Warnings: implied torture

Ships/Characters: Dean/Cas, Sam

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters and I make no profit from this.

Spoilers: This is based on spoilers for upcoming episodes in season seven.

Author's note: A few scenes of things that I'd like to see happen on Supernatural, kind of strung into a story. I might continue with it, I might not.

Summary: Dean doesn't know if he can rebuild his relationship with Castiel. All he knows is, he doesn't want to lose him again.


It was getting dark when Dean found nearly a block's worth of forclosed-on houses on the wrong side of town. He chose one to stay the night, and was hiding the stolen car in the garage when Sam called from the mental hospital.

"So, was it, you know… Cas?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was." Dean had been excited when he first recognized Cas in the institution. Fuck it, even a little glad. He didn't want to let himself trust Cas again, couldn't let himself. But a part of him wanted to. Wanted to believe that this meant that his luck was turning around. Cas could fix Sam, could help them. A tiny part of him, a part that Dean tried to crush as much as possible, even hoped that this meant he would, maybe, get his friend back.

So much for that.

"How'd things go?"

"Not so good, Sam." Dean put the car in park, feeling exhausted.

"What happened?" A worried tone crept into Sam's voice.

"Well, for starters, he didn't remember a damn thing. Didn't even know he was an angel. Then Meg shows up-"

"Oh my god, Dean-"

"It's okay, Sam. Well, not for Cas' roommate. She killed him. Then Cas smote her-"

"I thought he didn't know he was an angel?"

"It was reflexive, or something, I don't know." Dean sighed, and got out of the car. "He obviously didn't know what he did, 'cause he freaked right the hell out. Panicked, and flew off."

"How? Where?"

"I don't know where he went," Dean said, pulling down the garage door.

"Heaven." An unfamiliar voice said behind him.

Dean spun around. The voice belonged to a tall woman with a stern, regal face, black hair and olive skin. An angel, judging by the suit she wore. But instead of the usual crisp look seemingly favoured by the Host of Heaven, she was worn and dishevelled. There were shadows under her eyes, but the eyes themselves were alert and bright. Too bright, Dean thought. Crazed.

She stood in the middle of the lawn. About half a dozen other angels, similarly harassed-looking, stood a good few metres behind her. They seemed to form an audience, watching the scene with expressions that ranged from stoic to eager. One stood next to her, a stockier man with a grim face. In his hands was a chain that would have seemed heavy if it did not also look like it was made of moonlight. The end of the chain was attached to Castiel's neck.

"Call you back, Sam." Dean hung up.

Castiel. On his knees, barefoot and shirtless, hands bound behind his back. His torso was bruised and bloody, and he stared at the ground, dazed and unfocused. He was swaying, unbalanced, and if the wind picked up he might have toppled over.

"Can you imagine our surprise, Dean Winchester, when, after slaughtering half of our brothers and sisters, and pretending at godhood, Castiel returned to Heaven, claiming he remembered nothing?" the angel wearing the regal-looking woman, and who was apparently in charge, said.

Dean felt sick. He knew Castiel had done wrong, goddamn he knew. In a just world, he would deserve to be punished. But seeing his friend like this (because, fuck it, Cas had been his friend for too long for Dean to think of him as anything else, unless he convinced himself that Cas was dead and it was something else running around, playing God), it made Dean want to smash in a few faces. But he was outnumbered, and these were angels. So all Dean did was say, "He's telling the truth. He really doesn't remember."

The angel raised her eyebrows. "He does now."

Dean's eyes darted to the prisoner. "Cas?" he asked tentatively.

Castiel raised his face slowly, as if it hurt to do so. He met Dean's gaze, his eyes burdened with guilt and remorse, and silently mouthed Dean's name. It was true.

Dean's outrage was starting to burn away his logic and self-preservation. He strode across the driveway to the lawn. "Whatever you sons of bitches are up to, you'd better-"

An invisible force slammed into Dean, shoving him against the wall of the house and holding him there.

"Better what?" the angel asked cooly.

"Let him go!" Dean roared.

"Patience," she said. "We haven't finished his punishment yet."

"You want me to watch?" he snarled, understanding blending into disgust.

"Of course, Dean Winchester," she said, and began circling around her captive. "This wouldn't be nearly so painful for Castiel if you weren't here to witness it."

She started chanting in Enochian. Dean had no idea what the words meant, but Castiel did, snapping into awareness as he realized what was about to happen to him.

"No…" He stared at the black-haired angel pleadingly as she walked around him. "No, please, no… no no no…" he whimpered. The angels who had gathered to watch began to laugh. "Sister, please!" The fear in Castiel's voice was so raw that Dean ached to go to him, fighting uselessly against his invisible bonds. The burly angel tugged at the chain, briefly choking Castiel into silence. The other angels jeered.

After that, Castiel seemed to know that it would do no good to beg or struggle. He stared blankly ahead, trembling.

The whole thing was sick and twisted, and Dean hated being powerless to stop it. He was trying to figure out how to take on ten angels single-handed when something happened.

The air around Castiel began to shimmer. Dean saw shadows, outlines. Then the chanting stopped, and Castiel's wings spread open.

They were massive, at least twice as wide across as Castiel was tall, curving gracefully down to his back. It was as if the feathers were spun from pure energy, golden sunshine and blue bolts of electricity, there was a faint hum in the air, and they gave off a light all their own. They bathed Castiel in their unearthly light, and for a moment Dean forgot that he was beaten and chained. Even as the wings twitched and shivered, and Castiel tried to fold them in protectively, he was awe-inspiring, mesmerizing. It was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen.

The black-haired angel grasped one of the wings near where it sprouted from Castiel's shoulder, and drew her blade. Dean realized what would happen next.

"NO!" he shouted, vainly.

An anguished cry cut through the night, more animal than human, accompanied by a burst of light. Castiel curled in on himself, shaking violently, one wing twitching weakly, the other a scorched and ragged stump, a silhouette of ash on the ground.

The small crowd of angels shouted taunts and cheered. The black-haired angel wore a look of grim satisfaction as she reached for Castiel's other wing. Dean thought he was going to throw up, but he couldn't look away. Another burst of light, and a wrecked sob escaped Castiel's throat.

The angels disappeared. Suddenly straining against nothing, Dean toppled to the ground. He quickly got to his feet and rushed to where Castiel was lying on lawn, arms and knees pulled in to his chest. "Cas! Cas, look at me!" He didn't respond. His eyes were glassy, and his skin was deathly pale. Light bled out of what was left of his wings, and blood trickled from between his lips. But he was breathing, ragged and irregular. "Cas!" Dean tried again, to no avail. A glow started to build between Castiel's lips, and light started to seep from his mouth, along with the blood.

He's dying, Dean realized. Against the rising wave of helplessness, Dean mentally rifled through his first-aid knowledge. Of course, none of it applied to an angel who was bleeding out grace.

"Talk to me, Cas, you gotta tell me what to do," Dean said, desperation in his voice.

"S-sorry… I'm sorry Dean…"

"Fuck, you can apologize after you don't die!" This isn't happening, not again. "Tell me how to help you!"

Then Dean remembered. "My soul… Touch my soul, Cas."

Castiel shook his head faintly against the ground, so Dean grabbed his hand and pressed it to his solar plexus. Cas tried to pull away, but Dean held fast.

"No… too dangerous," Cas choked out with much effort. "I'd kill us both…"

"This isn't a conversation, Cas! Do it!"

A scalding, white-hot pain flooded Dean's senses. He could feel Castiel next to him, feel his mutilated grace huddling up to his soul. For comfort in it's dying moments, not healing.

The pain was searing, and Dean was tempted to give in and pass out. But he focused through the pain. He concentrated, imagined his soul spinning out in threads, using it to stitch up the angel's wounds. He imagined his soul as hands, putting Castiel's grace back together as best he could, holding it to his chest, warming it until shone brightly, happy and loved.

Then he blacked out.


Dean woke up, and knew he was in a hospital bed. He opened his eyes to confirm, and saw a face etched with worry less than a foot from his own.

"Sam?" Dean croaked.

"He's awake!" Sam grinned.

"I'll get the doctor," Dean heard Castiel's voice from further away, but was too dazed to focus on him.

Dean looked to his brother. "How'd you get here?"

"Cas signed me out for the day. What happened?"

"Cas didn't tell you?"

"Just that you'd done something stupid. Which, being you, could've been anything."

Dean rolled his eyes as the doctor entered the room. "Later."

The doctor had a hard time saying what was wrong with Dean, except for the fact that something most certainly had been wrong. But now it looked like he was going to make a full recovery.

"So, what happened?" Sam asked again once the doctor left.

"Well, Cas…" Dean paused and looked around. "Where is Cas?"

"I haven't seen him since he went for the doctor."

That worried Dean. "How'd he seem to you? Was he depressed, or guilty, or-"

"I dunno," Sam shrugged. "He was worried about you."

"Okay, I gotta go find him," Dean fought against a wave of dizziness as he tried to push himself out of bed, and then a set of strong hands on his shoulders pushing him back down.

"Whoa, whoa… I'll find him okay?" Sam said. "Could you just tell me what happened first? Real fast?"

Dean sighed and started talking as fast as possible. "Cas flew back to heaven, the other angels were super-pissed at him, they tortured him until he remembered everything, brought him down here, cut off his wings-"

"What?" Sam interjected.

"Yeah, it was…" It was taking Dean too long to find words to describe the experience, so he just shook his head and continued. "The angels left him to bleed out, he touched my soul, I blacked out and here I am."

"You let him touch your soul?" Sam said with incredulity.

"No, I forced him to."

"That has to be done carefully," Sam was pulling a major bitch-face now. "Not by an angel in shock. You could have died."

"But I didn't," Dean shrugged.

"Jesus, Dean…" Sam shook his head at his brother's cavalier attitude, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Now could you please find the guy? He's gotta be pretty depressed after something like that, and I don't want him alone."

"Yeah, okay." Sam left.

Dean wondered what he would say to Cas. That he forgave him? That everything was okay now? It wasn't. Dean still didn't know if he could trust Cas not to go off and do something stupid because he thought it was a good idea, or not to lie to him for whatever dumb-shit reason he came up with. Dean knew Cas had lied to him about Crowley because he was trying to protect him, because he was trying to do the right thing. And that was the scary part. If Cas knew it was wrong but did it anyways, that was one thing, but if Cas really thought that was okay, then how could Dean ever trust him? Maybe he had known it was wrong. They'd have to talk. Dean didn't know if things could be right with him and Cas, but he did know he wanted the chance to try.

Dean heard Sam's voice outside the door. "Look, he wants to see you."

He could make out a mumbled response, and called out, "Cas, is that you?"

The angel shuffled into the room, avoiding Dean's gaze. Dean caught Sam's eye, signalling with a tilt of his head that he should close the door and wait outside. Sam complied.

Castiel looked uneasy when the door clicked shut.

"Come on, sit down." Dean indicated a chair near the bed. Cas just leaned against the wall near the door.

"You should not have even attempted-"

"What? Saving your life?" Dean was indignant at the tone Cas took with him.

"It's a miracle you weren't killed!"

"Exactly, I wasn't killed, so you can calm down about it now."

"You think this is funny?" Cas stepped towards the bed. "I would rather die than-"

"Well I'd rather you didn't!"

They stared at each other intently for a moment before Castiel's gaze dropped to the floor.

"I'm too weak to heal Sam," Cas said quietly.

Dean nodded. "I figured." But it was still a blow to hear his suspicion confirmed.

"I'm not sure how much of my power I retain. I don't know how much I can help you."

Dean looked at him askance. "I'm sure there's something."

Cas nodded. "I'll let you get some rest now." He turned to go.

"Cas, wait." Castiel paused.

Maybe he thought that Dean could never forgive him. Maybe he thought that all Dean ever appreciated him for was how useful he could be. Dean decided that he wasn't going to let him leave thinking either of those things.

"There is something you can do for me."

Castiel turned and approached the bed.

Dean licked his lips and swallowed. It was always hard to be the one to take the first step. "See, I lost my best friend a while ago, and I… I want him back."

Castiel seemed confused, and for a moment Dean thought that he would have to explain to the guy that he was talking about him. Then there was a spark of understanding in Castiel's eyes. He blinked at Dean, surprised.

"Think you could help?" Dean asked hopefully.

A slight smile pulled at the corners of Castiel's mouth, and he nodded.