Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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 Castiel's 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 shuttered, “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.”

Chapter Text

Night crept up from behind them like a stalking cat. 

Dean hadn’t noticed, nor did Sam until the neon motel lights flickered outside their window. The team was so nose-deep in books and taking shifts monitoring Cas’ spiraling condition, that they didn’t take the time to realize day had already passed them by. So, Dean hurried from his side, keeping a watchful eye on the angel while he slowly shut the blinds, and pulled the curtains. He made sure that every movement they made inside the small, cramped room, whether that be the creaking in the floorboards to the flipping of worn-out pages, that it was to be quiet enough to hear a pin drop. 

Sam huffed from the corner beside and drummed his fingers along the edge of his laptop. “Any ideas on how we’re going to find her?” That was the question everyone had been asking. Thank you, Sammy, for stating the obvious.

Dean, in an act of spite, replied, “Like I know? I’m not an angel.” 

Sam scowled and rolled his eyes, “O-kay, noted. ” His brother gave him a look of mild annoyance, and faced the other way; back to his screen. Idly scrolling through the newest suicide reports. All were sadly victims of Famine’s work, shoved food down their throats, making love until they died… horrible things Sam could once only imagine were possible by such a being. 

A pang of guilt hit his heart to think of all the families that lost someone over these last few days because of him. The crude explanation they were given by autopsy workers was that their son had choked himself to death by overeating. Or that their daughter had passed away from an unexplained overdose of prescribed medication. His head craned to the old hunter in an attempt to redirect his thoughts away from the topic looming over him. “Bobby, got any ideas?” 

Bobby shrugged, meeting Sam’s gloomy eyes, “Don’t look at me,” He shifted in his seat, one hand fiddling with the corner page of an old scripture. He glanced over to Castiel’s paled body, crumbled up in the sheets like a discarded piece of homework. “Why don’t we ask him? He might have an idea.” he poked a curious nod to Cas. It wasn’t a bad idea, but with the state he was in—

“You think he’ll be able to answer that ? Bobby, he can barely lift a finger! Let alone—” Dean replied almost protectively. Now lounged back in his position beside the bed, his feet propped against the bed frame. Leaning back in the same old chair that trembled underneath his weight. He didn’t even notice the angel had already flung himself upright, bleary-eyed and a dazed expression plastered on his face; like he’d just been summoned into a hurricane. His hair was greasy and wild, strands slicked back while others poked out. His skin lost its golden-tinted richness and was now a moon-kissed white. Or near too, if he got any whiter, he might as well have been considered a ghost haunting them (once again, not far off. He still scares Dean shitless nonetheless).

“Woah- woah- woah, hey slow down tiger…” Dean flew to the angel’s side immediately, holding his back with a firm hand. Squeezing his ruffled white shirt tightly, his eyes tracked up Castiel with an analytical glint. Taking extra time near his lips as he panted quietly. The hunter couldn’t see any flickers of white poking out from the bottom of Cas’ lip, which was a good sign for the time being, which meant that his grace was still fighting tooth and nail against the blood. But it was only a matter of time. “Not so fast, you’re gonna pass out,” He ordered, “Sam, get me a cold towel, pronto.” 

His brother nodded, hustling and removing the laptop from its perch on his legs. The sound of Castiel’s labored breathing made the room all the more tense, the air dense and thick. 

“Here,” Sam handed his brother a freshly wet, cold towel; its dampness was a perfect remedy to combat the angel’s profuse sweating.

After a heavy moment of silence, and Castiel leaning into the towel as much as he could, Bobby finally spoke up. “Now, are we all gonna be hush-hush or are we gonna ask him some damn questions?”

“Bobby!” Dean snapped back, shooting a glare the old timer's way. “Not helping. Can't you see he’s struggling to even stay upright? Or is it only me right now that thinks pressuring him when he’s kicked down is a bad idea?” he finished, the towel’s water leaking down his forearm.

Bobby scoffed, visibly rolling his eyes for all to see, he nodded to Sam. “Broody much?” He scoffed, though it was enough for Dean to hear… being in close earshot after all. His brother mumbled something else, which must’ve been amusing given his reaction and stifled a laugh. 

Dean echoed the eye roll, and an exasperated sigh drowned out the noise of the two chatting behind his back at the other end of the room. 

His nose scrunched in scrutinized annoyance. “Don’t mind them, they’re just trying to rush you,” he reassured, patting Castiel’s neck until it was no longer blistering with heat. God, he was bad already when it came to being a human radiator, but it felt a thousand degrees hotter when he was less than a foot from him. 

Castiel’s eyes were noticeably squinting and slamming shut every few seconds, in rhythmic intervals with Dean’s rise and fall of his chest. He had a good idea he could hear his racing heartbeat, his panicked breathing. He could probably feel every drop of water peppering his face and forehead. Cas slowly craned his head to meet Dean’s gaze, before he coughed into his arm and sniffled. 

“I don’t…” he trailed off, his heaving chest rising fully, and compressing fast. He couldn’t find the words to describe how he was feeling. Overwhelmed? Agonizing pain? It was all a jumble of What is this?

Dean slowly lowered his hand grasping the towel, “You think you can hold on for just a little longer?” he said softly, leaning forward to make sure Castiel wouldn’t lose focus. “Can you do that? For me?”

With a swift breath, the angel dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “I believe…I can,” he rasped out, sniffling once more.

The brother eased a lopsided smile and reached over to the nightstand connecting the two beds. One which held a dimly lit lap, covered in a thin black shirt from one of Sam’s bags. And underneath it, was the alarm clock, its red digits striking eight-thirty. Dean’s eyes flicked away from the clock and reached over another inch for the box of tissues. Delicately plucking one from the box, and handling it to Cas. Who looked at it with a confused, blank lost-puppy expression. “You blow your nose with it,” he said simply, but the angel just blinked at him.

Expectantly, Dean had to demonstrate himself the gruesome task of blowing one’s nose. “See? Instead of sniffling so hard that it reaches your brain, you blow out.” he blew out a nasty sound that made even Bobby cringe mid-sentence; and once it was done, he sniffed a few times. One surprised face later, Dean crumbled the small tissue into a ball inside his paw. “Now you try.”

Sitting like the leaning Tower of Pisa, Castiel inhaled sharply and let out a storm. Finished, he rubbed his red nose with the piece of paper. Or what was left of it anyway. Dean grimaced at the sight and handed him another one to ball it up in. “Feel a little better now? It sounded like you just released the next typhoon.”

The angel nodded thankfully, “Yes, I do.” the stuffiness that clogged his airways and tone had released, and though the relief was a small victory, it was sure to come back.

It seemed that the longer he was fighting the vampire blood, the more it acted as a sickness, like an angel flu of sorts. The thought centered him back to his main goal enough for him to launch up from his seat and whip over to Sam. “Sam, you pretty much ready to go?”

Sam paused his side conversation with Bobby and raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, why?”

“Because we're going.”

“Now?” Sam questioned in one short breath, unready for his brother’s sudden orders.

“ No , when Hell freezes over— of course now! C’mon, before Cas gets any worse.” Dean stormed out of the damp motel room, the door swinging agape. Sam shared an equally confused look with the hunter and noticed Cas flinched when the door hinges screamed, and the wooden door slammed into the wall behind it.

Sam listened as Dean’s long, hurried strides got quiet. This was his warning call, “Should I—?”

“Go,” Bobby huffed, “I’ll keep watch while you two hunt for Anna.” He drawled, grasping his shotgun on the circular could-be poker table. 

Sam looped his hand through his tattered long-sleeve jacket. Reaching for his phone, he called to Bobby, “If anything happens—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll phone ya. Now git, before Dean blows a gasket.” Bobby grumbled to himself, his thick brows arching in annoyance; Dean sure as hell was impatient. Especially when it came to Cas.

The brother snickered, “Okay okay,” he raised his hands in mock surrender, backing up towards the door.

“And Sam,” Bobby stopped him just before his foot passed the flush door frame. 

“Yeah?” 

“Be careful out there.” He warned, seriousness layering every syllable. He knew the consequences of trying to reason with angels, especially Anna. And that worried him, every time the boys left the house or motel or anywhere .

“Okay, Bobby.” Sam soaked up the warning, offering a small, reassuring smile in return. “I’ll call you if anything happens.”

Sam’s boots thumped down the long narrow stretch of hallway, before exiting the reception area and heading towards the Impala. Already humming to life, and puffing out smoke quietly in the nighttime air.

“Took you long enough,” Dean bristled, his arms locked in an outstretched grip on the wheel. He was ready to go, to fly out of the dirt and pebble parking lot guns blazing if it didn’t take Sam so damn long to mull his ass out of the motel room.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand while the other gripped the door and shut it firmly. He turned to Dean questionably, “What are we even going to do? We have no leads on Anna—“

His brother cut him off swiftly, “Don’t need one,” he deadpanned, shifting the Impala into First. Baby roared when Dean’s foot pressed against the gas, and eased off of the clutch. The car simmered to a calm purr, and they began moving out of the lot.

“What? What do you mean?” Sam sneered, quirking his head curiously.

Dean’s face hardened, a mix between disbelief and all seriousness. Of course, his brother didn't believe he had a solid idea. Angels were unpredictable, which meant most of all untraceable without some sort of spell or summoning; things only Castiel knew by the looks of it. “If we want to find Anna, we’ll do it the old-school way. I mean, how far could a hormonal angel go?”

“Anna!” Dean shouted out into the frigid February air. They’d spent about an hour or two on the road, and the moon sat comfortably above them. Watching their every move as they yelled (More like just Dean) into the alleyway in an attempt to summon the angel. Since that always went well over Heaven’s management anyway.

Sam stopped screaming a minute into their attempts, deciding not to yell and look like crazies. “Anything yet?” He asked innocently. His hands were now shoved inside the confinements of his warm pockets.

“No,” Dean snapped back hoarsely, “I swear, whenever we need these damn angels’ help, they suddenly become deaf, illiterate, and blind.” he grumbled, cupping his freezing hands around his mouth, “Anna!”

“Maybe you’re just not putting enough heart into it,” Sam teased playfully.

“Oh, shut up. Anna!”

Sam laughed through his nose, watching the stream of condensation float up and disperse, bored. “Calling her in the open isn’t going to work, Dean.”

“Oh really? It seemed to work fine the last time!”

“Dean.”

“ What Sam?” Dean watched his brother's face shift, easing into surprise, shock, awe, and maybe a dabble of fear. He finally felt the wind behind him, and the familiar sound of wing flaps. “She’s right behind me, isn’t she?” He breathed.

Sam swallowed hard, his Adam’s Apple shifting stiffly, continuously staring as his brother turned around to meet the eyes of a familiar redhead.

Anna’s face was stern, hell, maybe a little pissed by the way her eyebrows went inwards. Creasing her perfect forehead and squishing her hazel eyes with a contemptuous scowl.

“This better be good.” She deadpanned with a sour face, her arms crossed tightly around her chest.

Dean squinted at the angel tensely, “Nice to see you haven’t lost your touch, Anna.” He commented sarcastically. “Now, we need your help. Cas is in trouble and only you can lend us a hand.”

“And why would I help you? I have better things to—“

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re busy trying to fix Heaven’s management. But fixing Cas don’t you think is a little bit more… I don't know, important?” Dean stepped forward, his boot splashing into a puddle with a thump. Anna’s eyes flicked to his approaching motion momentarily, before scowling.

She sighed deeply, “I understand you are worried for Castiel, but I can’t just, fix him. That’s not how it works. And you haven’t even given me the greatest of details yet.”

The hunter’s fists slowly began clenching together, his jaw clenching in frustration. She was never this stuck up until she got her green card to come back after her angelic unemployment , and it was starting to get on his nerves. “Cas is turning into a vamp.” He hissed. Another step, “And sadly, you’re the only halo around that seems to give a sliver of shit about him. So why don't we make this quick, so that we don't lose more time than we already have before it's too late?”

Dean had finished, and all Anna did was blink. In her mind, she couldn’t believe it, it was unheard of… an angel being turned into a vampire? The brothers watched closely, witnessing her scowling and stiff frame slowly loosen. Her facial expressions softened and molded into one of pure concern and worry. Her folded arms unraveled, “Are you…sure?” She said slowly, “I didn’t know that was possible.” Her eyes dragged to the ground, searching for an intangible answer that was just out of her grip.

Sam tip-toed over and rested a firm hand along his brother’s shoulder. Squeezing it, he pulled him back; a silent signal to let him take the wheel on the conversation. Dean defused slowly behind his brother, and Sam stood parallel to the contemplating angel casually. 

“It’s possible, Anna. We saw it. We believe it has to do with his lack of grace.” He explained calmly, watching Anna’s reaction. And a face of recognition and recollection made her eyes widen.

“He’s vulnerable.” She continued off of Sam’s analogy smoothly, her hand moving her chin as she began to pace. Deep in thought, she spoke, “Without his grace, he’s nearly human. So that means he needs another angel’s grace to combat it.”

“Yes,” Sam breathed, holding out his arms to stop her from pacing back and forth. “And we need a donor. Badly.”

A moment of harsh silence enveloped the cold, dark alleyway. Dean was pawing at the puddles under his feet restlessly, releasing audible and exasperated huffs now and again. Sam and Anna couldn’t help the urge to peek in Dean’s direction, watching him move around like a worried mother. 

“Wow.” Anna whispered to Sam.

Sam shrugged in a ‘what can you do?’ manner, and shook his head, “You haven’t seen the half of it.” He joked, and the angel grinned lightly.

“Okay, I’ll help.” The volume of her voice raised for Dean to hear, “Take this. It should be enough.” From the confines of her black leather jacket confines, a small, glowing syringe illuminated her small hand. This is what they used to contain grace? Sam thought with absolute wonder, taking the needle gingerly from her grasp. His analytical brain began to take in every little detail, down to the slight lip at the point of the needle. The intricate curves and swoops used with the mystery metal give the item an almost ethereal look.

“Where…?” He started, eyes still locked onto the bright grace inside. Watching it swirl and flick endlessly was quite mesmerizing and alluring, to say the least.

Anna pointed a finger to the side of her neck, “The neck, preferably.”

Sam inclined his head in thanks, and rushed over to Dean’s side yet again, showing him the vial, but not allowing him to touch it just yet.

On their way to the car, Dean’s mouth was still dropped, whipping it between Anna who was patently standing there, hands inside of her jacket, and back to Sam who walked carefully with the grace. “When’d you learn how to coax like that?”

“Relax, what matters right now is that we got the grace. Can you call Bobby and tell him we got it and we’re on our way back?” He raised his arm up, just enough for his brother to reach inside of his pocket, and find it vibrating violently. 

Dean took a moment to read the contact, and picked it up immediately, “Bobby?” he looped the hood of the impala, ready to slide in, but he stopped at the car door.

“Balls! Cas— Cas!” Bobby grunted on the other end, the sound of broken glass and splintering wood catching the brother’s full attention.

“Did—did you just get thrown?” Dean gasped, leaning away from the car.

“You boys better be getting back, dammit! Cas’ gone full she-beast!”

Dean lowered the phone, watching Sam slowly rise out of the car, all the color drained from his face as they exchanged horrified looks. “Bobby, we got the grace, do you think you can hold on just a bit longer?” Sam questioned loudly.

“I wouldn’t be callin’ you if I could ya idjit! No— you get away from there!” Bobby was audibly panting on the other line, he paused, “You boys—” Dean held his breath at the sound of the tone dial flatlining, and threw the phone from his ear.

“Son of a bitch! We need to go, now!” He turned from his brother, “Anna. we—”

Bobby felt the claws of Castiel dig into his lower abdomen, the once-angel growling at the end of the room with a stoned face. The motel was trashed, holy oil bottles were smashed, and a good amount of the floor and beds. Bobby had scattered books and guns all around the room, but Castiel didn’t bother to grab any of them, he was more determined to either get out of the room or kill Bobby. 

“Balls!” He cursed under his breath, holding his side as the pulsing welts from their earlier scuffle bruised. Bobby had managed to board up all of the windows and drench them in splashes of holy water. With the addition of using that circular table and propping it up vertically by the door. A somewhat useful barrier to plant himself between the rabid angel and the outside world. He scolded himself for letting the two go and run on that damn goose chase, but as they said on the phone, they got the grace, they found Anna after all. 

It was just a race to see if they could get there in time before either Cas gets decapitated or Bobby has his head on a stick.

“Cas, you need to calm down!” Bobby barked from the other end of the room, hearing the angel’s feet scuffling against the carpet. The only pro of his becoming a classic drone was the fact he had less than a brain cell to work with— if he was somewhat himself, he would plow through the windows, the walls, hell even Bobby if it meant getting outside to feed, but he seemed rather… lethargic? Like he wasn’t all there.

Castiel grunted in protest, and Bobby hugged himself against the wall with his loaded shotgun in hand, prepared for yet another gruesome RO-KO—

But there was nothing. A deafening silence overtook the room. “Cas?” The old hunter whispered, clutching his shotgun and finger hovering over the trigger. His eyes scanned the room only to find it was empty. The windows were broken, and the bathroom door or closet doors weren’t moved from their broken hinges. 

It was as if the angel had up and disappeared. 

“What the—” Before he could make another sound, a big claw gripped the collar of his jacket to the left of him, and his face met Castiel’s crazy eyes. The blue was gone from them, and in their place was a blood-red amber. 

His feet disconnected from the ground, and his body flung straight into the wooden headboard of Sam’s bed. Splintering from the impact, the hunter rolled and crumbled off the bed. His gun was thrown out of his grip, and blood dripped in a cascading waterfall from his mouth. Clinging to his beard, staining it.

This is how it's going to end, huh? Bobby choked on his thoughts, spitting out another wad of blood onto the ripped carpet.

Another silence overtook the room, and instead of a fearsome finishing attack, a voice from behind the motel room’s clawed at door sounded. Followed by a rhythmic three knocks.

Dean.

“Room service!” Dean called in a high-pitched mimicking voice of a classical woman. Though it was a very poor job, it gave both of them a pause in their brawling, and a wash of relief to Bobby’s spiked nerves and busted back.

Two muffled steps later, the door swung from its creaking hinges, throwing the table in Castiel’s direction. The table legs caught against the door, swinging back and nearly colliding with Dean’s face head-first, but Sam slipped in front and held the door open.

The brothers flooded inside and took in the damage to the room, Sam spotting one wounded Bobby hunched back and away from sight behind his— or what was his bed. “Dean,” he said and threw the vial to Dean the brother clutching it in mid-air; turning his attention briefly to the wounded hunter and then circling back to Castiel.

Castiel’s wild eyes flicked around the room, watching Sam leap over the bed and slide down to help Bobby back up, then to Dean, to whom he began circling. “Cas, I need you to calm down for a second. Okay?” he pleaded calmly, holding out a trembling hand.

But Cas wasn’t listening, he couldn’t hear anything except the beating hearts of his prey, his mind flooded and overrun by the vampire blood. The blood was running him to fight, to kill, to feed. He wasn’t an angel, or a human anymore, he was a trapped and starved animal pinned into a corner. This animal having freakishly long nails, teeth, and overall deadly fury and killing power. 

The angel growled at the hunter when he took a small step closer, the angel grabbing the nearest weapon he could find. A chunk of splintered wood from the leg of the table Dean had thrown with opening the door. Great, just great, he has a weapon now.

“Cas, put the wood down,” Sam tried to rationalize, pulling his attention from his brother to himself.

“Sam what—” Bobby stifled, holding the side of his chest.

“It’s okay, I got this.” He reassured, slowly moving up with both of his hands extended out. “There you go, easy,” he continued slowly, his voice and body lower to the ground. Sam didn’t remove his gaze from Castiel’s savage and twisted gaze. His goal was to keep himself calm, so that Cas didn't attack, and so Dean had an opening. That’s all they needed, was an opening for himself or Dean to stick that needle into his neck. Not to mention enough time for them to actually inject the grace. 

(This is the most Jurassic World thing I've ever written lmao)

A moment later, Castiel’s shoulders slowly began to lower, staying locked onto Sam’s slow and deliberate movements. Trapping the angel in a sort of staring contest, to only hone in on Sam and Sam alone. Slowly, he raised his hand up, pointing a finger gun upwards.

Dean got the signal immediately, and stalked in Cas’ shadow, creeping closer from behind, and closing the distance easily. Bobby witnessing the whole scene with mild awe.

The oldest brother raised his left hand, holding the needle firmly, and whipped his right arm around Castiel’s neck. The angel instantly began to kick and buck, clawing and scratching, hell, even biting down on his arm restraining him inside the headlock. But it wasn’t enough, as the needle punctured his neck, and the burning sensation of grace pulsed through his veins.

Within a few tight breaths, his body soon fell limp inside of his arms. “Oh crap—” The wind caught his lungs, align with Cas’ body onto the hard floor. “Sammy….help…” He choked for air, the weightless sack of knocked-out potatoes that was an angel of the Lord now unconscious, draped over his body.

“Okay, okay.” Sam ran over, looping the fallen table in the middle of the room and with help, lifted his body up. “You got him?”

“Yep, yep,” Dean swallowed, spitting out some of Castiel’s hair that made it's way into his mouth, and eventually threw him over the less damaged of the two beds. Panting heavily, the brothers exchanged a look of exhaustion, “Remind me to never let Cas go hunt a nest alone ever again.” 

Bobby chuckled, flinging himself against the wall for support, rubbing his face and tired eyes, “You had me at ‘never’.”

The trio all shared a good laugh now that their little mission Cinderella was over, the weight of the damage finally started to weigh in on them. But, like always, before they could pivot their minds to that growing problem, Castiel’s unconscious form coughing caught them off guard. Dean shimmied by Sam, and went to his side, looking at his features now that he wasn’t all vampy. “Cas? Can you hear me?” The color in his face reverted back into the familiar golden tone, and his eyes slowly fluttered open. And blue eyes stared back at all of them, especially the small smile he offered once he sat up. He held his head with one hand, and massaged it lightly. “What happened?” he rasped, his voice sore and dry.

“‘What happened?’ You…you turned into goddamn bloodsucker, that's what!” Bobby huffed, hands on his hips.

Castiel’s thick brows furrowed, and surveyed the damage he somehow committed, yet, he had no recollection of any of it. “I-I did…?”

He felt a burly hand press against his shoulder, “Lets start from the top then,” Dean smiled softly, and sat himself beside the confused angel. “We got all the time in the world.”