Sam wasn't picking up his cell. It wasn't uncommon that he would ignore Dean after a fight, but Dean needed his brother's help. He had to find Cas. And when he did, whoever had taken him would pay dearly, most preferably with their life. He was so worried. They could do anything to him and he wouldn't have any immunity to the torture whatsoever. Cas was used to pain, but the ease with which his kidnappers could kill him truly frightened Dean. Cas had no way out, as he could barely use a gun and fighting without his angelic strength was near futile. The very thought of Cas being so exposed was terrifying, and it only added fuel to Dean's already raging incentive.
"Come on, Sam. Pick up," Dean muttered under his breath as he dialled the number again.
"This is Sam Winchester. Leave a message," the voicemail intoned. Dean snapped the phone shut angrily, and then threw it down on the passenger seat, finally giving up.
Dammit, Sam, he cursed internally. But Dean knew that even if he had been able to get through to his brother, Sam would be no use. There were no leads, no clues, no nothing. Cas had disappeared without a trace. There was no way that Dean could get his friend back, even if he scoured all of Earth for a thousand years. Cas was gone. But something stopped Dean from truly believing it. He didn't know what, but it gave him courage, so he kept on driving.
Cas' surroundings were extremely familiar to him, although there were certain differences that marked this place out as being not the same. It had all the same décor as the stately room where Zachariah had taken Dean and Adam in previous times, but this room was a different shape, the table was a wooden oval, and the walls had a bluer tint to them. There were no burgers or beers upon the table here, only a single crystal glass of water.
Cas seemed to be entirely alone. No angels, no demons. Just him and the gruesome paintings upon the walls. Cas sat down in one of the four chairs that surrounded the ovular table and set his mind to plans for escape. It wasn't as though he could just fly out of there now. But before he could concentrate he first had to shove the memory of Dean's desperate plea out of his head. It was Purgatory all over again. It was almost as painful in itself as it was for Cas to be away from him.
First question. Who could have taken him, and who would have wanted to? There were no angels left, save for Metatron. And Cas knew that Metatron wouldn't have wanted this. He'd told Cas exactly what he wanted when he'd ripped the Grace from Cas' throat. Crowley, then? Surely not. Crowley would want Cas dead, not captured, all things considered. Crowley was ruled out then, especially now that the demon king could kill him so easily. He would not have taken Castiel in this way.
The design of the room Cas had identified as being angelic, even though Cas knew all angels to be cast out and Graceless. So what ethereal alternative was there that would classify with angels? Cas felt terrible for even thinking of it, but was it… God? God was powerful enough, as Cas had caused devastation enough to deserve to be excluded from the rest of the world, if God didn't want to kill him. Locking him away in a room seemed to be a sensible solution to prevent Cas from causing any more problems. So, due to a lack of a more suitable culprit, Cas had to assume that it was his Father who had done this, as much as it pained him to think it.
Dean, Cas' thoughts pined. Where are you, Dean? Cas shook himself, chastising his mind immediately. He couldn't think like that if he was going to stand this seclusion. The elder Winchester was not the best thing to think about, as the brother only increased Cas' sense of loneliness and longing for his company. He'd only just found him, for God's sake, and now he was even further away than he had been before. He hadn't even said goodbye. Not that Cas had ever been good at goodbyes.
The Impala's engine died as Dean twisted the key, parking it into the lot of the Budget Host Cloverland Hotel, Michigan. He didn't intend to book a room, but instead to sleep in his car for three or four hours before setting out again. There was no more important thing than getting Cas back; not even the temptation of pecan pie could make Dean pull over. He wouldn't have stopped then, but not sleeping for five days had taken its toll and Dean would be no good to Cas when he was too exhausted to think, let alone drive. He didn't even know what he was driving towards. No reason to travel in any direction at all. And Sam still wouldn't pick up the phone, which was just another cause for concern.
Dean closed his reddened, bloodshot eyes, and drifted off almost instantly.
He was in the middle of nowhere. Some strange world had erupted around him, where the trees bore strange fruits of all weird varieties. The ones closest to him looked like silver fox tails where they hung from the branches of the leafy trees. There was no-one around, and Dean found himself wandering through the trees, plucking the fruits off the branches and placing them gently into a basket made of dried river reeds. There seemed to be no objective to this, and no end. He kept on walking.
Where was this place? It was like nowhere Dean had seen before, but then was anything ever as it was in dreams? He ran his fingers across the trunks of the trees, feeling the roughness of their bark in perfect clarity. Far too vivid, Dean thought, his suspicions rising.
There was no wind, and no sound of birds as there would be in any usual orchard. It was unimaginably still and quiet and peaceful. Perhaps one might call it heavenly, but to Dean, that usually meant eerie. Like something out of Narnia, Dean scoffed as he plucked a leaf off the ground, and twirling it between his fingers.
What was he doing here, really? He was collecting fruit, but for what purpose. He was not hungry. Was there someone else out there who he was collecting all this fruit for? Was there someone who he was to present this basket of goods to? Something inside him nodded. Yes. So he wasn't alone, then. Somewhere here there was another being who he had to find because they were hungry and they needed him to bring them something to eat. So bring them something to eat he would.
He reached up into the next tree to grab the nearest fruit, with a conscious purpose now rather than impulse, when a snake from the grass sprung out and dug its fangs into Dean's calf. Dean howled in pain as the snake's jaws gripped tighter and tighter, injecting poison into his veins as it clung on tightly.
Unable to do anything but, Dean ripped the snake and the huge chunk of his flesh it held away from him, flinging the creature across the forest. "Shit," Dean swore as he pressed his hand against his bleeding wound. There was no way to get the poison out, and Dean winced as he tore a strip off his shirt to hold against the mess that was his calf.
Looking around, Dean spotted a pool of water just twenty metres from where he was crouched. He straightened himself up so that he was standing, and he began to limp over to the pool. His leg burned unpleasantly as the toxin started to take effect. "Crap," Dean hissed, falling upon his knees, unable to make it any further, clutching the grass in his weakness.
His breathing became ragged and shallow as his pulse rate shot up. The poison clenched his heart with an iron grip, squeezing and squeezing, holding it still. Dean felt himself go limp as he collapsed onto his chest. His chest contracted with living breath just once more, then Dean Winchester lay unmoving in the vast forests of God's Garden.
Dean's eyes shot open, and his lungs heaved for breath. Just a dream, Dean reassured himself shakily as he sank back to rest against the seat once more.
A few seconds passed as Dean became calmer and more aware of the world once again. His first realization, and the most worrying to him, was that the sky was light and the Sun had risen high into the sky. He slammed the wheel with his palms in frustration. He had slept for far too long. Cas was waiting for him; he couldn't afford to waste time.
He fired up the engine and slammed on the accelerator without a thought for breakfast.