A/N: Prepare for angst...and torture...and general sadness.
~xXx~
"Dean," his younger brother whispered gently as he leaned in towards him, "you have to calm down."
Dean whipped his glare over to Sam, beyond ready to lash out his restless anger. "Calm down?" he hissed between clenched teeth. "I'm sorry but did you hear anything I said about that son-of-a-bitch that has Cas? How can you expect me to—"
"Shh!" Sam grabbed Dean's arm tightly, glancing around apologetically at the people sitting around them, pretending to read. Dean knew they were watching, but he didn't care. What did it matter if they heard, while Cas was out there enduring God only knew what—he couldn't even sit still. At least when he was driving he had the road to distract him—he had something mindless to concentrate on. But here, on this plane, there was nothing. He was stuck, sitting in suspended time with only the thoughts screaming inside his head to accompany him.
Sam had been right, taking a plane was faster, but even so, for Dean it was torture. Never mind his fear of flights. It was so much beyond that now. He just felt so useless, sitting here…waiting…while Cas was alone with that angel bastard.
Dean looked away as another nauseating wave of fear rippled through him, quelling his anger. Even through the phone, that angel's voice had haunted him like a cold chill down his spine. He'd sounded nothing at all like Alistair, and yet even so, Dean couldn't extinguish the image of the demon standing over Castiel, knife raised and a dark glint of terrifying pleasure in his eyes.
Memories of Hell flickered in the back of his mind like a movie reel. Things he'd finally started to forget rushed back to him clear as a picture before his eyes, and he couldn't shut himself against it. Blood…there had been so much blood. But now it was Castiel's; dark and crimson and sickeningly warm.
"Dean," Sam's grip on his arm tightened and pulled him back to the plane. "We'll find him."
The hunter shook his head, unable to move his stare from the seat in front of him. He could feel the familiar hard pressure building up just behind his eyes that he couldn't quite push away. Everything was falling apart. Michael had Adam, Cas was with some maniac halfway across the damn world, and Sam…well…he didn't know how much longer he'd have Sam. If he lost them all…
"Dean?"
Something made him look at Sam then. He needed to see the strength he knew those grey eyes would offer. But as he turned to meet his brother's gaze, all he saw was a reflection of his own dread.
Dean couldn't quite fill his lungs as he breathed. "Sammy…we shouldn't have let him go in by himself. You saw him…he didn't want to come back out. I saw it in his face and even still, I let him go."
"Cas knew what he was doing. He had to go in alone. There was no other way."
"But what if—"
"We'll find him, Dean," Sam repeated.
Dean nodded and looked away again, his jaw tight, and the pressure behind his eyes heavier than ever. He could feel Sam's hand still tight on his arm, and hear his deep voice rumbling softly in his ear, but all he could think about was the weight of that box knife in his hand, and the feeling of carving the blade into Cas' skin. And in his mind's eye it wasn't Alistair who was standing over Castiel anymore…it was him.
~xXxXxXx~
"Cas!"
He was hearing it again—the sound of Dean calling his name. It was louder this time, close and tauntingly real. But he knew it wasn't real. He was alone in the dark.
"Cas, dammit," rough hands gripped his shoulders. "Wake up!"
Castiel gasped weakly as the pain drew him up from his murky recess. He pulled against it, knowing what would be waiting for him on the surface and knowing he couldn't be there anymore. The dark was safe. It couldn't feel him and he couldn't feel it—pure nothingness, void of everything that had betrayed him.
"Cas, come on, you have to wake up!"
His world shook and tendrils of sharp electric agony shot through his muscles. No. He pulled back harder. Why would Dean call him back? Couldn't he see? Didn't he know?
But it didn't matter. It wasn't real. It was just a trick…same as all the others.
"Dean…oh my God, Dean."
He knew that voice too. That was Sam. He hadn't heard Sam in the dark before. Why would Sam be here now?
"Sam," Dean's voice was hoarse and strained with some emotion the angel couldn't quite name, "you have to find something to get the nails out."
"Dean—Dean I don't know if he's—"
"Do it now, Sam!"
The tremor in Dean's voice echoed in Castiel's chest, and all of a sudden everything was shaking again. Even though he'd heard that voice more times than he could remember, it sounded different now. It was as if he could feel beyond the voice, and Dean's very presence lingered just outside the fog of his imprisonment—the place he'd left behind.
"Cas? Cas, I know you can hear me. You have to wake up. Me and Sam are going to get you out of here, alright? But you gotta…God dammit, Cas," his words cut off and an impossible warmth covered Castiel's face, like the lingering heat of a fire.
For a moment the angel almost lost hold—for a moment he thought it was real.
"Cas I know you're still in there. Don't ask me how, but I know. Now wake up!" The warmth pressed in. "You can't just run out on me. Not now! Wake up!"
Something inside him was screaming now—screaming for him to listen to the voice that called him so. But no…he couldn't…there was nothing there for him now. How many times had he heard Dean calling his name? How many hours had he spent waiting, knowing what would never come? Yet even still…
"Wake up, Cas!"
Castiel opened his eyes, and it was like being plunged into a sea of ice.
"Cas!"
The heat was coming from the two calloused hands cupping his face, but the cold was so much more. His vision swam before him like a hazed dream, but no dream, however vivid, could ever get those eyes right. They stared at him now, wide and frantic—the color of a forest in early autumn; all greens and browns flecked with gold. The angel knew those eyes like he knew nothing else.
"Dean?" His voice broke in his throat as the newly familiar tang of blood coated his tongue and spilled over his lips.
"I'm here, Cas. Look at me."
But Castiel couldn't look anywhere else. Dean couldn't be here. He couldn't.
"We're going to get you out of here, but you've got to stay with me alright?"
"Dean…" Castiel's voice sounded distant in his ears, like everything happening was so much beyond him that he was detached from it somehow.
Sam's large silhouette suddenly appeared at the corner of his vision. "This was all I could find." He held up something long and metal.
"That's fine, Sammy, just…" Dean didn't finish.
"Where should I start?"
"His hands. Get the things out of his hands."
Their words moved through him. The darkness was still close at his back, all the while calling him with sweet whispers of an unnamed promise.
"Is he awake?"
Dean's fingers twitched on the angel's cheeks. "Yeah, but we have to do this fast. He needs a hospital."
"Dean," Sam knelt down next to his brother, still holding the metal bar, "…his wings."
Dean's scowl was prevalent in his tone. "Yeah, I know. Just hurry."
"I didn't think they could show them."
Castiel felt the cold iron press firmly against his palm.
"I didn't either…not like this."
Pain like a lance scorched through him, rippling out from his hand in a violent tremor that ended in a scream. Black danced across his vision as he felt another wave of blood surge up his throat.
Dean's hands were still hard on his face. "Cas! Cas look at me!"
Castiel did, but only because it was Dean telling him to do it. His reality lived in the pain now, rooted so deeply there was nothing but ice on his skin and a searing flame in his blood. But if Dean asked him to look at him, then he would. If he asked him to go to Hell for his sake, then he would…and he had.
He was there now.
"Tell me the Lord's prayer."
Another blinding shot of pain, and Castiel's head fell against Dean's as he struggled to pull air into his lungs. The angel shook his head, pressing his eyes shut as he felt the metal—now warm and slick with his blood—hard against his skin.
"Cas don't you dare close your eyes!"
"Dean, I think his wings—"
"Just keep going Sam." Dean shook Cas' head gently. "Cas, you have to stay with me, you hear? I'm not letting you off this easy."
His body was heavy like frozen lead, and his breath came shallow and quick. Something was pressing in on him from every angle—teeth sinking in and ripping through more than just flesh and blood. It was tearing through the very fibers of his being, scorching him from the inside out. There was no part of him that wasn't alive with agonizing pain, acute and excruciatingly exact.
"Cas look at me!"
The angel forced his eyes open once more, only this time he couldn't see Dean's eyes. He couldn't see anything, just blurs of color and shade.
Dean shook him again, harder this time. "Tell it to me, Cas!"
"…I can't," the angel breathed, croaking as more blood spilled hotly over his lips. "…Dean."
"Why? Why can't you?"
The world was spinning, and he could no longer feel the soothing heat of Dean's hands on his face. His head was pounding and he could hear the violent pumping of blood hammering in his ears. There was nothing left of him now—nothing that wasn't stripped to the raw wire of nerves and feeling; where everything was suffering and nothing else existed.
The dark was closing in again. He felt his body sag limply into Dean's arms.
Sam's voice sounded like distant thunder. "Dean, what about his wings?"
Castiel felt Dean shift beneath him. "You don't think you can get them out?"
"They're so broken, I just—"
"We have to get him out of here, Sam. God knows when the son-of-a-bitch who did this to him will show back up, and if he does we're up a shit creek without a paddle."
There was a long pause.
"…I saw an axe in the back. Maybe—"
"Sam, no."
"We're running out of options, Dean! And we don't know how much time we have!"
"Sam think about what you're saying! We don't know what that'll do to him! He could—"
"Die? Dean, he's dying right now, and if we rip all those nails out I don't think that—"
"So we just hack his wings off? No, Sam, I'm not going to let him die like that!"
"So you're going to let him die here?"
"There has to be another way!"
"Then tell it to me!" Sam roared, and the angel could hear his ragged breaths like an angry wind. "Dean look around! We have nothing! We're hundreds of miles from the nearest person we know, and the longer we sit here arguing about this the better the chance that guy will come back and have a hack at us all!"
There was another prolonged pause, filled only with the unsteady pounding of Dean's racing heart.
"Is there a sharpener?"
The gravel shifted and crunched beneath Sam's feet. "I can check."
"Fine. Go."
Castiel heard the sound of retreating footsteps as he felt strong arms lift him gingerly.
"…Dean." He spoke the name without knowing his lips moved—he didn't even have to think about it, his tongue just knew the word. It was the one thing he knew how to say when he couldn't say anything else.
"I shouldn't have let you go alone in there. I shouldn't have let you convince me to carve that damn thing in your chest. I shouldn't have—" Dean broke off abruptly, choking on his own voice. The hunter took a deep ragged breath. "I'm going to get you out of here, and then I'm going to find the sorry bastard who did this to you and so help me, I'm going to rip him to pieces. You're going to be okay, Cas. I'm going to get you out of here. You're going to be okay…"
Dean was still talking but the angel couldn't make out the words anymore, only the soft rumbling that resounded in his chest. It sounded nice—like purring. He could feel the pain slipping from him once more as he sank deeper into shadow. His body felt numb and light again, and so far away from the arms that held him tight.
"Cas…"
But that voice kept him still, hovering just over the edge of tangible peace. He didn't know why it held him, but there he was, pulling against a taught string that refused to break.
Footsteps approached.
"I got it."
Was there a sharpener?"
"I looked but…"
The angel heard Dean's heart skip.
"Sam…"
"…Put your belt in his mouth so he doesn't bite through his tongue."
"Sam…I can't…"
"…Dean."
The next thing the angel knew, a thick strap of leather was pressed firmly against his mouth. He could feel Dean holding him tight and whispering wordlessly in his ear. He didn't understand why, but it didn't matter—not with the dark pressing in. He wondered vaguely where angels went when they died. He'd never bothered to ask before—he never thought he would need to know. Angels weren't human—they didn't have hearts or souls—and the paradise in Heaven was not made for them. He wondered if he would simply fade into nothing. Nothing didn't seem all that bad. Nothing was better than ice—and eyes that saw too much, and lips that spoke words that were too true. Dean didn't know, and he never would. At least he would die with that one blessing.
"Sam! Do it now!"
The last thing Castiel remembered was the whirl of whistling wind and the sound of his own scream echoing in the dark abyss.
~xXx~
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