A/Ns: I couldn't wait until tonight/tomorrow to post. I'm just too excited about this! So. Excited.

More A/Ns: So you knooooow, how I might have mentioned at the end of the Baltimore arc that we were getting Cas soon, but in like, the dirtiest, rottenest, no good cliffhanger way purely possible?

:D

#SorryNotSorry #AtAll #NotEvenALittleBit #CuzNoGoodDirtyRotten #andTheEmotionalShitstormIsTotallyWorthIt

Chapter Warnings: Cas has his ears on, Dean should really learn to give a guy more heads up, Tom is a sneaky asshole, Azazel's got plans, (but unfortunately for him) Castiel is a badass Warrior of God with a Righteous Man on his side, and (despite all of that) everything is still going to shit because Dean never asked a question he really, really should have, Cas is suddenly in a sharing mood, and it's a really terrible time for *all of this*.

[deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep breath after that run-on sentence]

And here we go!

Actual Chapter Warnings: More gore and minor torture below, also increased swearing.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 44

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Cas?"

The angel was deep in the Archival Halls, performing the relatively mundane and tedious duty of filing away old battle strategies that had been retrieved by a Seraphim earlier that morning. His duties had never before been tedious, not before he met Dean Winchester. Now much of what he was expected to do day-to-day in his homeland seemed to be nothing more than busy-work, where before it had seemed important. Contributing. Castiel did not like the implication, nor how drastic the realization and change within him was. Especially not when he knew one angel somewhere in Heaven was more than capable of brainwashing them into believing just that.

And one human on earth was, apparently, able to undo it all.

"Castiel?"

Castiel paused in his filing, tilting his head to the side as he listened to the whisper of Dean Winchester's prayer once more. He had not heard Dean's call in some time, not since he had begun making trips down to earth as often as he could spare in order to 'check in'. This time, though, the hunter sounded…hesitant. All the other times Dean had prayed to him, he'd been brash. Brazen. Insolent. Sarcastic, at the very least. The change immediately worried the angel and he stopped all work, waiting for the next prayer, as his name alone was hardly enough detail to go off of.

"So, uh…if you've got your ears on-' A truly baffling statement, considering Castiel neither had ears, nor would they be removable if he did- 'we're about to do something spectacularly stupid down here."

The angel stiffened as something Angela would likely identify as terror gripped the center of his mass. He did not realize it, but his wings spread out behind him, prepared to take flight with just one word more. The parchment, nearly as old as Heaven itself and written in the hand of the Scribe, dented and crumpled beneath his iron grip. Castiel did not notice, too concerned with the way the heart he did not currently possess seemed to pound in those very ears he also did not have.

Perhaps this was why Heaven had forbade the taking of vessels for any length of time. Their flaws lingered in the mind well after their bodies were left behind on Earth.

"We're headed into Rivergrove, Oregon and I'm not gonna mince it, Cas…. It's a trap and we're going anyway."

The sound of tearing parchment broke Castiel's intense focus, and he turned down to the now ripped battle strategy. He released his fisted hands, flexing fingers that took the startling shape of a five-fingered human hand, rather than the ethereal wavelengths of light more often reminiscent of wisps and tendrils. The angel quickly filed the page, ignoring the fresh tear along the bottom, and stepped away from the archives.

"You don't need to worry yet."

Castiel felt a flare of irrational exasperation at that, and he had the oddest sensation of Angela's voice in his head. He was quite certain that if she had been with him and not back at Bobby Singer's house, she would have been hollering at Dean to 'lead with that' next time.

"We got out of this alright last go around, and we know Azazel's plan this time. But if you can be on standby…well, things could go downhill fast and we might need a quick exit."

Castiel had never before found the communication of prayer to be so wholly inadequate. Another thing that had not been a concern before Dean Winchester. If a human had needed his assistance, Castiel either appeared unto him or he did not, dismissing the conversation as there was nothing more he could do for it. If a brother needed his assistance, Castiel simply replied back via their interconnected voices or flew to his location.

Never before had Castiel needed to answer a human indirectly. To ask what they were thinking, walking into a trap, particularly one devised by a Prince of Hell. To insist his presence was clearly necessary for their well-being in this situation. To assure Dean that he did 'have his ears on' and would be on standby until otherwise notified. To- and Castiel hesitated at the realization- to acquire reassurance of his own that his human charges were, in fact, as alright as Dean's tentative prayer asserted they were.

Which was ridiculous. Other than the hesitance in Dean's voice, the human sounded perfectly fine. Castiel could detect no other duress in his charge's prayer that might suggest otherwise. He should appreciate that Dean was giving him advanced notice of possible trouble. Instead, Castiel found himself frustrated and distracted, unable to refocus on his duties now that he knew his immediate assistance was not required, leaving him with nothing but to wait.

"If things do go south and you have to get us out, Baby's parked about a mile out of town. Uh…guess that's it."

Dean's voice fell silent and Castiel was left with a distinctly unsatisfied feeling. The human should have included far more information. Where would they be in the town of Rivergrove, so that Castiel could fly to them immediately, should things, indeed, go 'south.' Why did they suspect this was a trap, and what kind of trap? And, again, why were they marching straight into it willingly and without him as anything more than a reserve?

All things that Castiel found frighteningly infuriating and could do nothing about.

-o-o-o-

Time moved in Heaven quite differently than it did on Earth. A true mirror reflection to the Hellscape below, the Heavenly plane passed faster than that of Earth. The difference was negligible in the outer levels, enough so that most angels did not notice the passing of the plane below as any slower, and the souls in Heaven's care did not seem aware one way or another that the sun rose and set a fair bit quicker in their memories. But the upper most levels, where the Gardens, the Greater Hall, and many of the Archival buildings lay (most days, at least. Heaven was particular to shifting itself about quite often, but the inner rings did seem less susceptible to the change), hours of Earth-time could pass in mere minutes.

The Archangel Gabriel had once explained the phenomenon as the only way angels could keep their sanity. 'Wouldn't you lose your mind if you had to watch over the earth for an actual millennia?' Most of his brethren had nodded along because an Archangel was never wrong, but the answer never sat quite right in Castiel's mind. Not that he'd given it much thought.

Now he wondered if that was because he didn't find it important, or because Naomi didn't think he should.

The entire line of thinking – now taking a morose turn for the worse – all started because Castiel had not even made it to the main Archival Hall – a scant five minute walk from the lower levels up to the grand lobby – when Dean's voice broke through his thoughts in a panicked, desperate plea.

"Cas!"

The angel very nearly stumbled from the cry. It was not the calm, cautious voice he had heard only minutes before. Castiel's wings were spread before he made the doors leading outside. He was crossing Heaven's barrier using the last of Balthazar's secret exits before Dean's next words came through.

-o-o-o-

"Cas, we- we need that rescue," Dean all but begged as a kick to the gut sent him curling into a fetal position. Fuck these demons. He'd had way worse and could take a hell of a lot more. Sort of. He just had to get his body on board with that thought. The hunter groaned as another kick sent him rolling onto his back, sprawled and vulnerable. "They took Sam. They knew we were- this isn't like last time. They knew. We didn't- they have Sam and Andy. And Azazel- Azazel's here. Fuck-"

It was the demon bitch that hauled him off the floor by his hair. He could barely even see anymore, but her manicured nails dug into his scalp and Dean hissed, scrabbling at her grip. How she even managed that with his short cut, he had no clue. But he was buzzing it next time, because fuck this.

"You gotta stop it, Cas. Please. Azazel's gonna make him- make him drink more blood." Dean knew from his years on the rack that there was no shame in fear. No shame in begging. And he could summon none now for the way his words broke with internal anguish. "Please, Cas, you gotta save them. I promised-"

A punch to his stomach doubled him over again, but the woman held fast and all Dean could do was hunch inward with a deep groan. Demon Hulk, who'd already played the bongos on his kidneys, now took over. He gripped his dislocated jaw, and Dean grunted to keep from crying out as the demon raised his head.

"You gonna cry, Winchester?" The man punched him right in the temple and Dean saw stars. Whatever concentration he'd been maintaining broke and the prayer ended. The bastard just righted his head again with meaty fingers, the joint in his jaw grinding against his skull as it was manhandled. "It'd be a lot more fun if you cried."

Dean didn't know if one could spit with a broken jaw, but if he learned anything that night, it was that hell yes, one could if they wanted to bad enough. The gob of blood and saliva hit the demon square between the eyes with a satisfying and disgusting plop that the hunter was quite proud of.

The next hit cracked something in his head – he friggin' heard it – and took him to the floor. Dean knew he wasn't getting back up without help.

"Well, if you ain't gonna cry, I wanna hear you scream." Through blurry, water- and blood-streaked double vision, Dean was pretty sure the meatsuit was about to stomp the shit out of his back. That was going to suck. Really suck.

But the hit never came. A crash like thunder inside the room made the floor shake, and Mr. Muscles suddenly wasn't standing over him anymore. In fact, not that Dean could see it all that well, but he was pretty sure Demon Hulk and half the bleachers had just taken out the north wall of the gym. That, or he'd cracked his head wide open and was now hallucinating from blood loss and mashed potato brains.

The remaining demons ended up as unconscious or moaning piles of limbs scattered around him in the time it took Dean to realize Cas had heard his prayer.

"Dean."

The angel kneeled beside him, as if she hadn't just bulldozed her way through six demons like they were toothpicks.

Wait.

Six?

A hand settled on his shoulder blade, another reaching for his forehead, and Dean couldn't talk. He couldn't get his jaw to work, to even move. There was one more. He needed to tell Cas there was another demon. Mr. Too-Tight-Shirt. The Travolta-Wannabe. Last Dean had seen him, he had still been over by the wall, watching the Winchester beat-down with all the interest of someone who had better places to be.

The words came out as nothing more than a garbled moan on a swollen tongue.

"Hold on, Dean."

The hunter tried to lift himself off the ground, tried to push at Cas's fingers as they pressed to his forehead, but his body wouldn't cooperate. He was done and his brain just hadn't caught up yet.

Healing warmth flooded him at the same time as a brilliant, blinding, white light filled just about everything else. And then Cas was screaming.

-o-o-o-

Tom pulled his hand off of the now smoldering sigil he'd been leaning against, hidden from Dean Winchester by his meatsuit's broad frame. Embers sparked across the dried, blackened blood painted onto the gymnasium wall. Its sister symbol, drawn on the basketball court hours before in unholy water that had long-since dried, was now alive with crimson light. The angel that answered Dean Winchester's prayer was now trapped within its binding power. A sphere of energy, at least a dozen feet in diameter, encased the Halo like a glowing orb. Within, forks of red lightning lashed out at random intervals, striking the bent figure.

It was like a giant plasma ball, only so much more entertaining and complete with the sound effects of an angel's true voice pitched in agony. Tom could almost make out the shape of flared wings through the brightness, a strike of red flaring down the length of one, singing feathers and the flesh of grace beneath.

The activation of the sigil and consequential explosion of light had blown anything caught within its radius clear out. Tom stepped over one of his kin, heedless of the crumpled and broken body – eyes burned right out of its skull – that lay empty on the ground. No demon could survive the blast of grace pouring out of the angel in a desperate fight against the power of the sigil trying to contain her. Dean Winchester was blown clear as well, but Tom was unconcerned. The human had been near death before he'd activated the trap. He was most certainly dead now.

Azazel could bring him back once they'd secured the angel.

Whichever of the Halos she was, her true voice vibrated the walls around them, unable to remain contained within the fragile human body under the onslaught of their trap. Every single window in the building had shattered with its activation, along with, Tom imagined, the rest of the block. Glass now sprinkled the court and bleachers. What was left of them, anyway. Even the demon found the racket painful enough that he avoided getting any closer than he already. Tom's father would be along shortly and he would surely shut the thing up.

At least until they made her sing for their own purposes, of course.

Movement caught the peripheral of Tom's vision and he frowned, turning away from the encaged angel. Shock lit his features when he found Dean Winchester, wrists still bound, body mostly healed, crawling up from the ground just beneath the sigil. The demon stared, unable to comprehend his biggest mistake: thinking that the hunter was out for the count.

The damn angel had healed him before the trap went off.

"No!" Tom yelled, starting forward, but he already knew he was too late. Blood was running down the hunters wrists, presumably from where the handcuffs had cut into him on his roll across the basketball court. Whether from the angel shoving him out of the way or her explosion of grace, it didn't really matter, now did it? That blood would break the trap were it to come in contact with the sigil.

Dean Winchester met his eyes, leaning heavily against the wall beside the smoldering drawing. He raised his cuffed hands, blood smeared across both palms. The demon was still more than a dozen steps away. Tom threw out his hand to power slam the hunter away from the sigil, but Dean was faster.

"Go to hell."

The human slammed his hand against the wall, dragging a bloodied palm through the sigil, interrupting the glowing line. Made entirely of dark blood magic, the spell trapping the angel was not intended to integrate new blood, especially that of a Righteous Man, and the end result was not pretty. Not only did the trap shatter – the angel's grace ripping through the gymnasium as it was finally freed in a tidal wave of energy – but the sigil on the wall exploded as well. Tom screamed as he was hit by one shockwave and then the other, human body twisted damn near in two by the opposing forces.

Dean, meanwhile, got lucky. The force of Tom's power throw had him sailing a good dozen feet away from the explosion, which probably would have done a hell of a lot more damage than another barrel roll across the basketball court did. Not like he honestly needed another one of those, after the trap going off had flung him into the bleachers hard enough to bruise freshly-healed skin.

But if he was feeling pain then he wasn't dead. That's what he had told himself as he army crawled, handcuffed, across the floor and back wall to get to that damn sigil, listening to Cas scream all the while.

Speaking of.

Dean groaned as muscles twitched and spasmed all up and down his back, but the hunter forced himself upright all the same. Cas was still kneeling in the center of the room, friggin' smoke coming off her bent figure in floating wisps. Dean limped towards her, hands stuck together in front of him. He really needed his friggin' lock picks right about now.

On the floor, a dozen feet away, the only remaining demon lifted his head, which was at the completely wrong angle and oh, god, gross. Mr. Too Tight T-shirt glanced between the freed angel and the hunter (and Dean could hear the bones grinding in his twisted neck) before he opened his mouth and smoked out of there like the coward that he was.

"Good riddance," the hunter muttered, though he knew it wouldn't be the last they'd see of him. Even with a healed jaw, Dean never would have gotten an exorcism out in time. Damnit, they needed a faster way to kill demons, and they needed it yesterday. He turned his attention instead to Castiel, who hadn't yet moved. There were holes in the clothing they'd bought her, straight through her tan coat, slacks, and blouse, probably from those forks of lightning. Dean grimaced at the sight of blackened flesh beneath each patch of torn fabric.

"Cas?"

The hunter took another step forward, ignoring the way his knee threatened to give out on him with every step. He made it to her side as blue eyes finally opened – glowing fiercely enough to give Dean pause, unsure if the angel would recognize where she was after what had just happened – but it wasn't what made the hunter stop from reaching out to her completely.

No, that would be the double doors of the gymnasium thrown open by none other than Azazel, himself. The yellow eyed bastard strolled in like he owned the place, three more demons flanking either side of him.

All four stopped rather suddenly as they realized their trapped prize was kind of less than trapped.

"No," Azazel whispered, eyes locked on Castiel. The angel, still on one knee and looking like her hand braced against the floor beneath a locked elbow was all that was keeping her up, returned the fierce gaze through strands of singed, static-charged hair. Dean curled one hand protectively over her shoulder, the other following uselessly along due to the cuffs. He knew just how far up Shit Creek they were. He was more than prepared to pull her behind him if necessary, however futile it might prove.

He never got the chance. Without so much as looking at him, Castiel threw her hand out, slapping a palm flush to Dean's chest. The hunter gasped, first from the surprise from it, thinking he was about to be shoved out of the way, but then the sound morphed into the hollow sucking noise of someone trying to reach air and finding themselves completely unable to. Cas's eyes lit like a battery draining the last of its juice. Dean was pretty sure he was the juice, given the painful, squeezing, sieving sensation drawing at his chest, just beneath Cas's fingers.

Then her whole body started to match that glow and Dean got a really bad feeling.

"No!" Yellow Eyes shot forward, hand flying up to stop them, when Cas all but exploded.

Dean tried to throw himself to the ground – damn sick of being tossed about like a ragdoll in a tornado between these mother-effing powerhouses – but found he couldn't move. Like the last time Cas had tried to remove the grace from his chest, Dean was stuck to her hand like glue. Aside from being attached to the angel like she was world's biggest damn magnet, it turned out he didn't need to worry. Cas's temper tantrum was aimed entirely in one direction; the four demons took the full brunt of it. Their screams were drowned out by Castiel's own, full of righteous fury and absolutely terrifying to the sole witness beside her.

The hunter had seen his friend well and truly pissed on several occasions, but none quite so visceral or…Warrior of God-like. He'd never seen pre-Apocalypse Cas lose his shit. And now, staring at the devastation as the light of her grace finally faded, he was really, really glad about that.

Pre-Apocalypse Dean would have crapped his pants.

Half the gym was…well, it wasn't gone, but Dean's tornado analogy hadn't been that far off. All that was missing was the part where that tornado had been made of friggin' fire, apparently. The entire south and west walls of the gym were…blackened. What was left of them, at least. They looked like they'd taken the full force of a small bomb. Bleachers were blown over and into walls, splintered into pieces. Where windows had been were now just ragged holes. And everything had the air of being torched by a pyro loaded up with a flame thrower and about six days' worth of fuel.

In the middle of it all there were four bodies, burnt to a crisp, practically crumbling to ash where they lay.

"Cas?" Dean finally drew in a shocked breath of air, the name leaving his mouth with a wheeze. The angel's hand slid from his chest, and with it what felt like all of the energy in his body. Dean practically slumped under the lack of anything resembling strength or adrenaline. He felt like he'd been up nine days straight, and eight of them spent running a marathon. The hunter glanced to his left – brain willing his body to pull itself together so he could yell at the friggin' angel (because what the hell was that?!) – just in time to see her crumple. "Cas!"

The hunter tried to catch her before she hit the floor, but he more so just keeled over sideways and sort of managed to get underneath her head before it hit the court. (Dean told himself, of course, that he caught her with all the grace of a herculean hero.) Cas's eyes were still glowing a faint blue, the light flickering like a dying bulb, but the rest of her was ashen. Ignoring his own aches and pains, the hunter managed to get his beleaguered body on the same page as his terror-fueled brain and hauled her off the floor enough to cradle the angel against him. It was awkward as hell with his bound hands, but he managed.

"Jesus, Cas…" Dean took stock of her body. The burn marks from the lightning trap didn't look good, but they didn't look fatal either. Didn't explain the pallor of her skin or the way she sunk into him, boneless. "What did they do to you?"

"D-Damaged…my grace…" The glowing blue of her eyes finally faded, leaving Cas distressingly dim. Her voice was rough, even deeper than usual and clearly strained. Dean could imagine why. He'd heard her screams. Screams that probably should have blown out his ear drums, but his intact hearing and eyesight was a puzzle for another time. Any other damn time.

"No shit," he muttered instead. "I'm sure re-enacting Hiroshima over there didn't help."

The reminder of her attack on the demons caused Castiel to struggle in his arms. The damn idiot was trying to sit up. Dean pushed her back down with his shoulder, given that's all he had available, and leveled an admonishing look her way. As damn scolding as he could get while staring down at her wrecked expression. Cas settled for just lifting her head, which, given the way her entire core shook with the effort, was probably about as much as the weakened angel ever would have managed anyway.

"Azazel?" Castiel couldn't see much from the floor, but she searched for a returning threat nonetheless. Dean would be in danger if she had not successfully taken care of all four demons, but, most importantly, the Prince. Facing Azazel would have been a challenge for an angel of Castiel's class on a good day, and with whatever that sigil had been, it was not turning out to be a good day.

Dean looked over at the charred remains of one of his worst nightmares (one of many) with an overwhelming sense of relief and vindictiveness. "Trust me, he's not getting back up from that." He turned back to the angel in his arms. "Did you kill him?"

Cas shook her head, finally reclining against his arms. "Exorcism."

Shit. That hadn't been like any exorcism Dean had ever seen. And he'd seen this angel exorcise a demon before. Sure, the glowing white light had always been a part of it, but this right here was the difference between chucking a Mentos into a bottle of coke and throwing a grenade at someone.

The hunter raised an eyebrow. "Overkill much?"

Not that he was complaining, really.

Cas shook her head again. "Not…for a P-Prince of Hell…it wasn't."

Dean's head whipped around to stare at what was left of Azazel once more. A Prince of Hell? Jesus, that didn't sound good. He'd always known Yellow Eyes was powerful – definitely something to be feared – but with a title like that… The hunter shook his head. One problem at a time and, right now, Azazel was not their main problem.

For fucking once.

"You gonna be okay?" He gathered Cas under his arms the best he could, intent on getting her to her feet.

She was shaking, but managed a decently strong grip around his arm and looked up at him with wide, pure blue eyes. "Sam?"

Dean shook his head, hauling her up into a sitting position as he got his own knees back under him. His left nearly gave out, but he gritted his teeth and soldiered on. "We gotta find him. Can you stand?"

Cas's answer of, "I can try," wasn't exactly the ringing bell of encouragement he'd hoped for, but it was all they had. Working together, they did get her to her feet, mostly. The cuffs did absolutely no one any good and caused Dean to almost drop her once before the angel reached out and snapped the chain in two with just one hand. It was a terrifying reminder of how strong even a seriously injured Castiel was. It also left twin bracelets with little dangling chains securely wrapped around Dean's wrists, but he couldn't care less. Now with two free arms, Dean got one of Cas's wrapped around his waist (this version of her was too short to go over his shoulder as easily) and the other underneath her arms, supporting more than half her weight. Ignoring his own tired, lagging body, Dean had just started dragging her towards the gym doors (what was left of them) when they burst open again.

The angel's little explosion had taken one door half off its hinges and the other was partially blocked by a destroyed set of bleachers. So when the one burst inward, it more so fell off its last hinge entirely, crashing to the floor so that whoever was trying to get in from the other side had to scramble over the damn thing. Unarmed and weighed down with the angel, Dean tried to push Cas behind him. Cas, who never had known how to back down, tried to do the same thing to the hunter. The two canceling moves against already weakened forms just ended up with Cas almost falling to the ground in a heap and Dean scrambling to keep them both on their feet.

So they were completely unprepared to defend themselves at all against the non-threat that was Sam Winchester, all but tripping over the door he'd taken clean off the wall in his haste to get into the damaged gymnasium.

"Dean!" Sam cried, blinking in surprise and then overwhelming joy.

The first immediate thing Dean felt was relief. So much so that he nearly dropped Cas, catching her with an arm across her chest, but gravity was already against them. The two slid to the ground in a less-than elegant tangle of bodies. Sam, eyes still wide at the two of them slumped on the floor in the center of absolute carnage, let out a staggering breath of relief (and shock, plenty of shock) before he took off towards them. The younger hunter hit his knees as Dean managed to lower Cas the rest of the way to the ground.

It was a good thing Sam had found them, because there was no way he'd have been able to carry her around to look for the younger Winchester in his state. Or her state. Either of their states. Walking definitely wasn't in the cards for the angel at the moment, either.

"Dean! Cas!" Sam laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, another on Cas's, the reassurance of finding them alive clear on his face. Unsurprising, Dean thought, given that it looked like they'd survived ground zero of a friggin' air strike.

That relief Dean was feeling in equal measure turned to a sickening dead weight in his stomach when he realized his brother was covered in blood. And not the oh-I-got-an-injury sort of blood, which would have been worrying enough on its own. Oh, no, this was a distinct, triangular shaped soakage down the front of his shirt, originating at his neck, which was also drenched in red without any wound to supply it.

Sort of like he'd spilled something as he'd been drinking it.

Dean had seen his brother like that once before. Cas in danger, just like now, demons laying a trap for him and the brothers. And Sam, standing up from a kill, blood running down his mouth and throat.

His brother who, in that moment, Dean hadn't recognized.

"Sam?"

The younger Winchester looked up, worried at his big brother's shaken, wispy tone, but faltered when he realized Dean's gaze was locked on his chest. Sam dropped his eyes to the red-soaked t-shirt and tried to ignore the way his hand trembled on his brother's shoulder.

"It's not what it looks like." Sam's voice was quiet. Below them, Cas seemed to pick up on the tone, out of it and shaking as she was, and followed between their two gazes. Sam felt her stiffen beneath his grip when she followed where Dean's lay. He didn't know what the angel was thinking and didn't want to. "I didn't drink it."

Dean raised his eyes, staring right into his soul, and Sam saw doubt there.

"I didn't."

What he didn't say – couldn't say – was how close he'd come to doing just that. The jar had been in his hand, the rim against his lips (he was ready to do it, he just had to make his hand stop shaking, had to stop wasting precious time, steel his nerves, and drink) when every piece of glass in the classroom shattered, jar included. Shards rained down around him and cold, viscous liquid splattered his throat and chest, pooling in his lap like ooze. That brilliant light filling the entire room died out in an instant, and Sam had feared the worst.

But he was free. Azazel's power was gone. Sam was left clutching the remains of the broken jar, completely stunned, but free.

He'd sat in a state of shock, unsure what the hell had just happened, what he'd almost done, before realizing he was covered in demon blood. Very accessible demon blood. It was on his face. On his lips. Sam ripped off his long-sleeved shirt, using it to claw at his skin, to scrub the blood off of him as much as possible.

Then he'd ran. Out of the classroom, into an empty hall and an empty field, towards a terrifyingly dark and silent gymnasium, still fearing the worst.

"Okay," Dean said, but in that quiet sort of way that Sam knew was still full of doubt. His brother didn't truly believe him, but it was a problem for later. The hunter gathered Cas in his arms again and Sam helped haul her to her feet. "We gotta get out of here. Where's Andy?"

The younger Winchester met his eyes and the desperate guilt there was answer enough. Sam shook his head, looking away from the equal devastation running across Dean's face. "Azazel took him. I don't know where. Cas, he doesn't have his hex bag; can you sense him?"

Sam could only pray Andy was still alive to be sensed.

The question looked like it pained the angel, who was clearly running on fumes. Still, she closed her eyes, brow furrowing. After a moment, Cas shook her head. "He- He is not nearby. I do not have the reserves to search f-further."

"It's okay, Cas." Dean adjusted his grip on the angel, his intention to get moving clear in the tense lines of his body. "We'll find him."

"And Azazel?" Sam's eyes darted around in a frantic manner, looking for the yellow-eyed demon he'd chased afte. But there were only bodies.

Dean's eyes fell to one corpse in particular. "He's gone, Sam. At least for now."

The younger Winchester stared at the remains, heart skipping a hopeful, painful beat. Dean's words certainly weren't optimistic enough for Sam to think the demon was dead. But, at least for now, he wasn't a concern anymore.

Which made Sam wonder, instead, what it was they were running from then. Of course, he had a whole list to pick from. More demons, soon to arrive as backup to their boss? A whole town full of demonic-virus induced zombies? And all three of them injured, the strongest of whom was also the worst off.

"H-Heaven," Cas's hoarse voice rasped out from between them as they moved across the destroyed gymnasium. Dean's face, already grim like he knew what was coming, turned truly dark. Sam glanced apprehensively between his brother and the woman strung between them. "Angels will co-come to inv-vestigate. I have to leave."

"Take a damn minute, Cas. You can't even stand on your own." Dean didn't look at the angel, but given that she was barely supporting any of her own weight between the two Winchesters, it wasn't like he needed to.

"Dean, I h-have to get back."

"Cas," Sam spoke softer than his brother as he climbed over the downed door of the gym and partial bleachers. Dean handed the angel off to him before scrambling over the debris himself. "You're hurt pretty bad. I don't think you'll be able to hide that."

The angel nearly collapsed between them again as they carried her outside, trying to get her feet back under her and utterly failing. "My brother will help me conceal my i-injuries. I have to go b-before they find me missing."

Sam's sigh was almost silent. "I think that ship may have already sailed, Cas."

"More like sunk," Dean grumbled unhelpfully. The younger Winchester spared him a look that he was too busy helping Cas to see.

They barely cleared the gym into the field when Cas would go no further. She dropped to the ground, mysteriously more weight now than the hundred and thirty pound woman she possessed should be. Sam let out an 'oof' and Dean swore viciously as the two were partially pulled to the ground with her. Castiel raised two fingers to Sam's forehead, the hunter stiffening under the trembling touch. With her other hand, she splayed her fingers out, palm hovering centimeters off Dean's chest. The hunter realized what Cas was about to do, what it was going to take to get them all safely out of there.

"I am sorry, but I must." Blue eyes locked on green. Still, that hand didn't close the gap between them and Dean hesitated to give the consent the angel was waiting for.

The hunter cursed himself, but the words wouldn't form. His chest hurt, his whole body ached, dragging further and further behind with every step he took. He was so tired. Dean didn't know how much more he could give. But it was more than that. Because it wasn't just pain or exhaustion. It was a growing hollowness, an emptiness behind his ribcage that felt all too familiar. What would it become if Cas took back more of that grace? That's what she had done, right? Was asking to do again? For Dean's chest to feel so cold, for that little black hole, infinitesimal as it was right now, to be back?

It didn't matter. It didn't matter that he was terrified of what would happen if Cas took more, that that hole might get bigger. It didn't matter if it was uncomfortable, if it hurt, if it made him think of those forty years in hell and the worst scars his soul had ever borne. Of the hollow, empty pit that followed him around long after he'd escaped the Pit it had formed in. It didn't matter if he'd grown to need that warmth, that wholeness. That angel in his chest.

This was life or death. His life, Sammy's life. Cas, and Andy, wherever he was. And that's all that actually mattered.

"It's fine, Cas," he tried to say, but his voice cracked, coming out as only a whisper. Dean cleared his throat. "Just do it."

Cas's hand pressed to his sternum and then the three of them were riding Angel Air away from Rivergrove, and Dean's chest ached in a way that made him want to cry.

-o-o-o-

Bobby came racing down his stairs two at a time in response to a mighty thud on the first level of his house. He had a loaded shotgun in hand, ready to use it, only to find his fears abated and (reluctant) hopes affirmed at the sight of his boys and their angel sprawled on his living room floor. They all looked like hell, not that Bobby was much surprised. He'd woken in the middle of night to a flash of white light, a heavy crash down the hall, a missing angelic vessel, and a medical room looking like a tornado had come through. After something like that in the dead of night, the old hunter had more than expected follow-up company, though he had hoped they'd be in better shape.

"I have to go," Cas mumbled, barely able to form the words. Her skin was grey – the scary kind of grey that humans were never supposed to be – and she was on all fours between the two Winchesters.

"Just wait a damn minute-" Dean was saying as he, too, tried to scramble to his feet but barely made it to his knees. There were horrible spots in his vision, and if he'd thought he was tired before, he must be damn near close to blacking out now. His chest ached fiercely with the kind of hollow emptiness that left him shaking, stuck in memories of another time, another place. Dean single-mindedly rubbed circles into his sternum, trying anything to reignite some of the warmth that he'd so blissfully had for the last year.

"Dean." The deep, commanding voice, regretful as it was, brought the older Winchester's attention back into sharp focus. Dean blinked through his blotchy vision to meet Cas's stare, a desperate kind of look in her gorgeous blue eyes. "Uriel will heal me; I will be fine. But I must go now."

The floor that the hunter had just managed to get under his feet promptly dropped back out from under him, stealing the air from his lungs right along with it. He could practically see Cas spreading her wings. Panic flared within him, digging vicious claws into that gaping hole behind his sternum.

"Uriel?" The name came out stunned. Quiet. Numb. Not the ferocious fury it should have been. Not the warning it needed to be.

"The brother I confided in," Castiel confirmed, breathless. She looked like she was seconds from passing out too. "I have to go."

"No, Cas, wait, you can't-" Dean still couldn't breathe right. All he could see was that muscled up meatsuit threatening to destroy an entire town. That dickwad that had forced him to torture Alistair. The bastard who'd set that demon free and stood by while he beat the living shit out of the older Winchester. The traitor who'd sided with Lucifer. The first brother Castiel had ever had to kill.

"I may not hear your prayers while I heal," Cas talked over him, looking to Sam if only because the younger Winchester was actually hearing him. "But I will return as soon as I am able."

"Damnit, Cas, listen to me!" Dean made to grab the angel, but all he got was a handful of a suddenly unconscious and limp woman. With a brief glow of light beneath her skin, Angela Garrett fell into his arms: ashen, human, and not breathing.

"Cas!"

Dean's furious scream and the accompanying punch right into the floor – hard enough to bust open knuckles – caused Sam to jump, staring at his brother with wide-eyed confusion. Dean turned his head up to the ceiling, the unconscious vessel still lying half atop him. "Damnit, get your ass back here, you hear me? You can't trust Uriel! You idiot, he's gonna kill you!"

The younger Winchester didn't have a clue what was going on – worry, dread, and panic all fighting for control of his gut at the shit-storm this night had so rapidly turned into – but as he stared at the woman in Dean's arms, chest deadly still and face quickly gaining a blue hue to that ashen grey, he realized they had a more urgent problem.

"We've got to get her upstairs!" Sam dug his arms under Angela's torso, pulling her from Dean's lap while getting his feet under him. But Bobby's grip, hard on his bicep, stopped him. Sam stared at the older hunter, whose eyes were equally wide with yet another terrifying realization.

"They're not setup," he said, sort of stunned with a little headshake. His eyes darted down to the unconscious vessel. "Your girl must have landed hard and taken off harder. Knocked half the room over."

Sam, instantly comprehending that they weren't going to simply hook the dying woman up to the machines she desperately needed, inhaled two sharp breaths. Then, with the kind of calm Sam Winchester excelled at, immediately lowered Angela back to the floor, laying her out as flat as possible. The hunter started compressions on her chest as Bobby bolted for the stairs. They'd have to keep her heart beating and blood oxygenated long enough to get her up the stairs once the room was ready. Long enough to stave off the reaper surely coming for her soul.

How they were going to get her upstairs while maintaining CPR, Sam didn't know. They might have no choice but to stop and make the climb with Angela's heart and lungs utterly still. His mind, composed on the outside and panicking internally, battled between how long they'd have without her breathing before a Reaper came calling, and whether or not Cas would be able to heal brain damage when she returned.

If Angela's soul would even be there to grant permission.

Sam jerked his head back up to his older brother. Dean was still screaming at the ceiling for an angel who clearly couldn't hear him. They didn't have time for this, whatever this was (no matter how bad it sounded, and, given the freaked out fury in his brother's voice, it was bad).

"Dean!" Sam cast the older Winchester a harsh look, mostly formed by desperation and fear, as he kept up the unforgiving compressions on Angela's chest. "I need your help or she is going to die!"

Green eyes snapped to his and Sam was momentarily taken back by the distress in them. Not for Angela, though of course Dean wouldn't want the woman to die. No, the level of terror in his eyes seemed the type specifically reserved for Winchesters, Singers, and one particular angel.

But they didn't have time to deal with it. Like Andy, who was God-knows-where, maybe already dead from injuries or infection. Like the town of Rivergrove, all of its people murdered or missing or worse. They could only do one thing at a time, and right now, Angela's life was literally in their hands.

"Rescue breaths," Sam ordered, keeping his tone level but firm. "Two of them. Now, Dean."

Dean's hands were clenched in fists and he turned his head upwards again, glowering at the ceiling. For a moment, Sam thought he might keep on ignoring him and the dying woman. Then Dean shut his eyes tightly, forced his hands to loosen, and bent over Angela to pinch her nose and tilt her head back. Sam had no doubt that he was praying furiously to Castiel as he delivered the rescue breaths, then backed off for Sam to resume compressions. Hell, Sam was sending up several of his own, though he had no idea the kind of danger Cas was in, only that she was in a lot of it.

They could both only hope the angel heard them and that she would still have a vessel to come back to when she did.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/Ns: Deeeep breath in, let it out, and as you do, just whisper it under your breath: No good, dirty rotten author.