Title: It Could Be You

Author: Arisprite

Summary: Angels shouldn't stay on ice, so when there's a break in at Crowley's lair, Samandriel lifts his head to see two familiar faces to his rescue.

A/N: I love the new angel Samandriel, and I can't stand the thought of just leaving him in Crowley's clutches. So I rescued him.

Warnings: Vague references to torture, swearing as much as the show, unreliable (ie half unconscious) narrator. T, gen, and a one shot.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor do I wish I did. I don't want that kind of pressure! I'd just want to hug them, and give them cups of cocoa! Also the wonderful title is courtesy of iramblez, my bestest best friend and roommate.

Samandriel lifted his head painfully. It was so strange to actually feel pain, at least in his human vessel, but Crowley was ruthless, and in possession of techniques he'd never seen before.

And Samandriel had been around a long time.

The fact that he could contain an angel and inflict such pain so as to make him give upinformation and even at one point beg for death should be chilling, but mostly

Samandriel just felt tired. The agony had stopped, and he watched in a daze as his remaining grace slowly, inch by inch, healed his wounds.

Once that was done, he lay his head back, feeling the blood and sweat, saliva and tears as they dried and cracked against his face. Never had he been so undone.

A noise jolted through his awareness, and he tensed, his breath sped up. Involuntary bodily reactions. He was terrified. Scared of Crowley, and more pain, and more secrets that he' would spill in order to escape it. He felt shame constrict his heart. Alphie's heart pounded like a tribal drum, fast and in some incomprehensible pattern.

Alphie, somewhere deep inside him, fluttered tiredly, pain and fear.

I'm sorry, this isn't what I meant to happen.

Steps came closer, and Samandriel could not get enough air. Then there were words, said in a tone infinitely kinder and more worried than Crowley could ever fake.

"Woah, hold on Buddy, we'll get you out of here-Alphie?"

Alphie was his vessel, he thought, confusion. Panic fading.

"Samandriel?" Said another voice, horrified, but one he knew somehow, knew the angelic power (faded though it was) could still recognize the grace.

"Cas, help me with him." The voice said. Hands were placed on his shoulders, on the Enochian bindings he had not known existed until Crowley snapped them around his wrists.

Samandriel fluttered his eyelids; it seemed to take monumental effort. Castiel's human face stared down at him, sympathy and pain in his eyes. Then Castiel looked down, confusion spreading across his face.

"I've never seen bindings like this, Dean," He said, glancing over. The hands moved over his arms, neck, head, checking for wounds, though they'd all closed by now. Dean Winchester came into view, examining his wrists.

"Can you zap them off?" Dean asked Castiel. Castiel shook his head.

"I can't even touch them. They're resistant to grace."

Dean came closer, plucking at the edges. It sent a shot of pain through his already raw wrists. He gasped.

"Holy crap, they're burning him."

"I know." Castiel said, lifting his hands.

"They burned you?" Dean said, even more worry shooting through his voice.

"I am an angel. I'm fine, it will heal."
Dean growled, and muttered something Samandriel did not catch.

Castiel's hands moved to his head, and some of Castiel's power flowed into him, making the world clearer for the first time in a while. He roused in time to see

Castiel pitch forward, and catch himself with reddened fingers against the back of the chair.

"Damnit Cas, you're not supposed to do that!" Dean said, while he fiddled with the wrist bindings. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Castiel said, straightening up. Dean muttered something about hearing that a lot lately, but Samandriel was blinking, finally coming out of his pained daze, and realizing the angel in front of his was supposed to be dead.

"Castiel? You're alive? You made it out of Purgatory?"

"Somehow," Dean said lowly. Castiel nodded.

There was a snap, and one hand blazed in pain, making him cry out.

"Sorry," Dean said, and moved to to the other hand. Castiel moved his hand from his tight grip on the back of the chair, getting steady, and beginning to wipe his face with the overcoat sleeve. His blood and tears stained the tan fabric. The cleanliness felt so good, he could not stop a noise of relief.

The other hand snapped open, but Samandriel was at least able to stifle that sound of pain.

"Okay, you're good."

Castiel and Dean got their hands under his arms, and pulled him upright carefully. He winced in anticipation of pain, but it was mostly aches, the more acute wounds having healed already, and Castiel's small healing gift had cleared his head, and calmed his fear.

Dean dragged them around, heading towards the door. He looked up nervously.

"Can you fly us out of here?" He asked Castiel.

Solemnly, Castiel shook his head.

"I don't have the strength."

Samandriel could tell that Dean had to try to not look disappointed.

"I can," Samandriel whispered. He could. Crowley had not been able to affect his wings, and he could already feel his strength returning. Dean looked skeptical.

"No offense, but you look like you just went ten rounds with King Kong."

Samandriel did not understand that reference, but he read the doubt, and straightened up. His strength was returning, and they were still in danger, both him and his rescuers. He spread his wings, ignoring the alarm in both Dean and Castiel's faces, and gripped them while he flew from the dungeon he'd spent the last few weeks in.

It didn't take long for him to realize that flying right now was...difficult, especially holding two people. Castiel at least did not try to help, and kept his wings tightly furled. That would have been disastrous, especially with how erratic he was flying. It was only a few moments in the air, before he lost control with a gasp.

They landed hard, the impact jolting through Samandriel's body, and causing him to lose his grip on Castiel and Dean. They all tumbled to the ground, Samandriel wincing in pain from his wrists and lingering aches. Dean got to his knees, grumbling all the while.

"Sure let the guy who was recently tortured fly us out of there, great idea..."

"Samandriel, are you alright?" Castiel asked, kneeling, and looking over at him in concern. Samandriel had yet to get up, only lying there, and panting. He nodded, his head scraping against the ground. The smell of forest dirt and moldy decay filled his nostrils.

He got himself up on his hands and knees, feeling his vessel's young body shaking.

"Alright, where the hell are we?" Dean asked, looking around.

"Not far from the compound." Castiel answered, getting to his feet. "The car is just that way.

"Huh," Dean said, looking at Samandriel, before pulling him to his feet. "Good aim."

They made it to the car in good time, Dean Winchester's famous Chevy Impala was lurking in the shadows of the forest. Dean helped him inside, to recline in the backseat, while Castiel got in the front. They drove away with bark flying behind them.

As they drove, Samandriel felt the memories of his injuries and traumas come to the front of his mind, leaving him in a daze, leaning his head on the window. He vaguely heard Dean say they were meeting his brother Sam somewhere. The last thing he registered was Dean's worried tone.

"I don't know man, I mean, he's a full blooded angel, and they did that to him."

"I'll be fine."

"I know, I'm just saying, be careful. Crowley has it out for you..."

Then the words spun away, and Samandriel fell into healing sleep.