Cas was supposed to return to the motel an hour ago.

Dean had sent him off on a small errand regarding a vampire nest that possibly had some info on the next Ring and decided to send the angel for pure luck. Hoping that while Sam and himself (mostly Sam) recovered from Famine, he could do the dirty work this time. Since Castiel was an angel, he could recover from Jimmy's red meat munchies way faster than Sam could on his demon blood cravings. And the brothers needed an afternoon break while they waited.

Sam was leaning against the head of his twin-sized bed, and Dean continuously paced. Anxiously pressing the faintly illuminated numbers on his phone, and smooshing the cold metal to his ear. But all he got was the aggravating sound of the tone dial flatlining seconds later. Cas' "I don't understand, why do you want my name?" echoed on the other end.

Dean growled, "Dammit Cas!" He said under gritted teeth. The silver flip phone clicked shut, and the hunter furiously threw it on the empty bed beside him.

Holding a cold, blue ice pack to his head, his brother perked up from his laptop. "Still nothing?"

Dean plopped on the empty twin, its edge bowing, and metal springs underneath squealing. "No! He's not picking up his damn phone." Dean replied, furiously. Impatiently drumming his fingers on his knees. Sam shivered as a wave of cold pulsed down his spine, and removed the ice pack. Looking at Dean was a solemn, knowing expression. "It's not like him." He murmured, rising back into a repetitive pace. "Cas wouldn't all of a sudden go AWOL without us knowing about it." he flicked a finger between him and his brother.

"Think he's in trouble?" Sam raised an eyebrow, gently closing his laptop resting beside him, and crossing his legs.

"Knowing Cas? Probably." Dean huffed, stopping in the middle of the cramped room. The old, wooden floorboards groaned under every step he took. Worry laced his tone, "Dammit," he repeated, running an anxious hand through his greasy, matted hair.

Sam hadn't seen his brother so worked up like that since Castiel got kicked out of his vessel. "Dean," he attempted to reassure him, sympathy lacing his tone. He wanted to get up, but his whole body ached in protest from the strain of being chained to the bathroom sink, urging for the taste of demon blood. He pushed the thought back with a slight cringe on his features. "Who knows, maybe he's just taking a little longer. I mean, you saw him the last time he tried just teleporting us around."

"Yeah, that's what worries me," Dean snapped back and scratched his stubble, his hand soon dropping to his side. "If he was that bad less than a week ago, then he's surely worse now." It slowly dawned on the brothers that maybe, maybe sending a weakened, nearly human angel into a vampire nest might've been a bad idea. Yes, he was still an angel, still had access to a dozen angel blades and limited teleportation; but he couldn't smite since he got cut off. So if he did get ambushed, he'd have to kill each vampire—manually.

"Great," Dean threw up a sarcastic hand, "So he's probably getting thrown around like a vamp plaything while we sit here."

All Sam could offer was a nonchalant shrug, "I mean…" his head rocked from left to right, and he weighed the possibilities of that happening. And it wasn't very far off from reality, Dean's gruesome assumption. He peeked up to try and focus on his face, but he was still circling. If he went any longer, he was going to burn a racetrack onto the flooring. "Okay, Dean. Can you stop pacing for a second? You're making me dizzy." He asked politely, turning his attention back to his laptop. He opened it, the blue vibrancy of the screen forcing him to squint momentarily. His eyes slowly adjusted, fingers tapping away, searching for where that nest they pinpointed was. If all failed, they could try and rescue Cas before it was too late—hopefully not.

Seeing as the brothers weren't in the greatest of shape, Dean couldn't hide the subtle fact he had a splitting migraine either.

A minute later, Sam found the familiar photo of the ramshackle storage center they tracked down. Which ironically, used to be an old medical storage containment area, where medicine and pharmaceuticals were stored. The perfect place for a large nest of vampires to squat and gain numbers like horny rabbits.

"Here," He pointed, turning the laptop to Dean's view, perched on his lap. "Twenty miles,"

Dean bent down, hands on his hips, "Damn," he cursed, throwing his head to the side. His eyes locked onto his duffle bag filled with guns and resources. Where his keys were stashed. He bit his bottom lip, "If he doesn't come back in the next five mi—" Dean's conclusion was cut short by the sound of flapping wings, and a soft breeze brushing past his shirt. His hair stood on end, and goosebumps ran down his back and arms.

The brothers threw their attention up, and drunkenly stumbling, clutching, and leaning on the nearest wall, was a bloodied, disheveled Castiel.

Castiel heaved for breath, crimson coating his tan trench coat in thick splotches. Dean and Sam quickly went into action, Dean wrapped his arm around the back of Cas' neck and lugged him to the closest bed. His legs wobbled, struggling to find the correct footing while his head ran nauseating laps.

"Cas! What happened?" Dean called out.

"I found the nest," He slurred back in reply. God, it was so hard to think… When he hit the bed, he collapsed, his body half-in half-out. Dean groaned, raising the angel's feet onto the foot of the bed frame.

"And?" The hunter searched for a better answer than 'I found the nest'. He was clearly in pain, and Dean wanted to know why as soon as possible. His tone was as sharp as the blades he stashed inside the motel and Impala.

"I found the nest," Castiel repeated, his voice raspy and strained.

That's when Dean noticed the dried trail of blood from his mouth.

It was in the same smear he'd seen Sam have whenever he drank demon blood. Like a red milk mustache circling down his lips, and staining down his chin. Sam must've noticed as well, as he too stopped, aligning his gaze with his brothers, and nearly dropping the rolls of gauze and bandages from his grip. His brother's eyes widened as he whispered, "Shit,"

"Son of a bitch…" Dean hissed, watching Cas' glazed eyes look at both of them with confusion. His arms and legs splayed crookedly on the bed. Blood pooled and soiled the sheets under them. Dean shook his head, snapping himself out of his shocked daze, and snatched the bandages from his brother's grasp. "Sam, call Bobby." He ordered and started to remove Castiel's dirtied trench coat. Rolling the angel's heavy body over in an attempt to find the wound. He peered back at Sam, noticing his distant eyes as he stared at Castiel like a deer in headlights. "Now!"

Sam jumped to attention, and nodded vigorously, scrambling onto his bed in search of his phone. Kneeing the pillows, he reached for the end table in the corner beside him and raised the phone to his ear. "Bobby?"

The youngest brother rushed out of the room, probably to focus on Bobby's words without Castiel's groaning and writhing disturbing him. And his attention went back to Cas. "Hey, hey," Dean pressed a firm paw on his shoulder, "It's okay." He reassured and proceeded to lift Castiel's black lapel, gingerly peeking underneath to assess the damage taken. The angel had an impressive claw slash just below the ribs. The skin torn from the cut, and exposed flesh expanded and contracted with every heave he took. Dean winced, shutting his eyes to prevent himself from puking. The surrounding skin was already bruising, taking on a discolored, purple, and green color (of absolute NIGHTMARES).

He raised the bottle of hydrogen peroxide his brother had scoured the bathroom for, and drizzled it in a small stream above his wound. Castiel let out a pained cry, bucking in the sheets as he tried his best to not kick Dean in the face. Dean instinctually jabbed his shoulder along the line of his chest to keep him down while he continued to disinfect the wound.

Dean scoffed, pressing a soft, white rag to his wound. "Yeah, well, welcome to our world." He sighed, dabbing it gently, watching the chemical foam up in between the inch-thick gaps. Dean had been torn to shreds by hellhounds, and tortured in Hell with wounds just as bad, but seeing Castiel's face of excruciating pain tugged at his heartstrings. The thought of true pain was so…alien to angels, at least prolonged wounds that wouldn't heal up in seconds after it was inflicted. He could see his muscles contracting, shaking, and trembling. A mix of his injuries, Dean's bad decisions, and a majority of the vampire blood that was now pumping into his system was one hell of a shitty cocktail.

Castiel's voice was a quiet rumble, "There are dozens…probably hundre—," he choked out, his breath cut short by another stabbing pain to his side.

Dean pressed harder on the wound, "Figured that much," his jaw tightened, "You alright? Nothing…weird? No obnoxious sensitivity to light, sounds a little too loud?" The hunter began to probe, releasing the towel now carrying that familiar red, and threw it down into the laundry basket across the room. Of course, he missed by a mile, and his arm recoiled inwards. He braced his hands on his knees, and rose slowly, taking in Castiel's injured form.

The angel took a moment to respond, a certain fogginess clouding his once bright eyes. Now a dull, lifeless blue, like it wasn't the only thing the vampire sucked out of his body. Castiel slowly shook his head, "No, not…not that I know of."

Dean rolled his neck in confirmation, reaching for another clean towel. "Sammy! I—" he began.

As if on cue, his brother nudged the door open with his shoulder, saying his final goodbyes on the phone. His back turned to Dean, and he clarified, "Yeah, yes, call me when you get close, okay? Bye, Bobby."

When the phone dropped, curiosity piqued his interest, "So, what'd he say?" Dean watched Sam closely, padding his arms dry, and leaving the sink. His hands were still wet, dripping small droplets of mixed blood, cleaning chemicals, and water on the floor.

"He'll be here in an hour," Sam informed him, glimpsing at the solid band of white bandages and gauze, with the addition of a dozen butterfly stitches around the top of his forehead. His eyes were closed for the most part, fluttering open for brief sets of time before closing shut again. His skin was already paling, the bags under his eyes darkening… "Any signs yet?"

"If he was telling the truth," Dean sat himself on a chair across from the bed, "Then no."

Sam's face contorted to one of deep thought as he pondered away. With any human, the effects would've already been taking their toll. But Castiel wasn't exactly human. Sam mumbled, "Maybe it's not going as fast because of his grace?"

"Or what's left of it." Dean scowled, "I dunno, but what I do know is that right now he's fighting a losing battle."

Sam hummed in agreement, bobbing his head. "How long do you it'll take?" he raised a curious eyebrow.

The hunter shrugged, "Hopefully long enough for Bobby to drive his ass down here."

"You sure got your asses handed to you on this one, ya idjits." Bobby drawled, padding into the room with a large bag in hand. It thumped loudly onto the rickety bed, tossing the organized pages on Sam's side askew. "How is he?"

"Asleep, for now." Dean walked over, finally lifting himself from his perch on the old chair, a beer now resting in his hands. Pulling it to his lips, he took a cool, freezing swig; the sweat collected on the glass rolled down and sprinkled his cheeks and flushed face. It was hot in the damn room, no air conditioning, no fan, just a radiator-Cas making outside's blistering eighty-nine degrees seem like the coldest day of the year.

"Nothin' yet?" Bobby retorted with a calculated side eye between Castiel and Dean.

He pulled the beer from his lips, "Nothin'. Anything on your end?"

"I've gone through every book and scripture I could find. Biblical, pre-biblical, the works. Hell, even your Dad's journal." Bobby explained gruffly.

"And?"

Bobby shook his head, his lips curling into a sour expression, "Nada. Not a single thing on a vamp cure."

"So what, then? We're just gonna let him slowly turn until his grace empties and he can't— no. Bobby, you have to have found something. Anything that could hint at a cure." Dean's voice broke into a plea, his face showing no anger, no rage, just fear and worry for his friend. They always did share a profound bond, those two. His heart broke witnessing him in such a raw state, one they rarely got to see unless he truly…deeply cared for the angel. More than a friend, more than a brother.

Bobby looked down at the bed, noticing the clean, fresh sheets Castiel was now carefully tucked into. His legs and arms shaking, curled up like a baby in a nor'easter. "I'm sorry kid, I really looked. I honestly don't have a single idea on how to save Cas."

Sam looked away, drowning out Dean's desperate bickering with Bobby. Until an idea, a risky idea sparked into his mind. "What if we tried locking him up? When I was on—"

"It's not the same, Sam." Bobby pointed out. "Demon blood in your case can be removed, vamp blood…can't. Exactly. Not naturally, at least."

Dean spoke up, "But we can't just leave him like this! I won't let that happen!" He argued back, his arm flaring out in some grand gesture. He was a hunter and a brother. All he saw when he looked at Cas when he was in this state, was his brother's. His brother's face of anguish when they threw him into Bobby's panic room to detoxify. He couldn't bear to hear his yells, knowing deep down that wasn't his brother, but something way, way worse. Dean would break down into sobs if he heard that from Castiel.

Sam slinked his way over silently, and raised a hand, squeezing his brother's shoulder in another attempt at comforting him. "Dean," He said softly, and Dean's reddened eyes dragged back up to meet Sam's piercing gaze. "We'll figure something out, we always do." Dean's squared-off demeanor slowly eased with those words of encouragement.

He knew they would find a way out of this, a way to save Castiel before it was too late— they always did. But his hope wavered, staring at Castiel's body. His trench coat was neatly folded beside the foot of the bed, stained and in need of a cleaning. Leaving his lapel and white undershirt crooked, the bandages that were white now a soft pink color. Dean didn't know if he was healing or not, but the consolation from his brother and Bobby allowed his tension to ease now that he knew Castiel wasn't just bleeding out for the world to see.

Dean eased out of his brother's grip, walking over to the side of the bed where Castiel's face was in an almost permanent face of discomfort. He looked at the angel hard, taking in every aspect from his sweaty black hair down to his stubble. And delicately moved the straggling hair away from his face. A shadow of a smile creased his features and tugged the right side of his lips to curl. "Castiel?" He murmured close, only for him and the semi-unconscious angel to hear. He'd forgotten about Bobby and Sam standing there, watching their little exchange with neutral expressions. He didn't care, because right now… it was just him and Cas, and the stingy motel room's bed.

Castiel's heavy eyelids fluttered open, and a weak smile hit his lips, "Hey…" He rasped, shifting in his bed with a wince. The bandages were like sandpaper to his skin. Confining and restraining his every chance at a pronounced movement.

The desperate smile Dean wore, softened. "There you are," He smiled teasingly, "I thought we'd lost you there for a second."

Cas breathed a heavy breath through his nose, his eyes closing once more for a long silence before opening again. Squinting at the figure before him. "Yeah," He rasped, feeling the gentle caress of Dean's hand aimlessly sifting through his oily hair.

"You look like hell," He added, his hand dropping to his forehead. The angel was burning up— probably his grace fighting on a last limb against the blood. "Anything…off yet?" he clocked in the fact Castiel was squinting heavily at Dean. Like he was staring directly at the sun with the lamp illuminating the room beside them. Sundown was already creeping in faster than they'd expected. They'd been so caught up and worried about the angel's safety that time was a problem for the future. And so was sleep, unsurprisingly.

The angel nodded hesitantly, closing his eyes with the intent of going back to sleep. "I can feel it," he said, "It's eating away what…of what I have left." He sighed, digging his face into the white pillows. "It's…" uncertainty laced his muffled tone, "It's like fire. I can feel it spreading."

Dean's face only melted harder at the angel's lack of better words, "I know." He grasped his hand tightly, "And we're gonna figure it out, okay?" when Castiel didn't respond, he repeated, "Okay?"

Castiel's eyelashes fluttered, "Okay," He breathed, and soon was lulled back to sleep by exhaustion.

Dean parted his eyes away from the angel and cleared his throat. In hopes of fixing himself from the situation, and recentering himself at the task at hand.

Bobby and Sam were now at the other end of the room, his bag on the table's chair off the side. And his brother had a piece of notebook paper in one hand, and a pen in the other, scratching down every detail Bobby pointed out or ordered for him to list down. Their backs were turned away from the brother until he cleared his throat, and they whirled back around knowing that the little lovebirds finished their private moment in peace.

"How's he doin' now?" Bobby peeked over, noticing Dean turn off the lamp beside the bed.

"He's sensitive to light now, so not good. And his grace is near empty now, says he can 'feel it eating away at what's left'."

Bobby made a disappointed clicking sound with his tongue, and whipped back around to the table. His large paws clasped the edges of the old, worn, leather-bound book inside of his grasp; and presented it to Dean. He, in response, leaned his body to read the worn print. It was two pages of heavily detailed curing spells and potions. Some were against demons who wouldn't leave their vessels to djinn poisoning. The pictures are filled with diagrams of herbs, materials, and powders. With the addition of graphic monster images.

"I looked through some of my books again, and found something that might be of use,' Bobby turned on a heel and sat the book back down gracefully. Enough dust kicked up for Sam to have to turn away and sneeze into his hand. Bobby shook his head, 'Elbow, Sam," he bristled, shooting him a glare.

"What?" Sam innocently parried.

Dean nodded in agreement with Bobby, his back arched and hands braced against the rickety wooden circle table. "He's right, you know. It's gross."

"Alright, alright," Bobby raised a hand, "Now, I found some information that could possibly help. It isn't a straight shot, but it's the only option we got."

"What is it?" Dean's eyebrows rose in skepticism. Eyeing the texts again, and again. The images weren't even close to angels or vampires… so what the hell was Bobby getting at if the topic wasn't even on the same page as their current problem?

Bobby, observing the brother's hesitance droned on, "It says here that 'if the substance used is minimal, but invasive, to parry the effects of the substance, you will need the victim's blood to overwhelm the infection'."

"So?" Dean's head flicked between his brother and Bobby.

"So," Sam started, placing down his own book with a quiet thump, "If we find enough of Castiel's 'blood', we can cure him from the vampire blood." He replied in a matter-of-fact tone. Though its bluntness was laced with a hint of superiority.

Dean squinted at his brother, "So you're saying we need to find some angel grace to up the numbers?"

"Exactly," Bobby hummed in affirmation, "If we get grace from another angle, it'll surely be enough to combat the blood. Like draining poison."

Dean followed along with the plan seamlessly, nodding with every word said out of his brother's and the hunter's mouths. But the plan quickly dawned on him in a cruel manner of a memory. Sam and himself tried to save Anna and return her grace to her body, and she exploded in a blast of white light and was beamed back up to Heaven. But, Cas wouldn't— would he?

They must've known he was thinking about that memory because both of them stared at him with slightly darkened expressions. He must've been making a pretty hangdog look for them to be reacting like that.

"We know it's a long shot, Dean," Sam piped up, "But it's the only shot we got."

After a long, grueling silence, Dean finally rejoined for the final say. "Then let's go find Anna."