Seventeen thousand nine hundred and sixty- two.
There were seventeen thousand nine hundred and sixty- two stones in Castiel's prison cell. He had counted them over and over again, in every language he knew. Twice. Some might call it insanity, but on the contrary, it kept Castiel more sane than anything else in his twelve by twelve cell. Between staring at the blank, black ceiling and throwing one of six pebbles at the damp walls, this was invigorating. After the first two days he learned that praying did little but slightly calm his nerves. No matter if he screamed at the top of his lungs or went deep inside to the depths of his grace, either no one in heaven could hear him or the charred sigils burned into the stones kept any angelic help out. Two and a half days into solitude, and thinking began to do nothing but cause pain. It seemed that Castiel's mind had turned to one big screaming match of curses and pleas, clawing at the inside of his skull. Or rather, Jimmy's skull... If he was even still alive...
Castiel sighed. Jimmy Novak deserved better than being tied to a comet. If in heaven, or still holding on, Castiel hoped he knew that...
The angel cringed, thinking was beginning to pain him, again. He needed something to block it out, and it was time for Lithuanian again, one of his favorites.
Vienas, du, trys, keturi- his mantra was broken by a loud bang outside the cell's giant door. The wood splintered, but gave, admitting a tall, hooded figure. Castiel quickly accessed the damaged done to the sigils painted on the door, but it was still untouchable to him.
"The month is over. Your time has come again, Angel," the figure growled.
He quickly calculated the days since the last visit with his captor. Could it really have been a month already? Castiel pushed aside the slight panic and slid into soldier mode.
"So it has," he replied calmly.
The man beneath the hood smiled and brought two fingers to his lips. Castiel was instantly flattened against the wall, all control over his vessel ceased to exist. The man leisurely made his way to the metallic hospital bench now occupying one of the side walls. He grinned to himself as he brought up each weapon laying on it to the dim light filtering through the doorway. Each seemed rather simple, sleek, but Castiel knew every one by stories and legends. The hooded man possessed an array of angel weapons that no one, not even heaven could match.
He took the longest blade and cleaned it with a rag soaked in holy oil. Slowly, he walked toward Castiel.
"Castiel," the man hissed, letting the name slide across his lips, "Poor little angel with clipped wings. How does it feel to be one of the strongest beings in existence and so-" he dug the tip of the blade into Castiel's arm, "-powerless?'
The angel sucked in a sharp breath, pain coursing through his body like wildfire. His captor twisted the knife full circle before he languidly pulled it out with smile. "I don't think I caught that answer."
Castiel glared in response.
The man raised his eyebrows and hummed, "I suppose we'll have to do this the difficult way then."
He brought his hands to each side of Castiel's face, framing it. With closed eyes, he saw everything. Every thought the angel had ever dared to think, every doubt, every secret. It was worse than anything he could physically do. Castiel could fight back, to an extent, but the effort it took was astonishing, and the hooded man nearly always left with some piece of information.
"Hmm," the man fished for something. It took a minute, but discovery flashed over his shadowed features, "Dean? Who is Dean?"
Memories raced through Castiel's head. His guard dropped for a millisecond in his panic to keep his thoughts about Dean concealed, but a millisecond was plenty of time for the man to see everything.
"Oh," the man let his hands fall and Castiel dropped to the floor in a heap, "Oh,Castiel, you naughty boy."
Castiel tried to focus on pushing the pain down, rather than the man's words, but they rose like smoke in a burning house.
"A human?" he drawled, "I must say, you have picked a handsome one though. And judging by the amount of times you've been caught in staring matches with him, I bet you'd say the same. Tell me, do you just get lost those green eyes of his?"
The man cackled, "I may just have to go visit him when I finally drain you. In fact..."
The man rolled his shoulders and his body shifted and changed. When he finally stilled, he appeared as Jimmy Novak, wearing tight black pants, leather jacket, and a devilish grin. "I bet he'd drop to his knees and beg me to fuck him when he finally sees his dear Castiel's face again... Or wait, what does he call you that you love so much? Cas?"
A bright light flashed behind Castiel's eyes. When he opened them, he had the man against the wall, an angel blade at his throat. Rage flared inside him like an untamed animal. "Only Dean can call me that," he snarled through clenched teeth.
A second passed and the man smiled. The blade vanished from Castiel's hand and the man had him raised above the ground by the throat. His eyes turned a deep, blood red.
"You've made a big mistake, Angel."
-
"Josie's on a vacation far away," Dean shuffled toward the decompression valve he left on Bobby's work bench, "Come around and talk it over. So many things I wanna say." He twisted a bolt, finally securing the valve and finishing the ancient ford. He smiled at his handiwork, "You know I like my girls a tad bit older."
"Tell me you're not singing to a truck," Sam cringed as he turned down the radio, "And Your Love? Really?"
"Whatever. Hey did you reach Cas?" Dean looked around the giant standing in the doorway of Bobby's garage, "Is he here?"
Sam gave him a pitying look and shook his head. Damn, that was the fourth time they'd prayed that week. Dean tried to keep from pushing the panic button, but it wasn't like Cas to ignore them like this. He usually popped up before they could even finish saying his name, now four times and not even a sign? What the hell?
"Sam, I think-"
"Yeah, I know. I'm worried too. I don't really know what else to do though," his brother ran a hand through his mane. God that kid needed a haircut. "It's not like we can go up to heaven or anything."
"Yeah..." Dean stared out at the field behind Bobby's house, "It's just not like him..."
Sam crossed the room and clapped him on the shoulder, "It'll be okay, Dean, I'm sure he's fine. We'll just have to keep trying."
Dean nodded, keeping his eyes on the field. He hated feeling like a worried mom. Why couldn't the damn angel just pick up or whatever? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam walking back up to Bobby's house, leaving him alone with his thoughts and a radio playing John Mayer.
Dean sighed. It was still kind of weird not hunting every night. Their break was becoming a lot longer than they both had anticipated. Every week became just a couple more days, Bobby. The old man didn't care either way, in fact he kind of liked having company around. Just taking calls once in a blue moon got old real fast. Now he had someone to yell at, to buy groceries for. It was a pretty good little thing they had going. Dean was actually fixing the cars in Bobby's lot, Sam was going through the boxes from the attic covered in a half inch of dust, and Bobby got in a little snap every while when they would forget to wipe their shoes on the front mat. It was beginning to feel more like a routine than a vacation. And, weirdly enough, Dean was okay with that.
But, this thing with Castiel was really starting to bother him. Dean ran a nervous hand through his short hair, trying to keep level. If praying wasn't working, they could summon the angel... Dean was pretty sure Bobby had all the things they'd need in his basement. He grabbed a rag off the hook by the garage door and made his way toward the house, scrubbing the grease off his hands as he walked.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean called, letting the screen door slam shut behind him, "Where's Bobby's book on summoning?"
"On the shelf by the couch," the sound of his voice grew louder as he moved toward Dean in the living room, "Why do you need a..."
He stopped in the kitchen, a look of realization crossing his face. He nodded to himself and turned to the basement stairs, "I'll get the stuff."
Dean nodded and pulled the pocket knife out of his jacket. Cursing, he made a small cut on the inside of his arm. He got enough blood on his fingers and began drawing the sigils on the floor in Bobby's living room. He was almost done and slightly dizzy from the smell of blood, when the old man came in from the other side of the house.
"What in the hell are you doing to my floor, Boy?" he growled.
"Look," Dean stood slowly, "Me and Sam have been calling Cas for a week and he hasn't answered. We just want to make sure he's okay."
Bobby rubbed his chin, his eyes softening a bit, "Okay, fine. But.. what if he's in some kinda top secret heaven meeting and can't come to the phone? Won't this thing just piss him off?"
Sam came up the stairs from the basement, arms full of various jars and bowls. "If he is, Bobby, then I think we'd rather deal with a pissed off angel than a dead one."
Something lurched in Dean's stomach, making a fresh wave of panic set in. Yeah, no they were doing this. And they were doing it now.
"You can either stay and help or complain about the floor with all the other housewives. Either way, we're doing this thing," Dean said sternly, flipping the book open to the proper ritual.
"Okay, fine, Princess," Bobby held up his hands in surrender, "I'll help get Feathers back. But a please would be nice next time." He opened a cabinet in his desk and pulled out the large metal bowl they always used for rituals.
"Please, my ass," Dean mumbled under his breath, "Okay, here we are, Angel Summoning. Jesus, you'd think we'd have this thing memorized by now."
Dean watched as Sam added the last sprinkle of magic hoodoo into the pot. He cleared his throat, "Castiel, et ad congregandum eos coram me." He flicked a match into the bowl and a small plume of blue smoke burst out of the flame.
A minute passed with the three keeping their eyes on the small space in front of the sigil, holding their breath. Another two minutes passed and Sam finally broke the silence.
"Maybe we could try another angel? See if they know anything?"
"Yeah, okay," Dean tried to keep the worry from reaching his face. He lit another match and shook his head a bit, "Gabriel, et ad congregandum eos coram me."
"You know," an all too familiar voice sounded from behind them. Dean turned on the spot to see Gabriel, the holy douche himself, looking through Bobby's fridge, "I may not have a 'profound bond' with you guys or anything, but you could've just prayed."
He turned to face them, kicking the door closed with his heel. He held a bowl of ice-cream in his hands and started attacking. It might've been a year, hell maybe two, since they'd last seen Gabriel, but of course he looked exactly the same. Same sneer, same mischief in his eyes. Dean sighed. He should've called Balthazar.
"Gabriel, have you heard from Castiel in a while? We've prayed and tried summoning him, but he hasn't come," Sam asked, getting down to business, "We were getting worried."
Gabriel's sneer fell from his face. He lowered the bowl from his mouth and frowned, "You mean he's not here with you?"
Dean's heart rate doubled, "No, we haven't seen him in weeks."
"Oh, crap," the angel hopped down from the counter, "We all thought he was with you two. No one in heaven could detect him and we thought it was... Oh,crap."
"Wait, wait, what does that mean? Couldn't he just be flying below radar or something?" Dean asked, not caring about the fear on his face now.
"Not unless he's with someone who's been warded against angels. And so far, you two are the only ones with the special treatment," he shifted his eyes between Dean and his brother, "Ever. Otherwise-"
"How do you lose a friggin' angel?" Bobby muttered, disbelief plastered on his face.
"-we could sense his grace anywhere in the universe," Gabriel continued, ignoring the older man.
"But since he's not here... Well let's just say it can't be good and leave it at that," he grimaced and turned toward the door to leave, "Now I gotta jet and I can't do it here so-"
"Wait," Dean grabbed him by the shoulder, "That's it? You're just leaving? Aren't you going to help us try and find him?"
"Look," Gabriel shoved his hand away, "I gotta let the big guys upstairs know what's going on. If Cassie can't be sensed by anyone in heaven, then there ought to be an ass load of magic keeping him hidden. No offense, but I don't think his bumbling boyfriend and sasquatch brother need to get involved. Let the angels take care of this one, alright Chap?"
Dean's blood boiled, "Hey, we are plenty capable of helping your feathery asses. Are you forgetting who stopped Lucifer and the apocalypse?"
"Not even Lucifer can conceal an Angel, Sweetheart. This thing's bound to be nastier than anything you could ever handle," the angel turned back toward the door, "Just take my advice and don't try and get involved. We'll have Cassie back to you in no time, scout's honor." The door rattled shut behind him.
"Yeah, well fuck your scout's honor," Dean called after him.
The three stood in stunned silence. Cas was missing. Castiel, angel of the lord, was missing. Dean tried to swallow the nervous lump forming in his throat, but it just kept coming back. How could he have been so stupid? The only thing that would keep Cas from answering was someone, or something, stopping him. It had been months since he had last seen the angel. How long had he actually been out of reach? And it was his fault. If only he had tried summoning him weeks ago, they would've known. Hell, they might have him back right now. Dean choked on the air in his throat.
Cas had been taken. And Dean needed to find him. He crossed the room and started grabbing books off Bobby's shelf and loading them onto the kitchen table. Sam and Bobby simply stared at him.
"Well? Are you guys gonna help me find out whatever's keeping Cas or what?"
Sam, frightened by the aspect of their friend missing and that look he's never seen on his brother's face, sat down at the coffee table and switched on his laptop. Bobby rubbed at his forehead and began sifting through the books on his desk.
"Ya know," Bobby said after a beat of silence, "If Gabriel's telling the truth, this son of a bitch keepin' Feathers ain't gonna be easy to find. 'Specially if he don't wanna be found."
"Then we got work to do," Dean sat at the table and started leafing through the first of the books.
Don't worry, Cas, he prayed, we're on our way.