Cas pulled up down the street from the bunker's entrance, trying to compose himself for what he was about to face. Sam had rung him not long ago, which he had answered with dread - already knowing what he was going to say. Or so he'd thought.
He'd answered his cell with a "I know, Sam. I know he's dead." And got a shaky sigh in response.
"No, Cas, um. He's alive." Castiel's thoughts derailed and immediately flew to Metatron's surety and cockiness. He remembered the blood on the angel blade, and how it smelt like Dean's. He was so used to the smell after all these years, he was sure he could recognise Dean's blood from a hundred others.
"I don't understand." He growled, a flicker of hope catching in his throat.
"I dont think I do either," Sam sighed, "but we need your help." The youngest Winchester sounded troubled, and the slight tremor in his voice spoke of termoil and maybe even a little fear.
Cas didn't even need to think about his reply. "I'm on my way."
Which was how he'd ended up here, parked far enough away to give him time to collect himself. He had no idea what state Dean would be in; Sam hadn't given any details, but he'd assumed it was bad. He pondered his dwindling Grace with bitterness. There was no way he'd have enough left to heal Dean - especially if there was so much damage that Metatron was convinced that he was dead. The only thing he could do was hope, and be with his friend in what could probably be his last moments. It was funny how the fragility of humanity had never really hit him until he had one to care about.
He began his trek to the door, shaking his thoughts away. Dean wasn't dead yet. There was always hope.
He knocked, and waited for Sam to answer. He knew the younger brother would look bad, but nothing really prepared him for Sam's expression as he opened the door. He seemed to have an expression of numb disbelief on his face; he knew Cas was coming, so surely it must be from something to do with Dean. There were old tear track marks on his face, and he seemed to be in a state of internal conflict.
"What's the matter, Sam?"
The Winchester just shook his head and let him inside, looking down at the floor and mumbling, "he's in the dungeon."
"The dungeon?" Cas repeated with shock, "why there?" Sam just shook his head again, his lips thinning into a pained line.
Cas knew the only way he would get answers at this point would be to see Dean, so he walked towards the room, knowing the way with ease. Something unsettling was curling in his ribs with every step he took, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.
He stopped short of the closed door, his nerves deserting him. He looked over to Sam, who hovered like a brooding cloud over his shoulder. "How bad is he?" He asked, his hand hovering over the door handle.
Sam's laugh was bitter. "That depends on your point of view."
Cas frowned, unsure of how to interpret such a cryptic answer, and turned back to the door. Holding his breath, he pushed open the door.
The breath wooshed out of his mouth in a gasp as he took in the room before him.
The table which crowley had been tied to was gone, instead leaving a lone chair that had been pushed to one side a little. The chain attached to the floor snaked up the side of the man stood with his back to the door. It was firmly attached to his wrist with thick, oldstyle manacles, which had runes and devil's traps carved into them.
The man stood in the dead centre of the devil's trap built into the floor, his feet spread in a relaxed almost military position. The pose was familiar. In fact, everything about the man was familiar. Everything from the worn jeans and the bowed legs. The slope of his shoulders and the nape of his neck; something that Castiel had found himself studying many times over the years.
Cas' struggled to reconcile his relief with his wariness. Something was very, very wrong if Dean needed to be confined like this.
The lamp above Dean's head swung gently, casting long Shadows like a pair of dark wings down his back.
A chuckle echoed through the room, as familiar as it was unfamiliar. Instead of a warm undertone to the laugh, the sound was strangely cold. It was a sound Dean Winchester never made. Bitterness? Yes? Sadness? Absolutely. But ice? Never something Castiel associated with his friend.
"Hey, Cas," the man said, turning his head over his shoulder, slowly twisting around to face him.
Castiel gasped as Dean's face came into view. Over his normal beautiful features (which was the only thing Sam could see) hung the mask of a demon. It wasnt just any demon. The contours of Dean's soul were marred and twisted, pulling his true face into a death mask filled with glowing black eyes and a gaping hole in one side of his face; running from the right side of his jaw, up to his pretty cheekbones. His teeth had elongated and sharpened, leaving no doubt of what he had become.
Still, as Cas looked closer, he noticed ribbons of blue and white running like viens through the right side of his face, seeming to light up behind his dark eyes, not strong enough to throw off the demon's cowl. It was the remnants of his Grace, from their shared time in hell, and it cast a softer glow over the image, and somehow, left the left side of his face completely unmarred.
It made him wonder at himself, when he realised that this man was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.
"You looked your fill, feathers?" Dean asked, quirking an eyebrow at his gaping.
He snapped his mouth closed and looked over to Sam and said, "he is more than cureable. It seems he's only partially converted - the Grace I left in his soul protected him from some of the corruption."
Sam looked like he could have passed out with relief, and he looked back at his brother with a pursed mouth. "I don't have the pure blood left from the trails to give him."
"I wouldn't have you do it anyway, Sam. Dean would never forgive me."
The man in question clicked his tongue disapprovingly, "I'm right here, you know."
Sam ignored his brother and just looked at Cas, "well we need to find something. We can't leave him like this."
Cas shook his head, and slumped tiredly in a chair which had been left by the door. It was clear that Sam had probably sat there, watching Dean in his new state. Assessing the danger.
"Hey!" Dean protested, shaking his chain in anger, "stop talking about me as if I'm not here!"
"Come on, Cas, you have to think of something to cure him!" Sam begged, his eyes wide and sad.
Dean's fuse was getting shorter and shorter. "Cure me? I'm not some invalid. I'm a demon!"
Sam rolled his eyes at Dean and shook his head, but otherwise ignored him. "What do you think?" His eyes still locked emploringly on Castiel.
"Sam, have you ever thought that I don't want you to save me?" That caught his attention. Sam spun his head around and looked at his black-eyed brother.
"What?" He hissed.
"Now I'm a demon," Dean drawled, satisfied that his audience was hooked, "I don't have to care anymore. I don't have to be weighed down by you thinking I'm a shitty big brother, or worrying that you," he jabbed an angry finger at Castiel "will fuck up the world again. Because my world is Hell and you cant break Hell. By God, I'm fit for that place. Ten years of torturing experience I've got. I know how to wield a knife. I know how to make someone scream so hard that no sound comes from their throat. I don't have to pretend that everything's okay between us. I don't have to pretend that I don't sometimes miss the simplicity of Hell. You get what you expect down there. Pain and suffering. No wondering if you can trust someone because you know you cant trust any of them." He pauses, wiping spittle from the corner of his mouth. The silence seems pregnant and unending. "You didn't want me here anyway. You hate me for trying to keep you alive," he growled pointing an accusing finger at Sam, "and I made you loose everything. For nothing."
Castiel noticed the demon mask flickering as the human side of him took over. Dean could try and pretend, but everyone in the room knew that even now, he cared. It was clear in the tone of his voice and his dark eyes.
Cas hadn't said much since he arrived at the bunker. Even through Dean's spiteful rant, fuelled mostly by fear, the angel hadn't even flinched. It was a surprise then, the reaction he got to what he didn't even think was the worst thing he'd said.
It was an offhand comment. A demand that Dean knew would never be allowed; " just leave me to Crowley and you can finally be done with me." But it had Castiel jumping out of his seat with a holy rage he hadn't witnessed since that time in the alley.
The angel came at him with a low growl, anger making the lights flicker, despite his diminished Grace. He grabbed the front of Dean's shirt and pushed until he was backed up against the invisible wall created by the devil's trap. He dragged Dean down a little to compensate for their height differences, and growled into his face.
"I was the one who raised you from perdition. I put you back together, body and soul from barely less than the twisted state its in now. I know your soul biblically. I have seen inside your mind. I carved the hiding sigils into your ribs. I have saved you, Dean Winchester, time and time again. I claimed you before Crowley even knew you existed, Dean. He will never have you because you are mine. "
The silence was deafening, and the angel and demon stared at each other with an intensity that made the air shudder. Everything seemed slow, like pouring honey - thick and slow. Dean seemed to relax under Cas' hands, and his body almost gravitated towards the angel's. Dark eyes stared hotly into blue, breath hitching in their throats, and heat curling down their spines. Dean rocked forwards on his heels, bringing his face closer to the angel's, and Cas brought his eyes down to stare at the full mouth, warm and open and inviting.
An awkward cough brough Cas back to reality, and he slowly relased Dean, who watched him warily. He took a step back and turned to Sam, trying to ignore Dean's staring.
"We will find a way," he said, no doubt in his voice. He turned on his heel and stormed out the door.
Sam caught Dean watching him go with a funny expression, kind of like he'd just been punched. He chuckled and sat in the chair Cas vacated, willing to wait out Dean's anger and hurt. Dean was his brother, he owed so much to him, and he loved the guy. Even if he didn't like him sometimes.