The smoke choked him. Thick and dark it scoured his lungs, turning the air inside Baby to ash. Dean yanked his shirt over his nose and mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. He yanked the lever of the bench seat and shoved backwards, the seat ground back to full extension and he slid off. He could hear Sammy coughing, and reaching out, he yanked his brother down low where some clean air hovered below the dash.
Baby rocked on its wheels. The sound and pressure dropping made his ears ache. He felt prickles of electricity skate along the metal parts of the car. Baby shorted out with a rattle and gasp.
"Damn it," Dean snarled. "Come ON."
The maelstrom howled and snarled. He could feel a hand clench at his shoulder. Sammy's voice was a hoarse whisper.
"Dean…"
The raw fear in Sammy's voice had Dean fumbling for Sammy's wrist, gripping it tight. He wasn't ashamed to say the clench of fear in his gut was making him sick.
"Fuck." Dean jammed one hand between his head and the door where he got a sudden crack on the skull by the window winder as something struck the Impala with crunching force.
The Impala juddered, tipping and tilting, hurling on its axis.
"Hold together, baby." Dean gripped the steering wheel to hold himself steady.
The Impala rocked sickeningly once more, then came crunching down on four wheels. The sound quieted. The pings were from cooling metal. One of the doors ground open with a protesting squeak and light flooded into the grimy interior. They weren't in the field. They were in … a warehouse.
"Rocky. Bullwinkle. What the hell did you two idiots do this time?" Crowley stared down at the two men sprawled uncomfortably, half on the seat, half curled under the dash.
Dean tried to speak, levering himself upright, groaning, then coughing. Clouds of ash puffed around him. "Crowley."
Crowley arched a brow and glared at Sam. Sam stared defiantly back. "So the plan didn't work out quite the way you wanted, eh, Moose? You two idiots really do specialise in trying to end the very goddamn world you are trying to save."
Sam swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "Rowena. Cas?"
Dean was leaning against the side of the Impala, his hands on his knees, before he glanced up, eyes narrowed, as he tracked between the two men. "What do you mean 'Cas'?" he rasped.
"Rowena turned him into her little pet attack puppy. I had to put him down."
Dean launched himself at Crowley. His fingertips barely touched Crowley's immaculate suit before he was tossed aside with a flick of Crowley's fingers. "Oh please," Crowley growled with annoyance. "Sit. Bad dog."
Dean gripped his ribs. That had hurt like hell. He grimaced. "Where is Cas?" he choked out.
Crowley sighed, flicked some ash from the Impala from his lapel. "Over there." He gestured sideways. Dean scrambled to his feet. He swallowed hard and finally saw the crumpled figure in the blood stained trench coat.
"Cas?" The pain of the past few days. The pain in his entire soul when he had beaten Cas, and nearly put the angel blade through his chest … it strangled the voice in his throat. He stumbled toward the angel and dropped to his knees.
Sam turned and stared at Crowley. "What? You thought I would just let him kill me? Be serious, Moose. Besides, we have bigger things to worry about. Like you two thundering morons releasing the Darkness. Don't suppose you want to fix that monumental fuck up?"
"You killed Cas." Sam was struggling to get past it, the guilt of his role in that flaring in his face. "You killed … an angel of heaven."
Dean gently turned Castiel toward him. The angel's face was battered. New bruises and wounds overlaid old. Blood pooled on the floor. His lips were puffed and swollen. He touched Cas' face gingerly, then splayed his fingers to slide through the tangled strands of Castiel's messy, blood clotted hair.
"Cas …" he whispered.
Crowley scraped a hand down his face, the beard rasping his palm. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Of course I didn't kill him. We are going to need what's left of that devoted idiot's grace."
Castiel's eyes trembled but didn't open. They were swollen shut. His breath hissed out.
"Dean …" The sound was barely articulate.
Dean made a small sound, before squeezing his eyes shut.
Crowley growled his impatience. "He's alive, alright. He's a damn angel. I think it would be a better choice to get the hell out of here, don't you? You can be all bitter and guilt ridden later, Rocky."
Dean slid his arms under Castiel's shoulders and knees, and with a heave of his trembling, exhausted body, he took the weight and lifted him up.
"You and I are gonna have a discussion in a while, Crowley," Dean rumbled, his eyes raw.
"Can hardly wait."
Crowley waved his hand.