A/N: To Guest: Toni, I'm sorry if the last chapter's cliffhanger upset you. I assure you (and any readers who aren't familiar with my stories) that I do not write death fics. So here's your long-awaited comfort and family feels. :)

Chapter 7

There was something about racing the setting sun that felt ominous, like trying to outrun Death itself. And, since Death was an actual entity, the notion didn't feel all that ridiculous to Dean. It only spurred his panic more.

Hang on, Cas. Just hang on.

He finally pulled onto the single lane leading up to Eunice's house. The corral of sculptures gleamed in the wash of golden rays spilling over the landscape, casting off blinding reflections that made Dean squint. Now that he knew who Eunice had truly been, he wondered how many of her "artworks" were victims.

Dean veered around the Shelby and tore through the lawn, right up to the greenhouse. He threw the car in park, but didn't bother shutting off the engine before leaping out and bolting into the garden. The gorgon corpses were still there, lifeless and limp, but Dean skirted around Stheno's head anyway, remembering what Sam had said about dead snakes still being capable of biting.

Crowley was where they'd left him, lying on his side. Nearly his entire body had petrified, including the stubble on his chin.

Dean dropped to his knees and uncapped the jar. Crowley's eyes blinked open and bored into him. There was a weird mix of indignation and fear that freaked Dean out. Forcing the jar's rim between Crowley's stiffening lips, he tipped it upside down. The treacly liquid dribbled into his mouth, and thankfully didn't spill out. Dean rocked back on his heels, never having wished so hard that some demon scum would get a miracle.

At first nothing seemed to happen, but then the skin of Crowley's face lost its gray tinge as it softened back to normal pink. The collar of his suit went slack, and there was a creaking sound as his joints unlocked.

As soon as his front had un-petrified, Dean shoved his hands into the suit jacket and patted down the pockets.

"Easy Squirrel, buy me a drink first," Crowley clipped, arms still too stony to do anything.

Dean's fingers knocked against a glass vial, and he yanked out a container with a light blue elixir. He grabbed a fistful of Crowley's shirt. "Is this the cure for Cas?"

Crowley let out a strained grunt. "Yes."

Dean shoved him away, and he rolled onto his side as the last of his limbs unfroze with creaky groans. His hand returned to normal last, stucco flesh smoothing out until all that was left were four half-healed puncture marks.

"Teleport us back," Dean demanded.

Crowley shot him a baleful look from where he was huffing on the ground. "I need a minute to recover here."

Dean grabbed him by the lapels again. "You can rest when you're dead."

Grumbling under his breath, Crowley reached up to grip Dean's arm. He'd been expecting a similar whoosh of air like when Cas zapped them, but that was flying. He didn't know how demons traveled, but in a split second, Dean felt like he'd been plunged into a sub-freezing lake.

Sam was holding onto Castiel's hand so tightly, and was so focused on watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest, that when Dean and Crowley materialized in the room with a loud thud and slew of cursing, Sam nearly bashed his head into the pendulum clock leaping to his feet. Dean took a few unsteady steps before gaining his balance, whereas Crowley promptly fell unceremoniously on his ass in the middle of the room. After being petrified, his limbs seemed to flop like jello.

"Dean?" Hope felt like a briar bush clawing its way up inside Sam's chest.

Dean gave himself a sharp shake. "Got it." He held up a small bottle with an almost electric-blue serum. "Is he?"

"Hanging on." Sam stepped back so Dean could get close, and watched with baited breath as his brother cupped the back of Castiel's neck and lifted his head to drink. Cas didn't even twitch, but his throat moved as he swallowed reflexively.

"That's it, Cas," Dean said quietly, his soothing tone reminding Sam of when he'd been sick as a kid and his older brother had taken care of him. "All of it, there you go."

Cas gave a weak cough as the last of the elixir went down. Dean stared at the veins for several long moments.

"Crowley, it's not working!"

The crossroads demon rolled his eyes, still slumped on the floor. "Do you pop up like a daisy after taking a DayQuil?" He waved his arm, patting the furniture as he sought the liquor hutch, only to have his eyes roll back. Crowley pitched backward, out cold.

Dean looked ready to commit murder, so Sam put a hand on his shoulder. "He's right, Dean. Let the medicine work. Cas will be fine." He had to be fine.

Dean glanced at the unconscious demon, then at Cas's pale face. The tension loosed from his shoulders in an overwhelming wave of helplessness Sam recognized. "Yeah, alright," he said, sounding defeated.

Standing up, Dean went for the hutch and pulled out Crowley's liquor. Sam wasn't surprised when he started knocking back the bottle himself. Keeping any comments to himself, Sam grabbed the recliner and pushed it closer to the settee, then sat down to watch over Cas.

It took two hours, but finally Sam noticed the black veins had faded to light purple. "Dean, it's working!"

His brother's head lolled up from where he'd ended up on the floor, propped against the hutch. "You sure?" he slurred, lurching to his feet.

Sam laid his hand over Cas's forehead, hope soaring anew. "His fever's broken too. Dean, he's going to be okay."

Dean stared down at their friend, blinking through his drunken haze. "Son-of-a-bitch." With that, he chucked the brandy away and settled in for a vigil and sobering up.

Crowley was still out. Sam figured both the angel and demon needed time to recover from their ordeals. Now that he knew Cas was getting better, Sam turned toward the mounds of books in the parlor room and started going through them. He pulled out his phone, snapping shots of pages that looked interesting and emailing them to himself. Though his body ached and he was exhausted from the gorgon hunt, being up for over twenty-four hours, and the adrenaline of thinking his best friend was going to die, Sam didn't stop. He was amazed how much information he was able to take photos of before Crowley finally began to stir.

The demon groaned and lifted his head. "You're still here?" he said blearily. "What does this look like, The Four Seasons?"

"It might as well be until Cas wakes up," Dean snapped from the recliner. "Unless you're up to zapping us back to our motel in one piece."

Crowley glanced at the angel sleeping on the settee. Other than being unconscious, Cas's pallor and breathing had returned to normal over the past couple hours.

"Mhm, fine." Looking around to get his bearings, Crowley turned toward the hutch, liquor shelves laid bare. "What the…" He whirled on the Winchesters, face turning slightly pink.

Dean shrugged. "Call it hazard pay."

Crowley's nostrils flared, and he raised a hand as though to fling Dean against the wall, then seemed to think better of it. Contract and all. He turned on his heel and stormed out, presumably to raid another cabinet.

Sam debated snapping more pictures of texts, but decided against it. He really wasn't up to picking a fight should Crowley catch him. So Sam lumbered over to the back wall and slid down against it at the foot of the settee where he could watch Cas sleep.

"Is there any loophole in the contract that will let me gank his ass?" Dean asked after a moment.

Sam heaved a sigh. "No."

Several more moments of silence passed before Dean spoke again, much more quietly, gaze on Castiel. "I don't know if I'm ever gonna get used to this."

Sam didn't respond. Yeah, angels weren't supposed to sleep. They weren't supposed to be shot, or poisoned, or die from anything other than another angel. But since joining the Winchesters, it seemed Cas was doing that stuff a lot. Sam flashed back to that moment before Cas had lost consciousness, when his eyes had been bright and filled with gratitude. Why did Cas only seem to find peace when he was dying for them? Sam knew their angel's greatest fear was being useless, so much so that he would rather sacrifice himself than admit weakness.

Sam looked down at his hands, hands that were covered in so much blood, both that of monsters and innocents. He glanced at Dean, his brother, who had survived Hell, and probably had just as much red on his hands too. Not that Sam despised or even blamed him for it. He loved his brother more than anything, no matter what.

But he had to wonder, as his gaze shifted back to Cas and then at his own hands again…who was really poisoning the angel?

Castiel felt heavy, like an amorphous shape bogged down in a mire. But that didn't make sense; in his true form he was light and energy, able to float across the sky and ride currents through the air and ethereal plane. What was this unyielding prison?

"Cas? Come on, buddy, wake up. You can do it."

He tried to turn toward the voice, so familiar yet far away. Pressure closed around his hand—wait, he had a hand? Of course, his vessel. And with that knowledge came sensation in arms and legs, sound and smell, the feeling of air on his face, and a hand wrapped securely in his. He forced his eyes to open.

Castiel didn't know where he was or why he was lying on some sort of cramped bed, but he recognized immediately the two faces above him. Sam. Dean. Home.

Sam smiled wide, while Dean's relief remained more reserved.

"Hey, Cas. Welcome back," the younger Winchester said.

Castiel blinked. "Where did I go?"

Dean shook his head then, mouth twitching. He let out a sigh, and Castiel felt the hand in his squeeze. "Doesn't matter. You're back now."

Castiel couldn't explain why he felt such joy and relief at that, at being with the Winchesters, but he gave a small smile. "Yes. Home," he repeated aloud.

Dean grinned. "Damn straight. Can you sit up?"

It took a moment for Castiel to remember how to do that, which really should have worried him. Dean let go of his hand to grip his arm and help him into an upright position.

"You feel dizzy or anything?" Dean asked worriedly.

Castiel tilted his head. "I feel fine." He glanced around the room they were in, noting the various old books and exquisite artifacts. Then he spotted the table with the remnants of sulfur powder and Monkshood flowers, and everything came back to him, like a fog lifting. Castiel glanced at his left hand to find the dark purple veins gone.

"I take it you were successful in reversing Crowley's petrification." He didn't see the demon in the room, but Magnus's mansion was a large place.

"Barely, but yeah." Dean was eyeing him carefully, as though he expected Castiel to collapse any second.

"I'm fine, Dean. The cure, whatever it was, has worked."

"Okay." He didn't look fully convinced, but finally stood up. "No flying yet though. We'll take one of Magnus's cars back to Utah."

Castiel nodded. In truth, he was still feeling a little tired and sore.

"I'm gonna go find Crowley, tell him we're through," Dean said gruffly.

Castiel watched him leave the room, and then turned to look at Sam, who had fallen unusually quiet. "You seem unhappy, Sam."

The younger Winchester jerked his head up. "What? No. I'm thrilled you're alive."

Castiel frowned. "Then why do you still feel guilty? Everything worked out in the end. In truth, I'm glad you weren't the one who had to endure this. Likely it would have killed you much quicker."

Sam ran both hands through his hair, heaving a heavy sigh. "I just…after this…" He looked away. "I wonder if you'd be better off having never met us. You've lost so much for us: Heaven, your powers…your family. We…" Sam's voice choked. "We corrupted an angel."

Castiel studied him for a long moment. "I've told you and Dean before, Sam, I don't regret any of my decisions. Yes, I lost…everything." The word sounded strange on his tongue, and he paused as he remembered saying that to Dean in Bobby's hospital room shortly after Lucifer's rising. Shortly after he'd been killed and mysteriously resurrected—though cut off from Heaven. At the time, he had felt so bereft and full of despair, but he'd been committed to seeing his choices through. Regret accomplished nothing.

Now though… Castiel drew his shoulders back. "But I gained much more, more than I ever could have expected. Or deserved. You and Dean didn't corrupt me…you saved me."

Sam simply stared at him. After a minute, he shook his head, a smile brightening his face.

Dean walked back in then. "Is the chick-flick moment over, or should I step outside again?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, it's over now. Jerk."

"Bitch." He nodded to Cas. "Time to go."

Castiel stood, and Sam was right at his shoulder, prepped to catch him should his balance waver. It used to annoy him, this overprotectiveness that made him feel weak and useless. Now, however, he'd come to understand it as something born of love and devotion. He couldn't begrudge that.

As the three of them walked out of the room, Castiel watched curiously as Sam surreptitiously passed Dean a gun mid-step. The elder Winchester didn't even acknowledge the exchange as they met Crowley in the hall.

"You're taking a third car?" the crossroads demon snipped. "What about the first two you left in the middle of nowhere?"

"We saved your life," Sam said. "You really want to keep bitching?"

Crowley scowled.

Castiel saw Sam give his brother a subtle nod, and wished someday he'd be able to decode all the complicated messages they were able to pass between each other that way.

"One last thing," Dean said. He raised the gun at Crowley and pulled the trigger.

The report echoed loudly in the narrow hall, and Crowley staggered back as the bullet ripped through his shoulder. He stared dumbly for a moment at the bleeding hole before his cheeks puffed with rage. "We had a deal!"

"Yeah, to not kill you. That was a harmless lead bullet."

"No breach of contract," Sam put in.

Crowley gaped at them. "Then what the bloody hell—"

"That was for Cas," Dean interrupted. "You come near my family again and you're gonna wish I'd used the Colt."

He and Sam marched down a side corridor, and it took Castiel a moment to realize he should follow. He and Crowley exchanged one last look, Heaven and Hell at a stalemate, before Cas strode away.

"I'm sending the dry-cleaning bill to you!" Crowley shouted after them.

They entered the garage, and Castiel noted how quickly Dean's face switched from steely menace to delight. The ecstatic mien was such a rare occurrence in the midst of fighting the Apocalypse, that it made Castiel's chest ache. Dean and Sam needed to smile more.

"Which one are we taking now?" Sam asked with a hint of teasing.

Dean grinned as he snatched a set of keys from a ring. "The Cherry Mustang."

Sam nodded appreciatively.

Castiel didn't understand the significance, but he didn't have to. It was enough to see the Winchesters enjoying something. He followed them to a shiny red vehicle.

"You okay to drive?" Sam asked. "Because I wouldn't mind…"

Dean snorted as he unlocked the door. "I got more sleep than you last night."

"More like you were passed out drunk."

"Four hours is four hours."

Castiel climbed in the backseat. It wasn't the Impala, didn't have the same comfortable feel he'd grown accustomed to. But with the Winchesters sitting up front, it didn't matter.

"Should we stop for breakfast?" Sam asked once they reached the highway.

"I'm good."

Castiel's brow pinched as he worked up the nerve to speak. "I think…I might be hungry."

Dean whipped his head around. "Seriously?"

Cas rolled his shoulder self-consciously. It was another sign of how far he'd fallen, of how much he wasn't an angel anymore. And while the thought still made him uncomfortable, it didn't fill him with terror like it used to.

Sam shot Dean one of his 'looks' before smiling at Castiel. "Good, me too." He turned to the older Winchester. "I promised Cas angel food cake and that you're buying."

Dean nodded along with the vibrations of the road before straightening. "Wait, what?"

Sam snickered and pulled out his phone. "I'll find a place that serves it."

"Cake for breakfast, Sammy?" Dean continued. "And you say I'm a bad influence."

Sam glanced over his shoulder, and for the first time, Castiel felt as though he understood all the unspoken words in that single gaze. Maybe we are, but I'm glad you chose us anyway.

Castiel settled back against the leather seat, feeling a warmth inside his chest he hadn't experienced since his grace had been in tune with Heaven. So am I.

Sam grinned and turned back around. "You know what else we should do today?"

Dean rapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "Hm?"

"Teach Cas to drive."