A/N: Important news!! Here's the sequel to "Six Dawns, Six Hours" and it picks up directly in the middle of episode 4.16 "On the Head of a Pin". I'm not sure that this is a story that can stand alone, so I would recommend going to read the one that came before it. This is definitely an AU, and I've removed Anna completely from the plotline.

This is going to be a multi-chapter fic, as requested by a friend. Mel, I hope this is the one you've been waiting for!

Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke.

The hospital reeked of ammonia, disinfectant, and death.

Sam's nose wrinkled at the odors that permeated throughout the building, overwhelming and nearly suffocating in their intensity. His fingers twitched, itching to do something and his foot tapped. Dark brown eyes shifted continuously from the steadily beating heart monitor, to the clock that hung upon the wall and its god-awful ticking, to the badly bruised figure lying in the bed, face paler than the whitewashed walls.

Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.

With a deep sigh, he hung his head and raked his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he'd developed during adolescence that he never managed to shake. He couldn't believe this was happening again. Though they'd always administered first aid themselves with rolls of gauze, threaded needles, and bottles of scotch or whiskey, this wasn't the first time Sam had been sitting at his brother's bedside, watching with miserable helplessness as the multiple tubes and wires going in and out of Dean's body helped keep the elder Winchester alive.

This time though, it hadn't been a demon's fault. No, just like Sam couldn't have possibly blamed his father for being possessed and carving up Dean from the inside like a Thanksgiving turkey, there was only one blamable party in this current situation and it wasn't Alastair. Back then it'd been that bastard Azazel, the son of a bitch responsible for the death of his mother, Jessica, and ultimately, his father as well. Even though he'd encountered evil practically everyday and in every shape and form, sitting there listening to the infernal ticking of the clock and the hiss of oxygen, Sam was certain that he'd never hated anyone more at that moment than the angels of the Lord themselves.

"Get in there and heal him. Miracle. NOW."

"…I can't."

Bullshit. Sam resisted the urge to throw his fist into the wall and tucked his clenched fist securely under his chin, staring hard at the far wall. How could he have been so stupid? He should've known it from the very beginning, from the day the two dicks showed up and announced they were going to destroy a town populated with more than a thousand innocent people just for the sake of one measly witch and their precious seals.

Dean had been too trusting, too willing to put his faith in that one self-proclaimed warrior of Heaven with steely silver-tinted sapphire eyes that, to Sam, spoke nothing but lies. As far as he was concerned, Castiel was the one responsible for the state his brother was in right now, and even had the audacity to refuse amending the situation.

"I don't know what happened, that trap… it shouldn't have broken, I am sorry."

Yeah? Well a lot of good your apology does now, and a lot of good you ever did for my brother, you son of a bitch. He rose to his feet and began to walk the length of the small hospital room, shoes making small squeaking sounds on the linoleum floor. The angel had seemed so frustrated, so adamant, even regretful that even he'd almost been fooled with he act- until he remembered Anna's words, until he remembered that celestial beings were incapable of feeling.

Ten paces to the right, pivot sharply, ten paces to the left. Pivot. Repeat. His mind spun in circles even as he paced. But can you trust what Anna's words to be truth? She betrayed Castiel, practically handed him directly over to the demons to break a seal. To make me Lucifer's vessel. But then again… his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed as he glared hard at nothing in particular. That's exactly what Castiel did to Dean, letting Alastair go after him because they couldn't manage a damn devil's trap.

Neither of them had ever wanted this job, this burden of being saddled down with trying to prevent the apocalypse and quite frankly, Sam had had enough of it- of being pushed around by orders from above, being used merely to get jobs done. Dean was tired of it all, and that was probably half the reason he was lying there in bed, looking like a broken toy that some nasty kid had torn apart and then tried fixing with band-aids and words like I am sorry. No, Sam wasn't tired; he wasn't merely angry anymore. Now, he was downright livid.

Why was it their responsibility to save the angels when they never got anything in return for their efforts but condemnation and pain?

"Sam Winchester…the boy with the demon blood."

Well guess what, it was this boy with the demon blood that saved your ass- again. It's this demon blood that was strong enough to kill Alastair, to save your precious seal. Castiel's disbelieving look when he'd finally put an end to the white-eyed demon was filled with disbelief, horror, and judgment so clearly evident that Sam had to consciously tell himself to not slam the angel back up against the column he's just slid down, to not hang him up on the nail as Alastair had done and just leave him there.

Suddenly and bile rose up in the back of his throat and Sam lurched forward, stumbling out of the room and down along the hall, fighting to stay upright as his feet somehow found their way to the men's room and he fumbled his way into a stall, bent over the porcelain bowl, dry-heaving as his insides felt like a hellhound was trying to claw his intestines apart. Goddamn it.

Breathing heavily, he leaned over the edge of the taupe-colored counter, watching the crystal liquid run down the drain. I have to get stronger. Sam shoved his shaking hands underneath the flow of water and splashed the cool wetness onto his face, lifting his head to stare at his reflection.

There was no other way. He had to get stronger because killing Alastair wasn't enough; twisting the demon's essence in his host's body hadn't given him nearly as much satisfaction as he'd imagined. He wanted- no, he needed more.

God above, he could still see it. Ruby's voice, her arm, the way she dragged the silver blade across the tan of skin to reveal the thick crimson flowing underneath that welled up through the cut to the surface, beads of the sanguine fluid sliding down the inside of her arm, dark red and inviting-

"It's okay, Sammy. You can have it."

That girl was more of an angel than any other being he'd ever met. The way she kept him sustained, offering up what was her own unto him unselfishly, stroking his hair and murmuring words of consolation into his ear as he drank deeply, quenching the thirst that emanated from within and could not be satisfied by any other means.


He spun around. There she was, standing there, leaning against the tiled wall as if it was the most natural thing in the world, to be there staring him down in the men's restroom with that inviting little smile curving her lips. "Ruby."

"How's Dean?"

"Still unconscious." She was sauntering forward now and his eyes were fixed firmly on her arm, where there still remained the faint white line of a scar that was evidence of the last time he drank. It had but been a day ago but there was a hunger, an uncontrollable urge swelling up within him and it took all he had not to grab her right then and then. But she was coming so close now that he could almost smell it and the scent was driving him absolutely insane.

"I know what you want, Sammy," she purred softly, throwing one arm around his neck and bringing their faces close toward each other. He breathed hard, staring into the demon's black eyes and her grin was anything but sweet. She knew.

Ruby brought her hand up slowly in front of Sam's face and watched his eyes follow her movements, fixing upon her wrist so intensely it was almost as if he could see the blood flowing through the veins beneath her skin. "Go ahead. You can have it."

He hesitated. But only for an instant.

Grabbing Ruby's slighter frame, Sam seized a hold of the wrist offered to him and latched upon the source of blood with primal savagery, teeth ripping through the papery-thin skin and letting the coppery fluid fill his entire mouth, staining his teeth and sliding down his throat. It's to be stronger…I have to get stronger…

His entire body shook with the intensity of the power he could feel filling him but still he continued to drink, deeper than ever before and absently mindedly he wondered if it was at all possible to drink until the well ran dry.

The steel pipe caught him directly across the face and Castiel jerked backwards, his surroundings going blinding white as stars exploded across his vision and he felt himself falling to his knees, pitching forward as his motor coordination failed and only managing to brace himself with his hands before what would have proved to be a rather ungraceful meeting with the dirty ground.

His eyes, fixed upon the floor, saw his opponent moving closer. "You can't win, Uriel," the angel barely managed to say. A hand fell down upon his shoulder and pulled him upright on his knees, Castiel's head lolled back and he tried to focus on the fuzzy image of his brother standing above him. Blood in his mouth made his speech thick as he gasped the words out. "I still serve God."

Uriel's harsh reply was one of scorn. "You haven't even met the man!"

Castiel blinked blearily, unable to believe that this was his friend, his brother that had fought beside him for eons, now having succumbed to disobedience and rebellion against the Father. Since when does faith require omniscience?


His head throbbed and his face was driven to the side as his cheekbone smarted painfully but Uriel's grip hauled him back to face him -

"No. Wrath!"

The other angel was putting all his strength into the blows and even on his knees, Castiel was on the verge of collapsing. In such a position he was at truly his brother's mercy, but there was none to be found in the clenched hands that pummeled his face. He was sagging forward again, Uriel's hand on his shoulder tightened and the angel was lowering himself as well, dark eyes so filled with hatred and lust for power drilling into Castiel's exhausted gaze, stooping to one knee to hiss out his last proclamation, full of unholy conviction.

"No. God!"

Uriel's fist swung upward in one swift, decisive, motion as if to drive the words deep into Castiel's consciousness but it was fire that exploded in Castiel's stomach, invisible tongues licking up into his chest and sending coppery liquid flooding into his throat which spurted out of his mouth and snaked down his chin. Brother… what have you done to me? He gazed downward in utter disbelief at the silver sword that had been driven into his abdomen and up through his chest. Limbs unable to move and body too heavy to support, Castiel pitched limply forward into the other angel arms, the handle of Lucifer's sword flashing from where it stuck out of his torso; the air rattled in his lungs as he tried to breathe. Father, spare me from this act of treason; deliver your servant's soul…

"He doesn't hear you." One of Uriel's arms was thrown around his brother in a parody of an embrace, supporting Castiel's weakening frame while out of sight, his other hand twisted the sword viciously and Castiel back arched; he raised horrified eyes. "This is your last chance, Cas." He knew that using the moniker that the mudmonkey had come up with would be the easiest way to get to the feelings inside Castiel, making it easier to sway his judgment. "I'm here on my knees brother; please don't fight me anymore." Uriel's tone was entreating, imploring, promising relief if only the answer would be yes. "Join me."

Castiel's vocal chords were paralyzed, but he could still communicate more than what could fill a thousand textbooks upon the subject of loyalty, faithfulness, and duty with what simple action he carried out next- a shake of the head.

No, Uriel. I will never join you. I will not fall prey to that which has tempted and succeeded in drawing you away from the Father. Never will I aid in the raising of Lucifer. That is my answer, and this is how it will forever be- no.

With a sigh, Uriel twisted his wrist and wrenched Lucifer's sword out from between Castiel's ribs, shoving him backwards onto the filthy ground in a rapidly growing pool of crimson. "Foolish brother. You bring this upon your own head." The angel languidly rose to his feet and spoke into the shadows. "He's all yours."

A pair of Berluti
Rapiécés Reprisés emerged from the darkness; the most expensive men's shoes in the world were completed with a Yves Saint Laurent grey striped suit with Jacquard stitching, the combination of which easily priced for far more than what many could ever hope to earn in a lifetime. The face that went with the suit was a handsome one indeed, with a high brow and aristocratic nose emphasized by the head of slicked back chestnut wavy hair styled carefully in its Ivy League cut. "I expected to receive some type of bonus for moving up in the Pit's hierarchy, but I never imagined that such a wonderful promotional gift would be hand-delivered to me by an angel," Belial smirked, eyes rolling back to expose nothing but white. "I knew there was something I liked about you, old sport."

Uriel watched as the demon took to one knee, withdrawing a white silk handkerchief from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, offering one stern warning. "You are not to kill him."

"Conversion, hm?" Belial folded the handkerchief and carefully wiped away the lines of blood streaking down Castiel's face. "His will is going to be difficult to break; he's already proved that before." The demon lifted one carefully manicured finger and traced it along the angel's jawline, slowly.

"He is a valuable asset. I want him alive."

"Oh, but I want the angel too…" Belial murmured with a lecherous grin and Uriel's expression registered disgust, but a forced calm. "He is strong, this one." The demon straightened, nudging one foot against Castiel's head. He sent the other a knowing smirk. "Dear little Cas would have undoubtedly trounced you soundly just then had he not been so sweetly compassionate-"

"Are you capable of completing the job?" Uriel cut him off swiftly. Was it out of guilt? He extended Lucifer's sword, willingly handing over the one known weapon that could defeat the warriors of Heaven.

A look of pure delight crossed over Belial's features and he took the sword Uriel extended out to him, observing the bloody blade, visibly impressed. "I'm sure I can find a way to…convince him," he said appreciatively. "A pleasure doing business with you, brother."

No response.

The warehouse was now empty, the so-called specialist having disappeared and Belial slid the handkerchief over the sword, examining his reflection in the now-cleaned burnished metal that was not from the created Earth. "I most certainly am going to enjoy having my way with you this time…" he said softly, gazing down at the beautiful spectacle of the angel, lying in a pool of his own blood and ripe for the taking.

With surprising strength, Ruby pulled away and turned the tables abruptly, pushing Sam until his back was flush against the wall, covering his mouth with hers hungrily and Sam found himself drowning in the flow of the blood that pumped strong through his veins, adrenaline rushed and neurons fired five times faster than usual, dizzying in its force.

They pulled apart to gasp for air and Ruby smirked, beckoning to him. "Come with me, Sammy."

Without a word, he did. Out of the dim-colored men's room and down the stark white hallways, past the wards where the patients lay in unconsciousness, breathing through tubes and hooked up to machines, depending on the electrical apparatuses for survival, past where Dean Winchester lay and he didn't turn his head to glance at his brother. As of right now, there was nothing on his mind, nothing at all except Ruby walking in front of him, and the sanguine fluid she bore within her body, that which he, more than anything, craved.

The hospital reeked of ammonia, disinfectant, and death, but the smell of blood was even more potent. Sam knew then, he knew that he'd do anything for another chance to feel the warmth of life sliding past his lips and down his throat and for the one who gave it to him.


He'd do anything for her.

A/N: Poor Castiel! But really, that scene with Uriel was too good to pass up without putting my own little spin on it. Reviews (and feedback) would be much appreciated; tell me what you'd like to see happen!