Angels
Bartleby almost hated the fact that he was so comfortable grasping the hilt of the sword in his hand. He hadn't been joking when he'd told Sam that he was the pacifist, nor had he been in any way glib when he'd told Castiel to do whatever the hell he had to do if he lost control yet again. His Creator had made him a pacifist for a reason and Bartleby knew what happened when he went against that nature. He started thinking like he he was now: Dropping things from very high vantage points and running them through with swords. Fun.
Still, with the magic down thanks to the two demons, he could just feel the Almighty's presence. That bond, weak and nearly completely decimated, was there. "Fuck," he muttered, feathers ruffling. "She doesn't feel right." But that had to be the least of their worries. At least he could feel her at all.
Bartleby looked to Castiel then Eve. They were the true fighters between the four of them and he was willing to defer as long as they got Her back.
At Eve's words he nodded and the wings he'd kept tucked at his side spread wide to their full length.