Chapter One
Now the storm is on its way,
Coming here to break the day.
So how can love bare to see you, bare to see you go alone?
Black and blue, this beating heart's got the same blood as your own.
And I've been to the darkest place you know.
What Remains- Foals.
There is a scream from inside and Castiel flinches. The physical reaction is not one he is used to. Were he not combating a resilient door and a number of Enochian sigils he might've stopped and pondered over it, perhaps even humanly worried.
Then Dean screams again.
Castiel's boot hits the door this time, kicking once, twice, three times. He ignores the electrical lash of the sigils attempting to repel him. Only when his boot is steaming and the pain is a fire in his very grace does he stop.
He gulps down air (another worrying physical reaction) and curses Zachariah, curses God, but mostly curses himself.
Four hours.
"I just need four hours," Dean had said.
Castiel should never have listened to him, or in the least stood watch over him. It was obvious Zachariah was never going to take no for an answer and would discover another way to find them.
A muffled sound comes from within the motel room. Dean's screams had been loud enough to pierce the wall clean. This is a new sound. Castiel approaches the door and gets as close as he dares to without being forced from his vessel.
Dean is laughing.
The sound stops, starts, wet coughs permitting it but it is still laughter. Cold, bitter, mad, pushed to the edge of a cliff laughter.
Castiel thumps his elbow into the wooden door, his shoulder, his whole body and this, he realizes, is rage; purer then it had been when he'd found Zachariah removing Sam's lungs and giving Dean cancer, white hot and fierce for the sound reminds him of bubbling fire and hollow screams and the soul of a man scattered across the cracked lands of Hell where he had been and was and did torture.
He thought he had left the jutting, rusting rack empty and alone in Hell but Zachariah has raised it up.
"What the fuck is going on?"
A patron of the hotel. Castiel spins on his heels, marches over and presses two fingers to the man's forehead. The human collapses joining the unconscious bodies of the manager and two other nosy patrons.
He is pondering these inconsequential humans who do not understand that the most important man on Earth may be about to break and change the world as they know it when the door opens.
He catches a glimpse of a crumpled body between someone's legs and without thought appears next to it.
He crouches down, fumbles at Dean's neck and finds the butterfly kiss of a pulse. At his touch the human gives a low moan but otherwise wakens no further.
Zachariah turns back from the open door, almost surprised. Castiel moves his hand to the human's arm, ready to disappear in a second.
"I thought you were Sam," the other angel says.
"You thought wrong." Beneath his hand Dean stirs.
"Yes, thank you for making that clear. He's all yours by the way." Zachariah crosses the boundaries of the room and the sigils painted in blood on the walls glow once and disappear.
"Heal him," Castiel demands.
In return Zachariah smiles.
"I don't think so. He must be reminded. No good running around with faulty angels. Right, Dean?"
Castiel looks down. Dean was staring up at him but at the mention of his name his eyes flicker to Zachariah. They narrow.
"See you all later," Zachariah says before disappearing.
Castiel stays tense, waiting for the surprise attack.
"We should go," he says in a low voice verging on a growl.
"No," Dean whispers. "They've given up."
"Dean-"
"No, Cas. Just…" The words trail away. Dean's eyes lose focus and then close altogether as he slips into unconsciousness.
Castiel takes the moment to check Dean's injuries. His face has largely been left untouched apart from a bruise on his left temple.
Further down he may have a broken rib. He lies on his side, circling in on himself. Castiel goes to move the human onto his back to check when Dean gasps and arches into the air.
"Jesus, fuck!" He slams back into the ground again, rolling onto his stomach and pressing his head into the carpet and now Castiel can see.
Dean's t-shirt is ripped and his back is criss-crossed with wounds. Angry red streaks glare at him from Dean's skin except it isn't really Dean's skin anymore. Dean's skin is gone, ripped to shreds, disintegrated beneath a cracking whip.
"What was that for?" Dean groans into the carpet. "Did I kick your puppy or sumfin'?"
"No."
And Castiel won't admit it later but right then he panics. He has never had to physically heal a human before. He can do it with his grace, putting the pieces back together like a jigsaw he's seen Jimmy do with his daughter in memories. But without the full powers of his grace he is useless.
"Dean, what do I do?"
Dean doesn't respond so Castiel turns him on his side.
"What?" Dean's eyes are still closed.
"I don't know what to do."
A green eye cracks open, looks him over before closing again.
"You're kidding right?" The words are slurred from exhaustion.
"I have never healed a human without my grace before."
"Right, 'cause you don't stick around that long."
The words do not hurt.
"I'm here now. Tell me what to do."
"Alright, alright." Dean's hand rubs at his forehead. "Thinking's kinda hard right now. First of all, get the beers from the fridge."
"Now is not the time for drink-"
"I can't think if I'm in pain, Cas. And you'll need it to clean the wounds. Beer is all I got. If you'd given me more time I'd have gone to the bar, won some money on a round of pool and bought a bottle of Jack. But I only got four hours, and you've only got me to tell you want to do. So, Cas, get the beer."
Castiel lowers Dean back onto the ground and hurries to the fridge. There are four bottles left of a six pack. He brings them all over and puts them on the ground where Dean can see them.
"Good," Dean says. "And I was just lying about cleaning the wound. The alcohol percentage isn't high enough but I need a drink."
"I'm not feeding you this stuff!" Castiel protests.
"Yes, you are. Not having the best time here, remember?" And Dean looks up at him with his green eyes and the yellowing bruise on the side of his temple. Castiel curses himself, his weakness.
In answer he unscrews the bottle top and presses it to Dean's lips, tipping the bottle as he does. After a few moments Dean's fingers graze his hand and he pulls it away.
"Now get me up, Parker. To the bathroom."
Castiel hoists Dean to his feet and after much deliberation places Dean's right arm over his shoulder and puts his own left arm around Dean's back, being careful to keep the contact as light as possible.
They leave a patch of blood on the ground.
The bathroom light is too bright for Dean so Castiel has to work in semi-darkness. He arranges Dean in the bathtub lying on his stomach, his head lolling on the edge of the tub. His eyes are barely open and glazed where they are.
"Get a face cloth with soap and water," Dean manages between groans. "And unfortunately this is not going on my face."
Castiel does as he is told and begins applying the cloth to the wounds. They have ripped him to shreds. How Dean's still conscious, even the semi-conscious state he's in is beyond Castiel.
"How did they find you?" he asks to keep Dean focused on something other than the pain.
"Some Christian do-gooder. Angels have given our model shots out to the Unification church and we're the new It girls."
Sometimes Castiel has no idea what idea what Dean is saying. This is one of those times.
He slides the facecloth from Dean's neck, where the skin is pink and tender and still whole, to his shoulder blades where red flesh screams. Dean inhales, a sharp sound in the dark, the edges tinted with a whimper.
"Perhaps you should sleep, Dean. I can take it from here."
He puts down the cloth and shuffles around so that he's in front of Dean's head. He makes to press his fingers to his forehead when Dean flinches, throws himself against the opposite wall and then screams in pain.
The moment is brief but it is all Castiel needs, a slip in Dean's defences, a sudden blast of emotion and Castiel can read him as easily as the day he pulled Dean from Hell and he was just another soul, uncomplicated.
"Don't touch me," Dean hisses, his face not quite pale but an unhealthy grey.
"I didn't do this to you," Castiel reminds him.
"Your brothers did. It may as well have been."
"I defected for you." He doesn't mean to let the growl enter his voice but it seems to work. Dean looks him in the eye, cowed somewhat. "I gave up everything for you."
"Then where the hell were you?"
He knew the question was coming. Dean stares at him, curled on his side, knees beneath his chin in the bathtub. There is a tiny ember of fire in his eyes where the light seeps through the door.
Castiel shifts on his knees and looks down.
"I waited four hours at the roadside, like you asked. By the time I came it was too late. Zachariah had warded the room."
"So you're saying this is my fault?" Dean snaps.
Castiel says nothing.
Shame is heat rising in his face. He can't look up. It is possible this is the first time he has been unable to look into Dean Winchester's eyes.
"I prayed for you." Dean's voice is tiny. The words almost lost in the darkness and something inside Castiel clenches and it isn't because Dean is afraid.
"You-"
"Prayed. I thought you'd hear that."
It's because he is afraid.
"I'm… I…"
He does not stutter. He is angel. But then he also does not flinch or becomes so angry he wants to beat a door to destruction.
When he looks up Dean is still staring at him.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Yes. I'm fine. Can you turn over; I need to tend to your injuries."
Dean doesn't move for a moment, his eyes roving over Castiel's features. Castiel keeps his expression free from emotion and Dean looks away, turns over gingerly and lies still.
When Castiel places a hand on Dean's side, where the skin is intact, to steady them both before he cleans the wounds, the human doesn't flinch. He seems to move further into it, his breathing steadying.
Castiel, more tenderly then he'd been before, slides the cloth of soap and water across Dean's back.
Dean had prayed, and Castiel had not heard him. Something's wrong with him. When Anna had fallen and become human she had tossed her grace aside. But Castiel isn't ready to do that. Is it being taken from him? Seeping away the longer he spends away from the Garrison, away from Heaven.
"They tried torturing me, Cas."
The human is mumbling and perhaps it is because he is delirious but more likely he is trying to fill his mouth with words rather than sounds of pain.
"Stupid sonsofbitches thought it'd work to."
He laughs the laugh of Hell. The one that Castiel had heard clear amongst the chorus of screams.
"You're not tempted to say yes?" Castiel asks.
He touches a particularly tender area where the wound is deep enough that it still dribbles blood. Dean groans, hides his face in his hands before answering.
"Please," he says through gritted teeth, still managing to sound defiant. "Weren't even torture that broke me in Hell."
Castiel pauses.
"Then what was it?"
Dean shifts, his face appearing from behind his hands.
"You've been there, Cas. It says it all in the title. I was going to be there forever. Forever of fear, pain. Forever and never seeing Sam again. I just… I couldn't go on anymore."
They don't talk for a moment. They are filling the sound of the silent bathroom with the echo of Hell.
"Heaven," Castiel says. "Is Heaven because you are one with God. And Hell is Hell because you are as far from God as you can get. Hopelessness is what you felt. Hopelessness is a true removal from God."
Dean's eyelashes flicker and open.
"I'm not really a God person."
"Doesn't mean you can't feel a lack of his presence."
"But I'm not hopeless now. I mean, yeah, everything sucks but I ain't gonna stop fighting. Yet everyone seems to think God is gone."
"Then he mustn't be."
They lapse into silence.
"That makes it worse," Dean says. "Doesn't it?"
"Yes. It seems God doesn't want to be found."
"Or he's some old dude stuck in a coma."
Castiel mulls this over.
"That is a movie reference, right?"
"Got it in one. You learn fast, young Padawan."
He must've pulled a face for Dean says; "forget about it."
He is moving down Dean's lower back now. The wounds are fewer and further between, the whip finding the area harder to reach.
"The idea of God being put into a coma is a ridiculous one. Perhaps even blasphemous."
"So you'd rather believe he just doesn't give a crap? What about the fact that he bought you back?"
"We don't even know that he did."
"Come on, you don't believe that. Raphael was just messing with you, dude."
"I don't know what to believe, Dean." He puts down the cloth and braces his hands against the bathtub. "I'm losing my grace, I can't find God anywhere, and Heaven wants Lucifer out of his cage. I don't know what I am supposed to do anymore. I'm sure there is a human saying in that."
"An old dog can't learn new tricks." Dean turns over, lies with care on his back. "You're losing your grace?"
Castiel looks away.
"Yes."
"How?"
"I don't know. I've finished cleaning the wound. Do you have bandages?"
"Boot of the Impala. Keys are in my jacket."
"I'll be right back."
He's only gone a minute. By the time he returns the bathroom is empty. When he races into the bedroom he calls; "Dean!" in a voice he doesn't quite recognize.
"Right here." Dean gives a wave. He's lying face down on the bed. He turns his head to Castiel, his check pressed to the tartan duvet. His feet sit on the pillows.
Castiel holds up the first aid box that looks nothing like a first aid box. It did once but when Dean was nine and wanted to make his dad laugh he painted it black and wrote 'DEATH' in white block letters. A joke that was never really a joke but a warning from son to father. Inside it's cluttered with half used rolls of bandages and bottles with pills and no labels.
"What do I do?"
Dean has him put huge plasters on his back, the kind where the insides are soft and the outsides rustle. He uses medical tape to keep the plasters on, sticking it down where the skin is soft and whole.
"Cas?" Dean says at one point to which Castiel eternally replies;
"Yes, Dean?"
"We're gonna be okay, aye?"
Castiel holds the plaster down with one hand and rips tape between his teeth. He sticks it to the plaster and stretches it to Dean's skin. There's a hiss from Dean as the material touches the open wounds and then it's gone, Dean covering the sound like a mistake.
"Yes," he answers before placing more tape between his teeth.
Dean drifts in and out of consciousness, his eyes hazy when he opens them to check on Castiel.
"Dean," Castiel whispers some time later when he's finished. "Dean."
"Wha-?" Dean's mouth is full of cotton, his eyes gummy when they open.
Castiel helps him manoeuvre around until his head is on the pillow, not his feet. He pulls Dean's shoes off but otherwise leaves him. He has seen Dean sleep more times on top of the covers then underneath them.
"Cas," Dean says when Castiel leaves to clean the bathroom.
"Yes?"
"Don't go."
Castiel looks into the bathroom where there's still blood in the bath and the cloth in the sink is staining the plastic, tinting the aged cracks like veins in the body.
He goes back to the bed and sits down on the edge.
Dean shuffles over and pats the space next to him. Castiel lies down on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling.
It is quite comfortable. He moves his head further down the pillow so that his neck isn't so stretched and yes, he quite likes that.
When he looks at Dean his eyes are closed, his breathing even, his face smooth of pain and discomfort.
Castiel kicks his shoes off, winces as they thump to the floor and then closes his eyes.
Dean wakes once in the night, panting, his whole body pulled tight like a cord, the sheets knotted in his fists.
When Castiel turns his head Dean's eyes are bright.
"Okay," Dean mutters and closes his eyes. "Okay."
Dean falls asleep again but when the nightmares return Castiel can do nothing, even when he tries. And when Dean begins to mutter a name over and over again he can stand it no more.
He slides off the bed and begins putting his shoes back on.
When Dean wakes the next day he's lying on the opposite side of the bed. Castiel is gone, and the warmth he left in the sheets replaced by Dean's.
His back is killing him, not literally, but the pain makes him curl into himself. When he opens his eyes they fall on a glass of water and two pills sitting on the nightstand.
He sits up and takes them, his bandages rustling. There's a sound in the bathroom and for a moment his whole body stiffens.
"Cas?" he calls.
When he was a kid and he walked to whatever home they had from whatever school they were at and he saw the car in the driveway he'd stand at the door with Sammy's hand in his and call a warning through the house; "Dad?" So his dad could be prepared to not be bleeding or dying or dead somewhere inside waiting for Dean to discover him.
The tension he'd feel in those moments before his dad would reply was unbearable, especially with Sam looking up at him expectantly.
Castiel's head pops out of the door.
"Yes?"
"Just wondered where you were," he replies and then remembers last night, the moment of weakness when he'd asked Castiel to stay with him. His face burns and he looks away from the angel's intense blue eyes.
"You ready to go?" he asks.
Castiel looks back into the bathroom before answering. "Where are we going?"
"Bobby's. The sooner we get out of this town the better."
He slides off the bed and stands up. His wounds burn and the wince shows on his face for Castiel frowns.
"It is probably best we leave soon," Castiel agrees.
"Yeah. You seen my phone?"
Castiel points to a pile of crushed metal and Dean remembers attempting to text him while Zachariah had warbled on about responsibility and yadaya, with the phone still in his pocket. Suffice to say Zachariah wasn't that stupid.
"Damn. We're raking up a phone bill then."
"Who are you going to ring?"
"Sam."
He says it a little too casually.
Castiel's eyes slide over his face a few times and Dean adds;
"He's Lucifer's vessel."
"I thought so."
"You thought so?" Dean splutters. "And you didn't think to tell me this."
"Sam has a good heart, Dean. If it is a little tainted. He will not go along with Lucifer's plan."
"Did you not think, perhaps, that they'll find him and torture him, like they did me only a thousand times worse?"
Castiel doesn't look away from him.
"Lucifer cannot find him."
"And what about Meg, or some other demon? She found us pretty quickly after whoever zapped Sam and me on that plane."
"Dean, I do not worry about Sam saying yes to Lucifer. He has learnt his lesson. I only want to keep you safe."
"I told you," Dean replies through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to say yes."
Castiel studies him for a few seconds more before moving away. He brushes past Dean and stands by the window.
"Conversation over?" Dean bites before turning back to the phone.
He dials the number.
"A little privacy, please?"
The sound of wings fills the room and for a moment Dean hesitates, but it's too late.
"Hello?"
"Sam, it's me."
"Dean." There's a pause. He can hear the cogs in Sam's head tick over. "I thought we were keeping our distance."
"Stop making it sound like a break up. Anyway, I knew you'd be missing me. I thought I'd ring and…"
And what? Say that he'd make a mistake and he couldn't do this without Sam because the damn angel's had thrown him back to the rack and the whips? Say that he was sorry?
He was so damn sick of apologizing to Sam just as he was sick of Sam apologizing to him. But what else could they say? They'd fucked up majorly.
"Are you okay? Dean, what's wrong?"
Dean laughs.
"Can't keep anything from the wonder kid. Zachariah found me last night."
"You got away?"
"Nah, he gave up. Couldn't torture me into saying yes."
There's another pause. Cogs working.
"Dean," Sam says, a sigh within a sigh. "Zachariah would not just give up."
And, yeah, that's been bugging the hell out of Dean.
"Just… meet me at Bobby's? We gotta find out what's going on and I… I…"
"I know," Sam replies softly. "I'll be there in a few hours. Will you be okay?"
"Yeah, Cas is here. If I haven't pissed him off. See ya later."
"Bye."
Castiel deigns to join him for breakfast at a diner. But not before he makes Dean wait in the car while he scopes out the place.
The fight between them seems to have been forgotten, or forgiven, or just plain left alone and that's fine with Dean. He doesn't want to start another grudge like he and Sammy have just been through.
When Castiel returns, zapping straight into the passenger seat, Dean jumps.
"We good?" he asks.
"Yes. I have cast an enochian sigil in the men's bathroom."
Dean raises an eyebrow.
"I'm meant to eat in the bathroom?"
Castiel almost rolls his eyes. Almost because he doesn't actually but the face he pulls is the equivalent of an eye roll.
Dean gets out the car and shuts the door.
"You're getting a little paranoid, ya' know that? It's like road tripping with Jason Bourne. They can't find me, remember? You carved the sigils into my ribs."
"You have an unusual car," Castiel replies, shutting his own door. Dean locks it and they walk to the diner.
"Well thank you. I'll take that as a compliment."
"You shouldn't. They will notice it too."
There's a bell above the door which rings when they open it. Castiel glares at it like all the angel in the vicinity will have heard it and assumed it's them.
"Couldn't we have got a 'drive-through'?" Castiel asks as they sit down at a booth.
Dean picks up the menu and scans it. He feels like something meaty.
"Nope."
"Well how long until we get to Bobby's?"
Dean puts the menu down. A waitress talking to some customers notices immediately and walks over.
"You're just all questions today aren't you. 'Bout four hours."
"Hello boys, what can I get you?" She smiles a little too widely, revealing the pink gum in one side of her mouth.
"I'll have the bacon, eggs, beans and toast breakfast, and a coffee."
She notes it down.
"And what can I get you?"
Castiel hasn't even opened his menu.
"He'll have the same," Dean answers for him and the waitress winks at him and walks away. The skirt she's wearing is just a little too short for someone that old.
"I don't need to eat, Dean." Castiel's forehead is actually creasing that's how confused he is.
"C'mon, dude. Just try a little. And if you don't like it, I'll have it."
"It is not good for you."
"What are you saying? I'm fat?"
"No," Castiel says without meeting his eyes. "But you will be."
Dean laughs.
He picks the menu up and scans the pie section. Maybe he'll take a pie for the road. Bobby's good for the basics but never seems to like dessert. No ice cream, or cake, or pie. He knows how much Dean likes pie.
"You might like it anyway. Maybe I should've started you on food and then worked my way up to the prostitutes. Gluttony is a lesser sin then lust, right Cas?"
Castiel isn't paying him attention. He's busy watching the TV behind Dean's head. A pretty girl's standing in front of a farm house, the bulky microphone covering up half her cleavage which leaves Dean very unimpressed.
"-police haven't ruled out foul play yet but Sheriff Dagenham has suggested his doubts. The scale of the crop failures is perhaps too large."
A man pops up, sitting in the studio taking up the one half of the screen. "Have there been any regular droughts?"
"There hasn't been one for five years. I talked to one of the farmers earlier today and he said that the police had come round to test the water so perhaps we'll find some answers there."
"Crop failures," Castiel says and Dean turns back around.
"Demons?"
"It appears that the crop failures were within a hundred mile radius of the city of Indianola. I would agree with that deduction."
"Excellent. Guess we're going to Indianola."
"No."
Dean looks up but's prevented from saying anything by the waitress bringing their coffees. He reaches into the middle of the table for a packet of sugar and smiles a thank you at her.
"What do you mean no?" he hisses across the table when she's gone.
"You're injured, Dean. I can't risk anything happening to you. If you'd like I could take you to Bobby's now and then investigate the demons myself straight away."
Dean rips the sugar open and pours in into his mug.
"Oh, so you can drive now?"
Castiel glowers, more at the coffee then him. Dean hands him two packets of sugar and gives him the look of 'trust me'.
"That's not what I meant."
"Indianola's like an hour away and I need my car for when you go on your God quest, Cas. Stir the sugar in."
Castiel picks up the teaspoon, tilts his head to one side and then, having decided where he wants to put the spoon dips it in and stirs, barely making ripples.
"Harder than that," Dean scoffs. He takes a sip of his coffee and immediately feels a hell of a lot better. The headache echoing from the bruise on the side of his head will probably get worse but at least he'll make the journey to Indianola.
"I don't think I will be continuing with my 'quest'." Castiel puts the spoon down and looks up at Dean.
"Yeah? I mean, are you sure? It kinda seemed to mean a lot to you."
Castiel sighs and he almost looks his age, minus a few thousand years. It makes Dean wonder, if Cas is losing his grace is he becoming human? Will he need sleep and food now? It's probably a good thing he's making Cas eat. He might even have to teach him how to wash and god knows what else.
"It seems fruitless. Especially with far more important things happening here."
"Like what, man? Lucifer is keeping a surprisingly low profile."
"Zachariah."
Dean sighs.
"He should not have let you go." Castiel is deathly serious. He's sitting so straight in his seat there must be a poker up his arse and he hasn't even frowned at the coffee once in the last few minutes.
"That's what Sam said."
"Zachariah is ruthless and will never give up. I fear he is preparing for something else."
"So what are we gonna do about it? We don't have a clue what he's planning and we won't know until he makes his move. But Indianola we can do something about. Let's go and kill some demons."
Castiel sighs this time, picks up his coffee and finally drinks it. He spits it right back out again.
"More sugar," Dean says and hands him another packet.
A hundred miles outside of Indianola the land is dead. One second it is lush green and then it's brown. More disturbingly they can see the bend as it forms a perfect circle around the city.
People are standing on the side of the road beside their parked cars taking photos. It's not really that exciting unless you're a Hunter and even then…
"It's too obvious," Dean says, one hand on the wheel and the other on the door frame, the window open. "Demons aren't known for their subtlety but this is a neon sign and naked, dancing ladies."
"I don't see what this has to do with naked dancing ladies." Castiel all but sniffs in disdain. "But I see your point."
They cruise the streets of the small city for a few hours, keeping their eyes peeled for any signs. These things have a habit of falling into their laps so actually looking is a nice change. Maybe it means every demon under the sun isn't gunning for the Winchester's and co.
By the time dusk comes Dean's getting cramp and the magic pills Cas gave him are losing their trick. He asks for some more and suggests they stop for the night, get a motel room and watch some T.V.
Castiel hands over the pills but declines the invite and disappears without another word.
Dean turns the car around; deciding the bar they'd passed earlier is a much better option.
Something's going on with the angel. Through the haze of pain that covers most of his memories of the night before Dean can remember Castiel telling him about losing his grace and his powers.
It worries him. Having an angel on the team helps more than he's ever going to be willing to say. But then again would it really matter? As long as Cas is there he feels safer, something to do with his calm nature perhaps.
He pulls into the bar parking lot and gets out. There are at least ten cars along with his and inside it's busy, patrons sitting at tables chatting. Most of them look the wrong side of forty but Dean perks up when he sits down at the bar and a young girl walks over to serve him.
"Hi there, what can I get you?" Her accent's Californian, her skin tanned but her hair's jet black and cut in a bob, her eyes darkened by makeup. Beneath it all she's still hot, a slender face and supple lips.
"Just a beer, thanks. You're not from around here."
"Neither are you," she replies and it's defensive. Dean kinda likes that.
"I came to hear about the crop failures."
She pauses mid pour, eyebrow raised. "To the bar or the city?"
"Both. I sort of investigate strange phenomena."
She laughs, her teeth stark white against bright red lipstick and sun-kissed skin.
"That's… different."
She slides his beer along the bar and he takes a sip before gulping down almost half the glass. He hadn't realised how thirsty he was until right then.
"Thirsty?"
"Just a little. So what brings you to these parts?"
"Oh no." She shakes her head, her hair falling out from behind her ears. "I want to hear more about this weird job of yours. Do you work alone?"
"I have a partner He's my…" He was going to say brother. Castiel is most definitely not his brother.
He's looking for the right word when the girl leans forward, hands braced on the bar and hisses in his ear; "where's Sammy, Dean?"
He jerks back, sliding off the bar stool. He's barely on his feet when a gunshot goes off and he ducks. A man standing in a doorway behind the bar is holding a shotgun, his eyes black.
"Everyone OUT!"
There's a scramble for the door, some woman is screaming and Dean tries to lose himself amongst them, twisting into the crowd when a hand wraps around his arm and hauls him back.
He's slammed into the bar and his wounds ignite, pain rising like acid all along his back. His mouth opens in a silent scream but he holds it back, unwilling to show weakness.
When it passes he finds himself face to face with four demons and the bar girl, eyes as black as ink. They surround him; the older man with the shotgun keeps his finger on the trigger, his face stony.
He addresses the Californian girl first.
"Which pissed off chick are you this time?"
She smiles, revealing those white teeth to be pointier then he'd noticed before.
"I'm the one who led your brother off the beaten track."
"Ruby," he murmurs and white hot rage boils inside of him. "How are you alive?"
"Daddy's back, Dean-O, and there isn't much he can't do. Now, are you going to answer my question?"
Dean smiles and rolls his neck. The pain of his wounds is fading down to a drumming beneath the skin, nothing he can't handle. He flexes his shoulders and rolls his hands into fists and he likes the way the demon's notice and take a step toward him.
"Unfortunately for you, Sam and I broke up."
"Aww shucks," Ruby says. "Did I perhaps have something to do with that?"
"Well, yes I think you did."
He launches himself at Ruby, knowing it's stupid and futile but not caring anyway. He can't stand to look at her smile any longer and know what she did to Sam, what she did to them both.
Two demon's haul him back before he can land a punch. Ruby's laughing and it makes him fight harder but they slam him against the bar and the pain is almost too much, he doubles over, struggling for breath.
"Sam won't be coming for me, Ruby," he spits. "Don't even bother."
"We both know that's a lie."
"He doesn't even know where I am."
"That can be changed. I have orders to bring you both in."
Dean stills his struggles. The demon's grip loosens but holds him in place.
"Why me?"
"Ohhh," Ruby hums. "So you know that Sam is Lucifer's vessel, which means you must've talked recently. You're not very good at concealing information are you, Dean, and I haven't even started with the torture yet."
She pulls a switchblade from the pocket of her jeans and flicks it open. Dean keeps his eyes on Ruby's face.
"Lucifer," she continues. "Would find it very useful to keep Michael's vessel around."
"So you're going to kill me." It isn't a question.
Ruby moves towards him, her steps long and her gaze lingering. The restraining hands on his arms tighten but he doesn't move against them.
It seems every angel and demon under the sun is out to torture him this week.
She stops a foot in front of him, raises the knife and draws it across his cheek. He hisses. The cut is shallow, a dribble of red in the corner of his eye. She pulls the knife down further, over his chin and down his neck.
"I wish that were the case," she says. "But we know the angels would only bring you back to life whether we burn the body or not. There are other uses for you though, mostly involved in breaking Sam."
She leans forward and whispers in his ear; "we'll still have our fun, Dean."
She slashes at his arm, cutting the fabric and there's a burst of blood. He chokes back a scream and thinks of the drumming on his back, focuses his mind on that consistent pain.
"Fuck you."
"Your retorts are getting worse."
She slashes at his chest and he rebounds into the demons who hold him steady.
Ruby cuts again and again, his chest, his arms, across his collar bone until he's sure he's going to see white, a bloody line from his ribs to his navel and around it. The only way he doesn't make a sound is because he's holding his breath.
His t-shirt is torn to shreds, speckled with red and hanging from his frame. His boxers are peeking above his jeans and Ruby stops at the waistband and looks back up at him, a smirk dripping from her lips.
"I wouldn't go down there, sweetheart."
"Yes, Dean's infamous junk."
He closes his eyes then, a sign of weakness he immediately regrets but he's praying as loud and as hard as he can.
"Not infamous," he grits out. "Famous."
"All the same; I'm sure it doesn't live up to its reputation."
She makes to slice at his belt and this time there's an inadvertent noise growing in the back of his throat.
Then there's a flash of light.
The two demons release their grip on him. He glimpses Ruby spinning around but he's falling to his knees, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught.
Ruby's yelling and when the orange fades from his eyelids and he looks up there's a shotgun pointed at his face.
He throws himself to one side. The bullet thuds into the wood behind him and when he jumps to his feet Castiel has grabbed the shotgun and is wrenching it from the demon's grip.
He smashes the butt into the demon's nose and then kicks him into the chest. The demon flies back and Dean yells out, throws Ruby's old knife through the air. Castiel catches it and starts back at the demon.
Dean almost doesn't see Ruby until it's too late. He ducks the chair she swings at his head and it flings from her grasp. He takes her kick to the rib and stumbles backwards, catches the fist aiming for his face and knees her in the stomach.
When she looks up him her teeth are bared, her skin reddening with fury. He punches her, a crack of bone beneath his fist and she begins to fall back. Her limbs flail, a hand catches his t-shirt and she pulls him down to.
He goes headlong into a table.
He comes to on the floor, rocking with the force of a punch. Ruby's straddling him.
"Guess what, Dean," she hisses and her eyes are manic even with the blackness. "This is Sam's favourite position."
She raises the knife above her head and he has time to wonder if there's going to be a flash of convenient lightning to reveal her madness.
Castiel appears from nowhere.
His palm slams down on her forehead and the knife catches beneath her throat. Red sprays across Dean's face.
There's a moment of blankness where he thinks he hears Alistair's laugh and then Castiel is pulling Ruby's body off him. He gulps down air and sits up.
The bar is all but destroyed. Tables and chairs are broken and scattered. Five bodies lie just as broken and blood's sinking into the wooden floors, filling in the aging cracks.
"Are you okay?"
Castiel is standing in front of him, holding out a hand.
Dean takes it and climbs to his feet.
"Fine. You?"
Castiel nods.
They survey the damage for a minute when a siren sounds in the distance.
"We should go," Dean says and the next second Castiel places a hand on his shoulder and they're sitting in the Impala looking at a crowd standing beneath the orange light of a street lamp.
Dean fits the key in the ignition and starts the engine.
"So you heard my prayer then?"
Castiel starts and stares at him.
"No," he says and his shoulders slump. "No I did not."
"Oh. You just turned up right after I did. I kinda assumed."
He pulls out of the car lot and they pass two police cars on the road. He guns it when they're safely past.
"At least we got rid of the demons."
"They were not the problem."
"What do you mean? The crop failures, those are demonic signs, and I distinctly remember just getting Hannibal Lector-ed on. All demon crap."
In fact his wounds are still bleeding. He doesn't even have to say anything; Castiel leans into the back and drags the first aid box onto his lap.
"The demons did not arrive in the city until this afternoon," Cas says as he flicks the box open. "Long after we did. They laid traps around the town. I tripped one looking for you at the motel. The bar was my second choice of where you'd be."
"Well how'd they know we'd be here and what killed off all the crops?"
"Perhaps for once this is not a supernatural problem."
Cas is holding a sponge and he presses it to the cut on Dean's arm, soaking up the blood. When he's done he puts a plaster on it.
"No." Dean shakes his head. "There's something going on-"
His phone begins to ring and he fumbles in his jacket for it, brushing off Castiel's sponge.
"-I know it, trust me."
"Dean." Sam's voice. "It's me."
"Hey, yeah sorry I didn't call I got a bit caught-"
"Dean, its Lake Michigan."
He glances at Castiel. The angel's opened the window and is getting rid of the bloody sponge, a look of curiosity on his face. He looks at back at Dean and the expression disappears, replaced by worry.
"What about Lake Michigan?"
"It's turned into blood."