Work Text
The streetlights flashed across Dean’s face as they drive down the never ending highway. Castiel stares at the shadows across Deans face, caught in a half exhausted trance of thinking how strange it is that the darkness seems to be playing tag across this man’s face. He wonders if there is any reason to keeping his eyes open any longer. The dark road goes on and on, and save for the occasional street light it’s almost comforting. In the backseat he hears Sam’s steady snores turn into a groans and turns away from staring at the shadows towards the backseat. “I trust you slept pleasantly,” Castiel says looking back at Sam. Sam pushes up from the seat rolling his head and trying to stretch his legs. “Well enough I guess, thanks. My neck fricken’ hurts, though. Must’ve been the angle.” Sam rubs it a moment longer before groaning as he attempts to straighten his legs in the confining space. “Ughh. My legs are killing me. Where we at?” “I saw a sign for an exit coming up in a few miles for some town called Bloomington. I don’t know, some place in Illinois. About 400, or so miles away from Branson.” Dean glances at Sam in the review mirror, and chuckles. “Think we’ll stop there for the night.” He turns around and looks back towards Dean which earns him a sideways glance before the man clenches his jaw. Castiel sighs and turns his head back to the window, peering out into the darkened land passing by in a blur. It’s no secret that Dean is disappointed in him. If it wasn’t for the fact that some of Dean’s stronger emotions seep through their bond, the looks alone that the man gives him would be enough. Growing weaker isn’t something that an angel should do. His grace that sustains them should just replenish whatever energy they lost. Depending on the severity of the damage it may take a longer amount of time than usual, but it’s just always there. Lately it’s been impossible to hide how exhausted he’s felt. As the days wear on his grace doesn’t replenish itself. Castiel finds himself having to pace himself from the usual things he’d do with his grace without putting much thought into it; healing Sam or Dean when it’s minor injuries, flying into a locked building quickly just to make sure the brothers would be safe, or simply just flying. Human. The weakness he’s been starting to feel isn’t remotely what any normal human might define as weak, but to him, an angel, he feels pathetic. Every day he finds himself more and more exhausted, but it doesn’t make any sense. Sam says he’s sick, but what type of sickness that no angel can cure, is it? More than that, what good is a sickly, less than half powered angel to the Winchesters? Castiel knows all he’s becoming is another burden and with so much already on Sam and Dean’s plate, it’s only a matter of time before they cast him away. Honestly, he couldn’t even blame them if it was sooner rather than later. The last hunt they went on he did nothing but slow them down and potentially put them in harms way. “..good with that, Cas?” Castiel doesn’t turn to Deans voice, instead places his forehead on Baby’s window. “Good with what, Dean?” His tired voice comes out deep and raspy, fogging up the window. The coolness feels nice against his warm forehead. “We’re going to find a place to crash, then grab a bite to eat.” He hears Dean adjust something, or fidget. Castiel is too exhausted to turn around to bother to look and just sighs in response. “We’ll probably head out early tomorrow morning. We need to get to Branson and figure out what’s going on. Sounds like a pretty standard salt and burn.” Castiel hums a reply. For the life of him he can’t remember what exactly the case is that they’re heading for. Silence fills the car and Sam coughs twice in the backseat. Dean lets out a frustrated huff before the sounds static from the radio click on. Dean messes with the dial, changing stations from varying genres of music until he settles on one that plays something Castiel has heard before, but can’t quite remember the name of. He feels the car turning onto the exit, but his eyes are refusing to stay open any longer and he gives into the pull.~*~*~*~* Dean parks the Impala in front of a rough looking motel Sam had given him directions to. He runs his hand through his hair letting out a breath as he eyes the building. Guess it’s not the worst place they’ve ever had to stay in. He turns to look over at Cas who is slumped against the window, breathing steady and even. “I’m going to go get us check in,” Sam says quietly, climbing out of the car. The sound of the door closing doesn’t even make Castiel twitch. Which makes his worry spike up a notch. The last time they talked was back when they finished their last hunt. Well, if you could call it talking. Maybe he was a little harsh, and it was more like he was screaming at the guy. If Dean is being honest with himself, he probably owes Castiel an apology for freaking out on him. But he was terrified and apologizing means he did something wrong and, damnit, he isn’t fucking wrong for caring about his friend! All Castiel did was use his angel mojo to smite some random demon and then collapsed on the ground. He could barely stand after that, let alone walk. In all honesty, when he went over to help Cas up he meant to ask if he was okay, but after getting him up and seeing that he could barely walk on his he might have irrationally freaked out on him. So sue him. He’s never been the best at talking about his feelings. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Cas had been getting weaker lately. Sam has a theory that maybe it’s his grace being overworked or something. Dean knows it’s more than likely bullshit, but on the off chance Sam might be onto something he purposely made sure they bullshitted their way through a couple of towns before going on this hunt just to give Castiel some time to recharge. In the end, if anything, Cas only seemed to get worse. Dean sighs looks back over to the sleeping angel. The angle of how his neck is positioned looks painful, and Dean kicks himself for just noticing this now. He tries to justify it to himself that angels aren’t suppose to sleep, like, ever, and tells himself that he’ll look out for it in the future. A knock at the window drags him from his thoughts. His door squeaks as it opens and he doesn’t bother trying to quietly close it, hoping the noise will wake up Castiel. “All checked in. Room eight,” Sam says holding up two keys. Dean nods and grabs a key, shivering as the cool November air hits his skin. They walk to the back of the car and Dean opens the trunk trying not to look through the back windshield to check and see if Castiel is up. He pulls out their bags trying to ignore Sam shifting his feet like a three year old waiting to ask a question they already know the answer to. Dean shuts the trunk a little too hard and turns to his brother. “Spit it out, dude.” The wind picks up blowing around them and skittering dry leaves across the parking lot. Sam glances at the car then back at Dean. “He’s asleep.” Dean holds back the urge of wanting to roll his eyes. “Thank you Mr. Obvious.” “Don’t be an ass,” Sam huffs grabbing the bag Dean offers him. “He say anything to you about it?” Dean sighs and runs a hand over his face, shifting his duffle bag to the other shoulder. “Haven’t really had a chance to talk, ya know? Could just be some sort of angel thing. Like the flu?” Sam gives him an pissy look that Dean ignores, adjusting the strap of his duffle bag. “Look, it’s late and I’m starving. Let’s just get Cas up, get out crap inside and get some food to talk this over with him, yeah?” Sam sighs and looks towards the motel. “Yeah, sure. You go wake him up and I’ll meet you guys in the room.” Dean walks up to the passenger door watches Sam walk to their door and disappear inside trying to figure out how to wake up Cas. He settles for knocking on the window. Castiel doesn’t even move. Not even a twitch. Frustrated, Dean grabs the handle and opens the door. Castiel gasps awake, half suspended outside the car the only thing keeping him from landing face first on the asphalt is his seatbelt. “W-what’s going on? Where are we?” He stutters blinking up at Dean with wide eyes. Dean’s breath catches at how bright the blue of his eyes are. How does he always forget how damn blue they are? “Dean?” Castiel asks pulling himself upright and unbuckling his seatbelt. Dean blinks and ducks his head as Castiel proceeds to stand up and a take a half step out of the car before stumbling and falling forward. Dean reacts quickly, throwing out a hand to grab his arm and helps Cas regain his balance to steady himself. Half of Dean’s head is telling him to let go of the angel’s arm, but the other half is reveling in the proximity to each other. Castiel tilts his head and stares up at Dean, shifting just a bit closer. Dean can feel the heat radiating off of him and all he wants to do is lean in and soak it all up. “Are you feeling okay?” Dean snorts and drops his hand from Castiel’s arm. “Seriously? You gunna ask me that when the angel almost fell face first outta the car?” The brightness in his eyes seems to go out almost instantly with the words, and Dean instantly hates himself defaulting sarcasm over words or actual responses. He hates that more times than not his word vomit wipes away any positive emotion that Castiel might be feeling. “Look,” he says lowering his voice and ducking his head to try and catch Castiel’s eyes. “We found a place to crash for the night. Why don’t we put our crap in the room and go get something to eat, okay?” Castiel raises his head a little, the light catching a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. Dean bites back asking any questions and offers a small smile instead. “C’mon. Let’s get you inside. It’s freezing out here.” Castiel tilts his head up as the wind blows again and nods. “It is rather cold, isn’t it?” Trying to ignore the way his heart clenches that Castiel is now not only able to feel cold, but is affected by it, he move into action. Not even wanting to leave anything to chance, Dean wraps his free arm around Castiel’s waist to help support him walking. Cas leans his body against his, his head slightly resting on his shoulder with a soft sigh. Dean lets a slow smile spread over his face as he squeezes Castiel slightly closer to him as they start walking. They take their time walking the short distance through the parking lot to the door. Dean tells himself that he’s just being cautious with Cas, but even he can’t fool himself into the lie. It’s rare that they have quiet moments like these. Even rarer still where they’re actually touching without any reason except that they can. Where these moments are far and few between, their closeness hasn’t ever been anything more than for a reason to help the other one get somewhere safe because the other one can’t manage it on their own. It’s the harsh reality of their lives; a reality that comes back, covering Dean in a heavy weight that reminds him that what he may feel is wrong. Feelings – any feelings, really – are a weakness. That was one of his dad’s first lessons. By the time they reach reach the short distance to the door Dean is half holding up, half carrying Castiel. The red flaking paint of their motel room door looks the next strong breeze that hits it is going to strip it bare. The bronze number eight hangs slightly askew enough that Dean wonders how it is even staying on the door at all. Dean steals one last look at Castiel, ignoring the pull that comes from deep inside his chest. Castiel shivers again and Dean’s smile fades. Dean reluctantly pulls his arm away from Castiel and reaches for the doorknob, twisting it and letting them in. Sam looks up from his bag he’s digging in and greets them with a warm smile. Cas slowly lifts his head up off his shoulder, though his hand lingers closely to his. Dean feels Castiel’s heat like a furnace and his fingers twitch, brushing against his, desperately just wanting to entwine around his empty spaces. Castiel’s head lolls a little before he slowly looks up at him through his dark lashes. Dean swears his heart skips at how close they are, eyes locking with each other again. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a trickle of sweat roll down the side of Castiel’s face and just like that, it’s like someone just dumped a bucket of cold water over him. Dean silently curses himself for getting carried away again and clears his throat before placing his hand gently on the small of Castiel’s back, guiding him inside towards the unoccupied bed furthest from the door. Dean makes sure that Castiel has made it to the edge of the bed before he goes back over and shuts the door. Just like every time after being that close to Cas, Dean feels a cold emptiness inside him that he doesn’t understand at the absence of the touch. He shifts on his feet, trying to mask the squirming his body does. “I think I’ll just stay here and rest,” Castiel says in quiet voice, staring at the floor. Dean looks at Sam who just raises his eyebrows and shrugs. Dean rolls his eyes walking back over to Castiel’s bed and sighs. He tosses his duffle bag down onto the mattress. “Fine, but you’re not wearing that crap to sleep in,” Dean says digging through his bag and pulling out his old AC/DC shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants. “And you’re taking the bed. I’ll crash on the couch.” Castiel nods slightly, barely a twitch, accepting the clothes without protest, whispering, “Thank you, Dean.” Sam coughs and Dean tears his eyes away from Castiel to see his annoying brother walking over to the off-balanced table and setting his laptop down. “We’re just going to get some grub a little ways away. Want us to bring you somethin’ back?” Dean asks tossing his bag on the floor next to the couch. “I’m fine,” Castiel says giving him a slight smile. “I just need to rest. Thank you for the clothes.” Something starts to warm in Dean’s chest with those words. A possessive part of him loves the fact that Castiel will be wearing his clothes. It’s rare that Castiel wears anything else except for his usual trench coat and suit attire. He can’t even really recall it needing to come off. Any time it was damaged or dirty Cas’ grace just seemed to fix or clean it. Looking closer suit he’s wearing it looks wrinkled and dingy, and Dean clenches his jaw tightly realizing, again, how weak Castiel’s grace must be. Dean manages to drag his eyes away from Castiel shuffling off to the bathroom, and awkwardly fidgets with the room key waiting for Sam to finish whatever the hell it is that he’s doing on his computer. Castiel just gets to the bathroom, closing the door quietly when Sam announces that he’s ready to go. They exit the room and Dean locks the door, dropping the key in the inside pocket of his jacket. Together they walk out to the Impala silence. Dean gets in behind the wheel, pushes the key in and listens as his baby rumbles to life. The vibrations of the car help him relax enough to pull out onto the road trying to ignore the feeling of Sam’s eyes on him. “There’s a diner a few miles down the road,” Sam says. “It got some good reviews.” Dean glances in his review mirror for no other reason than to keep from looking at his brother, and switches lanes. “Sounds good.” Dean feels Sam’s eyes on him the whole fifteen minute drive to the diner, but other than directions he doesn’t say anything else. The only parking is off the street and Dean swears loudly when all the spots in front of the place are taken. He ends up parking around the corner, glaring at Sam’s back as he climbs out of the car. The diner itself is more or less the same thing as the last hundred places they’ve been. The scent of oil and fried food hits Dean’s nose and his mouth starts watering while Sam scrunches up his face in mild disgust. They chose a booth in the corner, Sam facing the wall while Dean has a good view of the front door. Sam clears his throat and picks up the menu laying on the table. “So, Cas…” Dean sighs and picks up his own menu so he has something to look at that isn’t whatever stupid face his brother is giving him. “What about him, Sammy?” “C’mon Dean!” He hisses slapping the menu down on the table. “You practically had to carry him into the room! You guys took long enough to get there, hasn’t he said anything?” Dean places his menu down, glaring back at his brother. “Nothing’s changed in the last forty-five minutes! He hasn’t said shit to me about anything, and I’m not going to start railing him with questions when he just fucking exhausted! The guy can barely make it across the damn room without looking like he’s about ready to fall over. Obliviously I don’t have some magical cure up my sleeve to make anything better, so unless you’ve been holding out and that’s why you’re on my ass, then I suggest you talk it over with him!” The squeak of a high pitched voice has Dean snapping his head to the side to see a perky looking blond with wide, bright blue eyes staring at them. “I’m sorry! I can come back. I’m sorry, I, um, I’ll give you a minute.” “I’m going to take a piss,” Dean snaps, pushing out of the booth as the blond jumps to the side with another squeak. “Order me a burger, extra onions, and a beer.” As he walks to the bathroom he wonders if trusting his brother to order his food is a mistake. But having the same dead end conversation isn’t doing anyone any good. There aren’t any answers! Hell, having an idea of what is going on might be nice, but Cas hasn’t offered up anything at all; just that he’s feeling weaker. Honestly he doubts if Castiel knows himself, at this point. Sam can talk in circles and make assumptions as much as he wants, but without retracing their steps, research, or actually talking to Cas about it they’ve got nothing to go on. It’s just a constant conversation of what “might be’s” that isn’t doing anyone any good. Dean sighs as he pushes the bathroom door open and quickly locks it behind him. He lets his himself leans against it, just resting his head against the (probably germ infested and disgusting) door and closes his eyes for a moment. He takes in a deep breath through his nose counting to three, and parts his lips letting it come out slowly. In this moment, everything is okay. In this moment, everything is still. After three more times he lets his eyes blink open as he pushes off the door and walks over to the rust stained sink. Avoiding the mirror above him, Dean bends over and turns on the tap, cupping a handful of cool water. Splashing it over his face he takes a shaky breath trying to gather up energy to go out and face his brother with a cool head. He wants answers just as much as Sam does, but giving themselves more to worry about isn’t going to do any good. If he had the power to take whatever the hell is wrong with Castiel away, he would do it in a heartbeat. Is it so bad to want something to go right for them just once? Is it too much to ask? Dean looks up at his reflection slowly and for a second he barely recognizes himself. He looks older, somehow, with tired eyes that have black bags underneath them. When’s the last time he got any amount of decent sleep without having to worry about them getting jumped or attacked? The last place they stayed for the night ended up with Dean waking up when he heard a thud and seeing Castiel sprawled out on the floor next to the tipped over chair he was sitting in. Apparently he’d fallen asleep, then fallen over. After hearing that, he laid awake the rest of the night internally freaking out because angels don’t fucking sleep. Dean huffs and wipes the water away from his face with his sleeve, unlocks the door and steps out. He takes two steps before the blond waitress steps in front of him with a tray of drinks, and they collide. Everything crashes to the ground and the few people that are in the diner begin clapping. “Oh no! I’m so sorry!” The waitress exclaims frantically falling to the ground to start picking up the glass. “I wasn’t watching where I was going!” Dean bends down and starts helping her pick up the glass from the floor. “I should’ve been looking too. Sorry about that. ‘Minds on other things.” Together they gather most of the bigger pieces and place it all on her tray. Dean stands up and looks at her sheepishly, rubbing the back of his next. She puts the tray on the nearest empty table and suddenly lunges at Dean, burying her arms inside his jacket, face buried in his chest. Dean blinks frantically, arms raised up, looking around the diner for any type of help. No one even seems to notice them. “Whoa there! It’s, uh, no big deal,” he says grabbing her shoulders and pushing her back a little. She looks up at him with watery blue eyes almost as blue as Castiel. Almost. Dean swallows thickly, mouth suddenly dry. “Thank you so much for helping me. People usually don’t take the time to help someone like me,” she says smiling shyly, tilting her head to the side. Dean pushes her back until her hands fall out from his jacket and clears his throat. “Listen, it’s not a big deal. I’m just gunna go back to, uh, my brother, okay?” He edges away from the girl, turning the corner back to their booth. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up like he’s being watch, but when he slides into the booth, facing back from where he came, no one is there. Sam raises his eyebrows at him. “Dude, demons I get,” he says closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead feeling the beginning of a headache coming on. “But people…people are fucking crazy.” Sam snorts and takes a sip of his water with a fucking lemon wedge sticking out of the top. “I’ll give you that.” He tips his head to the side. “Our fricken waitress is all sorts of weird.” Dean cracks and eye open, looking back at Sam. “The blond?” Sam nods. “What’d she do?” Sam shrugs and takes another sip of his fancy ass tap water. “I made some lame joke about something on the menu and she laughed but then full out jumped me in this weird ass hug. Kept saying I was nice or something.” “Huh,” Dean says dropping his hands on the table and glancing back at the corner where they’d collided. “She kind of did the same thing with me.” “Seriously?” Sam asks turning around and looking back where he’s looking. “Think we need to worry?” Dean ponders it for a second before shaking the uneasy feeling that he’s still being watched away. With everything going on with Castiel it’s put him on high alert, and he doesn’t need to start questioning every weird thing that happens to them on being something supernatural. “Nah,” he says looking away and back down at their table. “Just some chick having a rough day or something.” “Hear me out,” Sam says turning back to Dean. “What if this is just how normal people act, and we’re actually just too jaded to realize it?” Dean just stares at him for a second wondering if it’s too much to throw his full beer bottle at his brother’s head. “Are you fucking serious right now? Normal people don’t go around throwing their arms around complete strangers. We ain’t that obvious to the normal world.” Dean picks up his bottle and takes a long drink. The coolness is refreshing and almost enough to wake him up out of the steadily creeping exhaustion he’s starting to feel. A dark skinned waitress walks up to the booth behind them with an armful of sugar packets and he waves her over. “Can I get another?” He asks lifting his half empty bottle for her to see. “Sure thing, sugar.” She says winking at him. Sam huffs out a laugh and Dean smirks taking another drink from his bottle. “Jealous Sammy?” Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot.” He takes another sip from his water and then places his off to the side. “So Branson, you really think this is a salt and burn thing? Because I was looking into it and…” Dean breathes a sigh of relief that whatever Sam wanted to drill him on about Cas he’s decided to drop. Tomorrow, he thinks, tomorrow they’ll ask Cas and get it all figured out.~*~*~*~ Sleep comes to Castiel in waves. The darkness would overtake him just enough to let out of breath of relief before it spat him back out again. Over and over again he tried until finally, he woke up literally gasping for air, slightly disoriented on where he was. Unable to find any peace in sleep, Castiel sits up in the uncomfortable bed, clutching his chest trying to make sense of what is going on with him. His clothes – no, Dean’s clothes – are soaked in sweat and he’s pretty sure he has a fever. The thought alone is humorous enough to make him laugh, but he can’t quite bring himself to laugh when getting out of bed for a glass of whatever leaves him breathless and sore. He hears a key in the door and glances at the clock on the table beside the bed. The brother’s haven’t been gone long enough to eat, maybe one of them forgot something? The door opens and Dean walks through, looking around the room as if it’s the first time he’s seeing it. Dean’s eyes finally settle on him and a slow smile spreads over his face making a chill run up Castiel’s spine. Dean locks the door and saunters in, slipping off his jacket and tossing it on the bed beside Castiel’s. Is that the same one he left in? Castiel could’ve swore it dark green when he left not brown, but maybe the fever is making him confuse things. Dean walks to the edge of the bed and sits down. Castiel shivers as the air from the door hits him, but pushes himself up higher against the creaky headboard. “Hello Dean,” he says glancing back at the door. “Where’s Sam?” “Sam…” Dean says licking his lips. Castiel watches as Dean’s eyes slowly travel down his body in such an obvious way Castiel feels his cheeks warm in a way that isn’t because of his fever. “He stayed behind.” “Ah,” Castiel says clearing his throat and nodding to the couch. “Since I’m up, you can have the bed. I’ll rest on the couch. I don’t think sleep is something – ” His words cut off as Dean starts slowly crawling towards him. His once green eyes are darkened with arousal so thick that has Castiel freezes for a moment in fear, wondering if they’ll slide all the way to black. Dean slowly crawls up his body and rests a finger over his lips. “I was thinking that tonight we could share the bed.” Castiel’s face reaches a whole new level of flushed that makes his palms begin to sweat. Dean slowly drags his finger down his lips before pulling on his lower lip just enough to make his lips part. Alarms are going off in Castiel’s head that something must be wrong, but the irrational part of him – the human part of him – that’s been yearning for this day for years, is telling him to shut up and just enjoy it. Castiel’s breath hitches as Dean fingertips trace his jaw. “Dean…” Dean smiles, his dimples popping out somehow making him even more handsome that he already is. Castiel gasps as Dean sits up, straddling him, and slightly grinding his hips against Castiel’s. Cas bites his lower hip trying to get some sort of control over his body, but despite feeling as awful as he does, his dick twitches at the friction. Somewhere inside his fever fogged mind he knows Dean would never act like this. No matter how badly Dean’s longing and touch-starved body craves his some days, Dean would never allow himself his comfort. Castiel has felt when his longing gets bad enough through their bond. It is those times that Dean usually leaves for a few hours only returns later on with a mixture of guilt, shame and being mildly sated in its place. Though, by the way he acts, you would think he’s happy. But Castiel knows better. Even without being able to feel Dean’s emotions, he knows his charge well enough to see things others don’t. It must some sort of spell or something that’s making him act this way. Castiel tries to recall any spell or any type of magic hex that might make Dean act this way, but Dean is leaning forward pressing their foreheads together. Any thoughts scatter in his mind as Dean’s lips linger just a breath’s away from his. “Cas?” Dean whispers. “Hmm?” Castiel hums closing his eyes and reaching out with the smallest amount of grace left inside him to try and feel Dean. “Still tired? Weak?” Dean asks pressing his body closer into his. Maybe his grace is fading faster that realized because he feels the pull on his grace inside Dean, but it feels far away. The thought makes him lose focus, his eyes fluttering open. Dean is already staring at him so intensely that Castiel’s breath hitches. “I…” He hesitates as the feeling that something isn’t right grows in the pit of his stomach. He mentally tries to shove it away as quickly as it comes. Dean wont hurt him. No matter what kind of spell or hex he’s under, his Righteous Man would never hurt him. “Still the same.” “Excellent,” Dean whispers. Castiel can almost feel the smile spreading over his lips. “Excellent?” Castiel says trying to pull away. It’s only then that Castiel realizes he’s flat back against the headboard. Dean holds out his arms to either side of his head, and pulls back enough to laugh. Castiel raises his arms to push him away, but Dean’s hands come down, grabbing his wrists tightly, yanking them up and slamming them above his head against the headboard. Castiel flinches slightly at the pain and glares back at the Dean. “What are you –” “You see, angel,” he interrupts, spitting out the word with so much sarcasm it makes the little grace left inside him tingle over his skin. “When I heard someone like you was in a town – and a weakened angel, no less – well, hell! I just thought that was something lookin’ into.” Dean tilts his head to the side, his eyes raking over Castiel with such hunger that Cas tries to struggle against his hold. Dean smirks, leaning down enough that their noses touch. Castiel glares up at him, refusing to turn away. He catches the scent of everything that makes up Dean; the leather of the seats of his car, the spice of his aftershave he sometimes puts on, but there’s something else. Something he can’t put his finger on. “Oh, don’t get sour on me now,” he says in a rough whisper. “We are just getting to the good stuff. I’m still your little hunter crush.” Dean winks and squeezes his wrists tighter. “I think it’s only fair to let you know that I – Dean – feels the exact same way you do. I’ve been literally dying to do this for years.” The confirmation of hear the words of the slight confession that this Dean isn’t his Dean is enough for Castiel to pull at his remaining grace for strength. He doesn’t have time to go through who he might be, though his senses tell him strongly it’s a shapeshifter, because Dean closes the space between them faster than Castiel can react. Castiel gasps as Dean’s lips forcefully push against his and starts struggling against the hold on his wrists, thrashing his body back and forth to try and move Dean off his body. Dean pushes even more of his weight down, forcing his tongue into Castiel’s mouth. He gags, craning his head away which only earns him a sharp bite on the neck. His grace builds underneath his skin and Castiel grasps at it, holding onto it tightly. Gritting his teeth Castiel pushes against Dean’s hands that are holding down his wrists and breaks free. In one quick, smooth movement he grabs onto to Dean’s and tosses him across the room and into the dresser. Knowing this will probably be his only opening, he rips the covers off him and jumps out of bed managing to take only a few steps before he’s hit by a wave of dizziness. Determined to make it to the door, he manages to make it to the edge of the before before his legs start to give out and his vision is spinning. He grips the edge of the spare bed, panting at the pathetic effort it’s taken him just to get this far as his vision slowly comes back into focus. A soft chuckle behind him has the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Castiel knows that Dean is right behind and realistically there is no shot that he’ll be able to make it to the door, but he pushes himself up from where he’s leaning on the bed and stumbles a few forward before knocking into the wall. He leans heavily against it, staring at the door like it’s miles away instead of maybe a few long strides. “Have I ever told you how utterly delicious you look in my clothes?” Dean’s so close he can feel the warmth coming off him against his back. “Because, hot damn Cas! You look good enough to just eat.” “These aren’t your clothes,” he hisses, pushing off the wall and taking another step forward. Just as he starts to stumble and fall forward, a rough hand grabs his elbow and spins him around. Castiel tries to jerk his arm free, but Dean just squeezes harder. He tries to pull whatever small bit of grace might still be left in him, but there isn’t even a tingle. Clenching his jaw he glares up at whoever – whatever – thing is impersonating Dean and spits in his face. The smirk over his face only falters slightly before he’s yanking Castiel closer. “These clothes are tonight. Just like you’re going to be mine.” It takes a moment for the words to fully register. There must be a look of realization over his face, because the smirk spreads back over Dean’s lips. Those lips that he’s spent so much time fantasizing about now are possessed by something else – shifter, he assumes. It doesn’t make any sense. In all his millennia of time he’s never come across or heard of a monster that’s sole purpose is to seek out and… No. That’s a human based evil. As much as mankind may want to blame on the demons and evils of the world, it’s simply lust and greed that drive them to take what isn’t theirs to take. Of course demons do some of the same, but humans are capable of committing even the vilest of sins without the help of hell. But shifters? He’s never heard of one that changes forms just to rape. “No,” he says without realizing the words are coming out of his mouth. “No!” Castiel tries to pull back, but the monster doesn’t even let him move. He struggles against the shifters one arm hold until the dizziness ramps up again and he weakly pushes against his chest. Desperate to try anything, he tries praying to his brothers and sisters in heaven. Silence is his only answer. Dean jerks Castiel’s body against his so forcefully that he has to close his eyes to try and steady himself. As he slowly opens them, Dean’s eyes, now darkened with lust, peer down at him with such a hunger that Castiel’s stomach twists and his mouth goes dry. He hears the sound of a belt being unbuckled, but he’s unable to break away from Dean’s eyes; those green eyes that belong to his Righteous Man he pulled from hell. Those eyes that belong to the man he’s fought beside for years, saving so many lives. It isn’t until he feels something pulling and yanking on his wrists that Castiel realizes Dean has dropped his hold on him enough to start binding his wrists with his belt. Castiel tries to pull them away, but Dean pulls the leather tighter. “You and I, angel. We’re gunna have some fun.” Castiel sees stars before he can register that Dean’s just head butted him, and stumbles backwards until the back of his knees catch the edge of the bed and he’s falling backwards. He groans and makes himself roll over off the bed, grunting as his body hits the floor hard. Even with his hands bound and having the world spinning worse than before, he manages to push himself up to his knees. The sound of a zipper has his blood running cold, and he pauses, swaying a bit to the throbbing coming from his forehead. Slowly, he turns his head to see a shirtless Dean who is slowly shimming out of his pants and boxers. Dean’s smile curves into something darker, more menacing than he could ever think possibly to see cross over Dean’s lips. “Enjoying he show?” He asks, kicking away his jeans. In two strides he’s standing over him. It’s impossible for Castiel not to notice how Dean is already half hard, as if he’s getting off on everything he’s doing. Dean reaches down and grabs a handful of his hair and pulls him up to his feet. Hissing, Castiel tries to knock his hands away but Dean just tips his head back and laughs. “You into this kind of foreplay?” He chuckles tossing Castiel onto the bed easily. “Knew you’d be a kinky fucker.” “Fuck you!” Castiel spits out trying to roll away from the shifter and to the opposite side of the bed. “When Sam and Dean –” Rough hands grab him as he attempts to move closer to the edge of the bed, turning him around so he’s laying on his back looking up at Dean. Castiel swings his bound hands up trying to hit him, but it’s pointless. To a shifter he’s about as powerful as a gnat. A weakened angel, even less powerful than a healthy human, “Now, now, you insult my intelligence,” Dean says climbing on top of Castiel and straddling him. “You seem to think I did this all without some sort of plan.” He clicks his tongue and leans over him. Castiel flinches at feeling his harden dick pressing against his groin. “I’ve thought of everything. From stealing the car, which, honestly, getting the keys from Dean was easier than I thought it would be, to taking the motel key.” His eyes glint with humor as his fingers graze overtop of Castiel’s – Dean’s – shirt lower until they reach the hem of his pajama bottoms. “And now I have you.” Dean’s fingers lightly brush over his exposed skin from where his shirt has rucked up, and follow his dark hair that disappears underneath his – Dean’s – pajama pants. Castiel pushes his heels down into the mattress and tries to buck the shifter off, but the shifter just chuckles and sinks his hand down lower inside his pants. Castiel’s eyes flick to the side table where the lamp sits and reaches his bounds hands out for it before he can talk himself out of it. Dean’s free hand reaches out and grabs his wrists just as Cas’ fingertips touch the lamp. It wobbles back and forth before crashing to the ground, casting the room into awkward shadows. “Why!” Castiel screams as his wrists are grabbed and slammed against the headboard, The shifter’s hand still in his pants grabs his flaccid cock and gives it a tug. He screams in frustration as he tries to thrash his body out from under the shifter to no avail. Dean laughs and brings his hand out of Castiel’s pants enough to use Castiel’s thrashing to help move them down. The cool air against his skin startles him enough that he freezes, panting, glaring up at him. “You know you’re worse than a human, right? Most of ‘em just give up at this point. You just don’t know when you’re beat, do ya?” The shifter twists his wrists at an awkward angel that has Castiel unable to bite back a scream of pain. “Or maybe you’re thinking your little Dean is going to come through that door like the hero you’ve diluted yourself into thinking he is.” He snorts and rips the pajama pants the rest of the way off. “Trust me, no one is saving you tonight.” Castiel glares up at the shifter as shadows from the fallen lamp cast across his face in a way that vaguely reminds him of the car ride not that long ago. The similarity hits Castiel like a lead weight in his chest making it hard to catch his breath. His head begins to spin against as he feels the adrenaline start to wear off. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he doesn’t see it coming when Dean flips him over, pushing him down on his stomach. Dean weight falls over his back until Castiel can feel the hot air from his mouth next to his ear. “Now you’re going to be a good little angel and just take it until I’m good, got it?” An unexpected punch hits him in the side head, sending black stars dancing through Castiel’s vision. He groans, trying to pull himself out from under the man. A sharp pain on the area where his neck meets his shoulder has him hissing and trying to yank his body away. A hand pushing down on his shoulder holds him still as he feels a wet tongue licking it’s way up his neck to his ear. Castiel’s stomach begins to roll as Dean begins to grind his, now, fully hard dick against his ass. Every time the head of Dean’s dick rubs against his crack he clenches his cheeks together tighter, never stopping his pathetic attempt at struggling to get out from underneath him. Dean laughs softly in his ear as one of his hands skims across his side, lower and lower until his hand is wrapping around his soft dick again. Castiel fights back the bile threatening to climb out of his throat as he tries to knock Dean off again despite how useless he knows it is. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re going to bleed,” Dean murmurs biting the back of his neck hard. Castiel hisses again, wanting nothing more than to rear back and elbow him in the face. “Because that’s what you do now. And if you so much as try and fight me, I’ll make it hurt that much worse.” “I don’t understand why –” “When he sees you he wont ever want to touch you again. You wont be some mighty angel, anymore. You’re so far from that savior he has you labeled as.” Dean huffs against his skin, taking his hand away from Castiel’s cock. “Do you know he’s got you so far up on a pedestal that nothing else can ever compare?” Castiel’s shivers as he feels Dean smiling against his skin. “I’m going show him just how weak and pathetic you really are. How ridiculously him.” It doesn’t make sense. Blood pounds in his hears as Dean hits him in the back of his head again. This can’t be happening. Nothing that is happening makes any sense. Why him? Why Dean? He can’t wrap his mind around any of this. The weight off the shifter disappears over his back enough for Castiel to take in a deep breath. “When I heard the famous angel that travels with the Winchesters wasn’t doing so hot, I knew I’d found my opening for revenge. I mean, in the bigger picture, we have to put up with a lot of shit from you guys.” Castiel hears Dean spit and then the something wet hitting his ass. “Oh, but this, being in love with a fucking angel? I don’t think anyone saw that one coming.” Castiel screams as he feels fingers push into him without warning. It burns. He tries to clench tightly around them to prevent them from entering, but another fist to the back of his head has those black stars dancing behind his eyelids. His ears are ringing, but still the sound of Dean spitting on him gets through. The warmth of his saliva feels like fire against his skin and his fingers trying to work him open feel like sandpaper. “What did I tell you about making this harder!?” He yells. The pressure of the fingers inside him disappear enough that Castiel almost lets out a whimper of relief. Panic quickly replaces the feeling as he feels his cheeks being spread apart and the blunt head of Dean’s dick pushes against him. Without pausing, Dean pushes in as Castiel arches his back in a scream. Knowing that any attempt he makes to try and get free will only make things worse, he tries to relax enough to not tighten up around Dean. He hears Dean spit again and the spit drip down on his hole, but the pain doesn’t ease. Castiel grits his teeth, fingers gripping the sheets as tightly as he can as Dean relentlessly thrusts harder, deeper, faster. It hurts. It hurts. Every dry thrust Dean gives him, he bites back a scream that claws up his throat. Dean pauses only once, spreading his cheeks painfully apart and spits again, but this time he feels the pad of his thumb pushing against his hole, rubbing his saliva in. Castiel gags and tries to use his grip on the sheets to pull himself away which only earns him another hit to the side of his head. Dean leans over, thrusting harder again as Castiel blinks back the darkness that sits on the edge of his vision. He’s so focused on the pain that he doesn’t realize Dean’s hand is moving back towards his cock before his hand is around it, tugging at it again. Everything feels wrong. Dean – this Dean – feels like Dean, smells like his Dean, but he isn’t. The feeling of Dean’s sweaty skin moving back and forth over his back, along with the dry thrusting makes his body feel like it’s being ripped apart from the inside out. He feels like he’s burning, and Dean is the cause of the fire. “Stop,” he whispers weakly, trying to jerk his body to the side. Dean just laughs and continues to stroke his soft dick. The pounding in his head seems to keep time with the slapping of skin, and suddenly the thrusting doesn’t seem so dry. There is a wet sound as Dean pulls back enough that he’s almost out of him, before pounding back in. Pain shoots through his body and a scream rips out of Castiel’s throat, knowing that the wet sound is his own blood. The warm huff of Dean’s breath tickles his ear and makes his hair stand up on end. No, not Dean. Not his Dean. He knows he really needs to stop calling him that, but his mind has seemed to slow down and the darkness that’s been edging at his vision is slowly closing in. Castiel blinks frantically, trying to keep it away, not wanting to be unconscious for anything Dean – the shifter – might do next. “D-Dean. Please.” He doesn’t want this. He never wanted it to be like this. Every thought, every fantasy that he might have had about the two of them he feels crashing to the ground and shattering like glass. He almost feels floaty now, just on the verge of passing out and waking up. All the sensations that he’s been feeling have gone numb, and nothing but a tingle across his whole body is what he feels. It feels nice, almost. The weight and rocking Dean’s body over his is almost comforting. “I knew you w-were a kinky fucker,” he breathes against his ear, the rocking quickening. “I knew you liked it rough.” Castiel groans as his stomach tightens with the change of tempo. Dean’s words replay in his head as he tries to understand what he means. Then he feels it. The rough tug of someone stroking his, now, full erect cock. “No!” He gasps, but Dean twists his wrist just right and Castiel feels pressure of an orgasm building in his gut. “You gunna come for me, angel? You gunna come for me, thinking about how good you like my cock shoved up your ass?” “No,” Castiel sobs, burying his head in the blankets. The mixed friction of Dean’s hand wrapped around him and the mattress underneath him is enough that his orgasm blindsides him and he spills over Dean’s hand with a choked out moan. He hates himself, and shudders as he feels Dean moan above him before feeling warmth from his come filling him up. Castiel hates that his body, for whatever reason, was responding purely on human instinct and…and… He grips the sheet tighter as hot tears spill past his tightly shut eyes. Not only is he pathetic, weak, useless, but now he’s dirty, unclean and used. This Dean, this shifter, is right about one thing. His Dean will never want him or look at him the same. Dean pushes off of him, and Castiel hisses at the sudden, fresh pain as the cool air hits his bottom half. The stinging of his ass is breaking through the numb, and he dreads whenever the his body settles enough that he feels everything. Castiel doesn’t even try and hide the sound of him sobbing, and lets his body shake with them. Behind him he can hear the sound of clothing being put back on, but can’t bring himself to turn around and look. Even behind his eyelids he can see the darkness coming for him, but this time he’s welcoming it. Anything just to escape the pain that’s slowly beginning to start screaming over his body. “Cas?” Dean says behind him. Lifting his head up to turn it to the side seems to take all the energy that he has left, but he does it. His eyes barely open to squint up at Dean just as he sees the butt of a gun right before it connects to the side of his head. Everything fades to black.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Where the fuck are my keys?!” Dean yells, stomping out of the diner. After demanding to talk to each one of the staff working at the diner and coming up with nothing more than wide-eyed stares, Dean digs through his empty pockets desperately again. “Maybe you dropped them by the car?” Sam suggests, sticking his hands in his pockets. “And the fucking motel key?! That in there, too?” Dean snarls, shooting a glare at Sam. Dean hurries along the sidewalk with Sam following in tow. As they round the corner he holds his breath hoping to see his car sitting there, hoping that Sam is right and the worst that he’ll have to do is owe the kid an apology for snapping at him. But as his eyes land on the vacant spot where he parked his Baby just a short time ago, any and every swear word imaginable known to man comes out of his mouth. He hardly even notices Sam calmly pulling out his phone and typing something while he frantically looks up and down the street in hopes to catch any sign of his car. “I don’t fucking understand! Who the hell could’ve swiped the car keys and the motel keys?” Dean rambles running a hand through his hair. He glances at Sam who’s forehead is furrowed in concentration as he stares at his phone. “It had to’ve been someone who knew us and watched us pull into this spot.” “Dean,” Sam says. Dean doesn’t even glance back at him. “They would’ve had to’ve followed us from the motel. But I checked to see if we were being followed and we weren’t. Hell, there is hardly anyone on these roads and –” “Dean!” Sam snaps, smacking his arm. “What Sam?” He snaps back. “So, I put a gps tracker on the Impala awhile ago,” Sam says ignoring the glare Dean gives him. “I’ve got some good news.” “Come again?” He asks stepping closer to his brother, fists balled so tightly his nails dig into his hands. “You know what, no. If you know where my car is then I don’t care. But we will be talking about this later.” Sam’s eyes flick down at his phone, then back up to Dean. “It’s at the motel.” It’s almost as if the world goes silent around him and all Dean can hear is the fast paced beating of his own heart. His brother is staring at him with an unreadable look, but Dean can’t bring himself to care what his Sam might be thinking because all his mind keeps thinking is how he left Cas, alone, back at the motel. “Cas,” he breathes. It’s as if the angel’s name breaks whatever momentary pause time had offered him, and the sound of the world comes crashing back on top of him. Dean whips around and starts eyeing the cars on the street for something simple and quick enough to jack. “Did, uh, did you ever find the motel key?” Sam asks from behind him. “I mean, I watched you lock it and slip the key into your jacket, but you said it was missing too.” Dean spots an older silver Pontiac that looks like it’ll give them the least amount of issues, and walks over to it as he thinks about what Sammy just asked. He tries the handle and it’s, thankfully, unlocked. He slips in and bends over underneath the wheel, yanking down a handful of wires. While Dean works, he starts going over their steps from leaving the motel to the diner. There was nothing out of the ordinary to even spark a hint of suspicion. Dean thinks harder as he cuts two wires and carefully taps them together until they spark and the car starts. There has to be something that he’s missing. Sitting up in the seat he runs a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends trying to wrack his brain. What is he missing? None of this even makes any sense. No one could even know Cas was in this town. He’d just gone from the car to the room, and he’s almost one hundred percent sure that no one even drove past their street the whole time. The car jostles a little bit as Sam climbs in awkwardly, ducking slightly to fit into the cramped space. Dean throws the car into drive and peels away from the curb, heading back to the motel. As he speeds up to make the first green light, it suddenly hits him so hard to what he’s been missing that he gasps, the car swerving. “The fucking waitress.” He hears Sam suck in a sharp breath as he takes a turn a little too fast. “The weird one? They said she quit, or whatever.” A horn blares from a truck just nearly missing them as Dean blows through a red light. “She was the only one all night that pretty much frisked us before disappearing. Seems a little odd that our keys go missing and she’s the only one to have hands on us all night, don’t ya think?” “We were talking about Cas before she came up to the table,” he says slowly, connecting the dots. “Oh shit.” Dean glances over to him to see Sam’s forehead wrinkled in concern as he catches his eye. “How long have we been gone, Sammy?” His brother just shakes his head. Dean pushes the car faster as he swerves in traffic. “How long have we been fucking gone?” “I don’t know, Dean!” Sam snaps. Dean watches him run a hand through his hair and huff out a sigh in frustration. “I think we left the motel maybe an hour, hour and a half ago. Everything kind of took longer because that waitress didn’t actually put in our order, so we waited around for nothing until someone else realized we hadn’t been helped and we reordered everything.” The car’s tires squeal as he turns another corner even going recklessly fast for him. Dean’s honestly surprised the car stayed on the road, but even at this speed it doesn’t feel fast enough. There’s a feeling in his gut that is telling him that something is wrong. As he rips into the parking lot he doesn’t hesitate to park upfront, right beside his Impala. Dean’s out of the car before Sam can even unbuckle his seatbelt. He takes one look at the his car where his keys sit nicely, almost staged, in the front seat of the car. Dean hears Sam walking up behind him and turns at the same time he points to their room. “Dean,” Sam says behind him. “The door.” Their door stands slightly ajar and without thinking about what that might mean, Dean takes off running towards it. “Cas!” Dean yells, pushing the door open, body tense and ready for a fight. Sam is right behind him, bumping into him as Dean stands there frozen in the doorway, unable to take his eyes away from Castiel. He feels Sam push around him and then hears the sharp intake of breath. “What the fuck…” Dean’s eyes can’t seem to move from Castiel’s body. The lamp is knocked somewhere on the ground casting dark shadows over his body, but he thinks he sees blood. Is that…are his hands bound with a belt? Dean’s clenches his teeth so tightly it hurts. He manages to break his gaze from Castiel enough to survey the rest of the room for a threat. The dresser broken and in pieces looking like someone was thrown into it. Sam steps forward into the bathroom, turning on the light carefully looking around. He he comes out with a shake of head showing the all clear. Dean swallows thickly, looking back over towards the bed where Castiel lays on his stomach, his bottom half naked. The bed itself is a mess with the sheets and blankets tossed and strewn about like someone was fighting. From this distance Dean can see the dark specks of what he can only assume is blood over sheets. Bile raises in the back of his throat and he forces himself to fight off the urge to be sick. Sam walks to the foot of the bed and looks back at Dean with a helpless look. Demons, vampires, or any monsters, really, they can handle, but this? Dean forces his feet to move forward until he’s stepping over the tipped over lamp and beside Castiel who doesn’t show any signs of consciousness. The realization that Cas might be weak enough to actually be killed hits him so suddenly his knees start to tremble and has catch himself from falling on the bedside table. Trying to ignore the fact that he’s close enough to see that what he assumed was blood from further away is confirmed. Dean tries to avoid looking down at Castiel’s naked lower half, but he needs confirmation. Almost as if time has slowed down, his eyes rest on his exposed skin. Not only is there dried blood smeared over his cheeks and in between, but the sheet underneath is stained with it. There’s something else, something Dean doesn’t want to think about, that it is smeared into the mix, leaking out from his hole. He turns away and gags a few times before leaning over the nightstand and trying to even his breathing out. Turning back to Castiel, Dean feels guilt rise in him for not having his first thought be to clean him up, cover him, free his wrists – something! All he’s been doing is staring down at him in some sort of numb state. Shock, his mind whispers. Dean brushes it away and as gently as he can grabs ahold of Castiel’s shoulders to turn him. Relief floods him as he feels his fevered heat radiating from him, and lets out a relieved breath. Sam appears by his side grabbing Castiel’s legs and together they turn him over as carefully as they can. Dean takes out the knife he tucks away in the back of his pants and cuts through the belt, throwing it across the room. There are already cuts and bruises starting to form from where it was rubbing into wrists, and Dean winces as he lays Cas’ arms down over his chest. Dean takes a in an unsteady breath and gets to work assessing the rest of the damaged over Castiel’s body. Some of his fingers look broken, he’s got bruises scattered over his face, neck and chest. Dean thinks, maybe, a knot on the side of his head like he was hit hard with something. Right where the shirt meets Castiel’s neck is a bite mark deep enough that the hem of the shirt is stained with his blood. Dean leans over closer, inspecting the mark to see if it belongs to a vampire or some other creature known for enjoying human flesh, but it looks simply like a humans mouth. “Vampire?” Sam asks quietly. “Human,” he replies taking a step back, his boot bumping into the fallen lamp. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sam give a firm nod, but his face is twisted into something pain that pulls at Dean’s heart. He shifts his feet, turning his body away from him, staring down at Cas not knowing where the hell to go from here. Now that Cas is turned over Dean can see the slight rise and fall of his chest. It’s a simple thing that with anyone else he might be relieved, but the bottom line is two hours ago he’d been almost semi happy to give Castiel his clothes to wear for bed, and now this? Dean’s mouth goes dry as his stomach twists. This is his fault. If he had only just stayed with Cas none of this would’ve happened. Why hadn’t he stayed? Sam could have brought him back something to eat. He’s done crap like that a hundred times before. Why kind of a person just leaves their sick friends behind to fend for themselves? Especially friends who’ve never actually been human enough, ever, to experience sickness before. Oh God. Is Castiel human? Dean slowly turns to his brother and blinks back the stinging in his eyes. He barely chokes out Sam’s name, unsure of what he’s asking. This is way over Dean’s head. He’s having trouble thinking about anything other than how much pain Castiel must be in to process anything. Are there monsters out there that get off on this kind of crap? He doesn’t know of any. He can’t even fucking comprehend this…this fucking type of sickness. Why would anyone, let alone some sort of creature, do this? “I…I don’t know,” Sam whispers, shaking his head, understanding the unsaid words Dean can’t speak. Sam moves over to the still neatly made bed next to them and strips off the clean blanket, draping it over Castiel’s exposed, lower half. A wave of nausea rises up in Dean as his eyes fall back onto the bit mark on his shoulder. How long did Castiel fight before whatever was in here had his way with him? How long did it last? They were gone so long – longer than they should have been. He feels like throwing up, screaming, shooting or punching something, or maybe everything at once. Even with the blanket over Castiel it doesn’t mute what happened any less around the room. He knows Sam’s intention was to give Cas a form of modesty, but maybe, he thinks, it was to hide the severity of the situation they both seem to be avoiding mentioning. What Dean cannot even form the words to. The blood is still there on the bed and around Cas, and his marks aren’t healing which is – wait. Castiel’s marks aren’t healing. “He needs a fucking hospital,” Dean says roughly, kneeling down beside him. A strand of Castiel’s hair is laying across his forehead, and Dean reaches out his fingers to brush it away, careful not to avoid the lump on his head. Cas was defiantly hit with something and hit with something hard. More than a few times it looks like. His anger begins to spike, but quickly douses as the wave of guilt comes back again and falls over him. None of this wouldn’t have happened if he would’ve stayed with him at the motel, or been less obvious at the diner. Either way, it’s on him. “If it was anyone else I’d completely agree,” Sam says quietly. “But he’s an angel with grace that’s been unable to replenish. He was sick before…” Dean hears him shifting on his feet before he sighs heavily. “Is there even coming back from this?” Dean just keeps running his fingers through Castiel’s hair, trying to blink back the stinging in his eyes. This is his fault. He left him alone. He wasn’t here to protect him. Fuck, he knew he was sick! Sick enough that he had to practically carry him into their room. Why the fuck didn’t he just stay? “Cas, c’mon man. Get up.” Dean gently shakes Castiel, with one hand, keeping the other running through his hair. “C’mon. We’re going to get you a warm shower. Cas… ” Dean’s head falls on Castiel’s shoulder as his tears start to break through. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, but you gotta get up. Please.” His hand grips onto the shirt as he buries his head into his shoulder beginning to sob. Somewhere behind him he hears Sam moving around and then the click of the door shutting before his hand rests down on his shoulder. Dean tries to shake it off, tightening his grip onto the shirt. Of all the people Cas was the last one to ever deserve something like this to happen to him. Sam squeezes his shoulder before letting his hand drop. Dean’s mind can’t seem to think clearly. There’s just the replay of walking through the door and seeing Castiel splayed out on the bed, unconscious, then seeing the mixture of bodily fluids dried on his naked body. A chorus of all your fault whispers over and over like scratched cd. He may not have caused the actual marks, but he did this to him. Slowly Dean gets it together enough to suck in a shaky breath, opening his eyes and raising his head off Cas’, now, damp shoulder. He looks over Castiel’s face, taking in all the bruises, cuts and dried blood. There is a sheen of sweat glistening over his forehead that clenches at Dean’s heart, reminding him just how sick Cas really is. Willing himself to let go of his shirt, Dean lets go and pushes himself to his feet. His legs shake momentarily as he stands there, trying to summon any coherent, logical thought at what the next step should be. “We need to get out of here, Dean,” Sam says firm but softly. “He...or they, know where we are. We need to get out of here and Cas somewhere safe.” Dean nods once, unable to take his eyes off Cas. “Y-yeah,” his unsteady voice comes out rough and he tries to clear it. “Grab our shit, load up the car.” He feels his brother brush past him and then hears movement around the room. Dean’s eyes never leave Castiel’s unmoving body. It’s all too much. There isn’t any sense to anything that has happened. It’s just a void of silence to all his screaming of unanswerable questions. It’s all too much, fuck, it doesn’t even seem real, but at the same time it’s too real. Shit like this is stuff that they hear about when they read the newspaper for cases, but never comment on. This is the type of thing that, for them, was really just a horror story. Never did anyone think something like this would be something they’d have to deal with. Castiel, especially. He is – was – an angel. Is he still an angel? Oh God, the pain Castiel must have felt… His breath catches as his heart starts pounding in his chest so fast he grips his chest. Castiel saved him from hell, fought through demon after demon! He smites demons with his bare hands as if they’re nothing! Cas raised him from the pit and remade him with those hands, and now he’s being punished? What has he ever done that hasn’t been in the name of Heaven or for what is right? How is this right or even fair? A sudden flash of memory of the pain from hell he’s tried so hard to repress away pierces through him. He can feel something almost like a crack inside his mind of all those memories starting to leak through. Dean shakes his head frantically trying force those memories away. They poke at the back of his mind as Dean starts seeing himself waking up in the coffin. Punching through the boards until he was breathing in dirt, digging and digging, lungs screaming for air so badly he felt like it was just another form of torture. He blinks down at Castiel debating on reaching out and trying to wake him up. Castiel literally breathed life back into him and now he can’t even heal himself? Why isn’t he healing? Pain flashes through his head as flashes of memories from hell parade behind his eyelids. Dean grabs his head, pulling at his hair trying to get them to leave. He screams, falling to his knees because it’s just too much. Whatever wall was left of the wall just moments before is now nothing but dust inside his mind. More memories force there selves deeper back into his memories, embedding themselves anywhere and everywhere, making sure they stick. He flinches and falls to his side hitting something hard as he practically feels the hooks being shoved through his flesh. His screams turn into whimpers as he’s bombarded with feelings, sensations, emotions and so much pain coming at him so fast he cowers against whatever he’s fallen against and relives it in fast forward. “Dean!” Sam’s voice breaks enough that Dean’s not startled when he feels hands grab his shoulders and drag him to his feet. “We have to go!” Sam gives him a rough shake enough for Dean to open his eyes, but it seems good enough for his brother. “The car is already loaded. Help me move Cas.” As soon as Sam’s hands leave his shoulders, Dean feels lost. He watches Sam pull the blanket off Castiel, quickly but gently slipping the pair of pajama pants Dean had given Castiel to wear. Even with the jostling, Castiel doesn’t stir. “Grab him,” Sam says firmly, hands already placed around Castiel’s ankles. Dean’s body responds on autopilot, reaching out and grabbing Castiel underneath his arms lifting him up off the ruined bed. Together they managed to maneuver out the motel doorway without knocking into anything. Dean watches Castiel’s loll back and forth as they walk the short distance to the Impala and carefully, as gently as they can, place him in the backseat. Dean notices his tan trench coat balled up on the floor next to his regular suit attire. He quickly picks it up, lifting Castiel’s head enough to place the coat underneath it, hoping it might offer some sort of comfort. Dean climbs in behind the steering wheel, turning the key that is already in the ignition, feeling absolutely nothing as his baby starts up. He barely registers Sam in the seat next to him as he pulls out into the parking lot, blowing a red light at the empty intersection. His eyes glance at Castiel in his review mirror and lets out another shaky breath. Dean tries to keep his eyes focused on the road, but they keep straying to the angel laying unconscious in his backseat. Without even thinking much about a destination he passes an exit that says they’re headed somewhere south. For once in his life Dean has no idea what to do or where to go. Together the three of them speed down the empty highway, heading south, letting the silence fill the car.*~*~*~* Voices. It’s different from hearing his brothers or sisters voices in Heaven. No, this is almost like the comforting murmuring of two people having a conversation, trying to keep their voices low. It’s a purposeful kind of quiet that even if he can’t understand what’s being said, he can still tell how intense the conversation is. Castiel reaches out to his “angel radio” (as Dean calls it) but hears nothing. Not even the comforting sounds of silence hum. The silence has him pausing for a moment wondering if he should be concerned. It’s never been – Castiel’s eyes shoot open at the same time he pushes himself up, hisses as his body protests painfully. Flashes of Dean’s – no, not Dean’s, the shifter – face looming over his abused body has his fist flying through the air and connecting with nothing. “Get away from me!” He snarls. “Whoa! Hey,” Sam says turning around and looking at him with wide eyes. “It’s just us, Cas. You’re safe. It’s alright.” “Cas!” Dean yells as he feels the car swerve dramatically. “You’re alright, okay? We got you. It’s going to be fine.” Dean’s eyes lock with his in the review mirror as Castiel hears the familiar click-click of the turn signal come on. It’s too much. He grabs his head as a scream rips itself from his throat. There is so much pain. He feels everything. Everything. From his head, to his fingertips and everything in between. Castiel shifts on the seat trying to pull himself back up which only sends a sharp stinging pain through his ass. Oh…oh God. He remembers…He remembers everything. “Don’t – don’t touch me!” He yells hoarsely as Dean tries to reach blindly back towards him. Despite the pain intensify at his every movement, he tries to move himself as far back into the seat as he can. “I want to get out! Let me out!” He reaches for the handle of the door, trying not to think about why his stiff fingers not cooperating properly. The way a few of them are awkwardly angled he suspects they are broken, but none of that matters. Getting out of this car and away from the Dean who isn’t his Dean is the only thing that matters. This can’t be Dean. The only logical explanation was that the shifter took him, found Sam and he’s the only chance they have at finding hisDean. “Cas, no!” Sam leans over the back of the seat and blocks the door handle with his hands. “You can’t just jump out of a moving car! Damnit Dean, pull the over!” “The fuck you think I’m doing!” Dean snaps, slowing the car down until they jerk to a stop and he throws it in park. He turns around slowly, eyes meeting Castiel’s again. Castiel only lets himself meet his stare for maybe a second before some inhuman growl builds from inside his chest and he launches himself forward. Leaning over the seat, his injured body protests, but he ignores it and slams his fist into the side of Dean’s face. Dean’s head whips back against the drivers side window at the force of the impact as Castiel’s already broken hand screams in agony. Tears sting his eyes and he blinks them free as he advances again, clawing and hitting, just trying to rip Dean’s arms away that he’s brought up to shield himself. “Castiel, stop!” Sam yells, awkwardly throwing his arms around him and somewhat holding them at his side. Despite the bench seat between them, Sam maneuvers him to the door and quickly has it open, exiting his own and dragging Castiel outside his. Sam is back on him, wrapping his arms around him and pinning them to his sides. Castiel tries to shake free, but Sam just tightens the hold, dragging him a few feet away from the car. How pitiful and weak has he become that a human can hold him in compliance? The headlights of the Impala blind him momentarily and he jerks his head away. It’s only then that he gasps in a lungful of air, flinching at the rawness of his throat, that he realizes he’s been screaming. He blinks furiously at the ground as the adrenaline starts to seep out him, leaving him with nothing but the sharp reminder of what happened to him. Hot tears streak themselves down his face, and he watches as they drip from his face to the gravel below. Panting heavily, he lets his body go slightly slack in Sam’s arms. The squeak of the Impala door has him slowly looking up at Dean walking towards them, rubbing the side of his face. Castiel’s body tenses as he approaches, noticing that he hasn’t even managed to give him a nose bleed. “Seriously, what the hell?” Dean yells, stopping in front of them. Sam’s hold tightens around him as something – some emotion he is too drained to try and figure out – passes over Dean’s face. He just stares up at him, trying to find something that will give away just what he is. Logically he knows that if Sam is here there is a strong chance that Dean is really Dean, but…What if the shifter knocked him unconscious before changing? What if killed him? No, that can’t be true he would’ve felt it. Titling his head Castiel tries to focus on the feeling of his grace inside Dean, but gets nothing. He’s too exhausted to even start wondering what that means. Dean’s face is tightened into trying to look pissed off, but failing miserably. Just looking at him makes Castiel’s skin begins to crawl and his blood start to boil. He looks back down at the ground, shame suddenly overwhelming him as a twinge of pain from his lower region reminds him of what happened. Still, they can’t stay out here all night, and he knows damn well that he’s not going back in that car with someone who could or could not be the shifter. There’s only one thing that can out a shifter. “Silver.” Castiel whispers to his feet. “What?” Dean asks, taking a step closer. Castiel’s head snaps up, eyes going wide. He tries to jump back, but only manages to push against Sam’s chest not gaining any ground. Dean pauses, face looking surprised for a second before slowly falling into something dangerously close to pity. “Cas…” Dean brings up his hand trying to touch his shoulder, but Castiel pushes further back into Sam letting out something that sounds like animalistic snarl that has Dean yanking his hand back. “Get away from me!” He struggles in Sam’s arms trying to get his hands free to defend himself, but Sam just grunts, holding him tighter. “Dean,” Sam says behind him. “Get the knife. Even with him weak, he’s still a lot for me,” Angrily Dean turns and stomps back to the trunk of the car. Castiel lowers his gaze again, realizing for the first time he’s barefoot, and his feet are quite on their way to being numb. Logically, everything pointing to Dean not being the shifter are becoming more and more. Even deep inside himself he already knows that everything he’s doing is more mental confirmation than anything else. Nothing feels off about him, and even Sam knows Dean well enough to know if something was off. The sound of approaching footsteps over gravel has Castiel looking up. Dean stands a few feet from them, sleeve rolled up to his elbow and a silver knife in his hand. His eyes narrow as he looks right at Castiel, slowly raises the knife and drags the tip along his skin, face never wavering. Castiel watches as the blood gathers over the cut and drips down his arm in a steady line before dripping off the end of his fingertips. “Satisfied?” He asks taking a step towards them with the knife outstretched. “Your turn Sammy.” “No,” Castiel says roughly, shaking his head. “Sam doesn’t have to. It’s…It’s fine.” He spits the last word out like venom. Nothing about this whole situation is fine. Dean pauses, the arm holding the knife lowering just slightly as his face goes completely blank. Slowly, Castiel watches as the pieces of tonight come together inside Dean’s head. Shock, disgust, horror all pass over his face and Castiel wants nothing more than to look away, but he can’t. “I – I mean, not me, but – I…” He drops the knife as he stumbles backwards into the hood of his car. His hand now coated with blood reaches out to hold himself up against his car and Castiel flinches. Dean would never intentionally do anything to dirty his car. He slowly feels Sam loosening his hold and lets go before he can object. The sudden chill of the temperature and loosing the support has Castiel’s body locking up and he begins collapsing. Sam is immediately there again, grabbing his arm before he hits the ground. Castiel’s eyes never leave Dean’s who just stares back at him like he might be ill. There’s a blackness at the edge of his vision again and his heart begins to race remembering the last time this happened. The last time when Dean – no! He’s not doing this. Not here. It was not Dean. His stomach twists painfully and he doubles over, vomiting onto the pavement. In the back of his mind he realizes the only reason he’s not face first in his own retch is because Sam is still holding onto his arms, keeping him steady and upright. His eyes burn as stomach bile burns his throat. Dry heaving, he blinks down at the mess, tears leaking their way out of his eyes. Castiel tries to spit out the horrid taste in his mouth, but it doesn’t help. He pants debating to himself if it’s safe enough to try standing, but Sam seems to sense the change in his body and helps him upright. He can’t feel his feet anymore, which he’s great full for after they clumsy scrape against the gravel rocks as Sam leads them forward back to the car. “The thing that did this to you was a,” Dean pauses and takes in a deep, shaky breath. “A shifter? You thought it was me?” “Enough,” Sam says quiet, but firm. “It made you think that I was the one –” “Dean,” Sam says pleadingly as he opens up the passenger door. Castiel doesn’t hesitate to crawl back onto the seat and lays his head down on on his bunched up trench coat. He hears the door close behind him, and brings his legs up to his chest chokes out a whimper at how painful the simple task is. He doesn’t even care at this point if either of the brothers hear him, because what does he have left to lose? His dignity is already gone, and now, more than ever, after what just happened outside this car, it’s clear as day he’s completely human. He knows he should stay awake. Every instinct in him is warning him that he needs to stay awake and be prepared, but there’s that blackness that was edging his vision that is now swallowing him whole again. With a sigh, Castiel gives in and lets it take him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Dean takes another swallow from the bottle of whiskey he’d stop to buy, after dropping Sam and Castiel off at some motel in Bum Fuck Nowhere, Illinois. He leans heavily against his car, staring at the dimly lit motel in front of him. He should go in. He’s been standing out here in the fucking cold too long. He should really see how Castiel is doing. The whole situation is screwed up. He knows Castiel was messed up over being so sick, and now, what happened to him on top of it… Dean takes a few more pulls on the burning liquid, pushing himself off his car. He sways slightly, only then realizing over half the bottle is gone. Closing his shut tightly he tries to steady himself. Behind his closed lids he sees Castiel’s terrified face looking back at him. It’s like the image will be forever branded into his mind. Over and over the scene plays out again. Each time the look of fear in Castiel’s eyes makes his stomach churn inside him with disgust. Sighing, Dean wonders how long he’s been standing out in the parking lot. It can’t have been that long. Well, maybe that isn’t true. It’s been long enough to where his body can’t feel the cold anymore. The fresh cut on his arm itches, reminding him of the fact he had to prove he was himself to Castiel, only a few hours ago.
“You broke in 30...”
Dean’s eyes snap open, bottle slipping from his fingers, smashing on the cement below him. His hand goes to his gun in his waistband, clicking the safety off and pulling it out all in one smooth movement. He whips around, eyes wide, holding the gun out trying to find the source of the voice. That fucking voice. A cold wind picks up, scattering litter and leaves across the pavement like some eerie horror movie. Dean stands there, a tremor running through his body. Seeing nothing that might suggest any danger, Dean laughs to himself nervously flipping the safety back on his gun and lowering it before tucking it away. “He’s dead. Sam killed him. He’s dead,” Dean mumbles shaking his head as he stumbles towards the room Sam had texted him was theirs. It’s impossible. It’s been years. He’s just drunk, exhausted, and today has been total crap. Dean opens the door his eyes immediately finding a pair of wide-eyed blue ones staring back at him from the bed furthest from the door. Closing the door slowly he slips off his jacket and tosses it onto the nearest chair. Dean stumbles over to the couch and lets his body fall into the stiff, dusty cushions. The weight of Cas’ eyes are unmistakable, but instead of acknowledging them, he shifts uneasily trying to hope it looks like he’s adjusting to the couch. “You’re drunk,” Sam states emerging from the bathroom with pajama pants and an old t-shirt on. “You’re observant,” Dean replies crossing his arms over his chest and looking up at the ceiling as the bedsprings of the second bed squeak under his brother’s weight. The prickle of Castiel watching him somehow intensifies, too much to ignore anymore. “How are ya feeling, Cas?” The light clicks off and then he hears Sam huff out a breath, moving around on the bed trying to get comfortable. Castiel never replies. Dean glances away from the chipping ceiling and over to the bed where Castiel is sitting up staring back at him. The bruises over his face have darkened and purpled even more since Dean dropped them off, and he swallows thickly trying to think of something intelligible to say. Cas’ face is twisted into something of disgust and confusion, but when Dean licks his lips before opening his mouth to try his luck with words, Dean notices Castiel’s body going rigid before he narrows his eyes. It takes a few seconds for Dean’s mind to catch up to what might have caused the reaction, but as he goes over the past five seconds he wants to kick himself. If the shifter took on his form he would’ve taken on all his mannerisms. Anything he does, any nervous ticks he has, Castiel would’ve seen thinking it was him. Only, it wasn’t him. Did the shifter try and seduce him first? Or did he just walk in – no! He can’t fucking think about it. Dean tries to clear his throat, but it only comes out a rough cough. He takes in a slow breath trying to calm down the urge to climb back into his car and find the dead man who did this to him. Letting out the breath he lets his eyes wander over the rest of Castiel, assessing anything he might’ve missed. Cas has on different clothes that must belong to Sam due to the way they’re hanging off his body. His dark hair looks damp as if he’s just come out of the shower, which makes him question, again, just how long he was standing outside for. Even with the bruises littering his face Dean can still make out the dark bags underneath his narrowed eyes. It looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. Humorous, almost, for an angel who isn’t suppose to sleep at all. “Cas, listen –” “Goodnight, Dean,” he says looking away before carefully laying down on the bed.Castiel looks away before moving carefully laying down, staring up at the ceiling. Dean stares over at Cas who’s laying stiffly on his back. He can tell from here that his eyes are open, ears tuned into the slightest of sounds. Dean’s fingers twitch to push himself up off the couch or reach out, but he isn’t sure exactly what he might do. To console him, maybe? Anyone who knows him knows he’s never been exactly great at talking through any type of shit. He’s only ever been good with being a man of action, so why even bother? Sighing, he throws his head back against the couch and once more, stares up at the chipping ceiling. Sam tosses and turns a few more times before falling silent. As Dean’s eyes adjust to the semidarkness of their room he passes the time by watching headlights from passing cars move across the ceiling every so often; their accompanying highway car sound like a steady lullaby he’s grown up to know so well. After awhile, he eventually hears Castiel’s breathing even out. He almost lets himself breathe out a breath of relief before Dean hears him whimper. Dean tenses, every instinct in his body telling him to just fucking get up and wake Castiel up out of whatever he’s dreaming. But that’s entirely the problem. Castiel is dreaming about him. Dean turns to his side, letting himself look at Castiel without having to fear the return pair of blue eyes meeting his with fear or hate. Castiel mumbles something in his sleep as his body twitches and jerks. Heaven help him – no. Screw that. Fuck Heaven. What have they ever done for them anyway? Angel’s are nothing more than dicks with wings. If they didn’t bother enough to help Castiel when he needed someone, he wont bother even considering asking for help. Whatever is wrong with Castiel he will fix his damn self. Cas doesn’t deserve any of this. He doesn’t deserve the pain he’s in, or the dreams that haunt him. Dean grits his teeth as he hears Castiel breathe out the whisper of his name. Dean swears to whoever is listening that he will make whoever did this to Cas suffer so badly that they will wish that he would kill them.*~*~*~*
The cold, dull piece rusted metal that had been laying on the table is shoved into his skin again. Dean feels it rip through his flesh as it tugs and pulls upwards, slowly splitting him open. He feels the metal twist and jerk, digging itself deeper into his chest before slowly sliding out.
Dean bites his lip harder, well aware of the fact he’s long bit through them. Tear pour out the corners of his eyes, but still he refuses to scream. Screaming is exactly what he wants. Instead, he lets go of his biting through his lip and grinds his teeth together instead as he feels his skin being pulled away from from the metal was moments ago.
The hooks pierced through his shoulders pull against him in protest and Dean lets out something between a gasp and a hiss. He must have flinched and not realized it. More tears fall down his face as he tries desperately to stop his suspended body from swaying. Even the slightest motions of himworking he’s gotten use to, but involuntary movements hurt the worst. Even hook stabbed through his body that holds him up by chains, over time, has just become something he’s gotten use to. The only time Dean actually registers them is when he strains against them. He’s long since stopped trying to rip himself off them, that only led to some of the darkest days he’s ever had in this place.
A taunting laugh echoes into Dean’s ear as he feels something different pressed against an untouched patch of skin. He must be impatient today. Henever moves this quickly over his body.
The familiar, sharp pain of a razor blade skims up the inside of his thigh, followed by the tickle of blood running down almost masking some of the sting as the liquid flows over the cut. Something as simple as this makes Dean almost want to sigh in relief. The pain and simplicity of the razor compared to some of the other things used is like vacation. Even as the blade continues up his thigh, edging closer to his dick causing Dean to squeeze his eyes shut tight, he’s almost thankful.
“What do you say, Dean-o? Today the day? Going to, mm, come off the rack?” Alastair’s nasally voice makes the hairs all over Dean’s body stand on end. The blade is paused right by his dick. The tip of the blade is being dug into his flesh so slowly it’s almost as if it’s a subconscious action Alastair himself isn’t aware of.
Bracing himself for what he knows what is going to happen next, Dean turns to face Alastair and spits a mouthful of spit and blood into the man’s face. The movement has the hooks pulling against his flesh as his body rocks with the action. Dean glares at the demon as he tsks him before letting out a slow chuckle.
“Well I’ve got nothing but time,” he says, smirking as Dean watches the bloody spit drip down his face.
Dean registers the pain from the blade digging into his thigh disappearing right before two fingers are shoved inside the open wound in his chest. His head falls back as a scream rips from his body in pain. The fingers move inside him for a moment longer before yanking out of him, leaving him panting as all the new levels of pain start to make his ears ring.
He doesn’t quite register the feeling of Alastair’s fingers moving over his body before his bloody fingers are near his near his ass, but then it’s too late. The fingers shoved inside him before Dean can even open his mouth to say anything. Dean tries to thrash, move his body away, but the hooks tearing into his muscle and flesh begin to dig in deeper and rip. Alastair’s laughter grows louder as Dean’s eyes blur with tears unable to fall fast enough from his eyes and his screams burn in his throat like fire.
“Somebody help me!”
*~*~*~* “-ean! DEAN!” Dean sits up, eyes shooting open as he frantically looks around. Gasping for air, he tries to get his bearings as feels sweat drip down the side of his face. The lamp on the table is back on, and he blinks the blurred figure standing in front of him into focus seeing it’s Sam looking down at him with concerned eyes. Dean shakes his head trying to get the fog out of his head and looks over at where Castiel is sitting up, knees close to his chest, arms resting overtop of them, staring back at him like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. Dean looks away and rubs his hands over his face, groaning. The noise makes his throat burn. His hands fall from his face slowly, rubbing tentatively at his throat glancing a look up at Sam. “Dude, seriously!” He hears his brother sit on the edge of Castiel’s bed. “What the hell was that?” No matter how much he hates how worried Sam sounds, the last thing he wants to do right now is relive that nightmare. He’s never been down that road with Sam and like hell he is starting now. “What the hell was what?” Dean asks looking over at his brother with the best confused expression he can dig up. Maybe it’s late enough that he can just play innocent. People have nightmares all the time and never remember them. “You were…” he pauses, running a hand through his hair and glances back at Castiel. “Screaming. You were screaming, Dean.” Sam looks back at him with those damned puppy dog eyes. “‘Somebody help me’.” His mind whites out for a moment and all he can hear is the echoing of his own screams inside his mind. It’s obvious why his throat burns, but it’s been years, so why now? After all this time, why would memories of hell haunt him now? Even though it felt real – like he was back on the rack, back with Alastair – it isn’t real. Not anymore. It’s just bad dreams. Alastair is dead. He’s been dead for years, and there’s no way he can ever come back. Dean lets his hand fall away from his neck as he pushes himself up off the couch. “I’m not doing this.” He waves his hand at the room. “It’s just this fucking day, alright? Lay off.” Dean walks over to the bathroom in a a few long, steady strides and pauses by the door. “Get some sleep, Sammy. I’m fine.” With that, Dean closes the door, not bothering to lock it, and slides down it until his ass hits the cold, dirty, tile floor. Dean doesn’t know how long he sits there for, but he knows it’s awhile since he heard Sam click off the light. His ass has gone numb awhile ago, but he still can’t seem to get his body to move. His mind replays his dream over and over again – no, not a dream. He lived it. He was there. For forty years he was in hell. Alastair had done more things to him than he could’ve ever thought imaginable. That dream had been tame compared to most of the shit he went through. He’s so caught up that it isn’t until the sound of a car door slamming somewhere outside startles him enough Dean scrambles to his feet. Dean fumbles around the side of the wall until he finds the light switch and flicks on the light. Slowly, he lifts up his shirt half expecting to see a gaping whole where Alastair had cut him open. Instead there is perfect, unscarred skin. As if it never happened. But it did happen, so why is he remembering it all now, after all this time? It doesn’t make any sense. Sighing, he pulls down his shirt and runs a hand through his short hair trying to ignore how greasy it feels. Movement catches Dean’s eye and he looks up only to see his reflection looking back at him in the mirror. He looks terrible; bags underneath his eyes like he needs about two weeks of sleep to catch up. His jaw is bruising on the side from where Castiel hit and tried to beat the holy hell out of him. Just below the bottom of his t-shirt sleeve his eyes catch the raised pink scaring of Castiel’s handprint. Dean slowly moves his hand towards it, pulling up his sleeve all the way till it exposes the whole brand. He traces a finger over the slightly faded raised scars of Castiel’s fingers, then slowly over the palm imprint. Castiel is the reason he’s alive and even after all the bullshit they’ve been through, he owes the guy everything. Turning away from his reflection, Dean flicks back off the light, opens the door, walking back over to the couch. Even with the lights off the room it isn’t dark enough to run in to anything. The lights outside each of the rooms bring in enough light that Dean sees the silhouette of Castiel sitting up among the shadows. Instead of saying anything, Dean just raises his eyebrow in question. Honestly just simply existing and being here is doing enough damage to the guy at this point, so he keeps his mouth shut. Instead Dean sits down quietly on the couch trying to match his breathing to Sam’s steady ones. “You…remember it again,” Castiel’s words sound forced, as if he’s using all his strength just to speak them. Dean looks over at him, almost hoping Castiel is doing his weird staring thing, but he’s just staring straight ahead. “I’m fine,” he breathes, his voice coming out quieter than he realizes he meant them to. The familiar head tilt almost has Dean crying with relief. Over everything that’s happened the past, what, fucking six or whatever hours, he was almost afraid who his friend was has somehow been stolen. Castiel glances back at him quickly, before going back to staring straight ahead again. “You were screaming…” He flinches like the words are physically painful, and maybe they are. Maybe his stupid subconscious actions were enough to traumatize Castiel further. “…for quite sometime before Sam was able to wake you up.” Dean opens his mouth to reply, but Castiel hisses in pain, his hand flying up to his lip. Dean’s body jerks to move forward off the couch and over to check on him, but he catches himself at the last minute remembering his presence is probably the last thing Castiel wants close to him. “Even after all this time, I still remember what it was like when I held onto you,” Cas says muffled against his fingers still against his lips. “Your soul, it’s so bright – pure.” Cas drops his hand from his lips and looks over at Dean, this time holding his eyes. “Even in hell you were everything good, Dean.” Looking away from him again, Castiel sighs and leans his head back against the headboard. “I breathed life back into you, helped you build that wall inside your mind to keep out those memories that were eating away at you and now…” Dean remembers. Images, thoughts, memories of hell when he resurfaced plagued him. At first he thought he could just nut up and deal with it like he had with everything else in his shit life, but this…this was something else. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Dean would literally do anything to try and stay awake to the point he was so tired he started hallucinating hell. Castiel had appeared in front of him just as Dean was about ready to stab some punk teenage kid he thought was a demon, and stabbed him instead. When Cas put his hand on his forehead he expected that warm, comforting energy that usually happened. Instead his brain felt like it was being squeezed between a vise. And then, as quick as it hit him, it was over. Castiel grabbed him by the shoulders, lifting him up off the dirty alleyway, and slammed him against the wall.
“I didn’t pull you out of the pit to have you live the rest of your life tormented by the memories!” Castiel growled, his blue eyes flashing as he leaned more of his weight against him.
Dean could do nothing – not move, not even struggle – with the weight of the angel forcing him against the wall. Castiel leaned down closer, their noses brushing against each other as he narrowed his eyes at him.
“I took the memories of your time in hell and, simply put, put them behind a wall. You shouldn’t have any more problems. If by some fated chance you do, I trust you’ve learned your lesson about trying to ‘cope with it yourself’ and will call on me sooner.
All Dean could do was choke out a “yes” before Castiel’s weight fell off him and the angel was gone, leaving him falling on his ass once more.
Oh yes, Dean remembers. He was so confused that night at how his body responded. Dean remembers bein terrified shitless, yet completely aroused. At first he blamed it on being exhausted and not being able to get laid due to his memories, but after all these years he’s not stupid enough to deny his feelings. “We share a profound bond,” Castiel continues. “When I went inside your mind, I saw what you saw. I know what happened to you.” And just like that, any warmth from the memories were gone. “You don’t know shit, Cas.” Dean hisses, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. “Thirty years,” Dean whispers, trying to ignore the way his voice is breaking. “I screamed for thirty damn years.” He drops his gaze down to the carpeted floor, trying his best to blink back the stinging in his eyes. “They sliced, carved and tore at me in ways that –” Dean looks up at the ceiling, wiping angrily at the tears running down his face. “Until there was nothing left. And then I would be whole again. Like magic. Just so they could start it all over again.” He bites his trembling lip and looks straight ahead past Castiel to the wall behind him, not even carrying that the tears were falling freely now. “Thirty years I said no and then I couldn’t do it anymore. I got off that rack, God help me, I got right off it and I started ripping them apart. I lost could of how many souls…all the things I did to them…” Dean sees Castiel move out of the corner of his eye, but instead of meeting his eyes or even caring, he just hangs his head. It’s all too much. “They needed to break the first seal to start everything or whatever, I know. I get it. It was forever ago. I should be over it.” The warmth and pressure of Castiel’s hand on his left arm, right over his fading handprint sends a tremble over his body. Dean doesn’t even try and hide it as he slowly lifts his head meeting Castiel’s gaze. “I…” Castiel closes his eyes tightly, the grip on his arm tightening. Dean watches as Castiel’s faces pinches in pain, as if touching him is physically causing him pain. Dean almost pulls out of his grasp, but he’s selfishly craving his angel’s touch too badly to really give a damn at this point. “I was the one who pulled you out of the pit,” Castiel continues in a deeper voice, eyes opening slowly. “I – we – are connected in such a deeper, more complex way than anyone else can possibly fathom. I may not have been with you in hell, but I’ve been with you in your dreams and walked with you in memories.” Castiel takes in a shaky breath, fingers flexing over against Dean’s skin. “After I remade you and you went on living life out of hell, you use to call for me in your sleep. I always came when you called.” “I don’t – Cas, I would remember that.” Castiel looks back at him with such sad eyes Dean’s heart feels like it’s breaking but he can’t exactly place why. The urge to throw his arms around Castiel and tell him how sorry he is over and over is so strong he can actually feel the pressure of the words in his throat. If only words held some sort of power to just make everything magically be fixed, he’d say it a million times if it meant never seeing that look over Castiel’s face again. “Whether you remember it or not is irreverent,” he says sadly. “I was able to catch glimpses of your nightmares – your memories. I spoke to you in Enochian, calming your dreams and stayed with you until you could rest. But I do, Dean, know everything.” His lips twitch up into a grimace, but disappear quick enough that if Dean were to blink he would have missed it. “I only wish I had my grace to be able to…heal everything. You don’t deserve to keep reliving the same hell over and over again.” Dean hasn’t realized he’s been holding his breath until his chest begins to burn. Castiel is looking back him like he actually is worth something. Even after everything, all the bullshit he’s been through in the last however long hours, Castiel still sees him as something special. “Cas…” Dean chokes out, trying to ignore how rough his voice sounds. His best friend – his angel – deserves at least some sort of compassion. He needs to know that regardless of the fucked up situation, Dean isn’t mad. Not at him, anyway. “Tonight, I just want you to know –” The warmth of Castiel’s hand gripped over his skin almost felt natural, like it belonged, so when he pulls it back all at once, Dean’s skin erupts into goosebumps at the coldness. “Stop.” Castiel’s command is full of power and dominance, leaving no room for debate. Dean snaps his open mouth shut and ducks his head. The silence hangs heavy between them as they sit close, knees a brush away from touching. Even though the lights are off, the lights from outside are still enough to make out the torn expression on Castiel’s face. Dean can’t imagine the kind of pain Castiel is feeling right now. How much more might settle in tomorrow after the shock of everything wears off. More than anything Dean wants to take it all away. Castiel doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of this. “I’m going to fix this,” Dean whispers looking back up at Castiel. Even though the room is dark he can still feel Castiel’s eyes on his face. The weight of the stare makes Dean feel exposed, as if he’s judging him. Dean can almost feel the heaviness of Cas weighing the pros and cons, deciding whether or not he might actually be capable of such a feat. Maybe, Dean thinks, Castiel is deciding if there is enough faith between them to believe it possible. Castiel looks away and down at the bed with a sigh, “There isn’t anything you can fix, Dean. I am broken in the inside.” Before Dean can even process what’s happening to stop himself, he’s leaning over the small space between them, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s neck as gently as possible. As his actions hit him, Dean tries to ignore the face that Castiel has now gone completely rigid. Dean tries to sooth him by running his hand through his messy hair as his other hand hangs onto Sam’s giant shirt hanging off his shoulders. Somewhere in the back of his head alarms are going off telling him to let go before something bad happens, but he pushes it away. Cas knows he’d never hurt him, and this is just his way of earning that trust. Dean’s heartbeat is pounding in his ears as he tries to control his breathing. This has to be a lot of his friend after everything he just went through, but if Cas can just allow this to happen and give him this bit of trust, then maybe it really will be alright. Maybe they’ll be alright. His eyes begin to sting and he takes in a slow breath trying not to cry like some damn chick. “Cas,” he says, voice cracking despite his efforts to try and steady it. “It’s going to be fine.” Slowly Dean pulls back from the embrace just enough to look up at Castiel’s face. It only lasts a moment, but the look of pure hatred will forever be burned into his mind. In that moment he wasn’t Cas, angel who rebelled against Heaven to befriend the Winchester brothers. No, he was Castiel, Angel of the Lord. Rough hands grip and squeeze his shoulders tightly as Dean is thrown across the room, head slamming against the floor. Dean hears Castiel howl in pain before collapsing to the ground, out of his line of sight. A bright light clicks on that has Dean groaning at, turning his head away from the onslaught of bright light making his head throb even more. “What the hell is going on?” Sam yells. Dean squints his eyes open, just making out his brother standing in between where they both lie on the dingy, who-knows-what’s-been-on-it orangish-yellow carpet. Sam looks away from Dean and bends down to help Castiel slowly to his feet. Dean notices he’s holding his hands out in front of him gingerly. Sam looks back at him with a scowl, asking him again what happened. Truthfully, Dean doesn’t even have a damn answer. Carefully Sam helps Castiel sit on the edge of the bed, and carefully takes one of his hands to examine his fingers. Dean knows they were broken before they got here and Sam obviously hasn’t had a chance to really set them, or hasn’t wanted to traumatize Castiel anymore for one day. Can’t blame him. Still, Dean winces thinking about how much it must have hurt to pick him up and toss him across the room. Castiel’s face flashes through his mind again as Dean tries to blink back the images. He’s beyond exhausted, but he knows if he goes back to sleep he’s either going to see memories from hell or memories of Castiel’s face haunting his dreams. What he needs is a damn drink. He needs to forget. Forget tonight, forget what happened to Cas, forget trying to comfort him – just forget everything. Dean pushes himself up, ignoring how badly his head is throbbing, and walks over to his jacket throwing it on. He steps into his shoes giving one last look to Sam fussing over Cas, completely oblivious that he’s even in the room. Setting his jaw, he opens the door, mumbling, “going out” and closes the door behind him with a slam.*~*~*~* Castiel fights the surge to bit his already split and painful lips as he watches Sam pace back and forth in their small motel room. It had been nearly morning when Dean had walked out. Sam assured him that Dean just needed some space and would come back in the room after he drove around for a bit. After trying to set and splint his fingers as best as Sam could, the younger Winchester tried to get a few more hours of sleep. Castiel couldn’t bring himself to relax enough to even close his eyes for longer than a few minutes. Noises, any noise, had his eyes shooting open, his body bracing for another attack. Of course no one was coming into their room, it was just car doors slamming, people passing by talking, or dogs barking; normal things. Realizing sleep was a lost cause, he said up in bed, staring at the door waiting for Dean to return while Sam tossed and turned. It was now getting on to late afternoon and there was still no sign of Dean. Whether it be from Sam’s lack of sleep and he is just trying to stay awake, or the copious amounts of coffee (maybe both), Sam hasn’t been able to sit still. Castiel doesn’t want to say what he’s thinking out loud, but thinks that Sam might actually be thinking the same thing. “Damnit!” Sam yells throwing his phone onto the bed he slept in last night. Cas flinches as the phone hits the pillow with a soft thumb and bounces to the floor by his foot. Sam angrily strides back to the window, staring out into the empty parking lot. Realistically, Dean could be anywhere. It isn’t the best time for him to disappear, but after what happened last night they both needed their space and being stuck together inside a small motel room was not doing either of them any favors. More than likely Dean is probably passed out in the backseat of his car, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. If Castiel has learned anything from spending time with Dean it is that his coping mechanisms are terrible. Inching forward on towards the end of the bed trying not to jostle any of his more painful areas is a process. Castiel makes it, but when he tries to push himself up his knees buckle and hisses as a wave of nausea from the pain hits him. “Whoa!” Sam exclaims turning away from the window and racing over to help him. “What are you doin’, man?” Sam helps him get steady on his feet and he gives a nod of thanks. “I need to, um, I would like to,” Castiel’s eyes dart to the bathroom that now seems a lot farther away than it seemed sitting on the bed. Leaning more of his weight against Sam, he sighs. “Human functions, Sam. I need to urinate.” Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “That’s my bad. I should’ve asked when I got up, but I’m not use to you not being, well, you. Next time just let me know when you need to get up. I can help you get to the door, at least.” Sam begins their very slowly walk to the bathroom, and Castiel finds that every single movement makes different areas of his body ignite into pain. It’s almost too much. “Hey Cas, about last night,” Sam says walking past the threshold of the bathroom and clicking on the light with his elbow. “I mean…It wasn’t – Dean would never –” Cas stares straight ahead into the mirror looking back at Sam who lets him go slowly, running a hand through his messy hair. He wants to agree or acknowledge Sam in some way, but his mouth doesn’t want to seem to work. Logically he knows what Sam is saying, and knows exactly what the truth is. Still, he mind or body doesn’t seem to care about logics or anything else. He doesn’t even feel angry about it, or anything. He doesn’t really feel anything at all. Castiel watches Sam nervously look at him again, and by his facial expressions, it looks as though he’s waiting for an answer. Maybe he asked if he needed anything else? How could he have missed something like that? Maybe it’s because of his exhaustion. “Thank you for your help.” Castiel tries to offer a smile, but his body doesn’t seem to have enough energy to do anything more than twitch. “I wouldn’t worry too much about Dean. More than likely he’s just drank too much and is ‘sleeping it off’, as you say, in his car. He’ll be back soon.” Sam gives a small nod, the look on his face showing doubt, contradicting the action. Cas doesn’t know if he was trying to convince himself or Sam, but he doesn’t even believe his own words at this point.“I mean it, though. If you ever want to talk about what happened or, you know, anything, I’m here, okay?” Sam gives another nod and backs out of the bathroom, shutting the door with a quiet click behind him. Carefully, but quickly, Castiel goes through his human necessities. He will never understand how humans can keep up with the constant demands the human body requires. It’s tiresome and annoying. As much as Castiel would like to think about Dean sleeping it off somewhere, it is every unlike him to leave his brother for such a length of time after something like last night. Turning on the water to hot, Castiel waits impatiently for it to warm, letting his thoughts drift. Has it really only been one night? Glancing at his reflection in the mirror he grimaces. He looks, as Dean would say, like hell. His face is bruised, eyes deeply outlined purple with lack of sleep, lips cut and split and there is a giant lump on the side of his head. Castiel tilts his head trying to crane his neck to the side better to assess the damage, but the hot water has begun to steam, fog slowly creeping from the bottom of the mirror and spreading upwards. His eyes still see a glimpse of the perfect set of bite marks. ”Don’t get sour on me now. We are just getting to the good stuff! I’m still your little hunter crush!” Castiel doesn’t remember moving his hand or any recollection of it connecting with the mirror. One minute he’s looking at his reflection and the next he’s blinking at the blood dripping down from his fist as his brain begins to catch up to the sharp, fresh pain. The mirror itself is covered in spiderwebbed cracks and pieces of it are breaking off and falling down into the hot water still running. A rush of cool air breezes over him enough to gain a sense of himself to pull his hand gingerly away from the mirror. Bloody glass clinks down into the sink as Sam rushes over turning off the water and grabs at a towel. Sam carefully wraps it around his hand leading Castiel out of the bathroom and back to the bed. “What the hell happened?” He asks, glancing up at him as they sit down. Unable to meet Sam’s eyes, Castiel looks down at the floor. There isn’t really a good answer for what he did. At least, none that makes any sense. More than anything he’s just ashamed at his actions. He’s ashamed he’s become so weak, useless – human . What purpose can he serve like this to the brother’s whose lives are in constant danger? If he was unable to protect and save himself, how can he protect the Winchesters? It’s only a matter of time before Sam and Dean realize how pathetic and worthless he is, and are done with him for good. More than that, though, he is impure now. Not to say he was ever the picture of a perfect angel, but he still had his dignity. And now… Is there any coming back from this? He is left with nothing. He has no skills now that his grace is gone, nothing that sets him apart that might be useful to Sam or Dean for hunting. If anything, with how drained and sick he’s been feeling lately, he’s only a barely walking hazard. Sam seems to accept his silence and doesn’t bother asking anything further on it. He opens up the towel and begins to pull out bits of glass that seem to have embedded themselves in his knuckles. Castiel grinds his teeth together as Sam pulls a particular long, thin bit out. Sam mutters and apology, setting the glass on the towel and examining his hand closely. Castiel could barely move his hand before and honestly has no clue how he managed to make anything close to a fist. After lifting Dean and tossing him across the room he’s almost positive he did more damage to it. Now his whole hand sings with pain making his head feel dizzy. A familiar rumble of the Impala has Castiel’s head looking up to the window. Sam jumps off the the bed quickly, running to the door and throwing it open. Castiel slowly rises, shaking the bits of glass onto the bed carefully and rewraps his hand in the bloodied towel stumbling out the door after Sam. Castiel feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise and knows it’s not from the cold. Something doesn’t feel right. Sam stands at the edge of the sidewalk glaring at the Impala parked in the middle of the parking lot, still running. They both know Dean would’ve parked closer. He would’ve gotten out of the car by now as well. Castiel’s eyes narrow as the driver’s door opens and out steps a familiar black Armani suit with a red tie with a scruffy faced man sporting a contented smirk inside it. “Hello Moose, Feathers. Or, lack thereof.” “Crowley,” Sam snarls. “Where the hell is my brother?” Crowley closes the door and leans back against it picking at his fingernails, seemingly bored. “Ran into your brother this morning. Tried to have a nice little chat but he seemed less than…” Crowley looks up and right at Castiel smiling. He pushes off the Impala and walks to the front of the car, fingers running along the frame as he walks. “ Willing to hear what I had to say.” Heat rushes to Castiel’s face from anger and shame. He stumbles out into the parking lot a few steps, closer to Crowley. “What have you done with Dean?” Crowley’s laughter echoes around the, thankfully, empty parking lot. “Or you’ll what? Bleed on me? I mean really Castiel, have you seen yourself lately?” He gives one last chuckle, clearing his throat and straightening up. Crowley sticks his hands in his jacket pockets, leaning back against the Impala and looking back at them with some expression Castiel doesn’t bother to figure out. “Now, as I was saying,” he continues. “I did run into Squirrel this morning, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen. Wasn’t for lack of trying to explain the situation.” “What are you talking about? Where the hell is my brother?!” Sam yells, unable to control his patience anymore. He crosses the parking lot, fists balled up and clenched tightly by his side as he gets right up into Crowley’s face shoving him in the chest. Castiel follows after him, focusing on not letting any pain show over his face. Whether it kills him or not, he will do anything in his power to help get Dean back. “Oi, you both are a bunch of bloody imbeciles!” Crowley shoves Sam back. “Did it ever occur to you that I might have your sorry excuse for a brother here?” Castiel narrows his eyes at the King of Hell. “And why would you go out of your way to seek Dean out and then drive him back here?” Crowley avoids looking at either of them and instead straightens out his tie and suit jacket, dusting off nothing in particular. “Maybe we should take this conversation to a more private setting, eh?” Castiel’s stomach tightens as alarm bells start going off in his head. What it is that Crowley wants or needs from them must be a lot if he drove Dean’s car back. Sam storms past Crowley and throws open the driver’s door leaning in and turning the key off. “He’s in the trunk,” Crowley calls back to them with a wave, walking straight into their motel room. Just the face Crowley is even here makes him want to cause all types of harm to the demon, but the face that he showed up with Dean unconscious makes him wish he had just a sliver of his powers just to do something . Castiel tries to flex his hand, but bites off a hiss as blinding pain explodes from it. He hears Sam popping open the trunk and grunts as (Castiel assumes) he picks Dean up. Sam closes the trunk right as Castiel is able to see clearly again and sees Dean fireman thrown over Sam’s shoulder walking back across the parking lot. “This isn’t good, Sam,” Castiel whispers, hurriedly limping next to him. “Anytime Crowley has ever come to us freely it has only caused us more trouble.” Castiel glances over at Dean only slightly relieved that he looks unharmed, just simply passed out. Sam shakes his head as they walk back into their room. Sam goes straight over to the bed he slept in last night and lays Dean down. Dean mumbles in his sleep incoherently as Castiel sits down on the same bed, but on the edge, just trying to catch his breath. He didn’t realize he could be winded so easily and checks off another reason to hate not having his grace. Dean murmurs something again, body jerking in his sleep. Castiel’s fingers twitch, ready to be raised and used to calm Dean’s dreams. He swallows thickly remembering that he doesn’t hold that power anymore. A prickle over his skin as Castiel raising his head to see Crowley staring back at him, a smirk plastered over his lips. Castiel hates that he already knows without any of them saying anything. “So boys, you happen to notice any recent increase of demons lately?” Almost every case they’ve gone on lately has ended up being demon related. Even the ones that appeared to be ghosts or witches. None of them ended up being anything other than demons. Castiel looks over at Sam who’s eyes are somehow glaring even more at the demon, and then back at Crowley. “Almost everyone has been a demon.” “That’d be me.” Crowley looks down at Castiel, expression completely neutral. “Now I’m just in charge of the demons. I just need you to know that. We had a plan.” Castiel feels his forehead furrowing. He doesn’t understand. What plan? What is he even going on about? He looks back at Sam hoping for some kind of help understanding everything, but his face has just as much confusion plastered over it. He looks back over at Crowley, narrowing his eyes in frustration. “I don’t –” “Abaddon has been growing stronger, no thanks to you twits,” he huffs. “I tried explaining this to Squirrel here, but he was already too far gone by the time I got there. Probably doesn’t even remember me being there.” A slow smile spreads over his lips making goosebumps raise over Castiel’s skin. They share a look for a moment and them as quickly as the smile came, Crowley drops it. “As I was saying, I devised a plan that requires the containing and the use of your grace to kill and get rid of that wretched skank.” Wait, what? “It…I…” Castiel mouth has gone dry and his throat begins to burn. Maybe he didn’t hear Crowley right. Beside him Dean mumbles in his sleep again, something a little bit more clearer, but Castiel can’t focus enough to understand it. He’s mind is racing with everything Crowley just dumped on him. There’s no way to steal his grace, though. “Steal the grace of an angel is impossible unless cut out probably.” Sam shoves Crowley hard into the nearest wall. Castiel averts his eyes looking down at Dean who begins to stir. “Do you have any idea what Castiel has been through in these last twenty-four hours?” “Oh trust me, I know damn well what he’s been through. Your brother – even in his drunken state – made sure I knew damn well what happened before he hit his head on the bloody floor and knocked himself out cold. But, as I said from the start,” Castiel looks up to see Crowley leaning forward, his forehead pressed against Sam’s right before he shoves the Winchester away. “I am just in charge of the bloody demons!” “I have no idea how the hell everything has become so screwed up, but with you three it’s always something,” he says shaking his head. “I send out the demons, tell the demons to distract the brothers so Castiel can make the kill. Every time the angel kills a demon the spell I casted on the idiot sucks away a bit of your grace and has it come straight into our container, see? I’d dumb down the working parts of it, but I have neither time nor patience. Regardless, it was all for the greater good you know. Getting that bitch out of my hell.” Castiel gives a half hearted laugh completely not believing what he’s hearing. “You have it then, my grace.You have it all, so why aren’t you,” he waves his hand out in front of him, “out there using it to kill her.” “I don’t have it all,” he gives Castiel a sympathetic look. “And neither do you, by the looks of it.” Castiel averts his eyes back down to Dean and listens to his steady murmurs. The pitying eyes of The King of Hell isn’t something he ever thought he’d see from the demon, and it defiantly isn’t something he can deal with right now. “No, I, uh, used the last of it,” Castiel whispers watching Dean’s eyes dance back and forth underneath his eyelids. “Pity that. Looks like I’ll just have to find another angel.” Crowley chuckles, clapping his hands together. Castiel snaps his head up, glaring at the demon fiercely. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sam starting to advance on him again. “Oh sod off! You –” A hoarse, gut wrenching scream cuts Crowley off. Everyone’s eyes look down at Dean, whose back is arched off the bed, veins budging in his neck and head as he grits his teeth together so loudly it makes Castiel wince. Castiel feels Crowley walk over and move beside him and then the weight of his hand on his shoulder and he annoyingly shakes it off. “I’ll be a son of a whore, he remembers,” Crowley whispers as Dean’s screams pause. All Castiel can do is nod, staring helplessly as Sam appears beside Dean with a damp washcloth, dabbing Dean’s forehead with it. “Dean, wake up. Dean!” Sam gently shakes Dean as Castiel rises from the bed and walks over to the corner of the room by the door. Crowley follows and stands by him as they watch Sam try to coax Dean out his nightmare. “Is it the only way?” Castiel asks. “Using my grace as a weapon against Abaddon?” “I was always going to give it back.” Crowley sticks his hands in his jacket pocket and sighs. “But I do believe I might’ve found another way ‘round this whole situation.” “No.” Castiel looks away from Dean and looks down at Crowley. “Whatever it is, no.” “I’m insulted, Castiel,” he scoffs. “You have no idea what I even have in mind.” “I know enough from past experiences to know your ‘other ways’ are usually how someone ends up hurt, or worse.” “Don’t get your feathers all ruffled,” he huffs, his eyes quickly scanning over his body. “By the way, you’re dripping on the carpet.” Castiel looks down at the towel wrapped around his fist to see that, sure enough, he’s bled through and is dripping onto the carpet. Lifting his head he opens his mouth to say something, but the King of Hell is already gone. Of course he is. Castiel swears under his breath and looks back at Sam wondering when they’ll see Crowley again. Sam is resting his head on his brothers shoulder while Dean twitches in his sleep, face twisted up in pain. Unable to resist any longer, Castiel’s feet move him forward towards the brothers. He places a hand on Sam’s shoulder as starts to slowly lower himself himself to kneel beside Dean. Sam looks up at him with wet, red rimmed eyes as Castiel lets his hand fall away and turns his focus on Dean. Leaning forward Castiel tries not to think about anything, but lets his mind clear. He closes his eyes as his lips brush Dean’s ear. “Ol bolape emna,” he whispers just loud enough that Dean can hear him. “Elasa bolape sapah. Ol bolape erm elasa.” Emotions too confusing for Castiel to think about surge through him as the words catch in his throat. He brings his arms up and wrap them around Dean’s neck, holding him closely. He pushes away the pain and protest from his body as he squeezes his eyes shut even tighter. “OI ooaoana vaoresa elasa. En samevelaji coredazodizoda. Elasa bolape micaelazodo. Ol aziazor elasa.” Almost instantly he feels the tension leave Dean’s body as he relaxes and falls limp in his arms. Castiel smiles as he pulls back remembering back to a time he would need to be nearby to help clam him. But, unlike the other times, he has no chance to fly away. Instead, he stares down at a pair of bright, wide eyed green eyes blinking rapidly up at him. “How…how did you do that?” Sam chokes out. “What did you say?” Castiel forces himself to pull his arms away from Dean and painfully push himself to feet. “Enochian.” He replies quietly, walking over to the couch. The words themselves are too personal, and something he’s only ever allowed himself to share when Dean’s nightmares are too much. Dean groans as Castiel watches him try and sit up. Quickly averting his gaze he stares at the floor trying to piece everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours together. His mind starts to go fuzzy, almost like static, when he tries to contemplate what Crowley spoke about. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or maybe the shock, but even the most recent conversation with the demon isn’t properly replaying in his mind. Castiel blinks drown at the bright, reddish blob forming on the carpet in between his feet. Unwrapping the towel is almost too impossible for him to do, but his stiff, broken fingers fumble through it and he lets the towel drop to the ground. He stares at the bright red blood pooling to the surface before spilling over and dripping to the ground. His head feels heavy as he watches the blood trickle down his fingers. Slowly, he lowers his head to the arm of the couch and listens to the low, deep murmuring of Sam and Dean’s voices. He thinks he might hear his name at some point, but the his head to is too fuzzy and heavy to care. Instead, he lets his eyes close and lets himself fall into unconsciousness.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“So let me get this straight.” Sam pauses from his vigorous pacing back and forth in the small motel room turning to Dean. “You leave to go get drunk, Crowley finds you, fills you in on what is going on and –” “And it was just a really shit night, alright? Damnit, we’ve been through this!” He snaps glaring back at his brother pinching the bridge of his nose. The food Sammy had went out and gotten him lays uneaten beside him on the bed. How does his brother think he can possibly eat after everything? He lets his eyes travel over to where Castiel is passed out, laying awkwardly on the couch. Everything inside him screamed at him to get up and readjust Castiel to a more comfortable angel, but after what happened last time he refuses to even lay a finger on him. Instead, he draped a scratchy hotel blanket from his bed over him, hoping it’d be enough. Dean sighs and looks back at his brother who gives him an exasperated face. “I didn’t think, okay?” Memories of last night, this morning, whatever, are a little bleary. He remembers wanting to punch the smug look off Crowley’s face more than anything. For everything Cas has been through. He felt so angry but then, somehow, he ended up on the ground. He’s still foggy on the details, but blaming Crowley seems the right thing to do. “The whole situation is just fucked up, okay?” Dean says shaking his head. Sam shakes his head as his annoyed face falls into sadness. “Yeah, you’re right, it is. It’s also a situation we wouldn’t be in if it wasn’t for Crowley, apparently.” Sam looks over at Castiel and Dean can’t help but let his eyes follow. “As angry or frustrated we might be, there isn’t a damn thing we can do to change anything that’s happened. Crowley has always been a sneaky bastard, I’ll give him that. He planned this whole,” Sam waves his hand around, “stealing his grace thing, out well enough. It’s just if…” Dean glances over to him as Sam sighs. He knows what his brother is thinking. It’s what he’s been thinking since the moment everything clicked together at the diner. Dean looks back over at Cas and grits his teeth together. This is all his fucking fault. “If I hadn’t of left Cas alone.” “That isn’t it at all, Dean. None of this shit is your fault. You can’t blame yourself for any of this! It’s all on Crowley and –” “Where are my keys?” Dean snaps pushing past his brother as he grabs his jacket laying on the ground and throws it on. “Are you serious right now? You’re going out again? After everything that just happened and you’re just going to leave?” Dean lifts up a couple of shirts laying on the dresser but his keys aren’t under them. Sam moves to stand in front of him, but Dean sidesteps and walks over to the side table in between the beds and starts lifting up a Kleenex box like they might have magically been hiding underneath it. Giving a frustrated huff, he almost decides to just leave trek it on foot but as Dean turns to head to the door, he sees the glint of his keys from the table in front of the window. Striding over to the table he reaches out to grab the keys, but Sam’s hand slides in front of him. “No, you’re not leaving this time.” Dean glares up at his brother who just looks down at him with those damn puppy dog eyes. Usually they might work, but not today. If anything it just irritates him more. “I just need a drink and I’ll be right back.” “We need to start thinking about some sort of plan on how we’re going to handle this. I can’t have you three sheets to the wind doing that.” Sam’s voice lowers as his eyes soften, which only makes Dean’s hands start shaking with anger. “Cas looks like shit and he probably feels worse. We have to help him. You need to show him that –” “That fucking what, Sam!? That I didn’t rape him? That I didn’t beat the shit out of him? Because I didn’t, obviously, but it was still me to Cas! You know how fucking shape shifters work.” Dean pushes Sam in the chest, hard. His brother stumbles back. “I can’t even fucking touch him without feeling like I did something wrong.” He runs a hand over his face, trying to get ahold of his emotions. “You just need to talk to him. The worst thing you can do right now is keep running out of here. Think for a second how he might take that if his best friend can’t stand to be in the same room as him for longer than ten minutes!” Sam walks back up to Dean and places a hand on his shoulder. “He knows it wasn’t you. Dean, Cas knows you would never hurt. But you just have to stay here and figure out a way to make this right.” Dean shrugs off Sams touch as he turns to look back at Castiel still sleeping on the couch despite the yelling. Deep down he knows that Sam is right, they do need some sort of plan to how they’re going to continue on with what’s happened, but first he needs to figure out a way to fix Castiel. Dean promised him that much and now matter what he plans to keep his word. Looking back at Sam Dean tightens his. Crowley didn’t stop by the bar to shoot the shit. It’s fuzzy, but he knows Crowley was asking him something. His hunting senses are telling him that it has to do with Castiel’s grace, and that’s enough for him to go on. “Sammy, get Crowley back here, now. He and I need to finish our little chat.”*~*~*~* “Have I ever told you how utterly delicious you look in my clothes? Because, hot damn, Cas! You look good enough to eat.” Crawling across the bed towards him, Dean’s bright green eyes shine back at him as if they’re glowing.
Something doesn’t feel quite right, but the thought gets tossed away as Dean starts kissing along his neck. “They’re mine tonight. Just like you’re going to be mine.”
Dean’s breath against his neck is hot against his neck. Too hot. Castiel feels sweat beginning to bead up over his skin. A sharp pain rips into his neck and Castiel hisses. He tries to push Dean off of him, but the Castiel can’t even make him budge. Slowly, Dean pulls back, smiling sweetly down at him as blood drips from his lips.
“You and I, angel. We’re gunna have some fun.” Dean leans down and presses his bright red glistening lips to Castiel’s.
*~*~*~* Castiel’s eyes fly open and his first instinct is to react – to fight. It takes him less than a second to realize that there is no one near him, let alone on him. Painfully, he raises his moves his neck to a slightly better angel, wincing at the stiffness of his whole body. It feels like he was dropped from a very large cliff, rolling the whole way down, slamming onto every obstacle in his way. Everything hurts. Unsure of exactly where he is, he blinks a few times trying to let his eyes adjust. It’s quiet and it’s dark. Castiel is fairly certain the last time he was conscious the sun was out. Other than that, his mind is foggy on exactly where he is. Huffing in irritation he can’t help but think how happy it’ll make Sam that he finally got some sleep. At least he wont have to listen to the man go on about how sleep can help speed the healing process up. As if he, an Angel of the Lord, is unaware to how the human body works. Now that he’s more awake he can hear the sound of muffled voices coming from somewhere. Slowly Castiel grunts and hisses, but manages to get himself sitting upright on the couch. Castiel rolls his neck, trying to work out the kink in it from laying at such an angle as a blanket that someone must have covered him with slides off him and falls to the floor. His whole body protests as he barely moves his arms ands legs trying to get some leverage to stand up. Castiel catches sight of the dried blood soaked down still laying on the ground. It makes his stomach roll inside him and he shakily looks away. Focusing on not putting too much pressure on his broken and bruised hand, Castiel pushes with his forearm against the couch and rises to his feet on unsteady legs. He takes in a few deep breaths and lets them out slowly in a an attempt to try and relax his body. After a few times Castiel realizes he is getting nowhere and looks around the small motel room but sees no one. The voices must be coming from outside. Walking towards the door is nothing less than a journey. His sore body screams and protests the whole way, reminding him with every movement of exactly what happened. Of what Dean – no! Not Dean. Castiel shakes his head, pausing his steps trying to gain some clarity. Dean would never hurt him. It wasn’t Dean, it was a shifter. Even as he tries to remind himself, the memories are still there and his feelings of fear and shame never lessen. Sighing, he starts walking again about ready to celebrate as the voices grow louder the closer he approaches the door. Wait, is that Crowleys voice? Narrowing his eyes Castiel grasps the doorknob and pulls the door inward with a little more force than intended. He’s met with a low chuckle from Crowley who stands there, looking his usual smug self, and two startled brothers that look ready to engage in whatever surprised them. “Sleep well, love?” Crowley asks, leaning against the the motel like he hasn’t a care in the world. Castiel knows better than to be fooled by the act. Castiel glances to Sam and Dean who avoid his gaze altogether. That is strange. Well, maybe not for Dean, but before he let himself rest Sam had no issues making eye contact. Looking back at Crowley, he shivers and automatically wraps his arms around his middle, gently, trying to keep out the cold creeping over his skin. “Why are you here, Crowley?” “Ask Rocky and Bullwinkle here, eh? They requested my presence.” Castiel tilts his head, eyes glancing back to the brothers as Crowley pushes himself off the building, casually slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Though I will say we make a great team. With our powers combined and all that.” “You sonofabitch!” Dean starts for Crowley, but Sam catches him and locks his arms around Dean, holding him back. “This is all your damn fault!” “Dean, stop!” Sam huffs as he tries to hold back a trashing Dean. “We need him!” Need Crowley? The King of Hell, the demon who stole his grace, the constant annoyance in almost every step they’ve taken since day one of meeting him. Now they suddenly need him? Crowley is just standing there, looking even more smug than usual as Dean’s yelling things at him too quickly for Castiel to really understand. None of this makes sense. He surely wasn’t out longer than a few hours, but Sam, out of any of them, knows the importance of coming up with decisions together. Raising his voice to be heard, Castiel asks, “Need him for what?” He looks between everyone, everyone but Crowley still unable to meet his eyes. “What is going on. Dean?” The effect of his name leaving Castiel’s lips has Dean instantly stilling in Sam’s arms. Dean still has his eyes completely locked onto Crowley, but his sudden silence is enough for Sam to slowly let his arms fall away. Castiel notices how closely Sam hovers next to him though, ready to restrain Dean at the drop of a hat. Castiel shifts his weight and rubs his arms trying to warm them without thinking about it. Goosebumps erupt over his skin as he waits for Dean to acknowledge him. Finally Dean glances over to him. If at all possible, his features grow even more cold. “Crowley has another idea on how to get rid of Abaddon and gain control of hell again.” Dean looks back over at him, but his eyes are off enough to know he’s just looking over his shoulder as to not meet his gaze. “He needs the First Blade. He said it kills Knights of hell.” “No,” Castiel says firmly, turning to Crowley. “If my grace is no longer of use to you, return it. I can be far better use to you in getting rid of Abaddon with it. We will help you regardless, but this is all unnecessary. Abaddon needs to be taken care of, there isn’t any question to that.” Memories of the past having faced the first Knight makes a growl come from his chest. “The First Blade, Crowley? Does he even know what you’re asking?” “Dean here already accepted my offer,” Crowley replies walking over to Dean and clapping a hand over his shoulder. “Isn’t that right?” Dean ducks his head enough not to meet his eyes, but his face remains cold and determined. Castiel hates that he knows this look so well. The look that means Dean knows exactly how terrible a situation is, but he’s convinced himself it’s for the greater good. A situation that usually leads to nothing but misery. “I said I would fix this, Cas. I’m going to make things right. I’m going to get back your grace.” “Do you have any idea what you’ve agreed to?” Castiel asks taking a step towards him. Dean looks up at him, and for a moment Castiel lets himself get lost in those beautiful moss colored eyes. “There as to be another way. There is always another way. You taught me that!” “As touching as the two of you truly are, time is of the essence.” Crowley raises his free hand, and with his smirk firmly in place, nods to Sam. “Be in touch Moose.” Before Castiel can finish his step towards them, Crowley snaps his fingers and they’re gone. Sam runs a hand through this hair as Castiel turns to him, crowding his personal space. “Do you have any idea what he has agreed to?” Sam blinks wide eyed down at him. “Cas I…” Taking a few steps back he shakes his head and regains his composure. “Listen, it’s kind of cold out here. Why don’t we go back inside where it’s warm and we can talk about this, yeah?” Turning abruptly on his heel, Castiel storms back inside the motel room. He hears Sam closing the door behind him as he limps his way back to the couch, collapsing down onto it. Castiel glares back at Sam as he walks slowly towards him. It isn’t Sam’s fault, but he can’t help the feeling of anger rising inside of him. Their lack of knowledge on the Blade is the real issue, but Castiel is sure Crowley sugarcoated it somehow to make it seem like it wouldn’t a big deal. The fact that both the brothers agreed to helping Crowley get the Blade without actually taking the time to understand what they’re getting themselves into is the cause of his simmer anger. How many times have they been down this road where just having a little bit of patience and more facts could’ve saved time and lives? Maybe he might be a little bit upset that neither Sam or Dean came to him for any thought on the matter. But then again, why would they? He’s nothing more than a burden to them now. He’s the reason they have to endanger themselves this time. The thought has Castiel’s stomach dropping. If anything happens it’s on him. Rolling his shoulders back, ignoring the throbbing from his muscles, he schools his face and looks up at Sam. “What did Crowley tell you?” “He offered us a deal.” The calm façade finally breaks as Sam throws his hands up in the air. “I told him to wait, Cas! I told him it was all a shitty idea! The whole situation all around is totally messed up.” Dread begins to settle over him and he swallows thickly. “What did Dean agree to? What did Crowley say?” Sighing, Sam deflates, looking back at him with the pleading eyes. Castiel has to resist the urge to jump up from his seat and shake the answers out of the brother. The only thing keeping him sitting is knowing it would only cause him more pain in the end. “Dean wanted to meet with Crowley to make some sort of deal to get your grace back. I figured we could hear what Crowley had to say and go from there, so we called him here.” Sam shifts nervously, looking him up and down as if he’s trying to assess something. “You were out cold, man. We didn’t want to wake you. Honestly, you need the rest, Cas. Hell, you still look like you need a week’s worth of sleep!” Pinching the bridge of his nose Sam squeezes his eyes shut tightly. “Nothing was waking you up, anyway.” “I don’t understand,” he says narrowing his eyes back at Sam. “Dean proceeded so adamantly to make a deal because I was sleeping?” Sam lets out a forced laugh, opening his eyes and looking up at the ceiling. “Dean kind of…blames himself for what happened to you. He thinks it’s his responsibility to make everything right. He thinks getting your grace back will somehow redeem himself.” Sam shrugs and looks back at Castiel. “Crowley got here and told us a little about what Abaddon has been doing. She’s taken over hell completely, kicked Crowley to the curb. She’s making new demons for some sort of demon army by removing human souls.” “It isn’t Dean’s responsibility to fix me,” Castiel says sitting up straight, ignoring the throbbing coming from putting pressure on his ass. “Nor is it yours. This is my problem and I plan to fix it.” “You two…unbelievable, I swear,” Sam chuckles, rolling his eyes. “When are you going to get it through your head that you’re family, Cas? Anyone who hurts you, hurts us. No matter what we have each other’s backs whether you want us there or not. Haven’t you figured it out yet? You’re kinda stuck with us.” Warmth begins to spread throughout his chest as he blinks back at Sam. Castiel tries to make sense of the spoken words settling inside his chest. It isn’t like they haven’t been said before in some form or fashion, but this time it just feels…different. A part of him wants to hold tight to what Sam is offering, but at the same time the cautious part of him is telling him not to trust it. Yes, they’ve been to literal hell for one another, but the fact remains that he was always able to help in some way. Now, with having no grace he is powerless. The little voice inside his head whispers that they wont keep him around much longer after they realize he’s completely useless. Especially after last night, it’s only a matter of time. Deciding to take the safer route, Castiel doesn’t comment. Instead he circles back to his unanswered questions. “You two decided it was best to ask Crowley for help.” It isn’t a question, but a statement. Castiel doesn’t miss Sam flinching at the words, he tries to play it off but shifting nervously. Speaking it out loud helps Castiel process the foolish information, though doesn’t bring him any closer to figuring out why Dean chose Crowley’s help over talking with him first. “Crowley told us there was another way to kill Abaddon, but he needed help finding it. Without even asking what it might be, Dean jumped head first and said he’d help fine whatever Crowley needed as long as your grace was exchanged for it.” Sam pauses, clenching his jaw as his eyes go distant. A habit of the brother’s that Castiel has picked up on when one of them is not being entirely truthful. “Dean didn’t even bother asking anything else, but said he’d do it. I tried stopping him and telling him we should wait until we could figure out more on exactly what we’re getting ourselves into.” He chews on his bottom lip a moment then shrugs. “The First Blade is the only instrument able to kill a Knight of Hell,” Castiel’s words slip out between his lips in a low hiss. “Did Crowley explain that The Blade only works with the person who carries The Mark?” Sam’s eyes narrow. “The Mark? The Mark of Cain?” Castiel only glares at Sam in return. He watches realization pass over the young brother’s face before turning into a look of shocked understanding. “Dean would have to…” “Dean would have to be given The Mark by Cain himself.” Castiel squeezes his eyes closed. His head is beginning to pound. This cannot be happening. He brings a hand up to rub his temples, flinching as he touches his head. “Dean wouldn’t…” Sam frantically reaches into his pocket pulling out his phone. Castiel watches as he presses Dean’s number, bringing the phone to his ear. Sam’s leg is bouncing up and down so violently Castiel can feel the vibrations from where he sits and stands up. Still, the understands the feeling. He can’t just sit here knowing that Dean is out there about ready to make the most stupid decision of his life all in some thin lined agreement Crowley might actually give back his grace. Castiel grips his hair tightly in his fists and pulls. Fuck. This is all his fault. Not only is he incapable and weak to take care of himself, but now he let his guard down enough that it’s making everything worse for his friends. This is his mess to clean up, and he’ll be damned if Dean falls into becoming something far worse than what hell tried to mold him into. “Dean!” Castiel looks over at Sam, watching as his body goes rigid. “Dean, listen! You have to come back! You have to listen to me. Crowley didn’t tell us everything.” Castiel hears Dean’s muffled voice over the phone, and then something like a yelp. “DEAN! Dean! What is going on?! What is that? Where are you?” Castiel grits his teeth as his fists clinch painfully. He needs to get to Dean. He hates that he is human – grounded – and unable to fly to wherever Dean needs him. He hears another muffle scream and something like a crash over the phone. He watches Sam’s knuckles turn white as he grips the phone tighter. “Where is he?!” Castiel feels himself growl. “Find out where he is! Now!” “Dean! DEAN!” Sam brings the phone away from his ear, and looks at the screen in defeat. “He’s gone. The line went dead.” “We have to get to Dean,” he tries to keep his voice steady, but a sudden shiver creeping up his back settles an unease of foreboding over him.” Did Crowley tell you anything that might help us find them?” Sam shakes his head slowly as he stands. “They could be anywhere. They could be days from us.” All that’s left to do is wait. Castiel looks away from Sam and settles himself back down onto the couch again. The uneasiness prickles at his skin in an almost mocking way as if to remind him there is absolutely nothing he can do about anything. Dean made this potential deal to get his powers back, but at what cost? Essentially, his life – his humanity. The one thing that Castiel has sworn to protect and preserve since he fell all those years ago. He lets his eyes slipped closed as hangs his head. He hears the springs of the mattress groan as Sam sits down from the bed across from him. The quiet ringing tone from the cellphone sounds a lot louder than what it probably is in the tense motel room. After a few rings Dean’s voicemail picks up and Sam cuts the call off with a sigh. “I have to stop this.” Castiel whispers his voice breaking a little. Sam sighs, tossing his phone off to the side of him. “We will, Cas. Dean isn’t stupid.” Castiel shakes his head, biting his split and swollen lips welcoming the pain. It reminds him of all the pain he’s inflicting upon those he loves. He stares at the bloody towel still on the floor. A reminder of exactly how much control he has over any situation, especially this one. He knows his Righteous Man enough to know that Dean will do whatever it takes to save someone he cares for; whatever the cost, his life be damned or not. It is one of the amazing qualities he admires so much about him. He just never thought he’d be the cause of so much damage in his life. He is suppose to be the one person holding him together when the world threatens to destroy them. “We could try a summoning spell for Crowley? Have him bring back…” Sam’s voice trails off. Castiel lifts his head, eyes focusing on nothing particular ahead of him. The yellowing wallpaper looks even more dingy the longer he stares, but he refuses to acknowledge Sam in any way. There isn’t a point. Castiel knows deep down all they can do is wait, but it’s the itch knowing that every single atom of his makeup isn’t use to him just simply waiting. He hears Sam get up from the bed and begin digging through their bag of supplies. Cas let’s his eyes burn and begin to water with dryness from being open so long. It hardly seems punishment enough for all the weight of his most recent mistakes and failings clinging to him like a scorned lover. Still, his fingers twitch with the need to do something. Sam’s voice calling his name is enough to let out a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding and squeezes his eyes closed giving them the moisture they need. Castiel rises from the couch and walks to where Sam is busily throwing things out of one of his duffle bags. No matter how pointless and meaningless the task is he has to do something.*~*~*~* Dean stumbles forward, feet skidding on the gravel at the sudden change of scenery. He leans, holding up most of his weight with his hands on his knees hoping the wave of dizziness will pass. No matter how many times it happens he will never get use to being zapped different places. He hears Crowley’s deep chuckle beside him as he pushes himself upright, thankful the dizziness passed relatively quickly. Dean looks around the area slowly, taking in as much of their new surroundings as he can. They’re standing on some sort of gravel drive in the middle of some wooded area. In front of them there is a house with a light on in one of the rooms that is surrounded by a white fence. It all seems somewhat normal except for the feeling in his gut telling him that something is off. Dean shifts uncomfortably trying to play it off like he’s adjusting his clothes. “The Blade here?” Crowley takes a step backwards as his eyes stay locked to the house in front of them. “Something isn’t right. I feel something…dark.” Dean snorts a laugh, eyes flicking to the peaceful appearing house in front of them. “Darker than you?” Crowley responds by taking another small step back and clenches his jaw. Rolling his eyes, Dean sighs. “We had a deal, so is it here or not?” A rustling noise coming from around the house makes Dean attention focus in front of him. The hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise as he sees the silhouette of a person walking towards them from the house. Bracing himself for a fight, Dean tightens his hands into fists. No one is going to get in between getting his angels’ grace back. “We need to leave here. Now,” Crowley says sharply, grabbing Dean’s arm. “Are you kidding me!” Dean snaps looking down at Crowley’s hand gripping tightly to his arm. “Why? We just got here!” “That’s the Father of Murder,” Crowley says in a low, gruff whisper trying to tug Dean backwards with him. “Cain.” Dean yanks his arm out of Crowley’s grasp, eyes glancing back to the figure maybe ten feet away. “Cain? Like Cain and Abel?” “Crowley,” a smooth, deep voice says behind then. Dean’s hand twitches towards the demon knife hidden in the waistband of his pants as he turns his head to the voice. “Dean. Why don’t you both come inside? It seems we have some things to talk about.” Cain gestures to the house before walking past them towards it, leaving Crowley staring after him like he’s going to be sick. Dean narrows his eyes at the retreating man. He doesn’t know what he might have been expecting from from Cain but it sure wasn’t being invited into his damn house. Still, there isn’t really anything else to do but accept the invitation. The last thing he wants to do is piss the Father of Murder. He starts walking towards the light of the house, leaving Crowley standing there looking less sick and more uncomfortable. All he wants to do is just get what they came for and get back to Castiel. Whatever it takes, he is going to get that Blade and make things right again. He refuses to let Castiel down again. This is a step closer to earning back his trust and come hell or high water he’s going to show him that he can make this right. “I can’t leave,” Crowley whispers behind him. “Cain is doing something to me.” Dean rolls his eyes, climbing up the front stairs into the house. “Figures you’d try and leave me here with the Father of Murder.” “I’d, of course, have you join me. We have a deal, Squirrel.” They both step through the door into a homey looking living room. “You have no idea what we’ve gotten ourselves into.” Crowley walks over to the couch, sits down and starts fidgeting with his hands. Maybe seeing Crowley so nervous about being here should make him feel something of the same, but Dean can’t seem to pick up on anything he should be concerned about. He walks around the room slowly, taking in everything throughout the room. As he approaches a table he sees a glass container full of nothing but bees. Dean’s lips twitch up into a little smile thinking about how much Cas would love seeing this. His smiles drops and the thought immediately turns bitter when Dean remembers why he’s in this place in the first place. Castiel can’t even be an arm’s length away from him without looking disgusted or angry. “Cain is a demon. The worst of the worst,” Crowley says voice low. His eyes dart to the door way where some noise is coming from. “When he killed his brother, Able, he became a demon. He has killed thousands.” Annoyed, Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “He became a demon?” He glares over at Crowley. Why hadn’t Crowley realized Cain was here in the first place? “If he’s the worst of the worst, why haven’t we gotten anything on the radar about him.” “He disappeared ages ago. Everyone thought him dead. I assumed so myself; at least hoped.” Crowley adjusts his suit jacket, eyes darting back and forth between the noise where Cain must be and Dean. “Bees are amazing creatures.” They both look up to see a long gray haired man entering the room holding a tray with what appears to be tea on it. Dean manages to keep his questions about a demon making them tea to himself as he walks and sits on the couch beside Crowley. “They are slowly dying out, though. Without them all of mankind dies with them.” Cain hands each of them a cup of the hot liquid. Dean takes his cup from the graying bearded man, and sets it down on the table in front of him. Cain sits down and meets Dean’s look with a steady, cold stare. “So what are you doing at my home?” “How did you know who we were?” Dean asks ignoring his question, prompting one of his own. Now that Dean knows he’s a demon he’s trying to see him as that, but it’s difficult when Cain is acting nothing like one. If anything he’s acting like your stereotypical friendly neighbor and not (according to Crowley) one of the worst ones out there. “I am retired, though I still keep in the loop. I am not dumb by any means, Dean.” Cain eyes never leave Dean as he takes his cup taking a sip. “Now, why are you looking for me? How did you find me?” “Looking for you?” Dean snorts. “I didn’t even know you existed.” “A bit of a misunderstanding,” Crowley laughs nervously, shifting in his seat “We were, actually, looking for The – ” “Dean, why are you in my house?” Cain’s voice is commanding, instantly shutting down Crowley. Dean looks down at his tea cup of tea, then slowly back up. Cain’s dark eyes never leave Dean’s as he sits there, sipping his tea. Dean is actually impressed someone can make Crowley shut up like that. Dean licks his lips, coughing nervously as he sits up straight trying to come up with the right things to say. Is there even a right thing to say? Where does he even start? The more he thinks about it, the more the anger simmering in him begins to start bubbling to the surface. Cain stare never wavers from anything less than intense despite Dean stalling, trying to work out what to say. If he really has been “keeping in the loop” then Cain must have some sort of idea why there here and honesty will probably be the best route. “We are looking for the weapon that kills a Knight of Hell. The First Blade. We need it to kill a Knight. Abaddon,” Dean says, eyes shifting over to glance at a movement coming from Cain’s left hand. He watches the demon twirl a ring around his finger absentmindedly. Dean looks back up at Cain whose intense stare is now just making him feel more and more exposed. Naked. Like he’s somehow reading between his words, looking himself him and hearing the real reason. Dean looks down at his untouched cup trying to pull himself together. This is Cas and he can’t fuck this up. Clearing his throat he raises his head, willing his face to look as neutral as possible. Cain’s unwavering eyes watch him, not a hint of emotion displayed on his face. “Look, we came looking for the Blade. We didn’t know we’d be meeting you.” Dean’s eyes glance over at Crowley momentarily. “I didn’t know we would be meeting up with you, at least.” “How did you find me?” Cain asks, leaning forward and setting his tea down. He folds his hands together, and his body posture screams nothing more than calm, but his eyes tell something different. They bore into Dean’s as he swallows thickly trying to keep his eyes on Cains’. “I won’t ask you again.” “Crowley said he used a location spell for the Blade. He didn’t say squat about you.” Dean replies. Cain just continues staring at him for a moment more before he rises from the chair in one smooth movement. He starts walking towards the kitchen, but pauses at the threshold. “Does anyone else know you are here?” “No,” Dean says rising from his seat and takes a few steps towards him. “Listen, we aren’t leaving here until we get that Blade.” Cain turns to Dean, eyebrow raised in amusement. The action has Dean stumbling to a stop. “You may let yourselves out,” he says turning and walking back into the kitchen. “Cain. Hey! I’m talking to you.” Dean snaps grabbing Cain’s arm. Cain slowly turns to him, the cold stare back in place and shakes his arm free. “I’m not leaving here without the Blade.” Cain’s deep chuckle isn’t what Dean is expecting and all at once the hairs on his arms begin to stand on end. “You live up to what I hear about you. Brave. So brave…” Cain tilts his head slightly. Dean’s heart skips a beat as the simple action reminds him of Castiel. “But what spawns this bravery? Do you have any idea who I am, Dean? What I am capable of? I think if you truly did, you wouldn’t be so brave.” Dean glares at him, feeling like he’s being tested somehow. No matter how he answers he knows that somehow Cain already knows the answer. That alone has alarms going off in Dean’s head. He wonders why it’s taken this long to get any kind of read on the guy. No one is that good. “Just give us the Blade. It’s not like you’re using it, mister ‘I’m retired’. Abaddon needs to be taken care. She’s the last Knight of Hell and that damn blade is the only thing going to stop her. You have no idea what kind of shit she’s doing.” Cain takes the slightest step closer to Dean and suddenly it feels like he’s looming over him. Everything in Dean just wants to step back, away from the presence that seems to be filling the air with power, but he doesn’t. He can’t. “I trained her. I built and created every last Knight of Hell, Abaddon included.” He steps closer to Dean, dropping his voice. “And how do you think everyone knows it is possible to kill a Knight of Hell with that Blade? Who do you think slaughtered them?” Dean’s eyes widen in realization. Cain is the creator of every last knight and he turned on his own army. He killed then all and doesn’t even seem phased by it. “I –” Sam’s ringtone blares from his pocket, cutting off his words. Digging in his pocket for his phone he pulls it out and swipes to answer. “Sammy, now’s not a good time – ” Dean pulls the phone away from his ear as Sam screams his name. He doesn’t bother glancing at Cain, but walks across the room and lets himself out the door and onto the porch. “Yeah, I know. I’m actually –” He yelps as someone grabs his arm and spins him around. The sudden jerk of his body leaves him unbalanced for a moment as he stares back at a middle aged man with black, soulless eyes right before the man grabs his head and slams it through the glass window of the door, glass pieces shattering around him. Dean grunts, dropping the phone as he feels shards of glass slice across his face. Bringing his hands up he pushes the demon away enough to fumble for the for the doorknob, opening it and stumbling in. Dean slams it shut knowing it’s pointless in the scheme of things, and runs back into the living room where Crowley is now standing. “Demon,” Dean pants feeling a tickle of blood dripping down his face. He swipes his sleeve across his face, ignoring the urge to wince at the pain. “There’s one out there that got the jump on me. Probably more, knowing how they travel in packs. We need to get ready to fight.” Cain’s words whisper at him from the back of his mind, Does anyone else know you are here? Crowley zapped them here, so it doesn’t make any sense that there would be a demon knocking at the door. The anger that Dean has kept pent up for days comes to the surface as he turns to Crowley, fists clenched tightly trying to hold back from strangling the demon. “How the hell did they find us, Crolwey?” Before Crowley can even open his mouth to respond, the door flies open. The demon that surprised him outside enters with more behind him. Dean lets out a growl and pulls out the demon blade from his waistband. Blood drips down from the cut on his forehead, dripping onto his eyelashes. Dean blinks, scattering the droplets of blood across his face. He narrows his eyes at the demons sauntering into the house, trying to figure out what he’s up against; six, by his count. “Well lookie what we got here,” the demon taunts. “The old king and his pet Winchester.” He tips his head to Cain knowingly. “We are just here for them. I have a new boss to impress and she wants them alive.” He turns, catching Dean’s eyes and chuckles. “I heard what you did to that angel. Shame he didn’t feel the same way about you. Need to get those emotions in check better.” Dean grips the demon blade so tightly it hurts and swears red starts to tint his vision. He doesn’t need to explain himself to the demon, but hell if he can’t make him pay for even suggesting he’d stoop down to their level of low. “Well, good luck then,” Cain says sounding a bit bored. “What?” Dean explains, gaping at him. “You exposed me and my home. Years of staying clear of the dramatics, and then you two come into my home and within a matter of minutes quickly destroy that.” “Cry me a river, princess!” Dean yells, tensing as the demons draw closer. “Truly you live up to the talk about you, Dean Winchester. Brave…” A small smile splays across his face. “…but impulsive.” Cain turns away from all of them, walking back into his kitchen. “Should you survive, you are welcome to join me for one last drink before I disappear again.” Dean swears under his breath before turning back to the demons who are slowly circling them. The male demon from outside is the first to attack. He throws a punch at Dean’s side that Dean blocks. He counters, swinging his own fist up to connect with the demons face in a satisfying crunch, demon blade grazing across his face. The demon lunges at him, grabbing Dean’s collar of his jacket, throwing him into the wall. Dean feels his breath punch out of him, as he gasps pushing himself back at the demon approaching demon. He blocks another fist and grabs the demon’s arm with one hand, twisting it. He plunges the demon knife into the demons chest, smirking as his life sparks out of him. Dean pushes the lifeless body to the ground just in time to be met with a knee to his chest he doesn’t have any time to turn away from. He pushes the blond female demon away as another male demon with a trucker hat grabs his arms pinning him back against the wall. The blond quickly rejoins them and Dean is railed with a few punches across his face. He brings his foot up, kicking the girl in the chest sending her flying back, falling over the couch. Dean grits his teeth as he slams his head forward to smash into the trucker hat demon. The action stuns him enough the demon loosens his grip on Dean for a moment. It’s enough advantage Dean needs to free his arm with his hand that still holds the demon knife, and stabs it under his chin into his head. Ripping out the blade, he turns to the blond who is creeping up behind him. She pulls out a knife of her own, eyes flicking from the demon blade back up to Dean’s face. She closes the space between them, slicing at his chest. Dean dodges and pushes her away. She stumbles back, disorientated for a moment, then rushes back towards him yelling, swinging her knife at his face. With his free hand Dean manages to grab her swinging wrist and slams his fist into her hand, forcing her to drop the knife with a clatter on the floor. Dean grips onto her tightly, spinning her around before letting her go and tossing her against the wall. He stalks up to her raising the demon blade, but is only meant with a foot to the chest. Stumbling backwards he gasps in a few lungful of air trying to catch his breath, glaring up at the blond who only smirks in response. She pushes off the wall towards him. Dean isn’t able to block her swing quick enough, and is greeted with a punch to his gut that sucks the rest of the air out of him, and another to the face. He grabs her arm as he comes back to him again, and spins her hard enough her back is pressed against his chest, and rams his knife into her chest. Dean tosses her body to the side before her life finishes flickering out. A movement from the kitchen doorway has Dean’s eyes darting towards it, blood thumping in his with anticipation of another attack. Instead, Cain leans nonchalantly against the doorframe taking a long pull from a beer, watching him closely. “Doing great, kid,” he says, tipping his beer to him slightly before taking another drink. Dean opens his mouth to respond, but is hit on the back of the head with something solid and heavy. Falling to knees, the demon knife slips from his grip and clatters to the ground in front of him. He’s suddenly yanked upwards, his feet barely touching the ground, facing a burly, lumberjack looking demon. Dean barely has time to register what’s coming before the demons fist hits across Dean’s face with enough force that knocks him free of the hold, and he’s sliding across the floor until his back collides into a bookshelf. Books and knickknacks fall on and around him as he spits out a mouthful of blood, pushing himself back to his feet. He meets the demon head on, kicking the demon in the chest, then quickly slamming his fist across his face as he leans over from the kick. Dean stumbles backwards as the man pushes him back. Dean catches the demon catching sight of the demon knife and takes a step closer to it. The demon swings again, catching Dean’s shoulder before he can get away completely. Dean kneels to the floor swiping up the knife in one fluid motion, and spins around, slamming it into the demons throat. He locks eyes with Cain as he rips the blade out, demon falling to his feet. Dean can hear another demon’s life end somewhere behind him, and Crowley mumbling something about his suit getting dirty. Dean wipes his knife on his pants before he looks over to Crowley. The King of Hell holds his Angel Blade loosely, surrounded by three dead demons. Dean’s eyes fall back over to Cain, narrowing at the man as he pushes off the doorframe and taking a step closer to the duo. “I felt connected with you as soon as you showed up on my property,” Cain says placing his bottle on the mantle place, crossing his arms over his chest. “You could’ve ended all these guys, but you didn’t. Was this some kind of test?” Dean snaps, irritated, tightening his grip on the demon blade. “You and I, Dean, we are very much alike.” Cain leans against the mantle, eyes never leaving Dean’s. “You and I are nothing alike. I didn’t kill my brother,” he growls low, pointing the blade at Cain. “You’re right. You saved yours. Over and over again, you saved your brother. Why is that?” Cain tilts his head to the side again. Dean cannot help feeling an almost overwhelming amount of longing seeing it. It almost punches the air from his chest, but he manages a shaky sigh, reminding himself to keep it together for who he’s fighting for. “You don’t give up on family,” he manages to get out hoarsely. “Ever.” “Why isn’t your brother here with you? I am told how close you two are.” Cain asks, leaning forward, wisps of hair falling over his eyes. “Or is he back with that angel you care so much about? Protecting him while you risk your life with a reason you barely know anything about.” Dean lowers the blade, stepping up to Cain. “Just give us the damn blade!” He hisses, somehow managing to retrain himself from grabbing him and shaking him. “Sorry Dean.” Cain turns away from him, walking over to the bookshelf that Dean was thrown into. Cain bends down and picks up a picture frame from the ground, wiping something off of the unbroken glass. “I no longer have the Blade.” “You can’t be fucking serious!” Dean slams his fist against the mantle. “We tracked the Blade here! It has to be here!” “How can it be gone?” Crowley asks, tucking away the angel blade. “The spell brought us here. To you. To this house.” Cain’s glances up at them briefly, but quickly rest back on the picture he holds. “The spell brought you to the source of the power.” He walks back over to the mantle, carefully placing picture frame atop it with such care Dean almost questions it. Almost. Cain turns back to them and pulls up his sleeve on his right arm showing a mark of some sort. Crowley stumbles backwards, almost falling over the dead blond. “That’s the bloody Mark of Cain.” He whispers. Cain rubs the Mark, staring at it with longing. “Given by Lucifer himself.” He looks up Dean, still rubbing the Mark. “The Mark and the Blade work together. The Mark gives the Blade its power. Without the Mark, the Blade is useless. It’s just an old bone.” Dean tries to work out everything he’s just heard, but it’s almost too much to process. The Blade is a bone, that part is odd enough to stick out. But what he is trying to wrap his head around is that the Blade is completely useless without wearing the Mark that looks branded on Cain’s arm. That means that having the Blade would be useless against Abaddon unless Cain kills her, which, by recent experience seems to be very unlikely. Dean looks down at the Mark on Cain’s arm as his thoughts drift back to Castiel. Dean gave his word that he would fix everything, regardless of anything else to happen, he promised Cas that. If at all possible he’d take that Mark in a heartbeat if it meant earning back Cas’ trust and easing any of that suffering. “Bone?” Crowley echoes his thoughts. “Jaw bone.” Cain drops his arm, eyes darting between them. “The bone I used to kill my brother.” “Because he was God’s favorite.” Dean shakes his head, eyes lingering on the Mark. “He wasn’t talking to God, he was talking to Lucifer,” Cain says, raising his voice, gaze resting on Dean. “Lucifer was going to make him into his…pet.” He spits out the word with heavy distain. “I couldn’t let that happen. So I proposed a deal to him. Abel’s soul in Heaven, and mine in Hell. Of course, Lucifer accepted, but only if I sent Abel to Heaven myself.” Cain deflates a little, his voice grows quieter. “So I did it. I became a Solider of Hell.” His gaze breaks from Dean’s, and he spits out the last words with bitterness. “A knight.” Dean tries his best to wrap his head around everything he’s hearing. Everything he’s ever read from that old story in the Bible is now washed away. Here he is, Cain himself, telling him the truth to what happened. Everything he did was to just save his brother? If Dean were to put himself in his shoes, wouldn’t he have done the same thing? Hasn’t he already gone to hell for Sam? “I’ve done horrible things; centuries of awful, dark, unmentionable things. I created more Knights, trained them to be the most evil, ruthless creatures the world has ever known…” Cain turns back to the picture on the mantle. Dean follows his gaze. It rests on an old black and white photo of a woman. “…And then there was Colette.” Dean watches as Cain touches the picture softly, his eyes closing for a moment. “She loved me unconditionally – forgave me for everything I had ever done, even. But she made me promise her one thing,” Cain says turning back to look at him, and Dean finds himself straightening his back. The air feels heavy, and Dean finds is suddenly difficult to swallow. He clears his throat and tries again, swallowing thickly. “To stop.” Cain’s eyes harden as his voice raises back to its steady tone. “The Knights found out and took and killed Colette in front of me. So I picked the Blade back up.” A smile spreads across his lips that makes Dean shift uneasily. “It felt so good to have it back in my hands. I tore through the Knights, slaughtering them all one by one. I enjoyed every minute of it; basking in their death.”“You missed one,” Dean says pointing out the obvious. Cain’s smile drops, and he looks down. “Abaddon…” He turns back to the picture. Dean notices Cain is twirling his ring again. “Tell me Dean.” Cain’s eyes glance at him. “If you had someone you loved, deeper than anything you’ve ever felt before, and they saved you time and time again from yourself. How would you feel knowing that was taken from you? How would you react if you heard terrible, unfathomable things were done to them? How would you feel if you lost them?” All Dean finds himself thinking about is Castiel. He thinks about how broken his body looked when he walked into that motel room. The raw anger he felt. It wasn’t right. All the times Castiel had been there for him, saving him over and over again, and he couldn’t even protect him in return. He failed his angel, and now Castiel couldn’t even look at him. Every time Dean touches him all it reminds Castiel of is everything that happened to him. Everything that wasn’t but is his fault. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his gaze as he tries to get his pounding heart under control. All he sees behind his eyes is Cas’ bruised and bleeding face staring wide eyed with fear and rage back at him. Gritting he teeth Dean knows exactly how he would react being put in Cain’s shoes with his power. Hell, if possible he’d burn the whole damn world down just to save Castiel. He knows he would – will – kill anyone standing in his way getting what he needs. That’s why he’s here, isn’t it? One step closer to doing what needs to be done to get back Castiel’s grace. One step closer to earning back that trust that was stolen from him. As Dean lifts his head his eyes look past Cain over to the picture on the mantle. He can’t even fathom watching Cas die in front of him for good. A twinge of pain spreads through his heart at the thought of being without him. Dean takes a shaky breath and rubs at his chest absentmindedly trying to dull the ache. He doesn’t understand it, but somewhere in him he just knows that he wouldn’t be able to live without him. It scares the hell out of him, but after all the bullshit he’s been through Cas has always been that light guiding his way. Dean looks back at Cain, desperately trying to make his face look neutral. He tries to sound intimidating, but when the words finally leave his lips they come out a pathetic, broken whisper, “Just give us the Blade.” Cain casts a hard look back at Dean, and shakes his head as he turns walking away. “No.” Dean’s resolve snaps seeing Cain turn his back to him, and his anger rises to the surface in record time leaving Dean dizzy for a moment. “Hey! I’m not done with you!” Dean walks up behind Cain, grabs his arm and turns him around. He raises the demon knife up to his chest, uncaring if he applies too much pressure. Let the damn asshole bleed for all he cares. “I need that damn blade, and I’m not leaving here without it. You may have given up killing, but I haven’t!” Cain grabs Dean’s wrist and proceeds to push the demon blade into his chest. Dean stares as the knife sits imbedded into his chest. He feels his eyes go wide as his mouth opens and closes without a sound. “You don’t stop, do you?” Cain smirks. Looking up from the knife back to Cain’s cold eyes again, his lips quiver into a grimace. “Never.” Cain pulls Dean’s wrist back, pulling the blade out along with it. Dean glances down at the blade covered in Cain’s own blood and then back up at him looking completely calm and composed. Cain nods his head slowly, eyes searching over Dean’s face one last time. “I can give you the Mark, if you so truly desire,” he says leaning closer to Dean. “It may only be given to someone who is truly worthy.” Dean takes a step back finding it suddenly harder to breathe. “You can just give it away? Just like that?” “It can be transferred only if another person is worthy,” Cain repeats, stepping closer to him again. Dean’s eyes glance down to the Mark on Cain’s arm. “You mean a murderer.” “Yes,” he replies calmly, though his eyes never lose their intensity. Dean looks over to the side at Crowley, who is hovering closely by, face anxious. When was the last time he’s seen the guy this nervous about something? He can’t even remember. “And I can use it to kill Abaddon?” “Yes. But you must understand what comes with the Mark.” Dean looks back down at the Mark on Cain’s arm as if it might look more ominous than just an angry looking scar. Cain dips his head trying to catch Dean’s eye. “It comes with a great cost. You need to be sure you will be able to deal with the ramifications of your choice.” His mind’s already made up. If having the Mark means it’s given him the ability to kill Abaddon and get Castiel’s grace back to him, then it’s a done deal. He can deal with whatever comes after that. “Yeah, sure. Heard it all before,” Dean says going to for nonchalant. “If it means I can kill the bitch, just give it to me.” He looks up and sets his jaw. “I made up my mind awhile ago.” Nodding, Cain holds out his hand towards him. “I wish you luck, Dean.” Dean grabs the extended hand and looks up at Cain in surprise. It’s colder than he expected. “You’re going to need it.” Pushing away any fear that starting to creep into the forefront of his mind, Dean manages the cockiness smirk he can, and reminds himself who he’s doing this for. “Let’s get this show on the road already.” Cain’s grip tightens on Dean’s as spider webbed red lines begin to spread out from the Mark. Dean watches as those jagged lines travel down Cain’s arm down to their adjoined hands. As the red spreads and slides from Cain’s to his, Dean hisses. It feels like fire suddenly running through his veins setting his whole body aflame. A small whimper escapes its way past his lips as the pain intensifies. Unable to help it, Dean bends over trying to curl itself away from the pain inside itself. The only thing keeping him upright is Cain’s tight grip on him. Dean can’t look away as the red lines collect themselves on Dean’s forearm taking shape as the Mark that was just on Cain’s. The heat from the lines somehow intensifies, lighting up the Mark, almost like it’s branding itself on his flesh. Dean opens his mouth to scream, but just as quickly as the pain came, it’s gone. Cain releases his hand just as Dean’s legs give out and he falls to the ground gripping his arm. “Dean?” Cain asks, voice sounding strained. “I’m fine!” He pants, pushing himself up from the ground on unsteady feet. “Where the hell did you put The Blade?” “Nothing can destroy the Blade,” he says looking over to Crowley. “I threw it to the bottom of the deepest part of the ocean.” Crowley groans, running a hand over his face. “Of bloody course you did.” “I had to keep my promise to Colette. I had to put it where no one would think to look for it, and far away from myself.” Dean flinches as Cain’s hand touches his shoulder. He half expects the touch to be laced with pain. “You have to promise me something. When I call on you to come find me, you will use the Blade on me.” Dean nods on reflex not understanding what he’s asking until Cain reaches out and places a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. He opens his mouth to question the request but just as soon as he closes his eyes to blink, he reopens them to find both he and Crowley standing beside the Impala in front of the motel. Crowley sighs contently, stuffing his hands into his jacket pocket. “Well, now that that’s all done…” He cocks his head over towards Dean with a satisfied smile across his lips. It takes a second of watching Crowley look more like his relaxed, smug self before the sudden clarity of everything hits Dean like a punch to the chest. He knew exactly what was going to happen and somehow planned the whole thing. “You sonofabitch!” He screams grabbing Crowley’s jacket and slamming him against the Impala. “You knew we would meet up with Cain!” Crowley rolls his eyes letting out a bored sigh. “Of course I did, you idiot. I’m Crowley. And I know you enough to know you’d do anything for that angel, so I played it to my advantage.” Dean pulls him closer to his face. “You fucking knew he’d give me the Mark? You knew about everything?! You played me! This whole time you played me!” Crowley grins up at him. “I needed to get the Blade and, let’s face it, Cain would never give me the Mark. This seemed the most fitting way to accomplish that. After all, no one seems to be able to ever say ‘no’ to you.” Dean slams him back against his car. His skin begins to itch and burn at the same where the Mark lays. “You’re a bastard, Crowley.” “Sticks and stones, love,” he replies pushing Dean back. Dean reluctantly let go of the demon’s jacket. “Now it’s time to find Abaddon so you can kill that bitch and get your end of the deal.” Dean’s fist smashes into the side of Crowley’s face before he can even process what he’s done. Crowley stumbles back against the Impala, leaning against it steadying himself. Dean’s breath comes out ragged as his thoughts race with every possible reason to close the distance between them and shove his knife so deep into his chest Crowley wont have enough air to breathe a scream. Crowley did this to him. He turned him into a monster for no other reason than to make him his bitch. “I promise you after I finish killing Abaddon and every fucking shifter in between, I am coming to kill you next,” he growls turning away from Crowley, rubbing at the itch under his arm. “You think it’ll be that easy, eh?” Crowley raises his voice. “We will need all the help we can get to destroy her.” Dean’s eyes fall onto the door of their motel room. He grinds his teeth together pushing harder down on the Mark. The pain rising from the pressure is enough to subdue the itch and make him think a little bit clearer. He lets out a shaky breath in relief. “I got you the Blade, now give me Cas’ grace,” he says turning around only to see Crowley standing up taller. “You are the Blade. You power it. You heard Cain, without you, it’s useless. How can I trust you to use it on that worthless slut if I give you back your boyfriend’s wings, hm?” Crowley’s face falls back into his usual smug smirk. “It’s called leverage, darling.” Dean starts at Crowley again, but abruptly stops when he hears his name yelled. Turning around he sees Cas limping quickly towards him. His breath hitches as his eyes catch Castiel’s bright blue ones full of worry. By the time Castiel finally reaches him, Dean’s fingers twitch with yearning just to grab him into a tight embrace. Realistically Dean knows he hasn’t been gone long, but it still feels like a forever. As he looks Cas over Dean is overwhelmed with everything that’s happened to him. He swallows the lump in his throat, blinking back the stinging feeling prickling his eyes. “Are you okay?” Castiel asks, his eyes frantically searching Dean’s body for any clue he might be hurt. After everything he’s been through and still his first thought is him. It hurts and warms him at the same time. It should’ve never happened in the first place. “I’m fine, Cas,” he says, flinching a bit at his cold tone. His anger isn’t meant for him. Castiel’s hand reaches out and grabs Dean’s wrist before he can even open his mouth to protest. The words on his tongue die as Cas steps closer, invading his personal space, catching his eyes for just a moment before yanking up his sleeve and letting out a low growl. Dean sets his jaw, and when Castiel looks back up meeting his eyes once more, Dean refuses to waver. “What have you done?” He asks. The weight of everything that’s happened starts to settle on him and Dean feels himself slump just a little at the simple question. He can feel the coolness of Castiel’s hand actually touching him, and his heart starts to beat a little faster at the realization. Dean blinks a few times just now realizing how closely Cas is standing to him and almost gasps when the warmth he feels over his face is actually the shaky breaths coming from Castiel. The coolness from the touch is numbing away the itch from his skin, which doesn’t even seem to be a factor as Dean begins to lose himself inside the never ending blue of his angel’s eyes. Dean starts leaning forward, making sure never to let his eyes leave Cas’, waiting for just a moments hesitation to know that maybe he’s gone too far. But he wants this – no – he needs this. He needs Cas to know that he can trust him. That he did this all for him and he’d do it all again if it meant giving them a chance to save him and make things right. “Damnit Cas!” Dean sighs, letting his eyes close as he rests his forehead against Cas’ sweaty one. “I told you I would fix this.” Dean feels Castiel’s whole body stiffen, but he doesn’t move his hand away from Dean’s arm. His breathing comes out quicker, more unsteady, but still he doesn’t push him away. It’s far from what he wishes, but it’s something. Something more than what he had yesterday. Opening his eyes, he pulls his head away from Castiel’s. “It’s going to kill you, Dean,” Castiel whispers, his thumb tracing over the Mark. “The Mark of Cain is going to kill you.” Dean turns his head back to where Crowley was, and naturally, finds him gone. Hanging his head he lets out a forced laugh. “He knew. He fucking knew what it meant and he just let it happen. He meant for it to happen. He…” Castiel’s fingers slowly let go over Dean’s arm, falling away. “We can fix this. We always do.” “I dunno, Cas. This time seems like I might have bit off more than I can chew, wouldn’t you think?” He winks at Castiel trying to keep things light. There’s been enough shit in their lives to last a lifetime. “This isn’t funny,” he says frowning, narrowing his eyes at Dean. Dean watches as Castiel wraps his arms around himself, rubbing his arms. It takes a second for Dean to realize what he’s doing. Oh, he’s cold. It shouldn’t be such a big thing as it is, but it is. Dean feels his heart drop as he watches Castiel’s jaw quiver with, what he assumes, is him trying to hold back letting his teeth chatter. “No,” Dean sighs looking up to the slowly brightening sky. “No it isn’t.” He looks back at the dark haired man standing barefoot in the middle of the parking lot, tiny shivers he’s trying to hide and feels confident that he did the right thing. “But I would did it over again if it meant having a chance of saving you.” Castiel shakes his head letting out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve accepted the situation, though not ideal, I understand that this is what it is now.” He meets Dean’s eyes again and for a moment Dean sees that fierceness of his badass self back again. “I did not save you just for you to die again. I refuse to see you die.” The lump in his throat feels larger than just a few minutes ago. Dean swallows thickly hoping to make it go away. “I got this, Cas,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m fine.” Cas narrows his eyes, and for just a moment Dean thinks he still might have the ability to see right through him like he use to. “Your brother is sleeping,” he says turning around, limping back towards the motel. “I don’t believe he’s gotten any real rest since…” Dean catches the shudder in Castiel’s shoulders that he knows isn’t from the cold. “You and I, Dean. We are both far from ‘fine’.” The words for what they are hold so much more than what’s being said. The truth itself is right there, plain as day for anyone to see. And it is true. They aren’t fine. But still the words make his stomach twist, and Dean clenches his hands into fists so tightly he can feel his nails digging into his palms. Any lesser man would play it off, but tonight he doesn’t have enough left in him to keep fighting it. It hurts. “Isn’t that the damn truth,” he whispers, watching Castiel limp across the parking lot into the motel room. Dean looks down at the Mark on his arm, still exposed from where Cas pulled his sleeve up. It doesn’t matter that he’s got it on his arm. They always figure it out and this isn’t any different. He’ll fix every mistake he made, and at the end of the day, that’s all that matters. He’ll show Castiel that he can do this. He can make things right again. Death be damned, he’ll fix it all.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Castiel stares out the window of the Impala watching another stretch of flatlands roll past. He’s been trying to ignore the static charged tension between everyone for about a couple of weeks now. They’d driven through Illinois and Indiana, and were now somewhere headed towards a town called Salem in Ohio. After an uncountable useless amount of attempts to summon Crowley, Dean turned his frustrations on trying to follow leads on shape shifters. Anything that sounded like it could remotely be one, they were off in that direction. He was sure that Dean thought it was oblivious which was far from true. He was human, not an idiot. After his shower, Castiel had overheard the brothers in a heated argument one night shortly after Dean realized summoning Crowley was going nowhere. Sam was trying to convince Dean to focus on Crowley and getting his grace back, but Dean kept insisting it was a waste of time. The conversation ended with Dean leaving, slamming the door as he yelled that he needed air. They were on the road two hours later. Castiel’s injuries were healing slowly, though probably normal for being human. Functioning “normally” was getting physically easier which should’ve been a relief and probably would’ve been if he Cas wasn’t so frustrated with the limitations of his body. Sleep was easier to slip into, and if he had to guess he would bet a lot of that had to do with Dean keeping them on the move constantly. Despite not doing much, it was physically and mentally exhausting. When they did actually stop and Castiel was actually able to lay down on a bed, it didn’t help things that he was usually woken up by Dean loudly stumbling into their room from wherever he had been, so drunk he barely knew his own name. Some nights (most nights) he was jolted from his sleep by Dean’s blood curdling screams. Sam had lectured him at first about leaving to God only knows where and doing God knows what. Dean argued with him the first few days, but then he would just stand there in silence with a cold look plastered over his face. Eventually Sam stopped the one sided argument and didn’t even bother paying Dean a second glance as he just dropped them off at their seedy motel for the night and drove off. Castiel had gotten pretty good at avoiding Sam on those nights. The pent up anger and worry he was projecting was almost too much. One thing Castiel was sure of is that the unresolved tension that constantly surrounding the three of them. The night Dean came back and Sam saw him with the Mark there had been so many words left unsaid. Thinking about it now, Castiel realizes he hasn’t been alone with Dean since that night. Sam constantly hovers over him making sure he wounds are clean, bandages fresh and that he’s eaten something at some point. As annoying and heartwarming it might be, Castiel knows the real reason behind he’s been obsessing about him, but won’t push the subject. After about a week of solid failed attempts to try and summon Crowley, Sam decides they need to figure out a different way to get the King of Hell to them. That was when Sam and Dean started getting at each others throats. Well, that is, when Dean was actually around. Mostly he stumbled in after he thought they were asleep. Sometimes he wouldn’t even make it that far. He and Sam on more than a few occasions would wake up in the morning and go out looking for Dean just to find him passed out in back seat of the Impala half frozen. Those were the days Sam’s anger couldn’t be calmed at all. Despite all the healing his body was going through, his fever still lingered. The nightmares were still frequent enough some nights he had a hard time trying to figure out if his sweat was from them or the fever. Castiel kept his dreams filled with bright green eyes to himself. Almost every night Dean managed to make it to their rooms to sleep, Castiel’s name broken screamed from Dean’s lips in a plea for him to save him. Sam was always up and out of bed before Cas could even get his feet on the floor. Sam would shake and try and coax his brother out of his dreams – out of the Pit. It never worked. Castiel refuses to useless. He has a hundred lifetimes of knowledge (though they are less vivid and somewhat fading now that he is without his grace) and tries his best to help Sam figure out where Crowley might be. Sam’s mood only worsens, and everyone’s lack of sleep leaves them all more irritable. Castiel stops helping and finds himself mostly staring off into nothing more and more, trying his best not to succumb into sleep. He misses not having to rest. He misses the short time at the beginning when sleep was just a gentle blackness with nothing. Now, that kind of peace is rare. Whenever sleep does claim him (and Dean isn’t the cause of his awakening), Castiel finds himself jolting awake, all dreams, thoughts and memories drug back to that night. He hates himself for it. He wishes more than anything he could make himself stop reliving it. He wishes so hard that his heart hurts that he was an angel again. The longing for his wings makes his heart ache so badly he rubs his chest to try and dull it. Castiel sighs, breath fogging the window. They haven’t come across any monster or demons in the last few weak leads Dean had them following. Everything has ended up being a dead end. Maybe something could’ve been there on a few occasions, but it definitely wasn’t anymore. It wasn’t like Castiel actually had the opportunity to see anything with his own eyes. Both Sam and Dean made him stay, cooped up in whatever crappy motel room they’d rented for the day. Whether by an agreement between the two of them or Sam being fed up with Dean’s dead ends, most of the time Sam stayed behind with him. He tried making up excuses at first, most of the time completely ridiculous ones that Castiel saw right now. Now he doesn’t even bother. The more towns they visit where the leads wind up dry, the more restless Sam gets. Cas gets it, the feeling of being caged. He’s felt it since that night he lost the last of his grace. ”What lead is in this place, again?” Sam asks, his voice cutting through the silence and Castiel’s thoughts. Castiel keeps his eyes fixed on the cold, grey world rushing by outside the window waiting for Dean’s reply. Whenever he use to look his way it only seemed to intensify whatever hostility in whatever conversation the brothers were carrying on. Multiple times he caught himself flinching at Dean’s raised voice. The volume and tone had him freezing, suddenly thrown back to that night with the shifter. The anger and hostility only seemed to latch on and feed into his nightmares. Between that and Castiel’s lack of sleep, everything seemed to collide and mix with his reality. It took him longer and longer to try and go over how shifter Dean and Dean himself were different. The leather of the front seat groans, which can only mean that Dean is shifting, obviously nervous about what Sam asked. Castiel tenses and starts to brace himself for the argument he knows is coming. “For fucks sake, seriously? I already talked to you about this.” “I really don’t see how this lead is going to be any different than from –” “Shut up, Sam,” Dean growls, cutting off Sam. Castiel feels the car increase its acceleration, pushing him back against the seat. ”Dean, seriously. We need to just stop. We all need to take a break and –” ”I said shut the fuck up!” Castiel turns his head enough to see Dean gripping the wheel in a white knuckled grip as he glares straight ahead to the open road. Sam glares right back to him, unwilling to back down. Fighting back the urge to sigh, Castiel knows better than to get involved at this point. He’s seen enough to know Sam is taking the only opportunity presented in the last whoever knows how long to try and talk to a sober, actually present Dean. Cornering him in the car may not be the best decision, but Castiel gets it. Dean glances back at Sam, eyes narrowing in a challenge for his brother to continue. Castiel takes in a quiet breath and holds it, waiting for one stubborn brother to cave. Being around the Winchesters long enough he knows that this isn’t going to end well for any of them. “What the hell is even wrong with you!” Sam snaps. “We’ve been chasing bullshit leads that all of us know are nothing, and for what? The chances of actually running into that shifter are – ” The Impala suddenly swerves off the highway and onto the shoulder so violently it cuts of Sam mid sentence. Dean hits the breaks a little too soon and too hard, making Cas slam into the back of front seat with a groan. The squeak front the drivers side door opening and then slamming closed happen before he can even right himself again. Sam quickly follows, leaving Castiel in the car alone. Rubbing his forehead gingerly, Castiel contemplates exactly how to go about even approaching this. He listens to Sam’s muffled voice yelling at Dean over the sound of passing cars as their heated words bring them closer together till their faces are just inches apart. An unpleasant lump sits in is chest watching Sam, again, fighting his battle for him like he’s some child. Cas knows that putting himself into action only means angering Dean more, which will make everything only more difficult for everyone. But the way they’re poking at each other’s chests hard enough to make the other stumble, Castiel begins to worry that it might actually come to blows. Narrowing his eyes at a particular rough shove against Sam’s chest sending the younger brother against the hood of the car, Castiel exits out his door quickly. “Hey!” Castiel slams the door behind him, walking up to them. This situation seems almost like a terrible déjà vu. Almost. “What are you doing?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, but he’s hard to wrap his head around Dean laying a hand on Sam in anger. Dean, thankfully, takes a few steps back away from Sam, eyes focused on the ground. Sam pushes himself off the hood, glaring heatedly at his brother. Not wanting anything else to escalate between the two of them, Castiel places himself in between the two of them, looking back at Sam. “Get back into the car,” he says turning back to look at Dean. “I need to speak to Dean alone.” Even turned around, he can feel Sam’s eyes on the back of his head. “I’m not leaving you alone with him!” He hisses. Honestly, he’s not surprised by the way Sam is acting. He hasn’t been alone with Dean for weeks, and leading up to now Dean was less likely to take your head off. Still, Castiel knows deep down inside him that Dean will never do anything to him. Cas turns his head back to Sam and gives him what he hopes is a confident smile. “Let me do this. Please.” Sam nervously looks back and forth between them before. A slew of emotions play across Sam’s face before it falls in defeat. “Fine. But if he even – ” “I’ll be fine,” Cas says turning back to face Dean. “He would never…” He lets unfinished sentence linger in the air, unable to finish it. He doesn’t miss the way Dean’s lips twist into a painful smile and he forces a laugh out. He’s honestly surprised when he hears the car door open and then close quietly behind him, and tries to shake his head, trying to block out the memories threatening to surface. This is his Dean. His Dean would never hurt him. Castiel recites the same thing to himself every day, trying to convince himself that everything from before isn’t real. The pain his body still feels has been an unpleasant reminder when all he wants to do is just forget. Castiel slowly approaches him, wondering why Dean’s body has suddenly gone completely stiff. “Dean,” he says, breathing out his name like a sigh he’s been holding in too long. It feels good to say his name again, but he hastily reminds himself that he shouldn’t be enjoying the moment. Focusing back on to the situation at hand, Castiel takes in Dean’s body language and wonders why he appears to be holding himself as if he’s some monster he’s up against. Their eyes find each other as Castiel takes one last step up to Dean. “Listen Cas. I don’t know what you think – ” “Shut up,” he snaps, cutting off whatever bullshit Dean was going to feed him. He isn’t some unintelligent, weak, pathetic thing. Just a few months ago he was an all power Angel of the Lord, how could Dean so quickly forget? Isn’t he still the same person, or does his grace truly define him? Whatever way Dean might think of him, Castiel is done being the victim. “You are going to tell me exactly what is is that is going on with you. In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never treated your brother like that.” He holds up a hand, cutting Dean off as he opens his mouth to speak. “I’m not stupid. I know you’ve been tracking shifters. Please spare me whatever excuse or story you have ready and stop insulting my intelligence. But I deserve an explanation to what type of good you think will come from this. What exactly do you plan to accomplish by taking on or taking out a whole species?” “That isn’t what – ” “Sam and I have come up with another way to get in touch with Crowley.” A car flies past them a little too closely, and Cas catches Dean eyes narrow at him in the headlights. “Finding the Blade and taking care of you and the Mark right now are the only two pressing things.” “So you’re tellin’ me you aren’t important?” Dean snaps. “After everything that’s happened to you – after what-what…” Dean runs a hand through his hair, letting out a growl in frustration. “Crowley has my grace, Dean!” He yells, tightening his hands into tight fists. It takes a moment of glaring at each other, steadying himself through deep breaths, before Castiel feels calm enough to begin again. “The only way to get it back is to kill Abaddon. Getting Crowley here with that damn Blade is literally the only thing we can do. But going off on some stupid, pointless cases that I never asked you to do in the first place? What sense does that make? You and your brother are both acting like children, for whatever reason, and it needs to stop!” Castiel doesn’t expect Dean to laugh at him, but he definitely doesn’t expect how broken and bitter it sounds. He shifts on his feet nervously, swallowing against the lump still present in his throat. It occurs to him for the first time since he lost his grace, that he doesn’t know how to read Dean anymore. It’s unsettling and makes his ache. “Yeah, you didn’t ask me to. You don’t say much of anything to me, anymore, do you?” Dean takes a step closer to him, and Castiel feels his whole body tensing at the proximity. “It’s the only thing I can fucking do without sitting around with my thumb up my ass! Trying to get Crowley to show up when he doesn’t want to is a waste of time. So excuse me if I don’t want to join you two in something pointless, but you two can have fun tryin’. The stubborn jackass wont show himself until he’s good and ready, summoning or not.” “Treating your brother poorly isn’t helping anything,” Castiel challenges, digging his fingers into his palms trying to keep his voice steady. “He’s worried about you. You are hardly around anymore, and when you do happen to come back to our room you’re usually so drunk it’s amazing you made it back alive at all!” He takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly before speaking again. “I have no idea what transpired between you two, other than the brief hushed fights I happen to overhear, but it needs to stop. You both are terrible with secrets, and it’s going to get one of you, if not both, killed.” “What about you?” Dean asks, lowering his voice. Castiel’s body reacts to the low rumble of his voice with a shiver. “Are you worried about me?” Clearing his throat that’s suddenly gone dry, Castiel tries to find the words but comes up blank. He licks his sore, chapped lips, eyes catching the way Dean’s eyes watch and and linger on his lips. Castiel takes a nervous step back, trying to play it off that he was just startled by the car passing them. It wasn’t so long ago that he use to yearn for close moments like these. Now his body seems to almost react on its own, putting itself in some sort of subconscious defense mode when it comes to anything involving Dean. It hurts more than he cares to dwell on. “Don’t you get it?” Dean asks, stepping forward and back into his personal space again. All Castiel can do is just look up at Dean with questioning eyes, his voice still unwilling work. Cas notices Dean’s hand reaching towards him out of the corner of his eye, and flinches before he can process that he’s moved. In that brief second it takes for Castiel to realize what happens, all his self hating comes back down on him. If at all possible, he hates himself even more when he sees Dean’s face look completely devastated for the slightest of moments before he schools his face. Castiel can practically see Dean putting back up the walls inside himself as his face grows colder, his body stance more rigid. Castiel screams inside his head at his body, yelling at it that Dean would never hurt him. That he isn’t afraid of Dean! His body and mind ignore him, refusing to relax in the slightest. “Ask me again why I stay gone.” Dean steps back, away from him, and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. He lets out a forced laugh, looking up at the starless sky. “Don’t pretend like you aren’t trying to convince yourself every day that me, the one you see every day, isn’t the one who messed you up.” Castiel opens his mouth to argue, but Dean looks away from the sky and back over at him, speaking first. “Because even though I didn’t, I still did. It might as well been me doing it.” Castiel shakes his head, trying to ignore the way his palms also are starting to sweat. “No. You never – you wouldn’t – ” Dean shrugs nonchalantly as Castiel’s mind whirls. He’s the reason Dean keeps leaving and stays away, which means he’s the reason for the rift between the brothers? Which, he guesses, of course he is. Ever since he chose to stay with them, all he does is ruin things. Why not destroy their relationship? The lump seems to almost grow larger as he tries to swallow past it. Castiel looks over Dean slowly, trying to see a crack in the armor he wears so well trying to make people nothing in the world can get to him. There doesn’t seem to be one, not anymore. But Castiel knows him better than Dean thinks he does. He remade him all those years ago, how could he not? Dean is pure, the same bright soul that left him breathless when he first pulled him from the darkness. Castiel remembers every last freckle scattered across his face, because he kept getting lost in the patterns. When he left his own brand upon his skin, little does Dean know how deeply that connection joins them. Castiel knows how much he is hurting. He can practically taste it. But there isn’t anything he can do about it, anymore. “You think killing all the monsters in the world are going to make things better again? You think it’s going to turn the clock and make what happened never have happened?” Castiel means for the words to come out stronger, less of a question, but his voice refuses to raise higher than a whisper. Dean’s reaction taunts him as he crosses his arms, lips pursed into a tight smirk. “You aren’t a monster, Dean. I don’t know why you’re trying to convince yourself and everyone else you are. You are kind. You are good.” “Whatever you say, angel.” He says, barking out a laugh. “You can’t even be around me without looking like you might break, or tear me apart. Reaction depending on whatever is going on in that head of yours. Seriously ask yourself why I stay away, again. The way you look me, I – ” Dean turns his face away, running a hand through his hair. Castiel chews on his lower lip, debating saying anything. They just seem to be talking themselves into a circle. “I know you can’t stand looking at me and remember… remember what happened, okay? I get it. It’s just better for both of us if I disappear.” The way Dean’s voice breaks on those last words makes Castiel feels like his chest ache more painfully than it ever has. He is the reason Dean is breaking apart. He is the reason why the brothers relationship is strained. He is the reason Dean is hurting. “We need you,” he hears himself whisper. “Nah,” Dean says with a shrug. “You’re good with Sammy waiting on you hand and foot. Make me wonder what the hell you ever needed me for.” Deep inside Castiel knows Dean is trying to cover up his pain with everything else but the truth, but he isn’t in the mood to play along, or beat around the bush. He’s tired. So, so, tired. He’s beyond frustrated with everything; the situation, the tension in every room he seems to be in. At the end of the day, it all boils down to him. He swore his life to this man – fallen for him. They have fought together and always made it through. Castiel sets his eyes on Dean, willing himself to take a step forward. His body listens, though his breaths come out in quick gasps and his chest feels like someone is squeezing it too tightly. Forcing himself to not think about anything, Castiel grabs the lapels of Dean’s jacket with both of his hands, pulling the man closer to him so they stand nose to nose. “Sam is just trying to balance everything while taking care of both of us! Despite how unwarranted it is, he refuses to give up. He still has faith in these bullshit situations we keep finding ourselves in, but one thing remains the same throughout it, and that’s how much you matter. How much we need you.” Castiel’s grip tightens as Dean’s green eyes open wide in surprise. “I have given everything for you! I have rebelled against my brother’s and sister’s for you! I gave up heaven just to be by your side! I have always and will always fight for you. And yes, throughout everything that has happened up until this point, I fight through my own emotions and feelings, but I do it for you. Because I know, better than anyone, including Sam, that you aren’t that person. Do I mean so little to you that you would just give that up?” The cool, calm façade on Dean’s face fractures, morphing into sadness so suddenly Castiel gasps. Even in the darkness, Castiel can still see the glisten of unshed tears in his eyes. Swallowing around the lump building back up in his throat again, Castiel lets his hands drop from Dean’s jacket. The fog of their breath mixes together as their stare doesn’t waver. He realizes exactly how close they are, but for some reason his body doesn’t scream at him to move away. It’s such an odd feeling after weeks of flinching or moving away from Dean, not feeling that nervousness. Instead, the old feeling of wanting to be closer tingles underneath his skin. The urge to comfort Dean is almost overwhelming, and if it were anything time Castiel would give into it, but now…now he doesn’t know how to, anymore. Too much has happened and so much of it is twisted together with so many other things left unsaid, Castiel’s head begins to throb trying to piece it all together. “I’m poison,” Dean whispers, his warm breath falling over Castiel’s lips and making them tingle. “Why can’t you see that? Everyone who gets close to me ends up Dead or…” He squeezes his eyes shut, tears falling out the sides. “Or worse.”Castiel’s hand rises without a thought, cupping Dean’s face, his thumbs brushing away the tears. He feels his eyes widen in shock as he realizes what’s happening just at the same time Dean gasps in surprise. Standing there, his body frozen with Dean’s face in his hands, he manages to take a shaky breath. The sound of his heart racing echoes inside his head, but still his eyes refuse to stray from Dean’s. He tries to convey his emotions and thoughts through their stare, wishing he was brave enough to speak. He hopes that somehow Dean knows how sorry he is for everything. How much he wishes things could go back to how they were. How much he misses their closeness. How much he misses his best friend, and how much love he has for him. Something warm falls over his hand and Castiel quickly realizes it’s Dean’s hand. His heart beat speeds up as Dean holds his hand steady as he leans into his palm. Slowly, Dean rubs slow circles with his thumb over the back of Castiel’s hand. It’s too much, yet everything he’s ever wanted, just at the wrong time. He looks back at Dean through his own tear filled eyes, and sees that little sideways smile he’s come to adore so much over the years. “Heya Cas.” Dean squeezes his hand lightly, lips twitching at the corners. “It’s okay.” Castiel feels like every emotion he hasn’t known he was keeping bottled up for weeks bubbling to the surface all at once, unsure as to why or how to stop it. All he knows in this moment is that his chest hurts. Dean’s words bring a sob out and his knees begin to give out. Castiel doesn’t even try and stop himself, and falls to his knees on the gravel, hands slipping away from Dean’s warmth. He hears Dean scramble to try and catch him, barely registering Dean’s hands reaching for any part of his body. He hears the groan of the Impala door opening and closing before a shadow falls over him. “What the hell did you do?” “We were just talking! ‘The fuck you think happened?” Castiel looks up to see both brothers glaring back at each other. He knows he needs to stop everything before it gets worse, but Cas isn’t quite sure if his legs will let him stand. “Oh, I don’t know, Dean. I’m sure you did or say something like a complete jackass, completing ignoring how it might effect Cas.” Cas shakes his head, trying his damnedest to push himself back up to his feet. Sam is immediately there, hands helping steady his body, while his eyes glance over his body making sure he’s unharmed. He can’t find the words to tell him the checking is unneeded. Castiel tries to ignore how tightly Dean is clenching his jaw, or how he steps back, crossing his arms across his chest and how the intensity of the glare seems to increase. His whole demeanor has changed. All of a sudden everything clicks into place. Dean has always been the one to take care of him. Not just in the bad times, but even through the good. It’s always been Dean showing him the ropes, introducing him to new things. It only really ever been Dean touching him before; for one reason or another, up until this point, Castiel has only ever been okay with physical contact for longer periods of time with him. But now it’s, in a way, Sam’s picked up the slack. He’s still Dean’s angel and Dean is still his Righteous Man, but without his grace those words seem to hold less meaning. Despite everything that’s happened, they still share a bond that no one with a human mind can fathom. Castiel looks at Dean again – really looks at him. Now that he understands what the emotion is, it’s almost laughable it took him this long to put it all together. Dean is jealous of Sam. All the lashing out at his brother is because Castiel doesn’t want Dean near him. Castiel’s shoulders slump under the weight of the realization he’s been too blind to see up until this point. “Stop –” Sam’s phone beings to ring, cutting off his words. The younger Winchester digs into his pocket, pulling it out and swiping it without looking at who’s calling. “Yeah?” Sam’s face instantly grows cold, his body tensing with anger. His eyes flicker over to Dean, who is cautiously stepping closer, trying to hear the conversation on the other end. “I understand… No, he’s right here.” Sam holds the phone out to Dean, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Abandon.” Dean balks, scowling at the phone. “What does that stupid bitch want to talk to me?” “Just take it!” Sam snaps, waving the phone at him. “Just fucking take it and talk to her!” Narrowing his eyes as Dean takes the outstretched phone, bringing it to ear and murmurs his presence, Castiel’s chest tightens again. He watches as Dean’s body instantly goes stiff, and on impulse takes a step forward. Sam’s hand grips his shoulder firm enough it stops. He whips around, shaking the hand away, mouth open to question why, but Sam just mouths the word “no”, shaking his head looking as frustrated as he feels. Castiel turns back to Dean in confusion, feeling like he’s missing a piece and the other two brothers know where it is. Dean stands there, eyes closed tightly, his face holding nothing but anger as he grips the phone so tightly Castiel wonders how it isn’t broken. “You stupid demon bitch!” Dean snarls into the phone. “Yeah, fine. I hear you.” He opens his eyes, meeting Castiel’s as if he’s known all along he was staring. “You know I’m going to kill you eventually, right? And I’m going to enjoy every damn minute of watching the light fade from your eyes.” And with that, he tosses the phone back over at Sam without warning. “What was that?” Castiel asks looking between the both of them. Dean lets out a frustrated sound, running a hand down his face as another car passing. He sways from the wind of the car for a moment before looking back over at them. “I’m really getting sick of demons thinking they can use me for their own personal crap.” Castiel sighs in frustration at not really getting an answer to the question. Dean looks up to the sky helplessly before looking back to the both of them. “She has Crowley and the Blade,” he says without a hint of emotion. “She realized she can’t use the Blade without me and is using Crowley as leverage, or something.” Dean gives a slight shrug, sticking his hands in his pockets, looking out at the field on the other side of the road. “Cleveland, Ohio. She said she gave Sam the address. I just need to be there to be her lap dog, or do whatever killing she wants done. Something like that.” “You know this is a trap, right?” Sam says, pocketing his phone. Dean rolls his eyes at him. “Obviously. I’d be an idiot to walk into this not expecting a trap.” Shaking his head, Castiel hating all of it. How can they go against Abaddon without the element of surprise and without the Blade? They don’t even have a plan. It all just sounds like suicide. “We are just suppose to walk in there and – ” “I,” Dean cuts him off, narrowing his eyes. “I am suppose to come alone. You are going to stay clear of this. Stay with Sam.” Before anyone can stop him, or that he really realizes that his feet are moving him, Castiel closes the space between them, swinging his fist and connecting directly to the side of his face. The pain he feels from the impact is almost more excruciating than he would have thought it would be, but then remembers his fingers weren’t exactly fully healed to begin with. Castiel has little time to dwell on any of that because Dean’s shocked expression only lasts a minute before his face twists into anger. Castiel ignores the heated glare, grabbing Dean by his jacket. His hand screams at him, pinpricks of pain shooting all the way up his arm, but he refuses to give in. “I am not some pathetic thing you can keep tucked away when you think things are getting bad. I am a fucking angel, in case you have forgotten. I am not made to sit on the side while you risk yourself for me. I am a fighter just like you and Sam, or do you not believe in us anymore? We are going with you. You need both of us. Anything less is a suicide mission.” Dean just glares back at him, unblinking for what seems like forever. It isn’t until he feels a hand squeeze his shoulder and Sam clearing his throat that Dean finally blinks, and swats Castiel’s hands away. “Cas,” Sam says giving Castiel’s shoulder another softer squeeze. Castiel turns to look at him, feeling very tired now. “Listen, okay? Where I one hundred percent agree that this is a bad idea, it is even a worse idea that you get involved in this. It’s going to be swarming with demons. Not just any demons, either. Abaddon’s demons. They don’t work for Crowley anymore, and chances are they’re more ruthless than we’ve ever been up against.” Sam gives him a sad smile. “We know you’re an angel. But right now you’re just a human. A human that is still pretty banged up.” The words, albeit true, still sting. He glares past Sam, letting his eyes unfocus trying to collect himself before either of the brothers can see how what they’re saying truly hurts. It will always come down to that now, wont it? How useless and fragile he really is. The worst part about all of it is how he can’t even argue with Sam. It’s all true. However much he wants to pretend or forget (Chuck, how he wants to forget) that any of it happened to him, he can’t. All Sam is doing is just stating facts, there isn’t anything malicious about the words. He is an injured human. He has no wings. He has no grace. Crowley still holds his grace and if he ever wants it back he has to allow Dean to do things his way. In order for any of this to work he has to sit back and do as he’s told. Clenching his uninjured hand tightly, he stops past Sam back to the Impala. He’s never done well with taking orders, especially when he doesn’t agree with them. “I will sit this out.” He says, glaring at his reflection in the window. “Not as if either of you have given me any options.” He opens the door and gets in, closing the door firmly behind him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Dean Winchester.”
He remembered the soft voice had purred dangerously into his ear, through the phone. “I am going to tell you exactly what I want, and you are going to listen and do exactly what I say. I have my demons watching you, right now. One wrong move or word, and I’ll have them kill your angel.” She chuckled and he heard a muffled scream in a background. “Did you hear that? That was previous pathetic King of Hell. Now then, a little birdie told me he had your little angel’s grace, and you get that back in return for killing me with The First blade. I must say, I was intrigued.” Another scream was heard more loudly over the phone. “I have the grace. I have The First Blade. I have the pathetic crossroads demon claiming to be King. If you want the grace, you are going to come to me- alone. You will wield The Blade. You are going to help me form a new Hell, me as the Queen. Cleveland, Ohio. Your brother has the address.” Another blood curdling scream fills Dean’s ears. “I will know if you chose not to come alone.”
Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he passed the city sign that welcomed them to Cleveland. They are so close to getting Castiel’s grace back, he finds himself fidgeting with pent up anticipation.
“You stupid demon bitch. Yeah. Fine. I hear you.”
He had opened his eyes and the first thing he remembered seeing was the bright blue of Castiel’s. It had flooded him with strength. “You know I’m going to kill you eventually, right? And I’m going to enjoy every minute of watching the light fade from your eyes.”
“How close are we to the motel, Sammy?” Dean glanced in the review mirror back to Castiel. His angel meets his eyes in an intense ice blue glare. It was as if he had been waiting for him to look the whole time. Dean looks away immediately, shifting in his seat uneasily.
“At the next light take a right. You’ll see the sign.” Sam replied, looking up from his phone. “I’m coming with you, Dean.”
“Sam, don’t.” Dean glares at the road in front of him. He can’t risk telling Sam anything, and even if he could, he knows he wouldn’t. He knows Sam enough to know his brother wouldn’t let him go off to do what he’s about to do.
“No, you listen.” Dean takes his turn a bit too fast, wheels sliding on the slick, freshly snowy road. He straightens the Impala out and spies the sign for the motel coming up. “I thought I made it clear that I am doing this on my own. I need you with Cas, so I know you both are fine.” He pulls into the parking lot, quickly parking Baby towards the front of the rooms, turning her off. “It is going to get bad. I’m not stupid.” Dean rests his forehead on the steering wheel. “I…I just need to know you guys are clear of it while I take care of this mess.”
“Dean…What did Abaddon say to you?” Castiel’s voice is low but firm, involuntarily causing Dean’s heart rate to increase.
Dean lets Castiel’s voice pull his head off the steering wheel, and he looks into a piercing cold, ice blue glare in the review mirror. His voice had been almost commanding, as if he hadn’t of been asking a question; more of demanding an answer. Dean swallows thickly, unable to tear his eyes away from his angel’s. Dean watches as Castiel leans forward over the middle of the seat, and he shifts to look at him. He realizes how uncomfortably close they are.
“Dean.” Castiel’s warm breath sweeps over him. “Crowley’s life should not be so important that you would be sacrificing yourself, my grace or not.” Dean licks his lips nervously; unable to move his eyes away from the soul penetrating stare. “You’re not telling us everything. There is more to this. There always is with you.” He narrows his eyes, giving Dean that all too familiar head tilt. Wisps of dark hair fall in front of those azure eyes, and for the first time Dean realizes how much longer his unruly hair is getting without his grace able to contain it.
Sam clears his throat. Castiel turns his head to Sam breaking eye contact, and Dean finds himself letting out his breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Without warning, everything feels too much. The car feels too small. He finds himself quickening his breathing without meaning to. The Mark begins to ache unbearably, while the rest of his body starts to sweat. His heartbeat pounds loudly in his ears, and he swears everyone can hear it. He feels his face begin to flush, as sweat begins to bead on his forehead. He can hear two muffled voices that the he knows belong to his brother and Castiel, but it’s all distorted and far away. Sweat trickles down his the side of his face as he brings his hands up in front of him. He sucks in a stale mouthful of air, staring at his trembling hands. Dean quickly balls them into fists, pushing them onto his thighs trying to steady himself. He shakes his head to try and collect himself. The calming sound of his brother’s voice fills his ears.
“Cas has a point. What-“ Dean doesn’t want to hear anything else.
Dean practically falls out of his car, letting the door fall shut heavily behind him. He leans himself over, fists on his knees, trying to steady his breathing, staring at the lightly snow dusted asphalt beneath him. He takes a deep breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs, and lets it come out slowly. He watches his breath fog around him like smoke. He can do this. He can do this. And even if he can’t, he has to. He is going to get back his angel’s grace. He is going to fix him, just like he said.
“Dean? Sam went to get us checked in.” He tries to ignore Castiel’s tentative voice somewhere beside him. “You look…ill. It is freezing out here. Are you…sweating?”
Dean watches as Castiel’s shadow approaches his own, hand outstretched. He stares at their shadows on the pavement, so close so being swallowed whole together. The shadow of the hand slowly drops, joining the rest of Castiel’s blackness. Dean lets out a long, steady breath he’d been holding. The touch never came. He pushes up against Baby, leaning back against the cool of the car. He swears there must be steam rolling off of her from how warm he feels.
“Got our keys, guys.” Sammy announces, walking out over to them. “Dude, you don’t look so hot.”
“Master of observation.” Dean manages his voice to rasp out.
“We should get inside our room out of the cold.” Castiel says stepping closer to Sam. Dean’s eyes narrow at the pair of them.
He doesn’t even know if Castiel knows he is doing it on consciously or not. It makes sense, he guesses. Sam has been there for him throughout this whole crappy situation. He has been his shoulder, his friend, his caretaker, and his protector after everything. That use to be him. If ever Castiel needed someone to turn to, he would come to him and vise versa. They share a bond-not his brother. But all that got screwed up. He is the face of evil, pain, and nightmares when Castiel closes his eyes. He is the face Castiel has to see every day, and be reminded of who made him impure. He is the face of a true monster. And soon, he is going to become one. Just so his angel can be free of all this pain.
Sam tosses Castiel the room keys. “I’ll grab the bags. Be in there in a sec.”
Sam takes the Impala keys, and goes around to the trunk opening it up to take out bags. Castiel nods, and begins to walk down the rows of doors to their door. Dean watches as he walks away. His eyes travel slowly down Castiel’s body, trying to memorize every small little detail about him. Castiel stops at a door and slides the key into the lock. Turning his head slightly, he casts a brief look back at Dean. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something. Pausing, Castiel closes it and licks his lips instead, shaking his head.
Sam walks up beside Dean, awkwardly adjusting three duffle bags in his arms. Dean watches Castiel disappear, walking into the room. “I looked up that address she gave us on my gps. It’s some warehouse outside of town.”
Dean feels the cold slowly working its way in through his layers. He shivers; realizing the sweat that was dripping off him moments ago has soaked into his clothes and is now sticking to him and freezing. Dean looks over at Sam who adjusts the bags again, blowing his hair out of his face in a huff. He feels the corner of his lips twitch upwards into smirk at how ridiculous his brother looks in this moment, trying to get everything in one load.
“Better get that crap in the room before you drop it.” Dean chuckles. He walks over to the open trunk, closes it, and takes out the keys.
“You’re coming in, right?” Sam states it more so than asks.
Dean sighs, running a hand down his face. “Yeah, sure Sammy. I’ll be in, in just a few.”
Dean watches Sam shift the bags again. “This stuff with Cas has been hard on everyone. We can’t make stupid decisions based on what we feel about it. Even if she somehow manages to kill Crowley, I am sure we would still be able to find his grace.” Sam narrows his eyes at Dean. “We need to figure out a plan, this time. Not just go into this blind. I’m going to go with you. You can-“
“I’m done with this!” Dean yells, whipping open his door and leaning on it, glaring at his brother. “I cannot push this point anymore home, Sam. You are not coming with me. You are staying here with Cas. Where I know both of you are fine. I can handle this, just like I’ve handled this shit before.”
Sam tosses the bags to the ground and steps closer Dean. “Just like you handled making a deal with Crowley before thinking it through? Just like you handled getting The Mark before we knew exactly what we were jumping into? Let us help you! Let me help you! This is a fricken suicide mission, Dean, and you know it! At least with both of us we have a chance at coming out of this alive!” He runs a hand through his hair looking up at the sky in frustration. “It’s Abaddon… I mean, she wants to use you to kill for her. You don’t think she’ll have some sort of army ready to stop you from saying no, or something?” He shakes his head, letting out a heavy sigh. His shoulders slump, all the fight seemed to have left with his sigh. “You getting killed isn’t helping anyone.”
Dean feels his jaw twitch; knowing Sam was remembering the night he was ripped apart in front of him by Hellhounds. The night he fell into Hell. The night Sammy had to watch his big brother die. It is the last thing his brother wants to go through again, and the last thing Dean wants to put him through. Dean knows that feeling of losing Sammy. There aren’t even any words on this plane of existence to describe the amount of pain or incompleteness he felt.
Dean clears his throat, masking any emotions from his face. The demons are out there somewhere, watching them. If he were to stay, or have Sammy go with him, that would be it. Castiel’s grace would be gone. Crowley would be gone. They would be attacked, and the two people he cared most about would probably end up hurt or dead. Dean doesn’t need his brother getting hurt because of his mistakes anymore. Castiel doesn’t deserve anymore pain after everything he had already been through. All he has ever caused is pain and misery. He can at least make right this one thing.
“I’ve fucked up, Sam. I’ve fucked up a lot. Which is why I’m not dragging you into my mess and having you get fucked up with it.” He climbs into the driver’s seat, pausing to the close door. He doesn’t want to leave his brother angry. He doesn’t want the last thing either of them remembered to be a fight. “You know you’re doing really well with Cas. He seems a lot better with you.”
Sam sighs again, shaking his head. “He’s family, Dean. We do whatever we can do for family. He’s never had to be human. I was never close to him like…” He shrugs his shoulders letting the sentence stay unfinished. Dean knows it really doesn’t need to be finished. “I have no idea what I’m doing. Cas didn’t eat at all for days. Maybe I blamed it on him being an angel, and they never had to eat before so he’s not use to it, or something. I finally had to start forcing him to eat, even if it was just a little bit at a time…He stares off most of the time. It’s hard to bring him back. It takes him awhile for him to actually realize who I am, or where we are, I think. I don’t really know. He doesn’t talk much, but he still dreams about…” Sam bites his lip, shifting uneasily.
Dean knows exactly what Castiel dreams about. Castiel dreams about fighting for his life and Dean raping him. The thought brings acid burning up his throat. It’s all the more reason to do exactly what he is planning on doing. To end all of everything Sam just told him and everything else his angel isn’t tell him.
“Better get inside, Sammy.” Dean puts the keys in the ignition and starts the Impala.
“Make it quick.” Sam walks back over to the fallen bags beginning to pick them up. "We’re not done with this yet, jerk.”
“Whatever you say, bitch.” Dean closes the door throwing the car in gear.
~ ~ ~
Dean pulls the Impala over onto the shoulder as he sees the warehouse appear in front of him. He shuts off his gps with the address he had watched Sam enter on his phone while they were driving. He turns off his phone, and shoves it into his jacket pocket. The leather groans as he leans back into his seat letting the car idle, trying focus on taking steady breaths.
He shakes his head, grinding his teeth together. “Get it together. This is for Cas.” He mumbles to himself, shutting off the car and throwing open the door to getting out.
The frigid air hits his lungs painfully, almost knocking the wind out of him. How had the temperature dropped so much in such a short amount of time? He pulls his jacket closer around him, walking to the trunk and unlocking it. Dean takes a moment, eyeing everything he might need, trying to decide what might be best. His hands glide over handguns, machetes, a jug of holy oil, bullets, knives, until it lands on a bottle of holy water. He tucks it away in the inside pocket of his jacket. He picks up the demon knife, tucking it beside his knife already in his waistband. He grabs another clip for his gun, pocketing it in his opposite pocket in his jacket, and closes the trunk.
Dean stares up at the plain looking warehouse, walking around his Impala. It’s dirty, but not really in bad shape at all. You wouldn’t think it’s a place of evil and torture at all, really. It’s just another abandoned building on the side of the road, unable to make it in this world, or something. Dean feels his fingertips start to tingle with the burn of cold, and stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets. He starts walking towards the warehouse cautiously, feet crunching under snow along his way. He tries to listen for any footsteps coming towards him, but hears none.
He makes it all the way to the door without incident. Dean takes his hand out and tries the door finding it unlocked. His eyes narrow as he slowly steps inside a darkened room, taking out the demon knife. If at all possible, it is colder inside than it was outside. Dean whole body shivers as he shuts the door quietly behind him. Looking around, something isn’t right. He can feel it. The door should have been guarded, nothing is ever this easy. He pushes the thought from his mind, and focuses on what he can see in front of him. The room appears to more or less an entryway to staircase, or a door to his right. He cautiously steps towards the door to his right, opening it slowly. The door gives a shrill creak, and Dean flinches, abruptly stopping his movements.
No one comes rushing at him. Dean waits a beat, but he doesn’t hear the heavy footsteps of people running. He doesn’t hear any sound at all, except his own breathing, so he slips through the door. It creaks closed behind him, even with his help to close it. The first thing to catch his eye is a low hanging light to his left, and below it a man splattered in his own blood chained to a metal chair, head hanging low to his chest. Dean looks around the room and sees no one again. He very cautiously walks towards the man. His footsteps almost sound like gunfire echoing around in the large, empty room. Well, empty except for the single man and light above him. The whole set up reeks of Trap 101, and makes the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck prickle. He reaches the battered man, and stands in front of him trying to figure out what kind of significance he holds to be held here. Through the gnashes, dried blood, and torn suit he realizes it is Crowley.
“Fuck, what did they do to you?” Dean breathes, crouching down beside a puddle of blood.
Somewhere in his mind, another warning flashes that Crowley just wouldn’t be left alone like this. Someone would be guarding him. Watching over him. He pushes it away like the last one, and taps Crowley’s cheek with the handle of the knife. His head sways back and forth, chains clanking against the metal of the chair, but otherwise is unresponsive. Dean grits his teeth and smacks him with his other hand. The smack echoes and bounces off the practically empty room, and Crowley groans and shifts stiffly. He rolls his head up, and his eyes squinting seeing Dean.
He turns his head, spitting out a mouthful of blood, then chuckles a bit. “My knight in plaid armor. Come to slay the evil wench, and ride me out into the sunset?”
“What the hell did they do to you, Crowley?” Dean shakes his head, getting up only enough to move behind him to start picking the lock of the chains. His fingers instantly begin to sting from how cold the metal is as he grabs the lock. The light glints off the chains, and reflects symbols engraved in them. He only assumes they are to bind a demon so they can’t smoke out, otherwise Crowley wouldn’t be here.
“A little of this, a little of that. A girl never kisses and tells, darling.” Crowley coughs, his whole body shaking violently, and Dean hears something wet hit the ground next to him. “I don’t mean to rush you, love, but I’m sure they’ll be returning rather quickly.”
Dean looks up from the lock to Crowley’s bloody face turned back to him as much as possible. “I should really just leave you here for giving them Castiel’s grace.”
Crowley’s eyes narrow into a glare. “What-“
“Dean Winchester.” A voice purrs behind him. “You sure know how to keep a girl waiting.”
Dean feels his body tense as he slowly wills it to rise, leaving the lock pick in the lock. He turns around to face the red haired demon. She smiles dangerously at him, leather coated arms crossed over a t-shirt with picture of a half naked girl devil on it, and the words “The Devil Made Me Do It” under it. Dean feels her eyes begin to search him and he responds with a glare, tightening the grip on the blade in his hand.
“I’m here. Now give me my angel’s grace.” Dean says, eyeing the demons gathering behind Abaddon. He counts six in the dim light.
“Now Dean, I don’t think you were listening very well over the phone.” She sighs. “Wield The Blade, help me build a new hell with me as Queen, then you can have that silly little grace back.”
“I…”
She chuckles, looking at him with a look of almost pity. “I always get what I want.”
Dean realizes the grip on the blade is so tight, it is digging into his palm. The pain is the only thing keeping him grounded. His breath is coming out in low, steady hisses between his teeth, as he tries to focus on anything but taking his blade and ramming it through her chest. He knows it won’t do any good anyway, just make her angrier. Behind him, he hears Crowley’s chains move against each other, and Dean wonders if he figured out about the lock pick, yet. Abaddon tips her head slightly, and two demons start walking towards Crowley.
“I see the previous King is awake, again.” She says, bright red lips smirking.
Dean closes his eyes as he hears a solid hit land somewhere on Crowley behind him, and a muffled grunt follows after. He opens his eyes to see a demon placing something wrapped in an old, brown cloth in Abaddon’s hands. His skin begins to buzz with energy, his eyes stay fixed on the item in her hands, almost like a trance. She slowly begins to unwrap it, letting the cloth fall to the ground. Dean feels his pulse begin to race as Abaddon’s fingers trail over the bone.
“This.” She holds up a curve jawbone, and Dean knows at once. No, not knows-feels. “Is The First Blade.” She turns it around, seeming to analyze it. Dean licks lips, stepping closer without really thinking about it. “This simple thing has caused so much bloodshed over these thousands of years and now…” A smile slowly spreads back over her lips, as she locks eyes with Dean. She blinks and her eyes open black. She flicks her wrist, and Dean feels him being flung back against the wall. The demon blade slips out of his grasp, falling to the ground below as he hits the wall, air leaving his lungs. “Now you get to be the reason for a whole new wave of bloodshed, in my name.”
He struggles against the hold, trying to push away. Dean swears he can feel someone’s hands around his throat, trying to choke him. She raises her hand higher, which pulls him further up the wall. His feet are barely touching the ground and he kicks helplessly at it trying to get some footing. Dean grabs at his throat helplessly, trying to suck in any type of air he can. He can see Crowley in front of him now, and watches as the demons alternate in between taking turns jabbing him in different places with a knife, and landing hits across his face. He responds with hisses and gruff grunts.
“Now Dean, let’s get real, you and I.” Abaddon purrs again stepping forward in front of his vision of Crowley. “I made you a pretty good deal. One I really don’t see you refusing either way. Poor pretty boy needs his wings, and big bad hunter is going to save the day, right?”
Dean can only glare at her in response, hands clawing at the wall trying to move upwards away from the grip around his neck. Her black eyes blink back to their normal green color.
“What’s wrong?” She smirks. “Hellhound got your tongue?”
Dean feels his glare only grow more intense as he opens his mouth to try and gasp out a reply with the little air left in his lungs. He is interrupted by a loud, rough scream echoing throughout the room empty room. Dean stares at Abaddon as her smirk fills out into a wide smile. She slowly lowers him to the ground, and he collapses to his knees. Dean rubs his throat, gasping for air, swallowing it down with vigor. He stares at the at the filthy cement ground underneath him trying to catch his breath, as a shadow falls over him. He knows it’s Abaddon, and she crouches beside him. Dean feels fingers placed under his chin, and tries to pull his head away. The pull is stronger than him, and Abaddon raises his chin so his face is level with hers.
“To show me that you aren’t up to any of your tricks that I hear so much about, your first order I’m going to give you…” She lets her fingers slide down Dean’s chin to his neck. He holds back a shiver as her fingers pass down over his body. Her hand glides from his shoulder down his arm to where The Mark is, and stops. “The honor of killing the previous pathetic, bleeding King of Hell.” She pulls up the sleeve of his jacket, exposing The Mark.
“Kill Crowley?” Dean hoarsely manages out, eyes darting back between The Mark and The Blade Abaddon still holds.
Abaddon leans in close to Dean’s ear, and places The First Blade in Dean’s hand. “Kill Crowley and then we can have some real fun.”
All the energy that his body had been buzzing within, seems to have collected into The Mark, setting it aglow bright red. His arm feels like it is burning, steadily getting hotter, and Dean hisses at the pain, yet unable to take his eyes from The Blade in his hand. His arm begins to shake, and he swears he can hear whispers of…something growing louder inside his head, unable to catch any of the words. The burning glow of The Mark slowly fades out, sinking into his skin, and he left with a painful itch. His hand is clutched tightly to The Blade, and he stares at it, knowing all this time it would just feel right in his hand. Knowing it would just fit.
Somewhere far away he thinks he hears something, but it doesn’t seem important. Nothing really seems important. He actually feels like there isn’t any weight on his shoulders, anymore. He tries to remember exactly what he was doing in the first place, but can’t really remember that either. All he wants to do right now is just slit something open, and watch it bleed. He touches The Blade, tracing the curve of it, feeling a smile pull at the edges of his lips.
“Dean.” An irritated voice says somewhere, breaking his thoughts.
Dean shakes his head, trying to focus. “Wha…What the hell?!”
Abaddon chuckles. “You are connected to The Blades power. You and The Blade are one, now.”
Dean looks down at the old bone in his hand. He can feel the steady hum of power coming from it, running up through his arm. It is running through the blood in his veins now, that power, being pumped throughout his body by his heartbeat. Dean closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath trying to calm the itch he feels on his arm. As he opens his eyes they fall on the four demons close to Abaddon, he swears the itch only pulses more with need.
Abaddon raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest again. “I was never a patient girl.”
Dean looks over to Crowley, chained to his chair. The two demons have backed away, and Dean has to almost laugh at how it reminds him of them almost being like babysitters. In all the ways he envisioned this moment, killing him, he never thought it would be so…pathetic. Crowley, already beaten, bloody, and half dead to the point where it seems like a mercy. That isn’t something he, himself would do. Dean slowly beings walking over to Crowley. He circles his chair, slowly, breathing in the scent of fresh blood. The Blade begins vibrating in his hand, knowing what he is thinking-reading his thoughts and actions- anticipating the soon to be kill.
Dean stands in front of Crowley, breath coming out in a steady fog in front of him. Everything is eerily silent, except for a steady drip-drip-drip Crowley’s blood as it falls, collecting in a growing puddle underneath him. The fallen King raises his head at Dean, trying to speak. It comes out a croaked cough. He tries clearing his throat to find his voice, as Dean steps forward, raising The Blade up to Crowley’s face.
“This is for stealing Castiel’s grace.” He places the blade at the top of his face, and slides it slowly down to his jaw line. Dean feels a slow smile break over his face, listening to the skin break open as he slices it. He feels the cut. The itch begins to ebb a little.
Crowley growls, eyes never leaving Dean’s. “Po-Pough-“Something in the back of Dean’s mind pushes, trying to make its way to the front, but the whispering from The Blade become louder trying edge it away. He furrows his forehead, pausing The Blade that digging into the temple of the other side of Crowley’s face. “Poughkeepsie.” Crowley spats, eyes darting behind Dean quickly.
Dean spins around, just in time to block one of Abaddon’s demons raising a knife to plunge into him. He pushes the demons arm back, swings The First Blade at his neck, slicing clean through his neck. The head falls to the floor with a solid thud, blood splattering him. Dean kicks it off to the side, pushing the torso over.
His senses seem to focus on everything at once, but take it all in easily. Dean can practically hear The Blade singing for more. He feels his lips twist into a grin, happy to comply. He turns to the second demon advancing at him, momentarily enjoying the red playing at his vision. The demon raises his arm to swing his blade, but Dean catches his wrist, twists and breaks it all in one smooth, quick motion. Before he can call out in pain, he shoves The Blade into the demons chest, then pulls it upwards, savoring the openmouthed gape of pain and horror from his victim. He yanks out The Blade, watching the demon fall to his knees, life flickering out of his eyes. Dean kicks him the rest of the way over.
He turns to where Abaddon is standing, another four demons in front of her. A smirk of almost amusement is splayed out over her lips, and Dean feels The Blade begin to vibrate in his hands as his anger spikes. His body begins to hum to energy, as his vision threatens to be taken over by the red. His mind is a haze of anything but killing and blood. He wants to bathe in it. He wants to see nothing but it. He wants to stain his hands with it.
He watches the demons turn towards the door getting into a defensive stance. He starts towards them, seeing an opening. Something pulls in his mind, and the redness starts to pulls back from his vision. He stumbles, trying to focus on his targets in front of him. All at once, the humming dulls; his vision goes back to normal color, and he stops walking, falling to his knees.
“DEAN!” Sam’s voice bounces around the warehouse.
Dean snaps his head over to the voice, and sees Sam and Castiel running over to him. “Drop the knife, Dean.” Sam says, firmly.
Dean looks down at The Blade in his hand, then back up at his brother and Castiel upon him. Castiel kneels in front of him, his blue eyes searching him, full of worry. Dean’s head begins to clear, focusing on those eyes. The memory of why he is here suddenly hits him, knocking the air out of his lungs. He finds himself falling forward onto Castiel’s shoulder gasping for air. He breathes in his scent trying just to steady himself. His grace. How could he have forgotten? Even for just a moment.
“Oh, isn’t this just adorable.” Abaddon laughs. “Little brother and the broken angel come to try and save the day. I’m afraid you’re too late, boys. He’s mine.”
“You…you tried to kill me!” Dean growls. He rises up from Castiel, getting to his feet. As he steps towards Abaddon, Dean feels Sam’s arms wrap around his shoulders in a tight hold, and thrashes against it. “Let me go, Sammy!”
Dean watches her give a nonchalant shrug. “I wanted to see what you could do.” She flicks her wrist sending all three of them back against a wall.
The impact sends The Blade slipping out of Dean’s hands, clattering to the floor below him. He hears his brother and Castiel struggling against the hold beside him, as he watches Abaddon approaching them, her demons flanking beside her. She veers off, and saunters towards Castiel. Dean tries to yell for the red haired bitch, attempting to draw her attention away from his angel, but all that comes out is a strangled noise. He pushes against the invisible power she has pushing him against the wall, but it only slams him back further.
“Well look at those eyes…” Abaddon purrs, running a finger down Castiel’s face. Dean watches him jerk his face away. “No wonder there is so much trouble for one simple wingless angel.” She grabs his face forcing it back to look at hers. “Maybe I’ll just keep you with me with me. More incentive for lover boy, here, to do what I need done, quickly.” Dean feels the hairs on the back of his neck rising at her cold laughter. “Or maybe I’ll just mess up that pretty face so much Dean will want to stay with me in Hell.”
Dean hears his brother grunting beside him trying to break free. He tries, again, to push away from the wall to get to Castiel without avail. Dean glances at the ground, seeing The Blade out of the corner of his eye. Something inside him pulls him towards The Blade. He focuses on that pull, letting himself become enveloped in it. He vaguely feels The Mark begin to burn, and narrows his eyes at The Blade trying to call it to him. He watches as it slides over the ground closer to him, slightly. He twitches his fingers, pleading for it to come to him.
Castiel’s screams break through his focus, filling his ears. Dean eyes shoot up to Abaddon who is smirking, licking one of her fingernails, covered in blood. His eyes fall over to his heavily panting angel, taking in his ripped and bloody face. Dean’s eyes dart back to Abaddon, watching her tongue slowly slide over finger drinking in Castiel’s blood.
“He tastes good.” She muses. “Want a taste, Dean?”
Dean feels a low snarl escape through his lips, and pushes off the wall with all the force he can muster. He is welcomed only to be slammed back into it with a lightning fast retaliation, leaving his vision dancing with black stars. He hears Castiel let out a hiss beside him, and his brother, a muffled yell. He opens his eyes to see his vision spinning, and tries to shake his head the best he can trying to focus.
“Are we done playing?” Dean hears Abaddon snap her fingers, something heavy fall beside him, and footsteps follow. He blinks his eyes trying to get his vision to clear. “I think I will take him with me. You’re going to have to impress The Queen to regain your angel.”
Dean forces his head to turn just in time to see her two demons grabbing Castiel off the floor, and dragging him upright. He watches Castiel struggling to try to pull his arms away, trying to hit them or break free, but one of the pair quickly slams their fist across his already bloodied face. Castiel lets out a mixture between a whimper and a grunt. The sound sends flashes of memories of Castiel lying on motel room beds, having nightmares covered in sweat. Dean growls straining against the hold, and looks down at The Blade again. He focuses on The Blade, lip quivering in a grimace of pain as The Mark burns on his arm. He narrows his eyes and grinds his teeth, all but yelling for his weapon to come to him.
He twitches his fingers, and watches as The Blade barely moves. He bites down on his lip, barely registering the taste of his own blood on his tongue, desperately trying to focus. He feels his whole body sweating at the heat of his blood beginning to boil from want and from need. His heartbeat is steady in his ears, and he swears he can hear whispers again. The burn of The Mark has become more of an ache of an itch, and it’s almost so unbearable he wants to cut it off. He spreads his fingers out, pushing his palm down with a strained scream, using all his anger to demand The Blade to his hand.
When The Blade hits hand, Dean slides down the wall. He locks eyes with Abaddon, and all look of amusement is wiped away, replaced with a look of shock. Dean feels a slow grin twist at the edge of his lips, relishing having destroyed her enjoyment. She holds out her hand to try and push him back, and he braces himself against the power. He stumbles back as it hits him, but leans into it taking three steps forward.
“No! This…This isn’t possible!” Abaddon yells backing up a few steps.
“Oh, I’m afraid it is, you stupid cunt.” Dean turns his head to the voice.
Leaning heavily on the chair he was once chained to, barely standing, but still standing, Crowley is staring at them. Dean quickly notes how his suit is torn into ribbons, and everything seems to be more deepened red with his own blood, than any other color on him.
“Kill him! Kill Crowley! I have your angel! I have his grace!” Abaddon demands, frantically waving a hand towards Crowley, while the other tries to hold Dean back.
Dean feels his blood pumping with power, and his skin prickles with energy. His head sings with the whispers of The Blades wants-no-their wants. The Mark begins to glow, but he barely feels the burn as he advances forward towards Abaddon. She pushes out more power towards him, and he stumbles backwards. Dean feels his lips peel up as an animalist growl escapes. He tightens his grip on The Blade, narrowing his eyes seeing his vision begins to redden again.
He reaches Abaddon, his eyes never leaving her shocked face. Without hesitation he plunges The Blade into her chest. Her screams are barely audible over the humming of The Blades power, mixed with his own heartbeat in his ears. He grabs the hilt with both hands, lifting her up in the air watching her life glow bright, flicker, and spark away. He rips The Blade out roughly, enjoying the wet sound of her lifeless body hitting the ground at his feet. He kneels down on top of her, slamming The Blade in her again, blood splattering over his body. He does it again, finding his redden vision darkening to an even deeper crimson. He can feel the warmth of her blood dripping everywhere over his open skin; he is going to bathe in it. He slams The Blade in her harder and deeper.
“-ean.” Dean’s vision suddenly blurs. His mind is invaded with a numbing fog. Dean looks up and sees his brother standing a little ways away from him. “Dean. It’s over. Put the knife down. She’s dead. The other demons smoked out. It’s done.” He watches Sam hold his hands up to him, walking towards him cautiously. It’s almost as if he was some kind of rabid dog, or something about ready to bite him.
Dean looks down at his hands and all he sees is blood. He drops The Blade as if it was burning him, suddenly realizing he’s holding onto it, and half crawls, half slips backwards away from Abaddon’s body. He looks down at himself, clothes drenched in blood, as his senses begin to work in over drive. He smells the copper tang of blood. It’s overpowering. His hands begin to stick with cooling blood. He swallows thickly, willing himself not to be sick. Dean’s eyes dart back to the mutilated body and he almost loses his stomach. She has a gaping hole in her chest, but there is so much blood it’s hard to tell where else the damage is. There is just blood. Everywhere. He can’t even remember…
“Sam, where’s…Cas…” Dean rasps out. He licks his lips, and gags tasting her blood.
“Dean. I’m fine.” A deep voice says to the side of him.
Dean turns his head to see Castiel limping slowly towards him. He feels something inside his chest crack seeing his angel’s face raked and split open, bloody, from Abaddon’s claws. His clothes are torn he’s holding his side carefully. He hurt his angel again. Castiel is hurt because of him. Every time he tries to make things better, or do the “right thing”, it always ends up getting those he loves fucked over in the process. He killed Abaddon. Now his grace is gone. He did that. He is the reason Castiel won’t ever be an angel again.
Castiel kneels beside Dean, a huff escaping him with the effort. A wince dances over his face almost too quick for anyone to notice. “Are you okay?” Castiel voice, still so strong, makes Dean want to beg him right there for forgiveness. Dean begins to feel his cheeks warm over the intensity of Castiel’s blue eyes slowly roaming up and down his body.
“Well I’m just dandy. Thanks for asking, sweetheart.” Dean tips his head up to see Crowley, who Sam was mostly supporting, standing in front of them. “I love red on you. Really brings out your eyes.”
“You sonofabitch! You gave her Castiel’s grace!” Dean tries to push himself up, but his boots slip and he lands back down on the hard ground. He tries to push the thought, quickly, away to why they are so slick.
“You did what?!” Sam glares down at the bleeding King.
“Hey! Oy! You take me for a bloody fool!?” Crowley snaps, and then starts coughing violently.
Dean glances back at Castiel, and his face just looks utterly broken. Dean reaches out a hand towards him, but flinches and quickly pulls it back seeing it stained red. Crowley clears his throat. Dean drags his eyes back to him just in time to see The King spit blood on the ground, and Sam’s face scowls in disgust.
“I never gave her the bloody grace, you morons.” Crowley pants, holding his chest. “Why would I give her my trump card? Why do you think she was sticking me? For giggles? No, buttercup. We-you and I- made a deal, and I keep my deals.”
Dean stares up at him, trying to process it all. Crowley still had Castiel’s grace. This whole time he had it, still Abaddon had known exactly what to use to get him to act. Bottom line was, Abaddon was dead. Castiel could get his grace back, and become an angel again. He had done it. Everything was okay. Dean tilted his head to look at Castiel, and instead of a smile across his face he was sure he’d have, he saw a frown.
“Abaddon’s demons are still out there. She was creating an army of them…” Castiel’s voice drops away.
“Ah yes.” Crowley shifts his feet, pulling on Sam’s arm to stand up straighter. “They are easy enough things to take care of with a little persuasion in the right direction.” He smirks and nods his head to Dean.
“He’s not touching that damn knife again, Crowley.” Sam says, firmly.
“And rid the world of dark, sneaky, evil things? Restore the balance of Hell? Silly me. Why ever allow such a thing.” Crowley tries to shrug and hisses bending over in pain, holding himself tighter.
Dean rises slowly, making sure to properly place his feet not to slip. He watches Castiel rise beside him in the corner of his vision, and glances at The First Blade lying on the floor between him and his brother. Before Dean can think twice about stepping forward to grab it, Castiel limps forward, determinedly, sweeping up The Blade. Dean watches as he takes off his tattered jacket, wrapping The Blade in it.
“I will take responsibility for The First Blade.” Castiel looks between Dean and Crowley. “Abaddon is dead. You have my grace. It will be returned. Once I have my wings, I will take The Blade away to where it is not a temptation for Dean. We will help you reclaim Hell, and restore the order.”
Dean rubs The Mark absentmindedly narrowing his eyes at Castiel. “Don’t I get a say in any of this?” He watches Castiel’s eyes glance down at something. He follows his eyes and sees his hand rubbing The Mark. He clinches his jaw, dropping his hand away.
“I’ll get your feathers back just as soon as I get enough juice back to zap on out.” Crowley sighs. “As much as I do love painting the walls red with blood and gore, this all just isn’t doing it for me. Mind if we get to along to better establishments, eh?”
“Crowley’s right.” Sam nods towards where they came in. “Let’s go back to the motel and get cleaned up.”
“’Course I am. I’m never wrong.” Crowley smugly adds.
“Shut up, Crowley. I’ll kill you myself.” Sam rolls his eyes and begins walking towards the door, with a limping Crowley in tow.
“Always such a tease, Samantha.” Dean hears Crowley chuckle.
Dean slowly walks over to Castiel, boots slightly sticking to the ground, making his stomach clinch with every noisy, sickening step. Castiel’s eyes stay looking down at his jacket in his arms, face remaining blank. Dean clears his throat trying to get his attention. Castiel ignores him, eyes steady on the bundle in his arms.
“Hey Cas. Time to get out of here.” He watches the blue eyed angel look up at him through his dark lashes.
“You…I don’t understand, Dean. Why were you going to Hell with her? With Abaddon?” Castiel tilts his head, squinting is eyes at Dean, like he’s a puzzle Castiel is trying to solve.
Dean looks away from his intense stare, towards the door they entered. “Seriously, Cas? You want to talk about this now? Here?”
He hears Castiel sigh heavily. “Perhaps not the best of places, but…I just don’t understand.” Dean eyes fall back and meet his blue ones. He shivers at the intensity of the stare. “If you just would have explained everything to us, instead of lying and-“
“Damnit Cas! They would have fucking killed you and Sammy if I had told you anything! Is that what you want to fucking hear? I can’t-” Dean shakes his head trying to calm down. He opens his arms wide, taking a few steps back. “This. All this is because I had a chance to get your grace back.”
Dean watches Castiel’s body straighten, and his eyes narrow into a piercing, cold glare. “Again, you jumped before finding out all the facts. I don’t know why you insist on thinking I’m worth repeatedly risking yourself like this, and now…” He looks down at The First Blade wrapped up in his jacket. “You have no idea-“
“I did what I thought had to be done to keep my word to you, and to keep you and Sam safe. I’d do it all over again if it meant you could get your grace back. You don’t deserve to be a shitty ass human. You’re an angel. What Crowley did to you was bullshit.” Dean crosses his arms, cringing at the dampness of the blood that has soaked into his clothes and now was pressing into this sink. “This is stupid. Sam is probably-“
Before Dean can even register what is happening, Castiel crosses the small space between them in a few steps. His scent surges into Dean’s nose, pushing away the copper smell. It almost makes him light headed breathing in the sudden pureness of it. Somehow, Castiel has managed not to touch him even though Dean’s face is just inches away from his. He narrows his eyes, searching Castiel’s in question.
“It’s getting harder, isn’t it?” Castiel’s deep voice sends an uncontrollable shiver throughout Dean. He shifts the bundle into one arm, and brings his hand up falling onto where his old, faded handprint lay. Dean’s eyes glance at where his hand lay, then back up to his face. “The bloodlust, the thoughts…We-I-will help you. You are not alone. You have to stop keeping secrets from me-us.”
“This…This isn’t about…” Dean shrugs off Castiel’s hand and stumbles back, gripping his hair.
Castiel’s scent, The Mark, the constant humming underneath his skin, the itch, Abaddon lying, almost becoming her bitch for nothing, almost losing Castiel’s grace for good-Dean lets out a frustrated scream. Everything he touches decays. It breaks. He’s poison. He walks over to the metal chair Crowley was chained to, picks up, and throws it across the room. “I fucking try and do the right thing and it’s wrong! If I would’ve told you about everything, that would’ve been wrong cause you would’ve ended up dead!” He walks over to the headless demon and kicks him in the chest, moving him a few feet.
“Dean. Stop.” He barely hears Castiel behind him. The Mark’s burning intensifies, and he rubs it briefly.
“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Story of my fucking worthless God forsaken life.” Dean bends down, picking up the head of the demon. He tilts his head staring into the dead eyes, and chuckles slightly. “I’m not even suppose to be here. I should’ve stayed dead…”
“Dean.” Castiel’s breath tickles the back of Dean’s neck. Dean feels both of Castiel’s arms slowly around his middle. Dean’s breath catches, and he freezes. “Ensamevelaji coredozodizoda. Elasa bolape micaelazodo.”
Dean instantly lets his body sag against Castiel, feeling the anger steadily drain out of him. He feels Castiel’s lips twitch up into a smile against his neck. The sudden realization of Castiel touching him out of his own free will has put him in a state of shock, and he begins to tense up again. “What…What did you just say to me?” Dean whispers, trying not to focus on Castiel tightening his grip around him slightly.
“Just a bunch of nonsense, really.” Dean closes his eyes as Castiel brushes his neck with his lips. “Sam is waiting.”
Castiel lets his arms fall away from around Dean, and lets out a grunt. Dean turns around to see Castiel staring at his hands and arms with a grimace on his face. Dean smirks at his angel trying to rub the blood off on his pants with no luck. The whole thing is morbidly adorable.
Castiel bends down and retrieves The First Blade from the ground, and nods towards the door, steadily limping towards it. Dean looks around the room, eyeing the carnage. He walks over and grabs the demon blade on the ground, and then to the chain spilled out on the floor, throwing it over his shoulder. Anything that can subdue a demon, especially one of Crowley’s powers, that kind of toy needs to be kept. With one last look, avoiding Abaddon’s mutilated body, Dean follows Castiel outside to join the others.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Dean slips out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy, wet thud. He reaches for the shower knob, turning it on as hot as it will let him, then straightens up letting the pipes clank trying to warm up the water. He stands in the middle of the dingy motel bathroom, staring down at his shirt. He realizes it is clingy tightly to his chest, still damp with blood. Before Dean has time to process his own movements, he is running and leaning over the toilet, throwing up nothing but his own stomach acid.
He squeezes his eyes shut as they begin to sting with the tears. Dean’s stomach clinches again, and he retches clinging to the sides of the seat. All he sees behind his eyelids is Abaddon’s shocked expression, her eyes staring back at him, and then red. His stomach starts to tighten again, but he fights the urge to be sick. He opens his eyes trying to rid himself of the image. Dean feels a few of the hot tears run down his face as he reaches up to flush the bile away. He pushes himself up, swaying a bit unsteady, and moves over to the sink. He grabs onto the counter like a lifeline, trying to focus on the sound of the steady fall of the shower water.
The steam from the shower has begun to fog up the mirror, and Dean lets go of the sink counter momentarily to wipe away a strip with the back of his hand. He looks like a disaster. Blood speckles the front of his face like freckles, and everywhere else it is smeared wildly over him like war paint. Dean turns his face away from his image, gritting his teeth against the tightening in his stomach. He rips off his shirt, and throws it over with his jacket. He begins to take off his jeans, but they cling to him worse than his shirt did. He pulls at them violently, grunting and kicking his legs like a child. He finally manages to yank them off, adding them to the pile of his soiled discarded clothing items.
He steps into the shower and sighs as the water hits his skin. The sudden warmth flooding his body sends a shiver throughout his whole body, making his shoulders drop a little. Only then does he realize just how tense his whole body has been. He closes his eyes leaning his head down, walking deeper into the spray of water. He runs his hands through his hair, desperately trying to focus only on the sound of the running water. Dean leans forward, and rests his head on his arms that are up against the wall of the shower. He lets the water run down the back of him, and opens his eyes.
All he sees is red.
Dean stares down at his feet below him, watching the dark scarlet liquid swirl down the drain beside them. His eyes glance around at the yellowish, off white tile in front around him, noticing droplets of blood scattered about, crying down the wall. He stumbles back, getting a face full of water spray in the process, sputtering and wiping away at his eyes frantically. When he pulls his calloused hands away from his face, he looks down at them to see them tinted with blood.
Dean reaches down and grabs the nearest bar of soap, knocking over a bottle of shampoo in the process. He begins scrubbing vigorously at his hands, watching as the suds bubble into a sickening pink cherry color. He bites his lip, trying to ignore the tightening of his stomach again, and focuses on making the color wash away. Closing his eyes Dean steps back into the spray of the water, and rubs the bar of soap over his arms.
“You are nothing. You’re as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.”
Dean feels himself dropping the soap, and opens his eyes under the spray of the water. He frantically looks around the shower for the voice. He hears someone knock at the door, and yanks the shower curtain back. He looks around the bathroom trying to figure out where the voice is coming from.
“You left part of yourself back in the pit.”
Dean grabs his head and squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a painfully hoarse scream. The heat from the water hitting him feels like hellfire kissing his skin. Images begin to flicker behind his eyelids. He sees Alastair’s face, twisted in a sickening smile leaning over him. He is staring at himself in a dimly lit room watching his eyes shift to black. He sees Abaddon lick Castiel’s blood off her finger. They blur together, mixing in a repetitive track. Dean swears he can feel Alastair digging the knife into the side of his body, and hear his laughter echo inside his mind. He can feel himself pull the trigger, shooting himself in the chest. He begins to feel his throat squeezing with Abaddon’s power as he watches her lips curl up into a cruel smirk.
~ ~ ~
Castiel knocks again on the bathroom door, but is only met with scream from inside. He clinches his jaw, and turns the handle, opening the door letting himself in, quickly closing it behind him. He stands there a moment, taking in the mayhem in front of him. There are bloody handprints on the side of the toilet, blood smeared on the sink, and streaks of it across the floor to a pile of discarded clothes that are seeping with the liquid. The bathroom looks like someone was murdered here.
His gaze trails up the body of the naked man standing in front of him who is holding his head and face screwed up in a grimace of pain. His screams bounce off the walls making Castiel’s ears begin to ring. He cautiously steps closer to Dean, stopping only when he is just inches away. The spray of the water hitting Dean ricochets off his body and begins to dampen Castiel’s clothes.
“Open your eyes, Dean.” Castiel narrows his eyes at him, unsure if his voice can be heard above the screams. “Dean, look at me! Open your eyes.”
Castiel watches as Dean’s bright eyes shoot open locking onto his, screams abruptly cut off with a whimper. The only sound around them is the steady fall of the shower, and Dean’s heavy pants. Castiel stares back at Dean’s eyes, watching him blink trying to focus. The water begins to sound as loud as a waterfall in the sudden quiet room, save for Dean’s heavy breathing. He watches his Righteous Man’s eyes dart over his face, and then he suddenly flinches back.
“Cas…” Dean whispers hoarsely. Castiel watches as Dean hands drop to their sides.
“You were screaming.” He breathes out, eyes darting over the naked man’s body still tinted with blood. He feels a sudden wave of panic and nausea hits him. Memories of that night, the shifter posing as Dean, flood his mind. He shakes his head trying to force them away. He hesitantly looks back up at Dean’s face and licks his lips trying figure out what to say. “Why…Why were you screaming?”
Castiel watches as Dean’s eyes move to over his face. He bites his lip desperately trying not to flinch away from those intense, green eyes he use to love getting lost in. He reminds himself for the thousandth time, this is his Dean. He wouldn’t hurt him. Dean’s eyes trail back up his face and lock onto his eyes, again. “I kept hearing them.”
“Them?” Castiel tilts his head. He glances down at Dean’s arm and narrows his eyes, watching him begin to rub The Mark. “There is no one in here.”
Dean’s body tenses, hand going still. After a moment, he lets out forced chuckle that makes a chill run over Castiel’s body. He shifts nervously to the side of the shower out of the spray of the water. “Ya. There’s no one here.”
Castiel glances around the bathroom, again, feeling another uncontrollable chill shake his whole body. He knows it isn’t from the cold dampness. The room is the same as he entered; an already unclean room now painted bloody from Dean. There hasn’t been anyone here. No hint that anyone ever has been here, save for Dean and himself. He looks back at Dean to see his gaze now fallen down onto his arm. His thumb kept running over The Mark.
Castiel’s fingers twitch to reach forward and grab his hand away from The Mark. He bites his sore, chapped lips, remembering how easily the other Dean had left him bruised and beaten. Not really him, but him all the same.
“I…I should leave.” Castiel’s voice comes out quiet, as he turns back towards the door. “I can send Sam in to help you finish if-“
“I’m fine.” He hears Dean mumble.
Castiel flinches at the sound of metal sliding over metal. He glances behind him to see that the shower curtain has been pulled back into place, and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He opens back up the door and steps out into the dimly lit room, letting the door latch behind him. He runs a hand through his hair, sighing. He looks over to Crowley sitting in a chair and Sam standing beside him, eyebrow raised questionably.
“What the bloody hell was all that about?” Crowley asks, throwing a bloodied rag at Sam.
Castiel watches as Sam’s face scrunches up in annoyance as he bends down to pick up the rag off the floor. “Dean is…” Is what? What exactly is he hearing?
“Dean is what?” Sam asks putting the rag on the little table next to Crowley.
“He seems to be hearing voices.” Castiel states, walking over to the bed closest to the bathroom. He sits down on the edge, looking back at Sam.
“My brother is hearing voices.” He says flatly, staring angrily at the ugly, worn carpet under him.
“It would seem so.” Castiel sighs running a hand through his hair again.
He watches Crowley drum his fingers on the side of the chair, wearing his laidback smirk. Castiel feels his hands begin to shake. His body is suddenly vibrating with so much anger he barely realizes he is standing and crossing the room until he’s leaning the over the King of Hell.
Crowley raises his eyebrow at Castiel, huffing out a laugh. “Problem?”
“You. You are my problem.” Castiel feels himself growling as he grabs the demon’s shirt, pulling him up towards him. “You tricked him into getting The Mark all for your stupid selfish reasons. You don’t care what happens to him as long as you continue to reign in Hell. You sit there, uncaring about anything other than yourself. It is ripping him apart! You know as much as I do where this-“
“I’m only going to tell you once. Let me go.” Crowley interrupts, smirk still in place.
“Or you’ll what?” Castiel tightens his grip on the demons shirt, pulling him closer to his face.
Crowley flicks his wrist sending Castiel and Sam flying across the room. “I might not be all recovered, but I can say that I have more juice than you.”
Castiel winces as he sits up, body still shaking with anger. He feels something wet trickle off his face and realizes the gashes on his face must be bleeding again. Sam pushes himself to his feet beside him as Crowley stands up from the chair. He holds out his hand and both of them fly back against the wall. Castiel tries to move to stand but finds his body unable to respond. Just like with Abaddon, his power holds him still.
“Crowley, you made Dean a deal!” Sam says with a low guttural voice.
Crowley rolls his eyes. “A deal I intend to keep, I assure you. Once Castiel here settles down from his temper tantrum and learns not to take his issues out on someone holding onto his bloody angel juice. We can all go on about being civil again, right?”
Castiel glares at Crowley and tries to move again with no luck. “Give me my grace.”
“To have you what? Smite me?” He laughs and straightens out his shredded clothes. “All in due time, cupcake. But for now, I’ll be taking this.” He grabs Castiel’s jacket that’s still wrapped around The First Blade.
“Crowley, you sonofabitch!” Sam snarls. “Don’t touch it!”
“Son of a witch, actually.” Crowley chuckles. “I’ll be in touch.”
Castiel collapses over himself as Crowley disappears, the hold on him with it. He watches Sam stomp across the floor to the chair Crowley was previously sitting, fists tightly held against his body. His whole body flinches as Sam kicks it into the wall behind it. Castiel slowly stands, and walks slowly over to Sam. Sam leans over the table, staring at the nothing in front of him, fists pushing down on the top.
“We can summon him back, trap him, and torture him into giving us back that stupid knife and your grace.” Sam growls under his breath.
“I doubt he would return with the knife. He most likely has already hidden somewhere by now.” Castiel says feeling his anger still simmering under his skin. “He will not return with it until he has a need to.”
“Your grace, Cas.” Sam looks up at him, face softening in pity.
Castiel tries to keep his face neutral, shrugging his shoulder. He hates how Sam always seems look at him with pity, now. He wasn’t created to be some breakable human. He is an Angel of the Lord. He isn’t suppose to bleed, let alone allow a half drained demon get one up on him.
He looks back over to the bathroom door trying to ignore Sam’s lingering gaze. His eyes grow wide when he sees Dean standing there, towel wrapped around his waist. His face set into a disgusted scowl staring back at him.
“Crowley took The Blade and left? You guys couldn’t stop him?!” Dean storms over to his duffle bag, and starts digging through it, ripping out clothes. “Are you fucking kidding me? We have to go through this bullshit again because you guys are incapable of-“
“What the hell did you expect us to do, Dean?” Sam cuts him off, and walks over Dean. He bends down to look at his face. “He had us pinned against the wall!”
Castiel watches as Dean turns suddenly to his brother. “It shouldn’t have even gotten that far!” Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean as he pushes Sam away from him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Sam yells stepping forward and pushing his brother back. “How did we know he was going to run off with The Blade? It’s powerless without you. Cas was going to take it someplace, anyway. You’re more upset that that stupid Blade is gone than the fact Cas doesn’t have his grace back!”
“The Blade is something Crowley is going to use over us.” Dean growls, grabbing an armful of clothes.
Sam shakes his head. “You’ve been obsessed with getting Cas’s grace back for weeks, and now it’s all about-“
“Shut the fuck up about Castiel’s grace!” Dean glares at his brother, dropping his clothes at his feet. Castiel swallows thickly at the sound of his full name being spoken by Dean. “You have no idea what I’ve been through to try and get his grace back.”
“Seems to me you don’t care whether he gets it back or not, as long as you get-“ Sam’s words get cut off by Dean’s fist connecting with the side of his face.
Castiel rushes forward stepping in front of Sam, eyes narrowed towards Dean. “Stop. If you’re going to hit someone, hit me. I provoked Crowley. Not Sam.”
Castiel watches as Dean’s face briefly softens. Dean’s eyes slowly look over his face, finally lingering on his bleeding cheek. His face immediately hardens again and he shakes his head bending down to pick up his fallen clothes. Dean walks back into the bathroom, slamming the door. Castiel turns around to see Sam rubbing his jaw, glaring at the bathroom door.
“We need to watch him closely.” Castiel glances back at the bathroom door. “The effects of The Mark are getting worse.”
“You’re saying he is acting like this because of The Mark?” Sam scoffs looking at him skeptically. “I think it’s just Dean being a jackass.”
Castiel nods. “You have heard the stories of Cain. He is destined to follow the same pattern now that he holds The Mark.”
Sam’s hand pauses against his face, gaze still locked onto the bathroom door. “You said Cain is a Knight of Hell. A demon.”
Castiel falls back down on the bed with a sigh. “He is.”
Sam looks down at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “Dean isn’t a demon.”
“No, he isn’t. The Mark resurrected Cain into a demon.”
The bathroom door opens suddenly, with a fully clothed Dean walking over to the desk where his keys lay. Castiel raises an eyebrow, eyes glancing over to Sam. He watches the brother clinch his jaw but remain silent as Dean grabs his keys and leaves the room quickly without explanation.
“You grab the shower and then I can take a look at your face.” Sam shakes his head, glaring murderously at the hotel door. “Who knows when he’ll be back.”
~ ~ ~
Dean motions the bartender for another shot, while taking a pull on his beer. The bartender nods to him, and walks away from the two dark haired girls, smile slipping from his lips. He pulls out a bottle of the amber whiskey from beneath the counter, and fills up Dean’s glass.
“Anything else?” He asks in a deep voice. Dean can’t help but think of how similar it is to his angel’s voice.
Dean shakes his head, staring down at the shot glass in front of him. The bartender walks back over to the girls, which appear to be the only people in here except for him. He picks up the glass and tips it back, enjoying the comforting burn as it goes down. He stares at the bottle in his hand, fingertips scratching at the edge of the label making it peel. The Mark under his flannel itches uncomfortably under his flannel, and he tips the bottle back to his lips trying to ignore it.
something it had blinded him. He knew it wasn’t really Sam’s fault Crowley had taken The Blade, and still he reacted as if it was. Castiel was going to take it anyway, but something in him had just snapped. He shifts on the uncomfortable stool. If it hadn’t been for Castiel stepping in front of him, he isn’t really sure what he would have done to his brother. Something about those blue eyes staring into him, like they can see him. Like he had the power to just know Dean wouldn’t lay a finger on him. Yet, he is the reason for all of Castiel’s pain.
“Hey man.” Dean blinks up at the bartender in front of him. “Another one?” He holds up the bottle of whiskey in his hand.
“Just leave the bottle.” He mumbles pushing his empty bottle aside.
The bartender raises an eyebrow, but leaves the bottle beside him walking back over to the laughing girls again. Dean grabs the bottle and takes a long pull on the amber colored whiskey. He grunts a little as it goes down. The painful itch on his arm ebbs a little as his head begins to feel slightly fuzzy. Dean knows it’s probably the alcohol numbing the intensity of The Mark, but either way he’ll take it. He squints at the bottle in front of him, trying not to think of anything, but seeing intense blue eyes nonetheless. The two girls suddenly burst out in dramatically loud giggles, interrupting his thoughts. Dean shifts his eyes over to them, biting his lip not to remark in irritation. The bartender looks highly amused as he mixes them another froufrou drink.
“I swear! I watched him leave and then an hour later he came back in again, demanding for his room back.” The longer haired of the brunettes giggles. “I think he had to’ve been drunk, or something. He is usually really nice when he stays at the hotel.”
The shorter haired one in the red strapless shirt grabs her friends arm. “Or maybe he was an alien! He abducted the real guy, and came back in his place!”
The girls burst into giggles again, leaning on each other trying to stay upright. Dean narrows his at them through the dimly lit bar. The bartender hands them their drinks as Dean finds himself wondering if it’s just the liquor making them talk. There haven’t been any signs of any shifters in weeks. None that he or Sammy could come across in all their searching, at least. Even still, as weak a lead as this may be, it still could be something. His curiosity gets the better of him, and he grabs his bottle of whiskey, sliding off the barstool. He walks over to the girls, and sits down on the stool beside the shorter haired girl.
“Hey ladies. Mind if I join you?” He asks, giving them a half smile.
The girls smile at shyly at him, and the longer haired in the one nods, brown eyes running up and down his body. The bartender looks at him, smile dropping slightly, again. Dean knows he probably had big plans to bring one, or hell, maybe both of them home tonight. He can’t really find it in him to care. The alcohol running through his body is doing its job and making everything a little numb. He is just here to work them for information, anyway.
“I’m Tina.” The shorter haired girl says, batting her eyes at him.
“Rachel.” The longer hair girl giggles.
“I’m Dillon.” Dean replies taking another swig on the whiskey. “I heard you guys talking about some pretty crazy stuff, over there.”
“Rach! You gotta tell him about the guy!” Tina squeals, clapping her hands happily. “Dillon! You have to hear this story!”
“Alright, alright.” Rachel giggles again, and takes a sip of her orange looking liquid. “So, I work at this pretty nice hotel in town. We get a lot of regulars that come around for business, and stuff.”
Tina places a hand on Dean’s thigh, leaning over and whispers loudly. “Or aliens!”
“Tina! I haven’t gotten there yet!” Rachel giggles, hitting her friends arm playfully.
Tina squeezes Dean’s thigh laughing, twirling her short hair playfully with her other. He has a very strong urge to remove her hand as painfully as possible, but bites his lip instead. The Marks’ itch flares up in response to the thought, dulling the influence of the alcohol. He bites down harder on his lips trying to suppress a hiss. He just needs to get the story, and come up with some excuse to leave. Tina takes a sip of her blue concoction, and motions for Rachel to continue.
“Anyway!” She giggles swaying a bit. “So we get this one guy, Brady Ruth, in at least twice a month. He stays for about three days or so every time. Really nice guy, always tips big, and not too bad on the eyes.” She swirls her drink with her finger, brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Today was his check out. Everything was fine, whatever, normal.” She stares teasingly at Tina, taking her finger out of her glass and sucking on it. “About an hour later he came storming back into the lobby demanding his room back, saying he wasn’t done with his business! He pushed over two of the bellhops in order to get to the front desk! He didn’t even say sorry, or anything. He said he was going to be staying longer than expected, and not to bother him.”
“Alien!” Tina laughs, moving her hand up a little higher on Dean’s thigh.
Dean notices a group of laughing college looking guys tumble in the door. The bartender shakes his head, and leaves them to go wait on his new customers. Tina begins to rub Dean’s thigh, looking up at him with a flirty smile. He takes another really long drink of his whiskey, trying to ignore the burning ache on his arm. He places the bottle down a little too forcefully, flinching as Tina squeezes his thigh. He keeps his smile in place, and winks at her.
“So what do you think? Alien?” Tina asks, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.
“Sounds like he got dumped by his wife, and needed a place to crash.” Dean shrugs taking another swallow of the whiskey. “What does he even do for a living?”
“Aw, you’re no fun!” Tina shoves him playfully with her shoulder. He forces down an urge to slam her face against the corner of the counter.
“From what I hear, he’s some lawyer. One of the maids went into his room to clean it, and he had a bunch of court papers left out on the table.” Rachel replies, sipping her drink again. “I guess you’d have to know him to get that he just really didn’t seem like the same guy. I mean, he just looked…angry. Like, really angry. He didn’t even come back in with his stupid important shiny briefcase or anything.” She scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. “It was just weird.”
Dean glanced quickly down to Tina’s hand edging farther upwards, and tried to convince himself he could be drunk enough to enjoy this. He rubs The Mark through his jacket trying to dull the nagging throb. “So what hotel ya work at, anyway?”
“The Drury Plaza Hotel on East Sixth.” Rachel tilts her head to the side, smiling flirtatiously. “Why? You going to come visit me? Save me from the evil body invader?”
“Maybe I will.” He says, flashing his best smile, winking at her.
Rachel brings the cup to her lips again and begins to sip at it, cheeks flushing a deeper pink than what the alcohol has given her. Tina continues to rub circles with her fingertips repeatedly on his inner thigh making the skin on his thigh begin to itch. Dean has another urge to rip her hand off him, breaking her fingers, and smash her glass across her skull. He squeezes his eyes tightly closed, and rubs the bridge of his nose for a moment trying calm himself down. Tina is babbling on about her college classes, dramatically waving her free hand around as he opens his eyes. He shifts his position on the stool, trying to deter the girl from touching his leg, and looks over to the bartender behind the counter. The bar had gained a few more random people since they have been talking, and he seems preoccupied with helping them out.
Dean takes another drink from his bottle again, wondering, again, if it would be worth it to even look into the guy. It isn’t much to go on. The guy probably had some life issues come up or something. He swirls the liquid in his bottle around thinking it over. Maybe if he just went by to scope things out he’d run into the guy, and could go from there. He needs to pick up a paper and see if there was anything weird going on in this town, anyway.
“Hey Dillon.” Tina leans into his side heavily. Dean bites his lip, again, pushing away another urge to hurt her. “My friends are throwing a party tomorrow night. Think you could make it?”
“Sorry. I’m only in town for the night.” He looks down at the girl’s sad look. “Looking for a place to crash, actually. Maybe I’ll look up that hotel you work at. Sounds like a good place.”
Rachel gives him a shy smile. “Well then you should defiantly stop by the front desk to check on me.”
“I think I could manage that.” Dean replies, downing the rest of the liquid in his bottle. “But, sadly ladies. I think I have to call it a night. I need to be up early.”
Tina gives him a pout, hand slipping off his thigh as he stands up from the barstool. “You could stay at my dorm. My roommate is probably at her boyfriends.”
Dean forces out a chuckle as he waves the bartender over to pay his bill. “Sorry babe. Defiantly next time I’m in town.”
Dean slips the change back into his wallet, and nods to the girls. Tina gives him a pout as he walks out of the bar into the freezing night air, heading for his car. He takes out his phone, pausing over Sam’s number. He stares at the screen blankly, letting the numbers blur together until the screen finally goes black. He shakes his head trying to gain some clarity over the situation. Images of him hitting Sam bubble back up again. Castiels’ face slashed just inches from his own. Abaddon’s blood covering his clothes. The voices he heard echoing inside the bathroom. All the blood all over the bathroom.
He unlocks his screen again, and presses Sam’s number. He listens as it rings, making his way to the Impala and gets in.
“Dean?” A groggy, half awake voice mumbles.
“Sammy, listen. I ran into a couple of girls at a bar and-“
“What the hell is wrong with you?! You’re calling me to tell me you are hooking up with girls?” Sam’s irritated voice replies, instantly more awake and angry. “Seriously? Do you even remember tonight? Abaddon? Cas? Crowley? Any of that ring a bell? You punching me across the face for no reason? You-“
“Shut up and listen to me a second!” Dean grits his teeth, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “I remember everything, okay? I know what happened.” He sighs and leans his head back against the seat. “I’m not fucking hooking up with a couple of girls. I’m checking into a lead.”
“You’re what? Do you even know what time it is? This can wait until tomorrow when we’ve actually looked into it. You’re drunk. You can’t keep running head first into this stuff.” Dean hears Castiel’s voice in the background, and curses himself silently for even calling.
“I’ll check into another place or something for the night. I’m going to see what’s up with this guy.” He slips his key into the ignition and turns it starting up Baby. “I’m not coming back there tonight.”
“You need to listen to me for once, Dean! We’ve all been through a lot in less than twelve hours. We are all just exhausted and need some-“
“I’ll let you know if I find anything out.” He pushes the end button, and throws his phone over into the passenger seat.
The Mark itch flares painfully on his arm, sending his vision spinning. Dean opens the car door just in time to lean over, emptying his stomach of everything he just drank. He grips the door tightly as his stomach clenches again, and he retches. In the dim streetlight he swears when he looks down at his mess, there’s blood. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and shakes his head trying to clear it.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” He whispers hoarsely pushing himself back into the car closing the door, sitting upright in his seat. At least his vision has stopped spinning.
Baby rumbles steadily under him but he can’t seem to focus on it as his usual comfort. He pushes down on his arm, closing his eyes, trying to ease the itch a little bit. Behind his eyelids he watches Abaddon licking her finger with Castiel’s blood dripping from it. Redness threatens the edges of his memories as he watches Abaddon’s eyes as the life sparks out of her. The memories switch over to him being changed to the rack, Alastair’s eyes looking him up and down as he whispers that same question he’s heard for the thousandth time, only this time…
”Daddy’s little girl broke in thirty.”
Dean’s eyes shoot open. He stares straight ahead seeing nothing really at all, trying to get his heartbeat under control. He swears he can taste blood on his tongue. He realizes he’s breathing as if he ran for miles. The sound of his heartbeat is almost deafening in his ears. Dean shifts his position, hand rising for the shifter. He slams his car in reverse, pulling out of his parking spot, heading for the hotel.
When Dean finally reaches the hotel he isn’t quite sure how he made it there, or how he did it so quickly. He finds a parking spot on the side of the street where he can see the entrance of the hotel, and turns the car off. Dean reaches across the space for his phone, lighting up the screen. He has four missed calls from Sam, three voicemails, and six unread messages. Dean’s hand begins to shake, and he squeezes the phone tightly attempting to try to calm them. He looks back up at the entrance debating about how to go about even seeing this Brady guy. He doesn’t want to be disturbed from what Rachel said, so he probably just has to go and find his room number and go from there.
He looks back down at the phone in his hand. There’s no point in even checking any of the messages, he already knows what his brother has to say. He knows he should be tired-hell, probably beyond exhausted and passed out in the back of his car- but he is too wired to sleep. What if this guy is actually something? What if he was the shifter who attacked Castiel?
Dean tosses the phone back onto the seat beside him and lets himself out of the car. He goes to the trunk of his car, and slides the key in, popping it open. His breathe hitches as Dean’s eyes rest on the silver blade lying amongst the multiple weapons. The last time he used this was on himself when Castiel asked him to. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet only yesterday. This whole fucking situation is his fault and he can’t even make any of it right. He glares at the blade, picking it up slowly and tucking it away in his jacket. He pulls out his gun, quickly checking his magazine to make sure he has adequate enough bullets. Satisfied, he tucks his gun into the back of his jeans, closing the trunk. Dean pockets his keys, and walks towards the doors.
He pushes through the revolving doors into massive lobby with marble floors, leather couches, some huge ass picture of some dude holding a baby is lit up on the wall like it is important, and high vaulted ceilings with an unsettling large light dangling in the middle of it. He hears someone clear their throat off to the side of him snapping him out of his trance, and realizes he’s been standing here gawking like an idiot. He looks over at a bright eyed kid behind a very open desk. He puts on one of his best, charming smiles, and makes his legs start working again.
“Can I help you…sir?” The dark haired kid asks.
Dean glances down at his nametag. “Austin, is it?” The boy nods slightly. “My name is Agent Young with the FBI. I need to get the room number of a Brady Ruth.”
The kid raises an eyebrow and looks Dean up and down briefly. “You’re FBI?”
Dean forces his smile to stay in place. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out his badge, opening it quickly watching the kid’s eyes go wide. He smirks as the kid instantly straightens, mouth falling open and pockets the badge. “Sure am, kid. Now I need to get to this guy without causing a big scene, you know? So just give me his room number and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Uh, right. I mean, yes sir!” Austin starts typing something on the computer beside him. “He’s in Room 178. Fifth floor. The, uh, elevators are straight ahead to your right.” He wraps his arms around his middle, looking at Dean with big eyes.
“Thanks. Don’t tell anyone I was here, got it?” Dean winks at the kid heading off to the elevators.
His footsteps echo loudly as he walks across the open room into a hallway. He reaches the elevator and it opens immediately. He steps in and presses the button for the fifth floor, smile fading from his lips as the doors close. Dean sighs, leaning against the wall of the elevator.
“This is all probably a giant waste of time.” Dean mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face.
The elevator slowly crawls upwards, dinging softly as each floor passes. When it finally reaches the fifth floor, it feels like the longest ride in an elevator he’s ever had. Dean pushes himself off the wall, stepping out into another marble hallway. He glances at the sign on the wall telling him which rooms are which way, and turns right. His eyes glance around taking the pristine looking hallway, and just the sheer niceness of the hallway itself. The floors aren’t even scuffed, for fucks sake.
The numbers on the doors grow larger as he nears the end of the hallway. He stops in front of a room where a “Do Not Disturb” sign hangs from a doorknob. He checks the number again, making sure it says 178. He taps his jacket pocket making sure the silver blade is still there, and raises his hand to knock.
The door opens suddenly, leaving Dean and a man stare to at each other blankly.
“Uh, Mister Ruth. I know it’s late but-“
“Dean Winchester himself.” The man interrupts, smiling slowly. “I must say, it’s a pleasure to actually meet the real you.”
Dean doesn’t even realize he is reacting until he is pushing the man against back against the open door, holding the blade to his neck. A snarl rises up as he pushes the knife harder into his neck, smirking as the sound of burn flesh meets his ears. The painful itch from the Mark strengthens so suddenly, he almost drops the knife and his snarl turns into a low hiss. His body begins to buzz with energy, somehow making his vision clearer-more focused. Dean narrows his eyes at the smirking man beneath him, pushing the blade in harder. The man chuckles, keeping his eyes locked on Dean’s, uncaring his skin is burning underneath the silver.
“How’s that angel doing? I’ve heard so many stories about that him. Pity what happened to him, isn’t it? If only someone could’ve just saved him.” He chuckles to himself, again, as Dean slams his free hand into the door, grazing the shifters hair.
“You’re going to tell me who did this. And then you’re going to tell me how to find them.” Dean growls.
The shifter’s smirk widens, unfazed by Dean’s outburst. “Living with someone who actually did all that damage to his body...How can he ever trust you again? How can he stand to be near you or touch you, after what you did?” The shifters eyes glance behind Dean briefly.
Dean catches the movement a second too late, and he turns around just in time to be met with a fist across the side of his face. He doesn’t even have enough time recover before the shifter he had pinned grabs him, shoving him inside the room, swinging the door closed behind him.
“Let me introduce my friends.” He nods to five men standing around one of the tables. Two of them laugh as Dean stumbles farther in the room. “Boys, this is the great Dean Winchester.”
Dean looks over at the five men in front of him as they eye him like a new play thing. His fingers tighten around the silver knife he still holds, and tries to fight off the sudden urge to rush forward, stabbing them each in the head. Caught off guard by sizing up the men, a foot slams into the back of his knees, sending him kneeling to the ground with a grunt. Dean spins around to react, only in time to barely see the shape of a boot before it hits his jaw. He catches himself on his hands, refusing to fall to the ground, and spits out a mouthful of blood below him.
“We heard you were in town.” Dean looks up at see the shifter impersonating, he can only assume, Brady Ruth looking down at him. “We know you’ve been trying to hunt down our kind, as well.” He shrugs. “Safety in numbers, I always say.”
“You’re all going to pay for Cas.” Dean hisses between clinched teeth.
A deep laugh comes up from behind Dean, making the hair on the back of his neck rise instantly. “Seven of us, against one measly little human? I think you’re a bit outmatched this time, hunter.”
“Let’s have a little fun with him.” A new voice speaks slowly. “Give his brother some lingering nightmares.”
Dean stares down at the blade in his hands as the crimson color pulses around the edges of his vision. He takes in a deep breath trying to steady his anger. “I will give you one last chance.” He whispers, looking up slowly. “Tell me where your friend is that attacked Castiel, and I might make your death less painful.”
“Do you know he screamed the whole time?” Gruff voice from the group of men taunts. “I even heard he got off on the pain. How fucked up is that? How can he even look at you without throwing up?”
”I heard he cried like a little bitch.” The slow speaking man says, chuckling.
Dean closes his eyes tightly trying to push away the memories of walking in and seeing Castiel laying on the bed naked, beaten, covered in fuck knows what, and unable to wake him. Flashes of Castiel staring out into nothing pass beneath his eyelids. They quickly jump over to Castiel flinching away from his touch. Dean shakes his head roughly, unable to stop the onslaught memories. Castiel’s scream somehow echo inside his mind, and he remembers Abaddon licking his angel’s blood off her fingers.
Dean opens his eyes slowly, gaze resting on the floor beneath him. The burn of The Mark flickers over his arm like a fire that refuses to be extinguished. He flexes his fingers over the hilt of the knife, encouraging the burn to run through his veins. He slowly raises his head, a slow grin spreading over his face.
“You’re going to regret that.” Dean whispers, eyeing the men who laugh in response.
Dean feels his grin spread further across his face, as he lets go of his restraint. He welcomes the blood colored red as it consumes his vision He licks his lips as his skin prickles with the fire of The Mark, and he feels his blood hum with energy. The last coherent thought that runs through his mind is the memory Castiel’s deep blue eyes full of fear, staring at Dean.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Castiel’s leg bounces up and down impatiently on the floor of yet another stolen car. At least this one has working heat. He stares out the window at all the cars parked along the side of the road, straining his eyesight to just catch a glimpse of the sleek, black car. He listens to Sam shift in his seat beside him for the thousandth time. If he wasn’t so consumed with concern for where Dean had run off to again, he might laugh at the sight younger brother stuffed into the cramped, little car.; his knees on either side of the steering wheel, head almost touching the ceiling.
“What’s the GPS say, Cas?” Sam huffs out in frustration.
He looks down at the phone in his hands, seeing the same address as a few minutes ago. “The same as a moment ago. His location has not changed.” He squints at the screen, trying to make out anything else that might help. “In front of a hotel, it seems.”
Castiel raises his head, staring out at the road in front of them. They were practically the only ones on the road, which made sense for it being after to two o’clock in the morning. They pass the cars along the side of the road slowly, keeping their eyes alert for any trace of Dean’s car.
“This is ridiculous!” Sam yells, slamming his open fist on the steering wheel. “Why couldn’t he just wait?!”
Castiel shrugs his shoulder slightly, eyes never straying from the cars along the side of the street. Sam was right, though. Dean should be as exhausted as they are, possibly even more so with what his body has gone through. Yet, here they were. Driving around, looking for him at some early morning hour. The thought made Castiel’s head throb with the beginning of a headache.
“This isn’t right. Dean shouldn’t be following up on some possible bullshit lead! I’m beyond exhausted, and I haven’t been through half the shit he has.” Sam echoes his thoughts. “It doesn’t make any sense how he can still be functioning.”
Castiel hums in response, leaning closer to the window. “Sam.” He points out the windshield. “That’s the Impala.”
They drive past the car slowly, looking inside the windows to see it empty. Sam pulls into an open space a few spaces up, and hastily exiting the car. Castiel climbs out of his side, pocketing the cell phone in the borrowed jacket from Sam. He takes in a sharp breath as the frigid air burns against his open wounds on his face.
“He has to be inside there.” Sam nods to the massive hotel in front of them.
“That would be the most logical assumption. As to finding him, though, that is another problem. The signal from his phone was traced to his car.” Castiel replies, wincing as the wind hits his face again.
Castiel hugs the jacket closer around him, watching Sam’s jaw clench and unclench. With a huff of frustration, the younger brother starts walking towards the building. Castiel follows trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut. They have no idea what lead Dean was following. He can only assume it must have lead to something due to Dean being gone over an hour. Why he would jump into something so foolishly was unknown to him, yet screamed Dean Winchester. The lack of details made his mind ache even more so than it already was.
Castiel follows closely behind Sam as he pushes through the revolving doors. They step out into a large open room with sparkling, pristine, gray marble floors. Castiel raises an eyebrow to Sam’s awestruck look, nudging his shoulder gently. A cough comes from somewhere beside them, and Castiel looked over to a low desk with a boy standing behind it, staring at them with wide eyes.
“Uh, can I help you…?” The boy asked with a nervous voice, wide eyes darting back and forth between them.
Castiel watches Sam blink a few times to collect himself, as they walked over to the desk. There was no way Dean could have gotten past this boy without being seen.
“I’m looking for someone.” Sam says, leaning over the desk closer to the boy.
“Um, you aren’t from the FBI too, are you?” His voice squeaks out, eyes suddenly growing comically wide. They rest on Castiel’s face, and he watches the boy pale. “I swear I didn’t tell anyone! Honest! Please don’t arrest me!”
Castiel feels his eyes narrow as the boy backs up, hands raised in defense. He could practically feel the anger rolling off Sam as the younger brother reaches over, grabbing the kid by his uniformed black vest.
“Where did the other agent go!? Tell me now!” Sam’s voice echoes off the large room.
The boy lets out a yelp as Sam yanks him closer to his face. “Room 178! He went to room 178! Top floor!” The boy whimpers, starting to cry as Sam pushes him back, letting him go.
Castiel has to half jog to keep up with the younger brother’s fast paced steady strides to the elevators. Sam slams his thumb over the button indicating “up”. After a few moments without the doors opening, he growls in frustration and pushes his thumb repeatedly over the button. Castiel steps closer to Sam, trying not to comment on how hard he is now pushing the button. He brings his hand up to rest on his shoulder in an attempt to try and draw his focus back to rational thinking, and their mission.
Sam’s thumb hesitates, face falling blank. “Sam, we need to think about what we might be walking into.” The brother’s body remains still beneath his hand. Castiel squeezes it slightly, trying to offer some sort of comfort. “We need to have some sort of plan.”
The doors slide open as Sam shrugs off his hand. Castiel lets it drop as he hastily follows Sam inside the rather large metal box. Sam presses button to the fifth floor with more force than really needed. He stands uncharacteristically still as the doors close slowly, sealing them inside. The elevator begins its slow climb upwards, without the usual lurch. Castiel leans back against the wall, staring at the back of Sam’s head in silence.
He knows this is how Dean is-how he reacts- but still the thought of his Righteous Man throwing himself into some unknown situation makes his skin itch. There have been too many close calls and far too much blood, lately. He knows he is the reason behind all the pain and poor choices made. If only he had been more observant. Connected the dots to why his grace was waning in the first place, none of this would have ever happened.
Looking back at it now, it was almost ridiculously obvious what was going on. What they thought had been ghosts or some other type of monster always ended up being a demon. The fact that he wound up killing them all, almost too easily, should have sparked some sort of warning for any of them, really. He is at fault for everything that has happened, including what happened to Dean.
Castiel pushes up from the wall, biting the inside of his cheek. The night with Dean at the motel was entirely his fault. He has gone over it thousands of times inside his head, picking apart every little detail. He should have known that something was off when Dean came near him. He should have been able to get away from him. He wasn’t made to be weak; he was made to be a warrior. An Angel of the Lord. Still he had let down his guard, and the ramifications of his foolishness created this downward spiral of events.
He takes in a sharp breath, swaying slightly on his feet. Sam glances over his shoulder, briefly, at the sound as Castiel grips onto the hand bar of the elevator. It wasn’t Dean, it was a shifter. Why does he still see Dean as the one who beat him and made him impure? His Dean would never have done those things.
The elevator dings, startling Castiel from his thoughts. Sam walks out into the hallway, pausing for him to follow. He reluctantly lets go of the cold metal bar, joining Sam in the gray marbled hallway. They read the sign that tells them which way to room 178, and turn right walking beside each other.
“We need to…” Sam whispers roughly, glancing at Castiel beside him. “Be ready for anything.”
Castiel watches Sam’s fingers twitch towards the gun he knows he carries on him. He gives a slight nod in acknowledgement, and strains his hearing to pick up any sounds. There is nothing but the echo of their feet on the hard, too clean marble floor, mixed with their own breathing.
They reach the door marked with a bronze 178, and stand motionless in front of it. There is no noise coming from the inside, not even voices. Castiel’s stomach twists at the silence. Sam raises his hand to the door handle, twisting to see if it is unlock. The door opens easily, with a quiet click of the latch falling back into place. Castiel glances at Sam giving him a quick nod, and Sam throws the door wide open.
There was a slaughter, lunging everything in chaos.
Whatever Castiel thought this situation could be, he didn’t expect to see this. Bodies splayed out everywhere. A few were slumped against the walls with their throats slit, some half lying over the bed; a few more sprawled out on the floor facedown. All of them with stab wounds and various other deep slashes over them. All had blood pooling around their lifeless, still bodies. Castiel’s eyes fall to rest on a silent, motionless man, head bowed and kneeling beside one of the dead bodies. Blood is splattered over him as if it had been raining it inside the room.
“Dean…” Sam’s hoarse voice snaps Castiel out staring at the bodies around them. “Dean, drop the knife.”
Castiel watches as the man in front of them raises his head slowly, his lips pulled up into a snarl. It is only then that he recognizes the man who is soaked in blood-who inflicted so much bloodshed- is his Righteous Man. His Dean. He hesitantly takes a step forward, and watches as Dean blinks a few times coming back into reality. Castiel watches as Dean’s face washes over in complete brokenness as his eyes dart around the carnage. The knife slips out of his fingers onto the carpeted floor with a heavy thump as a strangled noise escapes his lips.
“Dean…” Castiel whispers as he steps cautiously over a lifeless man's foot towards him.
“Tell me…Tell me you had to do this, Dean.” Castiel hears Sam’s voice panicked, straining to keep steady.
Castiel watches Dean’s wide eyes look over at Sam, and then slowly fall down to the dead man in front of him. “I…At first…but this…” His voice breaks as Castiel finally reaches him, standing beside him. His hand twitches to pull him up and wrap his arms around him. He yearns to press his fingers to the man’s temple, taking away all that pain inside him. To shield Dean from all the damage he has caused him. But he knows he cannot do any of those things.
Dean raises his head looking at his brother. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to.”
“No…” Sam crosses the room quickly, and falls to his knees in from of Dean. He grabs his face, making him meet his eyes.“No…Tell me it was them or you!”
Castiel watches as Dean’s mouth opens, but no sound escapes. Dean closes his mouth, eyes looking away from his brother to the floor. Sam’s heavy breaths come out in loud gasps, as Castiel watches Sam’s anger laced concern fall into a look of utter hopelessness. Dean begins to sway slightly in his brothers’ hold, leaning closer to Castiel. Sam lets his hands slip away from his brother, and hangs his head as his breathing comes out ragged.
Castiel leans down and grabs Dean by the arm, urging him to stand. “We need to leave.” Dean looks up at him, unsteadily letting Castiel pull him to his feet. “Sam, we need to leave before someone discovers us.”
Sam gives a slight nod, grabbing Dean’s knife and fumbles to his feet. Castiel moves forward, maneuvering over the bodies carefully. He hesitantly wraps his arm around Dean’s waist to support his weight. He feels Dean lean heavily into him, breath coming out shallow across his ear.
Sam clears his throat moving towards the door. “We’ll take the stairs. There’s probably an exit at the bottom. We’ll go out that way.”
Sam opens the door for them as they walk out into the hallway. Castiel’s breathing begins to labor as he tightens his hold around Dean, who seems to respond leaning heavier into him. He stumbles as they move forward towards the end of the hall to the stairs, and mumbles something incoherent. By the time they have made it down the stairs, Castiel can feel the sweat dripping down his back. They stand next to a heavy glass door that appears to be the exit, and Sam opens it up looking around cautiously.
Dean presses into Castiel even more, feet barely moving as they edge slowly forward. Sam moves to the other side of the fading, blood soaked man, helping carry him the rest of the way to the Impala. Sam fishes the keys out of Dean’s pocket, while Castiel somehow holds Dean upright. He unlocks the doors and they lay him down in the back seat. Dean mumbles under his breath again, arms splayed around haphazardly.
Castiel settles into the passenger seat, glancing over at Sam. “We need to gather our things at the motel and leave town tonight.”
Sam gives a nod, putting the keys into the ignition, bringing her to life. Castiel hesitantly casts a glance to the back seat, watching Dean’s chest rise and fall as they pull onto the street.
~ ~ ~
“Dean, Dean, Dean. What will it be today? Ready to, mm, come off that rack?” Dean can almost hear the smirk in Alastair’s words.
Dean refuses to move, continuing to leave his head hanging on his chest, eyes closed. The darkness behind his own eyelids is his only escape, now, as fleeting as it may be. No one can take that from him. He knows no one is coming to save him. This is what it will be now. Only Alastair’s wretched breath against his face, cold skeletal fingers moving over his skin, and never-ending pain.
He hears something metal scrape across the rusted metal tray he knows that isn’t far away from him. Everything in him wants to flinch away from that noise and what he knows is coming, but he remains still. He knows by now how useless that would be. Moving only rips his flesh more from where the hooks are stabbed into his skin, supporting his weight.
Cold, sharp fingers grab his face forcing it upwards. Dean can smell his sour breath before he feels the warmth fall over his face. “Aren’t we getting tired of playing this game, yet?”
Something jagged slices into his side, and he twists violently to the right of him on reflex trying to get away. The hooks tug against his body, tearing away at his flesh even more than just his own body weight has been. They keep him in place as the uneven metal begins to pull out of his insides, slowly. Unable to keep his breathing steady, he begins to gasp in an attempt to stay still.
“Open those pretty green eyes for me.” Alastair hisses in his ear, leaning onto his body. “I want you to see what I’m going to do to you. I want to watch them fill with fear as I reach for my next toy; just for you. I want to watch every ounce of hope drain out of them.”
Dean squeezes his eyes even more tightly closed as the metal finally slides free from his body. He feels a hot wetness begin to trickle out of his side and down his leg. Alastair’s hand fall free from his face, letting his head drop. Dean takes a few unsteady, deep breaths, trying not to think about the searing pain searing radiating from his side.
“If you won’t open those eyes, I will just have to open them for you.”
Cold fingers suddenly press into his eyes, digging for his eyelids. Dean lets out a hoarse scream, squeezing them tighter against the pressure. Forcefully, they are pried open and begin to water as the pressure stops. Alastair pulls his eyelids up with a sickening smile, and immediately Dean feels something sharp jab into them. He tries to squeeze them shut again, but something is forcing them to stay open. The new, fresh pain to his body is beyond excruciating. Bile builds up in his throat as he begins to choke out screams against the agonizing pull of his eyelids trying to blink.
”There we are.”Alastair smiles down at Dean. “Much better now, mm, yes, I think so.”
Dean’s eyes burn against the air, unable to close them. His eyes dart around desperately trying to find something to focus on that isn’t the demon in front of him. The onslaught of the dull light seems too bright, and his vision begins to blur with dryness. Every movement of his eyes pulls at what he believes to be hooks inserted into his eyelids.
The blurred figure he knows to be Alastair shadows his vision as he leans over Dean again. He feels something smooth tighten around his neck, and he wheezes trying to take in a breath of the foul air. At least he knows that it is only the leather strap holding his head upright, this time. Not the metal one with nails poking through.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Alastair hisses into his ear.
Alastair bites down on his earlobe and Dean tries to jerk his head away. He screams as the hook through his left eyelid rips through the flesh. He squeezes it shut as he suddenly realizes his mistake. Dean cuts off his screams quickly as the demon laughs in front of him. Not screaming makes it worse, but screaming only encourages the pain. He’s damned either way.
Alastair always seems to be testing him to see how much pain he can inflict before Dean’s voice becomes raw, and swears he can feel his throat bleeding. Sometimes, Alastair would cut off his ability to make any sound before he got started. There was no outlet for release. There was only the wet sound of the demon tearing his body apart in ways he never thought to imagine. Over and over he was sliced and left broken apart-figuratively and not. Only after coming to, after he lost consciousness, was his body whole again; memories still intact.
Dean feels wetness running down his face. He has no idea if it’s his own tears or blood from his eye. More than likely a mixture of both. Pride and the care for modesty has long since left him behind. The demon has seen him most vulnerable and then some. There is nothing left inside him. He wonders to himself again, why he still holds out? Why he doesn’t just give into the offer? There was a reason he kept saying “no”, wasn’t there? It feels like there is, or should be. Maybe it was a person? Probably someone close to him, but that other life is gone. No one is coming to save him. It’s been too long-years.
Dean tries to open his eye, but something hot and wet mats it closed, throbbing in protest against his attempt. He tries to make out what the demon in front of him is doing, but his vision has gone far too cloudy to make out anything other than darkened colors. He feels Alastair’s finger curl into his unmarked side right before something is quickly sliced across his chest.
He tries to hold back the screams, but after what seems like days, they rip from his raw throat in attempt to dull the nauseating torment. They encourage the sick demon to push his blades in harder, twist his tool more slowly, and insert his fingers deeper into his open wounds. Alastair’s laughter echoes around the room as he rips into him. Any hope of ever being saved slips away from Dean, as he succumbs into blackness.
~ ~ ~
“-en your eyes! Fuck, Cas! Do something!” He knows this voice. There’s something about this voice that almost makes him want respond to it.
“What would you have me do, Sam?” He hears a familiar gravelly voice over top of someone’s screams. The darkness around him begins to lighten.
“He’s been like this over thirty minutes! Wake him up! NOW!” He wonders who the screams belong to. It sounds painful, almost like the person is breaking apart inside.
He begins to feel something warm pulling him away from the darkness, but fights against it. He doesn’t want to go back towards that screaming. He wants to let the darkness overtake him again. He doesn’t feel anything, anymore But those familiar voices…
“-Adagita ome.” The person’s deep voice gently nudges at his memories. Isn't there something he is supposed to be doing?
“En samevelaji coredozodizoda.” He can’t hear any more screaming. “Olani vnig ol. Odo zomdv moanu.” Maybe Alastair finally got sick of person who’s screams belong to and-
“Ol aziazor elasa.” Dean blinks open his eyes to see a face just inches away staring down at him.
“Cas…” He whispers, voice coming out rough and raw.
Dean brings a hand up, placing it gently over the side of his angel’s wounded face. The azure eyes open wide at the touch, face falling completely blank. His hellish memories abruptly crash over him, and Dean lets out a strangled choke of air feeling as if he was just kicked in the chest. He jerks his hand away from Castiel’s face as if the skin had just burnt him. He stares up at his angel as he pushes against the seat of where Dean is laying, moving farther away from him. Dean hesitantly brings his fingers towards his eyelids, touching them apprehensively. Finding them still intact, he looks around at his surroundings finally taking in that he is laying in the backseat of the Impala.
“What the hell were you thinking?!” Sam’s voice breaks slightly as Dean grunts, sitting up and glancing over at him.
Sam stares at him red faced, hair strewn every which way, crouched low on ground just outside of the door. Dean leans forward and runs a hand through his hair, trying to come up with something that would make any type of sense. His hand snags in his matted hair. He brings it to the front of his face, staring at the darkened smears across his hands.
“I’m fine.” He mumbles dropping his bloodied hand to his lap.
“Are you even listening to yourself?” Sam’s voice rises slightly to a half hysteric tone. Dean hears the sound of the leather strain as Sam sits beside him. “This is far from you being ‘fine’. Seven bodies, Dean. Seven. It was a fricken bloodbath, and somehow you got of there with barely a scratch. Why did you go off on your own after everything we’ve been through lately? Haven’t you learned from what’s happened that that’s not a good idea? Who were those guys? How did you even know they were there? Seriously, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since-“
“Sam.” Castiel interrupts him, voice full of warning. “Enough.”
“No Cas!” Dean clenches at his brother snapping at Castiel. “You’re thinking the same thing I am! This is getting out of hand. Mark or no Mark, Dean is out of control. We have to handle this before it gets worse, or something serious happens that we can’t fix.”
“Stop!” Dean lifts his head up at Sam narrowing his eyes. “I’m right fucking here, stop talking about me like I can’t fucking hear you.” He shakes his head and lets it drop behind him against the back of the seat. “I can take care of myself. I’m good.”
“No you can’t. And you know what? You’re the only one who thinks you have to. You don’t have to handle this on your own. Cas and I, we keep trying to help you and you keep pushing us away.” Dean closes his eyes tightly trying to control the urge to snap back at his brother. “You’re on edge, you’re erratic- except for when you’re hunting, because then you’re downright scary. You’re tail-spinning…” Dean raises his head, looking straight ahead out the windshield of the car. His arm begins to throb, but on top of the usual burn he feels like he is going to be sick. “You refuse to talk about it, and won’t let us help you.”
Dean shoves his way on top of Castiel’s lap trying to get his head out of the side of the car. He ends up lying somewhat on top of his legs barely getting his head out in time to lean over, retching what can’t be anymore than bile onto the gravel under him. His eyes begin to sting, tears dripping down his face as his stomach clenches again. He squeezes his eyes tight trying not to look at his mess as more tears spill over.
“Fucking seriously…Damnit Dean...” He hears the groaning of the leather seats as Sam climbs out of the car. The jostling from the door slamming makes his stomach uneasy, again. Something heavy lies across his back, but he doesn’t have it in him to shove it away.
“Dean, I don’t…” Castiel’s rough voice whispers, tentatively. “I don’t know what to do to fix this.”
Dean spits out onto the ground underneath him as Castiel’s hand rubs a slow circle in between his shoulder blades. He pathetically wants to arch his back into it, but catches himself before he moves. As much as he’d love to soak into the feeling of the warm touch, the position he’s in has Castiel’s knees digging into his gut. Dean opens his eyes pushing himself upright, and feels Castiel’s hand slide off his back leaving it cold. He fumbles to get back over his angel’s legs, flinching as his stomach starts to tighten again.
He watches Castiel’s hands fall into his lap, tilting his head at him in a way that use to make Dean smile. He shifts his gaze out the side window, avoiding his angel’s intense gaze. He peers out of the window to see a road in front of him, and wonders where they are. He has no idea how long he’s been out, or even where they’re headed. Sam ‘s body is pressed against the driver’s side door, leaning over the roof.
“Where…where are we?” Dean whispers, looking over to his brothers body pressed up against the driver’s side door.
Dean leans his forehead against the cool window, listening to Castiel adjust in the seat beside him. “I believe we are in Indiana. Or at least close by. I am unsure if we crossed over yet.”
“How long have I been out?” Dean breath fogs the window, his vision of Sam disappearing slightly.
“A few hours, this time.” Castiel clears his throat. “Dean, the dream you-“
“You and I both know it wasn’t a dream.” Dean turns his head around to face Castiel. “You know exactly what I see when I shut my eyes.”
His angel’s face hardens, his piercing blue eyes narrow at him. “I do not understand how the walls crumbled that we put up. I never meant-“
“Stop. It’s stupid to think they’d last forever.” Dean shrugs. “I just have to man up and deal with it. They’re not so bad, anyway.”
Dean bites his lip as Castiel eyes burn furiously into him. His lips pull back into a snarl. It was far from the scared, blank faced Castiel he’s been accustomed to over these past weeks.
“Not that bad?!” Dean edges his body closer to the door as Castiel leans forward. “I can almost feel your soul screaming out in agonizing pain, Dean Winchester. Do you realize you still call for your brother to save you, at times? We both know those are the better memories.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and then slams his hand down in between the slim space between them. “There is nothing I can do to save you this time! Heaven only knows how your human body hasn’t forced you into insanity at this point.” Castiel leans closer towards Dean, his bright blue eyes never straying from his own. “The only purpose I have ever had was to save and protect you-to keep you safe. I have done nothing but fail, bringing only trouble for you and your brother. I was stupid not to see what was happening with the demons, and now you are paying the price for my failings.”
“Cas, you didn’t-“
“Your screams I heard all the way from Hell are forever etched into my mind. Hearing them rip from your throat again…” Castiel’s eyes search his so intensely that Dean feels his cheeks begin to flush. “I tore through armies of demons to save you from that torment. Your soul burned so brightly-the brightest I have ever seen. Even after all that unfathomable pain, it never dulled. I promised you I would keep you safe, and I’ve failed so many times since then.” Dean jerks back as Castiel’s hand rises slowly towards him. “When I lost my grace, I became a burden. I am worthless without it, weakened and impure…” Dean stills at Castiel touches two fingers to his forehead. After a breath, he lets his hand drops, leaving Dean’s skin tingling from his touch. “Useless.”
“That’s bullshit. You can’t really be blaming yourself for all this bad shit?” Dean stares at his angel, eyes looking over his whole body.
He had lost a significant amount of weight; his dark unruly hair was longer than he’d ever seen it, causing strains to fall across his eyes occasionally when he moved. Castiel’s stubble was growing thick from multiple days of not being shaved, and he had dark circles under his eyes. But the most human looking thing about him was the unhealed open wounds across the side of his face from Abaddon’s nails.
Dean returns his gaze back into Castiel’s hard, piercing eyes. “Crowley stole your grace, you didn’t give that away. This isn’t your fault. And what happened to you…well, I shouldn’t have left you alone to begin with.”
Castiel shakes his head. “You don’t understand! I shouldn’t have let myself get into that situation in the first place. After you came back in the room early without Sam, and-“ He cuts off his words, eyes going wide.
Dean narrows his eyes as Castiel’s words hit him like a smack across the face. “You”. Of course he still thought him to be the one who hurt him. The one who made him impure. Dean turns his face from Castiel, staring back out the windshield at the steadily lightening sky.
“Dean, I didn’t mean you-“ Dean reaches for the door handle, yanking it open, cutting off Castiel’s voice.
He slams the door closed behind him; shivering as the chill in the air wraps around him. Dean turns to his brother who is still leaning against the car, head lying on his arms crossed over the roof. He leans his back against his car and stares up at the sky brightening into a faint pinkish orange.
“Where we headed?” Dean mumbles, watching his breath fog in front of him, disappearing with the wind.
He watches out of the corner of his eye as Sam shift beside him, raising his head, staring off in front of him blankly. “Feeling better?”
“Feeling just dandy, Sammy.” Dean clears his throat trying to ignore the sour taste in him mouth, and looks over to him. “Where are we headed? Cause, man, I could really go for a shower to get some of this-“
“What lead were you following?” Sam stands to his full height, looking down at him.
Dean feels a smirk curling up on his lips as he glares up him. “Does it even matter?”
“Of course it fucking matters Dean! Look at you!” Sam waves a hand in front of him. “You’re covered in blood from however many guys, puking your guts out on the side of the road!”
Dean crosses his arms, smirk falling from his lips. “They were shifters, alright? I got a lead on a possible shifter, and I went for it.”
He watches Sam shake his head, trying to ignore the nagging throb beginning to strengthen on his arm. “How the hell did you manage to take them all on with barely a scratch on you?”
Dean pushes down on The Mark as subtly as possible trying to subdue the feeling, turning his body to lean back against the Impala again. He remembers flashes of everything that happened. His vision was sharper; he was able to react faster, somehow, avoiding being hit. He remembers asking the same question over and over again as he ran his blade over and over each one of them. He remembers how much he enjoyed the feeling of their flesh breaking open against his blade. He remembers one of them speaking. Didn’t he answer? What did he say? “I can take care of myself.” He whispers.
He turns his head, slightly, to the sound of the car door opening behind him. He hears Castiel mumble something, and feels the door slam closed. Dean turns his body around to glare at his angel on behalf of his car, only to be meant with Castiel’s furious face glaring back at him.
“There is blood in your vomit.” Castiel states as he moves around the car, stepping into Dean’s space. Dean steps back, eyes never leaving Castiel’s, unsure of how to answer.
“What? Blood?!” He hears Sam’s feet stepping across the gravel. “What the hell!”
Dean licks his lips, glancing over to the side of the car where Castiel exited, and now seeing Sam standing there. He doesn’t even want to try and picture what he left over there. He wants this whole thing dropped, forgotten, and to be on the move again. If only he could remember what that one shifter said? Hadn’t he given the location, to try to have him spare his life, or something? He was almost sure of it. Trying to remember was like watching a movie in fast forward. The more he tried to focus, the more it seemed to blur past.
He looks back over to Castiel, eyes moving to the side of his face. The throb on his arm flares out into a burn, and he lets out a hiss grabbing it. Dean’s head begins to pound as he hears his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears. He kneels on the ground, holding his head trying to push the noise away.
“Rockford, Illinois! He’s in Illinois!” The deep voiced man-no, shifter- yells in front of him, walking back against the wall. “Stop, fuck! Shit, I can take you to him! I can get you in! You fucking killed them all, what the fuck are you!?”
“Look at me.” Dean shakes his head, blinking frantically trying to shake the vision away. A pair of warm hands grabs his shoulders tightly. “Dean, look at me.” He feels a growl escape his lips, trying to shake away the reddening from his vision. The pressure from the hands increases at the noise. “Damnit, look at me!”
Dean’s body tenses, ready to lunge forward to attack the voice. He snaps his head up, eyes meeting blue. He lets out a breath, the blue eyes leaving him breathless. The anger and pounding in his head slowly drains from his body, as the pumping of his blood begins lessen in his ears. His eyes search the intense, commanding cerulean eyes in front of him as his body begins to slump into his grip, slightly.
“Illinois. Rockford, Illinois.” Dean breathes, lowering his eyes to rest on his angel’s chest. “I need to get there.”
“The next place we are going is to a room to sleep.” Sam’s voice responds somewhere above him. “Wherever we need to go can wait a few hours. We are going together, this time.”
Dean shakes his head. “He’s there. I need to get there now.”
“Who’s there?” Castiel asks, voice dipping lower. .
“Me.” Castiel’s hands yank away from Dean. He falls forward a little, before reaching out with his own hands to catch himself.
Dean stares at the gravel underneath him, listening to Castiel rise to his feet, stumbling away from him. He forces out a harsh laugh, trying to ease the steady gnawing hurt in his chest. He shouldn’t expect any different reaction from his angel, honestly. He, in some sense, did rape and beat him-at least in Castiel’s eyes. His only chance of helping his angel’s pain lessen was destroying the one who hurt him. Maybe it’s the only chance to repairing their bond- if it can even be fixed.
“Get in the car.” He hears his brother order.
Dean pushes himself off the ground, turning around and staring at Sam standing in front of Castiel protectively. The Mark itches underneath his skin as anger seeps inside him. Seeing Castiel avoid him is one thing, but this… He shakes his head at his brother, reaching a trembling hand for the handle. Dean opens the door and lets himself in.
~ ~ ~
He’s not tired. Not even remotely. His blood is racing through him as if he just got done running for miles. The sun peeking through the cracks of the curtain are far too bright and annoying to even try and summon sleep. He’s been laying here for what feels like hours listening to Sam’s soft snores trying to remain as still as possible. Everything inside him is screaming for him to jump out of this room and floor it to Illinois without looking back. He knows that if he left him one more time that would be breaking point for his brother.
Dean quietly reaches a shaky hand into his pocket bringing out his phone, and swipes open the screen. The time of ten twenty-two am catches his eye, and he swallows down a groan. He can’t just lay here anymore. He has to get up, move around, and do something-anything.
He hears Castiel shift his body in the bed next to his couch, and shuts off the phone quickly. Not really like the light from his screen will make any difference from the light pouring through the cracks. He swipes back on his screen and scrolls through his contacts. His finger pauses over Crowley’s name.
The demon probably knows what is going on with his body. He was the one who suggested this whole mess in the first place. More importantly, Crowley has The Blade.
He tightens his grip around his phone as his hands begin to shake even more. His heartbeat starts to race at the thought of having The-no, his- Blade in his hands again. Something in him, under his skin, is calling out for The Blade. Almost like a low pitched hum barely audible, yet always present. His skin begins to prickle as he remembers how complete he felt holding it in his hand. A slow smile spreads over his lips as he remembers slamming The Blade into Abaddon’s chest. The memory of his mind melding together with his Blade, and finding a certain calm in the chaos around him makes Dean’s yearning deepen.
He doesn’t just want his Blade. He needs it.
He swipes his long since darkened screen back on again, pressing on Crowley’s number as he sits up from the stiff couch. Dean pushes himself to his feet, quietly rushing himself into the bathroom with the phone ringing in his ear. He quietly latches the door, leaning back against the door staring at the ceiling.
“Dean. My favorite Winchester.” He feels Crowley’s smirk through his gruff words tickling his ear. “How nice of you to check in on how I am doing.”
“We need to talk.” Dean whispers, loudly.
“I’m hurt.” Crowley mocks, dryly. “Deeply.”
“Can you-“ Dean blinks rapidly seeing The King of Hell appear suddenly in front of him.
Dean pockets his phone as Crowley slips his own into the inner pocket of his jacket. He looks back at Dean with a smug smile. “Miss me that much, eh? Couldn’t wait to see me again?”
“What the hell is wrong with me?!” Dean hisses as quietly as possible.
“Liquor before beer? Bad taco?” Crowley shrugs slightly. “How the hell should I know?”
Dean grits his teeth at Crowley’s sarcasm, holding back the urge to wipe that smile off his face. “I can’t turn it off! Ever since I killed Abaddon it’s…it’s like this whole other thing.” Dean looks around the bathroom, running a hand through his hair, and licking his lips. “It’s like I get this high. I…I…I need to kill. I mean, I really, really need to kill. And if I don’t I-“
“Yak your guts out.” Crowley deadpans. Dean flicks his glance up to him, nodding slightly. “It’s The Mark.”
Dean’s furrows his forehead. “Meaning?”
Crowley sighs, rolling his eyes. “Wants you to kill. The more you kill, the better you feel. The less you kill the less better you feel.”
Dean shakes his head, trying to comprehend everything The King of Hell was saying. He couldn’t mean…no, that couldn’t happen. He has to protect Sammy. He has to keep his word to Castiel.
Castiel.
His eyes widen slightly, looking back over to Crowley. He still has his angel’s grace. How had he pushed that aside like nothing, again? He is so focused on getting The Blade back in his hands, and what is going on with his own fucked up body, that he didn’t even take a second to remember that Crowley still has Castiel’s grace. That should have been his first thought and priority. This fucking Mark is messing with more than just his body now. It’s twisting what’s important.
Dean narrows his eyes at Crowley, hesitating his question. He can fix both his angel and himself. He can make this all right. He knows the demon has answers. He just isn’t really sure if he wants to hear this answer, though. “How much less better?” He realizes his voice has come out more horse than he meant it to.
“One would imagine the least, best better.” Crowley holds his gaze, face falling neutral.
“So…dead?” Dean breaths out, watching Crowley nod in response. “Wait…Cain had The Mark. He didn’t die.”
“Cain is a demon.” Crowley waves his hand up and down his body. “Your body isn’t strong enough to contain The Blade’s power.”
He wants to be insulted, but knows Crowley is telling the true. He can feel the power, even now without The Blade in his hand. There has to be some way, though, to stop whatever is happening to him. “What if I got rid of it?”
“You want to get rid of it?”
The thought of him being without The Blade almost makes him sick again. The Mark’s itch burns painfully on his arm, as he rubs circles on it. He can feel power running through his veins, even without The Blade in his hand. The thought of what he did to those shifters in the room makes his stomach twist, yet fills him with such…satisfaction. He feels a smile twitch at the corner of his lips remembering the feel of the knife slicing into their throats. It makes him want back that calm, back. He wants to give into that state of hyper aware; uncaring about anything and everything. Just existing in a bloody haze of bodies.
No. This isn’t right. This isn’t who he is…Is it? “What I want is…” Dean squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. He needs to focus back to the reason he’s fighting. The one who he has been fighting for. “…The guy who hurt Cas.” He says slowly, opening his eyes to meet Crowley’s.
A smile stretches slowly over the demons lips. “Well then, gorgeous. Let me go grab that knife, and go get him, shall we?”
“Wait.” Dean steps closer to Crowley. “Castiel’s grace, first.”
Crowley sticks his hands in his jacket pocket, and stands up a bit straighter. “Time is of the essence, love. We’ve already wasted a precious amount carrying on. How about after this is all done we give your boyfriend back his wings, hm?”
Dean grabs Crowley’s jacket collar, pulling him face to face with the demon. “He’s been through enough, Crowley. No more waiting. We made a deal, and I came through on my end. I killed that red haired bitch. Hell, I even saved your ass!” Dean tightens his grip on his collar. “Give him back his grace.”
“What if I told you I had information about a certain shifter?” Crowley looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. “A shifter who might still be wearing a certain someone’s skin.”
Dean lets go of The King of Hell’s jacket, stumbling backwards. “He’s still…” He can’t wrap his head around this. He hasn’t shifted since Castiel? Why? He should have known he would be easier to find. This doesn’t make any sense.
“But my sources tell me he won’t be there for much longer.” Crowley cocks his head at him. “Need I remind you I am a busy man. Rebuilding Hell…”
Dean leans back heavily against the grimy sink. “I got his location.” He runs a hand through his hair trying to slow his thoughts. “I could be there in a few hours. Cas could have his grace...”
“And he wouldn’t be there by the time you arrived.” Crowley sighs. “I can get us there within a few minutes.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Your call, love. Naturally. We could be done with this, back in time before anyone is the wiser.”
“And you’ll return Castiel’s grace?” Dean looks over at Crowley, mind spinning with too many thoughts. He searches his face for any inkling he might be lying.
“The moment we return.” He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. “It’s of no use to me, anyway.”
Dean licks his lips, gripping the sink behind him tightly, trying to calm his shaking hands. It was either now, or lose the shifter again and probably for good this time. Sam and Castiel were sleeping. They’d never know he left, let alone what he was leaving to do. There was an uneasy feeling in his gut about this whole situation; a nagging in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite grasp a hold of.
“What’s in it for you? Why do this for me?”
Crowley places a hand over his heart gasping sarcastically. “And here I thought we’ve bonded with our time together.” He lowers his hand, sticking it back in his pocket. “You aren’t going to rest until it’s dealt with, obviously. Our concerns should be lying elsewhere. Abaddon’s demons are still out there, searching for the person who killed her.” He nods his head to him. “Wouldn’t want to see your guard slip and something happen.”
He knows he’s right, but still something doesn’t seem right about this whole thing. But if it meant finally setting Castiel free from the shifter out there, it would be worth it. He had his word to keep, after all. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do this.” He pushes himself up away from the sink, watching a slow smile spread over Crowley’s lips.
He blinks a few times at the sudden absence of the demon. He turns off the light, cautiously walking out of the bathroom back into their motel room. Dean reaches for his jacket thrown over the back of a chair, and puts it on as quietly as possible. As he bends down to grab his boots he hears a whimper. Dean pauses, looking over at Castiel’s bed. The sunlight breaking through the curtains has cast a beam of light across his angels face. Dean’s mouth tightens seeing a layer of sweat glistening over his forehead. His hand hovers over his boots trying to figure out if he just imagined the noise or not. Castiel lips seem to be moving in some wordless prayer. His breathing is shallow, almost coming out in gasps. He grabs his boots and moves forward towards the door.
“Dean…” A low, hoarse whisper breaks through the silence of the room.
Dean’s body freezes. Half of him wants to rush over and wipe his sweat away. He wants to comfort Castiel from whatever hellish dreams that are plaguing him. But the other half knows that he is the reason for the nightmares behind his eyelids. He looks back over to Castiel’s face, which remains unchanged. Sweat still glistens over his pale face; his chapped lips partially opened moving with no sound. Dean turns back to the door, unable to look at his angel anymore. He opens it as quickly as possible to try and escape the screaming in him to stay and take care of his angel.
“Thought you may have changed your mind.” Crowley says leaning against the building.
“Let’s get this over with.” Dean bends over to put his boots on. “You got The Blade?”
Crowley opens up his jacket exposing the tip of the handle peeking out of his inner pocket. Dean’s body begins to hum with energy. He fumbles through finishing tying his laces, and pushes himself up moving forward all in one motion. Crowley chuckles and takes out The Blade running a hand over the teeth of the bone. Dean licks his lips, eyes locked onto his Blade. He swears he can hear it calling out to him. Whispering to him words he can’t really make out, but knows they are only for him. The hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise as he reaches out his shaking hand to take it. The Mark’s burn intensifies painfully as his fingers brush the hilt.
Dean wraps his hand around his Blade closing his eyes. He lets out a small sigh as he feels the connection become complete again. Dean feels his racing blood begin to slow, and brings his Blade up to rest on his forehead. He opens his eyes which immediately focus on Crowley who looks at him curiously.
“If you’re done with your little moment…” Crowley places a hand on his shoulder.
Before Dean has time to blink, he nearly falls to his knees as they appear on a sidewalk in front of a diner.
Dean groans, quickly tucking his Blade in the back of his jeans. “Warn a guy next time.”
“So sensitive.” Crowley opens up the door of the diner, looking back at Dean. “Coming?”
Crowley disappears through the door leaving Dean’s only option to follow. He stumbles in after the demon, following him to the table a waitress is placing them. Why are they here? Is this where the shifter is going to be?
“Hi! I’m Erika,” The brown haired girl announces a bit too chipper. “I’ll be your waitress. What can I get for you fella’s?”
“Coffee. Black.” Dean mumbles sitting in the chair across from the demon.
“Really? You can’t be serious.” Crowley raises an eyebrow. “You take this girl’s table, her time, and for what? What’s the tip on a single cup of Joe? A nickel?”
Dean narrows his eyes over to him. “Double cheeseburger, everything. Heavy on the onions.”
“You got it.” The waitress says cheerfully writing down his order and rushing away.
“What are we doing here, Crowley?” Dean leans back on his looking around the diner.
“You ever get tired of the rat race? Never get the urge to just bugger off and howl at the moon? Never ask yourself ‘is this it? Is this all there is?’” The demon stares at Dean with his hands folded under his chin.
”What the hell is wrong with you?” Dean shakes his head, looking over to a family walking in through the door.
“Just trying to make conversation.” He unfolds his hands leaning back in his chair.
“How’s Hell, Crowley? Getting all of Abaddon’s douche’s in line?” Dean asks, squinting at a flyer tapped to the window of the diner, too far away to read.
“Hell’s fine. Hell’s like a Swiss watch. Don’t worry about Hell.” He huffs. “Hell’s complicated.”
Dean snorts, glancing back at Crowley. “Shower sex is complicated. Hell ain’t complicated from last time I was there. Maybe it’s you that’s the problem.”
“Fair enough.” Crowley replies. “What’s your problem then?”
Dean leans over the table glaring up at him. “My problem is we’re sitting in a figgin’ diner drinking coffee instead of out there killing that sonofabitch who attacked Cas.” He sits back up in his seat as Erika comes back to the table with Dean’s cup of coffee. She glances at both of them and leaves quickly without a word. “We’re on a time crunch, remember?” He mocks.
Crowley lets out a chuckle. “Indeed. Timing is always important.” He looks over at the door, and Dean follows his eyes.
Two men dressed in black suits and ties walk in the diner. Dean knows at once they are demons, and reaches behind him, wrapping his hand around his Blade. The Mark on his forearm reacts instantly at the touch, giving him an instant deadly calm.
Crowley raises an eyebrow at Dean, then glances up at his demons. “What do you have for me, gentlemen?”
“Security camera of a Gas-N-Sip near the outskirts of town picked this up.” The smaller of the two demons says handing Crowley a tablet.
“Double cheeseburger with everything.” The waitress announces, placing a plate beside Dean. “Anything else I can-”
“No, we’re good.” Dean interrupts, pushing the plate away from him.
“You frightened the poor girl.” Crowley chuckles again at the waitress hurrying away. “Aren’t we edgy today?”
Dean nods to the tablet. “What’s on that?”
Crowley turns it around letting Dean stare at the black and white footage of himself walking up to the counter with a handful of items. He watches as he looks up at the camera briefly, eyes casting the retinal flare. Dean straightens up, feeling his face fall into a twisted scowl. The fact the shifter hadn’t shifted since he touched his angel makes his skin crawl and blood boil. The Mark on his forearm burns as he hears his Blade whispering for blood. He reaches behind him and adjusts his Blade so it is pressing onto his skin more.
The taller demon bends down and whispers something in Crowley’s ear. He nods and hands the tablet back to the smaller demon. “Thank you, that’ll be all.”
The demon pockets the tablet, and walks back out of the diner. Dean stands up, pulling out his wallet to throw down some money.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Crowley waves to the food in front of him.
“Not hungry.” Dean replies, tossing down two twenties, walking through the diner and out the door.
Dean looks up and down the street trying to get his bearings. Something about this town seems different. It seems smaller and quieter than he remembers. He pulls his jacket tighter around him, turning to the right and walking down the sidewalk unsure of if he’s even headed in the right direction. He needs to move. His blood is racing through his veins knowing he is so close to the shifter who hurt his angel.
“Oy. What's Your plan of action?” Crowley asks, suddenly beside him.
“Kill the bastard. Slowly.” Dean mumbles, walking faster down the sidewalk trying to keep warm.
“In broad daylight? Really now?” Dean feels Crowley’s hand grip his shoulder, pulling him to a stop. “How about we wait till he’s inside his little hole, shall we? No need to draw unwanted attention to a fight with yourself.”
Dean slaps his hand away. “You said he would be gone soon. No time to get Castiel’s grace back. So what are we still doing standing here instead of where he is?!”
Crowley sighs rolling his eyes and sticks his hands in his jacket pocket. “Impulsive as ever.”
Dean steps closer to Crowley, face inches away from his. Their breath fogs and swirls together as Dean jabs a finger into his chest. “You’re gunna take me to him right now. I’m stick of playing these games with you.”
“And then what?” Crowley asks, smirking up at him. “Kill the shifter; go back to your angel in that dirty motel room with The First Blade. Once he gets back his feathers, that’ll be the first thing to go.” He lowers his voice to a gruff whisper. “It won’t make the need to kill any better. It’ll make it worse.”
Dean pushes him back and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. He thinks back to their conversation in the bathroom before they left. He would have to keep killing to hold it together, and even then The Mark’s power is too much for him. He would have to get rid of The Mark all together. His entire arm burns as if on fire at the thought. Dean hisses in pain, squeezing The Mark tightly.
“Just get me to whatever fucking part of Rockford he’s in.” Dean says rubbing The Mark through his jacket.
“Quincy, Indiana actually.” Crowley corrects.
Dean glares at Crowley. This wasn’t right. Something in him, again, pulls that something is off. “Why the fuck are we in Quincy? The shifter I gutted said he was in Rockford!”
“The location he gave you was more than likely to lead you astray, or at the very least, by him some time.” Crowley steps closer to him, as a woman passes beside them walking her dog. “My sources spotted your adorable twin, here. So here we are. Obviously he doesn’t tend to stay in one place too long, or I have no doubt you would’ve caught up with him.”
Dean clinches his fists to try and steady them. He squeezes his eyes shut as red pulses around the edges of his vision. Everything Crowley was saying was beginning to jumble inside his head. Nothing-none of this- was making any sense. The need for running his Blade through something-anything- was increasing. He needed to kill the shifter. The Blade was singing for blood, and his body was begging answer the plea.
He feels the weight of Crowley’s hand on his shoulder and tries to shrug it away. The demon presses his fingers in deeper, and Dean opens his eyes to snap at him only to be taken aback by the sudden change of location. They were standing on a gravel drive dusted with snow. Ahead of them was a sad looking barn.
The paint on the building had long since been chipped and washed away, leaving it bare and naked looking. The filthy windows all looked to be broken and smashed in. A pathetic looking side door swings flimsily in cold breeze, making an irritating squeaking noise. There were no tire tracks on the drive showing anyone had been coming or going, let alone any footsteps.
“What is this?” Something about the silence of the area makes his voice come out quieter than he meant.
“This is supposedly where your evil twin has been staying.” Crowley’s forehead creases as he squints at the barn.
“There’s no footprints or tire tracks, Crowley. Not even a hint that anyone has been here since at least the last time it snowed.” Dean waves a hand at the barn raising his voice in frustration. “Fuck knows how long that’s been!”
“This isn’t…” Crowley moves forward towards the barn.
Dean pushes past the King of Hell stomping angrily towards the doorway opening. He steps inside the threshold, a shiver racking his body as the frigid, still air wraps around him like a blanket. He looks around darkened open area, only to see nothing. Just a large empty area.
Dean grabs his Blade, pulling it out and turning towards Crowley. The Mark pulses on his forearm, sending his blood hammering loudly in his ears. His vision tints red as he slams the demon against the doorframe, pushing his Blade against his throat. Crowley narrows his eyes up at him, remaining silent.
“Where the fuck is he?!” He hisses pushing his Blade harder against his throat. “There’s nothing here!”
“I was told he was here. Clearly,” Crowley’s nods his to the side. “He isn’t here.”
“Who told you?!” Dean pushes his Blade up against the demon’s jaw, licking his lips as a trickle of blood drops down his neck.
The red darkens his vision as he feels the painful burning itch on his forearm ache; it makes his hand begin to shake even more with restraint. He feels his Blade’s want join with his desire for him to see the demon lying in a pool of his own blood. His heartbeat continues to pound loudly in his ears making the whispers just background noises. Dean takes in a sharp breath. No. He wouldn’t let The Mark control him. He was in control. He could do this. He shakes his head forcefully, trying to compose himself.
“Easy now, mate.” Crowley says in a low voice, locking eyes with him.
Dean blinks down at the demon’s brown eyes. He lowers his Blade, only then realizing how terribly his hand is shaking. He grips onto the hilt painfully, letting out a frustrated scream, and slams his empty fist into the old decaying wall beside him. Dean glares at his fist slightly hidden inside the surrounding wooden wall, as tries to slow his breathing. It wasn’t enough.
“I have a few of Abaddon’s lackeys to weed out, it would seem.” Crowley huffs behind him. “Must not have gotten the bloody message their cunt of a leader is dead.”
Dean lowers his trembling hand, turning around to face the demon. “Where. Is. He!?”
Crowley shakes his head looking away from him. “Wish I knew.”
Dean feels his lips twist. “Not good enough!”
The King of Hell tilts his head back and looks up at him with an eyebrow raised in question. Dean’s hand twitches to ram The Blade into his chest. He bites his lip, hard, trying to focus on the pain pricking his lip. He tastes his own blood, and licks at the wound, forcing himself to ignore the intense pull inside him wanting to make Crowley bleed out.
The demon looks him up and down taking a cautious step towards him. “Let’s get you back, eh? No point in us standing around here in the cold.”
“Fuck that!” Dean snaps. “We need to keep looking for this bastard!”
“Enlighten me, please.” Crowley asks, voice lowering in a warning tone. “Where, pray tell, would you have us bloody look being that this was the last place I was informed he was and would be?”
He tucks The Blade safely into the back of his jeans, and runs a hand through his hair in frustration, begging his mind to think rationally. “The gas station. We could start there. That was the last place he was, right?”
Crowley rolls his eyes, sighing, approaching him and placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Moose and his ways are rubbing off on you. Yes, perhaps that was the last place he was. Did you happen to catch the time stamp?”
Dean narrows his eyes down at the demon. He hadn’t bothered to look, why would he? He only trusted it had been a little bit ago. He had been more focused on watching the person who looked exactly like him, and fighting back the sudden rage to rip the fucker apart. Just thinking about it made his anger prickle the hairs on the back of his neck, and breath quicken.
“I’ll take your silence as a no, then. I am sure if we watched the footage, paying closer attention, we would find it hours ago. Possibly even days.” Dean feels Crowley’s grip tighten. “Simple mistake on our parts. Let’s get you back to your fabulous establishment, shall we?”
Dean feels his stomach tighten as Crowley moves their location once more. As his feet hit the ground he stumbles forward out of the demons grip, leaning over himself trying to fight back the familiar feeling of wanting to spew his guts out. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, biting back a groan as his body reacts to the sudden change.
“I said fucking warn a guy next time you did that!” Dean snaps gasping in the cold air, trying to calm his stomach.
“As if you would go, willingly.” Crowley chuckles, forcing out the last word. “Honestly you’re like a child with all your kicking and screaming.”
Another wave of anger floods throughout his body, teasing The Mark. He feels his Blade resting against his lower back, encouraging him to bask the feeling. It begs him to give in and feed into the emotion. Dean stands up slowly seeing the King of Hell leaning against the side of his car. Crowley’s usual smirk greets him as his hand twitches to reach for The Blade and wipe it off his smug face. Dean bites down on his lip trying to fight through the feeling, and clutches his fists to the side of him attempting to still their shakes. He glances behind the demon to the motel. The memory of Castiel whispering out his name, covered in sweat comes flooding back.
“I’ll torture out the location of where your adorable twinsie is, and get back to you shortly.” He pushes up off the side of the car.
Shortly could mean anything. It might be hours-days, even. Anything was too long. Crowley had promised him Castiel’s grace on return, and so help him, he’d better deliver. His angel deserved better than what he was going through these past weeks of being human.
“First you’ll get Cas’ grace.” Dean looks back to the King of Hell. He watches the demon return the look with an amused smirk in response.
“You’re like the nagging wife I never wanted.” Crowley mumbles, rolling his eyes. “I’ll bring back Feather’s angel juice.”
Dean huffs at the sudden absence of the demon. He really wants to believe Crowley, but if the past means anything, everything was always done on the demon’s own timeframe. He lets out a sigh and begins walking towards the door of the motel room. The sun that been sneaking in through the curtains earlier was now covered up by some dreary gray clouds that seemed not only to darken the day, but Dean’s feelings. He notices the cold seems to be more biting here than Quincy, and he quicken his steps up to the door.
Reaching for the doorknob a loud heavy thump shakes the door. Sam must be up and saw he was gone. If he’s throwing things he must be pretty damn angry. Dean bites his lip again, trying to come up with some sort of story off the top of his head. He shakes his head and stands up straighter. Whatever, he isn’t a kid. He could’ve just gone for a walk to get some air, or something. Pretty much what happened anyway.
Sucking in a deep breath, he wraps his fingers around the cold metal of the doorknob, but pauses as he hears something heavy slam against the wall inside, shaking the door. Dean tilts his ear closer to the door trying to make out any voices. He hears a deep muffled voice and another heavy thud. He lets out his breath, deciding he has to face the music eventually, and twists the doorknob pushing the door open in one quick motion.
The first thing that catches his eye is Sam lying face down on the floor a few feet from the door, bleeding and unmoving. The Mark ignites into a searing burn, which makes it feel as if fire is running through his veins. Red immediately threatens to fill his vision, but Dean shakes it away. His eyes quickly search over the small trashed room for Castiel. His Blade begins burn against his skin, calling for Dean to use it. He reaches around behind him, grabbing his Blade with a tingle of relief to have it back run through his body. Dean pulls his Blade out, eyes finally resting on Castiel’s terrified, tear streaked face.
A short brown haired guy in a plaid shirt has Castiel pinned up against the wall by his neck. His angel’s feet dangle helplessly a few inches off the ground. Castiel is pulling and scratching at the strangers hands, but it doesn’t even seem to be bothering the guy at all.
“Get away from him!” Dean yells in a deep voice, cautiously walking inside the motel, eyes glancing around for another person.
“Well aren’t you a surprise, you handsome sonofabitch.” Dean narrows his eyes at the voice. He knows that voice. A sickening feeling hits him as he realizes that, that’s his voice. “Thought I had more time.”
The stranger lowers Castiel to the ground, and Dean watches as the man lets his hand fall from Castiel’s neck to wrapping around his waist. The stranger circles behind his angel, pulling Castiel tightly to his body, making Dean have a sudden urge vomit. Dean tries to make his body respond to his demands to move, but finds himself frozen in place as he locks his angel’s wide, frightened blue eyes. He scans his face for anymore injuries, only finding it wet with tears, the paleness fading as he gasps for air.
Dean forces his eyes to break away from the terrified blue, only to watch the man dip his head down over Castiel’s neck. Dean stares, frozen in horror watching the stranger run his tongue up his angel’s neck up to his jaw line. A growl rips from his lips as he steps forward, body snapping back into attention. The man lifts his head up, away from Castiel’s body, meeting Dean’s eyes. He takes in a sharp breath as he stares back into his own same green eyes. Dean watches as a smile spreads over his own lips as the shifter tilts his head over to bite down on Castiel’s earlobe. He lets out a chuckle as Castiel hisses at the pain.
His Blade’s whispers beg for their wants-needs- to be filled. The voices begin to sing inside his head, muting out everything else around him. He can feel The Mark’s excruciating burn on his arm, as a snarl rips past his lips. His skin prickles with energy as he feels power coursing throughout his body. The red changes into a dark ruby color, flooding over his vision. Deane barely realizes his body being walking forward towards the shifter, until he is a few feet away.
“Ah ah ah.” The shifter’s left hand moves out from behind Castiel and he presses an angel blade to his throat. “Wouldn’t want to do anything to harm my angel, now would we? How about you drop that blade you got there, sweetheart.”
Dean forces his body to stop moving, the deep crimson color ebbs across over his vision. How did the shifter even get his hands on an angel blade? He grips his Blade tighter, refusing to let it go, and grits his teeth in frustration. This was the shifter who tortured his angel, giving him nightmares every day since he’s been human. This was the monster he had been searching for, for weeks without any trace. And now he was here, still wearing his own damn skin like a taunt, and torturing his angel, again. And for what? Why?
“Why?” The words come out deep and low, vibrating through his chest. He continues to glare at his own smiling face, coldly.
The shifter pushes the angel blade against Castiel’s throat harder, making an animalistic noise escape from Dean’s lips. The crimson color darkens around the edges of his vision, as he stares helplessly at his angel’s face. Castiel lets out a mixture between a grunt and a whimper, his pleading eyes never moving from Dean’s.
“We’re not bad people, ya know? We are just out there, living our lives, minding our own business…” He says wistfully. “And then Dean Winchester has to come along.” Dean watches Castiel squeeze his eyes closed, letting out a hiss as the shifter pushes the blade deeper into his throat. “You came along and started killing us. All of us, not even shifters, but every person you deemed ‘monster’. People who had done nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing, but you still felt the need to kill them.”
Dean holds up his hands in front of him, eyes darting back and forth between the shifter and his angel’s bleeding neck. “We don’t kill for the hell of it. There is always a reason.”
He hears his own voice laughing at him. The shifter shakes his head and smirks back at him. “There I was, minding my own business, trying to get by in another shitty town, and then I see you and your brother.” The shifter leans his head against Castiel’s face, lips pulling up into a grin. “Who knew the great, famous Dean Winchester could ever have feelings. I sure as hell was surprised. Ya know everyone thinks you are a coldhearted killing machine? But then I got inside your skin-saw inside that beautiful fucked up mind of yours- and found out how many feelings you really do have. How much more than family you really want your angel to really be.” Dean licks his lips, eyes darting up at Castiel’s quickly, then back at the shifter. “Doesn’t it just piss you off that I got to kiss those lips before you? I got to know what he tastes like before you could even let those balls drop to do it. Doesn’t it just piss you off to know I’ve-well, you, really- technically ruined him?” He lets out a chuckle and winks at Dean. “And any chance of anything for the future?”
The shifter nuzzles into Castiel’s neck. Dean grinds his teeth together, glaring at the shifter. He grips his Blade tighter as Castiel tries to move his face away only to let out a breathless whimper as the blade pushes against his neck. “I bet angel boy here can’t even look at you anymore without remembering that night. Bet you wished you knew filthy he sounds with your dick in his ass, hm? He must hate himself every damn second knowing how truly messed up you made him. You must be the most disgusting thing to him. You’re always there, haunting him with memories. You became the monster. Man…that must hurt something bad.” He throws his head back briefly, letting out a deep throated laugh.
“But do you know what I think might hurt worse? Walking in and seeing the one person in this world you love-even more than your damn brother-dead. Past saving. Believe me, I know that feeling.” He sighs standing up straighter. “But you had to go and ruin that.” The shifter shrugs, looking back at Castiel. “I guess I’ll settle with you watching him die.”
Dean can’t hold back the deep red pulsing around his vision anymore. All he feels is hate and rage. All he wants is to see the shifters blood staining his hands, pooling on the floor, and watching the life drain from his eyes. He craves being drenched in the shifters blood so bad his mouth is watering for it. He glances up at his angel’s face, letting the darkened ruby color return.
Dean lets out a deep throated growl as Castiel pulls forward onto the blade, and then slams his head back connecting with the shifters. The shifter’s grip around Castiel loosens as he stumbles backwards, his hand with the angel blade slipping away from his angel. Dean lunges forward raising his Blade as Castiel collapses onto the floor. He feels energy buzzing through his veins in anticipation of slicing his Blade across his own mirrored image’s neck. A flicker of movement from the shifter in front of him sends a warning hum throughout Dean’s body. He watches a flash of the blade glint of the sunlight that has snuck in, right before it dives into in his chest.
The red melts away from Dean’s vision suddenly. He gasps at the sudden loss of the blood colored tint. An alien feeling of a new kind of pain begins to blossom in his chest. He stares in front of him, his own green eyes staring back. He tries to say something, but his mouth refuses to function correctly. All he can feel is the alien pain becoming uncomfortably intense as it starts to spread throughout his whole torso. Dean tries to take in a breath to collect himself, and the pain in his chest becomes agonizing. His Blade suddenly feels too heavy, and his fingers too weak to hold it anymore. Dean lets it slip from hold, falling to the floor. He hears a muffled scream somewhere, but it doesn’t sound right. It almost sounds like the voice is underwater.
Dean wants to scream at the amount of unfathomable pain spreading over his chest. It feels like he was tossed into a fire, and just his insides are burning. It feels like someone is squeezing his throat making it more difficult for him to get any more than little pockets of air in. The shifter leans forward against Dean’s body, forcing a breathless, shaky gasp past his lips at his weight. Blackness threatens the edges of his vision, instead of the usual red he had grown accustomed to. Dean feels a strong urge just to lie down and pass out until the pain goes away. “That’s for my beautiful kitsune, Amy, and her son you left motherless.”
The shifter pulls back away from Dean’s body, sliding the angel blade slowly out with him. Without the shifters weight supporting him, Dean falls to his knees. His body screams for more air, and he tries to breathe in slowly but chokes on something wet blocking his throat. The shifters legs disappear in front of him, leaving only the white of the wall in front of him to blink in silence at. The agonizing pain in his chest seems to have faded, slightly, leaving it a numbing cold beginning to spread.
Somewhere inside him he knows he should checking on Castiel, but an exhaustion deeper than he’s ever felt before is threatening to take him under. He can feel the cold spreading over his body, slowly starting to douse the fire burning its way through his insides. Dean feels his eyes growing heavy, and lets them fall closed.
Something warm is holding onto his shoulders, chasing away the cold inside him. He feels his body falling forward onto a solid mass of the warmth. A dull throb of pain seeps back into the places the cold has melted away. Dean wants to pull away from the person who’s allowing his pain to return. He just wants to rest.
“No! Dean, look at me! No, no, no Dean! Open your eyes! OPEN YOUR EYES!” A panicked, familiar voice breaks through Dean’s heavily fogging mind.
He struggles to make his eyes listen to his command to open, letting out a raspy breath at the effort. Dean forces them open after another difficult attempt, and instantly meeting his angel’s wet, bright unearthly blue eyes.
Dean feels a heavy pressure pushing against his chest, and squeezes his eyes back closed at the discomfort. He briefly wonders why everything isn’t as painful anymore, but the thought quickly dissolves as the cold begins to spread to the edges of his mind.
“It’s okay, Dean. Everything is going to be okay. But you have to look at me!” Dean feels something warm breaking through the numbing cold spider webbing over his face. The heavy warmth pressing into him feels nice, save for the annoying pain attempting to flame back up. He wants to lean into it, but his body doesn’t seem to be listening to him anymore. Dean wonders if that should maybe that should concern him, but pushes the thought away. He is just too fucking exhausted to care.
“No no no! Look at me, damnit! You’re going to be fine! You don’t get to die!”
Dean forces his heavy eyes to flicker back open again. The simple movement alone is draining. Castiel’s eyes are now bloodshot, face wet with tears, and his lips are trembling. Dean’s slowly numbing mind puts together that Castiel’s hand is holding his face and that has been where the warmth is coming from. He blinks slowly trying to focus on his surroundings. He really just wishes he could just close his eyes for a minute longer. Dean eyes catch a ray of sunlight coming from the curtain behind Castiel, and he tries to figure out when his body was moved and turned around. Dean forces his eyes to stay open and glances down at his chest only to see something soaking wet with blood, pushed against his blood soaked shirt.
Everything that has happened what feels hours ago, but more than likely moments ago, hits him. He is dying. He is dying by his own hand, in a way. He couldn’t even keep his word to his angel. It doesn’t even hurt this time, not really. He tries to chuckle at the thought of how many times he’s really died, but only a garbled wet noise reaches his ears.
“You’re going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine, now. Listen to me, the shifter left. He’s gone.” Castiel’s voice breaks as he lowers his head, body beginning to shake with sobs.
Dean watches helplessly as his angel’s face crumble into pure brokenness in front of him. He’s never wanted to hold and comfort his angel so badly in his life, and swears he can feel his own heart burning inside him with the want. He tries desperately to make his arms move to reach out and wrap his arms around him, but they don’t seem to work anymore. The desire to pull his angel into his chest, run his hands through his hair, and wipe away those tears is almost so painful the fire he felt in his chest can’t even compare. Dean feels something warm running down his cheeks, as he tries to make his tongue work inside his mouth, but all that comes out is a ragged breath.
“You don’t get to die!” Castiel lifts his face back up, eyes boring into Dean’s with so much raw emotion he wants to look away. “I can’t save you, Dean! I can’t heal you!” Castiel looks behind him quickly, yelling at the room. “Someone…someone help! Please!” Another sob escape his lips, as Castiel turns back, searching his eyes.
Dean feels more pressure being pushed against his chest, and dimly realizes that that is almost the only thing he can feel. He can’t really feel anything anymore, except the smallest warmth of Castiel hand on his face. Dean can’t even feel the cold, but his head feels too foggy and exhausted to really dwell on it. It’s too exhausting to keep his head raised anymore, and Dean lets it fall forward. Castiel’s hand gently raises it back up; his wet, terrified eyes burning into Dean’s. “Please, fuck, Dean! Hang on, please!” The pressure on his chest leaves, and he feels his face being cupped and held up with both his angel’s hands.
Dean wants to close his eyes and sink into the comforting feeling of Castiel’s fingertips rubbing and brushing over his face. Another shaky sob leaves his angels lips, as Castiel’s body begins to shake with more. Dean tries to make his body move to comfort Castiel again, but nothing responds. Dean stares up into his blue eyes trying to will his thoughts and wants into Castiel’s mind. “Please don’t make me do this without you…I…I can’t do this without you, Dean. I don’t know a world without you, anymore.”
“Cas…” Dean whispers out, half surprised his voice is working. He tries to breathe in some air, but only manages to make his body start breathlessly coughing up something wet, thick and coppery tasting. It fills his mouth and he forces out another cough to push the liquid out of his mouth, dripping down his chin. He tries, again, to take in a breath, but it feels as if his throat has swollen closed; air only allowed to pass through an opening of a straw “I’m-I’m sorry I didn’t keep my word.” He whispers, trying to gasp in more air. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“No, no, Shhh, you didn’t hurt me Dean. You saved me okay? You have to stay with me, now though, alright? It’s going to be fine.” Castiel rests his forehead against his. Dean feels something wet drip onto his face, as Castiel’s shaky breath ghosts across his lips.
“He’s right.” Dean forces out the barely audible words. He desperately tries to take in more air, but now his lungs seem to become more unresponsive. “Couldn’t… watch you die. Would’ve…destroyed me.”
“Save your strength. It’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.” Castiel pulls back, eyes glancing quickly down to his chest and then back up to his face. A miserable, broken noise sips past his lips as his body begins to tremble. “Just…hang on, please.”
“Just let me-“ Dean gags at the lack of oxygen as a breathless cough rips through him, forcing his body to jerk violently at its own accord. He feels his eyes go wide, gasping unable to get anything more than a sip of air. “I love you, Cas.”
Dean watches Castiel let out a mixture between a sob and a laugh. The blackness that has been pulsing around the edges of his vision begins to spread over like a drop of ink fallen onto a piece of paper, threatening to overtake it. He wants to shake it away, but can no longer feel anything. Not even his angel’s touch. Everything is just a peaceful nothing, wrapping up him and his exhausted body just begging for him to rest.
“I love you too, Dean.” Castiel whispers.
Dean stares up into Castiel’s blue eyes, wanting to fall into their depth. The blackness spreads fully over his vision slowly, taking away his angel’s blue. He feels the last of all his air breathe over his lips in silent sigh. Maybe now he can just rest. He thinks he hears Castiel’s voice screaming, but the muffled voice fades away too quickly to think about. He’s much too exhausted to want to return to it, anyway. It’s quiet now. Peaceful. There isn’t any pain. There isn’t any cold. There isn’t anything, really. He doesn’t feel a damn thing.
~ ~ ~
Crowley sits on an uncomfortably stiff chair staring at a pool of blood steadily staining the disgusting beige motel carpet. It’s an improvement, really. His phone buzzes for the hundredth time in his inside pocket. He really should silence the wrecked thing. His eyes move upwards to rest upon the blood soaked Winchester lying far too still in front of him.
“Your angel, bless his human soul, is calling me as I speak. To make a deal-bring you back. It’s all become so…” The King of Hell rolls his eyes waving a hand in front of him. “Expectant.” With a thought, the phone becomes silent. He adjusts himself on the chair, resting his arms across the arms of the chair.
“You have to believe me. When I suggested you take on The Mark of Cain, I didn’t know this was going to happen.” Crowley shakes his head to himself. “Not really. I mean, I might not’ve told you the entire truth…But I never lied. I never lied, Dean. That’s important. It’s fundamental.” He glances back at the blood soaking into the carpet, sighing. “But there is one story about Cain that I might’ve…forgotten to tell you.” Crowley leans back against the chair, eyes resting back onto the man in front of him. “Apparently he, too, was willing to accept death rather than becoming the killer the Mark wanted him to be. So he took his own life with the Blade. He died. Except, as rumor has it, the Mark never quite let go.”
Crowley reaches into his jacket and pulls out the forgotten Blade he had picked up off the floor moments ago. “You can understand why I never spoke of this.” He turns it over in his hands, running his fingers over the teeth, feeling out the weight of the old bone. It appears fairly light considering about all the power it truly contains. “Why set hearts aflutter at mere speculation?”
He pushes himself off the chair and walks slowly towards the bed, delicately holding the Blade in front of him. “It wasn’t until you called me…No, it wasn’t truly until you left the cheeseburger uneaten…” He places the handle of the Blade in Dean’s lifeless hand, folding his fingers around it.” That I began to let myself believe...” Crowley bends Dean’s arm so that the Blade lies across his chest, clutched in his cold fingers. “That maybe miracles do come true.”
The demon stands back, eyes scanning the man’s face. “Listen to me, Dean Winchester. What you’re feeling right now is not death. It’s life. A new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. Let’s go take a howl at that moon.”
A moment passes. Crowley watches for any type of movement from the body lying on the bed in front of him. After another breath, he watches Dean’s eyes open. A smile spreads across his face as he stares into his black eyes.
“Welcome back, Dean.” He says watching the demon beginning to rise from the bed. “Let’s go have some fun.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Four months, twelve days and five hours.
He could give the seconds, if anyone ever asked, time meant nothing for angels. He had been through a millennia of moments; from witnessing wars, famine, heartache, death, sadness and thinking nothing of it. He noticed no real stall or endlessness to the tragic things around him. It simply just is, was, and will always be. His knowledge, even now as human, still remained infinite. Both a curse and a blessing, he never forgot nor could forget anything.
Time is ever moving forward without taking into account humanity’s emotions or feelings. He never understood how or why his Father’s creations felt after they lost someone they loved. It simply just was the way it was suppose to be. Death always followed life; everyone had their time. No matter how hard you tried to prevent it, or postpone it, there was no hiding from it. He didn’t understand how humans couldn’t grasp this concept over the course of forever.
Until now.
Castiel had knelt on the blood soaked carpet, cradling Dean’s lifeless body for what felt like hours-days even. He had prayed to his Father to bring him back; screamed for his brothers and sisters to help him. No one answered him, or maybe he didn’t wait long enough. He couldn’t, and will never, be sure. All he knew in that moment was he couldn’t lose both Winchester’s. It was the only thing he knew Dean would want from him was to protect his brother.
He had somehow summoned enough strength to carry Dean off the floor, and laid him onto the bed. He still is not quite sure how he managed to get Sam into the back of the Impala. Sam, later, had claimed it was a mixture of shock and adrenaline, which sounds fairly plausible given the situation.
How he arrived at the hospital in one piece can only be deemed a miracle itself. One hand was on the wheel keeping the car partially on the road, while the other was constantly hitting the redial button. If Heaven wouldn’t answer or help him, Hell was the only answer. Crowley had gotten Dean into this situation, and he would know how to get him out. He would deal away his grace forever if it meant bringing back Dean.
After hours waiting and a dead cell phone tossed somewhere behind him, Sam had finally awoke in a hospital bed with just a concussion, some stitches, and a dislocated shoulder popped back into place. He immediately asked about the shifter. It took every ounce of leftover strength he had left in himself just to explain to the younger Winchester what had happened. Sam’s eyes never strayed from his as they filled with betrayal, hurt, and then anger. The coldness of the stare still haunted Castiel’s nightmares, always reminding him of the disappointment he has become.
Sam had ripped out his iv and demanded to see his brother. Without hesitation Castiel handed the keys over to the younger Winchester, and in retrospect, the haunted look that ghosted his face should have meant something more then. Castiel tried to ignore the dangerous speed that Sam was driving by informing him that Crowley was not answering his calls. All his words were met with silence.
When they opened the motel door and saw Dean’s body gone, as well as the First Blade, Sam fell apart. Castiel could only stand there, staring at the empty bed, unable to feel or process anything. (Later, he would understand this to be another symptom of shock. Sam also mentioned something about him “being numb”.) After seconds, hours, days (all time was blurring the lines of reality), Sam collected himself enough to throw all their things into the Impala and start their beginning journey through countless blurred towns.
The first month they had tried relentlessly in any way they knew possible to summon or contact Crowley. Having no luck whatsoever, days became a blur of countless places holding no real relevance to him. They looked for any sign of demonic activity, always coming with nothing. Sam had hesitantly questioned about Crowley taking Dean’s body to use for his own purposes, simply “throwing out there” that Dean had the Mark, so maybe Crowley thought he could use it. Possibly possess Dean with some random demon, thus having the demon carry the Mark. Castiel had let the brother ramble on with his thoughts, unable to let him know the truth of the situation.
Castiel usually forgot to eat, or maybe he really didn’t care, whichever the case, his weakening body only continued to grow worse. Sam’s pity grew more and more strained towards the end of a month’s mark of Dean’s death. Pity was replaced with frustration that Castiel couldn’t even blame him for. He was frustrated with himself more days than not, but Castiel couldn’t even begin to care. He began tuning out Sam’s lectures on how to take care of himself, and how he needed to “take it easy”.
After two months of fruitless searching, Sam suggested they find a place to stay semi-permanently. Sam tried to explain it would be healthier for him, and he would “recover better”-whatever that means- if they weren’t on the road as much. Recovery never came. He stayed in a never ending cycle of cold sweats, nightmares, coughs, dizzy spells, and never ending weakness. The idea of eating made his stomach turn sour, but he forced himself nonetheless. He did understand the significance of eating to keep the human body alive.
It was two months, twenty-three days, and seven hours that a back-of-the-mind thought Castiel had been pushing aside finally rose to the forefront of his mind. Was he dying? His human vessel had been sustained by his grace. Without his grace, his body must be slowly, but steadily, shutting down.
As quickly as the thought entered, he tossed it away.
Sleep offered him no solitude. Dreams-no, memories- of holding and rocking Dean’s blood-soaked body tightly against him taunted his sanity. Could angels go insane? But, he would remind himself, he wasn’t really an angel, anymore.
He’d wake up to either Sam shaking him or his own screams, he was never quite sure which. His throat would be raw, tears cascading down his face, looking around the room trying to find his Righteous Man. It took less and less time to realize he would never be there, but the pain of reliving his death every night never seemed to dwindle.
Attempting to accompany Sam on cases became close to impossible. He looked “like death”, Sam had said on more than one occasion, even in a suit. Castiel’s mind always wandered elsewhere, and knew he was more of a burden than anything. But honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to care. After two months and twenty-four days since Dean’s death, Sam nonchalantly threw out that maybe his efforts would be better helped at “home” doing research. Castiel had nodded in agreement, and rolled back over in bed ignoring the younger brother sighing again. (All he ever does anymore is sigh at him.) That was the first time Sam had left him alone to work a case a few states away.
It has been a long time since Castiel had a place to call home, if he ever had. Even before he fell, Heaven has long since lost the name or meaning, if it had ever truly held it. He supposed he never really understood the word in its entirety until Dean. His Righteous Man not only became his charge, his human, but he became his home. His entire purpose had become and was for, one man. He understood now, more than ever, home wasn’t just a place. Home was a feeling. A feeling woven deeper than any man known words could explain, and he had put them inside his Righteous Man.
And he had lost him.
Demons seemed to have vanished completely after Dean’s death and Crowley taking the body. Castiel had long since lost the desire and willpower, to help Sam on the field with any other monster. He would sit here, at their current residence, and search the internet, police files, newspapers, FBI database, weather patterns, cattle deaths, and any other form of outside communication trying to find something remotely appearing demonic. Occasionally Sam would call to ask for help on whatever case he was on, and Castiel would give him information needed to the best of his ability. They conversations were kept short and very formal.
When Sam would occasionally ask how he is doing, he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Castiel knew he should try and talk to Sam about how he was doing, but the words were always lost on his tongue. As far as the younger brother was aware, Castiel had only just lost a friend.
Dean was never only just a friend, even before he fell. He had saved and claimed Dean Winchester’s soul from Hell. His true form through grace had left a branded reminder on Dean’s flesh of what was his. His very essence- his grace- had been woven, merged, and fused with his soul on his battle out of the Pit. Their bond between the two of them from that moment on was deeper and more profound than any human mind could grasp. Belonging to someone, forever, beyond flesh and bone was simply unfathomable to the simple mind of man.
He hadn’t told Sam about the details of Dean’s last moments, for whatever reason, it seemed too personal to mention them. It felt as if his last words were something private, like a secret only for himself and Dean to share. Sam never pushed for anything more than what Castiel offered on the subject, but still he wondered what the brother thought when he’d wake up screaming with Dean’s name on his lips.
Sam buried himself in job after job, leaving for longer stretches of time. Castiel couldn’t blame him for wanting an escape away from him. He was the definition of pathetic, and truly a useless burden he was towing around. Hunting and losing themselves in cases was always the Winchester way of working through things, though. With Crowley unreachable, there truly seemed nothing left to do until he reached out or surfaced again.
After four months, twelve days, and six hours waking up isn’t as difficult. It simply just, is. Castiel could tell by the absence of noise from outside the bedroom door, Sam is still away on his latest case. A man who had killed his family three years ago was found dead, he remembers Sam saying before he left. He had seemed excited about it, but then again, Sam always seemed excited about these types of leads. He had left a note on top of Castiel’s laptop encouraging him to look into this case. He stubbornly had taken off the post it note, and stuck it beside his laptop, setting a coffee mug on top of it. It doesn’t really matter either way. It’s never a demon, possession, or something closely related to what they are looking for. It is just another dead end filling the void of something else missing.
Castiel shifts on the uncomfortable wooden chair, scrolling through another online newspaper article about a missing person. This one, just like the last hundreds he’s looked through, it is always more human related than anything supernatural. A shiver shakes through his body as he reaches for his, now, luke warm cup of coffee. He gulps it down anyway. He places the empty cup somewhere beside his laptop, and gets up, and stumbles into the bedroom to retrieve his blanket off the bed.
Four months, twelve days and seven hours.
He retreats back to the wobbly table, comforter wrapped tightly around his shoulders as a cough rips through his lungs. Castiel barely makes it to the chair before he collapses over himself trying to catch his breath. Humans are truly miserable creatures, how can they stand to be in their own skin? Everything seems to be a threat to their immune system and body. Just waking up in the morning and carrying on with daily bodily functions and needs is exhausting.
Sitting up and leaning back against the chair, Castiel takes in a shaky breath of chilled, stale air. It’s a wonder he can’t see his breath, and debates about turning up the heat. He eyes the thermostat on the wall by the door, and weighs the pros and cons of moving to raise the temperature. With a sigh, he decides against it, knowing he will just be soaking in sweat soon enough. He turns back to the open laptop trying to decide where to continue his search.
Castiel eyes catch the bright yellow corner of the day old post-it note sticking out from under his empty coffee cup. He reaches over, moving the cup off to the side, and grabs it. He runs his thumb over the hastily scribbled note from Sam about his current lead. The man’s name is underlined twice, and looks as if Sam had pushed his pen down hard enough to break through the paper. Still, something inside him has been pulling at him to look up the name, Drew Neely. He shouldn’t do this to himself, he knows he shouldn’t. It is never anything more than just a hopeless “what if”, or “could’ve been”.
“Screw it.” Castiel mumbles, laying the paper beside his computer.
Accessing various databases not meant for the public’s eye hadn’t been as difficult as he had originally thought. Sam had taught him within a few weeks time on how to hack into whatever he needed without being noticed or discovered. Sam made it very clear on how important it was that he follows his steps exactly, that way they could never be traced.
Castiel taps his foot impatiently (a terrible human habit he’s developed), typing in the desired information to access information on Drew Neely. Castiel debates, again, about turning up the temperature as he watches the page load. He pulls the comforter around his body tightly, only letting enough space through for his arm to slide out.
The file on Andrew Neely is small. The report starts from his hometown in Athens, Ohio and simply states the facts of the death of his family. Andrew’s finger prints found on the weapon, as well as his bloody footprints leading away from the scene, along with the car being left in the garage. The report continues on showing images of his wife and children’s gruesome deaths, going into detail about their stab wounds, what ultimately ended their lives, and finally their time of death. A statement from a neighbor was added on, almost like an afterthought. The neighbor, by the name of Cynthia Logan, states that the family was “a bit odd, and very serious about their religious beliefs. Even still, I just never thought someone like Drew would do something like this.” It ends with stating his whereabouts are unknown, and the case has grown cold.
Castiel opens up the attached page and begins to read a hastily written paragraph from the Amherst Junction Sheriff Office. A John Doe, who was murdered about a week ago, turns out to be Andrew Neely. After missing for three years, the case can finally be closed. Castiel tilts his head, eyeing a video document labeled “Gas-N-Sip Footage”. He clicks on it, and huddles under his blanket while he waits for it to load.
A black and white image of a dark dressed man flipping through a porn magazine wearing a trucker hat begins to load. He is leaning against the rack of magazines as another man walks up behind him and pulls out an angel blade. Castiel feels the hair begin to rise on the back of his neck as he stares at the trucker hat man, unable to look away. No, it can’t be. He leans forward in his seat letting his comforter fall off his shoulders as he stares unblinking at the screen as the video switches over to another camera. The man in the hat is slowly walking through the store as the man with the angel blade, he presumes to be Drew Neely, approaches behind him.
Castiel squints his eyes, trying to will the camera to angel downward so he can see the man’s face for confirmation on his assumption. He begins to chew on his bottom lip, trying to convince himself it is who he thinks it is. Deep down inside, he knows who belongs to that body. He remade that body. He has long since memorized every movement he can make to every freckle on sprinkling his skin.
The man in the hat spins around, grabbing Drew’s wrist, raising it above his head. Castiel watches as Drew is punched in the chest, then the blade is hit free from his hand. The dark dressed man tosses Drew into a rack of paper towels and he falls off camera. The man pulls out a curved blade from behind his back, and walks halfway off camera to where Drew must lay. Castiel’s eyes widen as the man raises his arm, leans down, and begins stabbing or slicing the man multiple times.
After the man is satisfied, he stands up slowly, finally letting the camera see his face, he looks at something, or someone in front of him. Dean. Castiel lets out a shaky breath trying to calm his blood pounding in his ears. He watches as Dean flips the First Blade in his hands, turning around and saunters over to the scattered paper towels. He bends down and retrieves his magazine, brushing something off of it. Castiel grips the edge of the table as Dean begins to walk forward, heading to the edge of what the camera captures. At the last moment, he looks up at the camera.
Dean.
Castiel jerks his shaking hand forward to the keys, pausing the video footage. He stares at the face of the man he watched die in his arms months ago, yet barely a moment’s time ago. So many mixtures of emotions rush through him all at once; relief, hurt, anger, and sadness. He hesitantly rewinds the footage and plays it again, watching everything more closely than the last time.
He watches all of Dean’s movements adamantly, trying to notice anything slightly off. If anything, they seem more precise, faster even, somehow. He slows the speed down, eyes straining to see his face once more. Castiel pauses the footage right as Dean stands up from killing Drew. A chill shakes his body as he stares at the screen with a mixture of horror and shock. Dean’s black eyes stare back at him. Castiel fumbles over the keys but finally manages to press the button to continue the footage slowly. He watches as Dean’s eyes slowly slide back to normal.
Possession. That’s the only answer. Crowley must have taken Dean’s body, and put one of his demons in him. He must have thought by doing this, he could control the Blade and it’s power. Castiel sits back in his chair, drawing in a deep breath that tickles his lungs. He fights down a cough, trying to stay focused on the situation at hand. From what he knows about the First Blade and the Mark, possession of the body will not work. The Mark is bonded not only to the body, but to the soul. They are an unbreakable connection. Surly Crowley must know this. He has enough knowledge of rare, forgotten items himself. He even spoke with Cain.
He breaks his vision away from the screen to his cell phone. Sam must have seen this same footage, but why didn’t he wake him up and tell him? Castiel’s forehead furrows as he reaches out and wraps his fingers tightly around the cold, hard plastic. If this was about finding and retrieving Dean’s body, why didn’t Sam want to accompany him? Hasn’t this been what they’ve been waiting and searching for?
Castiel scrolls through his short list of contacts to Sam’s name, and hits send. He sits back in the chair listening to the phone ring loudly in his ear. On the fourth ring, he hears faintly hears the younger brother’s voice.
“Sam?” Castiel pushes the phone harder into his ear.
“Sorry, I’m here. Reception is kind of spotty here.” Muffled voices suddenly cut off as Castiel hears the sound of a door shutting in the background.
“I watched the video footage from the gas station that the Sheriff’s office acquired.” His eyes glance back to the screen with Dean frozen, walking away.
“What did you think?” Sam breathes.
“It is, um…” Castiel looks away from the screen and over to the post-it note lying on the table. “You knew, Sam.”
The brother sighs over the phone. “I had my thoughts about everything, yea. You see the eyes?”
“I did.” He squints at the paper making it blur. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I don’t understand-“
“Cas, listen.” He hears rustling in the background. “Everything that happened was a few days ago. Dean-or whatever damn demon in his body-probably isn’t even in the area anymore. Once I get something more than just some video footage I am defiantly going to let you know.”
Everything on the table has blurred into a mixture of colors and shapes. Castiel’s eyes begin to burn with dryness from unblinking. He squeezes his eyes closed, rubbing them roughly. Weak, useless, pathetic human. No one has any need for him. Completely worthless.
“I can help. I could be there-“A cough he has been holding back sneaks up his throat, sending him wheezing and gasping for air for his burning lungs. He tries to collect himself enough to stifle the coughs. His eyes water from the scratchy, harsh barks racking through his body.
After a few minutes he hears Sam sigh over the phone. “I know you want to help, Cas. Listen, there probably isn’t anything here. I’ve already been into the station, talked to the guys about everything. Now I’m just heading over to the Gas-N-Sip to talk to the clerk. So far I’ve got nothing. I mean, we know it was whoever is in Dean’s skin, but…” Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose trying to bite back his anger.
“I know you miss him, okay? I miss him too. Losing your grace, what happened to you, watching Dean…I’m sorry you’ve had to go through so much, Cas. He was your best friend.” He hears the Impala start up over the phone. “I lost my brother and my only family… I lost him too. It’s been hell for both of us. We’re going to get his body back, and figure a way out of this. But until I get something more, there’s no point in you coming along. You just need to be worrying about yourself. Focus on getting better. You don’t need to come with me for nothing.”
Castiel stares at his empty coffee cup in front of him, listening to the rumbling of the Impala through the phone. He should be with him. He shouldn’t be confined in a house like some caged animal. He should be out there with Sam, searching for Dean. He is worth more than this pathetic life he is leading. Dean deserves more than just him sitting around waiting for the chance to step in.
“Cas…” Sam whispers, barely audible. “Do you think there is any chance that Dean is…”
“Remotely Dean?” Castiel sighs pushing back his chair as he stands up and pads into the bedroom. “You and Dean have taught me that there is always a chance for anything.”
“I’ll call after I’m done with the clerk.” Sam says cutting off the call.
Castiel listens to the line fall silent, and throws his phone onto the bed. He pulls out his duffle bag from under the bed, and begins opening up drawers and filling it clothing. He cannot just wait around for updates. This was the first time in months they had any sign of a demon. This was the first time since his death that they had seen Dean. Neither Heaven nor Hell could keep him from saving Dean. It has always been his mission-his purpose. He refuses to let his humanity rid him of that.
~ ~ ~
Four hours into his drive from Lawrence to Amherst Junction, and Castiel is just outside of Ames, Iowa. The flat, yellowed grassland seems to stretch on without any promise of stopping, and he is having trouble focusing. Whatever road he is on now seems to be barren of cars, and the sun setting to the side of him is doing nothing but blinding him without any remorse. The car he has “borrowed” is steadily growing more and more uncomfortable. Just as he is starting to debate driving the rest of the way verses finding a place for the night, his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket.
Castiel begins to slowly pull over to onto the side of the road, pulling out the phone from his pocket. “Hello Sam.”
“Dean is a demon.” Sam states. Castiel slams his foot on the breaks, his whole body jerking forward over the steering wheel in response.
“His body is possessed by a demon. We assumed this.” Castiel replies hoarsely putting the car in park, and unbuckling his seatbelt.
“No, listen. He is the demon.” Castiel stares out the windshield ahead of him, seeing nothing but darkness threatening to slowly swallow up the world. “Listen, I know I said I’d call after I got done talking to the clerk, but he had the guys phone, and-“
“Wait, his phone? Drew Neely’s phone?” The car suddenly feels like it’s closing in on him. He tries to slowly take in a deep breath but stops halfway through inhaling when a cough threatens to escape.
“The gas station clerk found Neely’s phone by the paper towel rack after everything. Anyway, he handed it over and I called the last number on there.” Castiel throws open the door to the car, stumbling out onto the gravel. He lets the door slam closed behind him, and leans back against the confining metal beast, trying to focus on breathing normally again. “The person that answered-was that a car door?”
Castiel leans his head back, staring up at the purple twilight sky. “It was a car door. Continue, Sam. Who answered?”
“How are you in a car? What are you doing?” Castiel winces at the angry tone Sam shoots back with.
“I am borrowing the car; I have every intention to return it to its owner after I am done.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed. “I cannot sit in that room any longer, while you are out following a lead on Dean.”
“He’s not in Wisconsin” He hears the noise of the Impala door squeak over the phone, and Sam sighing. “Crowley answered the phone.”
His eyes shoot open as he gasps in a breath. He hunches over grabbing his sides as a series of coughs escape his throat. “C-C-Crowley?” He sputters through hacks.
“Cas, you really don’t sound that good. Maybe-“
“Crowley had Dean’s body possessed?” He forces out in one breath before barking out some of the last few tickles. Something metallic tasting comes up with the cough, and he spits it out beside me.
He hears Sam sigh again. “Dean is the demon. He isn’t possessed. He is a demon.”
“I don’t understand…” Castiel whispers, staring out across the road, letting everything become unfocused. “Dean died, Sam. I watched him die. His soul should be in Heaven.”
“Crowley made it adamantly clear that it was Dean’s soul inside his own body.” Castiel shakes his head, eyes looking upwards at the beginning of stars filling the sky.
“Why was Neely calling Crowley?”
“I have a feeling he was probably an Abaddon minion trying to get close, and Crowley sent Dean out to do the dirty work.” He hears the sound of the Impala rumbling to life through the phone. “Listen, I know we thought Dean was dead, but what if-“
“’We thought Dean was dead’?” Castiel grips the phone tightly, pushing it painfully harder against his ear. “I know Dean is dead! I watched him bleed out over me and onto the floor, while I sat there unable to heal him or do anything! I watched as his life faded from his eyes! I heard him say his last words! I-“ He shuts his mouth with a loud click of his teeth.
“…You never told me Dean said anything.” Sam whispers. Castiel silently cruses himself for letting his anger get the best of him.
“Dean is dead.” His voice cracks a little, and he pauses to clear it, grimacing at the pain flaring up in his throat. “That is my point. If Dean would have lived, then why would he have left? And to join Crowley, of all people.”
“What I know is what I saw, and what Crowley has told me.” Sam states. Castiel squints back up at the stars. “I traced the call to North Dakota. Some town called Beulah. I’ve been headed that way-“
“I want to speak to Crowley.” A car passes quickly by and Castiel sways at the wind that hits him.
“Cas, listen, maybe you should just-“
“I am not driving back to that house!” He hisses, glaring at the sky. “I am far more capable than you give me credit for, Sam. Imagine if I told you to stay and not go after your brother. Would you? Could you just sit there knowing he was out there, after months of looking, finally finding out that he is out there, and not do anything?”
He hears Sam sigh over the line. Castiel clears his throat, again, trying to push back another cough threatening its way up. “No, I wouldn’t just sit there. What do you expect to do? You were barely able to function the last time we were out together on a lead. I’m not trying to say you’re not capable, but what do you expect to happen if we find Dean?”
Of all the scenarios, Dean being a demon was never one of them. Castiel has only ever thought about bringing his body to rest. Dean would never welcome being a demon. He hunted and killed demons, knowing exactly what kind of creatures they are. To become one wasn’t…It didn’t make any sense. None of this was making any sense.
“I need to speak with Crowley.” Castiel runs a hand through his hair in frustration, and pushing away from the car door. “Dean would never allow himself to be a demon. You, as his brother, have to know this. This isn’t right. This isn’t something Dean would just choose.”
“I never said he would chose this. And I never said it made sense, I just…” He hears Sam sigh again before he reads off the number without warning. “Let me know what you decide after you get done talking to him, okay?”
Castiel ends the call, opening the car door and sitting down on the worn leather seat. He fumbles dialing the number from memory with shaky hands, but manages to get it correct on the first try. The phone rings four times before the sound of many people talking and carrying on hits his ears.
“Silly of me to think I wouldn’t hear from the angel.” Castiel shivers as a gruff voice.
“What have you done to Dean?” Castiel hisses pushing the phone harder to his ear.
“I have done nothing to Dean, that he, himself, did not want done.” He barely hears Crowley chuckle over the loud voices on his end. “I’m disappointed in you, Castiel. Sam is obviously well educated on many things, but this isn’t something that is common knowledge. But you…” He hears a muffle yell and some sort of music start up. “I expected better from an all knowing angel.”
“I swear Crowley, whatever-whoever- you put in Dean’s body I will-“
“Now, now, now Castiel. Calm down. Don’t go on and get all wheezy on my behalf.” The loud background noises cut off, and the line falls eerily quiet. “You aren’t quite thinking quite deep enough.”
Castiel stares at his left hand gripping the steering wheel tightly in the darkness. He uncurls his fingers and flexes them a few times before he responds. “I watched him die. Dean is dead.”
The King of Hell hums in response. “Can’t lose that much blood and live, so I’m told.”
“Then you-“
“Then I did nothing.” Crowley interrupts. “I assure you Dean is very much alive, courtesy of the Mark.”
Castiel sucks in a sharp breath only to bend over laying his head on the steering wheel coughing uncontrollably. It feels as if someone has punched all the air from his lungs, and he tries to gasp in a breath, but his lungs feel like they are on fire. The metallic taste fills his mouth once again. He cracks open the door and spits out a mouthful of the spit. After all this time, how could he have not thought about the possibility? It was only ever just a story of Cain becoming a demon after he took his own life. It was never anything more than just a story, one forgotten and lost in time, but a story nonetheless.
“His soul is still there. A wee bit more twisted, a little more mangled beyond human recognition, but it is all still his.” Castiel can feel the demons smug grin ooze out through the phone. It makes his stomach twist unpleasantly, and he wishes for the hundredth time he had his wings. He’d like nothing better than to appear in front of him, and wipe that smug look off his face.
“The Mark, it…But Dean wouldn’t…” Castiel tries to clear his throat, but it has become too raw and sore. His tongue feels two sizes too big, and sticks to the roof of his dry mouth.
“Your boyfriend has fit into his new self easily. Like riding a bike, you could say. Once you’ve done it a time or two, you never truly forget. He did, after all, have one of the best teachers Hell could offer. He hasn’t seemed to forget any-“
“That isn’t Dean!” Castiel snarls, breathing heavily as he tries to catch his breath. “Cain went for decades without bloodshed. He-“ A cough steals away his breath, and he grips the steering wheel again trying to fight to breathe.
“Castiel. Castiel. Are you upset that this might actually just be who Dean is, and has always been?” He hears Crowley click his tongue. “Now he’s free to be who he’s always been instead of just keeping it locked away, deep inside. I promise you, he’s having the time of his life now that he’s with me.”
“He wouldn’t freely go with you. Not after what you-“
“He’s my best friend. My partner in crime. They’re going to write songs about us; graphic novels. The Misadventure of Growley and Squirrel. Dean Winchester completes me, and that’s what makes you lose your chickens.”
Castiel leans his forehead against his hand that is still gripped tightly around the wheel. His skin feels wet and cool as he presses against them, taking in a shaky breath. He cannot focus on taking in air, while trying to make sense of everything. The confining metal death trap is suffocating, but pacing will do nothing for his current state.
“Whatever black magic you are controlling Dean with, I will break. You are keeping Dean around as a pet in order to do your dirty work.” Castiel spits out. “But I swear to you on my Father and brothers and sisters, I will find Dean, and I will save him. Then I will kill you dead.”
A low chuckle tickles Castiel’s ear. “I really don’t think you’re getting it, Castiel. Well, maybe you have gotten it and are just unwilling to accept it.” The demons voice drops into a low, gruff voice making the hair on Castiel’s arms raise. “Maybe you just can’t stand the fact that he’s mine.”
The line clicks, falling into a deeper silence than when Crowley stepped away from the noise. He knows the demon has ended their call, but he cannot seem to pull the phone away from his face. He hasn’t realized he’s been squeezing his eyes closed until he leans back upright against the back of the seat, prying them open.
Castiel has heard stories of how Cain had died, of course, and had been brought back by the Mark. At the time, he had just tossed them aside as just that, stories. Without any true evidence to such a story, or even a straight answer as to how he died, Castiel hadn’t given it much thought. Until now. Perhaps Cain hadn’t been made into a demon just by Lucifer alone. Maybe it took him dying for the Mark to truly take hold. Until then, Cain had been just as Dean was. Unable to control the Mark’s hold on him, drunk on bloodlust and impulses.
He groans, slowly taking the phone away from his face. He knows he needs to call Sam back and tell him what he is doing, but he has a nagging feeling the younger brother will just try and talk him out of it. With everything he is trying to battle with, the question still stands to how, after all these centuries; Cain has been able to withstand the Mark’s want for bloodlust. That thought alone brings up many more thoughts and questions.
He looks down at his phone, slowly pulling up the gps again. He changes the location to Beulah, North Dakota and glances at the route. Castiel groans at time estimated, silently wishing he had his grace. He throws his phone aside, and pulls back out onto the road, letting his thoughts keep him awake.
~ ~ ~
Castiel passes the “Welcome to Beulah!” sign just as the sun is rising. To his surprise, Sam had yet to call. His eyes are so heavy he is amazed he made it the whole way without falling asleep and crashing the car. He pulls over to the first motel he sees, uncaring of how rundown it seems. Castiel stumbles out of the car, and drags himself into the office. A gray haired woman sitting at the desk jumps to her feet, startled, as he trips over the slight rise of the floor. Castiel swears under his breath as the older woman raises an eyebrow at him.
“You ‘right, son?” She asks with a hint of chuckle behind her words.
Castiel steadies himself, sighing heavily. “Fine. I need a room.” He pulls out a credit card from the inside pocket of his jacket Sam had given him months ago, and hands it to the woman.
“You look like the dead.” The lady says, turning around to pull a key off the board of hooks behind her. “Rough night?”
He grunts leaning heavily against the desk, forcing his eyes to stay open just a little bit longer. Standing feels good after hours of driving all night. Castiel isn’t quite sure how he made it all night, only stopping twice to refuel. He hasn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours, and his body is aching for rest. How did Sam and Dean live like this? Human bodies required so much maintenance and sustaining it is irritating.
“Here ya go, honey. Room Eleven.” The woman’s voice and the clatter of keys break Castiel from his thoughts.
He slips the credit card back into his pocket, and grabs the keys. Castiel pushes himself off the desk and walks slowly out of the door towards his room. He gets his door unlocked right as his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. Castiel groans again, kicking the door closed behind him as he digs into his pocket for his phone.
He presses the green button without bothering to look at the caller id. “I am exhausted, make this quick Sam.”
“Mornin’ to you too, Cas.” Sam huffs over the line. “I know you well enough to know you are still planning to head out here. But I just wanted-“
“I am already here.” Castiel walks over to the bed and sits down on the edge, toeing his boots off.
He hears Sam’s breathing pause for a beat. “You’re…already in North Dakota.”
“I am already in Beulah. I am rather exhausted from driving all night, so please get to your point.” Castiel kicks away his shoes and falls backwards onto the bed.
“You drove all night-of course you drove all night!” Castiel closes his eyes and throws an arm over his face trying to block out any excess light he can. “What were you thinking! You don’t even know where they are! I don’t-“
“I was sure you would have either informed me when you called, or shown me when we met up.” He yawns into the phone.
“You’re too weak to go at this alone. I’m sorry Cas, but seriously. Taking on a demon by yourself? You can barely stand up half the time. Do you even have a plan, or are you just going to-“
“If you have just called to scold me about my decision, can it wait until I have gotten a few hours of sleep? Maybe then I will actually care about your opinion.” He peeks out from under his arms at a stream of light sneaking its way inside the room.
Sam lets out a frustrated laugh. “I forgot how much of a dick you are when you’re tired. I’m in some town just outside of the North Dakota line. I can be there in a few hours.”
“Splendid. I look forward to it.” Castiel brings the phone down and ends the call.
He lays the phone down on the table beside him, and rolls over on his side facing away from the window. As exhausted as his body is, sleep seems just a fingertips brush away. He takes in a careful shaky breath, and exhales in a few gentle coughs. Castiel wants to blame the lack of exhaustion from swallowing him whole on his restless thoughts. Deep down he knows the deeper reason. His Righteous Man is in the closest proximity to him that he’s been in months. His body can feel it. Sense it. He should be searching the town for him, not trying to fall asleep in some cheap motel bed. He should be trying to think of a way to save Dean, not letting his breath slowly grow more even.
The last thing Castiel remembers before the darkness takes him under, is Dean looking up into the camera as his eyes slide back from black.
~ ~ ~
Castiel is cradling the lifeless, broken, and bloody body of the man he swore to protect in his arms. His sobs echo around the small room, pounding into his skull like a hammer. He has no idea how long he’s been holding the man, rocking him back and forth in a steady heartbeat rhythm. He only knows the man’s body is growing steadily cooler against his chest.
His face burns with tears. Castiel watches as they drip down onto the beautiful man’s face, gathering and pooling together. They collect together enough to spill over the side of the man’s crimson smeared cheek, leaving behind a cherry pink trail of their own behind.
His throat is raw with unanswered screams as he slowly stops rocking, and lowers his Righteous Man’s body away from his chest onto the floor. Castiel’s body shudders out another broken sob as he runs a hand through the man’s hair. He tentatively brushes his fingertips along the man’s cheek, trying to ignore how cold he feels.
Something cold suddenly grasps his wrist, holding it still. It takes Castiel a minute to for his mind to register that the dead man’s own bloody hand is holding on it. The grip tightens, almost painfully, and he watches as the man’s eyes open to nothing but endless black.
“Why didn’t you save me?” The man asks as an inhuman grin twists out over his lips. “Why didn’t you save me, Castiel!?”
~ ~ ~
Everything seems weightless, and for a moment Castiel swears he is flying again. As quick as the thought enters, it is interrupted when the side of his body slams into something solid and hard. He swings the arm he isn’t currently laying on out in front of him hitting nothing but air. He rips his eyes open to find himself eyelevel with the floor, blurrily starring underneath a bed at some hideous, crusty, yellowish carpet that is digging into his face.
There is an annoying buzzing sound coming from above him, somewhere. He tries to feel for the source by blindly reaching upwards, but it’s just out of reach. His entire body is too stiff and tense to move quick enough to do anything about it further, and the buzzing sound cuts off. Castiel rolls over onto his back, feeling his muscles threatening to cramp in defiance to any and all movements.
The ceiling is full of spider webbed cracks all interlacing together in some form of organized chaos. Off in the far corner by the door, he can make out a dark stain where a leak must be. The sun is still attempting to spill through any and all cracks of the curtain. Judging by the sunlight and how he feels, he couldn’t have slept more than an hour. Possibly two.
The buzzing startles him back into reality, and he sits up slowly, hating every pop his body makes on the way up. He fumbles for his phone that is making the offending noise, and glares at Sam’s name in the caller id.
“According to the time, I have been asleep for barely over an hour. There is no human way you could have possibly made it to this town. ” Castiel grumbles as he pulls himself up to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Crowley wants to meet us in an hour.” Sam yells in his ear. “There is no way I can get to Beulah in an hour!”
Castiel runs a hand down his face trying desperately to fully wake up. His stubble scrapes over his hand reminding him of how unprepared he is for any conscious activities of any kind.
“Are you there? Hello?” He hears a muffled car horn blare through the phone. “Shit!”
“I’m here.” He mumbles, looking around the room. He hadn’t even brought in his bag from the car.
“You’re going to have to meet up with him until I can get there, alright? I can be there in two hours if I push it.” Sam swears again. “You good with this, Cas? If you can’t do this, I totally-“
“I will meet with Crowley.” Castiel glares at the front door, willing himself to get up. “Did he say what this is all about?”
“Just that he needed to meet with us about a problem he’s having.” Sam huffs. “Listen, I know with him taking your grace and Dean this is probably the last thing you want to be doing, but it’s also our closest in to getting Dean back.” Sam sighs into the phone. “I really need to let you go. Traffic is building up, and I need to find a faster route.”
“I’ll just-“ The phone falls into silence. Castiel pulls it away to see the call had ended, and tosses it on the bed behind him.
He rubs his hands over his face trying to force his body to wake up more. Everything Sam has said is true. Seeing Crowley to have a conversation is not something he wants to do, but it is something that he has to do. He would rather run the demon blade into his heart, and smile as the light flickers out of his eyes. Everything could have been different if he had left his grace alone. None of this-any of this- would have happened. Dean would still be alive.
Castiel groans, pushing himself to his feet, and gives the bed a longing look. All he wants to do is fall back onto the bed and forget everything that has happened. He at least wants to sleep for a few more hours before he has to deal with anything. His head is having trouble trying to work out why the King of Hell wants to meet with them at all. After all this time of avoiding them, silence, and lack of demons, and now this?
Castiel opens up the motel door, and flinches as the bright sunlight hits his face. He walks numbly over to the “borrowed” car to retrieve his duffle bag, hand pausing on the handle. Where is he meeting Crowley? Sam never mentioned a location, though he was rather busy dodging traffic and it probably slipped his mind.
Months of pent up shatters though his numbed state and begins to overwhelm him. He hasn’t realized how dazed he has been since the conversation last night. How unwilling he was to actually accept anything that was said, or what he saw. He swings the door of the car open, and yanks out his bag. He doesn’t want to meet with Crowley, let alone help the King of Hell out. He wants to destroy him. He wants to watch the light flicker from his eyes by his own hand. The demon is the reason he is human. Crowley is the reason he is dying. The demon is the reason he was too weakened to save himself. The demon is the reason Dean died. Unless his grace is on the table, Castiel will spit in Crowley’s face if he asks for anything.
As Castiel stomps back into the motel room, he hears his phone buzzing on the bed. He throws his bag beside it, and reaches to answer the phone.
“What?” He snaps, unzipping his bag taking out his toiletries.
“Castiel.” A smug voice replies. “You sound a bit better than last night.”
Castiel tightens his grip on his bag. “Crowley.” He growls the name.
“Moose said he was unable to meet up. Pity, it’s been so long. I thought he’d be in town already, tracing my call and all.” His chuckles sending Castiel’s hair rising over his arms. “Seems you thought finding your boyfriend was of more importance.”
“I swore to you I would do anything to save Dean.” He glances at the time on the clock beside his bed. Barely nine in the morning, Sam had never given a time on the meeting. “When am I meeting with you and where?”
“Oh, as soon as you can get here.” Crowley says nonchalantly. “It’s a quaint little bar called the Black Spur. Right outside of town, can’t miss it.”
The line clicks dead before Castiel can say anymore. He tosses the phone onto the bed again, giving it a dark glare daring it to buzz again. He grabs his entire duffle bag and hurries into the bathroom to get ready.
~ ~ ~
Forty minutes later Castiel pulls into a gravel parking lot of a very western looking bar. He parks beside a dusty looking truck, and steps out, taking in the small area. There are multiple cars scattered throughout different parking areas, which seems odd for the hour of the morning. He tries to think optimistically that maybe they were left here from the night before. Hopefully they aren’t demons. A cool gentle breeze caresses his skin, and he shivers despite the warm sun.
Castiel adjusts the gun tucked into his waistband, resting against his back. He knows the bullets are useless against demons, but they might at least startle them enough to buy him a few seconds to get away if need be. Castiel runs a hand through his cool, damp hair. The cold shower had been his last ditch effort to try and wake himself up. It barely took the edge of exhaustion off. Castiel straightens up, and begins walking over the gravel to the bars’ door.
The door swings open with a loud screech. It takes a few seconds for Castiel’s eyes to adjust to the dimly lit bar. He slowly walks across the floor, his feet making a sickening sound as they partly stick to the floor. He notes that all the tables are empty, chairs set upside down on top of them. His eyes search the room for anyone, or anything, but he finds himself alone. It all seems empty.
The hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck begin to rise as he steps farther into the faintly lit building. The thought passes through his mind that maybe Crowley is testing him. Seeing how far he could make him jump, so to speak. Lead him down one path, while he takes Dean and goes another. Castiel reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He swipes the screen on, and types in Crowley’s number.
“Glad you could make it.”
Castiel spins around, dropping his phone in the process. It bounces and slides across the floor as Crowley leans against the bar, eyebrow cocking in amusement.
“A bit on edge, are we?” He chuckles.
Castiel glares back at the demon. “Where is Dean?”
Crowley sighs exaggeratedly and sits down on a barstool. “Must we always bring up the same thing? He’s off and about doing demon things. Best not to concern yourself.”
“Let me try something new then. Where is my grace?” Castiel takes a step closer, squeezing his hands into fists as Crowley waves to the barstool next to him. Castiel scoffs at his offer. “Sitting next to you is at the very bottom of my list after what you’ve done.”
“Your grace is in the safest place I know, trust me.” His lips twitch into a smirk. “Now how about we get to the reason why I needed an audience with you and Moose, eh?”
Castiel can feel his fingernails pressing into the palms of his hands. He tightens his fists even more, begging for more pain to keep him awake and focused. Crowley eyes flicker quickly down to Castiel’s hands, and then back up to his face. If he would have blinked he would have missed it entirely. With the King of Hell’s smirk still in place, he leans back against the bar, and tilts his head at him.
“You look like hell.” The demon actually sounds halfway concerned.
“And who do I have to thank for that?” He snaps.
“Oh stop it, Castiel.” Crowley brings up both elbows and rests them on the bar behind him, leaning back and relaxing even further. “You were going to help stop evil from taking over the Hell…And the world.”
“You have no need for it!” Castiel yells, rushing forward towards the demon. “You’ve had all this time to return it! You could have returned it, and-“A cough tickles up his throat and past his lips. He hunches over grabbing the side of a table before he falls, hacking and trying to breathe through the barks seeming to scrape up his throat.
His vision begins to spin as he shakily tries to suck in gasps of air without choking on them. His lungs burn painfully inside him, as a thought he’s been pushing away forces its way into the front his mind. He’s been growing weaker for months. Without his grace to sustain him, he might actually be dying. Scratch that, he knows he is dying. Castiel leans heavily into the table, trying to push himself upright. He rubs the palm of his hand against his eyes roughly trying to clear his vision. Darkness starts to creep in on the edges of his vision as he lets out more hoarse coughs rack his body, leaving him breathless, gagging on the coughs, just trying to breathe. Castiel wheezes, shaking his head fiercely trying to push the black stars away.
Castiel hears Crowley click his tongue somewhere in front of him, and tries more slowly to push off the table. A hand grips his left arm roughly, and Castiel lets go of the table, swinging his right hand blindly over to whoever is touching him. Castiel snaps his head up right as he loses balance, legs giving out underneath him, just in time to see Crowley bat his fist away, missing it easily, and catching him under his arms right before his ass hit the ground.
“Don’t touch me!” Castiel pants, trying to push away from Crowley.
“Stop struggling you moron! I’m trying to get you on a bloody chair, not haul you away.” Crowley growls in his ear as Castiel feels himself being half drug, half carried a few feet away.
Castiel squints out in front of him, as the world slowly spins back into focus. He realizes that he is now sitting at the bar on a stool beside the King of Hell. He slowly looks over to the demon, who stares back at him, face blank completely void of any emotion.
“Well, walking and talking seems to be a hazard for you, isn’t it?” Crowley sighs, folding his arms on the bar counter.
Castiel clears his throat, immediately regretting it as he flinches in pain. He rubs his hand over his face, and swallows dryly looking back down at the water stained bar, trying to steady his breathing. “What do you want, Crowley?”
“How would you like to have your grace back?” Crowley asks like he was asking how the weather is outside.
Castiel looks up at Crowley. He opens his mouth to reply, but instead of words laughter spills over his lips. Crowley rolls his eyes which only makes Castiel laugh even harder. The noise is so foreign. When was the last time he laughed? He feels another tickle rising in the back of his throat, and begins to cough through his laughter.
“I fail to see the humor in this.” The demon raises his eyebrow. “Care to share with the class what’s so funny.”
“The one thing that I’ve-we’ve- been after this whole time.” Castiel forces out, breathlessly. He wipes his eyes, trying to calm his breathing as he clears his throat. “You think you can control me with my own grace.”
“I believe your humanity has made you a wee bit more dense than usual. Maybe it’s just the Winchesters in general.” Crowley shrugs. “I need to have a…problem taken care of. Something I’m sure you’ll be able to handle.”
“Let me guess. Take care of the problem for the grace?” Castiel asks, rolling his eyes.
“You’ll need all your angel juice for the problem I’m sure.” Crowley smirks.
Castiel tilts his head at the demon. Something wasn’t right. The King of Hell offering to return his grace-his powers-just like that? After he has his grace back, he could easily take care of Crowley. Nothing would be able to stop him. Something in this whole deal must be making the demon confident that Castiel wont smite him right as he’s an angel again. If being with Sam and Dean for the past years have taught him anything, it is that nothing is ever this easy without a catch.
“What makes you so sure I won’t kill you right after?” Castiel asks, fully sober from moments before.
Crowley chuckles. “Oh, just a feeling I have that you’ll still need me.”
Castiel squints at the demon trying to understand everything that the he is offering. He tries to take apart the words, seeing if there could be any loophole, but it all seems pretty straightforward. “You will return my grace with just my word that I will take care of your ‘problem’?”
“I have no use for your grace, Castiel.” Crowley waves his hand in front of him. “The day the Mark took over Dean, I had just left him to go retrieve it.” He shrugs. “All irrelevant now.”
Castiel feels all the anger he’s carried inside for months, slowly returning from earlier and beginning to make his skin itch. He tries to take in a slow breath to calm his pounding heart. All his thoughts begin to jumble, and blur together. All he can think about is all the “what if’s”. “You…came back…with my grace, but decided to take Dean instead? With my grace?”
“Think about it, for a moment if you will. Everything you know about the old stories of Cain. All true, mind you. Now, seeing him lying on a bed, knowing what you know about those stories, knowing that Dean wears the Mark now. What would you do, Castiel?”
He clenches his jaw, biting back his rage, and stares down Crowley. “You saw an opportunity to have your weapon. You decided to shape him into who you wanted him to be.” He pauses, looking past the demon to nothing in particular. “If you would have left my grace…”
“Oh, how I wish it were that simple.” Crowley sighs. “You know as well as I that demons are who they are without any real guidance. Becoming a demon is just your soul being free to be who you truly are inside, no one to hold you back.” His eyes skim over Castiel quickly. “Dean was trained by the worst of us all. Molded to who he became over years. The evil inside him has always been there, Castiel. Even walls builts to keep those memories away, broke. With the Mark and the Blade, it just…heightens everything. Almost like he’s high on killing, and cannot get enough of the fix.” He shrugs and waves his hand. “Though, if it’s any conciliation, I had no doubt with you having your grace you would have found Dean long before now.”
“Dean isn’t a monster.”
“Isn’t he?”
Castiel turns to face Crowley fully. “No. He isn’t a monster. Even after the pit, he is good. His soul is-“
“Blah, blah, blah.” He dramatically shudders. “We’ve all heard your two’s love story.”
“It isn’t-“
“Who he was in Hell…Those memories, things he did, or were done to him, they never went away, Castiel. Build a wall, bury it in deep, what have you, but it’s still there. Imprinted on his soul. Forming him into who he is, who he’s become.” He looks back over across the bar counter. “I suppose it doesn’t help the Mark and the Blade only craves blood and death. Now that it and Dean are one, imagine the possibilities.”
So many thoughts swirl around Castiel’s mind at once, slowly subduing his anger. He grips the edge of the bar with a hand to try and ground himself. One, Crowley’s problem he needs help with is Dean. Two, Dean is enough of a problem for Crowley to seek help. Three, it might be possible that Dean is past saving.
“Truly, I believed I could suffice his need for killing by having him weed out the twits that still serve Abaddon. That only seemed to barely take off the itch. Bloodshed was what he needed-what he craves- so I had him collect souls that were due.” He smirks to himself, seeming to recall a memory. “That only seemed to pacify him slightly, if even that. He needed direction, Castiel. He needed to be taught how to control his new urges.” Crowley cracks his chin slowly, staring off ahead of him. “If Dean would have woken up with you in the room, I truly believe you would be dead. “
“’Needed’, you keep saying.” Castiel says, narrowing his eyes at Crowley. “You keep speaking of Dean as if he’s…” His throat closes off at the thought. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, trying to push away the memory of Dean covered in blood, lying in his arms.
“Not dead.” Crowley shifts on the stool, smoothing out his jacket. “I was hoping you and Moose would help with that little problem.”
Castiel’s stares wide-eyed at the King of Hell, mouth agape in a mixture of horror and shock.
“Dean has become…uncontrollable.” Crowley waves his hand dismissively. “All good things must come to an end. Our bromance was fun while it lasted.”
“You want me-us- to kill Dean.” Castiel’s voice barely comes out a whisper.
Crowley gives Castiel steady, unreadable look. He drums his fingers on the counter, and after a long pause, sits up straight. “With a Knight of Hell beside me, I would have no issues with Hell. Ever. With Dean beside me, and all of Abaddon’s minions dead, life would move smoothly. As it should be. He would have his purpose, and I mine.” His lips twitch. “In a perfect world, of course.”
“But you cannot control him.” He states slowly, trying to wrap his head around everything. “Or even guide him in that way?”
“No one can bloody control him.” Crowley snaps. “I sent him out to finalize on a deal, and he killed the man who made the deal, leaving the damn bitch he was suppose to kill, alive! He didn’t even care, mind you, that he broke the contract and lost the soul.”
“So Dean won’t listen to you. Nothing seems different.” Castiel looks down at his hand still white knuckled gripped the bar counter, and lets go.
“Please try and keep up.” The demon sighs. “I was the only one keeping him in line. Making sure he didn’t go off the deep end on some mass murdering killing spree like our dear Father of Murder, Cain. I gave him people to kill who needed killing, and kept him from spiraling out of control. Letting the Mark fully take control. In a way, I kept his last drop of humanity with him.”
“But now-“
“But now it seems that the Mark’s hold on him has completely taken over.” Crowley steps off his stool, and stands in front of Castiel. “Bloodlust is the only drive he has now. He needs to be stopped.”
“Cain stopped.” Castiel looks up at King of Hell. “He stopped for years-decades. Everyone thought him dead. Whatever Cain did to stop Dean is more than capable of doing as well. He doesn’t have to die. He only needs to be saved.”
“Cain had a reason to stop. He had a want to stop.” Crowley shrugs and looks away. “Dean has no want to stop. He enjoys himself.”
“I did not-“
“I don’t bloody care what you want! The Dean you know is gone, Castiel! He-“
Castiel slams his fist down on the counter, and pushes himself up to face Crowley. “I did not save him from Hell for Dean to turn into a demon!” He grabs Crowley by his jacket, and pulls him closer. “My purpose on this miserable planet from the moment I rebuilt his body has been-and will always be- to protect and keep him harm. I failed him once, but who was truly to blame for that? I will not kill Dean Winchester, but I will save him.”
“And what if this guy just doesn’t want to be saved?” A familiar deep voice asks behind him.
He would know that voice anywhere. He’s dreamt about that voice for months. The person who belongs to that voice is all he’s been begging, praying, and screaming for, for months. Castiel lets go of Crowley, turning around so quickly he has to blink furiously to make his vision stop spinning. There, standing a few feet in front of him is Dean.
Dean looks as he always has. He has on jeans with black t-shirt under a deep red unbuttoned long sleeve shirt. His short light brown hair is mused as if he’s just gotten done sleeping, or maybe running his hands through it too much. But most importantly, the man he has been mourning and dreaming about for months is alive. He stands in front of him free of blood, unmarked from anything that has happened in the past.
“Dean…” Castiel breathes.
His feet have begun to move forward on their own accord, taking him slowly towards the man who wears an amused smirk.
“Castiel.” Crowley whispers loudly behind him. “You need to leave. Go. Get out of here.”
He pauses and stares at Dean in front of him. The reason he left his family, and rebelled against everything he has ever known since existence. Crowley may only know the darkness of Dean’s soul, but he knows it how truly bright, beautiful, and full of love it really is. Above all, he knows that Dean will never hurt him. Castiel grits his teeth together in determination, and ignores Crowley’s words moving forwards again. How can he turn away-give up- on the one human who is everything to him? Dean has never given up on him. He owes him that much in return.
“Don’t you think if I wanted to be around some pathetic, helpless, weak humans I’d have stayed?” Dean tips his head back and lets out a full bellied laugh.
Castiel flinches and stumbles to a stop a few feet away from him. “Sam and I, we can help you. We never stopped looking for you. This isn’t you, Dean. You aren’t-“
“Help me?” Dean chuckles. “You think I need to be ‘helped’ because it doesn’t fit your good guy, saving the world bullshit? You gunna save me, Cas?”
“This isn’t you. This is the Mark talking.” Castiel says, straightening up.
“It’s me alright. The real me.” He licks his lips and grins back at Castiel. “Maybe you just don’t want to admit you don’t like who I really am. Not some whiney human you have to constantly watch over anymore. By me embracing who I really am it makes me a stronger person who can think for myself. I don’t have to rely on some obsessed pathetic excuse for an angel anymore to help me out of my own insecurities.” Dean smirks. “Ever think that if I wanted to be cured, I would’ve stayed?”
Castiel waves a hand behind him. “It was Crowley.” He looks behind him to see the demon has vanished. Castiel bites back a growl, and looks back at Dean. “Crowley convinced you to go with him, and-“
“It really wasn’t.” Dean says crossing his arms. “I chose to leave. I wanted to leave.”
“Whatever happened, we can get past it! We can fix this!” Castiel says desperately.
“Mmm…Will you now? Because you want to ‘fix’ me, and are unwilling to accept the fact I don’t need to be ‘fixed’. But you think of me like I’m some broken toy?” He cocks his head, looking Castiel up and down. “You should really listen to Crowley’s advice and leave.”
Castiel swallows loudly, keeping his eyes locked with Deans. “I’m not losing you again, Dean.”
“I’m doing everything I can not to come over there and rip your throat out. With my teeth.”
A shiver shakes through Castiel’s body, and he tries to hide it by shifting his weight on his feet. He will not back down. Somewhere deep inside this control of the Mark is Dean. His Dean would never hurt him, and the restraint he admitted to shows he has control over that.
“I’m not leaving without you.” His voice comes out rough, scratching his throat.
“Well, I’m not walking out the door with you.” Dean shrugs. “So, you gunna kill me, Cas?”
“No.” Castiel breaks their stare, looking away from him to the empty bar. He feels his sudden jolt of adrenaline seeping away, and exhaustion steadily sinking in and taking its place. “I wouldn’t kill you.” It comes out in a breath, barely louder than whisper.
“You don’t know what I’ve done. I might have it comin’.” Castiel glances back at Dean. “Probably do by angel standards.” Dean eyes linger over him as slow smile spreads across his lips. “But you’re no more an angel, anymore, than some random Joe is.”
Castiel clears his throat, swallowing dryly as he feels another cough building up. “I don’t care. You are still in my charge. You are my human, and I’m taking you to a house Sam and I have been staying at. I’m going to take you to our home.”
Castiel watches as Dean’s façade momentarily faultiers, and in the same moment he recovers with a sudden loud laugh. “’You’re my human.’” Dean mocks. “’I’m taking you to our home.’” He runs a hand through his hair, laughing and shaking his head. “What is this, a chick flick movie?”
Castiel clenches his jaw in frustration. “You rather live a life being the King of Hell’s pet? Cleaning up his messes, and doing whatever he says?!” He waves his hand at Dean. “That isn’t the Dean Winchester I know. He wouldn’t listen to some demon, let alone take orders.”
Castiel watches at Dean straightens up, jaw twitching. Before he can open his mouth to say anything else, Dean is somehow standing in front of him, face close enough he can feel his warm breath on his face. Castiel stumbles backwards, not taking his eyes off the man in front of him. Dean follows him slowly. Castiel cannot help but feel like some sort of prey being stalked. And Dean is the predator stalking him.
His back hits something solid, stopping his retreating steps. He glances behind him to realize it is the bar counter. Castiel slowly looks back up to Dean standing in front of him, his green eyes looking him up and down.
Dean leans forward, grabbing Castiel’s shirt and pulling him closer. “I don’t take orders from anyone.” He tips his head forward, letting his green eyes lock with his. “I am no one’s pet.”
Castiel searches those green eyes he’s long ago memorized. They are the same endless vibrant bright green with speckles of gold scattered throughout making them almost glow. Only this time, they stare back at him with nothing but emptiness. His beautiful soul gone. The eyes may belong to his human, but beyond that there is nothing.
Castiel lets his hand squeeze into a fist, and pulls it back as far as he can against the bar. His eyes never leave Dean’s as he swings his fist forward, connecting with the side of his face.
The grip on his shirt loosens only slightly, but enough for Castiel to yank himself off to the side falling forward onto a bar stool as he tries to get away. He pushes himself off the ground, tossing the stool blindly behind him, as forces his legs to run towards the door. Castiel barely makes it a few feet before he is shoved face first into the wall.
Castiel tries to push against the wall, trying to turn around, but Dean grabs both his wrists with one hand, and slides his arms up the wall, pushing his own body flush with his. Castiel thrashes his body, trying to break away. A scream builds up in his throat, and he lets it out in frustration. Dean’s whole body shakes against his own as he laughs at his pathetic attempts of escape. He tries one last time to try and push Dean’s body off his, but is only meant with the man grabbing his hair and slamming his head against the wall. He tries to move his arms out of Dean’s grasp, but he only responds by only squeezing Castiel’s wrists tighter, and pushes more of his body weight into him.
Castiel feels a warm trickle of something wet dripping down his face as he strains his eyes to look back at Dean. A man who appears to be his human, smiles wickedly back at him. Castiel watches as his green eyes disappear in a blink, opening back up with nothing back blackness. A mixture between a whimper and a strangled scream leaves his throat as he weakly tries to yank his arms away from Dean’s hold. The demon pulls his hair roughly, making Castiel’s head tip back painfully. Dean leans his face down, lips brushing over his ear.
“Wanna try that again, Angel?” He whispers in a low, husky voice.
Castiel feels Dean teeth graze over his left ear. He tries to turn his head away, but it stays forcefully pinned against the wall. Castiel hisses as feels a sudden sharp pain on his earlobe as Dean sinks his teeth in, tugging at it. He tries to push against the hold on his wrists. Dean responds with a deep chuckle that makes the hair rise over his skin.
“Now, you’re going to be a good little angel, and just take it until I’m good, got it?” Deans whispers next to Castiel’s ear, leaning down against his back.
Castiel blinks furiously trying to push back the memories. That wasn’t his Dean. That was the shifter. Everything in his body is screaming at him to overpower the threat, get away, escape, but his useless human body cannot even manage to move his face being pushed against the cold wooden wall. Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately to ignore Dean’s hot breathe wash over his cheek. The helplessness of not having his grace is pushed into the forefront of his mind again. He is aware enough of the situation to realize that Dean is barely even trying to overpower him. He is just that weak and pathetic. Dean is just merely just playing with him, like some sort of feeble toy.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to play with your dinner, mate?” Crowley’s nonchalant voice breaks through Castiel’s thoughts.
Dean sighs in his ear in annoyance. “Thought you ran away to wherever it is you go when things aren’t going your way.”
“Nah. Simply stepped out to clear the mind. Went for a walk. Got a different look on the situation. Phone a friend.” Crowley replies.
“Dean…” Castiel hears Sam’s voice break a little, saying his brother’s name.
Castiel tries to move his head to look over at Sam and Crowley, but Dean refuses to give in even slightly. “Sammy.” Dean’s voice rumbles against his neck. “Been awhile.”
“Let Cas go, Dean.” Sam says his voice more under control.
Castiel feels Dean’s wet tongue lick its way up his neck to the bottom of his jaw. He flinches as Dean nips at it, and lets out another low chuckle.
All the while, Dean is grinding into him from behind, fully hard. Castiel tries to push up, tries knocking the fake Dean off him. It is all pointless. He knows it. He is weak, useless. He can’t even save himself.
The flashback of the memory jolts through his body, and he begins thrashing his body trying to get away. Dean only applies more pressure against his wrists, and Castiel swears he feels something crack. Dean pushes his body even closer into Castiel. The touch and the pressure is sending his body into uncontrollable tremors. He has to swallow down the urge to vomit right as his vision begins to darken and spin.
“Mmmm…I don’t think I’m going to do that, Sammy.” Dean lets go of his hair, and he feels Dean shift slightly behind him, his weight still fully pressed against him.
“Put it down.” Sam says firmly.
Castiel barely has time to gasp for air as Dean’s weight lifts from his body, just enough for him to yank roughly on his wrists. He spins around, stumbling back against Dean’s chest. Dean’s left arm wraps around his chest, holding Castiel tightly against his body. Something sharp is pushed against his neck with enough force he knows before he feels the sting that the weapon has drawn blood. He pushes his body instinctively closer into Dean trying to somehow get away from the weapon digging into his throat. He shuts his eyes for a moment, trying to calm his breathing so the item pushing against his neck won’t slice him by doing the simple human necessary need.
“I don’t think I will.” Dean answers.
Castiel looks at Sam and Crowley standing a few feet away from them. Crowley actually looks somewhat irritated, which unsettles Castiel. If the King of Hell is showing any emotion other than his usual smug attitude, thing are defiantly bad. Sam’s gaze is steady and alert, but his body language screams nervous and angry.
“You don’t need to do this.” Sam raises his hands slowly and takes a step closer.
Castiel bites his tongue trying to keep his body as still as possible as something slices across the side of his neck towards his Adams apple. “Take another step and I don’t think the angel is gunna enjoy what happens next.”
“Alright. Okay.” Sam freezes, and moves his hands in a motion to show he’s listening. “Just let Cas go, Dean.”
“Mmm, I don’t think that’s gunna happen.” Dean chuckles. “Why don’t you just have Crowley here zap you back to wherever you came from, and let me go.”
“Not going to happen.” Sam lowers his arms, and glances back at Crowley.
Everything happens too quickly for Castiel to process.
All at once Crowley is gone, and Dean’s grip on him falls free. Before Castiel can even process his fall, Sam is grabbing his arm and half dragging him towards the door. His feet finally catch up with the action, and begin sprinting with Sam in order to keep up. Behind him he hears a heavy crash, and the sound of Crowley grunting with pain. Sam pushes through the screen door into the blinding sunlight. Castiel points to his “borrowed car”, while pushing his legs harder.
Castiel swings his driver’s side door open, practically diving inside, and slamming it closed behind him. He turns the key, bringing the car to life, and throws it in reverse just as Sam throws himself in the passenger seat. Castiel slams his foot on the gas, tires throwing gravel everywhere until they hit the black top. He brings it back to drive, and slams on the gas again, the car jerking at the change before jolting forward.
He doesn’t look back to the bar. He doesn’t look at Sam panting in the seat beside him. He doesn’t wipe the wetness beginning to itch on his throat away. He doesn’t move his foot from the gas pedal. He doesn’t focus on the tingle on the back of his head. He doesn't acknowledge his heart clenching painfully in his chest. He doesn’t look away from the highway in front of him.
Castiel knows if he did any of these things, any and all control he has on keeping it together would collapse.
What he does do, is drive. He drives away from the bar. He drives away the town. Castiel drives away from the demon who wears the face of his Righteous Man. He drives away from last possible ounce of hope he has from saving Dean. From saving the man he loved.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Castiel hasn’t bothered to learn the name of the motel. He hasn’t even paid enough attention to the name of the town. All he knows is that he’s tired. He’s beyond tired. Exhaustion doesn’t have a name for what he is feeling. It is something deeper than the need for rest. Castiel feels it in his muscles as his fingers twitch on their own accord. He feels it seeping out of his bones as he adjusts his position in this God awful chair. The heaviness of what he is feeling weighs him down so deeply, it prevents his eyelids from closing to give him rest. Sam’s leg is bouncing underneath the table, creating ripples to dance in his cup of untouched water in front of him. Castiel watches the little ripples blur and come back into focus below him as he tries to block out the younger Winchesters mumbling. He tries to clear his mind again, concentrating on the clear plastic cup of water in front of him. The water becomes unfocused again, colors taking the place of solid objects around him. “Cas.” Sam’s voice seems distant, miles away. “Cas.” His voice is louder, like it’s trying to break through some sort of invisible fog floating around in his head. “Castiel.” Castiel blinks, letting the colors take proper form again. His forehead creases as he stares at the cup of water in front of him. The liquid is still, no vibrations causing movement. Castiel slowly raises his head and looks up across the table to the long haired man in front of him. Sam looks back at him with a mixture of disappointment, anger, and pity. The younger brother runs a hand through his tangled hair, shaking his head. Castiel begins to lower his head again. “What the hell happened?” Sam asks bringing his hands down heavily on the table, making some of the water spill out. “Dean is a demon.” He hears himself whisper, unsure of how his lips are functioning. The water that has escaped collects, and pools together in an awkward circle beside his cup. “Yeah, I mean yes.” Sam sighs in frustration. “We knew that Dean was-is-a demon going into this. What I want to know is what happened from the time Crowley left to get me, to when we got there.” Another trickle of water that has been steadily working its way down the side of the cup finally reaches the bottom, and bleeds into the pool. The union causes the small pool to move forward, heading on a slow journey to the edge of the table. “You with me?” Sam’s voice is starting to fade away into background noise, again. The steadily slither of the water reaches the edge of the table, and slowly falls off in one simple drip. “Cas, man, talk to me.” A hand touches his shoulder, and Castiel jerks back rising to his feet, tipping his chair over. Castiel doesn’t realize he is moving, until his knees hit the stand where the bulky TV sits. He glances from Sam to the motel door, his vision fading in and out. The young Winchester is now standing, hands raised in front of him. His eyes wander to the now empty cup that is rolling back and forth on its side, water spilling off the table in a stream. “Hey, look at me.” The voice fades in and out, barely audible. Castiel looks back at the man. “You’ve been through a lot. I get it. But it’s going to be alright, okay?” He squints as Sam blurs into a mixture of colors, lights and darks. “You just gotta talk to me, okay?” The flesh toned colors move closer towards him. Castiel tries to back away from the colorful blur approaching, but his back only hits the wall. “Cas, it’s just me. Let me help you.” The colors stop in front of him and Castiel shakes his head trying to make his eyes function solid forms again. A chill shivers up his spine, and then spreads throughout his chest. Icicles suddenly stab into his lungs, and he gasps at the fresh pain, arching his back. Castiel collapses onto his knees, slumping forward. His hands grip the orange shag carpet underneath him as he tries to take in oxygen through painful gasps. The coldness is spreading higher, like a fingers crawling their way up his throat, gripping it tightly. His vision suddenly goes clear. Painfully clear. For a moment, he sees everything as he had before, back when he had his grace. He sees every fiber that creates the monstrosity of the carpet. He sees dust particles explode into bright starbursts dancing, spinning, and twirling past his vision. He watches as the free-floating dead skin cells fall onto the fibers of the carpet, colliding together almost like an explosion. Two strong hands grip it his face, yanking it upwards. The swift movement makes his stomach clench. The white-hot cold, clutching at his insides smashes back into his body. He squeezes his eyes shut trying to shut everything out. The hands jerk away from his face. “Shit! Fuck! You’re on fire!” Castiel tries to open his eyes again. He tries with every ounce of strength he has to open his eyes one last time, just so he can see-remember- the world as he always had. He yearns for that clarity, the pureness, that his grace had always given his sight. “Castiel! Stay with me, damnit! Fuck!” The voice is miles and miles away, fading farther and farther into silence. A little part of him wants to give into the blackness. The empty void in front of him seems rather peaceful. There is a nagging feeling he should go back. There is something important he has to do. Without putting too much thought into either one, the burning cold engulfs him. He hears someone screaming far, far away. Even with the distance, the agony in the voice reaches him. The rawness of the emotion explodes before him in a bright supernova of blue light, consuming him in a white hot fire of pain. ~ ~ ~ Everything is colorless; A bright, brilliant white. Castiel is floating in a vast openness of nothingness. He is nothing and everything all at once. His entire being is connected to everything around him. The whole emptiness is full of a calm energy. It is…peaceful, here. He can rest. The feeling itself is almost as if he has his wings again. He pushes the thought away quickly as the unseen light begins to dim. He lets it go, allowing the beautiful unending forever; his world brightens again. The brightness begins to dim, again, as his ears beginning to ring. Is that voices? Castiel tries to push the noise away, focusing on the emptiness around him. He wants to be left alone. He wants to rest. He doesn’t care what the voices are saying. He is finally at peace here. Nothing can touch him here. Nothing matters here. “Do you have it?” An uncomfortable coldness begins to spread throughout his chest. Castiel tries to lift his hand to touch his chest, but his limbs won’t move. Nothing is made to move here. The realization is terrifying, but yet, he understands it nonetheless. The brightness begins to fade into shadows as burning chilled fingers crawl up his throat, gripping it tightly. Castiel blinks desperately trying to focus on the nothingness around him. “Of course I bloody have it, you moron.” The world around him flickers into blackness as he tries to gasp for air. Castiel tries to lift his arm to feel in front of him, but his limbs still refuse to work. It was if something heavy is pressing on him, squeezing every last bit of life he had left. Panic floods him as he begins falling in the darkness. The last bit of air from his burning lungs rushes out, and he stares wide-eyed into the black nothingness unable to gasp in anything more. He yearns to scream for the comfort of the blissful, blinding white emptiness again. Everything in him is screaming at him to breathe, but nothing seems to be responding. “Fucking fix him! He’s dying, Crowley!” Warmth suddenly begins flooding down his throat. Castiel manages to takes a shaky breath in, swallowing down the somehow familiar heat. He feels the cold claws melt away from the inside of his throat as the heat searches out to fill every space. He swallows more down, feeling the warmth searching out and seep into his bloodstream. Castiel lets out a shaky sigh as the warmth intensifies in heat, speeding through his veins. He feels it as it fills every possible gap inside his human vessel, replacing all the pain within him with a gentle hum of the comforting heat. He feels the fierce cold that had latched onto his chest completely dissipate as the warmth nears it, and swallowing up the spaces the cold had touched. As the last trickle of heat drips down his throat as a certain clarity fills his mind. Castiel’s eyes shoot open just as his body is enveloped in a blindly blue light. His grace. Castiel pushes himself up, slowly standing from the ground. A comforting weight he has been missing so terribly it brought him physical pain rests on his back again. He rolls his shoulders, listening to the sound of feathers only he can hear rustling behind him. A slow smile spreads across his lips as he tips his head backwards. Castiel spreads his wings out behind him, rememorizing every twitch of his muscles, every sound of feathers brushing against one another, and appreciating the way his body feels more balanced-complete- with the rest of him. The light from his grace begins to dim as it bleeds back into his body as he folds back up his wings. He settles them behind him, letting them fade from human eyes . All his senses hum with energy, life, power. All of it swirls within him, filling him with everything he was, is, and always will be. He feels it all, dancing under the human flesh. The fog that has been gathering inside Castiel’s mind over the past months begins to lift. The millennia of knowledge that he has always had pieces itself together with perfect clarity. “Lovely. Looks like Humpty Dumpty can be put back together again.” A gruff voice huffs in front of him. Castiel lowers his head to see Crowley standing in front of him, looking rather bored. Anger, hatred, rage- everything that he had kept inside him for months- boils to the surface, causing his grace to ignite. This time, he can do something about all his emotions. “You!” Castiel steps towards the demon, watching Crowley’s gruesome true face flicker through his human vessel. “You did this!” “Samantha, calm your attack dog.” Crowley says reaching into his jacket and pulling out an angel blade. “Castiel, remember our little chat?” Castiel grabs the King of Hell by the collar, lifting him up in the air ignoring the angel blade pressing into his chest. He strides forward, slamming the demon into the wall listening to the blade clatter to the floor. He raises his hand presses it against the top of the demons head. His melting flesh makes an unpleasant sound beneath his fingers. Crowley’s glowing red eyes stares back at him almost skeptical. The King of Hell’s black tongue clicks inside his mouth, as some sort of thick dark liquid trickles out. Castiel presses his palm harder on the demons skull, watching as a strip of decaying flesh fall away. “My grace is returned. I owe you nothing.” Castiel hisses, feeling his grace tingling at the tips of his fingers. “In order to save Dean, you will need me.” The demon replies calmly back, glaring up at him. “Even with your angel juice back.” “Cas, just listen to him.” Sam rests a hand on his shoulder. Castiel glares down into the demons red eyes, his grace buzzing against his damned human flesh, begging to release. It pleads with him to smite the reason he and his grace were stripped from one another. “The Dean you know is gone.” Castiel glances behind him to Sam. “We can get Dean back.” Sam replies, nodding towards Crowley. “But we are going to need his help.” Castiel’s turns back to Crowley, narrowing his eyes. “There is always a catch.” “Not this time, Feathers.” Crowley’s demonic face twists into something that might resemble a smirk. “He is causing more harm than good, and losing Hell souls. I can train hellhounds easier than I can that man.” He raises a hand that seems to glow and flicker with an unending burn of hellfire embers. Crowley taps Castiels hand still gripped around his collar. “Let’s talk about this like civilized adults, shall we?” Castiel grits his teeth hard, tightening his grip on Crowley’s collar. The demons face never falters from his annoyingly twisted smug look. Perhaps they might need the King of Hell, but nothing is always free. There is going to come a time in all this, where Crowley let’s his motive known, and then there will be no stopping him. Castiel shakes his head, watching Crowley’s face flicker back into his human vessels form. He pulls his hand away from Crowley’s forehead, gripping it into a tight fist. He slowly uncurls his fingers from the King of Hells collar, dropping the man back to his feet. Castiel turns to look at Sam, narrowing his eyes at the tall man. “You think your brother can be saved.” “You don’t?” Sam raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Seriously?” He clenches his jaw, looking away from the younger brother. Everything he had ever learned about the Mark and the First Blade was vague. Facts about what had happened, of course, there was no denying the actual events that happened. But then there were rumors about Cain he tried to dismiss. It was all purely speculation, stories, and guessing games. Anything deeper than actual body counts from Cain and his Knights was simply something Castiel avoided. Cain had stopped though. Why had Cain stopped? If The Father of Murder could disappear and ignore the urge for killing, surly Dean could as well? “Dean has a taste for blood, and will not stop killing.” Crowley states beside him. Castiel raises an eyebrow, glancing over to the demon. “But you said we could get Dean back.” The King of Hell hums beside him, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “That I did.” “What Crowley isn’t elaborating on is how we get Dean back.” Sam says throwing Crowley an annoyed look. “Crowley and I think we can go about it a few different ways. Getting you your grace back was the most important thing, obviously.” “We’re going to kidnap your boyfriend, lock him up in your flea infested place you call a home, and attempt to beat the demon out of him.” Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically at Sam. “I simplified it for Castiel here.” “You have no real plan.” Castiel states flatly. “We have the chain that Abaddon used on Crowley in the warehouse. It made him unable to use any of his power, and if it works on the King of Hell, then-“ “Then you assume it will work on a Knight of Hell.” Castiel shakes his head, trying not to let his anger rise. “Holy water hurt Abaddon.” Sam continues, walking over to the table where his phone rests beside the tipped over plastic cup. “We can use that to weaken, or at least distract Dean to get the chain around him. After we have him confined, we are going to take him to the house and put him in a devils trap. We are going to try exorcism. I have some books I am still going through, but-“ “The Mark is branded onto his skin, and you think exorcism will cure that?” Castiel snaps. “In all the years of Cain’s bloodshed and murder, you never thought that someone thought to try exorcism?” “Then what do you want to fucking do, Castiel?!” Sam yells, slamming his fist onto the table. “Give up on him? That’s not the fucking angel I know. Our Castiel would fight to save him.” “He doesn’t even hold any emotion towards you or I!” Castiel points at Sam. “You weren’t there, Sam. You have no idea the amount of power he has! If he hadn’t wanted to toy with me first, I would be dead and there wouldn’t be anything anyone could have done about it. No one in that room was stronger than him.” He looks away from Sam, feeling something tight building inside his chest. “That is how far gone he truly is.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I am not giving up on saving Dean. But I will not go about it with some half assed idea that is going to get you hurt, or more than likely, killed. No matter how badly you want your brother back, you have to go about this logically.” Sam glares at him, face set in some emotion Castiel has no real care to figure out. “You couldn’t care if we get Dean back. You started hating his very existence the moment you let some shifter lookalike rape you.” As the last of the words fall out of Sam’s mouth, Castiel is in front of him, shoving Sam against the wall. Sam glares down at him with so much hatred Castiel can almost taste it. “I would watch your words more carefully, boy.” Castiel whispers in a low, calm voice. He pushes his arm harder into the younger brother’s chest, preventing him moving. “Dean Winchester’s soul is bonded with me in a way your simple mind could never grasp. He has been, and will continue being my number one reason for staying on this miserable planet my Father created. Humanity, in all its evil, wicked ways, has not ruined me, Samuel. It has only deepened my assimilation in that your brother is everything good. Pure. Righteous. I will never stop fighting for a way to save him.” “No one was stronger than Dean in that room, correct?” Crowley interrupts. Castiel drops his arm from pinning Sam against the wall and turns back to glare at the demon. “Obviously.” Crowley clicks his tongue, tilting his head. “Two humans and The King of Hell were unable to fight off a Knight of Hell…” His sentence trails off. Castiel sighs. “This has been well established, get to the point.” Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically. “You were human. Of course you wouldn’t be stronger, you moron.” Castiel blinks at Crowley, mouth opening and then closing again. Oh…oh. “Now we play the angel verse demon game. Which one would be stronger now?” Crowley smirks. “An angel will always hold more power over any demon.” Castiel whispers, letting everything rest inside his mind. “Mmm, maybe in strength, yes. Dean never had much for brains, that one.” Crowley shrugs. “Regardless, overpowering should be simple enough. This is where you’ll need Moose and I.” “I am not killing him.” Castiel tightens his hand into a fist as his grace tingles over his skin in response to his sudden anger. “Neither are any of you!” “No one is killing Dean, Cas.” Sam says somewhere behind him. “We just need to restrain him and get the chain around him. Once he’s unable to do anything, we can get him to where we need him, and figure out how to cure him.” “Through exorcism.” He scoffs. “He isn’t possessed.” “Correct. I watched our dear Dean wake up on his own, black eyes greeting the world for the first time.” Crowley shrugs. “Possession, no. The Mark brought him back.” “So we need to get rid of the Mark.” Sam walks over to the bed where his duffle bag sits, and he digs through it a moment before taking out his laptop. “We could always just cut it off.” Crowley chuckles. Castiel hears a growl leave his lips before he can stop it. The King of Hell raises an eyebrow skeptically at him. “As if it hasn’t crossed your mind.” “No, it hasn’t crossed my mind. We are not cutting any part of his body.” Castiel glares at the group of them. “What, pray tell, would be your little answer to this situation?” Crowley raises an eyebrow to him. “Ask dear old Daddy to cure your Prince of Darkness two point oh?” Castiel runs his hand through his hair. “Angels tried for centuries to stop Cain and no one ever succeeded. If there was a way, we would have found it and used it.” “But Cain isn’t Dean.” Crowley smirks, leaning back against the wall. “Spit it out. I have no patience for you. You’re lucky I don’t come over there and rip your-“ “Sticks and stones, love. You need me.” Crowley waves his hand, rolling his eyes. “You and Dean have a bond, ay? Now that you got your feathers back, I wonder if you would still be able to feel him…” He taps his chin with his finger. “Just a thought.” Castiel opens and closes his mouth wordlessly, blinking at the smug demon. He hasn’t tried to search out Dean. It has only been a few moments sense his grace has been returned. He isn’t even sure he’d be able to locate Dean with the Mark’s full power running through Dean. Maybe the demon has a point, and he should at least try. Cain was never bonded with an angel before. Maybe there was hope. Deep inside Castiel, he wants to believe some part of the Dean he knows is still in there, screaming to be set free. But the logical part of him knows this isn’t likely. Dean had been moments away from killing him, and would have done it without a second thought. He carries no remorse. The Blade is driving his lust for blood. Castiel shakes his head trying to gather his thoughts. Cain had gone against the Mark and the Blade’s calling. He had given up killing and bloodshed. Yet, even with all this, Cain had still carried the Mark. The desire-hunger- had still been there. He wants to go and ask the man why? How? Was there something stronger than the yearning for murder? Could Dean do this? And if he did, would he forever be in pain? Decision made, Castiel lets his eyes fall closed, focusing on his grace humming inside him. He pushes himself deeper inside it, rememorizing the way it sustains him-creates him. His grace swirls around his consciousness, caressing him with warmth. He has forgotten how complete he had been. He reluctantly pulls himself away from the warmth of his grace, expanding his consciousness outside himself. Castiel feels his way through air, towns, and humans. He skips past all of them, none of it calling to him, or having any importance. He focuses harder, moving faster past everything, letting all color blur into nothing but gray and white flashes. Castiel lets go of himself completely, letting himself shift throughout space and time without restraint of conscious thought. His entire essence is searching for that part of himself entwined with Dean’s soul. It could be minutes or hours, maybe days. The gray and white flashes are steadily slowing and gathering shape and proper color, once again. Castiel feels a subtle pull through his grace, nudging him forward, though to where he isn’t certain. It appears to be a rundown bar of some sort, though he doesn’t recognize the building as any he’s ever seen before. People are moving around inside, voices muted and unimportant. He watches as Dean steps into the room, and everything snaps into vivid clarity. He watches as Dean sits down in a corner booth towards the back of the bar. His grace pulses loudly, as if calling to the other half woven intricately inside his Righteous Man’s soul. He watches as Dean tilts his head to the side, as if he’s trying to decide something. A slow smile spreads over his lips as he slowly looks up. Castiel knows Dean can’t see him since he isn’t in any real sustainable form, but something after a few seconds tick by with Dean still staring right at him. He begins doubting his own knowledge. Dean blinks slowly, and when they open all Castiel sees is black staring back at him. Seeing his green eyes disappear reminds Castiel to his purpose, and he focuses on his grace inside the man sitting in front of him. He barely feels a faint flicker, almost like a dying heartbeat about ready to give out. He watches Dean lick his lips, chuckling to himself. He mouths something Castiel is unable to catch, and rises from the table in one smooth motion, quickly heading for Castiel. Castiel pulls back, yanking himself away from Dean quickly. Colors and shapes fly back him far too quickly and he slams back into his own human body. He gasps on oxygen he doesn’t need to breathe, and blinks frantically trying to make everything stop spinning. “Cas!” Sam yells beside him. “What the hell was that?” Castiel looks over at Sam, and shakes his head. Crowley stares at him from behind Sam with an amused expression. “You were just standing there like a fricken statue. Seriously, what the hell happened?” Sam asks again. Castiel clears his throat, looking back and forth between them. “I found Dean.” Crowley raises an eyebrow, while Sam gives him a confused look. “You found…You haven’t even left this room.” Sam looks over at the door, then back at Castiel. “I…It’s complicated.” Castiel runs a hand through his hair, fingers getting caught on length. He tugs on the back of it slightly, realizing it is far too long for his liking. His vessel had always had shorter hair, not anywhere near this length. It feels wrong. As if he is defiling his memory. “Explain to me how you found Dean without leaving this room. Then explain to me where Dean is.” Sam crosses his arms, giving him one of his many “bitchface” expressions, Dean would call it. “I…focused on my grace, and…” Castiel tilts his head trying to figure out some way to explain himself. “What our simple minded angel is trying to say is he astral projected himself. A little more to it than that, I’m sure. With you feather heads it always is, but that’s the gist.” Crowley wanders over to a chair and sits down, propping his elbow up on the arm, and rests his head on his fist looking bored. Castiel shrugs. “More or less, yes.” “And you know where Dean is?” Sam asks, leaning forward. “I do, but…” He thinks back how Dean seemed to have seen him-no, not seen. That is impossible. Felt him? “I doubt he is there anymore.” “But you can find him again?” Sam asks. “I can.” Castiel nods his head, grimacing as his greasy hair flops against his face. “This is great!” Sam exclaims, slapping Castiel’s shoulder. “When we get things all set up, finding Dean won’t be an issue.” He turns, walking over to Crowley, starting to go over ideas. Castiel suddenly feels too confined. The room feels even smaller than what it actually is. He has spent months grounded, unable to do or go as he wished; confined to his human vessel, only being able to be used for information. Lying in a bedroom day after day, haunted by reminders-nightmares- of every reason he is a pathetic excuse for an angel, let alone human. He has had to relive his failures every time his eyes closed, exhaustion casting him into sleep. He has let himself give up hope, and sat there wallowing in his own self shame and pity, slowly dying and doing nothing to try and stop it. Trying to locate his grace he had branded into Dean’s soul was like a breath of fresh air. He yearns to stretch his wings and just leave. He wants to breathe. He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing again at the feeling and length. His clothes suddenly felt too tight-too wrong. They aren’t the loose, usual comfort clothes of the man’s vessel he was so comfortable in. These are old, torn, dirty, and just simply too…wrong. They rub against his skin in a way that he feels an odd urge to itch his arms. They are a memory of who he let himself become; a weak, damaged, pathetic human. He wants to rip them from his body and burn them, and any memories they carry of who he had been. Castiel suddenly feels like he is suffocating, which he knows isn’t possible with his grace back. “Where are my clothes?” Castiel asked, interrupting Sam speaking to Crowley. “Uh, you’re wearing your clothes, Cas.” Sam said, raising an eyebrow at him. “My vessels clothes. Where are those clothes?” Castiel begins to slip off his flannel over shirt, leaving him in a black t-shirt. “Dude, what are you doing?” Sam jumps up towards him. “Your clothes are back in Lawrence. You can’t just-“ Castiel feels the air around him shift as he flexes his wings. He blinks staring at the old bedroom he had resigned himself to for months. It looks…different than what he remembers. The bed is unmade, blankets thrown around like he was thrashing in his sleep. He probably was. There is a stale odor of sweat and sickness that makes him wrinkle his nose. The holey closed curtains are covered in dust, and he tilts his head at them wondering if Sam had ever bothered to touch them in their stay. He doesn’t remember the window ever being opened. He looks around the bedroom wondering where Sam might have put the clothes. All the times he used the wobbly dresser in the corner, he had never seen his vessels clothes. Castiel’s eyes rest on the closet he’s never bothered to open. He walks towards it, pulling it open with an ear splitting screech. At first glance it appears empty. Dust dances around, caught on the first current of air flow in who knows how long. Castiel is about to close the door, when he sees something in the back corner of the top shelf. He reaches up, grabbing at the lump of clothing and pulling it down. Castiel rubs the fabric of the tan trench coat with thumbs, staring down at it resting heavily in his hands. A weight he had no idea he’s been carrying, falls off his chest as he lets out a shaky breath. He takes long breath in, trying to collect himself. It’s almost as if he’s seeing an old friend again. The white of his dress shirt peaks out from under the coat, and his lips twitch. He throws the clothing onto the bed and begins stripping out of his dirty clothing quickly. Castiel debates on actually taking a shower. He had almost grown to enjoy the feel of water washing away his filth. As he was growing steadily more and more sick, the heat from the shower seemed to almost pause the inevitable. He had always tried to convince himself that if the water was hot enough it was able to wash away his sins-his shame. No. Showers were a human necessity that he has no need for anymore, or ever again. He spreads his arms wide, and flexes his wings out behind him. Castiel pulls on his grace to cleanse him, smiling as it hums and tingles over his skin. He rolls his head back, enjoying the feeling of the familiar warmth caressing his body. After a moment, Castiel lowers his head as he feels his grace fading back under his skin, again. He feels refreshed, more alert, more himself. His long hair flops in front of his eyes, and huffs at the annoyance. He supposes he could will himself shorter hair, but it would seem more satisfying cutting it himself. Castiel walks into the dirty bathroom, flipping on the light above the mirror. The light buzzes loudly, flickering for a moment unsure if it wants to obey the command and only purpose in existence. Castiel pushes on the mirror and he clicks open revealing a tube of toothpaste half gone, a toothbrush, and a stick of deodorant. Of course there would be no scissors. He should have known better than to even look. Sam would find it a personal offense if such a thing existed in the bathroom, threatening the safety of his own hair. With barely a thought, he focuses on the memory of how Jimmy had looked all those years ago, and closes the mirror as his head begins to tingle all over. The vibration of the cabinet closing jostles the light enough to stop flickering and illuminates the room brightly. Two bright blue eyes stare back at him, no long circled with black bags. A healthy looking face moves along with his as he shifts his face to the side. He watches himself in the mirror as his fingers touch his cheeks, trying to find his sunken in cheeks that he had only hours before. Castiel runs his fingertips over the start of his five o’clock shadow loving the tickling feeling he gives him. He marvels, for a moment, at the healthy glow his grace has given him. He had almost forgotten what it was like to feel “well”. Castiel blinks at the stranger, trying to rememorize himself again. A ghost of tingling itches his head, and he runs his fingertips through the, now, shorter, clean hair. His image mimics him, and he smirks at his reflection. Almost there. Almost back to normal. Castiel wanders back into the bedroom, and approaches the bed where his clothes lay. He unfolds the trench coat, watching the clothes fall out back onto the bed. He slowly reaches for the old clothes, dressing himself carefully, almost as if it’s some religious practice he has to do just right. Finally, he shrugs on the trench coat, sighing at the wholeness he feels. The pile of his old clothes lies on the floor, taunting him with unkind reminders of the last few months. Castiel walks into the kitchen, and heads straight over to the stove where the long kitchen lighter still sits, waiting to be used. He grabs the lighter, heading back into the bedroom. Castiel bends down; scooping up the clothes in his arms, and feels the air shift around him again. Outside of the house, he walks to the middle of the backyard, dropping his clothes on the ground. He walks over to the side of the house grabbing the old gas can Sam had sitting, next to the lawnmower. Castiel walks over to his clothes, and pours the whole can over them. He tosses the can aside, and lights the lighter. Barely touching the clothes with the flame, it catches and ignites the pile. Castiel watches the flames slowly licking their way through the fabric. The smoke drifts away from him on a steady breeze he can hardly feel this close to the heat. He tries not to let his mind wander, but let himself enjoy this moment of cleansing. Dean, the Mark, and everything with that will need to be handled, when he returns. Questions will need to addressed and answered, but in this moment, he is gathering himself and finding a gentle peace he hasn’t had in such a long time. The flames flicker and dance among themselves, growing more dim and smaller. As the last flame flares, settling itself into glowing embers, Castiel lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Something wet drops onto his fist that is still grasping the lighter. He blinks down at his hand, now conscious to the feeling of something wet and hot running down his face. He drops the lighter beside him, raising his shaky hand to his face. Castiel tentatively touches his cheek, feeling the trail of wetness his tears have left. He squeezes his eyes closed, this time he feels the hot tears escape, and let’s out a choked sob. Castiel’s body buckles underneath, somehow feeling too heavy. He lets his body fall to the damp earth, as another sob escapes through his lips. His tears spill out from his eyes as he gasps for air. Castiel’s chest aches, but he doesn’t want to focus on what could be the reason. Somewhere inside his mind, a small voice is telling him this is how his grace is cleansing him. Ridding him of everything that he endured while being human-making him worthy of being an angel again. Clean. Pure. Castiel grasps his sides, hugging himself tightly, trying to push the feeling away, as the ache flares inside him. It burns at his insides, reaching every possible part that makes up his vessel. Castiels vision whites out from the pain for a moment, and his ears begin to ring. When everything slowly begins to come back into focus, he is laying on his side staring at fading, glowing embers. His ears are still ringing, but underneath the ring he can make out muffled voices. Voices he hasn’t heard in so long, he had almost forgotten they existed. He lays there on the damp ground, tears still trickling out without permission, but he is too numb to care. Castiel stares at the fading orange embers slowly dying out, leaving only ash behind. He has no idea how much time has passed, only that his arms are growing stiff from clutching himself tightly. Over the ringing in his ears, he hears a voice whisper, “Welcome back, Castiel.” Castiel can only blink slowly in reply, feeling another tear trickle down his face.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Castiel let the Sam and Crowley’s voices fade into background noise as he reads through Sam’s notes on various ways to try and rid Dean of the Mark. Suffice to say, he hasn’t come up with anything other than trapping him and using regular ways that would vanquish a demon. “As long as we have him, we have time to figure out a plan.” Sam says. “We can start out with the regular ways. I have Bobby’s old books in storage. I can go through those and see if there’s something about the Mark in there.” “Wouldn’t it be wise to go into this with an actual course of action?” Castiel asks, looking up from the notes. “Please enlighten us to something we might be missing.” Sam retorts, sitting heavily on the bed. Castiel pushes away the thought of Dean carrying the Mark. He thinks about the Mark init of itself, and the history of Cain carrying it. His mind goes through different stories and rumors he heard told throughout the centuries. He recalls their encounter with Abaddon, and the knowledge from that. Everything has him coming up just as clueless as they’ve been. The only person who might have answers would be Cain himself. “Cain.” Castiel says. “We need to find Cain and ask him for help.” “Has your grace returning made you bloody insane?” Crowley spits, glaring at him. “Ask the Father of Murder for advice on how to cure the Knight of Hell he deemed worthy to wear the Mark?” Sam’s eyes narrow at Castiel. “How would we even find him?” “I assume a location spell is out of the question?” He asks looking over at Crowley. “The spell I used before was for the Blade, which led us to Cain.” Crowley shrugs. “With the power he still holds being a Knight the chances would be up in the air.” “So, a waste then.” Sam snaps. Crowley shrugs and pushes himself up off the old chair. The movement has Castiel’s hand twitching slightly to slide out his angel blade from his sleeve. Almost as if sensing the slight movement, the demon cocks his head to him, lips spreading slowly into a smug smirk. “A tad jumpy, aren’t we? Old habits a little hard to flush out?” Crowley taunts. Castiel glares back at him, fighting his fingers into a fist. “Only a complete fool would trust you.” “Castiel, Castiel.” He tisks. “How many more times am I going to have to remind you we want the same thing?” Crowley sticks his hands in his jacket pockets, tipping his head to the other side as if thinking. “Though, how we get there is still, well, debatable.” He flicks his wrist and feels the smooth glide of his angel blade fall into his hand. With a thought Castiel is in front of Crowley, pushing the blade to his throat. The King of Hell’s smirk never falters, which only infuriates Castiel more. “Cas!” Sam yells behind him, grabbing his shoulder trying to push him back. “From the very beginning you have been the cause to all of this!” Castiel hisses, pushing the blade harder against Crowley’s throat. “Don’t ever think for a second I will not remember that.” He slides his blade across the Kings neck, enjoying the hiss that escapes the demons lips. “From stealing my grace to the Mark on Dean’s arm, and where we stand presently. That is all on you.” Castiel points the tip of his blade at Crowley scowling at him. “And I will have my revenge.” He turns away from the demon, raising an eyebrow at Sam blocking his way. “We need him to help Dean. My brother.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, looking at the ceiling. “I get it. Everything has been a shit show over these past few months. Trust me, I was there. It’s been hell.” Sam’s hazel eyes look back down at him almost pleading. Castiel feels his body involuntarily twitch at the mention of the past months. “But we finally have a chance here, Cas. I’m not justifying anything that Crowley has done, because what happened to you was…” Sam shakes his head and casting a glare at Crowley. “But if you could put your issues aside for more than a few seconds and look at the bigger picture you’d see we need this bastard to help save Dean.” Castiel opens his mouth to reply, but voices suddenly fill his head. It’s been so long since he heard them, save for sister welcoming him back to the Host. But this time, it seems something has them panicked. He stares past Sam, trying to focus on what his brothers and sisters are saying. Finally he picks out his sisters voice that welcomed him back. “Cain has resurfaced. He has begun killing again.” “Where?” “Everywhere.” “Where is he now?” “Don’t be a fool, Castiel. If legions of angels over the course of centuries cannot bring him to his knees, what do you think you would be able to accomplish?”
“I need to find him.”
“You’ve only just come back to us. Is your human really worth being lost to Heaven forever? Is he worth dying over?”
“I am not going to engage him. I only need to speak to him.”
“This is suicide, Castiel. Just come home and we can-“
“You know by now Heaven is no longer welcome for me, and I have no want to return. Will you help me?”
After a pause of silent static, he thinks his sister has ignored him, he hears a quiet reply. “Illinois.” “Cas?” Sam waves a hand in front of his face. He blinks, eyes focusing on the room around him, and Sam’s narrowing eyes. “Did you hear anything I said?” “Cain is killing, again.” He states, turning away from Sam. “What?! How do you even-“ “Angel radio.” He says staring at Crowley who is leaning back against the wall, staring at the ceiling looking bored. “Did you know?” “That the Father of Murder has picked up the habit again like a bad junkie?” He shrugs. “I am the King of Hell, after all.” “Why didn’t you say anything?” Sam practically yells from behind him. The demon looks over at Sam slowly, and Castiel catches the quick flash of red before they return to normal. “Didn’t seem relevant.” “When you heard him say we needed Cain to help figure out a cure for Dean, it would’ve been nice to know he is back to killing again!” Sam yells. “What the hell are we going to do now?” “I told you asking him was-“ “I’m going to speak to Cain.” Castiel closes his eyes and focuses his mind on Illinois and the strong pull of death. When he opens them, he’s standing in the middle a clearing, surrounded by a forest, the smell of pine and damp earth filling his nose. All around him are mounds earth scattered about. Some look more freshly formed than others. Just eyeing them, Castiel knows they are graves, but the location seems rather random. He tilts his head, and crouches down to inspect one of the piles. Something white is sticking out of the dirt. Castiel brushes some of the dirt away from the object, leaning closer to try and see the item better. It almost looks like a shoe of some sort. He grabs the shoe in question, pulling it free from the earth, and turns it over in his hands. It is defiantly a shoe; a white, slip on shoe, but it has letters on the bottom of it. Letters that mean whomever wore it was an inmate of some sort. His cell phone begins ringing, shattering the silence around him. It quickly hits him that it is very quiet. Almost too quiet. He is out in the middle of the woods, so why hasn’t he heard any birds? Or any other sound of any other animal. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he answers it, eyes searching the trees around him. “Cas, seriously you have to stop just leaving like that.” Sam huffs over the phone. “Listening to you and Crowley talk in circles was getting tedious.” Castiel glances around the trees one last time, ears trying to pick up any sound. “We just keep jumping into these situations without thinking things through.” Sam sighs and Castiel can almost hear the frustration laced into his words. “It’s the jumping that’s drowning us, Cas. In-between what Dean did and you…You just got whole again less than a few hours ago, and you keep flying away without much of a goodbye, or where you’re going.” “I don’t need your permission to leave.” Castiel dips his voice lower, gripping his phone tighter to the side of his head. “No, you clearly don’t. And I’m not saying you need permission, but simply telling us where you’re going would be a nice little warning.” Sam sighs over the phone. “But what I’m saying is we have no idea why or who Cain is killing. We have no idea why after all this time he is back at it again.” “I did tell you where I was going.” Castiel replies, looking down at the shoe in his hand. “Just because Cain is killing again does not make him some bloodthirsty monster like he was. I have enough hope to believe he can hold a conversation without it turning into something more.” “All I’m saying is we need to figure this out before we go flying in blind.” Sam states. “Like you and Crowley wanted to attempt with Dean?” Castiel asks, looking up to see Cain standing a few feet away from him. “That isn’t-“ “I have to go, Sam. I will call you back.” “Hello Castiel.” Cain says, staring intently at him. “What have you done?” Castiel asks, tossing the shoe away. He places his phone back into his coat pocket and stands slowly. “Oh, these bodies?” He asks, not breaking his stare. “Just cleaning up a mess I made a long time ago.” “Cain.” The name comes out almost desperate, and Castiel pauses a moment trying to steady the sudden human emotion. “I know what you were. But you’ve resisted for so long.” “What can I say? I got the taste back.” He replies looking around at the hundreds of bodies buried around them. Castiel sucks in a sharp breath, standing up a bit straighter. He has no clue what he expected to hear, but this-what Cain was admitting-was not it. Cain locks eyes with him again, face staying uncomfortably void of all emotion. He takes a few steps closer to him, walking mindfully of the buried bodies between them. “With Abaddon’s army gunning for me I was forced to take up arms again.” He shrugs slightly. “I liked how it felt.” “Those are demons. These are...” Castiel’s voice comes out too thick to continue. He watches Cain crouch down to a grave a few steps away from him, and pick up a teddy bear. Something inside Castiel’s chest painfully clenches, as he watches the man examines the bear with an expressionless face. “Humans.” He states, shrugging. “Eh, the Mark thirsts for all kinds.” Rage rushes through Castiel at the nonchalance radiating from Cain. Anger and sadness for the child he no doubt killed without a second thought. Anger for the prison inmate whose shoe he was holding only moments ago. All of these people who never had any chance to fulfill their futures and purpose. It was all taken from them because Cain felt the need to kill humans? Innocent children? Abaddon’s army he could understand. Demons bound to their fallen leader, suddenly left with no one to pick up the slack of rebellion. Angry that at the Knight of Hell who started it all and then vanishing, then reappearing again yet unwilling to lead them. All the demons must want is bloodshed and revenge for knocking their purposes off balance. They had given up their allegiance to the King of Hell in hopes of a new hell on earth, not confined to games, laws and shadows anymore. But betrayal is something that cannot ever be forgiven in hell. There is neither patience, nor time. Abaddon’s followers have damned themselves once again. They are only left with the choice to hide, knowing someone eventually will find them; or to join together, and attack hoping someone might get lucky enough to land a hit.“This is a massacre.” Castiel voice comes out guttural as he glares down at the demon. Cain stands slowly, tossing the bear aside. He raises an eyebrow at Castiel as amusement passes over his face quickly to disappear. “Yes. Soon it will be a genocide. My children, my whole poisoned issue.” He walks closer to Castiel, voice cryptically low. “A lot of them out there right now. Killers, fighters, rapists, thieves…” He tilts his head, shrugging again. “Some more peaceful than others but they still carry it-the disease. If the Mark wants blood, I’ll give it mine.” “You’ll kill them all? Mother, daughter, son, father? The most innocent babe to the thief of a father?” Castiel tightens his fingers into fists and steps closer to Cain. “You were Adam and Eves first born. Your descendants are legion.” He rolls his eyes. “At most I’m culling…” Tipping his head back he thinks for a moment, “One and ten.” Castiel opens his mouth, and closes it again. He knows he already knows the answer, but something inside him needs to hear it out loud. “Of everyone?” “I’ve got time.” Castiel stares at him, trying to understand what exactly is happening; how exactly things have escalated so out of control. When Cain had been born he was made for such great things. Hundreds of his brothers and sisters watched as he came into this world, awed at his birth even though he was covered in Eve’s bodily fluids. They marveled at this tiny babe who was destined to begin to fix the wrongs of his father and mother. Such innocence with already so much weight on his shoulders to carry out what his parents could not. Even after Abele, Lucifer and the Mark, everything became a bit more complicated, but still understandable. But this, after all these years? And children? Cain had never before killed children; at most he just avoided them entirely. There was an unsaid line he had drawn, even centuries ago, and from what Castiel understood, Cain had never before crossed that line. What was worse about this whole situation was how Cain didn’t look like he was anything other than calm and in control. He was standing there, seemingly having no issues with an angel in front of him; conversing like you would to any other person. When Dean had first gotten the Mark he was ruled by anger, irritability and the lust for blood. That was the Cain that Castiel had heard about in Heaven. The man standing in front of him was just...void of any and every emotion. “How is Dean, by the way?” Cain’s voice suddenly growing softer, the harshness dropping out completely. Castiel hadn’t picked up on the tone until now. “I hear he did well. Took Abaddon down.” Castiel looks away from Cain quickly, looking over at the tree line. He doesn’t want to answer this question. Dean shouldn’t even been in this situation to have to pause for an answer. He was Castiel’s responsibly to protect, and he failed. He was too weak to save the one person who had become his whole entire existence and purpose. He had to somehow form this into words and beg for the Father of Murder’s help to cure him. He lets his eyes linger over the hundreds of graves between him and the trees, wondering if one day Cain was planning to make Dean apart of his killings. He was a descendent of Cain, worthy enough for the Mark set upon him, but would Cain fulfill his plan and even kill Dean? Would he have to watch his Righteous Man die all over again, or would he die trying to save him even though he was now Dean’s greatest enemy? The thought of Dean being covered in blood again, lying limp in his arms sends a shiver he is unable to control through him. Castiel glances back at Cain, unable to still meet his eyes. Cain dips his head trying to catch his gaze. “He’s not well.” The ghost of his humanity must still cling to him, because Castiel swears he can feel his heart racing in his chest, and feel his blood is pounding in his ears. He feels lightheaded, but he logically knows that isn’t possible. Simply the thought of Cain knowing what Dean has become is sending Castiel into a panic. Even now that he has his grace back; he would be unable to help Dean against the Father of Murder. Dean wouldn’t even accept his help, period. He wouldn’t want anything to do with him, except kill him. Maybe toy with him first, apparently. He would be more a distraction than a help, and the thought alone twists in Castiel’s gut making him think he’s going to be ill. “Dean…He…” Castiel clears his throat, trying to work some of the roughness. He straightens his back, grits his teeth and looks over Cain’s shoulder, still unable to meet his eyes. “I watched Dean die. The Mark brought him back. Dean is losing himself in the Mark. We only need to find a cure-“ “There is no cure.” Cain states, voice dropping low. “I am living proof of that.” “You were not controlled by the desire to kill!” Castiel exclaims, waving his hand in front of him. “This hasn’t been what you’ve been doing for centuries. You stopped! You lived a normal life, not bound to the Blade. If you can do it then Dean can survive this too!” Castiel feels the air around him grow heavy as his gaze returns fully to Cain. He swears he can feel energy buzzing between them. The hairs on the back of his neck rise as the energy spikes as the weight of the demons glare narrows. “There has to be a cure. There is always a cure.” Castiel pleads, feeling his hands unclench and fall weakly at his side. Cain’s lips twitch slightly, as if he is finding something humorous about the whole situation. “In all my centuries of silence, don’t you think the thought ridding this Mark from my body might have crossed my mind? If there was a cure, I would’ve found it, Castiel.” “You fought against the pull-“ “You have to want to.” Each word is spoken with enough emotion Castiel’s eyes lock into Cain’s hard set stare again. “You need a strong enough reason to want to cling to your humanity. You have to be stronger to resist the whispers of the Blade, and the yearning for death burning through your veins.” The heaviness in the air feels like it’s pushing down onto Castiel’s chest, making it uncomfortable to stand still. He takes in a shaky breath out of habit, trying to force the feeling away. “Every day you have to fight for your hold on humanity. Every day you wake up and wonder if today is the day you won’t be able to resist, and succumb to the Mark.” Cain looks Castiel up and down slowly. “The itch never went away. But I found my reason, for a time.” There is something…something hidden in all of the words he speaks that is on the tip of Castiel’s tongue. Something deep mixed with so much pain that he is almost afraid of pushing any further; fearing it might be the snapping point into Cain slipping back into the man Castiel has heard stories of. “There is still hope for Dean to find himself, again.” Castiel argues. “We can remind him of his humanity, and give him something to hold onto.” “I admire your devotion.” A slight smile ghosts over Cain’s lips, disappearing as quickly as the last. “Still, I wouldn’t worry about Dean. I’ll get to him in due time.” Truly having knowledge that Dean is on Cain’s list, Castiel flicks his wrist, letting his angel blade slide into his hand. He narrows his eyes at the Father of Murder, bracing himself for any form of retaliation against his action. Cain’s stare never wavers, nor does he flinch. Castiel begins to raise his blade slowly, watching as Cain’s eyes, now, drop to the blade. “Sorry Castiel.” He says. “You’re not on my list.” He stares at the empty place where Cain was standing just seconds before, blinking slowly. He briefly glances around the area, lowering his blade after sensing no one near. The conversation with Cain replays in his mind, as he tightens his grip on the smooth handle of his blade. Castiel feels a tingle from his grace that helps make up his blade pulsing underneath his hand, trying to soothe his pain away. There is no cure. If Cain had not found a means to rid himself of the Mark by now, then it must be true. Years-centuries- of knowledge and searching, and coming up with nothing? It amazing that Cain had fought the urge for blood off this long. Still, Cain was civilized enough to have a coherent conversation. He has a plan and isn’t murdering blindly. Was that just because he doesn’t hold the Blade? Or because he relinquished the Mark to Dean? Castiel puts his blade away and gives one last look around the area. His eyes land on the teddy bear covered in dirt and dried flakes of blood he hasn’t noticed till now. The scratched, blank button eyes stare back at him. Castiel shivers at the morbid feeling creeping under his skin. His cell phone starts buzzing in his pocket, again, and Castiel breaks his stare away from the bear, fishing it out. The caller id reads Sam’s name. If he answers, he is going to have to tell the younger brother why he let him go so suddenly. That conversation will lead to the truth, and Sam will know there is no cure for Dean. It all comes down to him and failing to keep the one human he swore to protect, safe. Sam may say differently, but he knows the brother will never be able to forgive him for letting his brother die. Castiel’s finger hovers over the answer button until the buzzing stops and the screen goes black. Regardless of hearing there is no cure, he knows Sam-the Winchester’s- well enough to know the man would still try to go about trying to save Dean the regular ways. The Winchesters were nothing but stubborn when it came to saving each other. Either he would have to help the younger brother, or Sam would go about trying to capture Dean and doing it himself; either way probably getting himself killed in the process. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he knows what he has to do. If Cain had stopped, even for just a time, Dean has the ability to stop. Cain had said that Dean had to want to stop. He just needs to give Dean’s humanity something to cling to-a reminder of what it was like to feel. He has to at least try. Castiel refuses to return to Sam with anything less than he tried the impossible. The Dean he knows and loves has to be in there, somewhere. He will just have to find a way to pull it out and to make him feel again. He has failed the brothers so much, Castiel refuses to fail again. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he would never be able to truly harm Dean if it came down to it. The mere thought makes his stomach tighten, painfully. Letting out a slow breath, Castiel closes his eyes and attempts to calm his mind. He focuses only on the humming of his grace swirling inside him. He takes in another shallow breath, stretching his wings wide. Letting out the breath, he takes off, following the faint pull and flicker of his grace inside his Righteous Man. The first thing Castiel notices is the smell. Burning rubber. He wrinkles his nose, opening his eyes, searching for the source of the odor. The noise comes next as he focuses in on the chaos around him. People are screaming somewhere around him, gunshots being fired, babies crying, children sobbing for their mothers. It is all slightly distant, but the abrupt change in volume has him covering his ears. Next he notices the heat. It’s an extreme wetness, humid, and not just from the fires around him. It is the kind of heat that creeps into your lungs with heaviness and makes you feel like you’re drowning on your own breath. Castiel turns slowly around, trying to take it all in and gather his bearings. From what he can tell, he is in Honduras. It has been awhile since he’s been here, and even with the rubble everywhere, he can make out certain landmarks he remembers. Of all places, why here? It is hundreds of miles away from the boarder, and thousands of miles away from where they started. He squints his eyes at the darkness of night around him, and shifts his feet on the pitiful excuse for a road. Tires that are lit on fire are scattered throughout the torn up road, giving the warlike scene a more morbid look. Somewhere not too far off he hears another round of gunshots going off, and he shifts uncomfortably as his shirt begins to stick to his body. Castiel pushes away the thought to why exactly his grace isn’t working properly to maintain his body temperature, and tries to catch up on what he’s seeing and hearing. The cries echoing throughout the darkness are so raw he tries hard to push away what is really happening. Deep inside his mind, he knows what is happening; hundreds of families trying to escape gangs, violence, and drug lords. The people are being picked off slowly through their journey to the boarder, and even when they get there, they will be lucky to find anything more welcoming than what they are experiencing now. His Father knew this would happen, eventually. It makes being here that much more painful. Even if he could attempt to heal or save some of these people, the ones chasing them would catch up and finish the job. Castiel’s thoughts are interrupted by a loud bang of a door. He turns to the noise, watching a woman stumble out of a rundown house in front of him. She runs past him, limping with only one shoe on, holding her bloodied arm. The hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck prickles as he squints at the shadows from where the woman just ran from. They seem to move and shift on their own accord, taking different forms. He pulls on the collar of his shirt, licking his chapped lips as a bead of sweat runs down his temple. He tells himself it’s just the firelight, and tries to pull on his grace to cool his vessel. “Castiel.” A honeyed voice, purrs. Castiel turns his head to the sound of the voice he memorized years ago, watching as his Righteous Man walks out of the dancing shadows of the house. He feels the faint flicker of his grace that Dean carries calling out for him. He bites his lip holding back a gasp at the intensity of the longing. A twisted looking smirk is plastered across his face, reminding Castiel of what he truly is. The flames flickering from one of the closest fires throws Dean’s face in distorted angles. In the lightening Castiel isn’t sure if his eyes are black or not. “Dean.” Castiel breathes, forcing himself to keep his feet still and planted to the ground. “I just can’t seem to get rid of you, can I?” Dean asks, raising the Blade and picking off something from the teeth. “I come all this way to get away from you, and still, here you are.” “I needed to find you. There might be a way to still fix this.” He glances down the empty street quickly. “Why are you here?” The demon tips his head back in a deep laugh. Castiel ignores the pain prickling throughout his chest, standing up a bit straighter. “Fix this?” Dean chuckles. “Are we forgetting how everything worked out the first time anyone tried to fix something?” “That was-“ “Oh no, my bad!” Dean hits the side of his head with the heel of his hand. “You were a pathetic, weak, poor excuse of a human.” A slow, menacing smile spreads over his lips as he takes a few steps closer to the street. “You were so fucked up over that shifter fucking you, you weren’t thinking clearly. Am I close?” Castiel’s jaw twitches as he grits his teeth, reminding himself that this isn’t Dean talking. It is the Mark controlling and transforming him into a bloodthirsty Knight of Hell. All demons lie, taunt, and prod to get their prey or enemies riled up to catch the off guard. “Why not Honduras?” He waves his hand around. “This place is chaos. Screw needing demons to rein evil down, people are doing a pretty fucking bang up job on their own. These people have so much violence and hate inside them, no one would think twice about another body turning up.” Dean sighs dramatically. “And still you found me.” His eyes follow Dean as he walks off to the side of him, slowly circling. His fingers go back to picking at the teeth of the Blade with his fingernails, looking bored with the whole thing. Castiel knows it’s just an act, trying to lower his defenses so the thinks he’s safe. Castiel watches Dean’s body language, making sure he isn’t about ready to react. “You’re not so human anymore, I see.” He taps the Blade on his chin thoughtfully. “Guess Crowley came crawling back to you, offering up your grace, huh? I’m honored, really.” “Crowley knew what needed to be done.” Castiel replies. “This isn’t you, Dean.” Dean stops walking and tilts his head at him. “Sorry to disappoint you, but this is me.” The firelight dances over Dean’s face illuminating it just enough for him to make out a streak of blood smeared across his cheek. He wonders if the blood is the woman’s who was running from the house seconds ago. Why did he leave her living? The shadows play with Dean’s features, making them seem more jagged and defined. A shudder shakes his body, and Castiel has to remind himself that it is just the fire. The Mark cannot change a person’s image. Dean’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “It’s who I’ve always been. I’m just not trapped in the pit this time.” “You know that isn’t true. You aren’t this.” Castiel waves his hand in front of him at Dean’s body. “You aren’t some monster who thrives on murder and bloodshed.” He shakes his head, looking his body up and down. “We-Sam and I-we can still help you. We can-“ “Are we really going to have a repeat of our last conversation?” Dean crosses his arms, an amused smile pulling at his lips. “You don’t know what I’ve done. Who I am now.” “I saw your soul burning through the darkness of hell, and recreated every atom inside your body. I am been inside your mind, walked through your dreams beside you.” Castiel takes a deep breath, focusing on his grace still inside Dean. It seems farther away, somehow, but still gives him relief that it’s still there. “I know you better than you anyone could ever imagine, even yourself.” “I’ve killed families.” Dean states while tucking the Blade away behind him somewhere. Castiel eyes him for a moment, and then shakes his head. Whatever he has done, it wasn’t him, not really. “I don’t care. That isn’t you, that is the Mark making you do those things.” “You don’t care that I’ve killed children?” He taunts, stepping closer. “Mothers? Fathers? People who just happened to be around when I got bored? And I get bored a lot.” “The Mark is…changing you to fit its need-It’s want.” Castiel grips his hands into fists trying to keep his voice even. “The Dean Winchester I know would never harm a child willingly. I know he is still in there, and I will save him.” Dean shrugs slightly stepping closer to him. “That Dean’s always been kind of a buzz kill. Never letting himself enjoy the simple pleasures in life…the ones he really craves.” The distance between them is so slight, Castiel isn’t quite sure how they ended up so close. The air around them feels charged, and he licks his lips out of habit, tasting their energy on his tongue. He swallows thickly, watching Dean’s eyes drop down to his lips. Taking in a shallow breath he watches the man drag his own tongue across his bottom lip, slowly. Castiel has no idea what is going on with grace other than the fact it doesn’t feel like he is quite whole. The way his body is reacting to Dean’s eyes slowly climbing up his face sends a wave of heat over his skin. The closeness of their bodies, mixed with the already hot air must be the reason his vessel react to the man in front of him. Castiel pushes down the remaining thoughts of why his grace isn’t working properly. The yearning to close the distance between him and Dean startles him enough he hasn’t noticed his hand twitching towards Dean’s. He jerks it back, mentally shaking his head trying to clear it. He shouldn’t be thinking these things, not right now. Something about this moment, though, almost seems like Dean-his Dean- is really here. Castiel truly wants to believe he really is fighting and wants to be saved. It makes everything seem like Sam and him are not fighting a losing battle. “I won’t let you lose yourself killing anyone and everyone you come across.” Castiel whispers. “The pleasure you feel from the kill isn’t real. This isn’t you.” Castiel feels Dean’s knuckle underneath his chin raising his face up. The feeling of his skin on his own sends a shiver through his body, and a shaky breath escapes past his lips. His eyes lock with those deep, summer green eyes, and for a moment he swears he can actually feel his Dean looking back at him. “You’re wrong, ya know?” Dean whispers, his warm breath falling over Castiel’s lips. “Do you know anything about pleasure, angel?” He wants to reply, explaining that he does, of course he does, you don’t live a millennia of time without enjoying something. But Dean hasn’t moved his finger from underneath his chin. The warmth radiating from the touch is causing his whole body to ignite with some unseen fire underneath his skin. Their lips are just barely a breath away from each other, and Castiel can’t quite remember him or Dean moving to be this close to each other. The voice inside Castiel is reminding him that Dean isn’t really himself. He is truly trying to latch onto that. He tries to come up with some way to process everything, or something to say to snap him out of this, but he’s having trouble forming proper words. Out of everything that could have happened, the gentle touch is something he least expected, and he isn’t sure how to react. Castiel thought he’d never feel this again, though the touches before were always brief and far and between, it was always a possibility. After months of absolute hell, Castiel hasn’t realized how badly he was starving for something so simple. He tries again to gather his words, to maybe ask what he’s wrong about-anything- but slowly Dean’s fingers spread across the back of his neck. Castiel doesn’t even fight his body leaning into the man’s palm. He struggles to fight back the urge to moan at how amazing it feels just to be touched. “I know you’ve felt it. The energy running through your body, enhancing every single touch and feeling. Your breath comes out short, as you anticipate what might happen next. Your skin tingles with every sensation, and you crave just a little bit more. You’re right on the edge, feeling it building…” Castiel lets his eyes fall shut as Dean runs his hand through the back of his hair, his fingernails scrapping his over his scalp softly. Somewhere inside his head he is screaming that this is wrong, everything about it is wrong. Castiel’s eyes shoot open as Dean’s lips brush over his earlobe. He is very aware of Dean’s other hand on the small of his back, pushing them closer together. He is painfully aware at how warm and solid Dean is against him. Real. “Pleasure is giving yourself over to any and all urges, and just…” Castiel gasps a short breath as he feels a sharp pain from Dean’s teeth sinking his earlobe. The man sucks on it for a moment, and then licks along the outer edge to the tip. “Letting yourself go.” Dean’s fingers dip in and grip tightly in Castiel’s hair, it is borderline painful. Some dark part of himself loves it, but he shoves away he thought quickly. He bites his lip to suppress a moan as Dean closes his lips around where he bit, sucking on it again. The quick but steady flicks from the tip of Dean’s tongue are making his body react without his consent. No matter how wrong and unsafe it might be, in this moment, he could care less. A gunshot goes off followed by the sounds of glass breaking somewhere closer than the last few times. Castiel snaps out of whatever trance he has been in, body tensing. He tries to pull back from Dean, hissing against the hold Dean still has in his hair. Dean pulls Castiel’s face close to his, again, and chuckles, eyes reflecting the fires around him. “Let me go.” Castiel growls. He attempts trying to turn his body to grab Dean’s hand still locked in his hair, but can’t quite reach. “Dean, I don’t want to hurt you.” “Something tells me that isn’t gunna be a problem.” Dean replies, smirking down at him. Castiel searches his eyes, trying to search for something telling him Dean isn’t as far gone as he’s letting on. He watches as his eyes blink and come back oily black. Gripping tightly to Dean’s wrist, he twists and spins himself out of his grip. Dean laughs as his fist lands across Castiel’s face. The next hit he can anticipate, and blocks the other fist aimed for his face. Dean grabs his arm, twisting it until Castiel feels something in his elbow pop. He hisses as a wave of pain hits him before his grace can react to healing it. Another hit catches him in his chest, and he stumbles backwards a few feet. Castiel grits his teeth as he watches Dean pull out the Blade from behind him. The demon smiles, quickly raising it and bringing it down in one smooth motion. Castiel jumps back, the teeth of the Blade just barely missing him. Grabbing his hand, Castiel yanks it closer to him. He pulls on his grace, and slams his free elbow down on Dean’s wrist. Dean drops the Blade, snarling in pain. Castiel awkwardly kicks the Blade away from them, shoving Dean away in the process. They glare at each other for just a moment before Dean is right back in front of him again. He grabs the lapels of Castiel’s coat, and tosses him to the side like he weighs nothing. Castiel hits something hot, and arches his back the explosion of heat licking at his flesh. He shoves himself off the ground, and appears back in front of Dean who is seconds away from grabbing the Blade. Castiel catches Dean’s fist right before it hits his face, but misses the second that connects with his gut. He grunts and pushes Dean away from him as much as he can. He can feel his grace straining to keep up with all the contact and flying. Letting out a growl of frustration, he steps back, the back of his foot knocking into the Blade still laying beneath him. Castiel slides out his angel blade, narrowing his eyes at Dean. “Dean, stop.” Dean disappears in front of Castiel, and before he has time to turn around something very solid slams down on his right arm, and his blade clatters to the ground. Hands grab his shoulders, and Dean’s knee slams into his stomach. Castiel raises his arm, only practically protecting his face as another hit knocks into the side. Before he can manage to stand upright, Dean brings his elbow around, slamming into the opposite side of his face. Castiel feels himself being thrown again, but this time his body hits the hard, rocky road. He slides a few feet until his momentum stops. He feels everything inside him that’s been damaged, and lets out a groan at the throbbing pain. His grace is healing him, but more slowly than it ever has before. He pushes himself up off the ground, wincing as his injuries scream at him to stay still. Dean doesn’t break his eyesight away from him as Castiel watches him bend down and grab his angel blade, instead of his Blade. Castiel stands straighter, hand held out in front of him like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. He glances briefly around for anyone-anything- that he might be able to use. “Dean…” Castiel’s eyes dart back from his blade held in Dean’s hand to the man’s face. “What’s the matter? Being human all those months make you forget how to fight? Or have you really been this pathetic the whole time?” Dean twirls the blade in his hand. “Some Angel of the Lord you are. Bet Heaven rejoiced after you left.” “Stop. Just…stop.” Castiel eyes his blade wearily. Dean laughs, eyes blinking and blackness fading away. “How’s it feel to always fuck everything up wherever you go? I bet a real angel wouldn’t lose their blade so easily in a fight.” He tilts his head at him, stilling the movements of the blade. “Is that some angelic talent you have? Always letting people down? Letting those you say you care about die? The ability to make anyone’s life you’re around complete shit?” Castiel bites down on his tongue hard enough to taste blood. His head is spinning with all the possible ways to disarm Dean and win this. In reality, it would be fairly easy. Dean may be strong, but he lacks the skill of centuries of battles. But this isn’t Dean. This is the Mark talking, trying to get into his head and bring out his weakness. He knows he will never be able to kill him, but if he wants to live, he needs to overpower him. He tightens his hands into fists, takeing a cautious step closer to Dean. “You should’ve done the world a favor and died.” Dean taps the hilt of the blade to his temple, nodding back at him. “Least that’s what Dean thinks.” “That’s…” His voice breaks, and he clears it trying to spare a minute to get his thoughts under control. “I’m not going to hurt, Dean. Not if it can be helped.” “Seriously? Afraid you’re going to hurt me?” He barks out a laugh that seems to echo down the empty street.”You can barely stand up straight! That’s adorable!” “You’re not him!” Castiel yells, watching the darkness around Dean flicker in and out. The pull of his grace tingles against his palm, begging to be used against whoever has angered him. He squeezes his fist, digging his nails into his hand, trying to push it away. Dean hums, going back to twirling the blade. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I’m him, alright. And I am really bored with this whole thing.” Just as Dean disappears, Castiel turns around anticipating Dean to appear behind him. The demon doesn’t even look phased to see Castiel looking at him, and slams the end of his blade against Castiel’s face. Castiel’s vision blurs slightly, but throws his own body forward, forcing Dean to fall over backwards. He grabs Dean’s hand holding his blade, and slams it down on the ground. His grip doesn’t even slip; instead Dean’s body vibrates underneath his with laughter. Frustration builds up inside Castiel. It’s hot, humiliating, and he wants to scream at his own stupidity for even having caused everything to end up here, to this moment. Under him, he feels Dean’s laughter dying down, and his body tensing to attack. Castiel looks down at the man he’s being trying to save for months, but only sees some distorted, twisted image in his place. He focuses on that, and pulls at all his grace not being used for injuries. His eyes must be glowing from his power, because the laughter has abruptly stopped. He looks down at the man under him, and watches as Dean’s Dean’s lips twitch into a scowl. The demon tries to push Castiel off, but he hardly even registers the touch, remaining unmoved. Something wet drips off the tip of Castiel’s nose onto Dean lying beneath him. He feels another trickle running down the side of his face. Sweat. He is sweating. Castiel grabs Dean’s wrist as he tries to focus and pull more grace to use. A sharp pinprick of pain starts spreading throughout his chest as he begins to pry Dean’s fingers from it. Dean tries to wrap his fingers back around the blade, but Castiel catches them and breaks each one for good measure. The man hisses and thrashes his body as he places the blade against Dean’s throat. “Thought you weren’t going to hurt me?” He snarls. “Listen to me, Dean. I know you’re in there.” Castiel says, pushing the blade underneath his chin. “You need to fight this. You are stronger than this.” A deep chuckle builds up from the man underneath him. “That’s your big finishing move?” Dean lifts his head forward, pushing against the blade. He smiles up at Castiel with that same twisted smirk, and blinks, eyes shifting to black again. “You can do better than that.” Castiel leans in closer, putting more weight to push down on the blade. “Right this very moment, Sam is searching for a way to bring you back. I’ll say it again as much as I have to; this person the Mark has turned you into, isn’t who you truly are. We know who you are.” Dean’s black eyes narrow up at him. “One day there will come a time where everyone you’ve ever known and loved is gone. Everyone but me, and I’ll be standing here, watching you murder the world. And even then I won’t have given up on you. Even then I will be searching for a way to ride you of this Godforsaken Mark. That’s what you taught me. You don’t give up on people you care about.” Castiel loosens his grip, just for a moment, but enough time for Dean to knock his hand away. The demon bucks his hips enough to jostle Castiel and knock him to the ground. Castiel lets out a frustrated growl at his own stupidity in letting his guard down. Dean is on him before he can even lift his body from the ground, grabbing a fist full of his hair and slamming his head back on the ground. Once. Twice. Three times, before he tosses him aside like a rag doll. His head spins and throbs momentarily, before his grace slowly steadies his vision again. The pain lingers, only barely. Castiel’s mouth tastes like copper and his tongue feels thick and gritty from the dust and dirt from the road. He shakily pushes himself to his feet, and spits out a mouthful of the disgusting mixture. Dean stands across from him, eyeing him with black eyes, all smugness gone from his expression. Castiel raises his hand trying to pull on his grace again just as Dean disappears. A violent tug has Castiel thrown across the road, into what feels like a brick wall. Black stars dance in front of his vision, as he feels Dean’s heavy body straddling his hips. Castiel’s ears ring as blow after blow knocks his head back and forth violently. He brings his arms up in a pathetic attempt to stop the strikes, but Dean snarls and yanks Castiel’s arms back down beside his body. Castiel hisses as Dean kneels on his hands, digging his knees into his fingers. His face feels twice as big as it should be, and the only taste in his mouth is blood. His grace is spreading even more slowly over the damage, and he lets out another yell in frustration. Castiel wonders if maybe he should just stop it. If he is being honest with himself, he doesn’t deserve to be healed after everything he’s caused. An unexpected cough escapes, pushing out some of the blood with it. Castiel searches inside himself for the warmth of his grace, only finding a dull glimmer. He grips onto it tightly as he forces another cough. He feels the warm liquid trickling down his chin as he as his vision becomes slightly clearer. A flash of silver catches his eye, and his sight sharpens on his angel blade being raised above his head. Castiel tries to tug his hands free as Dean pushes down more weight. He watches as Dean’s face falls completely blank. Castiel lets out a mix between a scream and a grunt, yanking his right hand out from under Dean’s knee, just as his own blade comes speeding towards his chest. He grabs Dean’s hand wrapped tightly around the hilt, stopping the blade, just barely. His arm begins to shake against the man’s strength, as he pants for air. “Dean…” Castiel’s voice comes out strained. He looks up into his black eyes, and squeezes the man’s fist. “Please.” The black eyes stare into him for just a moment, and then Castiel’s hand is shaken away. He knows he won’t be able to stop Dean again. His body is beyond exhausted, and his grace feels like it did before he lost it all. All the adrenaline that had been fueling him is fading away as he watches Dean’s eyes squeeze shut and his own angel blade is raised over his body again. Castiel has just a second to suck in a breath before the reality of the situation falls heavily on his chest. A part of him wishes he could see the green of his Righteous Man’s eyes one last time before he dies. He thinks, wherever he is going next, he would like to remember the unearthly green that lies within the man. He wishes a lot of things, as he feels his hand fall limply to his side, half unwilling, half unable to fight back. After all his years of trying to defend and protect his human, his charge, his Righteous Man, he is finally going to be killed by those hands. Maybe, he hopes, that will be enough to bring him back. A shrill sound of metal against something solid pierces his left ear, and he lolls his head to the side to see his angel blade sticking out of the rocky earth beside him. Castiel blinks numbly at the silver shining in the firelight, and slowly turns back to the body still on top of his. Dean is panting heavily above him, bright green eyes locked onto the blade still tightly gripped in his hands. Castiel stares at him, trying to understand what just happened. Dean slowly untangles his fingers from the blade, and pushes himself off Castiel. His green eyes lock with his for just a breath before he vanishes. Castiel knows that the image of those pained, sorrowful filled green eyes is burned inside his mind until forever ends.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The sun starting to rise by the time Castiel manages to fly himself back to the hotel. He barely lands upright, stumbling back into the room and catching himself on the edge of the dresser before his legs give out. His whole body aches with bruises and marks that should’ve already healed. Why haven’t they healed is something that no matter how hard he thinks about he cannot seem to find an answer. There isn’t any reason for him not to. When Crowley gave his grace back to him, he felt the complete wholeness fill him. So why now is his body unable to heal and replenish properly? “What the bloody hell happened to you?” Crowley asks from the same place he was sitting before he left. Gritting his teeth, Castiel pushes himself off the dresser and walks the few steps to the edge of the bed where he sits down. He can feel his grace moving and working inside him attempting to heal him, but something isn’t right. It took hours to build up enough energy to fly back here and now he feels completely exhausted. He can still feel it trying to replenish itself, sluggishly healing the damage to his body. Maybe he just needs longer to recharge until things get back to normal? Castiel looks around the room seeing it empty of the youngest Winchester as his eyes fall back to Crowley who looks at him blankly, fingers steepled his, resting against his chin as if waiting for something. “Where’s Sam?” He asks. “Left a bit ago for some food,” Crowley replies tapping his chin for a moment. “You burnt your grace out.” Castiel narrows his eyes at the demon, daring him to try anything. He may be weak, but he’s more than what he was. “I –” “Spar me the speech, Castiel,” the King of Hell says holding up a hand. “You flew too fast, too soon, and burnt your pretty little wings too close to the sun. Nothing a little rest can’t fix. Rather dull if you ask me, but then again I’m not the one who was foolish enough to meet our problem head on without a plan.” “Even in my weakened state I am still an angel and so help me I will smite you if you don’t shut the hell up,” Castiel snaps. Crowley chuckles and leans back in the chair. “And how is our little Knight doing? Slaughtering families just for sport?” He hates this. He hates that Crowley has the perfect knack for pinpointing the exact truth and throwing it out there like he’s overreacting. The way he twists things makes whatever the issue is sound so much worse, yet not a big deal at the same time. Maybe it’s because a part of him isn’t ready to hear it – not out loud at least. Seeing it is one thing, but speaking the words out loud makes it real. “Oh, come off it Castiel,” Crowley says rolling his eyes and leans forward. “What did you think was going to happen? You pop in and expect him to see you juiced up and come running into your open arms? I thought you were smarted than that.” “You know nothing!” Castiel snaps, his grace flaring inside. He closes his eyes, mouth open at feeling the sudden warmth of it wash over him. Almost immediately he feels more awake, less sore. Opening his eyes slowly, Crowley eyes him with amusement. “I knew what I would find when I searched for him. I merely sought out Dean to see only if I could. And I can. What happened after is irrelevant. We both know what happens when an angel goes against a Knight.” “And therein lies our problem,” he sighs. “One half angel and – don’t give me that look, you’re a mess. If Sam were to walk in here I’d have to endure listening to him lecture you about going about things half cocked. More than likely he’ll blame it on Cain, and I think we should let him believe what he wants.” Castiel blinks slowly, staring at Crowley. Is this him trying to be helpful or hide the bigger problem? It’s always exhausting trying to keep up with him. “Don’t give me that look,” he huffs smoothly out his suit jacket. “Less I hear that moose bitching about anything the better. I had to sit here and listen to him go on for hours after you left. I rather sit rounds back in Hell being tortured than have to go through that again. So, shall we agree to play it off like you hadn’t gone and followed wherever your heartstrings pulled, eh?” Looking down at the dirt and blood over his clothes, Castiel gives a small nod. Crowley’s right. It wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors if Sam knew where he had been and the outcome of the visit. “Good. Glad you’ve gotten your head out of your ass at least,” Crowley says. “Sam’s still on the path to thinking tricking Dean into being captured and holy watering the living shit out of him is going to get him to come back. You and I both know how poorly that will end up.” “Didn’t we already discuss this and decide that it was foolish?” Sighing, Castiel tips his head back to stare at the ceiling. He remembers many angels dying in attempts to stop the wrath of Cain all those centuries ago. The only reason Cain stopped was because he had a want to stop. There has to be something more, something they’re missing. Crowley claims to know nothing, but a part of him wonders if maybe the King of Hell knows more than he’s holding saying. “Mm,” Crowley hums leaning his head back against the wall. “He must think angels and the like aren’t as powerful as him or some bullocks.” The jiggling of the handle has Castiel rising from where he sits as the door opens and Sam walks through with a cup of coffee and a delicious smell from a brown takeout bag. “Cas!” He says dumping the items on the table by Crowley and walking over him. “What the hell happened?” Castiel gives a small smile and steps back from Sam reaching out to him. “I’m fine. A minor altercation, but it’s over now.” He nods to Crowley. “We were just discussing some ideas you had while I was away.” Sam looks back and forth between the two of them for a moment before walking back to his food and sitting down on the opposite side of Crowley. “Getting Dean inside the devil’s trap seems like the only sure way he’ll actually be contained.” He says taking a bite of some biscuit sandwich. “Containing and ridding Dean of the Mark are two different things,” Castiel says trying to ignore the way his mouth is water at the smell of the greasy food. “Where we know a devil’s trap will work at holding a Knight, we still have no way of knowing how to cure one.” “Or get rid of,” Crowley says. Sam drops the sandwich and glares back at the demon. “We’ve been over this. We aren’t killing my brother.” Crowley holds his hands up, rolling his eyes with a sigh. “No need to get all hot and bothered, Moose. Only trying to make sure we’ve got all options covered.” Sam eyes him for a moment and then balls up his wrapper with the remainder of the food and tosses it in the bag. “First we need to figure out if we can even find him. Secondly, I think if we come up with something like giving him doses of holy water then –” “Holy water only does minimal harm to a Knight of Hell. An exorcism is out of the question considering Dean carries the Mark therefore making himself the demon. He is about as possessed as you or I.” Sam angrily throws the bag of food behind him, missing the trashcan. “Then how the hell are we supposed to do this!” “I don’t think locating Dean will be an issue,” the King of Hell says smirking at Castiel. He meets the look narrowed eyes. “As for another option, why confine Dean in a room or cell with warding preventing him from leaving until we find a way.” Sam looks back and forth between them slowly, mulling over the words. “And what if we find no way?” “Problem solved either way,” Crowley stands up and smooths out his jacket. “You’re saying we jail Dean until – if – we find a way to cure him?” Sam asks standing from the table. “Or we can keep him out there, letting him slaughter hundreds,” the demon says shrugging his shoulders. “Since my suggestion of ridding ourselves of the problem altogether is off the table, I’d say this is all you have left. Your call.” They stand there, glaring at each other, while Castiel tries think of another option. Honestly, Crowley’s suggestion isn’t terrible. Keep Dean locked up like some tiger in a cage isn’t ideal, but it will buy them some time. The main problem is actually getting the jump close enough to Dean to be able to get the chains around him, then moving him back to the house to keep him contained. “It might work,” Castiel says. “First we need to get to the house figure out where we are going to keep Dean, and ward it properly. Second, we need to figure out how we are planning on capturing Dean.” “Finally!” Crowley exclaims, tipping his head back in exasperation. “About bloody time.” “As if you were any help,” Sam mumbles. “Sam, drive the Impala back to the house. I should have everything ready by the time you get there. Crowley, you’ll go with me and help me with the warding. We’ll figure out where to go from there.” “Wait Cas,” Sam says stepping forward. “Listen, about that shit I said earlier. I didn’t mean it. I know what Dean means to you and you want him back just as badly.” Sam lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it. “We’re going to get him back.” Castiel tries not to remember the words Sam said to him out of anger, but still they come echoing back inside his mind. A deep part of him wants to flinch away from the man’s touch, but he remains still, refusing to show any type of hint that he’s still effected to what happened all those months ago. He said what needed to be said about the matter, but any lingering cracks of weakness will forever be kept to himself, now. Castiel has always been good at looking at a situation, analyzing it and been able to come up with the perceived outcome. Given what is laid out in front of them, it doesn’t look promising. But with all the time he’s spent on earth with the Winchesters it’s made him discover that he can’t keep looking at the world as he use to. If he knows anything it’s the fact that these two brothers keep surprising him over and over again. Even when times have seemed the darkest, they still found that sliver of light and relight the world again. Knowing that Sam is waiting for him to acknowledge him somehow, he forces a small smile and nods his head. He doesn’t have it in him to lie to the younger brother outright. He will see for himself sooner or later what the power of the Mark can truly do. The smile is enough for Sam, it seems, and Sam squeezes his shoulder once more before dropping his hand, backing away. Castiel closes his eyes and focuses on the bedroom of the house. He feels the air shift and change around him, gasping when his feet finally hit the wooden floor. Opening his eyes he finds himself standing beside the unmade bed, disturbed dust motes swirling and dancing in the early morning’s light that pours in through the curtainless window. Footsteps from the other room grow louder until Crowley appears in the doorway, a look of disgust on his face. “I’ve seen nicer places in Hell than this,” he says stepping further into the room and looking around. “This it, then?” Castiel manages to take in a deep breath without the threat of a cough he’s become so use to threatening to tickle his throat. A twinge of pain shoots through his body as he straightens up. His grace responds by warming the area, soothing the ache. He sighs as he feels the pain fade away. “This will be the room. Unfortunately Sam and I do not have a basement.” Crowley huffs and stops beside the window looking out with a bored look on his face. “The window needs to be boarded up. We’ll need to get a chair stronger than that toothpick you have in the other room.” Castiel nods and looks around the room. The bed will have to go, as well as everything else. It needs to be stripped bare, leaving Dean no chance to help him escape. “This won’t hold him forever, Castiel.” Crowley says, turning to him. “Possibly a few days. If we’re lucky.” He sighs and picks up the lamp from the bedside table, pulling the outlet from the wall. “I’m aware.” “And if he gets free?” “Castiel. Please, you have to stop.” Castiel gasps as the sound of his sisters voice rings in his mind. “I know what you’re trying to do, but you already know this is foolish. You’re only going to get yourself killed!”
“There has to be a way to save him, Hannah.”
“Would you really risk your own life to save just one human? Is he really worth it?”
“I owe who I am to the Winchesters. Dean is still in my charge and I would risk my life to try and save him.”
“This is madness, Castiel! You are only one angel.”
“There has to be something that hasn’t ever been tried before. None of us have ever been able to get close to Cain, but Dean I have a connection – our bond. That has to mean something!”
“I know what you’re trying to do and there isn’t a way to try that hasn’t been done before. None of it works. Let him go, Castiel. Heaven needs you. I need you. Come home to us.”
“No! You are wrong, Hannah. My home is with Dean. I can feel my grace keeping his soul alive. He’s in there and I will save him. So either help me find a way or leave me in peace, sister.”
Castiel waits for a moment before the silence over angel radio gives him his answer. His eyes come back into focus to see an empty room. He’s still holding the lamp, but Crowley must have left to get whatever he thinks they need, or at least he hopes. Some small part of him hopes that Hannah would have helped him find a way, but if he’s being honest with himself, he knows that there is no real way to cure Dean. Deep inside he knows it’s only a feeble attempt to cling to hope that has long since gone away. He walks out of the room and sets the lamp on the floor by the kitchen. Either way things happen, no one will need it again. Castiel walks back into the bedroom and touches the bed and without thinking about it, appears outside in the backyard with the bed lying on the ground beside him in the exact spot he burnt his clothes. He blinks and is back in the half emptied room, kneeling to the ground hissing as another twinge of pain goes through him. How can he go up against Dean if he can barely move a bed out of the room? He rubs his chest trying to pull at his grace. It barely responds for him. Frustrated, he tries again, reaching and pulling at his grace to heal himself. Once more it ignores him. “Bloody hell, I leave you for five minutes and you can’t even manage to hold yourself together for that long.” Castiel turns to the sound of something heavy falling to the floor and sees Crowley standing beside a metal chair with something suspiciously looking like dried blood splattered over it and a large piece of plywood. He pushes himself up off the ground, ignoring the pain shooting through his body like fire. Crowley eyes him for a moment; an unreadable look passes over his face. After a moment the demon looks away the drags the chair to the middle of the room. “Time to redecorate.”*~*~*~* By the time Sam arrives the next day, the room is ready. Despite having worked with Crowley on warding the entire room – floorboards, ceilings and walls – he feels rested, even if he had to do most of the demon holding sigils himself. His grace has worked through the day healing and reenergizing itself that he almost feels whole, even despite using his own blood for the marks. Sam lays the chains on the table next to where Castiel’s old coffee cup still sits and looks determinedly at both of them. “Will it hold him?” Sam asks. “A few days. Maybe a week, at the most,” Castiel replies. “The room is not built to handle something like this.” Sam nods his head. “So what do we do when we got him? Exorcism is out. We can try holy water. I really think we should try injecting it. Dean told me he tried that with Alastair and it worked enough to weaken him. I mean, the outside effect hurts him, stalling him almost, but if we go from the inside maybe we can get rid of the Mark itself. Or at least weaken the effect enough Dean comes back to convince him to fight through it.” “And how would we know if we’re weakening him or killing him?” Crowley asks. “This is the Mark of Cain we’re talking about, not some demon on steroids.” “We have to try!” Sam snaps, slamming his fist on the table. “This is my brother and we’re not going to lose him again.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Look, if we can just get him out enough to just talk to him I know we can get him back.” “That’s your big plan? Dose him up with holy water to talk him back from the edge?” Crowley laughs sarcastically. “And I thought you were the smart one of the lot.” “I don’t hear you coming up with any other options!” Crowley pushes up from the wall he’s leaning against and takes a step closer. “I gave you my option – the only option there is. You’re too stubborn to even consider it.” “Even if we had the ability to do it, we are not killing my brother!” Sam screams stepping forward to meet the demon. “It even took Dean wearing the Mark to kill Abaddon! And who did he do that for, Crowley?” Castiel reaches his hand out and grips Sam’s arm. “No one is killing Dean.” The younger brother glares down at Crowley a moment longer and then shrugs off Castiel’s hand and walks back to the table. “We need to think about things seriously. We get one shot at this and cannot afford to mess it up. How are we going to get the chains on Dean?” “Crowley and I were discussing it and it seems best if I go on ahead. You two will follow a few minutes after, giving me time to distract him and you come up from behind.” Crowley snorts as he walks back over to the wall. “Rubbish of a plan.” “That will work,” Castiel looks up at the ceiling as if it might give him some sort of strength. The bickering between the two of them is exhausting. “The only way any of this is going to work is if we are on the same page.” “Alright,” Sam says nodding his head. “I’m ready.” “Crowley,” Castiel says looking over at him. “Are you ready?” Sighing, Crowley flicks his wrist at him. “Yeah, yeah. All for one and all that. Whatever, I’m in.” Closing his eyes Castiel focuses in on the gentle humming of his grace. It flickers and pulls him at him calling for the missing bit. For a moment he thinks maybe it’s gotten stronger, but as he reaches out for it he frowns. Dean is close. Castiel reaches out for it, letting his mind search through blurs of colors, towns and people until he’s suddenly pulled backwards. The pull becomes stronger, almost like a prayer. Castiel’s eyes shoot open as he moves his wrist slightly letting his angel blade slide easily into the palm of his hand as he turns towards the front door. “He’s here.” He hears Crowley mumbling curses as Sam frantically grabs the chains on the table behind him. Castiel’s eyes never leave the door as they wait. He can feel Dean’s energy radiating from behind the closed door making the hair on his arms raise. It’s powerful. “Cas,” Sam whispers behind him. “Are you sure he’s out there?” “Feathers is right about this one,” Crowley whispers back gruffly. “I can feel him.” Sam shifts his feet and the next time he speaks he’s closer. “Why isn’t he coming in?” Without even trying, amusement seeps through their bond. Dean seems to almost be poking purposefully at his grace, which only irritates Castiel. He knows that the demon part of Dean is only using it as bait to draw him out, but something about the demon’s evil touching something that is apart of him makes his hand begin to tingle wither energy. It’s almost as if he’s purposely trying to corrupt something so pure as Dean’s soul, making it completely dark. Castiel grinds his teeth together in anger, tightening his hold on his blade. “He’s toying with us,” Castiel growls walking forward to the door unable to take it anymore. “What are you doing?” Sam yells. Castiel reaches for the door handle, not even hesitating to debate his options. For him there are no options left. The hold Dean has on the little bit of grace inside him feels like he’s trying to suffocate it – like a flame in a candle. Squeezing his eyes shut, he focuses on the grace inside Dean. There is still good in him, fighting to break free and no matter what the Mark says, this is not who Dean is. Bracing himself for an attack, Castiel opens up the door and steps out onto the stoop. Dean is nowhere in sight. He scans the yard but doesn’t see anyone. The sound of chains falling to the ground has Castiel turning around slowly only to see Dean behind Sam, an arm wrapped around his chest, holding the Blade against his neck. “Well lookie what we have here,” Dean says grinning back at him. “Seems you guys just can’t take a hint.” Castiel walks slowly back into the room, eyes flicking around the room for Crowley who seems to have slipped away. He shouldn’t be surprised, but a small part of him thought maybe this time the King of Hell would fight with them this time. Trying to school the frustration from showing, he walks closer to the two brothers. Dean’s eyes track his every step until he stops when only a few feet between them remains. “Let Sam go.” Castiel demands. The grin over Dean’s face grows, the white of his teeth shining in the pale yellow overhanging light. “I don’t think I’m going to do that.” “You don’t want to hurt your brother,” Castiel says, shifting his stance to edge a little closer. “That’s where you’re wrong,” Dean says sliding the Blade along Sam’s neck making him hiss in pain. “That is exactly what I want to do,” Castiel watches as a trickle of blood from the cut drips down Sam’s neck and steps forward out of instinct. “Take one more step and I’ll rip his head off his shoulders.” Sam grunts as Dean grabs his hair and forces his head back, exposing his throat. Castiel freezes, glaring at Dean in frustration. “What do you want?” Castiel growls. “You came here for something, so what is it!” “Last time we saw each other I thought I made it pretty clear that I didn’t want to be bothered. I thought we had an understanding,” he tilts his head as if contemplating something. A slow smirk spreads over his lips as his eyes flick to black. “Apparently you need a better reminder to leave me the fuck alone.” Dean’s face twists into something cold, dark, evil as he yanks his brother’s head back further, causing Sam to stumble backwards as he bends awkwardly. Castiel surges forward, angel blade raised to stop Dean but right as he’s about to strike, Dean arches his back, the Blade slightly moving away from Sam’s throat. Dean hisses in pain as Castiel takes the opening, swinging the hilt of his blade into Dean’s hand that is still gripping onto Sam’s hair. Dean barely loosens his grip, but it’s just enough that Castiel pushes Sam away right before he shoves Dean with his whole body into the kitchen counter. He catches Dean actually grimacing in pain and is taken aback for a moment. Something silver catches Castiel’s eye and his eyes focus on Dean’s shoulder and the angel blade protruding through his right shoulder. “Grab the bloody chain!” He hears Crowley yell just as Dean pushes up from the counter. Feeling as though he’s frozen, Castiel watches Dean reach his free hand behind him grabbing the blade and yanking it out. It clatters to the ground as Dean rolls his shoulders turning his head so his black eyes lock with his. The energy around Dean is charged, thick and heavy with his anger. The smirk is gone from his face, leaving it void of any emotion and cold. To call it pissed would be an understatement because this is far more. Castiel swears he can taste the power on his tongue. Dean moves forward towards Castiel slowly, his black, empty eyes scanning the room searching for something. “I know you’re here, Crowley,” he growls. “Why don’t you come out so I can repay the favor?” Castiel’s eyes widen as Crowley appears behind Dean with the bloodied angel blade raised again. He only has a moment to react when a Dean smirks, turning to face the King of Hell. Once Dean’s eyes off him, Castiel feels like his head is clear again and quickly moves forward, grabbing Dean from behind, pinning his arms to his side. Dean screams in frustration, desperately trying to yank his arms free, dropping the Blade in the process. He trashes his body, but Castiel just tightens his hold. He feels his eyes beginning to glow as his grace reacts to simply touching Dean again, and he lets the warmth of his grace build inside him giving him more strength to help hold Dean back. “Get those chains around him!” Crowley yells at Sam as he comes into the line of vision handing one end to Crowley. Dean thrashes and struggles, but Castiel only squeezes him tighter against him as Crowley and Sam work together to get the chain wrapped around Dean enough to hold him. Castiel can tell the moment it chain is secure tight enough because the energy that was coming from Dean disappears like someone sucked it out of the room. Dean’s strength is confined and he knows he’s trapped. Tipping his head back against Castiel’s shoulder he lets out something that can only be described as an unearthly roar. Still, Castiel refuses to let up his hold, untrusting that the chains will actually hold him. He beings dragging him towards the warded room as Dean struggles in his arms trying to get free. He’s weaker now, but Castiel doesn’t trust the false sense of security for a second. He’s seen what a Knight of Hell can do, and will not be foolish enough to put his own emotions ahead of their only shot to possibly cure Dean. As they cross over the threshold to the bedroom Dean begins laughing. Sam helps maneuver and set Dean on the metal chair bolted to the floor in the middle of a devils trap. Together they loosen the chains around Dean, then secure them around Dean and the chair. After Sam is satisfied with the work, he steps back, looking down at his brother. Dean chuckles again, his black eyes staring up at both of them. “Please tell me this isn’t your big plan.” He laughs again, his empty, unblinking eyes staring up at them with an amused look. “Seriously Sammy? I thought I raised you better than this.” Dean tilts his head to Castiel. “When I get out of this I’m going to tie you to this chair, Castiel. I’m going to make you watch as I slice and rip apart Sam here into so many pieces no one will be able to put him back together. I think I’ll keep him alive the whole time just so you can hear him scream.” Dean starts laughing again as Sam grabs onto his arm, dragging him out of the room and shutting the door, muffling the laughter. All he Castiel can do is stand there, staring at the wooden door, ignoring every molecule of his make up that screams for him to bust back in there and save him (killhim). He’s so torn listening to his Righteous Man’s laughter dying down he doesn’t realize how heavily he’s breathing. Trying to steady himself, Castiel takes in a deep breath, reminding himself that angel’s do not need oxygen, and lets it out slowly. He does it again, letting his body slightly relax. “So what now?” Sam asks behind him. “I say we cut off his arm with the Mark and throw it into the ocean,” Crowley huffs as Castiel turns around as Crowley sticks his hands in his suit jacket pocket, rolling his eyes. “Do you have the holy water?” Castiel asks. Sam walks around to the closet by the front door and pulls out two jugs of holy water with rosaries floating inside each of them and a syringe. “I made a stop by some church outside of Kansas to have it blessed by a priest.” “How thorough of you,” Crowley mumbles sarcastically. “It’s the only chance we got!” Sam snaps slamming the jugs down on the table. “Why don’t we just dose him with human blood while we’re at it and see how that bloody goes you idiot!” Crowley snaps back. “Or better yet, let’s just bless the damn blood, eh? Two birds on blood stone!” Castiel watches as they both begin yelling at each other before his eyes fall back to the holy water. He walks over to the syringe, uncapping the needle and opens up the lid of the holy water. Judging by the arguing still coming from the two they haven’t even noticed what he’s doing. It doesn’t matter. He sticks the needle into the water and pulls it up until it’s full. Time is not on their side, and if he knows Dean, he will be out of those chains and that room before they know it. Castiel refuses to mention to anyone, but holding Dean while he struggled against him was straining. Even now he feels exhaustion from the simple act. Holding up the syringe he pushes the plunger just enough to make sure there’s no air or bubbles. Castiel walks back to the closed door, only then realizing the voices have stopped. “You don’t have to do this,” Sam says behind him. “He’s my brother – it was my idea.” “No Sam,” he says resting his hand on the doorknob. “I have to do this.” The creaking door opens slowly to show Dean exactly where they left him. Dean lifts his head up and peers at him with a bored expression, his green eyes dancing with amusement. He looks relaxed, which worries Castiel. Dean must already have a plan. They’ll be lucky to keep him in here for a few days. “Gunna try and fix me now, Cas?” Dean says eyeing the syringe in his hand. “How many times I gotta tell you that I just don’t wanna be fixed.” Castiel walks around the circle of the devils trap trying to figure out where the best place to inject him would be. His arm seems like the most logical of places, but to get the holy water through his body the quickest Castiel knows he needs to hit him right in the aorta, though it doesn’t seem feasible at the moment. “When I get out of here, after I kill Sammy of course, I think I’ll just let you live,” his green eyes follow him until he circles around to the back of Dean. “Knowing that you’re alive after having watched both of the Winchesters die, well, death would just be a mercy. No, I think I’ll leave you alive with the knowledge that both times was your fault.” Castiel walks in front of Dean and without pausing jabs the needle into bicep. Dean’s eyes slide back as he begins struggling against the chains trying to attack him. He screams in frustration as Castiel pulls the needle out of his shoulder, backing up a few steps. The green of Dean’s eyes are staring straight ahead as he pants, hanging forward against the chains. “Dean?” Castiel asks. He’s torn between wanting to move forward and comfort Dean, but aware at the chances this actually worked. Panting, Dean glares up at him before he gives a breathless chuckle. “Taking a page out of my own book? My, how the holy have fallen.” Castiel closes his eyes and turns away from Dean, chastising himself for even having the smallest amount of hope. It was never going to work. “I can give you pointers, you know. Tell you stories about all the souls I tortured and ripped apart in Hell. Mm, their blood tastes better after they’ve been left screaming for hours. It’s almost like the fear and pain marinates their souls.” Dean’s laughter and taunts follow him out of the room. He only manages close the door slowly behind him before his hand holding the syringe begins to shake. Sam is suddenly there, taking the syringe out his hand and giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Tell me Feathers, how did plan D go?” Crowley asks. Letting his head fall back against the door, Castiel lets out a breath and lets his eyes slip closed. This whole thing was foolish. He failed not only Dean, but Sam as well. Whatever he saw the other night in Honduras may have been Dean, but every time he reaches out he feels less and less of him. Castiel opens his eyes and pushes up from the door. “Right, well, this is the part where I say I told you two idiots so, and we chop off his arm and get rid of it,” Crowley says reaching for the demon knife sitting on the table. Sam’s hand comes out to grab Crowley’s. “Drop the knife.” “You can’t be serious!” Crowley yells, yanking his hand away. “Injecting holy water doesn’t even faze him and you want to keep him around in a wooden box just to piss off more? A wooden box that will – I’ll remind you – not hold him!” “There has to be something! We just aren’t looking hard enough!” Sam says to him. “I know it’s a long shot, but have you tried angel radio? Maybe during all this time they’ve found something.” He hates himself. Castiel hates that he has to be the one to rip away the last bit of hope that Sam has, because that’s how the youngest Winchester is looking at him right now; like he might hold the every answer to the universe. Castiel looks down and away from Sam’s eyes, unable to watch him as he breaks him. “Cas?” “No,” he whispers roughly. “The angels have not found any way.” Silence lingers for only a moment before Sam’s footsteps carry him to the front door which he opens and then slams shut behind him. Castiel flinches at the noise but an exasperated sigh beside him from Crowley reminds him where he is, managing to school any emotion that might be on his face. After a beat Crowley’s gruff voice breaks the silence. “Did Dean ever tell you why Cain stopped?” Castiel shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. If he was human he knows the headache that would be pounding through his skull right now. “Cain said you had to ‘want’ to stop. I suppose it implies that there was a reason he wouldn’t elaborate on.” The King of Hell hums. “Everything for just one human. Sound familiar?” It hurts. The truth in those words is so painful that just hearing those five words cuts through him sharper than any angel blade ever could. “Just get to the point if you’re going to make one.” Castiel snaps, glaring over at the demon. “Cain chose to stop because of a simple human who he loved who asked him to,” he says. “His own Knights came and killed Collette right in front of him and he picked up the Blade again, giving back into bloodlust to avenge her; therefore giving us the knowledge that a knight can only be killed by the Blade. But it all happened – the reason to stop killing – was because of a human.” “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.” “After all this time, still as dense as ever, eh?” Crowley rolls his eyes and nods towards the door. “I’m not saying Dean will stop, because it’s my experience working with the Winchester’s, they never stop. Even when they know they’re headed off that cliff in a flamin’ car, they’re still going to see it through. Probably speed up just to get it over with.” “I don’t –” “If anyone can find a way to stop Dean, it’ll be you. Tell anybody I said that, and I’ll kill you,” Crowley says clapping his hands together. “On that note, fancy chopping off his arm now?” Castiel’s lip twitches with the faintest hint of a smile despite their grim looking situation. Holy water was really their only option as much as Castiel wants to deny it. Maybe trying to burn off the Mark or cutting it out might be their only other option; though he wagers a guess that Cain might have tried doing something like this on his own. Still, the thought of seeing Dean’s skin boiling and melting off makes a wave of nausea go through him, and his grace flares in response to settle his stomach. The books they’ve looked through have given them nothing. Some of the oldest texts they’ve looked at haven’t mentioned anything about The Mark of Cain other than what they already know. Nothing even hints at being able to get rid of it. Granted, a cure for Cain might not have been what anyone was leaning towards back when the Father of Murder was on the loose, but there were hardly any records of any attempts to kill him. Nobody simply got close enough to try, and if they did, well, they were just another stain on the Blade. Thinking about all things the three of them have discussed and looked into, Castiel thinks back to when Sam and Crowley were arguing about human blood. It worked on Crowley, nearly killing Sam of course, but would it work on a Knight of Hell? Maybe if they blessed the blood in the same way they bless the water it would have the same effect as holy water, and the same effect as curing a demon. Without the spell attached to it, would it even work? Castiel chews on the inside of his lip debating it. If anything, it’s worth a shot. “I might have an idea,” Castiel says walking towards the front door leaving Crowley staring at him with a raised eyebrow. He opens the door to find Sam’s fists pressed into the Impala, staring down at her hood. He looks angry, but Castiel knows better. Winchester’s have never been ones to show their emotions easily. John made it a point to drive home that any type of emotion other than anger should be considered a weakness. Oh, how he would like to go back and give that pathetic excuse for a father a piece of his mind for treating these boys like he did. It breaks him a little to see Sam subconsciously fighting so hard to keep everything bottled up so tightly. Even after all this time with John being dead, his words are still rooted so deeply inside the brother’s makeup that it makes fear rule them if something slips out of the realm of “John Winchester approved”. It’s aggravating. The younger brother is so caught up in his thoughts he jumps when Castiel reaches out a hand and touches his shoulder. “Fuck!” He jumps, lowering his hands that were about to hit him. “Cas, damnit, you scared the shit outta me.” He glances back at the house. “Everything okay?” “I thought of something we could try,” Castiel says as Crowley approaches them. “And?” Crowley asks. “You remember trials to seal the gates of Hell?” Castiel asks. Crowley shifts uncomfortably looking off to the side. If Castiel doesn’t know any better he would say that the King of Hell is squirming making him have to fight back a smile. “Not that I don’t mind reminiscing on better times, but what the hell does that have to do with anything?” Sam looks between them with a confused look on his face. “I’m kinda with Crowley on this one. What do the trials have to do with Dean?” “Not the trials themselves, but specifically, curing Crowley with purified blood,” he says watching different emotions pass across Sam’s face. “I think that without the spell itself and just injecting Dean with blood that has been blessed might be worth giving it a chance.” Neither says anything, just taking and absorbing the information. Castiel waits, ears tuned in for any noise coming from beyond the open door. Other than a drip coming from the sink faucet, everything is quiet. The barest hint of his grace is coming from inside the house so he knows Dean is still, at least, inside the room. Castiel hates that he hasn’t thought of the purified blood until now. It was right in front of his face the whole time. The knowledge of it all was right there, but without his grace he guesses trying to hold Dean would have been out of the picture. Still, he hates that he has been so blind to put it all together until now. If the blood worked on the King of Hell, surely it would have to work on a Knight? Slowly, a smirk passes over Crowley’s face. “I’m impressed Cas. This might actually be dumb enough to work.” “Wait, are we seriously going to do this?” Sam asks. “I’ve thought about any options left and this seems to be the only one that we might have a chance succeeding with.” “This is my brother, Cas. I know you guys have shit or whatever, but he’s… I…” Sam swallows thickly, looking down at him with his hazel glistening. He takes in a shaky breath and Castiel nods in understanding. “He’s your brother.” Sam looks at him, eyes searching his so intently that Castiel has to resist the urge to look away under the intensity. After a moment Sam gives a curt nod, rolling his shoulders and clearing his throat. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it with my blood. Not like it matters but Dean and I have the same blood type. We just need to find a priest.” “Might I introduce you to the walking, talking angel that’s been in love with your brother for years?” Crowley says motioning at him. “Pity to waste out on all this holiness beside us, don’t you think?” Castiel almost laughs outright at the suggestion. True he is an angel, but he is no way anything pure. His purity became tainted the moment he fell the first time. And now Castiel wonders how they can keep calling him “angel” or “holy” without laughing after what happened to him. His body is stained, impure, and it has only been, what, two days since he was human? His own grace refuses to work as it should, and who is to blame for that? How can they possible expect him to purify anything? He doubts he could even manage to bless water to make it holy. “I…can’t,” he says taking an automatic step back. The moment he realizes what he’s doing, he swears to himself. Months of having to deal with the mental repercussions that never healed properly surface when truly faced with something that should be a simple task. Castiel now realizes that even with his grace it doesn’t matter. His grace can heal the physical wounds, but the mental and emotional scars can never truly go away. Is that what it is like to be human? Having to live with these emotions day in and day out, always knowing that you weren’t strong enough? Good enough? “But you’ve got your grace. You’re one of heavens holiest or whatever,” Sam says waving a hand to the sky. “I still got the words somewhere in the house.” “Sam, I’m not – ” Castiel stops himself and takes a breath. “I don’t think after what I have been through you would consider me the most ‘holiest’ of anything. Maybe with anything else I might chance it, but if this is our only shot with Dean, I’m not going to risk it.” “Cas, you –” “Oi! Are you two idiots going to stand here all night fighting back and forth about this?” Sam sticks his hands in his suit jacket and eyes them both. “Sam, clearly Castiel is not going to change his mind. As much as I would love to sit here and pour out our feelings on the matter, we don’t have the luxury of time on our sides. Just get me the damn blood and I’ll take it to the fucking Pope himself to be blessed if I have to!” Giving one last hard look at him, Sam turns away. “I’m going to need more vials.” “Meet you boys inside.” Crowley says and disappears.*~*~*~* Two hours later Sam is sitting at the table holding a bloodied rag wedged in between his elbow and arm. Crowley took the bag of vials of blood and disappeared promising them a quick return. Castiel offers Sam another bottle of some mineral, electrolyte something-or-another water, but he only shakes his head and lowers his arm, dabbing the dirty rag over his bruised crease. “May I heal you?” Castiel asks tentatively moving his fingers over the area. “Save your strength,” Sam says tossing the rag on the table. Castiel watches a bead of blood form over the needle hole. His fingers twitch to reach out and heal him. “I have a feeling this isn’t going to be as easy as we think it is.” He eyes the electrolyte filled drink beside him. “Do we know if we need to give Dean all eight doses?” “I would imagine given his power it would make sense,” Castiel sighs and looks at the closed bedroom door wondering if their last ditch effort will truly work. Unable to sit still, he’s checked in on Dean periodically while Crowley helped draw Sam’s blood. Every time he would enter the room he watched as the green eyes slide to black, and Dean tried to taunt him into telling him what was going on. He never stayed long, just enough to make sure all the wardings were still in place and working and Dean was secure. The last time he came in it was clear Dean was more irritated with being kept in the room and waiting for some unknowing fate. “We inject him every hour like the trails, right?” Sam asks, giving in and reaching for the bottle. “I will inject him, yes.” He replies. “Just to be on the safe side I think we should stick to the time frame that the trails set.” Castiel gives Sam a small smile and tips his head down at him. “You’ve already done so much. You only need to wait until Dean walks out the door and greet him.” Sam opens his mouth to respond, but Crowley appears beside him placing the bag on the table. “Well that’s done. Took the priest three tries to get the words right. I had to walk him through it like a bloody infant.” “I’m sure you asked nicely for him to do it too,” Sam says rolling his eyes. “How do you not burst into flames when you walk into church surprises the hell outta me.” Crowley smirks. “I maybe have caught him a little off guard in his own home.” “We’re wasting time,” Castiel says. He reaches inside the bag and pulls out a vial of blood, eyeing it carefully. It doesn’t feel or appear any different, but of course, it wouldn’t. Still, he’s suspicious. Crowley may say he wants this as much as they do, but they’ve been double-crossed by him more than a few times. Filling up the needle with the blood, Castiel casts a quick prayer up to his Father that this will work. Sam is already by the door waiting for him when he turns to it. “You’re not going in there alone,” Sam says, setting his jaw. “Whatever happens, just know that –” Castiel sets his free hand on his shoulder and squeezes it. “Have faith.” He doesn’t know who he is trying to fool; maybe a little bit of them both. Either way Sam stands a bit taller, his shoulders relaxing just the slightest bit. Together they enter the room; Sam first, not even pausing to look at Dean, but goes right to the devils trap and starts sprinkling holy water around, chanting in Latin as he consecrates the ground. Castiel hands back by the wall, giving Sam space. “You really think this is gunna work on me?” Dean growls. “Think I’m going to get all weepy like Crowley, huh? Sorry to break it to ya, but it ain’t gunna work. I don’t want this!” “Yeah,” Sam says glancing back at Castiel quickly letting him know he’s ready. “We kinda figured that out.” “This isn’t going to work. You know that right?” Dean says pulling against the chains. “I got a lot more running through my veins than just regular demon blood.” “Mark of Cain,” Sam says as Castiel moves forward to stand beside him. “Think we got that.” Castiel steps forward keeping the syringe lowered. Dean eyes track him, glancing every now and then to the needle. “You know I hate needles, Cas,” he says in a gruff voice looking up at him. Castiel takes a long look at the deep, moss green eyes swallowing thickly. Dean is in there somewhere. Even now he can feel their bond, though it may be faint. It’s only just a few more hours and Dean can be cured. It will – no – it has to work. Castiel gives Dean a tight smile and raises the syringe. “I hate demons.” Dean’s eyes slide to black as Castiel moves forward towards Dean’s arm. He lunges like he might bite him, but Sam is there hitting him with holy water. Dean yells as his skin starts to sizzle. Castiel takes the distraction to plunge the needle into his arm causing Dean to groan as he empties the purified blood inside him. The whole thing took maybe ten seconds, but for Castiel it felt like minutes. He steps back holding the empty syringe, he keeps a wary eye on Dean who sits there panting against the chains hold. Will it work? “Buckle up because we have a whole bunch more of these to go.” Sam says placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Dean’s eyes suddenly widen and he grunts, arching against the chains. Castiel has to restrain himself from stepping forward and ripping the chains off Dean. From the moment he raised Dean from the pit it was his mission to protect and keep him safe. But seeing him like this? Knowing he is the reason Dean is yelling with a demonic roar, gasping for air is almost too much. They aren’t even sure if it will work. All they are working on is blind faith and hope. Dean screams again and Sam grips his shoulder tighter, pushing him out of the room. The last thing Castiel sees before Sam shuts the door is Dean meeting his eyes with wide, scared, green eyes.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Castiel is pushed from the room by Sam. He takes the syringe from Castiel’s hand and throws it on the table next to the other empty three. It has been four hours. Four doses every hour on the hour. Even if Sam wasn’t setting a timer, Castiel would still know the time. He counted the time down inside his own mind to make sure they weren’t even the slightest second late. The echoes of Dean’s words before Sam pushed him from the room still whisper in his mind. He isn’t exactly sure what he would’ve said or done had Sam not forced him to leave, but the more doses they give Dean the more vicious his words get. Glaring, Dean looks at Castiel as he approaches him with the needle outstretched in his hand. Sam stands off to the side, a bottle of holy water raised just in case, but Dean doesn’t make a movement to try and stop him. He jabs in the needle, feeling Dean’s arm tighten as he braces himself.
Dean grunts and gasps for air before Castiel can even take out the needle. He glances at Dean to see that his green eyes are staring straight ahead as he tries to catch his breath.
“For all you know you could be killing me,” he pants in a deep, raspy voice.
Sam stares at his brother with a stern face. “Or, you’re just trying to trick us.”
“The lore doesn’t saying anything about curing someone like me.” Dean looks up at him with a smirk.
The silence stretches for a moment before he realizes Dean is waiting for him to reply. “Do you want me to argue with you? No, the cure doesn’t specify someone with the Mark. But we have to try.”
“And risk killing me,” Dean chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “It’s all bullshit you know? Curing demons, hunting the bad guys. You and Sammy here have done worse shit than some of Abaddon’s demons ever did. And yet here you stand claiming to do something ‘good’.”
Squeezing his eyes tightly, Castiel turns his back on Dean. He can’t hear this. It’s just the demon inside of Dean taunting them. Dean knows he would never do anything to ever harm him. His whole entire purpose since he pulled Dean from hell has been to protect and watch over him. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly reminding himself not to give into the mind games. Tightening his grip on the syringe in his hand helps ground and remind him that in just a few more injections it will be done and Dean will be back. It will be over soon.
“This isn’t the real you talking,” Castiel whispers.
A dark chuckle comes from behind him and Castiel chances a look behind him. Dean eyes him smugly, leaning forward against his restraints. “Oh, it’s the real me alright. The new and improved me who sees things with – shall we call it – new set of eyes. The me that sees things for what they really are. I mean, can you really stand there and tell me that you’re more entitled to live with how much innocent blood you carry on your hands? From where I’m sitting you two aren’t much different than what I already am.”
He chuckles again and leans back against the chair. “Seems to me like you’re too blinded by your own self righteous attitude to see the truth.. Demons, vampires, werewolves – we are the natural order.” A twisted smirk spreads over his lips as Dean tilts his head to the side. “Oh, and shapeshifters too.”
Castiel feels his grace flare inside him as his feet move him forward, but Sam steps in front of him, cutting him off, arms outstretched.”However you may see us, we’re still hunters. And guys like us, we still have to do what we can.”
Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so full of yourself, Sammy.”
“We save people,” Sam says. “Seems you’ve forgotten that little part.”
“Is that what you did when you were hopped up on demon blood, killing demons for kicks? You were saving people? Or maybe that’s what Cas was doing when he was busy running around playing God.”
Castiel watches as Sam lowers his arms, hands balled up in fists by his sides. The tingle of his grace just underneath his skin moves like a current begging to be used as Dean sits back in his chair staring at them smugly. Slowly, Sam turns around and nods to the door.
“Ouch. Seems I’ve hit a nerve.” Castiel catches Dean’s eye as Sam pushes him back towards the door. “That line of what we hunted and who we are ain’t so clear, is it?”
“Don’t listen to him, Cas,” Sam hisses out between his clenched teeth. “He’s just trying to get under our skin. Don’t let him.”
Deep inside, Cas knows it. He knows everything Dean has been saying for the last four hours, nine minutes and twenty-three seconds has been because he’s chained to chair, warded as their prisoner. The worse his verbal attacks get Castiel tells himself they’re winning. They’re close.
Dean leans forward, his green eyes still locked into his own blue ones. “Tell me something, Castiel. If this doesn’t work, we both know what you have to do.” Dean’s lips trembles slightly as all smugness falls away before he yells,“You got the stomach for that?”
Sam shoves him out of the room, closing the door as Dean starts laughing.
“Sounds like our new Dean is a bit of a conversationalist,” Crowley says, pushing up from where he was leaning against the wall. Sam runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Don’t listen to him, Cas. He’s just scared. It’s going to work.” Might. It might work. They have no guarantee, but to take away Sam’s hope when it seems to be the only thing holding him together at the moment seems foolish. Instead he nods his head in confirmation just to assure him. It still nags at him that after four doses there is hardly an impact to how Dean is behaving. A sharp pain shoots through Castiel’s chest and he hisses, kneeling to the ground grabbing his chest. He pulls his hand away expecting to see blood or a wound, but his dress shirt is still its pristine white. The pain shoots through him again, but instead of fading, it spreads so fast, almost like a fire would consuming him in an explosion. Castiel screams and slams his fists slam onto the floor trying to stay upright. The pain inside him builds like a crescendo. His ears are ringing with some high pitched scream that makes him think that surely his eardrums have burst, but still the pain grows. He claws at the ground, unable to stop screaming at the agony of feeling like he’s burning up from the inside without any way to end it. And then as quickly as it started, it stops. Staring at the dirty wooden floor his fingernails are digging into, panting like he just got done fighting an army of of demons, Castiel tries to catch his breath. Through the ringing of his ears he hears the jumble mumble of voices somewhere above him. He weakly tries to push himself up, but his arms start to wobble at the attempt. Trying again he shakily manages himself into a kneeling position. Castiel doesn’t need to check himself to confirm that nothing physical happened. Rubbing his chest he knows exactly what he’s feeling. The demon, the Mark – whatever anyone wants to call it – is slowly tearing out his grace that’s inside Dean. What he is feeling is their bond being slowly severed. A firm hand grips his shoulder and he looks up to see Sam kneeling in front of him, trying to speak to him. Castiel squints at Sam and brings a shaky hand up to point to his ears. Sam’s face hardens into determination as he nods and mouths, “are you okay?” Castiel shakes his head and tries again to push himself up off the floor. Sam is by his side instantly and helps him get to his feet enough to guide him to the chair at the table. Crowley’s face remains blank, but his eyes watch him suspiciously. Does this mean injecting the blood into Dean is working? He’s just given Dean the fourth dose, though, so shouldn’t he be weakened enough not to do something like this? The wardings, of course, only prevent Dean from using his power to escape or harm them, but that doesn’t really effect anything the demon part of him can do to his insides. Castiel takes in a shaky breath and looks back up at Sam who is hovering over him like a mother hen. He knows that Sam wants some sort of explanation to what the hell just happened, but how can he even begin to tell him what happened? The depth of their bond and the ramifications to it breaking are, at this point, up in the air. From pulling Dean from Hell and remolding his Righteous Man, his grace is infused to every atom and that Dean Winchester is. Even though the amount inside him is hardly nothing in the scheme of things, Dean is bonded and tied to him in such a profound way Castiel wouldn’t be able to stay away even if he wanted to – God knows they’ve been down that road. Dean doesn’t only just share his grace. It’s deeper than that. When Castiel gripped him tight and pulled him out of hell, his grace touched Dean’s soul. As his hands and grace remade Dean, he watched as his grace reached out and entwined itself into Dean’s soul, claiming this Righteous Man as his own. A part of Dean imprinted itself with Castiel the day he fought off armies of demons just to free him from Hell. The intimacy they share between one another is what Castiel has come to recognize as “coming home”, yet deeper still. Something so much more than any simple human mind can understand, felt through ones very own soul. Knowing that no matter what, you will always be connected with that one person – able to feel that one person – for all of time. Your feelings, emotions and sometimes even thoughts. Had it not been for Castiel realizing this very shortly after their met, Dean would feel everything in return. Luckily Castiel has since then mastered how to turn off that, sparing Dean – the man whose worst nightmare is sharing feelings of any kind – that embarrassment. Throughout the years the grace inside Dean hadn’t faded like everyone in Heaven assumed it would. It grew. Castiel could feel Dean’s yearning for him through their bond even back when the man barely understood what that feeling was. Even when Dean prayed to him he didn’t just hear it – he felt it. Everything between them has always been more, but despite understanding the reasoning for it far later than he should have, he always felt Dean’s confusion he could never pinpoint. Until the night the of the shifter. Castiel shivers at the thought and sees Sam saying something to Crowley. The King of Hell gives him a pissed off look but disappears. A moment later he reappears with something in his arms and throws it at him. The blanket hits him and falls to the floor. Sam grabs it from the floor, shooting Crowley a look, and shakes it open, draping it over his shoulders. Castiel nods his thanks but doesn’t have the heart to say what he’s feeling isn’t from the temperature. The weight of the blanket feels surprisingly good, despite it smelling like moth balls and years of neglect. Castiel takes a moment to focus on the grace inside Dean. Even with just being a room away, he has to strain to feel it. It’s weak, barely a flicker, but not stifled like before. This time it’s more permanent. So many question flood his mind that he cannot find any answers to. Will the bond breaking between them kill Dean? Is the demon also destroying Dean’s soul by ridding itself of his grace? Is his grace the only holding thing holding the demon inside him at bay from taking completely over? If his grace is the only reason Dean’s body is technically alive to begin with, can it survive without him? Either outcome is disastrous, but Castiel cannot see himself ever living in a world where Dean does not exist. “Cas?” Castiel looks up to see Sam staring down at him concerned eyes. “What the hell was that?” “I think,” he starts. His own voice burns his throat that’s raw from screaming, causing it to come out more raspy and deeper than usual. “The Mark is trying to sever the last of my grace inside Dean.” Sam’s face scrunches up before he turns back to look at Crowley who just stares back at him with his usual neutral face. Castiel sighs, shrugging off the blanket and rises to his feet. “I believe it was the sixth dose that we noticed a change in behavior, correct?” “Uh, yeah,” Sam says, glancing back at Crowley again. “Sixth was when he started acting more human.” Castiel nods and turns to the table with the needles. Only two more doses to go till they if what they’re doing is actually working.*~*~*~* As soon as he hears Sam close the door behind him, Castiel throws the empty syringe across the room at the wall and watches as it explodes into pieces. Dean’s deep laughter echoes from the other side of the door, mocking them of how much of a failure their idea has been. The rise of Crowley’s eyebrow makes his already agitated grace come to the surface enough that he feels his eyes begin to glow. “Not going as well as you hoped?” Crowley says. Castiel spins to charge at the demon, but Sam steps in front of him, arms raised. “Stop. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” “Probably couldn’t even keep it up if he tried. Poor thing – ” “If you don’t keep your mouth shut I’ll – ” “You’ll what, Feathers? Threaten me with hallow words? If it makes you feel better because you can’t save your princess in the other room, there’s his brother right there. Personally I’ve grown bored of this whole thing.” Castiel moves to step around Sam, but he moves with him, this time grabbing his shoulders with both hands and squeezing. “Cas, look at me! This isn’t the time.” Castiel shakes off Sam’s hands easily, shoving the younger Winchester out the way. Crowley rolls his eyes before vanishing altogether. “Coward!” Castiel yells, looking around the room as if his words might impact the King of Hell returning. After all these years, he should know better. “Castiel!” Sam yells, slamming his fist on the table to get his attention. The last two syringes of blood knock together as the table shakes. It’s such a small sound, but his ears zero in on the noise, and his eyes stay locked on them. He’s so angry. Not just angry, though. It’s so much more. He’s angry, yes, but frustrated, desperate and hurt. After having put so much faith into this working just for it fail seems almost too much. They should have seen some sort of change – any change – that would indicate Dean becoming more human again. Instead it just seems to be pissing off the demon, making his words more sharp and punishing Castiel by chipping a little more at the grace entwined within Dean’s soul. Castiel grabs onto his hair and lets out a scream. So much anger burns through him he swears he can taste it. Over the past two hours the Mark has taunted him by working itself deeper into the grace Dean carries within. For the past two hours Castiel has felt every little chip of their bond breaking and falling away forever. It hasn’t been as drastic as when it first happened after the fourth dose, but painful enough it leaves him stumbling and breathless. It’s maddening to just stand here while there is nothing that he can do. Castiel knows they were holding onto some sort of hope that by the sixth dose Dean would be more himself enough to talk with consciously about things. But after injecting him Dean’s eyes may have stayed green, but that voice…that laughter… A shiver runs through Castiel as he remembers how Dean jeered at them. “We still have a shot at this,” Sam says with determination. “We have two vials left. Dean’s right, he isn’t just some other demon or the King of Hell. He’s got the fricken Mark of Cain, and it’ll probably take more the whole eight before something happens. If we can just…” Castiel is well aware that Sam is still talking, but the painful feeling of the Mark digging at his grace drowns out his words. Hissing, Castiel stumbles towards table, hands gripping the edges tightly. It feels as if claws have torn their way through his chest and are tearing away at his insides, digging deeper, deeper, searching for something. Gasping, Castiel arches his back, mouth open wide in a silent scream caught in his throat. It hurts, oh God does it hurt worse than any type of torture he can ever remember enduring. It burns so hot his whole body feels numb with cold. Every part of him is burning, aching, screaming as he swears he can physically feel those razor sharp claws slashing their way deeper inside him. As quickly as the pain comes, it’s gone. His body collapses as the pain vanishes from his body like it was never there. Castiel is aware enough this time to register Sam beside him, helping him sit up. Sluggishly he shrugs off the younger Winchester’s hands. Other than feeling suddenly drained and a slight ache in his chest, there isn’t any pain. There isn’t anything physically wrong with him, except for the intense feeling of Dean’s weakening grace calling out to him from the other room. “Is it the…” Sam’s forehead scrunches up as he looks over towards the door then back at him. “Is it the grace, again?” “I don’t know the impact it will have on Dean once the last of my grace is torn from his soul,” Castiel says pushing himself up enough to grab ahold of the table to steady himself on his feet. He tries his best to ignore Sam hovering beside him. “It feels as if Dean, or…Dean’s soul, at least, is calling out to me.” He rubs his chest for a moment before straightening up and glancing at the door that Sam is squinting at. “Can’t you do something to stop it? I mean, it’s your grace, and you were able to find Dean with it, but can’t you heal it, or something?” Castiel shakes his head, sighing. “It’s not like with me where mine replenishes over time. My grace is a part of me, my very essence. I live and breathe because it creates me – makes me who I am. With Dean, it helped create him, yes, but he has a soul. He lives, bleeds and breathes, but my grace that helped create him is just something like…” He hesitates, unsure of how to explain it in words Sam might understand. “Residue left over.” Sam’s nose scrunches up as he tilts his head, momentarily thinking. “So kinda like how Anna’s grace became and stayed in the tree when she fell and Uriel was able to take it?” “Yes,” Castiel says nodding. “Exactly. Any angel that has taken a vessel, no matter how brief, always leaves behind some sort of…fingerprint, of sorts, behind.” Sam gives a tight nod, looking away from him and back at the door. “And because of the Mark you can’t just heal the grace inside him.” It’s more a statement than a question, but Castiel feels the need to answer it so there isn’t any room for false hope. “No,” he sighs following Sam’s gaze to the door separating them from Dean. “It doesn’t work like that. Dean’s soul was his own and when my grace touched he latched on and –” Castiel’s words catch in his throat as it hits him what needs to happen. How has he been so oblivious to what needs to happen until now? He’s only half paying attention to the concerned look Sam is giving him before he turns to the table looking over the syringes. “Uh, Cas, what are you doing?” Sam asks, hesitantly. “My grace,” Castiel says reaching for one of the more cleaner looking needles. “If my grace is what is keeping the Mark from taking over Dean completely, then he needs more.” “But you said we just can’t heal the grace inside him.” Castiel picks up the plastic syringe, turning it around in his hand, inspecting it closer. No, this will never be able to hold, let alone contain his grace. Glass would be preferable. Perhaps Enochian etched into the container that would keep it better, or at least long enough to use it. The needle would need to be longer as well. The deeper they could get the needle in him, the more grace they could extract. In all his millennia of living, he’s heard stories about angels being tortured. Countless stories that vary in form from some graphic wing stripping to carving off the vessels flesh piece by piece. Nothing, though, compares to the stories he would hear of rouge angels having their grace extracted or taken from them. It’s suppose to be the most excruciating pain an angel will ever feel. Where the process was suppose to leave the angel trapped in the vessels body, human, left to walk the Earth forever until dying as a human would. From the stories he was told as a fledgling (whether or not they are true, the older ones always did enjoy embellishing) all died soon after. “I’m not planning on healing Dean.” He turns to Sam and holds out the syringe. “I need one of these, but with a longer needle and glass, not plastic.” “What the hell for?” Sam asks, glancing down at his hand. “Wait, what are you – ” “If my grace alone is what is keeping the slightest part of Dean hanging on, then maybe it is the key to saving him.” He watches as Sam’s eyes go wide as the younger brother puts everything together. “No! Have you fucking lost it, Castiel?! Dean literally took on the Mark to try and get your grace back and now you just want to – ” Castiel slams his fist with the syringe down on the table, feeling his eyes glowing with impatience. “I am well aware that I am at fault for everything that has happened these past months. I know I have been less than useful, but know this, Samuel,” he says lowering his voice as he steps closer. “My one mission ever since I pulled your brother out of the pit has been to save him and protect him. You don’t get to stand there and tell me not to use the only thing that might pull Dean back and save him. My whole existence since I rebelled has been for him. If it means giving him the very air I breathe, I would do it over and over again so Dean would have life.” He narrows his eyes at Sam, feeling his grace flaring behind them. If the Winchesters have taught him anything, it is that you never stop fighting for one another. Sam holds his eyes for only a moment longer before looking away and walking to the other side of the table. Castiel watches as Sam runs a hand through his tangled hair in frustration, glaring at the ground as he paces back and forth. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly for a moment, Castiel sighs, trying to get his emotions in check before slowly opening them again. “I am not asking your permission.” Sam stops pacing, slowly turning to look at him. Different emotions flash over his face too quick for Cas to decipher. Slowly, he watches Sam’s face set in a determined look once more. “For the record, I think this is a crap decision. Dean literally became a demon to get your grace back and if we do manage to save him, how is that going to look? Go ahead and blame yourself for the past couple of months, deep down I think you know it wasn’t your fault. At all. You know the one reason he took on the Mark to get your grace back, and now you want to throw it away on a chance that this might work.” He shakes his head, glaring at him. “But trust me on this, if this works and saves Dean, then the reality is that Dean is going to have to relive watching you slowly die. He’s going to live watching you die. How the hell do you think he’s going to cope with that a second time around?” “Your brother is strong,” he replies, voice thick with emotion suddenly rising up. “I am confident that with you here to help Dean, he will be fine.” Sam’s eyes narrow, boring into him so intensely Castiel has to hold back shifting under the stare. “What exactly does it mean to extract your grace?” Good, Sam is finally starting to see what matters most is Dean’s humanity. “I’ve never seen it done myself, only heard it being done to those who greatly went against Heaven.” Castiel taps the side of his neck. “The needle should go in here, the deeper you would be able to go the more of my grace you would be able to extract. You would need to go slowly.” “Wait! Wait just a minute,” Sam says holding up a hand and shaking his head. “‘You need to go slowly’? What do you mean, ‘you’?” “I would need you to insert the needle into where my grace would be easiest to access and – ” “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing! I could kill you! Hell Cas, I am killing you by taking out your grace!” Castiel lips twitch slightly. “I am confident in your skills not to kill me, Sam. But as I was saying, you would need to take it out slowly.” Sam shakes his head frantically and grips the back of one of the chairs. “No, I don’t like this. Fuck!” He runs his hand through his hair again and glares at the door separating Dean from them. “What if the blood is working? What if it’s just taking longer to take effect than what it did with Crowley? Why not just wait it out till we give him the last dose? If it doesn’t work, then we could try the grace.” “By the last dose of the blood there wont be any of my grace left to save.” He watches as Sam’s jaw tightens, fingers flexing over the chair. “So we just, we just stop the injecting Dean with blood and switch to the grace? Is this just a one and done thing, or would we have to do it a few times?” Even though Sam’s theory of the blessed blood taking longer to effect Dean more than likely is incorrect, there is still a chance he may be right. It doesn’t make sense to stop now when they’re almost done. “It doesn’t make sense to stop the injections when we are halfway through. If we can obtain the type of syringe needed and extract my grace easily enough, we can get the give him both at once.” Shaking his head, Sam pushes off from the chair. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. It feels wrong.” He sighs and looks down at his watch. “Twenty-three minutes left.” “We need to get ahold of Crowley. He will probably have the most luck getting the type of needle we need,” Castiel says, eyes glancing down to the two remaining doses. “Before I call him, you have to tell me something,” he says pulling out his phone from his pocket and laying it on the table between them. “If I do this – if I agree to go along with this – is there still a chance you can come back from this? If we only extract a little, your grace can replenish, right? You’d still be an angel?” “As long as not all of my grace is taken, I will be able to replenish it with rest, yes,” he replies. “And how many times are we planning on doing this? How much am I taking out? Because I have no idea what is too much or too little, man.” Castiel reaches across the table to Sam’s phone and pushes it towards him. “I will let you know when to stop.” Sam hesitates before reaching down and picking up his phone. Castiel gives him a little nod, trying to swallow back the quiet, steady fear starting to build up inside him. “As for your other question, as many times as it takes.”*~*~*~* “I’m not your bloody lap dog!” Crowley yells, setting a very old looking wooden box on the table. Castiel glares at the demon as Sam reaches for the box, opening it slowly. “Where did you get this?” Crowley raises an eyebrow, standing up straighter as he straightens his tie. “Private collection. I’ll be wanting that back when you’re done, Moose.” A mixture of curiosity and impatience drives Castiel to reach for the box which Sam slides over to him without a word, forehead creased with a confused look. Carefully turning it towards him, Castiel looks down at a very old looking syringe. The handles look as if they’re made out of metal, and the glass seems thick and sturdy enough to hold his grace. The needle itself is thicker and long, longer than a normal standard medical needle. The whole thing would almost appear to be somewhat of a veterinarian needle if it wasn’t for the fact Castiel can actually feel the age coming from it. Honestly it shouldn’t surprise him that Crowley has something like this. In the years of knowing of the demon, he’s been very good at coming by things that were once thought to be lost. And something like this, something that can be used to take the very essence of an angel, well of course the King of Hell would have acquired it. “The only reason I’m even entertaining you two morons is because I find it poetic you’re doing the very thing that led our little killing machine in there down this path,” he says with a smirk. Castiel tentatively picks up the syringe turning it over a few times in his hands. “Where did you even…” “Friend of a friend and all that,” he replies as Castiel squints his eyes, looking closer at the metal plunger. “I can assure you it’s been doing what you want it to do for a very long time.” “Cas,” Sam says, voice strained. “We have ten minutes.” Technically nine minutes and forty-three seconds, but instead of commenting he just holds out the syringe to Sam, and walks over to the chair, sitting down. Castiel tilts his head to the side, watching Sam out of the corner of his eye stepping closer. He taps the side of his neck, letting his finger rest on the spot that would be the easiest for Sam to access his grace. Sam’s fingers brush against his and he lets his hand fall away. Precious seconds tick by as he watches the younger Winchester out of the corner of his eye standing there unmoving as he stares at his exposed neck. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, he sees the light glint off the needle as it raises. Castiel has just enough time to slip his eyes closed before he feels the cool of the metal against his neck and then a pinch. The pinch quickly turns into what feels like hellfire as the needle pushes deeper down into where his grace flows through him. His whole body tenses, his hands gripping the arms of the pitifully made wooden chair as he grits his teeth against screaming out. Every little push deeper into him he feels. Castiel swears time must have slowed down, because there is no possible way this has only been a few seconds. His whole body feels ignited in such burning agony, yet the coolness of his grace refuses to wash it away. “Am I there?” He hears Sam ask, but his voice seems far away. Castiel vaguely recalls that he was suppose to be guiding him on how deep to go. “Nearly,” a deep, gruff voice responds. It takes Castiel a few seconds to realize it’s Crowley. He’s guiding Sam. As much as he wants to blast the demon away from him when his literal very essence is on the line, they don’t have time. Cas can only hold onto the hope that the demon understands and wants the Mark off Dean as much as they do, and wont actually screw them over this time. The needle slowly pushes deeper down into him, making the pain so much more sharp his ears begin to ring at such a high pitch he wonders if it’s possible he might be going deaf. At this point he wishes he were unconscious regardless of the demon who stole his grace is now, currently, breathing overtop of him. The excruciating pain flares inside him as Castiel gasps, trying to hold himself back from arching his back. He digs his nails into the wooden chair, barely realizing the poorly made arms have splintered and broken off into his hands. Castiel hears a deep jumble of voices somewhere above him, and then the most agonizing pain he’s ever felt in all his millennia flares up in every atom of his make up. Unable to hold back the scream any longer, he opens his mouth and lets it out, hoping in vain that might relieve some of the pain. Unlike the time before, he feels as his grace is being taken from his body. It screams for him as he screams for it. Unimaginable anguish floods his body as more is taken, his mind screaming at him to fight against whomever is doing this. Squeezing down harder on the mangled, splintered wood, he manages to hold onto some sort of self, pushing the steady mantra of it’s for Dean it’s for Dean it’s for Dean over and over again. He doesn’t feel the needle slipping out, nor does he realize Sam has stopped until he’s slumped forward, head knocking against something foul smelling. His neck aches, but the remaining grace inside him almost feels torn on what do focus on first. “As much as I enjoy our tender moments together, I fear you have other needs at the moment,” Crowley says, his raspy voice rumbling in his chest which, Castiel now realizes, his head is currently lolling against. Scrunching up his nose, Castiel somehow manages to lift his head, desperately trying to will the pain away. The demon is right. How long has it been? “You reek.” “Love you too,” the King of Hell replies rolling his eyes as he steps away. Sam seems to magically appear in front of him, reaching out his arm. Castiel accepts the help, and once he’s on his feet he tries to shake his head from a wave of dizziness. Sam’s watch beeps twice before it’s silence and then something cool touches his hand. Looking down, Castiel watches as Sam slips the syringe into his hand. He can’t seem to take his eyes off his the blueish white of his grace glowing from inside the glass container. Honestly it hardly looks like much, but hopefully it will enough to combat the damage the Mark is doing inside Dean. “We gotta go,” Sam says. “Do you need help into the room?” Castiel shakes his head. Showing any type of weakness would only be fuel to be used against them. “Do you have the blood?” His voice comes out rougher than usual. He briefly remembers himself screaming and flinches knowing Dean probably heard him through the thin walls. Sam holds up his hand with the purified blood in it. “Seventh times the charm, right?” “Lets hope so,” he says taking a careful step towards the door. “You will inject him first, then while he’s weakened by that I’ll inject him with my grace.” Sam nods as he grabs the doorknob, taking in a deep breath then letting it out slowly before swinging the door open. Castiel hears him gasp before he is able to fully look inside the room The first thing he notices as he pushes Sam aside is the chair laying on its side, the chains in a heap beside it. In the amount of time it takes to realize his, Dean appears from the shadows, a sideways smirk across his face. “Looks like your plan to make me human worked enough a Devil’s Trap can’t hold me,” he says walking slowly across the room. “Shame it wasn’t enough.” Sam takes a step backwards, bumping into Castiel and making him stumble a few steps outside the door. “Dean, stop. We were getting close.” He raises his free hand that isn’t holding the blessed blood and takes another step backwards out of the room forcing Castiel to stumble back further back into the room as Dean continues walking towards them. “It just shows that this is working. We can save you!” “How many times do I have to tell you,” he replies in a low voice. “I just don’t want to be fixed, or cured, or whatever you two have decided needs to happen.” Dean’s eyes lock onto Castiel’s as smirk stretches across his lips. “Personally, I like the disease.” Sam reaches for the door, slamming it closed before pressing his back up against it. Castiel just stands there staring at him struggling to brace himself against the door as he squeezes his extracted grace tightly in his hand. “Crowley!” Sam grunts frantically looking around the empty room as Dean bangs on the door separating them. “Damnit, I wont be able to hold him too much longer.” Another loud bang comes from the door followed by Dean’s voice. “C’mon Sammy. Don’t you want to hang out with your big brother?” “Cas!” Sam snaps, struggling against holding the door closed. “You think you have enough strength in you to get ahold of Dean so I can –” The door separating them from Dean cracks, and Castiel barely has time to raise his arm to block the explosion of splinters from the wood. He registers them hitting him, but his grace seems to be working properly enough at the moment to keep any harm from coming to him. Lowering his arm he sees Sam crouched on the ground a few feet from his brother, taking in raspy breaths as he tries to push himself to his feet. Other than a few cuts from the flying wood, Sam seems more or less okay. Slowly, Castiel lets his eyes raise to meet Dean’s. “You know I gotta hand it to you two for being persistent,” he says with a chuckle. “Not only did I not hunt you down and kill you, but I literally left the country to avoid you. But that wasn’t good enough, was it?” He leans over, grabbing a handful of Sam’s hair yanking him to his feet. “You got me chained, I’ll give you that. But how else did you think this thing was ever going to end?” “Dean,” Sam says, wincing as Dean pulls his head back further, exposing more of his throat. “You don’t want to do this.” Castiel watches as a slow smile spreads over Dean’s lips. “Oh, I really think I do.” “Dean,” Castiel hears himself say, taking a step towards them. “Let him go.” “Mmm,” Dean hums yanking his brother’s back against his chest. One of his hands rest on his jaw, while he places the other on the opposite side of his head. “I think I’ll snap his neck right here. Let you watch another person die that you’re unable to save. Not as satisfying as watching him bleed out, but,” he shrugs. “Gotta work with what you’re given.” Sam grunts, pulling against Dean’s hold enough that Castiel catches his eye for just a moment, but enough to watch Sam’s jaw clench into a look determination. It takes Cas a moment to wonder what he’s going to try, before movement from Sam’s hand has him looking down to see the needle of the syringe he’s still holding of blessed blood being jabbed into Dean’s thigh. Cas rushes forward as Dean hisses, his hold on Sam loosening. He grabs Sam’s arm just Dean grabs the empty syringe from his leg with one arm, throwing it to the ground. This close, Castiel can see the sheen of sweat over Dean’s forehead, almost taken aback by how much more human Dean really seems already. “Do it!” Sam hisses beside him. It takes a heartbeat of a moment to register what Sam is saying, before the cool glass of the syringe in his hand reminds him of their plan. In that brief moment, Dean reaches out and grabs at Sam again, slamming his head into the wall. Castiel watches as the younger brother’s body goes limp, collapsing in a heap onto the ground. Castiel positions the syringe as he raises it so he’ll be able to inject his grace quicker, and eyes Dean’s exposed neck. Right as he lunges forward, Dean steps quickly to the side, grabbing his fist with the syringe and squeezing it so tightly Castiel can feel his bones cracking. Castiel grunts, using the grip Dean has on his hand to push him backwards against the wall, shoving his arm against his collarbone. Dean squeezes harder, just enough that the right bone in his hand cracks and breaks making his hand go limp. Refusing to flinch or show how losing what he was holding might be important, Castiel just glares at Dean, eyes flaring with grace as Dean lets go of his hand. The sound of the syringe hitting the floor is almost muted between Dean’s labored breathing and the ringing in his ears. “C’mon Cas. I expected better from you,” Dean huffs, “All that mojo back and now you’re afraid to use it, or…” He raises an eyebrow, leaning his head back against the wall. “Huh. Seems like you’re not as juiced up as I thought you were. Or maybe you just don’t want to break the only thing that ever gave you any kind of purpose.” Castiel presses his body closer into Dean’s, putting more of his strength into pushing his arm into Dean’s chest to keep him from moving. He tries not to worry about how Dean doesn’t even try to fight against it, wondering if, maybe, the last dose of blood might be starting to work after all. “You can try mask everything behind this act, but you being able to walk through the devils trap means it’s working.” He feels Dean’s body move, feeling the subtle shifts of his muscles press more firmly against his. Castiel doesn’t let his eyes leave Dean’s face, but holds his stare almost daring Dean to try and prove him wrong. Cas watches as his jaw clenches, then relaxes. He watches as a bead of sweat drips down from his temple, catching on his five o’clock shadow. Castiel watches him so carefully, conscious to all his movements so intently, that he’s ready when Dean lunges at him. Dean’s hand reaches up, grabbing onto his half healed hand and squeezes it. Hissing, Castiel throws his body into Dean’s, but Dean just twists his arm behind Cas’ back. Their chests flushed against each other as Castiel struggles to loosen Dean’s grip. Dean just smiles at him, eyes blinking to black as he steps forward, causing Castiel to move backwards. Castiel feels Dean’s leg move against his before he realizes what he’s doing, the sound of crunching glass fills his ears. “Oopsie, I’m sorry. That seemed like something important,” Dean says sarcastically, “Did you need that? My bad, man.” Castiel growls, tipping his head back before slamming it forward into Dean’s nose with a sickening crunch. Dean stumbles backwards, taking him with him. Castiel slams his head into his nose again, pushing against his chest with his free arm. The strain from the angle of how Dean has his arm makes any type of momentum difficult, but the pained look and amount of blood on Dean’s face seems to mean something is working. Dean pulls on his twisted arm harder until Castiel hears a pop and lets out a yell as pain floods his shoulder.“Ouch, that sounds like it hurt,” Dean chuckles, letting go of him as Castiel grabs his shoulder as he arm hangs uselessly to his side. Castiel strains to focus his grace on his shoulder popped out of place that he misses Dean’s fist coming directly to the side of his face. It catches him on the side of his jaw, sending him falling to the ground. He manages to turn his body just enough he falls on his good side, shaking his head at the impact. His grace pops his shoulder back into place, but Castiel hardly registers it happening as he hears Dean’s footsteps moving around the room. “What happened to not wanting to hurt little ol’ me?” Dean says somewhere to the side of him. “You know, I’m actually kind of hurt you’d lie to me, Cas. I thought you were better than that.” Pushing himself up off the ground, Castiel looks over to see Dean standing beside the table, holding the last syringe full of blessed blood. “Or maybe you finally just realize that maybe I was right. There isn’t any saving me.” Throughout all his time existing, Castiel has heard of humans speaking of moments where time has seemed to still. As he watches Dean squeeze the plastic in his hand, hearing the sound of it cracking and breaking, Castiel never understood what others have meant. He stands there, watching the blood drip down Dean’s fist unable to make his body move in response to try and stop it. Even with all the knowledge he has and the doubt he carried about the blood fully working, seeing the last hope literally dripping off Dean’s fingers breaks him. Rage unlike anything he’s ever felt before fills him, and he charges at Dean, shoving him into the wall. He pulls back, punching him in the face just as Dean knees him in the gut. He barely reacts to the hit, but swings again just as Dean hits him in the side. Blind rage fills him, blocking out most of the impact from Dean’s hits. He tries not to think about how after tonight there will never be another chance to ever use the blood on Dean again. After tonight, Sam will no longer have a brother, the Mark will take him. After tonight and whatever happens, the Mark will break the last of the grace inside Dean and there wont be anything left of the man Castiel loves. Castiel knows his grace is still weak, hardly even begun to recharge, but he knows after tonight it wont matter. Even as his his rage starts to fade, and he begins to feel all the hits, one thing remains true; he will never be able to bring himself to kill Dean. As Castiel throws another punch, Dean catches him by the arm and suddenly the world is spinning. Castiel grunts as his back slams onto the floor, head knocking against the floorboards and a heavy weight settles across over his waist. His arms are suddenly yanked upwards over his head despite his struggling to break free of Dean’s grip. Castiel lets his grace flare, feeling his eyes glow as he pushes against Dean’s hold. He manages to just slip out of his grasp, hooking his legs around Dean’s and throwing his body weight against his, rolling them over, pinning Dean underneath him. He holds Dean’s arms tightly against his chest, glaring down at him as he feels his grace straining to maintain his strength. Vibrations from Dean’s laughter tingle throughout thighs as he squeezes them tighter around Dean’s lower half, refusing to let him get free. “Looks like you’re out of options, Castiel.” He blinks up at him, black eyes melting back into green. “All that’s left is to kill me. Which you and I both know ain’t something you got the stomach for.” Even if he could bring himself to try, knowing a part of Dean remained inside him would ruin him. Castiel knows that if the Mark had ripped out the last of his grace inside Dean he would have felt it. So how much of it is left? He tries to block out the sound of Dean’s voice, only to focus on the faint, barely there hum of the his grace inside Dean. Even this close, straining to feel it, Castiel can barely make it out. It’s there, though, almost as if it’s calling out for him – screaming for him – encouraging him to help. Begging him not to let the demon win. Logically, Castiel knows that angels are created to forever be stronger than any demon. Maybe at full strength without any emotions he might be able to defeat even a demon as strong as The King of Hell, but a Knight of Hell? The one thing throughout all time since their creation no angel has managed to kill, let alone cure. Dean bucks up his hips, knocking Castiel out of his own head. He feels sweat beading up on his own forehead as he fights to keep Dean’s body pinned. The more he pulls his grace for more strength, he harder he finds himself breathing. Now that he’s reached out for his grace inside Dean, he feels it screaming for him. Castiel forces more of his weight down, trying to keep Dean from getting out of his hold. Desperately he tries to think of another way besides the two options; Either giving in and letting Dean finish him, or trying to smite Dean himself. Even now with Dean almost gone, succumbed to Mark, Castiel knows he would never be able to kill him. Even before he realized he was in love with him, there would always be something keeping him from ever harming him. Back before when he considered himself an angel, it always seemed as if his one purpose, the reason he was created broken, was to protect this man that lies beneath him from anything, including himself. “I’m going to enjoy watching the light fade out of your eyes, angel.” Dean spits, thrashing and pulling against his arms. “You can take this fucking grace with you!” Castiel feels a surge of energy come from Dean, then his muscles tighten underneath him. Castiel feels himself rising off the ground as Dean uses his feet to push them up, before he slams back to the ground again. Dean growls in frustration, thrashing his body back and forth, yelling frustration unable to get free. Castiel pants, feeling sweat from his chest cling to his shirt as more sweat drips down from his face. His body aches with strain, and everywhere he’s been hit starts to throb like the beginning of a bruise he remembers getting when he was human. Honestly, he isn’t sure how much longer he can keep this up. Castiel can feel himself growing weaker so much he can hardly feel his grace inside Dean reaching out for him. But then again, if he’s going to die, he doesn’t really need his grace anyway. Maybe he is what others would consider holy. Maybe being an angel, or what qualifies as being an angel, is enough to save the Righteous Man – enough to save his Dean. Castiel hopes that if God is truly listening, that whatever happens, Sam wont be left alone. Not after all this. Not after everything. Because Dean deserves better. Both of the brothers do. With one last look at Dean’s black eyes, and face twisted in anger and darkness, Castiel surges forward, pushing his lips down on Dean’s. For a moment, nothing happens. Almost hesitantly, Dean’s mouth opens, responding like a kiss. Before Castiel can lose the will to stop or second guess himself, he pulls at the grace inside him, and pushes his lips more firmly against Dean’s, feeling his tongue brushing over Dean’s. With a whimper, Castiel forces his grace to leave his body and flow into Dean’s. Castiel feels all the air leaving his lungs as the last of the grace he’s able to summon comes out. Dean’s back arches, knocking Castiel off him and off to the side. He falls to the floor, laying on his back, head lolled to the side, watching as Dean begins to scream the most unholy sound Castiel has ever heard away from Hell. Dean convulses, almost like he’s seizing, then just as quickly as it starts, his body collapses and stills. Every atom, everything that makes him up now seems unresponsive to him. All Castiel can do is just stare at Dean’s lifeless body, unable to tell if he’s even breathing or not. The only thing he’s certain of, is the faint warmth of his grace inside his body, which he hopes means that he’s alive. Castiel tries to reach out for his grace inside Dean, but he can’t even manage that. Minutes tick by and Dean lays there, unmoving. A tear blinks out the corner of Castiel’s eye, sliding down his temple somewhere onto the floor. Still, Dean does not move. Refusing to accept that his grace, the one thing calling out for him to save the man he loves, actually is the one thing that kills him, Castiel forces his hand to move. His fingers shake, and his body screams in pain, but he manages to move his hand forward. It almost seems like Dean is miles away instead of just an arms length away with how much effort it takes, but slowly his fingers brush against his Righteous Man’s hand. He’s warm. Dean’s body shudders before Castiel hears him gasping for air, then start coughing. Inside Castiel feels so happy and relieved, he wants to scream it from the heavens. Dean Winchester is saved! Unable to do anything other than focus on his hand still against Dean’s he can’t quite convince to move again, he settles for listening to Dean get control of his breathing. Slowly, as if time is suddenly on their side, Dean turns his head to him, blinking open his eyes. Castiel hears his own breathing hitch as he stares back into Dean’s beautiful, moss colored eyes still speckled with gold flakes that he’s memorized a hundred times over, but still never becomes anything less than beautiful. Past the eyes and the physical form, Castiel blinks out more tears as he sees Dean’s bright, divine soul shining from within. No matter how long he may live after this, or whatever happens to him, Castiel swears he could never forget how beautifully captivating Dean Winchester’s soul is. There are hardly any words, English or Enochian, that he can say to describe the beauty. And now, after months of not seeing it, it's as if he's seeing sun for the first time after months of rain. “Cas?” Dean says, tentatively, brushing his fingers against his. Castiel closes his eyes, feeling a smile pull at his lips as Dean slides his fingers in between his. “Hello Dean.”