So here is a brand new story for you! I know a few of you have been looking forward to this one for a while, so I hope it doesn't disappoint ;)

Now, this is a sequel to my other story "Family First" and you should probably go read that one before you read this one, but essentially a recap of the previous story is: Cas got coerced into working with the BMoL to protect the Winchesters and had to hunt with Ketch and nearly got killed on multiple occasions. Ketch kidnapped all of them, but they were able to escape when Crowley blew his way into the compound to get the Colt back for himself. This story picks up about a month after the first one.

So, as usual, prepare yourselves for much whump and angst!

The Ties That Bind

A Supernatural Fanfic

Chapter One

Taken

It started out with just a simple supply run.

Castiel had gone with Sam into town to pick up some stuff at the store since they had returned from a hunt and found their refrigerator held nothing but orange juice and American cheese. Dean, who had sprained his ankle on the hunt and needed to rest it, promptly sent Sam and Cas out to get 'provisions' and demanded that they also bring home a pizza that 'didn't just have rabbit food on it'.

Castiel had promised Dean he would make sure they ordered at least one type of meat, and also agreed to take his truck since Dean didn't want Sam driving the Impala after he had gotten it clawed up by a hellhound on another case a couple weeks ago.

Castiel sighed wearily as they secured the bags into a covered box in the back of the truck. He was tired too, and just wanted to rest back at the bunker before another hunt came onto their radar. At least he was hunting with Sam and Dean again, and not that bastard Arthur Ketch. That made things so much better.

Just the thought of the Englishman caused Castiel to subconsciously touch his side where Ramiel had stabbed him with the Lance of Michael. There may not have been a physical scar there, but he wouldn't be forgetting it any time soon. Ketch had almost gotten him killed, and then later had captured Castiel and the Winchesters, with obviously ill intent. Castiel himself had been taken for 'scientific purposes' and he shuddered inwardly at the thought of how much further it all could have gone if they hadn't been able to escape as soon as they did.

But he didn't think Ketch and the British Men of Letters would try to mess with them again too soon. All three of them had made it pretty clear as to what would happen if the Brits tried anything. It had almost been a month since that incident, and they hadn't heard or seen so much as a glimpse of them.

"Okay," Sam said, as he secured the groceries and moved to open the truck cab. "I already put in the order for the pizza so it should be ready to pick up by the time we get there."

"Good," Castiel said as he climbed behind the wheel and started it, heading toward the pizza parlor. He didn't really want to admit how tired he was, but from Sam's sympathetic look, he could tell. They had all gotten beaten around on this last hunt—he decided he really hated ghouls—and they were all ready for a couple days of rest. Castiel had kind of given up worrying about how weak his grace was lately. It wasn't going to get any better, but it hadn't gotten worse since Lucifer had been ripped out of him either, so at least he seemed to be steady instead of it burning out even more. He'd just had to come to terms with needing sleep and food every once in a while when he was worn down. It was annoying, but he could deal with it. At least it was his own grace, and he had his family and a place to stay so he truly didn't want for anything.

"Don't worry, Cas, Dean's already decided we're just gonna sit and binge Netflix for the next couple of days," Sam said. "I'm not even going to look at the computer."

Castiel smiled. "I think I will be glad of a little…R&R," he replied as he pulled off the main road toward the pizza place.

It was a Friday night and the place was packed. Castiel groaned as he saw the parking lot filled up.

"There's more places to park around back," Sam told him, pointing in the direction they could drive around.

Castiel followed his lead and parked around the back of the restaurant. There was a distinct lack of light back here where there were the only thing to be found was the restaurant dumpsters, and he felt slightly uncomfortable for no apparent reason. He glanced at Sam, but the hunter didn't seem to be too worried, and even if this part of the place was deserted, it was a good part of town with many people nearby, so Castiel figured he didn't have reason to worry about anything—certainly they'd stayed the night in worse places. He just couldn't always keep himself from being jumpy, and it was a small wonder why after the lives he and the Winchesters lived. He figured it was just residual adrenaline from the hunt. Chasing ghouls through an old house that had belonged to a serious hoarder had certainly been nerve-wracking enough.

However, as they rounded the back of the restaurant to find the door, something caught Castiel's eye that instantly set off alarm bells in his head.

Parked to one side of the building was a familiar black motorcycle. Of course, it could be anyone's, but here, right now, in Lebanon, Kansas right when he and Sam were supposed to pick up an order? No, Castiel was not taking that risk.

He swiftly reached out and gripped Sam's forearm in warning.

"Sam, we need to go."

The hunter didn't argue, but still frowned, even as Castiel started to pull him back toward the truck. "Cas, what's wrong?"

He opened his mouth to mention the motorcycle, when a soft, muffled fwip was heard—the sound of a gun with a silencer—and all of a sudden Castiel felt pain rip through his shoulder. He couldn't draw a breath before he simply collapsed to the ground, his body apparently unable to keep itself upright.

"Cas!" Sam shouted, pulling his own gun from the back of his belt and crouching down by Castiel as he looked around for the threat.

"Hello, Winchester."

Arthur Ketch rose from the back of Castiel's truck, standing up with a smirk on his face, before he nimbly leapt down onto the pavement.

Sam raised his gun and cocked it. "You."

"Sam, run," Castiel forced from between clenched teeth. He was trying to move, trying to reach his angel blade, but nothing would work. He couldn't move his body from the shoulders down. The bullet must have had spellwork or something to paralyze him like this.

"No way," Sam hissed back.

"I can't move," Castiel insisted, pleading with him. "Just go!"

Sam shook his head, but at least stood to face Ketch as the Englishman stopped several feet from them, giving that half smile that Castiel knew all too well meant he was pleased with himself and thinking he'd won.

"What did you do to him?" Sam demanded, pistol still trained on the man.

Ketch held up his own gun. "Oh, that? A fun new toy R&D came up with. The bullet has paralyzing sigils carved into it. Glad to see it works so well. Never got the chance to test it when we had the halo before."

Castiel growled, making another attempt to move, but to no avail. He couldn't even dig the bullet out like this.

"What do you want?" Sam demanded.

"Oh, please, Sam, you're smarter than that," Ketch chided. "You should know what I want."

"Petty revenge?" Sam replied blandly.

Ketch shrugged. "In part. But the old men back in England do so want us to get results here. I was aiming for the halo, but I'd be more than happy to throw a Winchester into the bargain."

Castiel's heart rose into his throat, remembering the threats Ketch had made against the Winchesters previously, especially Sam. "Leave him out of this. I know it's me you want, Ketch," he ground out.

Ketch gave him a blasé look. "You know how foolish your false bravado will be, angel. Besides. I didn't come alone."

Castiel and Sam both looked toward the road as the screech of tires pulling up to the curb sounded and a huge black SUV came into view, expelling several men in combat gear, weapons pointed at Sam and Castiel. Sam stared them down for a minute before lowering his gun with a disgusted look. The men swarmed in, and surrounded them. Two grabbed Sam between them and slid zipties over his hands, cinching them tight. Another kicked Castiel onto his stomach, making his wound burn with pain, before they manacled his hands behind his back with sigiled cuffs. As if he would be going anywhere with this bullet in his shoulder.

They were then lifted bodily and thrown into the back of the SUV with the Men of Letters climbing in behind them, taking places on benches built into the sides of the vehicle. Ketch climbed in last, closing the door behind him and smiled with a cruel satisfaction as he looked down at Sam and Castiel.

"Oh, this is going to be so much fun," he said before he nodded to the other men and they swiftly stuffed bags over Sam's, and then Castiel's, head. Castiel heard Sam struggling, before his muffled protests were sharply cut off with a grunt and a thud that sounded all too much like a boot connecting with the hunter's head.

"Sam!" Castiel tried to shout, but his voice was muffled too, and before he knew it, stars burst in front of his own eyes and blackness overtook him.


Dean winced as he limped into the kitchen to grab another beer. Damn those ghouls. Hunting for a group of those fuglies in an old house that should be featured on an episode of Hoarders was a bad idea in and of itself. And though it couldn't be helped, his deciding to go up into the old and creaky attic of said house was just plain stupid. Dean's foot had gone straight through the floor, and if Sam hadn't shown up when he did, Dean would be ghoul meat right now.

Overall, he was lucky to have gotten away with just a sprain. He hadn't let Cas fix it either, since the poor guy had looked terrible after getting thrown down the staircase. Besides, it would be better in a couple days—okay, if he stayed off of it. But Sam and Cas were taking forever getting back from town, and Dean wasn't going to deprive himself of beer in that time.

Slumping heavily back into a chair in the library and kicking his injured foot up on the table, he grabbed his phone from where he had left it next to his laptop and checked for messages. Nothing from Sam or Cas. Okay, fine, they must still be on the supply run or hopefully on their way home by now.

In that case…it was time to catch up on some anime. Dean figured he deserved that after the day they had. He smirked and grabbed his laptop and sat back with his beer to enjoy.

After a while, though, he started glancing between his phone and the door, wondering what the hell was taking Sam and Cas so long to pick up some food and a pizza?

He grabbed his phone and checked the time. 9:30. It had almost been two hours since they left.

A pit of worry started forming in Dean's stomach. Something didn't seem right. Okay, maybe they'd had to wait at the pizza place, it was Friday night, after all, but Sam would have texted him if that were the case, wouldn't he? They'd made a point to keep in contact even in non-threatening environments since the whole thing with Cas the British Dicks of Letters. This wasn't like either of them.

He hurriedly called Sam, getting more and more anxious as the phone rang and rang until Sam's voicemail popped up.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean muttered, as he ended the call and tried Cas' phone, but got the same thing. He tried Sam's once more, and this time left a message.

"Sammy, call me now. Where the hell are you?"

He set the phone back on the table, looking at it as he contemplated his next move. He was hoping Sam would call him back instantly, annoyed that Dean was so worked up, and giving some stupid excuse for why they were late. Traffic, detouring for a crash, surprise hunt…alien abduction? Hell, Dean would take anything at the moment but what he feared to be the truth.

After trying both their phones one last time, he got to his feet and grabbed his coat and keys—and various weapons. He wasn't taking chances this time. He was going to trust his gut, which was telling him something was very wrong.

He limped out to the Impala and started her up, tearing out of the garage on the way to town. He went to the grocery store first, driving around the parking lot, looking for Cas' truck, but it wasn't there. He cursed, and pulled back out on the road, heading to the pizza joint.

It was almost closing by the time he got there, and he hurriedly parked out front, making his way inside.

The young man at the front was just wiping the counter down when he looked up to see Dean come in.

"Hey, Dean!" he said, dropping his rag and heading over to the warming counter where they kept the orders. "Wondered when you'd get here. Your pizza's been ready for like, two hours."

"Oh, thanks, Brian," Dean said, having already forgotten about the pizza, but he paid the kid anyway. "Hey, uh, you see my brother here at all?"

Brian frowned. "No. I would have given the pizza to him if I had."

Dean's stomach roiled. "How about a British guy?"

Brian's eyes narrowed. "Now that you mention it, yeah, there was a British guy who came in here tonight. He didn't stay long, just ordered a slice and a beer but turned up his nose at both. He was dark-haired, posh accent…"

"A real dick?" Dean asked blandly.

"Yeah," Brian said. "Is something wrong, Dean?"

Dean shook himself as he noticed that he was clenching his fists. "Uh, no. I've just gotta go. I'll let you close up. Thanks for holding the pizza."

Brian told him goodnight, and Dean hurried back out to the Impala. As he got in, he just sat there for a moment, closing his eyes and gripping the wheel. If Ketch was here…Dean didn't even want to think of the possibilities of what could have happened to Sam and Cas right now.

But sitting here wasn't going to help them. Dean turned the key and started off back for the bunker, not really knowing what else to do, probably try and track their cellphones. It was just as he was driving past the pizza parlor that he caught sight of a truck parked out back.

He slammed on his brakes and turned in, recognizing the vehicle as Cas'. He got out of the Impala as quickly as he could and hurried over to the truck, holding his breath, half worried he was going to find Sam and Cas shot to death in the cab.

But they weren't there. He felt a small moment of relief, before the other options came to mind. He checked around the truck, looking for any clues. The box in the back was full of groceries, anything cold completely melted and probably ruined by now. Dean left it, not caring, and cast about the area, checking the dumpsters or anything for any clue as to what happened to Sam and Cas.

The streetlights glinted off of something wet on the ground, and Dean bent, seeing a small puddle of dark liquid. He touched a couple fingers to it, but he already knew what it was.

Blood.

"Dammit," he muttered.

From the viscosity, it was at least an hour old. The only reassurance he had was that it wasn't enough to denote a fatal wound, but in addition to the small pool, there were some spatters that were consistent with a gunshot.

This was like coming back to the bunker and finding out Sam had been kidnapped all over again. Dean straightened, started back to the Impala. This time, when he saw Ketch again, he was going to shoot on sight. Well, okay, maybe not. First he was going to beat that bastard's face in, and then he would shoot him. Either way, the meeting would end in Ketch's demise. That was a certainty.

Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Sam's number one more time, just in case.

A ringtone sounded from nearby, slightly muffled, but over in the direction of the dumpster. Dean went back over there and made a more thorough search, seeing the light from a phone screen glowing near the bottom. He reached down and grabbed it, feeling another similar shape as well. Pretty soon he was holding both Sam and Cas' phones.

"Son of a bitch," he growled and dialed another number. He was almost worried when no one picked up for a couple rings, but then he heard his mom's voice on the other end. "Hello? Dean, is that you?"

"Yeah, Mom, it's me," he said gruffly, feeling some relief that she at least was there.

"Are you okay?" she asked, obviously detecting something in his voice.

"Mom, I think the Brits have Sam and Cas," he said without preamble. "I'm gonna need some help getting them back."

"I'll be at the bunker in a couple hours," she said and hung up.

Dean took a calming breath and drove back toward the bunker. One way or another, he was going to get Sam and Cas back. That, he was sure of. He just hoped it wasn't going to be too late.

Because he was sure that the Brits didn't have anything nice planned for them at all.