Author's Note: This is a sequel to Building Bridges, and I would recommend reading that first, though it's not necessary. Enjoy!

Oh, crap.

Xal tensed up, slowing his footsteps as they approached their motel room. He could feel his soul—his deranged and mutilated but still very attentive soul—twisting inside him, and he knew right away that it was a warning.

"Um, guys?" Xal extended his hand, as if to physically grab them and pull them back, but he was still uncertain of his position with them. He had been doing his best to keep his head down and follow orders, and he had never argued with them. "Maybe we shouldn't—"

But it was too late. They had already entered the room, and Dean had muttered something under his breath that made it clear he didn't realize there was a threat. Crap. Xal took a few steps toward them before stopping to consider the sensation in his chest. Crap, crap, crap. He immediately remembered that, according to their deal, he had to keep them both alive. Crap.

Xal rushed into the room, coming up behind the hunters and looking between them to see two individuals he knew were the source of the roiling in his soul. "Are you—?" He squinted his bluish-gray eyes, listening to the specific way his being was reacting to their presence. "You're angels."

Sam glanced over his shoulder. "This is Uriel," he pointed, "and Castiel."

Xal looked between the two men, and even though he knew they had no reason to harm the humans in the room, he wasn't even remotely close to feeling at ease. "Okay." He hooked his thumbs in his jean pockets, eyes flickering back and forth between Castiel and Uriel. "And I assume they're here for something?"

Uriel gave the demon a look of utter disgust, lip curling up as he sneered. "We're just here for Dean. But I don't mind obliterating you while I'm here."

Xal felt a churning in his gut, and he knew he had to make a split-second decision. The angels could send him back to Hell, which he desperately wanted to avoid, but they wanted something with Dean. Just because they had no reason to harm him, it didn't mean they wouldn't, or that Dean wouldn't give them a reason in the conversation that followed. Even if Dean did what they wanted, there was no guarantee that what they wanted couldn't kill him. And if Dean was killed, Sam had no reason not to send Xal back to Hell. Meaning, either way, Xal went back to Hell.

So, despite the uncertainty of the situation, Xal didn't back down. "What do you want Dean for?" He took a few steps and came to a stop between the brothers, preparing to get between them and the danger if it became necessary. "You got him out of Hell. He's fighting to save your seals. They just got back from a funeral. What could you possibly need?"

"That is none of your business." Castiel growled the words, stalking closer.

Swallowing as discreetly as he could, Xal opened his mouth to respond, stopping short when Sam extended an arm to bar Castiel's access.

"He's our teammate." Sam glared. "If you've got something to say to us, you can say it to Xal, too."

Castiel crinkled his brow, a mixture of confusion and disapproval on his face. "You've allowed him to join you?" He narrowed his gaze. "It's bad enough you've been seeing Ruby, sleeping with her and drinking her blood to hone your repulsive powers, but now you're living with one?"

"He's a source of information." Dean watched them carefully. "We don't send him back to Hell, and he does pretty much anything we ask. You're telling me you wouldn't have a demon slave if you could?"

Xal tried not to let the word 'slave' bother him. Because, well… he was pretty much their slave. But he knew that when he made the deal, and as long as he didn't go back to the Pit, he was determined to be content.

"You don't have to send him back to Hell." Uriel stepped forward. "I can do it for you."

"If you kill him, the deal rebounds and kills me and Dean." Sam moved toward the opposition, the lie falling smoothly from his lips.

"What do you need Dean for?" Xal interrupted the conversation, the fact that Sam was defending him making him that much more concerned with what the angels wanted.

Castiel gave him a cold look. "There are angels dying. Angels from our garrison." He narrowed his eyes. "It has to be a demon, one just as depraved as you, and we need a name."

"Okay." Dean put his hands on his hips. "And what would you like me to do about that?"

"We have Alistair." Castiel spoke grimly, and Xal could detect the faintest bit of reluctance in the tone.

Not that he cared. He was too stuck on the Alistair thing. Because he had been under Alistair's knife many, many times, and the mere name had those old wounds aching and throbbing. Xal remembered catching a glimpse of Dean's work, and it made sense that Dean would have been a student of Alistair's. That had to be the only reason the angels would be coming to Dean about this.

"No. No way. You can't ask me to do this, Cas. Not this."

Xal felt a flicker of relief when he saw Dean's resistance.

"Who said anything about asking?"

Xal opened his mouth to argue—to try and keep Dean as far away from Alistair as possible—but the room was empty.

Sam swore and looked around, but there was no point. "Where would they have taken him?"

"I don't know." Xal turned in a slow circle, trying to sense if the angels had left anything behind. "But I can try and find out. There's a few rituals I can try." He shook his head, a faint churning in his stomach. "We've got to stop them before—"

"It doesn't matter what they do." Sam spoke resolutely, and the words he was saying quickly got under Xal's skin. "Something happened to Dean when he was in Hell. He can't do this. He's not strong enough."

Xal slowly turned to look at Sam, disbelief and disgust twisting his features. "He's not strong enough?" Somewhere in the back of his mind, his brain was screaming at him not to argue with his deal-holder, but he didn't really care what his brain had to say. "Do you have any idea what people become when they're in Hell?" He shook his head. "You think Dean isn't strong enough? Trust me, you don't want him to be. If Dean goes into that interrogation room and revives the parts of himself he left in Hell, it's over."

Sam stared, surprised that Xal was actually pushing back, and he opened his mouth to argue his own side.

"It will be over. Because what you become in Hell is so dark, and so twisted, and so depraved, and so inhuman that nothing else matters. All you can think about, all you can process, all you can desire is blood on your hands." Xal stepped closer to Sam, even though the hunter towered over him, his volume increasing. "If you think that is what it means to be strong enough, I've got some news for you. You don't want Dean to be strong enough. Because he will destroy you, because that's all anyone in Hell knows how to do!" He pivoted on his heel and started for the door, growling out his next words. "I'm going to look for Dean."

Storming out, he slammed the door behind himself and started toward the road. He wasn't about to take the Impala or ask Sam for a ride, so it looked like he would have to walk or teleport. Honestly, he was amazed Sam wasn't stopping him, as they had kept a pretty tight leash on him ever since the deal was made, but maybe Sam had enough sense left to realize it wasn't a good idea to try and strongarm a ticked off demon.

It doesn't matter.

What mattered was finding Dean and making sure Alistair wasn't able to resurrect the part of Dean that he had left in Hell. What mattered was making sure one of the people Xal was bound to was not the embodiment of evil. How, he didn't know, because he wasn't strong enough to kill an angel, but he was going to do something.

"Dean!" Xal burst into the room behind Sam, giving less than three seconds of his attention to Alistair and Castiel. He had no doubt that Sam had enough firepower to take care of things, given how much of Ruby's blood he had consumed, so he prioritized. He ran over to Dean and dropped to his knees, trying to figure out where most of the blood was coming from. "Dean, can you hear me?"

"Nnn…"

Xal closed his eyes and started mumbling in a language so old he had honestly forgotten who spoke it. He slid his hands over Dean's bloodied t-shirt, following the faint sensation of heat in his fingers. He needs a hospital. He felt the warmth increase, and he opened his eyes, pressing his hands to what looked like a stab wound in Dean's abdomen. He needs a hospital, and then I need to gather some ingredients.

Behind him, Alistair screamed, and Xal felt a chill run down his spine as he thought of Sam directing that same power at him. But he can't. If he does, the deal will kill him. But that brought the bare minimum of comfort, and he quickly pushed the thoughts aside. Just focus on Dean.

It was a miracle they had found him before Alistair killed him, and coming from a demon, that was saying something. Xal had used several rituals, and he must have had similar knowledge to Ruby because when he called Sam to say he knew where Dean was, Sam had just learned the same thing. Xal had gone back to the motel, given Ruby a long and hard look, and then he had jumped in the Impala.

"Castiel?" Sam asked, drawing the demon out of his thoughts. "Where did he go?"

"Focus, Sam." Xal pressed down even harder, able to feel Dean's blood seeping between his fingers. "We've got to get him to a hospital." He frowned then, realizing it was probably best if he gathered what he needed as soon as possible. "No. You've got to get him to a hospital."

"What are you going to be doing while I'm doing that?" Sam pulled his phone from his pocket, no doubt dialing 911 for an ambulance.

Xal snorted. "I'm not entirely sure, but I've got some ideas."

Sam didn't say anything to that, though he still seemed suspicious, and then his attention was taken by the phone. He started talking to the operator, and Xal put his focus back on Dean. He couldn't see much, as there wasn't a lot of exposed skin, but the parts he could see didn't look too severe. But again, that wasn't Dean's whole body, so Xal started chanting again, feeling the heat return to his fingers and draw him to different parts of Dean's body.

"So." Sam knelt down on the other side of Dean, reaching out his hands and trying to cover whatever he could find. "Uh…"

Xal glanced at Sam with the intention of snapping, but he saw a cautious look on Sam's face that made him reconsider. "What?" He then pointed with one of his hands. "Put pressure there."

Sam quickly moved his hands, putting his weight on Dean's body. "I really ticked you off by saying Dean wasn't strong enough, but from what I'm seeing, Dean wasn't strong enough." He opened his mouth, lips moving wordlessly for several seconds. "So… if Dean really was that… strong, evil, demented, whatever you want to call it…"

Xal slowly arched a brow, waiting to see where Sam was going.

"I guess… I guess what I'm asking is… what is it like?" He cleared his throat, leaning forward as he tried to keep the wound from bleeding. "I mean, what happened to Dean down there?"

Xal wet his lips and let out a sigh as he pressed down on some smaller stab wounds in Dean's abdomen, wondering if the topic of Hell was just going to start another argument. "Sam…"

"We have time while we're waiting for the ambulance, so—"

"You think I can fit that kind of a nightmare into that short of a time?" Xal reached up to run a hand through his reddish-brown hair, but he quickly realized that would make it an awful lot more red. "Sam… you don't just torture down there like it's a job or, or, or a goal or something. It's like—it's like electricity going through you every time you stab or cut or break. You start to lick the blood off your victim's wounds. You start to feel empty when you aren't tearing someone to pieces."

Sam pressed his lips together, looking down at Dean with something in his eyes that Xal couldn't identify. "I just… I can't picture Dean like that."

"I know you can't." Xal got to his feet, quickly realizing he needed to be gone before the police and ambulance got there, otherwise he might not be able to gather what he needed in time. Grabbing a rag off the nearby table—the table of implements that had tried to bring back Dean's darker side—he started wiping his hands. "But I promise you, Sam. Even with the opposition we're facing, even with the impossibility of the task at hand… you don't want that Dean to come up here. He needs to stay in Hell."

Sam didn't say anything, his gaze lingering on Dean's face, like he expected his brother to wake up and explain exactly what Xal was talking about.

"Text me the address of the hospital." Xal started toward the door, casting a brief glance at Alistair's body. "I'm going to try and get something to help. Just… give me a little time."

Sam was once again silent, and Xal had to assume the message was received.

Now… I have to find a cat.

Xal went from walking to storming down the hall, a black backpack clutched in his right hand, his infuriated brain taking in the presence of Castiel in the hospital. He had no idea when or where or why the angel had showed up, but he could see Castiel and Sam arguing in the hallway, and it lit a fire under him. If Sam's lie about them being killed if Xal was sent back to Hell was believed, then there was nothing keeping Xal from letting the angel know exactly how he felt about the situation.

"Xal?" Sam asked, cutting himself off.

Xal didn't respond to Sam, choosing instead to give Castiel a dirty look. "Oh. How nice of you to show up. But let me guess. You can't heal Dean?" He may have been on the shorter side, but that didn't keep him from standing toe to toe with the angel. "Even though you did this when you failed to keep a simple devil's trap together, meaning this is all your fault." He lifted his bag. "Well, don't you worry, Castiel, because I've got everything under control."

Castiel seemed caught between his anger and his confusion, his lips slowly forming a response. "You've… got everything under control?"

Xal glared, wondering if it was truly relaying just how angry he was. "Yes. I do. I had to injure a cat to do it, hence my unbridled rage, but I've got it handled." He turned on his heel then, giving Sam a serious look. "Keep everyone out of the room." He pushed past Sam and entered the hospital room, marching up to Dean's bed and plopping his bag on the mattress. "Freaking…"

Blowing his bangs out of his eyes, he lowered the blankets and grabbed Dean's gown, using his exceptional strength to tear the fabric apart. After that, he grabbed a pair of scissors from the bag and started cutting through the bandages, peeling away the medical tape and exposing Dean's chest to the air, putting his stitches on display. Xal then grabbed his bag, unzipping it and pulling out a glass bottle of cat blood. He opened it, dipped his finger, and started drawing on Dean's skin. Muttering in a Celtic tongue, he pulled out the ashes of an oak tree and sprinkled them over the blood.

"Xal, what are you…?"

Xal held up a finger in the universal gesture for one minute, somewhat frustrated that Sam wasn't guarding the door, and he continued to chant. He pulled out a book of matches and struck one with his still bloodied fingers, touching it to the lowest point on the symbol he had drawn. Immediately, the blood ignited—

"Xal!"

—and Xal held out an arm to stop Sam. He kept on speaking, watching the flames grow in size before beginning to dissipate, a faint glow emanating from the blood symbol. It faded, and as the last word left his lips, Dean gasped like a man come back to life and began to choke on the breathing tube in his mouth.

"Dean!" Sam immediately grabbed the medical equipment, and even though Xal was sure Sam had no idea what he was doing, he managed to get it out of Dean's mouth.

"Oh, good." Xal breathed a sigh of relief, leaning a little closer to look at the places where the stab wounds had been. "So glad that worked." He wiped his hands on the blankets, glancing to his right as Castiel stepped into the room. "It's been hundreds of years since I've done that, and honestly, I thought the magic might be a little too old to do anything useful."

"Dean?" Sam was less interested in the logistics of what Xal had done and more interested in his brother. "Dean, can you hear me?"

Dean moaned quietly, eyes slowly opening to stare up at the ceiling. "What…?"

"You were attacked by Alistair." Sam put a hand on Dean's arm. "How do you feel?"

"Um…" Dean lifted a hand to his head, shutting his eyes as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Honestly? I feel kinda… tingly."

Xal nodded. "Yeah. That happens." He started gathering his tools, shoving them back into his backpack. "It might feel that way for an hour or so, but it's just the lingering effects of the magic."

Dean squinted, dropping his hand from his head. "You… healed me?"

"Yeah." Xal crossed his arms over his chest, trying to keep the worry out of his eyes. "Healing isn't exactly a demonic trait, but demons can use magic just as much as humans. You can find almost anything if you go back far enough, and I've been around for a long time."

Dean continued to stare, suspicion clear in his eyes, but then his attention suddenly shifted to Castiel, as if he had just seen the angel standing there.

"Oh." Xal turned to Castiel. "That's right. I still have to tear you a new one."

Castiel glared. "You—"

"You did this." Xal stepped in between Dean's bed and Castiel, pointing to the ground between them. "We wouldn't be here if you had just done your job right and made a proper devil's trap."

Castiel actually had the decency to look ashamed at that. "I… I don't know what happened. That trap shouldn't have broken." He looked at Dean then. "I am sorry."

Xal spread his arms, incredulous. "Well, that means a whole lot of nothing to me!"

"You realize," Sam interjected, keeping one hand on Dean's shoulder, "this whole thing was pointless. Something else is killing your soldiers."

"Perhaps…" Castiel shook his head. "Perhaps Alistair was lying."

Sam was resolute. "No. He wasn't."

Opening his mouth, Xal prepared to lay into the angel even more, but Dean cut him off with a quiet, "Can I talk to Cas for a second? Alone?"

Xal grit his teeth, seeing no way anything good could come from such a conversation, but he pushed past the angel with a growled, "Useless featherhead." He stormed into the hallway, combat boots scuffing the linoleum, and he turned to face the room, waiting for Sam to join him.

Seconds later, Sam did exactly that, and he was just as reluctant as Xal.

"He feels like he lost." Xal resisted the urge to pace back and forth, and the fact that his recent disrespect hadn't earned him any punishment left his anger on display. "Freaking…" He blew air through his teeth, barely restraining another growl. "You don't know how lucky we are that Dean didn't go straight to psychotown."

Sam looked at the room they had left behind. "I might not know, but… I'm trying to believe you." He looked at Xal then, something almost trusting on his face. "I'm not stupid enough to think I know more about Hell than you do."

Small miracles. Xal ran a hand through his hair, not entirely sure how Sam expected him to respond to that. He still thinks of Dean as weak.

"Thank you."

Xal blinked, pulling himself from his thoughts. "Huh?"

Sam smiled faintly. "You healed Dean. You didn't have to do that. It's not part of your deal."

Xal hooked his thumbs in his pockets, pursing his lips as he considered the younger Winchester.

"I should probably be looking for ulterior motives, but… I'm not." Sam shrugged. "I'm just grateful."

"Uh… sure." Glancing back at the room, Xal saw Castiel was gone. "You should get back to Dean." He took a few steps toward the exit, lifting his hand in a wave. "I'll be back at the motel if you need anything."

Sam waved back. "Don't do anything evil."

"I'll try and restrain myself." Xal smirked to himself and faced forward, walking down the corridor as that smirk slowly melted into a frown. He knew it was probably irrational, but he didn't like to see bad things happening to the brothers. They had chosen to keep him out of Hell, after all, and they hadn't done even a fraction of the things they could have to him. In fact, the longer he was with them, the more he felt like he could act like himself.

I'll just have to keep them safe. His deal-holders. His masters. Something tells me they aren't going to make it easy. But he had known that when he made the deal. He hadn't really had a choice, and it wasn't as if complaining about it was going to make the task any easier. Oh, well.

Author's Note: If you were subscribed to my website, you would have known this story was coming! Message me for more information!