Episode 14: Through the Fire (Part 3)

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____

Not long after Castiel met Dean for the first time, Castiel had said I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in. It had been bluster, a threat, because he'd known his superiors needed Dean as a key piece on their game board, even though Castiel hadn't known his exact purpose yet. Not long after that, Castiel had started to wonder, if Dean should cease to be useful and if his superiors asked Castiel to do it, if he would send Dean back to Hell. The realization that it was impossible, that he couldn't not because he lacked the methods to do it, but because he simply couldn't, had been startling, only the first of many shocks.

Pieces of Dean still pulled towards Hell, as did pieces of Sam, just as parts of himself did towards Purgatory, like metal shavings when a magnet was near. Lately it hadn't been Castiel as sentry, but Dean, trying to keep his brother in one piece, tearing Castiel's grace from Purgatory. Seeing Dean's blank stare, the tremors that shook through him, was like the heat and sound of the armies of Hell rushing up to surround them, take back what it had lost. I can throw you back in.

By now Castiel should be used to the feeling of things slipping from control, falling through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to keep his grip. Even when he'd been at full power things had spun on a trajectory he could never have predicted. The queasiness in his gut, the fear, the anger at his own limitations was newer but not unknown to him. He might never get used to that.

"So…" Sam turned his laptop around to show them. They were back in Sam's room, seated at the table beneath the wall covered in research. Through the open curtains the sky at the horizon burned an unfathomable red, clouds edged in light while the sky darkened. "We're all pretty sure what we're dealing with now, right? Fire vampires. According to lore, they absorb people's thoughts and memories, and their victims burn up on the spot. There's only one brief mention of them in Dad's journal. I called Bobby. He says only one hunter he knows of ever encountered them, otherwise they're just stories."

"As usual, no such thing as just stories." Dean rubbed his hands over his face and slumped in his chair. His hair was still damp, the short spikes of it bristling at the top of his head. Castiel had to refrain from the urge to reach out his hand and smooth it down. Despite the slump in his posture, and the diminishing of the frighteningly distant expression in his eyes and the tremble in his hands, it seemed a tension had returned to Dean's muscles. He'd gone slack under Castiel's touch, save for the shivering, in the bathroom, but it seemed that had been temporary.

He held himself stiffly, no doubt because of the pain of the burns. Sam had covered them with gauze before Dean put on a dark long-sleeved shirt, the process going quickly with little complaint from Dean, save an initial attempt to insist he didn't need the bandages.

Sam's glance went from the laptop screen to his brother. "Dean…you want to talk about what happened back there?"

"Not particularly." Dean tugged at his shirt, then winced. "We should talk about how to kill these memory suckers."

"But you were out for a couple of minutes. You've never done that before. Or did you ever do that while you were at Lisa's and haven't told us?" Sam's expression had gone to one Castiel now recognized. There would be no letting this go.

"No!" Dean sat up. "No," he added more quietly. "Nothing like this ever happened to me. I…I don't…" He closed his mouth tight, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

Castiel wanted nothing more than to pull the memories from his mind, erase them and give Dean ease, knowing Dean would be furious for him even suggesting it.

"When I got off the rack in Hell," Dean said, keeping his gaze down on his hands, "most of the time I used blades to cut up the souls. But one day Alastair told me to use fire. And I did. I watched people's flesh burn away because of what I did to them. The smell of that, it's worse than sulfur."

It was more than he knew what to do with sometimes, this heart that beat too fast in Castiel's chest. He hadn't given it this much thought his first year in a vessel's body. Then the body had become his alone, Jimmy Novak's soul gone to its peaceful home in Heaven, with a series of his best memories. It had grown harder, not easier, wearing this shell of flesh. Harder still was having no idea what to say.

"This case." Sam closed the laptop lid so slowly it didn't make its usual clicking sound. "All the charred bodies, and you getting burned today - that must've triggered you. I've read about this stuff. Sometimes people go years without a problem and then it can hit out of the blue."

"It's…it's more than that," Dean said, and Sam seemed startled that his brother had even said anything further about the matter.

The theory Sam had presented about Dean's memories of Hell made sense to Castiel. He too sometimes saw things, small things that were not directly connected, that caused him to remember Heaven's method of persuasion, when he'd first decided to rebel, and so they'd forcibly dragged him home to prevent it. Balthazar had spoken up for him. Even thinking of Balthazar still hurt. But as to what more might have caused Dean to collapse, Castiel had no theories. He knew Dean's entire history. He'd read the Winchester Gospels - he was missing something.

It was because neither Castiel nor Sam spoke or asked Dean to continue, Castiel suspected, that led Dean to continue, finally.

"I saw Mom on the ceiling, that night. When I was four. It was only a second or two. I don't think Dad ever realized I did, because he handed Sam to me out in the hall, but just for a second…and she was still alive, flames all around her. And when I tortured those people in Hell-"

Sam's hands curled into fists on the table as he swallowed hard. While Dean's face - it made Castiel want to unfurl his wings, find some empty space where he could shout his rage at his own uncaring Father who let it happen, whose absence caused a power vacuum filled by Heaven's long game with the Winchesters as pawns, knights, kings and queens all at once.

"We-" Sam blinked a few times, sniffed, then opened the laptop. "We should take a look at our notes again, see if there's anything we've missed. Maybe we can guess their next move, or we can do a recon, try and spot them."

It was as if Sam had flipped a switch in his brother, turned off the current that held Dean sitting so tensely in that chair, freckles too sharp as he leaned forward with his head down. Dean reached for a folder, line of his shoulders softening. Every molecule in Castiel's body wanted to touch him, to offer reassurance, yet the years he'd spent being surprised by and learning how to understand Dean's ways told him no, that wasn't what Castiel should do now. It was right earlier, but this was different.

"They'll be looking for another victim," Castiel said. He leaned his elbows on the table. Dean moved his arm so it brushed against his. "Now that Julie Ames has left town. Another target enticing to them. Perhaps east of here."

____

The next morning they held another strategy session over breakfast in the diner. Sam really liked their pancakes, drowning his in syrup and butter, which probably wasn't healthy, plus the bacon, exactly the kind of thing he was always needling Dean about. Not that they didn't almost always have bigger problems, but Sam liked to turn attention to the small details sometimes. He'd long since given up on the idea of having any semblance of normal for himself, but it made him feel more grounded, more real, to focus on that stuff. It was something to latch onto that made memories of Hell and Lucifer seem smaller.

Neither Dean nor Castiel seemed interested in commenting on Sam's choice of breakfast food - of course Dean wasn't one to talk, with eggs and sausage, while Castiel chose the same thing as Sam. The angel drank his coffee black, no sugar, no milk, which seemed fitting. Even Dean put at least a little bit of sugar and milk in his.

They finally decided that the next step was to find out if the vampires were even still in Coventry. It took some doing but Sam and Castiel persuaded Dean to stay in the motel room listening to the police scanner, because of his burns.

Dean was still holding himself like they hurt, although not as bad as yesterday. He'd slept in the other bed in Sam's room last night rather than joining Castiel like usual. That had been Castiel's idea; he'd said given his injuries Dean might be more comfortable in a bed by himself, and neither of them had seemed to make a big thing about it, but Sam still thought there was an odd distance between them now. He hadn't caught them touching each other once. While their choice of sleeping arrangements was A, none of Sam's business anyhow and B, the burns on Dean's shoulder and chest made Castiel's plan only pragmatic, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that the distance he saw had nothing to do with physical injuries. After what Dean had told them yesterday, and Sam had no idea what went on between them in the bathroom before that (and it wasn't any of his business anyhow), he did wonder if it was because Dean felt he'd shown too much vulnerable underbelly, and was retreating.

He wanted to ask Cas about it but didn't dare. They drove in the Impala in silence, Castiel riding shotgun, and Sam dropped him off at Rhode Island University where Richard Ames sometimes lectured, before Sam headed over to scope out the business complex where Rebecca Fischer worked.

It was a long shot, but if the vampires were dipping into the same well twice, going after Julie after they'd gotten Richard, they might go after some of his colleagues, or others at the security company.

After driving up and down several streets, Sam sat in the Impala for a while, keeping one eye on the buildings, and one eye on a book on post-traumatic stress disorder. Sam was starting to think the day would be a bust and they'd have to try something completely different. What, he hadn't worked out yet, but the vampires were still out there somewhere.

Sam's mind wandered to the disappearances, turning the details he knew over and over for that elusive connection he and Dean and Castiel all knew was there but couldn't find.

His cell went off. Cas.

"Hello, Sam," Castiel said. "I've located the vampires."

"Where are they?"

"Outside Meade Stadium."

"Okay, I'll be right-"

"A little while ago they were in the library, and before that, Pastore Hall. It hasn't been difficult to locate them. They've been everywhere I've gone."

This was one of those times where Sam couldn't be sure if this was Castiel's deadpan brand of humor or if the angel was stating the obvious while missing its meaning, which sometimes still happened. He didn't have much trouble understanding slang any more, although some social situations and rituals seemed to stump him, but then that was true for him and Dean when it got down to it. None of them were strangers to awkward.

The back of Sam's neck prickled. "Cas, I'm driving over there to pick you up. Keep moving around and don't let them get too close, okay? I'll call to find out where you are when I get near."

"This is an opportunity," Castiel said evenly.

"No, we're not prepared." It was probably totally illegal and Sam didn't care; he started driving, holding the phone to his ear.

"They seem to have chosen me," Castiel said with infuriating calmness. "I make excellent bait."

"We need more time to plan if we use that, okay?" Sam tried not to raise his voice. He was pretty sure that by this point Dean would be yelling at Castiel to stop being a stubborn asshole. The amazing thing was Castiel actually did sometimes listen to Dean when he got like that - sometimes. Well, rarely. But it happened. Sam figured he had no chance of getting anywhere at all if he tried that approach. "Just…please, Castiel. Don't stick your neck out on this just yet."

"Very well." Castiel sounded a little impatient, as if he couldn't quite get why Sam would ditch a perfectly good plan.

"Okay…go somewhere with a lot of people. I'll call you back." Sam hung up.

He debated calling Dean. But if he called Dean, what could he do except sit and worry?

Sam decided he'd wait until he and Cas were almost back to the motel before he called Dean to explain what was going on.

When he reached Kingston Road, Sam called Castiel and relief washed through him as he answered right away.

"I'm at the student union," Castiel said. "College seems like a pleasant place to be - someone just invited me to a party where they're going to be doing…jello shots."

"Just. Stay put, okay? And don't do any jello shots. Have you seen the vampires again?"

"No. I doubled back. I believe I've evaded them for the moment."

"Go outside, I'm almost there."

Turning into the university entrance, Sam felt a twist of nostalgia, the dull echo of ache for what he'd lost. That increased when he pulled the Impala up outside the student union, people with their backpacks, colorful flyers tacked to a bulletin board. A guy and a girl stopped to stare at the car, eyebrows going up in admiration.

Castiel stood next to the bike racks, looking surprisingly ordinary, hands in the pockets of his jacket. He might've been a TA, never mind that beneath the jacket Sam knew Cas was carrying a handgun, as well as a small fire extinguisher, an angel blade, and a flask of holy water. For all his oddness and ability to be frightening, Castiel was really good at making himself look unassuming when he wanted to be.

When they were about eight minutes from the motel, Sam called his brother.

"Hi, Dean. Cas and I will be there in a few. We uh…we have a plan but you probably won't like it."

____

"Of course they've chosen Cas as their next target. Of course they have, because our lives are always so freakin' awesome." Dean paced from the corner of the motel room, to the window, then turned to pace the other way. The maps, photocopies, and bits of paper or post-it notes stuck to the cheap wallpaper seemed like meaningless noise, that thing they did because it's what they did but sometimes it didn't get them anywhere.

Sitting in the chair opposite Sam, Castiel made a move as if he wanted to stand up and approach Dean. Instead he pressed his fingers against the tabletop. "We can use this to our advantage."

"He's right," Sam said. "It's not as if we have another plan right now. Castiel spotted them because they were after him - us randomly patrolling Coventry isn't going to work."

"Fine." Dean dropped into an empty chair, pushing away the unease. There was no space for it. "Let's get these sons of bitches."

Even without using his powers, Castiel was turning into a competent hunter. It had always freaked Dean out when Cas got temporarily depowered, but he'd done a lot of thinking since then, and what was really frightening was Castiel being as willing to put himself in danger and attack the enemy as he was when he had cosmic powers at his disposal. To Cas, it almost didn't seem to matter - he did what had to be done either way. Dean felt a flash of irritation at how calmly Castiel sat in his chair, offering himself up as bait.

"We pick a place, and Castiel will draw them out while you and I hide and wait for the right moment to attack them."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. Okay, time to focus on the work at hand. "We need a way to kill them. Back at the Ames house - the fire extinguisher foam disabled them so they couldn't fry anyone but it didn't hurt them."

"And Bobby said his friend discovered bullets don't kill them. Slows them down but they heal fast." Sam paged through his notebook, shaking his head.

"In the nineteenth century, people used salt water. They had these really awesome glass grenades to throw on fires." Dean tapped his fingers on the table. He'd seen some once at a flea market, years back. Too expensive for him to spare the cash, but cool to look at. "We'll fill our flasks with salt water. We get a tank, fill it with salt water, spray the bastards with it. Plus bullets to slow them down…"

"And we just hope that the salt water actually hurts them?" Sam had a dubious note in his voice, one Dean recognized. He wasn't trying to shoot down Dean's idea, but checking for flaws in it, making sure they hadn't missed something.

"Salt hurts most supernatural things, doesn't it?" Castiel said. "Or fends them off. I think it's a good plan. Also, I'll have a gun and a fire extinguisher, so if things go wrong-"

"Nothing's going to go wrong," Dean snapped.

They spent the rest of the day getting the supplies they needed. Dean strapped on the tank they'd managed to acquire, trying it out. Yeah, that was the stuff. It would weigh a ton once the water was in it but Dean could handle it. He suggested they get some kind of fire-retardant gear, but that turned out to be hard to filch on such short notice.

He didn't touch Castiel once. There were none of the accidental brushes that Dean had grown to expect, the ones both of them knew weren't really accidental. Underneath all the planning, the concrete logistics of how to fill the tank with salt water, what kind of bullets might work best, what location they should use to set the trap, the little stir of unease kept up a low hum in Dean's chest along with something else, a restlessness, a want. But every time he thought he might reach out and touch Cas, he hesitated. He wasn't even sure why.

Dean went to sleep that night in the second bed in Sam's room, giving the same perfectly sensible reasons Castiel had offered before - that Dean would sleep more comfortably with his burns. It was Dean's idea this time, not Castiel's. As he left to go to his own room, Cas had paused, fingers restless against the thigh of his jeans, avoiding Dean's face, and Dean had wondered if he'd wanted to ask.

At least, Dean tried to sleep. He could only sleep on his right side comfortably, but he kept shifting around, got rid of one pillow, then the other, then put them back onto the bed. He stared at the door, at the pale-colored light coming in through the window from the motel's sign. The unease grew, remembering the heat ripple in front of Cas as the vampire had reached out to him.

Getting out of bed, Dean pulled a sweatshirt on over his t-shirt. The rug of the motel room itched against his bare feet. His heart going a little too fast, Dean sat on the edge of the bed, letting the quiet wrap around him. Sam appeared to be peacefully asleep, lying on his stomach with his arms and legs a messy sprawl - good to see, since Sam hadn't been sleeping that well since the visit from Hell they both got thanks to the will-'o'-the-wisps last month.

Dean sat for a long while before he finally stood up, heading for the door without bothering with his shoes.

____

Castiel was caught in a nether space between dozing and waking when he heard the tap on his door. He snapped immediately to all-the-way awake, rolled out of bed, taking his handgun from his bag.

Not turning on a light, Castiel looked through the peephole and saw Dean standing outside his door. He was wearing his sweats, barefoot, an exterior floodlight outlining him, throwing his face into shadow. His breath rose in a pale cloud as he held his arms close to his body against the cold. Castiel's stomach did a strange, slow somersault that was not unpleasant.

Putting the gun down on the dresser, Castiel opened the door, then stepped back to let Dean into the room. He closed the door as Dean rubbed his own arms, shaking off the remnants of chill from outside, barely looking at Castiel.

The silence dragged on.

"Are you still annoyed at my suggestion?" Castiel spoke finally, his voice level. "Because if you think about it, I believe you'll agree it's the best possible pl-"

Dean put his hands on Castiel's shoulders, pushing him against the door. "Shut up," he said, his voice a low, rough demand before his mouth was covering Castiel's, damp, insistent, as Dean put his hands on either side of Castiel's face. For a moment Dean seemed to have forgotten about his injuries, pressing his chest against Castiel. A hot jolt of need went through Castiel, so intense it was difficult to breathe. Then Dean winced, pulling back, leaving Castiel's lips tingling.

They stared at each other in the semi-darkness before Castiel put his hand on the back of Dean's neck, carefully pulling him in to kiss him again. Dean tasted of a trace of mint from his toothpaste. Breathing him in, Castiel licked along Dean's lower lip, then pressed his tongue into his mouth as Dean opened for him, teasing Castiel's tongue with his own while his hands started to pull at Castiel's shirt. Castiel obliged him, breaking the kiss, lifting his arms to help Dean pull the shirt off. Immediately Dean's mouth and tongue were on his skin, tracking a line down from his jaw to his neck and along his protective tattoo, while Dean's palm went over the mark he'd put there, holding Castiel against the door.

When Castiel reached for Dean's sweatshirt, pulling at it, needing to touch skin, Dean murmured "No, Cas, wait, just let me. Let me."

Let him what, Castiel didn't quite understand. This was not the way things normally went between them, but then Dean's hands were at the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down while his mouth kissed a line down Castiel's chest, over the scars, tip of his tongue flicking at the skin at his stomach, making Castiel's muscles jump in response. Castiel stepped out of his sweatpants, Dean's hands, mouth, and nearness chasing away the coldness of the air. Fully hard now, aching with want, Castiel let out a small moan as Dean stood up again, hands brushing briefly over Castiel's cock, then tracing up over his hips, his ribcage, as if Dean were trying to discover new things about a landscape he already knew, looking for something there.

Careful of Dean's injuries, Castiel gripped Dean's arms and pushed, moving him across the room towards the bed before Dean turned Castiel with a movement so sudden Castiel fell back onto the mattress without protest. A second later Dean was on the bed beside him, mouth on Castiel's neck, sucking at the skin. His fingers found one of Castiel's nipples, teased and twisted until Castiel gasped.

He reached for Dean, who now let him tug off the sweatshirt, then more carefully, Dean's t-shirt, revealing the gauze bandages on his chest and arm. With his blood rushing too fast in his ears, Castiel kissed Dean, fingers finding the hardness through his sweatpants, making Dean's breath do an uneven hitch.

"Yeah, okay." Dean let out a shaky breath. "We'll get to that but I want to-" Dean paused, staring down into Castiel's face, seemingly unable to ask for what he wanted.

But he didn't need to. Castiel let Dean wrap his fingers around his wrists, moving his hands out to his sides as Dean licked at his neck, sucking at the skin again, moving lower, his lips searing points on Castiel's body, claiming his ribs, his stomach, his hips, the inside of his thigh, then traveling upwards again. Licking at the hand-print mark on Castiel's chest, Dean moved his fingers so they lightly brushed Castiel's cock, then disappointingly moved away, his palm against Castiel's stomach. Dean's mouth shifted over, teasing at Castiel's nipple with quick flicks of his tongue.

This was growing unbearable. "Dean," Castiel said sharply, perhaps even petulantly, a demand.

"Shhh." Dean's mouth barely brushed over Castiel's skin as he moved lower, his breath making goosebumps form. His tongue found the knob of Castiel's right hip. Dean licked at it, fingers stroking the soft inside of Castiel's thigh.

As Dean grazed his teeth lightly over the skin, then bit down hard enough that it would leave a mark, Castiel cursed, his cock wet with pre-come, achingly hard now. Dean kept licking at Castiel's hip, sucking at the sharp cut of bone, lightly biting at the skin while Castiel writhed underneath this attention, shocked at how good it felt. Then Dean transferred his attention to the other side, tongue licking Castiel's skin in long, slow swipes, making Castiel's fingers twist into the blanket, his heart going too fast, his breathing too fast.

He couldn't not touch any longer, sliding his hands over any part of Dean he could reach, stroking the ripple of muscle beneath skin. His release might happen without Dean even having to touch his cock. The physical impulses of his human body weren't startling any more, but the rest of this, the part that was not merely physical, still rushed through him with dizzying speed and intensity. Most startling of all was the awareness, a sudden flicker of clarity as he watched Dean's fingers and mouth dance over his skin, of why Dean was doing this. Castiel could say any number of things to try and reassure Dean yet words weren't what he needed. Castiel arched upwards, wanting that touch, more of it, for his own sake yet also it was an offering - he would give Dean this, and a lot more.

Dean kissed his way down into the tangle of dark hair between Castiel's legs, then mouthed at the tip of his cock, tasting him with his tongue. Castiel arched forward, heat erupting inside him.

"Whoa," Dean said, lifting his head. He grinned. "What was that? Never heard you make a sound like that before…"

"Never mind," Castiel snapped. "Stop messing around."

That only made Dean grin wider before he dipped his head again, took Castiel's cock into his mouth. The moan Dean let out then seemed to travel from Castiel's groin up through his whole body. Hardly aware of which way was up or down, everything narrowed to the feel of Dean's mouth taking him in, his hands holding Castiel steady as he writhed. It was too much, not enough, as he thrust into Dean's mouth.

When he came, fingers clenched around the sheets and blankets, he had some idea he shouted something, no idea if it were English or Enochian or Dean's name or cursing or some combination; it hardly mattered.

His racing heart slowed as Dean crawled up to kiss him. Castiel tasted himself on Dean's mouth, felt Dean's hardness against his thigh.

Without a warning, Castiel gripped Dean's bicep and shoulder, careful not to touch the places with the burns, then flipped him so that Castiel straddled Dean's legs.

"Hi," Dean said, eyes bright and eager in the darkness, too smug.

Castiel bent over to kiss him, hard, possessively, then moved down to tug at the waistband of Dean's sweatpants, removing them. Once Dean's cock sprang free, swollen with need, the tip slick with pre-come, Castiel swiped at it with his tongue and was rewarded with a thick groan from Dean.

He took Dean in quickly without any more teasing or ridiculous delays. Dean dug his fingers into Castiel's hair, shifting his legs to give Castiel easier access.

"Cas…that. Right there. Yeah."

The scents of sweat and lust were heady, making Castiel's spent cock twitch. He kept his gaze on Dean's face, watching as he bit his lower lip, watching Dean watch him back. Castiel took Dean in deeper, Dean's cock hitting the back of Castiel's throat, while Castiel breathed through his nose in the way that always worked, as Dean had taught him. Dean's eyes went unfocused, his breathing more rapid. Without stopping his rhythm, Castiel slid his hand behind Dean, then pushed a finger into tight, spasming warmth.

Dean cursed, arched his head back, and groaned Castiel's name as he came.

Both of them sticky with sweat and semen, Castiel slid up Dean's body, hands smoothing over his skin, then stretched out on Dean's uninjured side, resting his head on Dean's shoulder, his arm across Dean's stomach. Dean's fingers lazily trailed along Castiel's arm as their breathing slowed.

Grabbing the sheets and blankets, Dean shifted his body closer to Castiel's, then pulled the covers over them both, shielding them against the chilly air. Careful not to touch Dean's injuries, Castiel turned on his side, his leg over Dean's, hand resting at his hip.

"You aren't theirs," Dean muttered very softly into the darkness, his mouth near Castiel's ear.

"I know," Castiel said.

____

It was a long shot, Sam knew, but they all decided if the vampires had managed to find Castiel at the university, they could find him somewhere else.

"Walk along the road," Sam said, turning around in the driver's seat of the Impala to look at Castiel in the back as Castiel gave a puzzled, small frown. "Act like you're patrolling and looking for them. Which you are. Sort of. We'll follow you at a good distance but keep you in eyeshot."

"All right." Castiel reached under his jacket to where he had his handgun, as if touching it to make sure it was there. He did the same with the small fire extinguisher in his pocket. If Sam didn't know better, he'd say Castiel was nervous.

"Y'know," Dean said in a tone that sounded like he was trying way too hard to make everything no big deal. "Walk casual!" He smirked.

"Walk…casual," Castiel repeated. He reached for the door handle.

Sam noticed Dean's hand move as if he was going to reach out to Cas, but then he curled his fingers closed instead. He saw how Dean watched Castiel though, as he stepped out of the car and began to walk away along Tiogue Avenue. Dean's gaze stayed fixed on Castiel, his expression drawn into an open worry so intent Sam thought Dean might not even be aware how he looked right then.

Bright winter sunlight glinted off the parked cars. Castiel was a stalwart figure in a dark peacoat going past the parking lot of Café Gianna. It would be a few minutes yet before he got too far off and they had to move the Impala to follow him.

"Hey," Sam said, and the mask of worry on Dean's face vanished with a tightening of Dean's jaw, put away with far too much practice. "About what happened to you, the other day-"

"It's okay, Sam," Dean said, not as a brush-off or denial, but slowly and carefully, as if he meant it. "It was this one-time thing. I'm not going to keep collapsing. I feel all right now, and that's not denial. It was just a thing."

"That's not the point, though. The point is, it did happen and I…I didn't know. About what you saw. You never told me." Sam tightened his fingers around the steering wheel, then let go. "I'm glad you finally did, but I'm wondering what else is sitting in there, waiting to be tripped up. And a lot of it isn't my business, we've got to have some secrets, but man, Dean, you've been trying to hold it together for all of us a long time and you don't always have to…"

Dean held up a hand. "I got it." He gave Sam a quick half-smile, not false bright reassurance, but a signal that he'd understood everything Sam meant. He leaned forward and peered out the front windshield. Castiel was crossing Tiogue Avenue just past an auto repair place.

Time to follow.

As Sam pulled into the lot across the street, Castiel had left the road and was headed towards the back of the auto repair shop's property, which led to a cluster of trees between the lot and a small pond. Dean's cell went off.

"Cas?" Dean answered. "Okay. We'll be right there." He hung up and hefted the salt water tank out of the back. "He's spotted two of them, back behind the next lot over. Somehow they were following him without us seeing. They're headed towards him now."

"What about the third?" Sam asked, getting out of the car.

"He can't see him," Dean said, adjusting the straps of the tank with fumbling speed.

The tank looked pretty heavy but it didn't seem to slow Dean much as they jogged across the road, then into the auto repair lot. It was a Sunday, so the place was pretty deserted.

"Where is he?" Dean said, his voice tight as a stretched wire.

There were a couple of sheds behind the garage, two small motorboats covered in tarp, dried grass, and the skeletal overhang of the trees. Dark water glimmered beyond them.

Sam drew his gun, instinct more than anything else, disliking the silence. The trees were at the edge of a miniature patch of middle-of-nowhere, a sprawl of woods, dirt tracks, and the maze of a shallow waterway.

It could blow the whole plan but that didn't matter, really, as Dean shouted for Castiel.

There was no answer. Dean adjusted the tank on his back, then pulled his handgun, and together they walked closer to the trees, Dean giving a hand signal to Sam to head to the left while Dean went right.

Moving slowly, looking for movement between the trunks, Sam moved deeper into the trees, towards the water.

Something struck Sam's neck with a sharp snap. Blinking, Sam halted, gripping his gun. He looked down, seeing the tailpiece and tube of a tranquilizer dart sticking out above the collar of his coat. He reached up, his fingers locating the needle of the tranq embedded in his skin.

"Oh, crap. Dean!" Sam turned, staggered back the way he came, and spied Dean among the tree trunks. He saw Dean drop, falling to his knees. "Dean!" Sam shouted. Heaviness flooded through him. "Crap."

He forced himself to keep walking - he could do this, it was one little tranq dart and Dean was always joking about how he was Gigantor. But his legs were giving way beneath him no matter what he did. "Castiel!" He called, stumbling. "Crap. Crap."

The next thing Sam saw was the ground rushing to meet him, then blackness.

____

The air smelled of damp wood, metal, and mud. Dean's head throbbed. He opened his eyes, aware of duct tape binding his wrists behind the wooden chair.

"Sam? Cas?"

He heard a grunt behind him and a cough. Dean turned his head, catching sight of Sam and Castiel, similarly bound in chairs. Both raised their heads slowly, probably suffering from the same skullcrusher of a headache he was suffering from. Shit. He had no idea what those asswipe vampires might've used on them - nothing readily available he would bet, since he'd never heard of a tranquilizer that didn't run the risk of killing a human (unless the dosage was perfect). The sons of bitches needed them alive.

"Dean?" Sam jerked in his chair.

"Yeah. Cas, you okay?"

"Yes. My head hurts." Castiel sounded really pissed, as if the headache was the biggest annoyance.

The room had walls of rough, pale wood, small glass windows. All Dean could see outside were trees - they must be off in the woods somewhere. Maybe near the spot where they'd been knocked out, maybe they'd been driven somewhere else. The salt-water tank, his gun, both gone, and he'd bet Sam and Castiel's weapons were as well.

"What were you planning to do to us?" The tallest vampire, the bald one, stepped into Dean's line of vision, grinning slightly. "Salt water? Clever. Very clever. Might've worked."

"Why don't you test it and shove some of it up your ass?" Dean suggested, mimicking the guy's smooth tone. His shoulders twitched, an involuntary spasm, as Dean tried to shake off the vague sense that he reminded Dean of Alastair's last host, a little bit, even though the vampire was completely clean-shaven.

The second vampire, the one with the pointed chin and spiky hair, stepped forward, along with the third vampire, the woman.

"No, thank you," she said confidently, hair smoothly in place, dark woolen suit neatly pressed. She bent to lean her face in towards Castiel's. "Oh, the things this one knows about. The birth of the planets. The entire history of humankind. The ways to bend time and space."

The vampire with the pointed chin came to stand near her. Dean strained to turn his head and see what was going on as the second vampire also leaned over Castiel.

"Don't you touch him!" Dean jerked against the duct tape holding him in place. His chair scraped across the floor. He was aware of Sam struggling as well, while Castiel sat very still, back straight as he delivered the stare that could practically smite someone where they stood.

The woman clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth and stepped back. "No, not yet. We're saving him for last. You two…" her glance slid from Dean to Sam. "Complete the meal."

"What?" Sam said.

"Quite a catch, the three of you," the pointy-chinned vampire said, moving over to Dean. "Dean Winchester, who's been to Hell and back, and then to Heaven and to Purgatory. The stuff that must be between your ears." Dean couldn't manage to actually flip up his middle finger where the vampire could see, so he made his best fuck-you face. "And Sam Winchester." The vampire moved away, lifting his hand towards Sam, and Sam jerked himself back with a scrap of his chair. "The boy with demon blood, who's been inside a part of Hell no one's seen outside of the archangels, who's had Lucifer himself inside his head."

"I swear I will rip your lungs out and stuff them in places you didn't even know you had," Dean said, low. "Get away from him!"

He heard the creak of wood and in the corner of his eye, caught Castiel struggling.

"So, what'd you use on us anyway?" Dean said, desperate to buy some time. He tried to breathe slow, to calm the panic rising in his chest. Sam and Cas weren't going out like this. Not like this, not if he could help it.

"Trade secret," the bald vampire said. "From a sixteenth-century formula." He moved closer to Sam, so all three were crowded around, while Sam fought against his bonds, muscles straining.

Cursing, Dean managed to jerk his chair back, heard the sounds of Castiel struggling in his. The vampires held their hands out to Sam, who let out a gasp.

"No, don't, no-" Dean managed to get out, before Castiel's bellow drowned out everything else.

"Close your eyes!"

Dean obeyed instantly, even while he wanted to shout at Castiel to stop. He hoped Sam had also obeyed the angel's order.

A flare of white blazed against the darkness of the inside of Dean's eyelids. Voices screamed, abruptly cut off. A strange, charred smell filled the air.

The quiet after was terrible.

When nothing else happened, no more intense lights or sounds, Dean carefully opened his eyes a crack. When that didn't hurt, he opened them all the way.

Three charred smears lay arranged on the floor, smoke rising from the remains.

He heard a cough.

"Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Cas? You with us?"

Nothing.

The panic in Dean's chest broke free of its moorings. "Cas?" Dean's voice rose. He strained at the tape holding his wrists, twisting in his chair.

Castiel was slumped forward against his restraints, head bowed. His eyes were closed.

"Castiel?" Dean pulled harder at the tape.

"Here, let me." Sam scraped his chair over. "Didn't have time to cut through mine all the way but I was almost there." He pressed his keys into Dean's fingers. "Finish it. Hurry up."

"Is he breathing?" Dean said. "Can you see?"

"He's breathing."

The relief stung at Dean's eyes. Using the edge of the key, Dean sawed at the tape on Sam's wrists. Once Sam was free, he started to work on Dean's bonds.

"No, check on him," Dean urged.

Sam moved to Castiel's side. "He's got a pulse," Sam said, his voice thickened with relief.

"Okay. Okay."

Sam went back to work getting Dean free. It took an eternity.

"Hey, Cas," Dean stood up too fast, stumbling a little from the aftereffects of whatever it was that the vampires had given them, felt Sam's grip on his arm, steadying him.

While Sam got to work cutting away the tape holding Castiel's wrists, Dean knelt in front of his chair.

"Hey." Even though Sam had already checked, Dean put his fingers to Castiel's neck, finding his pulse. Dean kept his finger there a few moments, touching the slow beat of it beneath skin that had gone too cool. "C'mon, wake up. You got 'em. Don't do this, stay with us, Cas. C'mon."

Castiel stirred and let out a groan. "My head," he mumbled, then opened his eyes. "I assume that counted as an emergency?"

It was like every muscle in Dean's body gave way at once. He leaned his forehead against Castiel's, threading his fingers into his hair. "Stupid idiot."

____

Once, Castiel could take flight without hesitation or weighing the costs, break the rules of time, journey between Heaven and Earth, even to Hell, at will. This lethargy in his body irritated him, even more than the headache, which wasn't as bad as it had been the day before. His grace was already gathering strength again, softly thrumming in the core of him, yet the muscles of his body were still weak. It would also likely take days, maybe even a week or more, before he could use that grace without harming his flesh and blood shell.

Castiel leaned into the pillows propped against the headboard, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt of Dean's worn soft with many washings, his legs stretched out along the bed. Dean sat on the motel room floor, shoulder against the edge of the bed, tiredness in the slump of his shoulders. The headache had kept Castiel wakeful last night, and in turn, Dean had sat up with him, offering aspirin, an open window, whatever comfort he could think of, yet it was the solidity of Dean as a presence that truly had made it easier.

The flesh and blood shell Castiel wore wasn't really separate from himself; perhaps he didn't want to regard it that way. He reached out and brushed his fingers along Dean's forehead. Dean ducked into the touch as Castiel trailed his fingers up to touch Dean's hair.

There was still so much to face, too many questions they had no answers for. The impatience tugged at Castiel again, that he had to wait, to sit, and be weakened even if it was temporary.

As Dean lowered his head, Castiel slid his palm down, cupping his jaw, then caught Dean's fingers in his own. He felt Dean's grip tighten.

I'm right here, Castiel wanted to say. Instead, he just held on.



____

Next: DVD Extra: It Takes a Village (People)