Dean remembered yelling at Cas. He remembered shouting in the angel's face to "stay the hell away" all because Cas had used up his angel power in a recent fight and still wanted to help the boys on a hunt. He remembered the icy stone that dropped in his stomach at the broken expression in Castiel's piercing eyes. And he remembered leaning against the wall in that motel after Cas had stormed out and grinding his forehead into the plaster.

He remembered all of that from when it happened just hours before. But he couldn't forget the looks of sinister delight that had been etched into the faces of three demons as they cornered him an hour later in the alley by the bar he'd been drinking at unceremoniously.

And now he sat, tied to a chair with ropes tight enough that they were cutting off the circulation in his hands and feet.

"Look who's finally woken up!" sneered a tall wiry man who wasn't passing up the chance to show off his glistening black eyes. His companions, an attractive looking woman with dark red hair and a beefy young man who obviously spent a lot of time at the gym, closed in around him.

"What do you want?" Dean spit at them, struggling in his ropes a moment before realizing it was futile. He contented himself with watching the three through narrowed eyes.

The redhead had Ruby's knife in her hand and was rubbing her thumb across the flat edge of. She gave him a petulant look. "Right to the point? I was thinking we could have a little fun first," she whined.

"Careful, sweetheart," Dean replied in a mocking tone, "You might cut yourself on that."

Her face quickly turned ugly as she scowled at him. Moving faster than Dean had expected the demon took a seat on his lap and stroked the tip of the blade across his cheek and down his chest. It stopped right above his heart. She seemed about to say something when the taller man cut in.

"Enough. We're not here to play games." There was a serious look to his face that mirrored the other man's. The woman looked somewhat forlorn, but she retreated and continued twisting the blade in her hands with a faint smile on her full lips.

"No games?" Dean hid the minor fear flickering through his veins with a practiced "macho attitude". "Damn. I was looking forward to some 'Go Fish' with you guys."

The beefy demon curled his lip in a sneer but the tall one held up his hand. "No, Dean Winchester. No games today. We want info."

"Info on what?" Dean asked in a snarky manner.

"On your little angel," he supplied, the corners of his mouth turning up as Dean's eyes grew cold.

"We heard he's running low on angel juice," the redhead supplied nastily. "Wanted to know if it was true. So… is it?" She leaned towards him, the knife caressing his temple.

"Why didn't you just ask him yourself?"

"Where's the fun in that?" she pouted, looking for backup in her fellow demons.

Her companions ignored her and the tall one replied, "We decided not to take the risk."

"So why bring me here?" Dean was under heavy scrutiny and couldn't very well look around lest they think he was planning an escape so he gathered what he could from his peripheral vision. He was in what seemed to be a warehouse with piles of boxes to one side and stacked metal palettes to the other.

Suddenly he noticed something. There was a window on the right wall that was partly hidden by the redhead's body. He pretended to eye her while really looking at the window where he swore he could see a shadow moving back and forth before disappearing quickly.

Dean's attention was brought back to the demons as the woman spoke. "We needed somewhere… secluded. For obvious reasons." She grinned and pressed down on Dean's cheek with the knife until it bled.

Dean flashed a cocky grin. "Gonna be tough, you know. I have a high tolerance for pain."

"Really?" the redhead gave him a narrow-eyed look and plunged the knife into his thigh. Somehow, Dean managed to cover up his gasp of pain with sharp laughter.

"So, Dean," the tall demon began, raising an eyebrow. "Is the angel out of his 'mojo'?"

"Screw you," Dean replied with a smirk as the demon removed the blade from his leg. But he soon began to cough out dark blood as he was stabbed between the ribs. It was a place that would miss his most vital organs, but it sent waves of pain crashing through him as his chest convulsed.

"You can kill me if you want," Dean managed to say, seething, "but I won't say a thing."

"Pity," the redhead mused as she twisted the knife.

Hurry up, Sam, Dean thought over and over in his head as his blood slowly dripped to the floor.

What felt like hours, but was only a few minutes, passed by and Dean found himself with another hole in his side and three long, shallow gashes running down his chest. Sam had still not arrived and Dean began to fear that the shadows he had seen outside the window had been his imagination.

The demons continued prodding and poking him with both questions and various blades, but he was resolved to not give in. This torture was nothing compared to what he'd endured in Hell. Eventually, though, Dean began to black out. His senses came and went. He would see glimpses of black eyes and flashing knives.

And then suddenly he heard the sound of a shotgun going off and vaguely thought of Sam. His head was bowed and he could feel blood dripping from his mouth and mixing with the blood that was already soaking his clothes from his wounds. Dean's eyes opened halfway and he saw a blur of tan as it moved towards him.

"…Cas…" he whispered painfully. He heard his brother's voice chanting Latin and then suddenly there was quiet. "…Cas…" Dean whispered again. He coughed suddenly, a racking contraction that went through his whole chest and pushed more blood through his open wounds. He felt a hand touch his cheek and raised his chin. Dean's eyes fluttered but he could make out two faces above him.

"Man, he's really beat up. Can you do anything to help?"

"I might be able to heal the worst of his injuries and those inflicting his internal organs."

"Do it."

"It will make me even weaker." There was a pause. "But he is dying and I can't allow that."

Dean barely heard the words as they were spoken, but he felt as someone cut the ropes that bound his arms and legs. Then he closed his eyes as he felt a warm glow envelop his chest. There was a flood of golden light behind his eyelids and the waves of pain lessened to a dull throb. He also felt someone on either side of him, holding each of his arms as they lifted him from the chair and all but dragged him out of the warehouse.

The chilly air outside stung the slices that were still bleeding on Dean's chest, but he was breathing somewhat normally again. He was laid down in some sort of car which he heard rumble familiarly as it was brought to life. There was a silence filled only with the lull of the engine. Dean slowly felt himself slipping into darkness again and called out, "Cas…" but it came out as more of a breathy pant.

"Will he be okay?" Dean heard faintly.

"He just needs rest. And bandages."

"Should we take him to the hospital anyway?"

"He's not in danger any more. I healed everything internal and the rest is shallow. In a few days I should be able to heal him the rest of the way."

If anything else was said, Dean didn't hear. He drifted into the dark threads of unconsciousness and only woke once a pair of strong arms grasped his own and pulled him up, making Dean groan in sharp pain. His eyes finally opened fully and saw his brother's face swimming before him.

Sam helped him out of car and supported him as he limped towards the motel room they'd been staying in. Dean fell ungraciously into a chair in the kitchen area and groggily observed as Castiel closed the door behind the brothers. Sam kneeled in front of Dean and peeled his blood soaked shirt off, exposing the nasty looking cuts that stretched from his shoulder across to his side.

"Shit, I forgot the first aid," Sam muttered, standing again and dropping the bloody rag on the floor.

"I can—" Cas began but Sam interrupted.

"It's fine," he said, already opening the door, "I'll get it." The door shut with a click that echoed in Dean's ears. The injured man's eyes slowly found the angel but Cas was looking anywhere but him.

"Cas…" he started, his voice cracking. Dean tried to sit up straighter but grimaced in pain as fresh blood began to ooze down his torso. Cas was at his side in a moment, hand on his shoulder to hold him down. Dean looked up at him and met those bright blue eyes with regret.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, hoping that his own eyes could convey the deep message better than his feeble words could. "This wouldn't have… if I—and I shouldn't… said those things," he added in a mumble of disjointed thoughts.

Castiel's cool hand rested on Dean's bloody, flushed cheek. "It's fine, Dean. I know you only said that because you didn't want me to get hurt."

Dean wanted to say something more but a flash of pain ripped through his chest just as Sam entered the room again. Instead of words, though, it seemed Cas was content with just communicating with Dean through their eyes. I'm so sorry, Dean attempted to convey. It's forgiven, the angel's seemed to say in return.