured it out. I was gettin' there, but you got it. And stayed awake long enough to tell me. Three different ways." He chuckled softly, sadly. "I remember Juliet in Memphis. Stupid Crowley. If he comes with Cas, maybe he'll actually be useful for once. And 'Brussels sprouts'? I told you a long time ago that's the dumbest code ever."

Dean thought back to a day so many years ago. Even though he couldn't recall where they were or where they were headed, he could see the scene clearly in his mind.

They were driving across one of those states where you pass so many miles of cornfields that eventually you start to feel like you aren't actually moving anywhere. Sam was sitting in the passenger seat with a pair of dollar store sunglasses on his face and slumped low in the seat. It was late enough in the year that the corn had tassels but it was still hot as the freaking Sahara. Sam's face was shiny with sweat even though the windows were wide open.

"Don't fall asleep," Dean warned Sam. "You gotta keep me awake. This is like friggin' Purgatory." (That Dean didn't know what Purgatory was actually like or he wouldn't have been so flippant.) They didn't have any music going because they wouldn't be able to hear it over the wind noise anyway, and it was so bland that Dean wondered if you could actually die from boredom.

"Can't sleep in this heat anyway," Sam answered, sliding down farther yet and propping his knee even higher against the dash in a pose that did not look to be in the same hemisphere as comfortable. "We oughta make a few more of our code words."

The words were surprisingly useful when talking in front of civilians and even more when they needed to give the other a heads up in the hearing of the very thing they were hunting at the time. It was a unique challenge to come up with new ones, since they had to be odd enough to not pop up in regular conversation and not actually give anything away. For example, you wouldn't choose 'garlic' to denote a vamp since it was both too common and could give you away. The hardest part of all was actually agreeing, but honestly? Both brothers enjoyed the bickering that was involved in the choosing. It was kind of like their very own adult car game. And it was a lot safer than "how long can Dean keep the car straight with his eyes closed" or "who can punch their brother hard enough to make his arm go numb" or even "mutual Skittle bombardment." (That last one was a mess to clean up, especially when the heat tended to melt the outer edge of the candies and leave colorful dots all over the seats and carpets. Dean had outlawed that one eventually.)

"How about skedaddle?" Dean asked as an opening. It didn't make a lot of sense, but he really liked the word.

Sam groaned. "Stop with the cowboy fetish," he plead, and the debate was on.

They went back and forth for at least a hundred miles and never settled on a new word, though the suggestions had gotten more and more ridiculous as they went. But it turned into a surprising respite for them. While it wasn't an easy time in their lives, for those two hours or so, they laughed together and forgot all about the heat and monotony and demon blood and everything else.

"Black-Eyed Peas?" Dean suggested as they both recovered from laughing nearly hysterically at a surprisingly crude suggestion Sam had made. (Dean was actually proud of Sam for the suggestion but pointed out it would be really hard to work into a casual conversation.)

"A little on the nose," Sam answered. "Besides, it has to be something both of us hate, especially you. And I know for a fact you sing Boom Boom Pow in the shower."

"I do not," Dean had protested, unable to keep from joining Sam's laughter. Sam detested that song which was the only reason Dean had ever sung along. "And this from the guy who can play exactly one song on the piano and it's Karma Chameleon ."

Sam snort-laughed and back-handed Dean's shoulder. "That was the only sheet music we had!" he protested through his laughter. He was right – when Sam was twelvish they had stayed a couple months in a drafty house with a rickety piano. Sam, with the help of a local girl who had a crush on him, had learned to play the easiest song in the single book of music they'd found at the local Goodwill. Sadly, the whole book was nothing but crappy 80's pop – not so much as a Leppard song in the bunch. Dean had thought he'd go crazy from hearing the halting repetitions of five-note chorus day and night and had made damn sure the music got left behind when they split in the middle of the night.

"Wait, I've got it!" Sam sat up straight in his seat. "Brussels sprouts! We both hate those, especially you."

Sam wasn't wrong but… "That is the dumbest code word I've ever heard!"

"Oh reeeeeeally?" Sam drew the word out, sounding for all the world just like he had as a snot-nosed brat. "You once wanted us to use 'butt nuggets' for werewolves."

"I was younger then," Dean defended. It was hard to argue with someone who had known you for so long.

"Dude, you were 26."

Dean rubbed a hand down his face. There was a good reason that such a seemingly insignificant memory had stuck with him – it had been like an oasis in the midst of a time full of stress and anger and pain, a couple hours' reprieve when breaks were few and far between. The realization that it had stuck with Sam too hit Dean right in the heart.

"What do you remember with your s-skull split open?" he asked softly. "Brussels sprouts." He felt inside his jacket for the knife he'd taken from Ruby several lifetimes before. It was the single thing on him that would do any good if the threat came after them, but he wasn't about to go to the car for reinforcements and leave Sam unguarded when he was unconscious and completely helpless.

Dean wasn't sure how much good he could do if they came for Sam before he found a way to get kitted up – he'd gotten a very good look at their handiwork – but he'd do everything in his power to stand between Sam and the threat, like always. But damn, he'd much prefer Sam fighting at his side. And a more defensible location. And one with a whole lot fewer civilians. And…

Screams rang out and Dean jumped to his feet. They were here.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Unable to wait any longer, they burst through the front doors of the building, intent on their prey, his scent pulling them on. People fell screaming to the sides, barreled over by their single-minded pursuit and no obstacle whatsoever to their stampede. Doors didn't slow them much, nor did stairs, nor the one person who stood between them and their prey.

Teeth crunched and blood spattered.

* * *

AN: We like cliffies, right? Right?

My apologies to everyone who likes Brussels sprouts and any of the songs or bands maligned in this chapter. The Winchesters tend to hold strong opinions.

I betcha at least a person or two has figured out what the guys are up against here. Y'all are scary smart.

"Delusions of grandeur" is a pretty common phrase, but I choose to believe that Cas was quoting Han Solo in Return of the Jedi.

The Black-Eyed Peas is a pop group (mostly...they do jump and blend genres) made up of will.i.am and some others I can't think of right now. Their songs tend to be catchy but not overly intellectual. (Again, sorry if you're a fan and I'm offending you! LOL) Boom Boom Pow was one of their hits.

Karma Chameleon is a song by Culture Club with a highly repetitive chorus.

Leppard refers to Def Leppard, a rock group of which Dean is a known fan.

muffinroo: Well, you can't survive on just potato chips! So here's a meal of hospital bedside angst with a healthy helping of beat up Sam, a dash of mystery monsters, a side order of flashback Impala broment, and a chaser of cliffhanger. Bon appetit!

Timelady66: Gotta throw in a single man tear once in a while. No Christy just yet, but that's a good thing considering what is happening at the hospital! Things aren't looking great but I pinkie promise swear I will leave both the town and the castle standing when the boys skip town! And I'm sure all will be well. After all, a sexagenarian, an angel, and the king of Hell are on their way in a stolen Maserati. What could go wrong?

Colby's girl: Your summary of chapter 8 is priceless! Yeah. Dean had a lot to deal with and he ran all over the countryside. Poor guy. He's not very happy in this chapter either, I'm sorry to say.

Christine: I am delighted that you liked the little rescue party (lunch ladies and all). I can't help myself with those kind of quirky details. As requested, Barb is coming to the rescue! You have no idea how badly I wanted Judy to come too, but it felt like overkill. (Can you imagine Judy flirting outrageously with Crowley while Cas and Barb try to keep them apart?!) Honestly, I could write a whole novel series about Judy. LOL. Oh, and more code words because I love them.

scootersmom: I don't know where the stories come from (though readers provided the framework for this one) but they are just always churning in my brain. Thank you for your kind words! They mean a lot!

Jenjoremy: Sadly, I'm back to writing more slowly. Hey, what did you think of the explanation for Memphis and Brussels sprouts? Feasible? Or at least amusing? Oh, and did somebody order some angst?

Long Live BRUCAS: OOOH! Such good questions! You'll find out about how Jason found Sam in a bit, promise. Also, more about what makes Chloe special besides just how cute she is. At least your question about the code words got answered here. Sorry the others didn't!

sfaulkenberry: I just have fun with wacky characters. They rarely behave, but that's okay. It's fun to throw in stuff like the single man tear that makes SPN fans smile. I think that Janice might have told you this already, but I actually wrote a story where Dean accidentally released a ghost cat in the bunker. I absolutely adore the fact that you thought of me though! I have a plot bunny now of Sam and Dean vs. a whole clowder of ghost kitties! It may happen.

Kathy: Guess what? It's not Weechesters, but there's a flashback here. And you know how much I adore your plot bunnies, so if you've got a Weechesters one, hit me with it! I have an idea or two but nothing much. This chapter isn't quite as goofy as the last one, but I hope you enjoy the visual of Barb making Cas and Crowley ride in the back seat. hehe