It started with Dean staring miserably at his cell phone, telling Sam, "Cas missed his check in."
It ended two months later, with Sam bursting into Dean's bedroom at two am, disrupting Dean from his drunken stupor, screaming, "I've got a lead, I've got a lead, I think I know where Cas is!"
Dean woke up like lightning struck him. It took a moment for his sleep-addled brain to process the words. When they did, he bolted out of bed, searching wildly for a pair of jeans. "What happened?" Dean said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. His mouth was dry, and he had an awful headache, but Sam's excitement, with his words echoing in Dean's head, sent a surge of adrenaline through Dean's veins.
Sam set his laptop on Dean's bed and began to type furiously. "I found the payphone that called him," Sam explained.
Dean nodded. It was the first thing they discovered when Cas disappeared. Before he missed his check in with Dean, he received an incoming call from an unknown number. That was unusual, of course. The only people who called Cas were Sam and Dean, rarely Mary. He and Claire texted each other often, but it wasn't her number that stared back at Dean on Cas's call log, glaring ominously. Sam had discovered pretty quickly that it had to be a payphone, but the number was somehow encrypted, meaning they couldn't search its location.
The Winchesters hit a wall after that. They packed up and drove over night until they reached the last town Cas had been in by sunrise. They looked high and low, searched every crook and cranny, but all they came up with was meeting with a homeless man who was convinced that Castiel was an alien.
"Why do you think that, sir?" Sam asked with as much patience as he could muster. Dean rolled his eyes behind Sam, fumbling with his phone in his pocket, hoping all of this was just a giant mistake and Cas would call him any second now. He'd take any reason. Cas's phone was dead. He lost it. He forgot. Dean would take that, Cas was out having a good time, partying it up, and he just forgot to check in.
Dean knew it was a foolish thought. He kept fiddling with his phone.
"I tried to talk to him," the man screamed. "He wanted to ask me about something, but I was, uh, you see, I was out of sorts, a bit—"
"You were drunk," Dean said, smacking his lips. Great. He gave Sam a look that said, why are we wasting time interviewing a drunk?
"He touched my head, like this," the man said. He stood on his tip toes and brushed Sam's forehead with his fingertip, just like Cas did. "And then I wasn't drunk no more, and all my sores were gone, see!" He pulled his sleeve up, revealing a mile of unblemished skin. "Nothing but an alien coulda done that."
"Did he say where he was going?" Sam asked.
"Well, I assume he went back to the Mothership," the man said.
Dean sighed, at the same time Sam said, "Thank you for your time." Sam gave the guy a twenty dollar bill and they walked away with nothing more than except the knowledge that when Cas was stuck on the Kelly Kline case with no way to go, he spent his time healing old drunks.
After that, it was a series of sleepless nights trying to retrace Cas's last steps, but they couldn't find anything.
At the three week mark, Dean got pretty wasted in frustration and muttered to Sam, "Do you think he's dead?"
Cas had almost died at the Lake House. Dean had watched uselessly as Cas bleed from his wound, and nearly choked on that awful, heinous, black goo, and there wasn't a damn thing Dean could do to save his friend, to ease Cas's pain. Crowley had come through for them on that end, and Dean realized he never even thanked the bastard.
It wasn't like he sent Cas out on his own right away after that horrible night. Dean had stood vigil at Cas's side for days, too afraid that if left Cas alone, took his eyes off Cas for even a few seconds, the angel would disappear. Cas had told Dean off after the third day, insisting that he was fine, and he didn't need Dean to smother him.
It was another three days after that that Dean reluctantly let Cas go back on the hunt for Kelly Kline. And even though Cas had made good on his promise to check in every night (Don't text, Dean said, you call me, okay? You call so I know it's you) hearing Cas's voice wasn't the same as seeing him. Cas's insistence each time that he was fine didn't ease Dean enough as much as seeing Cas would have. Cas always downplayed his injuries and ailments if he didn't conceal them outright, and Dean really couldn't trust Cas to be honest about his health.
Sam had looked at Dean with his sad, large eyes, but he shook his head, adamant. "Of course not," Sam said. "Whatever happened…Cas is tough,. We'll find him."
But then weeks slide into a month, and one month turned to two, and each day that passed without stumbling across anything, Dean's hope faded further and further away.
Mom had promised to keep an eye out, but she hadn't found anything. Not that she called much, anyway. Dean was lucky if he heard from her once a week. She was having too much fun with her new besties.
Dean stared at Sam hopefully, swallowing the lump in his throat. Two months of not knowing, of having no clue where to even begin—Cas has been gone longer than Dean was in prison, and Dean had started to give up hope of ever seeing his best friend again.
And now Sam came barging in, claiming he found a lead.
"How?" Dean asked, despite himself.
"I realized, we've been looking at this wrong way. We keep trying to find the number that called Cas, but they used some kind of encryption thing. Well, we know it's a payphone, so I, uh, did some reverse engineering."
Sam tilted his laptop in Dean's direction as Dean pulled his jeans on. Sam's laptop was a blue screen, with a map of the United States, and a plethora of numbers scrolling up. Several different spots on the map were blinking in red, circular dots.
"There's only a handful of payphones still in operation. Some of them are privately owned, but most are owned by AT&T, so I hacked into their service, backdated to the day Cas disappeared, and looked for phones that called Cas. And I found one."
Sam typed on his computer again and the map enlarged, one large, blinking dot staring Dean in the face.
"Sam," Dean said, "you're a genius."
Sam huffed. "Yeah, I know."
The number that called Cas is from some Podunk town in Mississippi, right by the edge of the river. Sam and Dean leave immediately and they make it there in just under ten hours. The payphone that called Cas is in front of a Gas N Sip.
Decked out in their FBI threads, Dean and Sam interrogated the manager.
"Have you seen any suspicious activity recently?" Sam asked. "Have you seen him?" Sam slide the woman their most recent picture of Cas, one Dean had taken when he re-did Cas's fake badge, because he couldn't let the poor moron go around calling himself "Agent Beyonce" forever.
"Nope," the woman said immediately.
"Are you sure?" Sam pestered. "Please, look as long as you need. We're investigating a federal missing persons case. This man is our partner. The last call he received before he disappeared came from that payphone over there."
"Agent," the woman said. "Look, I'm sorry, but I really don't know anything, okay? You said this guy disappeared two months ago? You should've come talking to me two months ago. Maybe I would've known something then." She leaned over the counter. "This is a small town," she said. "Strangers don't blend in here, they stick out like a sore thumb. And a stranger like that," she pointed at the photo of Cas, "would've especially stuck out."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean snapped. Sam stomped on Dean's foot, muttering a tempered, "Agent," under his breath. Dean cleared his throat.
The woman at least had the audacity to look ashamed. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean anything by it, I swear. It's just…your buddy's a fed too, right? If he came around here, I would've noticed him. or heard about him. Feds come rolling in, it's all the gossip this town has got for months. We had people from New Scotland Yard not too long ago, had my employees terrified out of their wits that there was some kind of international terrorist threat looming around the corner."
Dean and Sam looked at each other.
"Did these Scotland Yard guys say where they were staying?"
In hindsight, it seemed so obvious. How the hell had they not thought of this before? God, Dean was such an idiot.
"Friggin British Men of Letters," Dean growled as he got back into the Impala. He fumbled with his seatbelt. "They took Cas!"
Fear clogged Dean's throat. He'd see what kind of weapons the Brits had. What sort of angelic weapons they had…Dean didn't doubt that they had more up their sleeves than Enochian engraved brass knuckles.
"They have to have a headquarters nearby," Sam said. "Hang on." Sam pulled out his cellphone and dialed a number. Dean snuck a glance, and gnawed on his lip at the sight of 'Mick' pulling up onto his phone. Why the hell did Sam have that limey bastard's number programed into his phone?
"Mick," Sam said. "Sam Winchester. Yeah, long time, no talk…Yes, it was on purpose. Listen, Dean and I, we're working a vamp case in Mississippi, and we could use your help. You don't happen to have a place around the area, do you?...Really? Great! Awesome. We'll be there." Sam hung up the phone, face turning to stone. He pulled up the map on his phone and typed in an address. "There. HQ is just about two miles east."
Dean put the car in gear and drove like a madman, following his brother's directions.
The map lead them to an office building, disguised as some sort of insurance company. Dean parallel parked and looked suspiciously at the building. It was at least ten stories high, with dozens of windows decorating the front, blinds drawn.
"Dean," Sam said, grabbing Dean's arm. "Let's discuss this, first. We have to be rational."
Dean checked his gun, ensured it was loaded. "What's rational about this?"
"Our priority is finding Cas and getting him out of there safely. Let's not barge in guns blazing before we're positive that's what we need to do."
Dean heard what Sam was saying, but frankly, he couldn't care less. These bastards had Cas. They'd done god knows what to him. Dean would kill every single one of the assholes who had any sort of involvement in this operation.
"Dean," Sam insisted.
Dean rolled his eyes. "I hear you, Sam, I hear you. But if someone's standing in my way, I ain't waiting for them to move. Now, c'mon. Cas has been with these bastards long enough already."
"I agree. But he might be hurt, and we don't want to escalate anything."
If Cas was hurt, Dean was going to repay Cas's suffering tenfold.
They got out of the car and entered the office building. It was a nice setup, Dean had to admit. It looked like a real office building, complete with a furnished lobby. Dean walked up to the woman at the front desk.
"Can I help you?" she asked, popping her gum.
"We're here to see Mick," Sam said. "He's expecting us."
"There'll be no need for that," a familiar voice said. Dean and Sam turned around, to see Mick walking up towards them. "No worries, Cindy, I'll take it from here." He was dressed in his usual dickish attire, complete with the awful tweed jacket.
"Whatever," Cindy said, staring down at her magazine.
Mick patted Dean's shoulder, and Dean fought the urge to slam his fist into this prick's jaw, knock his two front teeth out.
"Nice set up you got here," Dean said, forcing a smile. He had his gun hidden by his coat jacket and his fingers ached to grab it.
Mick smiled, proud of the compliment. "The best place to hide is in plain sight, yes? Can't stand the weather, though. Mosquitoes are quite annoying too."
Sam huffed and Dean rolled his eyes.
Mick must have sensed the animosity. He cleared his throat. "Got to be honest, Sam, I was beginning to think you were ignoring me. So, a vamp case, huh? I'm a bit surprised boys, I searched and searched, couldn't find a lick of anything local that screamed vampire."
"Oh, well, that's because there's not a vampire," Sam said.
Mick's face drained of all color. "Beg pardon?"
Dean clicked the safety off his gun. He raised it. Cindy screamed. "Where's Castiel?"
"Cas-castiel? The angel? Haven't got a clue, mates, really." Mick put his hands in front of him. His eyebrow twitched.
"Bullshit," Dean snapped. "We know you called him. What did you do to him?"
"Look," Sam interrupted. "We don't want to hurt anyone—"
"Security!" Cindy screamed, pounding buttons on her phone. "Security!"
"Just take us to Cas, and we'll be on our way."
Mick swallowed. Dean pressed the barrel of his gun to Mick's temple, squinting his eyes.
"Um, okay, okay, I'll take you to him, just don't hurt anyone, promise?"
"So you do have him," Dean growled.
"Dean!" Sam elbowed him in the gut. "Cas, now."
Mick nodded. "Uh, uh, just follow me, boys. Cindy, be a doll and cancel that security, please?"
Cindy's face was drained of all color.
"It's all alright love," Mick said forcing a smile. "Just um."
"Shut up and take us to Cas," Dean spat.
Mick led them to a staircase, but instead of going up, they went down. Dean was confused. He didn't think places in the deep south usually had basements.
But down they went, the steps creaking under their weight, Mick moving slow as molasses.
"Uh," Mick said, coming to a halt in a hallway full of doors. "Just so you know, this wasn't my plan at all. I told Ketch to leave the angel alone-"
"Shut up," Sam spat. Mick nodded. Dean shared a look with his brother. This guy was such a coward, how the hell did he call himself a man of letters?
But Mick took them down the hallway, stopping at a halfway point. The entire thing made Dean uneasy. He was reminded of Magnus's creature zoo. Some of the doors rattled, some animalistic screams piercing through the solid metal doors.
Mick fumbled in his coat pocket for a keyring. The keys were all heavy iron, and there had to be at least twenty of them. His fingers trembled the entire time he stuck the key into the lock and turned the tumblers. The door opened with a creak.
Dean pistol whipped Mick. The man went to his knees in a cry of pain, but Dean shoved past him and barreled into the room.
When he realized what it was he was seeing, he wished he had shot the asshole right there.
Cas was on the ground, arms bound behind his back, and secured to the floor with a giant, metal collar around his neck that had no slack. Cas's head was forced to stay against the concrete floor. He also had a pair of giant earmuffs on, sigils engraved on the sides. There were also several different sigils painted on the walls and ceiling of the room.
Cas was naked, body covered in a horrid painting of black, blue, and yellowing bruises, with some instances of angry red lines that tore down his back and arms. Cas hadn't reacted at the sound of the door opening. He really couldn't hear them.
That didn't stop Dean from rushing towards his best friend, screaming, "Cas!" as he fell to his knees, Sam hot on his heels.
"Oh my god," Sam moaned as he caught sight of Cas's condition. Dean reached out to touch his friend, wary of all the injuries that marred him. The moment Dean brushed his fingertips against Cas's shoulder, Cas lashed out, squirming as much as he could, despite his bindings.
"Cas!" The first thing Dean did was rip those awful earmuffs off. He tossed them to the side. They hit the wall and broke on impact into two pieces. "Cas, it's me, Dean. Sam's here too." Cas's head titled to the side at the sound of Dean's voice. His struggles lessened. Dean tentatively touched the collar that was fastened around Cas's neck. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. It was old fashioned, padlocked shut.
Sam stood up and walked back over to Mick, who was whining about the concussion Dean had given him. "Give me the key, now." Mick handed it over, blabbering like a baby, while Dean worked on undoing the bindings around Cas's wrists. Thankfully, those were just regular rope, but they had left horrible ligature marks into Cas's skin. The sigils must have Cas depowered somehow.
"It's okay," Dean said, trying to keep his voice gentle and low, despite other inclinations. Seeing his friend like this had him pissed off, and it wouldn't be enough to just shoot every asshole responsible dead. Dean wanted them to suffer, like they made Cas suffer. Cas had several open wounds that still leaked blood and pus sluggishly as Dean manhandled him, though he was trying to be gentle as he could.
Sam was back with the key. He crouched down and gently pulled back Cas's hair with one hand so he could work with the lock. Sam had it unlocked within seconds. The collar came apart in two pieces, falling to the ground. Dean helped Cas into a sitting position.
"It's okay, Cas, we're here, you're safe."
With Cas in the sitting position, Dean could see that Cas was also gagged, and he tore the thick cloth out of his friend's mouth, anger seizing through his body once more. Bound, deaf, dumb—what hadn't they taken away from Cas?
"Dean," Cas gasped, like a drowning man breaking the surface for air. "Sam?" His voice was hoarier than usual, causing Dean to wince in sympathy. "You're," Cas coughed. Dean winched in sympathy at the sound. It sounded like pneumonia or bronchitis. Which shouldn't be possible, not for an angel. Cas cleared his cough, "You're here?"
"Of course we're here, you idiot," Dean said, speaking over Sam's similar sentiment.
Dean pulled Cas against his chest then, Sam joining in a second after. Dean felt all the tension melt out of his body, and he fought the urge to cry. He had Cas back. After two months, he finally had his best friend back, but to know what sort of conditions Cas had been kept in during this entire time…Dean was horrified, and all words stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Thankfully, Sam kept a soothing mantra, to assure Cas of their presence. "We've been looking for you," Sam said, "you didn't call and we didn't know what happened, we never stopped looking Cas, not once—"
Dean sighed, rubbed soothing circles into Cas's bruised arms, not caring about the blood that was seeping off Cas's skin onto him. Cas wasn't healing. Dean's heart pounded in his chest, eyes working over the sigils again. He didn't recognize any of them. Were they preventing Cas from healing? Thankfully, none of Cas's wounds appeared fatal, but they had to incredibly uncomfortable, if not painful, and Dean wanted nothing more than to take Cas away and take care of his injuries. And kill everyone asshole that was responsible for inflicting those injuries on Cas. Eventually, they broke the hug.
"Hey, Cas," Dean said, smiling. He just wanted to enjoy this moment for just a little bit, bask in the relief and joy of finding his friend, of Cas being alive. He didn't get a lot of good things in his life. He'd spent two months worried sick his friend was dead and Dean would never learn what happened to him. In his world, this was a good thing.
So of course it couldn't last.
It took a few moments for Dean to notice, but when he did, his blood turned to ice.
Dean had known Cas for years. A long ass time. He'd seen Cas as a douche angel, and a fallen angel, and mad with power, and crazy, and human, and through all that, Cas always maintained several core aspects of his personality. One of which being his inability to maintain normal eye contact. Cas always stared so intensely, concentrated, and it was a little unnerving, if Dean was being honest. It felt like Cas could see all the way down to his core, that there was nothing Dean could hide from him.
Right now, Cas's gaze did not hold that trademark, intelligent spark. They weren't squinted in concentration, burning in their intensity. They were unfocused, and Dean realized, not looking at Dean at all, but just past Dean, right over his shoulder. Dean's tongue was fat in his mouth. It was then he realized that there was something strange about Cas's face. He hadn't seen it at first, but now that his eyes were adjusting to the darkness of the cell, he could make it out. Pink angry scars marred the top half of Cas's face, in irregular patterns, dipping down onto the tip of his nose. The skin was swollen. Dean ran his fingertips gently over the area, barely brushing, but Cas hissed at the contact and flinched away.
Burns, Dean realized with horror. Cas's entire face was horribly burned. His stomach rolled uneasily.
"Cas?" Dean said again, swallowing. He waved his hand in front of Cas's face, expecting something. A blink, a scowl, some sort of reaction, but he got nothing. Dean look at Sam briefly. Sam's eyes were wide, eye brows disappearing under his bangs, and it did nothing to lessen Dean's anxiety.
"Cas, can you see me?" Dean asked.
Cas's shoulders deflated. Dean's grip tightened.
"No," Cas said miserably.