Hey y'all! :)

This a one-shot that popped into my mind when I was listening to Snow Patrol's Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking and daydreaming (as usual). The characters include Dean, Sammy, Castiel and Bobby with no pairing (just good ol' fashioned family love.)

Summary:- Set post 5x10. An ambush by a mob of angry demons, a distinct lack of ammo, a 'flighty' escape: just another day in the life of the Winchesters, right?

It switches from action, to fluff, to sad scenes and with a little pinch of humour as well :P. Hope you all enjoy it!


It was an ambush; that part was abundantly clear now. A sea of taunting black eyes surrounded them from every side, partnered with malicious smirks that could send a shiver trickling disturbingly down the spine. Anyone else would have surrendered, or turned tail and attempted to flee before being massacred.

But, ambush or not, Winchesters weren't ones for accepting their fates.

Hoisting their shotguns high, they fired, round after round of rock salt slamming into the heaving ranks of demons that lurked ever closer. Sam bumped his brother's shoulder, spinning in an opposite direction to Dean – dancing a dance they had been taught so long ago.

"Sam three o'clock!"

Turning with fluent grace, Sam's arms jolted back as he fired at the nearest lunging demon, so close that its black eyes obscured his vision, freezing his heart for a moment. Shaking off the discomfort, feet moving lightly along the warehouse floor, Sam twisted his torso from side to side as they held off the attacking streams.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, but before he could turn to shoot it down, the creature had reached Dean's side. "Dean!"

Dean reacted at the sound of his name, swinging the butt of the shotgun around and clipping the demon's meat suit hard in the side of its head. It stumbled, missing its chance at finishing him when Dean flipped the gun over, firing a round point blank into its twisted face.

Distracted, Sam was only aware he had been hit when the air was forced from his lungs and he was sent tumbling to the floor. The shotgun slipped from his grasp, clattering away across the floor and was instantly hidden by the approaching feet of battle.

"Shit," he muttered, managing to place his hands beneath him and grip the handle of a familiar knife at his waistband. He felt, rather than saw the approach of the demon that had caught him by surprise and turned, blade glinting dangerously at the end of a rising uppercut.

It sliced cleanly through the underside of its jaw, through the gaping mouth before Ruby's knife buried itself contentedly into the victim's brain. Black eyes widening, the body bucked above him, horrifically flashing lights illuminating the human's skin in a violent display, before all was still.

Shoving the now lifeless frame off of him, Sam rolled to his knees, surveying the surroundings. His gaze instantly zeroed in on Dean as he still effortlessly knocked back the vile creatures surrounding them. The shotgun roared out a resonating boom with each shot, whispery smoke weeping from the barrel as though lamenting the pain it was causing.

"Sammy!" called the deep voice, Sam struggling back to his feet as concerned green orbs swung around to lock on hazels. "You okay?"

Sam nodded, sharing a sincere look with the elder Winchester before swinging his arm in a wide arc, slitting the throats of two advancing demons. He watched with sadness as the victims' bodies collapsed uselessly to the floor, their blank eyes watching the ceiling forever more.

Blood, thick and viscous, dripped from the inflicted wounds and Sam studied it with startling intensity. He admired the path it artfully drew along pale skin: a violent paintbrush stroke on a blank canvas…

"Sam!"

His head snapped up at the cry, once again silently reprimanding himself for being so careless. Hand rising to bury the bloodied blade deep within the lunging demon's chest, Sam felt the painfully familiar sensation of longing rising up within – an addiction not yet overcome.

The knife found its mark, bone crunching around the strong blade as it buried itself deep past the ribcage. Fresh blood ran over the knife, weaving its way steadily across his hand and Sam watched it; a manic hunger residing deep within his eyes.

No. No, you don't need it anymore – you've never needed it!

A guttural gasp escaped the dying victim's throat and Sam found himself struggling back to awareness. Face twisted into a grimace, he wrenched back at the same time as he pushed the figure away, watching while its knees buckled to send it keeling to the floor.

Drawing his gaze away from the still rapidly spreading pool of blood, Sam called out to Dean, watching as his big brother attempted slowly to bridge the gap that had formed between them throughout the course of the fight. "Dean! We should get the hell out of here!"

"You think?" snapped the sarcastic reply, before the trademark leather jacket swung around, followed by another gunshot.

Before Sam could formulate a cutting reply, the elder brother found himself having to dodge back rapidly, just as another demon struck. Although easily avoiding the top of his skull being rather torturously separated from his head, the demon's knife managed to clip him, slicing diagonally across his brow and splitting skin. Blood gushed through the crack in his skin, momentarily blinding him as his vision flooded crimson.

Wincing, Dean flicked the barrel of the shotgun upwards as he stumbled, firing off another close proximity shot quickly. He pressed a hand to the steadily flowing wound, blinking the streams of blood out of his eye as his vision blurred, still tinged a disturbing shade of red.

"Dean!" The blonde head of hair snapped up and he watched Sam swiping through demons to reach him, a worried expression on his face. "You okay?"

Dropping his hand back down, gripping the shotgun's barrel and staining it scarlet, Dean nodded with assertion, "Yeah, just a scratch."

It was then that the two found themselves back in their starting positions, backs pressed tightly together and weapons brandished outwards. They pressed close against one another, circling rhythmically while all the while, preparing to ward off any sudden attacks.

"Dean," Sam withheld a gulp at the ocean of black eyes glaring malevolently at them. The blood-stained knife raised a fraction higher, causing the closest demons to hiss furiously and retreat a step. "There's too many of them."

"I know."

Unfortunately, it seemed that the demons realised their advantage as well and remained several feet away, inviting the hunters to make the first move. Should they, it would undoubtedly be their last. Several smirks lit up the evil expressions at the Winchesters' obvious dilemma: they were utterly surrounded from every angle and had no chance of escape.

The elder Winchester levelled his shotgun at surrounding heads, hoping that the scatter of rock salt would be enough to deter a few demons at once. Personally, he didn't see how he and Sam would be able to get out of this one – they had well and truly been caught off guard by the demon's surprise attack. As such, their supplies were rapidly declining and even if they managed to repel any further attacks for the time being, eventually they would be running on empty.

They needed an emergency exit, and fast.

An idea formed in Dean's mind and, adjusting a one-handed grip on the handle of the shotgun, his other hand delved deep into his jeans' pocket. He resisted the urge to glance down, emerald eyes glinting darkly at the enclosing barrier of creatures.

Their unblinking stares unnerved him, causing the hairs on the nape of his neck to stand to attention. His lips twitched angrily, eyes narrowing in distaste and causing the now dried blood along his brow to crack. Frustration amounting, he spat: "Why don't you take a picture, you assholes? It'll last longer."

"Dean."

Ignoring the warning tone in his brother's voice, Dean found what he was looking for. With an internal 'hallelujah', he dragged his phone from the deep recesses of his pocket and hastily pressed the number three on speed dial. The phone was instantly jammed to his ear and, registering the action as a plea for help, the nearest demons surged forth. Pain exploded in his wrist as he fired awkwardly with one hand, but he easily disregarded it upon seeing four bodies keel immediately to the floor.

Behind him, he felt Sam lunge away from their linked position; an inhuman screech erupting in the air moments later as a result. Guess they got bored of waiting for us to surrender…

Holding the phone against his ear by wedging the device between it and his shoulder, Dean reloaded swiftly as more demons lunged for him. The jarring recoil of the shotgun knocked him back a few steps, placing adequate distance between him and his opponents. Absentmindedly, he wondered why Lucifer had sent the grunts of his oh-so terrifying army; after all, these things attacked with their hands, not with their minds. Or perhaps the 'hands-on' approach was a new tactic in attempting to kill him and get to Sam.

Pushing these thoughts away, he listened impatiently as the phone continued its droning ring, the person at the other end clearly 'engaged'. Dean scoffed at the ridiculous notion. What the hell could he be busy with?

"Dean!"

The elder brother swivelled with his neck still at a peculiar crooked angle supporting the phone. He fired off another shot mid-turn, managing to locate his brother immediately amongst the writhing masses of demons. Sam lunged violently, slitting another person's throat with an expression of utmost remorse, before his deep eyes locked on Dean's. The younger Winchester's eyebrows drew together in a moment of comical confusion, before he gestured wildly at his warped stance.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Get…" An approaching demon to his brother's left made him break off to call out a warning. However, from the corner of his eye, he saw another creature lunging at him and leapt away swiftly. Already he drew a fresh shell from his jacket pocket, knowing with desperation, that it was one of his last.

Fingers fumbling as they tried to reload, Dean called back, "Getting help!" His eyes darted up from his sideways angle as he saw a small group of demons sprinting towards him, murderous intent lurking within their expressions. "What the hell did it look like I was doing?"

Sam's no doubt sarcastic reply was lost on him as the rock salt shell slipped from his sweaty fingers and he cursed. The demons were now only mere feet away and he was well aware that his only weapon had no actual ammo left to fire. "Damn it!"

A loud click in his ear was overshadowed by the action of flipping the sawn-off shotgun around his hand. His fingers curled tightly around the barrel and with as much force as his body would allow, he swung the newly fashioned club into the jaws of the approaching monsters. The crack of bones under the strength of his attack made the elder Winchester wince, but he carried through, causing the struck demon to slam bodily into the rest of the group.

"And stay down, you sons of bitches!"

Dean knew that his cockiness would undoubtedly be quickly retracted in a couple of seconds, but he needed something to lighten the oppressive hopelessness of their situation. It was a peculiar way for it to end, he realised. Their destinies seemed almost inconsequential compared to the mass slaughter that was soon to greet them.

"Dean!"

The gruff voice sounded nothing like Sam's and, after glancing at his brother who was still impressively initiating a bit of knife work on his enemies, he knew that it was not he who had spoken. The realisation instantly registered as more demons began to advance, eying his makeshift 'club' warily.

"Cas!," he exclaimed, freeing one hand from its white-knuckle grip on the barrel of the shotgun and relieving his neck of its precarious position. "Cas, thank God or well you know, whatever. Get your feathered ass over here right…"

He was cut off as an arm swung out of nowhere and with such force that it seemed as though its owner was determined to behead him in one fell swoop. Dropping to a crouch before the blow could land, Dean replied in kind by swinging the shotgun brutally at the demon's knees. The kneecaps shattered, forcing the joint to bend gruesomely in the opposite direction to what would be considered to be normal.

The elder Winchester darted back upright, agilely moving away as the creature screeched, collapsing agonisingly to the floor. The angel's concerned tone, or at least as concerned as a monotonous celestial being's voice could be anyway, resounded in his ear. "Cas, we need your help! There're demons everywhere, man. We can't get out."

A grunt from somewhere behind him made him spin, his heart going cold as he watched his brother slam hard to the ground. Seconds after falling, demons converged upon him, immediately sensing weakness and assailing it without hesitation.

"No! Sam!"

Still pressing the phone to his ear, he sprinted towards his fallen brother, vaulting over fallen bodies with an ease that would have made an Olympic hurdler jealous. Upon reaching the clumped masses of demons, Dean unleashed his swing of the shotgun. Faces literally crumpled under the viciousness of his assault, what could only now be corpses of the possessed victims slumping away from him.

Upon catching a glimpse of his little brother's awfully battered form as he cleared a wild pathway through the ambush, he tucked the shotgun under his arm and lunged. Grasping Sam's arm firmly, Dean wrenched him free of the bodies, pulling him safely away.

As the demons began to rise again from their dejected heaps on the floor, Dean's voice increased in volume while he desperately relayed their location to the angel on the end of the line: their only hope of salvation. Protectively, he pushed Sam behind him despite the younger man's pained protestations, eyes watching horrified as mangled faces loomed closer.

Shit! Come on, Cas!

The elder brother dragged the shotgun back out from its place under his arm, seeing the demon-killing knife held by Sam in his peripheral vision. But one effective weapon was not going to be enough against the pissed off, colossal wave of demons heading their way. He couldn't help the twinge of fear he felt at the notion of being mutilated again: Hell had already taught him the excruciating torment that came with it.

A hand curled in the back of his leather jacket; both in a sign of comfort and a need to be comforted. Dean swallowed back the rising trepidation, nudging his little brother back a step further, determined to defend him until the end.

A pale hand lunged out, gripping the front of his shirt and he frowned in confusion for a moment. Lethargically, he glanced over his shoulder to see Sam gaping in an equally puzzled way at another hand coiled in his own jacket. Before Dean could follow the appendage to discover who it belonged to, his body was ripped away, feet leaving the ground and sending his stomach into nauseating butterflies.

The elder Winchester's head spun furiously as he felt his entire frame being torn away from reality. God, he really hated travelling via the Angel Express. Abruptly his body jerked and he found his heart lurching in simultaneous surprise. This had never happened before…

Overlapping slashing sounds caught his attention before there was, eventually, a replying hollow thump. An eerie shriek suddenly reverberated through his skull, pure blinding light burning beneath his tightly closed lids a second later. As soon as it had come, the noise and piercing glow faded into nonexistence. Dean felt weightlessness grip him, bitter wind whipping harshly around as his limbs began to twist uselessly about him.

And it was with sudden clarity that he realised: he was falling.

His lids were peeled back unwillingly by the air resistance, green irises expanding in terror at the rapidly approaching ground below. His hands tightened their holds aggressively on both his phone and the shotgun, until both items were grooving an imprint into his skin. With tremendous effort, he managed to straighten his body so that his stomach was facing downward. His spine ached with the effort and he fought to roll his head to the side, instantly finding gravity's other two soon-to-be victims.

Furthest from him was Sam, mouth open in a soundless scream, body suspended like a puppet on cruel strings high above the world. His petrified gaze managed to find Dean's own, tears being dragged from the corner of the younger brother's eyes and forced to hang in the air around him. Perhaps in any other circumstance, the sight would have been a mesmerising one, but now it was purely bloodcurdling.

As one, the brothers' eyes fell to the reason for their predicament. Even mid-fall, the slim body was obviously lost deep in the realms of oblivion, arms and legs flopping limply beside him as he joined his charges in their untimely descent. In horrific symmetry to Sam's tears, blood droplets hovered in crimson orbs around the angel's inert frame, originating from a series of ragged wounds that criss-crossed the length of his chest. The sapphire eyes were, predictably, hidden from view, shielding Castiel from any further pain to come.

"Cas!" Dean cried, his voice instantly being ripped away by the wind as they plummeted. He was unable to tell in their current circumstance if the angel was even alive. After all, something had hit Castiel hard mid-flight; hard enough to draw blood and render him into unconsciousness. "Cas, no. Come on, wake up damn it!"

The memory of the inhuman scream, followed instantly by the flare of brilliant light stabbed at him deeply. Oh God, no. Please, don't let him be… Emerald orbs widened fearfully, time seeming to slow as Dean once again locked intensely with his brother's gaze, both seeming to have reached the same conclusion.

Their angel - their faithful friend - was dead; and they were soon to follow.

The time to scream, Dean reasoned, would be now and rightly, he supposed they should. But with the knowledge of his friend's death crushing anguish upon his heart, and with his baby brother's eyes still fastened upon his own, he found himself unable to even react accordingly. An unknown expression had etched its way deeply into Sam's abrasion-littered face as he plunged, mimicking Dean and free falling stomach first towards the abyss.

The elder brother frowned, trying to discern what he could see written on Sam's face. Slowly, the younger man nodded his head against the thrashing wind, the gentlest smile struggling to make purchase upon his lips. It was a startling disparity to see the action of joy against a situation of peril, but Dean knew what it stood for. He understood.

Because there it was: acceptance.

They had managed to escape from one lethal situation only to tumble into another, and there would still be no leniency for them. But if I hadn't called Cas, he might still be alive. Sammy… God, I thought I might be able to save him; even if it was just this once. The guilt bore heavily upon the already tattered remnants of his soul and Dean found himself seeking solace in the smallest release of their circumstance: his guilt would end very, very soon.

With lips quirking weakly, Dean's eyes swam passionately with overwhelming emotion. He forced the concept of falling from his mind, trying to ignore the churning of his stomach and the gyrating sensation that persisted on tormenting his head. All that mattered was his final moment with his brother – one that had been granted him as penance for his stolen time with Castiel.

Choking back the feelings that threatened to consume him, he struggled to find the best words to say. How could he say everything he wanted to in one simple phrase? Wetting his lips, the moisture long since stolen by the lashing air, Dean mouthed his last words.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

There was nothing else to say. In the past, when they had died so many times before, they had never had a chance to tell each other what they really wanted to. In the end, they could only ever seek one form of liberation from one another.

They needed forgiveness.

At once, the brothers allowed their eyes to slide closed, forcing them shut against the air resistance. The buoyancy of their fall became their safety blanket, enveloping them in a moment of tranquillity before the violence that was soon to follow. It was the same with any soldier facing certain death; their small slice of paradise before the brutality of battle.

A familiar rustling noise persuaded Dean to open his eyes once more and they instantly widened. A pair of unmistakable azure eyes stared sincerely at him as they fell, one pastel hand straining out towards him. The elder Winchester's eyes glanced upward and he felt his jaw drop. He had seen a silhouette of Castiel's wings once before, the first day that they had met. However, nothing could prepare him for the sight of the ethereal appendages in all their splendour: a shimmering montage of white and silver features that glimmered spellbindingly in the sunlight, fluttering softly against the wind.

Strong fingers latched securely around his wrist and before he could study the angel's wings further, his lids were snapped closed at the velocity of Castiel's renewed flight. His abdomen suddenly slammed hard against the floor, the air whooshing from his lungs as he was sent rolling forth. As his back smashed into something immovably solid and incredibly painful, he heard an exclamation of curses before he slowed to an uneasy stop.

Dean gasped as he struggled to draw air, face down against what he eventually recognised to be wooden flooring. The flutter of something decisively un-wing like encouraged him to raise his exhausted eyelids. Flurries of weaving pages cut through the air before him and he frowned, bewildered at the sight.

Are we in a library or something?

"Why don't cha learn to land properly, ya freakin' idgit?"

I'll take that as a yes. Groaning, still harshly winded by his apparent collision with the floor of Bobby's study, Dean dragged his knees wearily beneath him. Dropping the shotgun, his arms wrapped tightly around his abused torso as he inhaled slowly, trying to quell the nausea that had been plaguing him throughout their fall. His gaze lifted and he winced visibly at the sheer destruction of Bobby's books; pages had been strewn like wayward confetti across the length of the room, the floorboard now smothered in a blanket of white.

Dean stumbled to his feet, sliding momentarily on the sheets of paper before righting himself. He walked with hesitant steps through the destruction, watching the back of the enraged man's wheelchair with trepidation. He had already learned the hard way not to piss of a paralysed hunter - the speed at which Bobby had managed to manoeuvre the wheels over his toes had been downright scary.

"And you can quit hiding!" the older man bellowed, leaning forward in his chair to grasp at something before him. As Bobby straightened, Dean found himself racing forth in concern as an unkempt Sam came into view, his ashen complexion giving him the appearance of someone about to faint.

"Sam, you okay?" the elder brother queried, drawing to a breathless stop beside Bobby's wheelchair. One hand reached out to rest supportively on Sam's shoulder as the younger man nodded shakily in answer. "Yeah, Angel Express does that to ya."

"Castiel!" Both brothers flinched in unison as Bobby relinquished his grip on Sam, spinning his chair around in a menacing hunt for the wayward celestial. Paper crinkled beneath the rotating wheels, but the elder hunter didn't seem to care, determined on reprimanding the ancient warrior of God as a father would his son. "Get out here now, boy."

Deciding to intervene, Dean took a step forward, eyes scanning the room for any sign of the wounded angel, "Hold up, Bobby. He was hurt when he brought us here."

A pair of solemn eyes turned on him, a flash of concern nestling in their depths. The hunter seemed to consider the words, gaze flicking to the equally anxious expression on the youngest Winchester's face before levelling again on Dean, "How bad?"

"It was pretty bad. We thought he was…"

The word 'dead' lodged somewhere in his throat and nestled there deeply, choking off any further words. The abrupt halt to his sentence easily allowed Bobby to fill in the blanks and his eyebrows had risen in a mixture of surprise and genuine fear.

Sam glanced around the room, searching hurriedly for the angel amidst the destruction. His surprise when he had opened his eyes to see Castiel reaching for him had been instantly overwhelmed with relief. The effort of straining his arm outward to grip the celestial's as they fell had wrenched painfully on his shoulder, but the brief look of gratitude and the strong grip of fingers over his jacket had eased any injury.

The elder brother walked gradually through the study, eyes scanning the ground for any sign of Castiel. He instantly zeroed in on the violent splatters of blood across numerous pages near to the door and cursed. Grimacing, he peeled the phone from his palm and pressed the accustomed number three, holding it against his ear.

Without even realising it, he had begun to pace, Sam and Bobby's apprehensive stares following him as he did. Answer it, Cas, he silently urged as the phone continued to ring, oblivious to his concerns. "Pick up the damn phone!"

At his brother's outburst, Sam flinched, but knew better than to interrupt. The losses of Ellen and Jo were still excruciatingly sore to them all and he knew that Dean would not be able to cope with the bereavement of losing another close friend. In truth, the elder brother would have probably preferred that they had been left to keep on falling.

After what seemed to span years, the telltale click of the phone being disconnected launched Dean into his panicked mode of speech: "Cas! Holy shit, are you okay?"

"Dean, I am… fine. Are you and Sam alright?"

"Oh yeah, you sound just peachy, Cas," replied the hunter, anger fighting to overpower his concern in the Winchesters' familiar self-defence mechanism. Sighing, Dean's shoulders lost tension and he scrubbed a hand wearily through his cropped hair. "We're okay. Cas, what the hell happened up there?"

There was a pause and Dean's heart raced as he heard a small hiss of pain echo over the line. "Another angel, it caught me off guard. I was trying to shield the two of you from its attack and it chose that opportunity to strike me with its sword." A shaky inhale met the elder brother's ear and he waited patiently. "I killed it but it dealt me several severe blows. I could not carry you any further. I am sorry."

"Hey, no man, don't do that. You have nothing to apologise for, alright? Me and Sam; we're fine. Not even a scratch on us from our sky dive without a parachute," he smirked lightly, faked humour doing little to hide the genuine terror he had felt as all three of them plummeted from the sky. Glancing over at Sam, he was rewarded with a similar expression of pained amusement. "But it's not us I'm worried about. You were hurt, Cas, pretty badly from what I saw."

"They will heal. The wounds are not fatal."

Dean scoffed, "I'm sure they're not Spock, but at least come back here and let us be the judge of that."

"I cannot. But please inform Bobby that I apologise for the mess that I have caused to his house." The angel seemed to pause, whether out of pain or actual dread of the elder hunter. "I do not wish to instil his wrath."

"'Instil his wr…'" breaking off, Dean erupted into laughter, throwing back his head in an expression of happiness. He turned to glance at the two other occupants of the room, snorting harder at the looks on their faces: clearly thinking that the middle hunter of their ranks had finally lost it. "Oh man, Cas. I get that he's pretty damn scary at times, but I doubt he can smite you. Unless he, you know, tied you down and wheeled over your wings a couple of times."

Bobby scowled over at him, tapping his fingers menacingly on the handle of his chair. Beside him, Sam took a cautionary step back; again, the man could move worryingly fast on his wheels.

"… He could do that?"

Shaking his head, the naivety of his angel way too amusing to take advantage of sometimes, Dean began earnestly. "Cas, please, just come back to Bobby's. We'll patch you up and you can be hitching a ride back on God's coattails in no time."

"Dean, I cannot."

The solemn tone made the elder brother's heart clench and he wandered to the side of the study. He lowered himself onto a nearby desk as he hesitantly asked, "Why not?"

"There are other angels following me, probably alerted when I killed the one that attacked me." Castiel went silent again and Dean realised why he kept on breaking off so suddenly. He was stopping and starting in flight as he travelled from place to place, trying to shake off the angelic battalion following closely on his heels. "I only had enough to time to drop you and your brother at Bobby's before I had to move. I could not risk them finding you both."

"Shit!" the elder Winchester exclaimed, lifting a hand to scrape at his jaw line in an alarmed gesture. "Look, I don't care about them finding us, okay? Just get back here and we'll help you fight them."

Even over the phone line, Dean could imagine the gentle affectionate smile the angel was wearing. "Dean, I appreciate the sentiment, but I am doing this to protect my family."

"Your family?"

"Yes," Castiel breathed. "I will not let them hurt any of you."

The call cut out and Dean felt a strange tugging sensation in his chest. He lowered the phone slowly from his ear until it rested dejectedly in his lap. It had never occurred to him until now that Castiel had become like a second brother to him over the course of the past year. But, furthermore, it had never even registered that their small dysfunctional band of hunters would become the renegade angel's entire family.

You better be okay, Cas.

"Dean." The elder brother's head snapped up to meet Sam's compassionate gaze. The younger hunter seemed to pause awkwardly, as though uncertain as how to proceed, before managing, "He's okay, right?"

Dean pushed himself upright, his lips twitching minutely, "Yeah, he's fine Sammy."

Reprieve swept over the little brother's face and he smiled back. He had only recently discovered how much he had actually cared for the celestial, mostly due to the fact that their only common factor was Dean who had seemed to deal with them both in separate turns. However, after Ellen and Jo's passing, when his brother and his surrogate father had been buried head first in a case of whisky, his comfort had been granted by Castiel – the least likely candidate for the job.

Surprisingly for a supernatural being with little to no emotional range, Castiel had been very emphatic and listened with interest to Sam's grief and tales about the departed mother and daughter. Sam had talked long into the night, the angel never once leaving his side throughout every angry outburst or sorrowful tear shed. He had been this rock when Dean had shattered with heartache and, as such, Sam was wondering if Castiel had done the same for his brother in the previous year when he had been tangled in his addiction.

"Hey Bobby," Dean called out, stepping around Sam and directing a shit-eating grin in the eldest hunter's direction. "Cas says he's sorry for the mess."

Comically, Bobby's eyes widened, face turning an impressive shade of scarlet. "He's sorry? He's sorry?" The man wheeled closer, until he stopped inches before Dean's legs. For a moment, Dean caught the true flash of real happiness at the angel's wellbeing before Bobby continued with his tirade. "Is 'sorry' gonna fix my study? Is 'sorry' gonna clean all this shit up?"

"Um, well no, but…"

"But nothin'. And since you two knuckleheads," he inclined the iconic cap in the direction of Sam, before fixing Dean with a glare, "crash landed here, you can clear it up."

With what would have quite possibly been a flourish if the older man had been standing, Bobby swivelled around in his wheelchair, leaving the room promptly. Dean turned, sending an amused look back at his brother, who replied in kind. Sam stepped closer, glancing down at the disastrous piles of crumpled paper around their feet: "So how do you think we should do this?"

"Vacuum cleaner?"

They heard the telltale squeak of the chair before they saw it, and both brothers instantly backed further into the room. Bobby appeared around the corner, yet instead of anger at the practically blasphemous suggestion, his brow was furrowed in curiosity.

Dean almost sighed in relief. Confusion we can work with…

"What did you mean when you said 'from our sky dive without a parachute'?"

The elder brother's expression paled, Sam's following suit before the younger Winchester sent a scathing look his way. Dean shrugged, quickly attempting to send a weak smirk in Bobby's direction. Because really, he knew that no matter which way he tried to swing this, they were still going to be in for a monumental ass-kicking. Ah screw it.

"Bobby, you might wanna sit down for this."

At this statement, the elder hunter's face grew to an impressive crimson tint until, with a mouth full of colourful expletives, he exploded. The end result was that the actual crash landing – the cause of such apparent chaos - was very nicely put into perspective.


Yes, I do have a strange obsession with the boys falling from very high heights... oops? :P

Please, please review and let me know what you think! I'd love to hear your opinions :).

Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)