Chapter Two: Plea Bargaining

Hours passed. Or days. He couldn't tell. He knew time passed, but his world was narrowed to the rush of human blood, the torment of humanity, Lola's torture, and his verbal sparring with her.

He hadn't broken yet. That was something. But his body was covered with wounds, bad even for a demon. Sweat ran down his face constantly, salt burning in the cuts to his face and neck and shoulders. Though at least it hid his tears.

His wrists bled near constantly, rubbed nearly to the bone by his shackles. Angel knife cuts were interspersed with long raw burns and places where the skin had been stripped from him. Bruises mottled what skin he had left. Bruises and welts.

He should have known a bitch like her was a fan of the bloody riding crop.

The bones in his hands and legs had been broken. So had a couple ribs.

Castiel hadn't answered. He hoped it was because angel radio did not in fact work any more, or because Castiel's Fall had made him unable to hear it. But when the human blood pumped in his veins, in the aftermath of yet another dose injected into his bloodstream….

He mostly thought it was because Castiel knew who was on the other end of the line, and simply didn't give a damn. The thought was like a knife of despair in his heart, made all the more pathetic by the fact that he continued to call out to the angel for help, when he was lucid enough to do so.

The old saying drifted through his mind...'madness is doing the same thing and expecting different results.' In that case, he was completely insane. But it was the only hope he had, bloody poor one though it was.

The bite of the needle into his wrist brought his attention back to Lola. She sneered. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Best time I've had in a while." He thought he managed a lazy smile. "Got a bit of an itch though. Mind cutting me loose so I can scratch?"

Her expression twisted. "How about I scratch it for you?" She put the blade of the knife she was using against his throat. "I can think of a lot of things I'd like to scratch on, and inside you. And things I'd like to scratch out of you." She made her point by digging a fingernail into one of the lash marks over his stomach. He flinched.

She dragged the nail across the wound, and he struggled to keep the pain from his face. It would have been easier without the blood-induced fire singing through him, magnifying the sensation until it felt like she traced his wounds with a red-hot coal.

He clenched his jaw, forced a smirk. "Not bad love. Go a little higher, would you?"

"Oh? I thought you said...lower." She ground her hand into the skin over his navel, twisting the long nails in. He choked involuntarily. "See, you sound better already."

"Bloody whore…." When all else failed, resort to cheap insults. Not his favorite tactic, but usually effective.

It worked. She withdrew her nails from his gut so she could punch him in the jaw. "Better than you." She spat in his face. "You couldn't pay a starving human bitch in the street enough to sleep with you now."

He spat blood and kept silent. She was probably right about that one, given his current condition.

She smirked. "You know, I don't think we've seen nearly enough of the color of your insides yet. Don't you agree? We should really change that." She set the tip of the knife to his chest, just below his sternum. "I wonder if you'll be as insulting when I'm squeezing that heart of yours, that oh too human heart, in my hands."

He coughed, and fought to maintain a look of defiance. "Hate to tell you, darling, my heart's a stone."

"We'll see." She smiled coldly into his eyes, and dug the knife in.

And someone knocked on the door.

Lola froze. There was a long moment of silence, and then another hesitant knock.

Lola huffed and straightened. "Whoever you are, go away."

A muffled cough, then a rough voice. "I apologize. I would, but...I was called."

Crowley swallowed blood. That voice. That phrase. It couldn't be...he tried to make his face an expressionless mask.

Lola shot him a poisonous look that promised a great deal of pain to come. Then she sighed and went to the door. "You're mistaken."

"I don't think so." The voice sounded uncertain though, and Crowley felt his heart sink, dread coiling in his gut.

Lola scowled. Then with a wrench, she pulled the locks free on the door and yanked it open. "I said, you're mistaken, so get lost."

A muffled thud from the doorway, though the angle was wrong for Crowley to see more than a flash of silver. A choked gasp from Lola. A flare of nasty orange light that marked the death of a demon. Then a familiar figure stepped through the door, a cold expression on his face. "And I said...I don't think so."

Crowley stared at the figure in the doorway. Castiel. The angel really had come. He wasn't sure which he felt more, relief or dread. He slumped against the table. He was about to be freed, or he was about to die.

Castiel scowled down at Lola's body a moment longer, then leaned down and dragged her back with one hand so he could shut the door. He kicked it closed and flicked the lock shut, then turned. His eyes were wary as they scanned the room. Then they landed on Crowley.

Crowley dragged up a weak half-smile. "Well look at you. You sure took your bloody sweet time answering, didn't you?"

Castiel's brow furrowed. He moved a few steps closer, eyes darting over the room again as if he expected either a demon attack or a human just lying around. Then the blue-eyed gaze came back to Crowley. "Where is the person who called me?"

"I did." He hurt. Somehow, it felt worse now that he had at least a half a hope of release.

Castiel's brow furrowed deeper. "Demons can't summon angels. Not like that at least."

Crowley snorted, coughed blood, then spat it out. "Yes, well, thanks to the Wonder Duo and their unauthorized medical experiments, not to mention her idea of fun..." He jerked his chin at Lola's corpse, then met the angel's eyes again. "...I can." His teeth ground together for a moment. "Moose's little injections were meant to make me human. And just because he never bloody finished the trials, doesn't mean he didn't succeed in that much at least."

Castiel moved two steps closer, studying him intently, as if he could read his essence just by staring. Well, being an angel, he probably bloody well could. Then Castiel blinked. "The trials made you partly human."

"Yes, exactly. As I said. And as long as I keep getting dosed with human blood, I stay human. Mostly." He sighed. "And when I got captured, my oh-so-gentle jailer and torturer decided to keep me human so that I would be more...susceptible to her treatments. Which means right now, I'm at least a half-and-half." He snarled the last words out, then pulled on his chains. "And since that's evidently enough to get your attention, and since you've actually bothered to come, a little help would be appreciated."

Castiel frowned at him again. His gaze flicked over the room, and then he reluctantly sheathed his angel blade. "Why did you call me?"

"Because there bloody well wasn't anyone else to call!" His jaw clenched. "I can't even use a bloody phone, never mind that mine was destroyed, so Rocky and Bullwinkle are out, and this isn't exactly a situation I'd call a demon in for help on, now is it? Even if I had any bloody idea who was still loyal." That stung, it really did. "Now, if you don't mind..."

"Why should I free you?" Castiel was unyielding.

Well, he'd been expecting that question at least. And bargaining was something he was good at. "Because your boys, Squirrel in particular, are set on ending Abaddon. And I have information they need, information on a weapon they can use to affect the bloody bitch's demise. I was looking for it when I got caught. Without me, they'll never find the blasted thing. I had a hard enough time following the trail myself." He tugged at his chains again. "Cut me loose, help me out, and I'll give you the info I have. I'll even help the boys finish their little crusade. Believe me, I'm invested in it." He glared at his restraints. "Now more than ever."

Castiel stared at him. "I don't trust you."

"Smartest thing you've said all year." He scowled at the angel. "I assure you, the feeling is mutual."

"Then why should I help you?"

He snarled in frustration, snapping his head back against the table with a thunk that made his vision gray out for a moment. Anger warred with desperation, and with fear, and a terrible, inexplicable hurt.

Damn it all, he was human enough to have prayed for the angel. Wasn't that worth anything?

He clenched his fists, letting physical pain distract him. The anger washed away, leaving him feeling more weary than anything else. He exhaled, as deep as his broken ribs would allow. No more bargaining. No more dancing. "Don't then. Put your damn blade in my heart and go, if that's your fancy." He couldn't move his arms, chained in a spread-eagled position as he was, but he opened his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. "All I ask is kill me or free me. No bargains. No games. Just finish this, one way or another."

Something flickered in Castiel's expression, but it vanished too quickly for him to place it. A pity the angel had learned the meaning of 'poker face' during their partnership.

Castiel stared at him a moment longer, then flicked his wrist. The angel blade dropped into his hand again. He stepped forward and put the blade to Crowley's sternum, above his heart. "You said you were supplying the Winchesters with information."

"I did. Call them and verify, if you like. Have to use your own phone though. Mine's a bust." A small tendril of hope flickered in his breast. Perhaps Castiel would listen to him after all. The blade over his heart argued more for his death than his salvation, but he had asked. He choked on blood leaking down the back of his throat, and made an actual effort not to spit it over the angel's trench-coat sleeve.

Castiel held his gaze for a moment, then stuck a free hand in his pocket and pulled out a phone. He hit a number. Crowley heard the phone buzz twice, then click. "Dean."

He couldn't quite hear the hunter's response. He didn't bother to try. Besides, Castiel only needed a small excuse to kill him, and eavesdropping was as good as any.

"No. No leads on Metatron. But...I found Crowley."

A burst of sound that was clearly surprised, and loud enough he could almost hear the words.

"Yes. As I said, I found him. It's...difficult to explain. But he says he has information for you. Something about a weapon."

Another burst of noise, and Castiel's brow furrowed again. Then he lowered the phone. "He wants to talk to you."

Crowley choked back a laugh. "Well, either free up a hand, darling, or you'll have to hold it a bit closer."

Castiel scowled, but held the phone to his ear and jaw. The pressure of metal and plastic on his injuries made him wince, but he managed a rough approximation of his usual tones. "Hello Squirrel."

"Crowley? Where the hell are you? You've been MIA for almost a month. What the hell?"

"The hell indeed. One of Abaddon's flunkies got the drop on me. I've been a little tied up." And worse. "Phone got smashed, so no way to call in. Sorry about that, or I would be if I didn't have other things on my mind. But I do have some information on your little toy sword."

Dean made a sharp sound that could have been disgust, exasperation, or something else entirely. "If you're so out of commission, how'd Cas find you?"

"Thank Moose for that. His little dose of joy juice allows me to ride the airways, human style. Figured if I was in enough of a jam, I might get the feather-duster's attention." Castiel glared at him. He ignored the angel. "Turns out, it worked. And since he presumably didn't recognize my tones over the airways, your angel friend was kind enough to dispatch my captor for me."

There was another snort. "Wait...you got captured, and you prayed? To Cas?"

"Desperate times, desperate measures, so on and so forth...look, point is, your favorite feathery hero is here, and I have information, which I will happily dispense...but I would prefer to do it when I am not shackled to a table and bleeding out all over the floor. Besides, you'll need some help following the trail the rest of the way, if it's anything as much a pain in the ass as the first part. So..."

"Put Cas back on the line."

He jerked his head away from the phone. "He wants you now."

Castiel brought the phone back to his ear. "Dean?"

Another burst of chatter. Castiel frowned. "Are you sure?" Listened again, then sighed. "All right. If you think that's what needs to be done. Do you want me to meet you somewhere, or come all the way?"

Burst of chatter, and Castiel sighed again. "As you wish. I'll bring him." A pause. "Yes, I think I can handle him by myself. Yes. I'll update you regularly. Yes. I'll call you if there's any trouble. Yes Dean, I know to be careful." The angel directed a baleful glare at him. "I've dealt with Crowley before." He paused again. "Yes. It should only take me about a day I think. I need gas."

Crowley blinked. Ah. He'd forgotten about that. The angel had started driving. Ghastly car too. Practically a pimp car. Done tastefully in black and chrome, might not have been too bad, but that gold color…

He never had found out why Castiel was driving anyway, as opposed to flying. Perhaps the angels couldn't fly with Heaven closed? Or at least, Castiel couldn't. He'd have to explore that.

Sometime when he wasn't bound, broken and bleeding, and depending on the angel as his only hope of rescue.

Castiel muttered a few more agreements, then snapped the phone shut with a click. Blue eyes watched Crowley. Then the sword was withdrawn from his chest and Castiel turned away.

A protest rose to his lips, but it died before he could speak it as Castiel bent and retrieved a set of ugly iron keys from a table on the far wall. The keys to his bindings.

Castiel returned to his side and stood looking down at him, eyes smoldering. Then the angel bent close, his voice a low, menacing hiss. "Dean said I should bring you. But if you do anything, if you threaten them or make any attempt to escape me..."

"You'll carve out my heart, rip me to pieces...I know the tune precious, and I'm not in the mood to dance to it." He tugged on the shackle nearest Castiel's head. "Are you going to cut me loose or not?"

Castiel stood still a moment longer, then straightened and set the key to the first of his bonds. Seconds later, his wrist came free. He stifled a gasp as the blood clotted around the band tugged his wounded flesh, then held himself still as Castiel undid his other wrist, the collar at his throat, his ankles, and the broad band across his midriff.

The snick of the last binding falling free was almost enough to make him weep with relief. He had to bite his lip to prevent it. He lay a moment, savoring the feeling of freedom, then rotated his arms slowly to his sides to sit up.

That effort was nearly enough to make him pass out. He gritted his teeth and forced himself upright, wishing he had something, anything, to cover himself with. He wasn't modest, no demon really was, but he didn't enjoy being exposed and vulnerable as he was.

Castiel's eyes were darting around the suite. "We need to go."

"Yes. About that. I hope you've got a plan." He hadn't had a plan beyond getting loose of his chains.

Castiel frowned. "What do you mean?"

He sighed. "You might recall those handy little angel bullets I had made a while back." The way Castiel's face darkened said the angel remembered it very well indeed. "Well, Abaddon has the demon version. Painful, incapacitating, not necessarily lethal, unfortunately."

Castiel's frown deepened. "What are you saying?"

He sighed again, and tried not to sway. Difficult, the way his head was spinning. "I am saying that the little bitch you killed shot me with a bullet that neutralizes my demon powers. I can't heal, I can't pop out, I can't even materialize clothing until it's dug out of me. And, as you pointed out so brilliantly, we need to get the hell out of here, before another one of Abaddon's stooges comes in. Or worse, Abaddon herself." He looked up at the angel. "Inconvenient as it is, I'm human in more than just my new-found communications skills. Or at least, no better off."

Castiel grimaced, then cast a look at the blades Lola had been using to torture him. "Where were you shot?"

"Not a chance, darling. I'm in no mood for you to play field surgeon with my insides, thanks. Don't trust you to be nearly careful enough." He grimaced, his expression a dark mirror to Castiel's. "Besides, bullet's shifted. All the torture, you know. It'll take me a bit more concentration than I have to spare to find it, much less take it out. And probably more time than we have."

Castiel considered. "Can you walk?"

"Two fractured kneecaps make that a bit problematic. Besides...hotel staff and guests frown on strolling about au naturel." He gestured to his body. "The bitch there ruined the suit I was wearing, naturally, and I wasn't exactly prepared with spare clothes when she attacked me." Well, he had been, but Lola knew enough to minimize his escape chances by destroying them too. "We need a way to get me out of here unseen."

Castiel was glancing around the room, eyes taking in the furnishings of the suite. It was the same look he'd seen in the past, that intent concentration that reminded him why Castiel had been a respected warrior in heaven, and why he had allied with the angel once upon a time.

Castiel's eyes raked over his wounds. "I could call an ambulance for you..."

"One look at this place, and you'd be arrested. I hate to say it, but your face is not exactly a convincing picture of peace and sunshine darling." He grimaced.

Castiel frowned, which only proved his point, really, then looked over the suite. His eyes touched on the bed-sheet, and the towels Lola had used to wipe her hands. The frown line in his brow creased deeper. "Humans...they have a word for when someone is attacked and stripped of their possessions..."

"It's called a robbery. Or a mugging, if you're talking about a back alley street-fight style robbery." He winced as speech pulled at the wounds in and around his mouth. "And the point of that little observation is?"

"I have a plan."

He opened his mouth to ask what it was, but didn't get that far. Castiel's fist crashed into his face. Pain exploded through his head. At full strength as the King of Hell he could have shaken it off, but his powers were bound, he was weak, and he was still human sensitive. And Castiel had a far stronger punch than Lola.

His mind spiraled into darkness.

***PotD***

Castiel caught Crowley as the demon crumpled and almost fell off the table.

He didn't like the idea of taking Crowley back to the bunker. But Dean was right, they had a prison for Crowley. And Dean had verified Crowley's statement that he had information they needed. As much as it annoyed him to have to pause his hunt for Metatron and Gadreel, he would do as Dean asked and take the demon to the Winchesters.

He lowered Crowley's slumped body to the table.

Crowley had been right about the ambulance. That was frustrating. Crowley was also right that there were rules and social conventions against walking around without clothing. But maybe….

He did a quick search, in case Crowley had been lying about the lack of his clothing. He didn't think the demon had been, but it was Crowley. Unfortunately, the only clothes in the suite were the ones he and the demon girl wore. That meant Plan B.

he grimaced, then yanked the dark colored sheet off the bed, picked up some of the white and blood-stained towels, then shrugged out of his trench-coat.

He wrapped the towels around the worst of Crowley's wounds, the ones that were still bleeding, then draped the sheet over him like a Greek toga. He wished fleetingly that he and Crowley were closer to the same build, or that he could ask the hotel staff for clothing without potentially alerting demons or raising human suspicion. Or that he had enough Grace to simply make clothing, as he once could have done.

Finally, he got the rough toga wrapping secured to his satisfaction. Then he grimaced in disgust and slipped his trench-coat over Crowley's arms and buttoned it across the front. It looked ridiculous, even to his barely trained eyes, but at least the demon was technically covered.

He was going to have to thoroughly clean the trench-coat before he even considered wearing it again.

He picked up one of the demon manacles and pocketed it for later, made sure he had his angel blade secured in his suit jacket, then heaved a sigh and hauled Crowley upright, arm across his shoulder. He mentally reviewed the story he planned to tell if anyone caught sight of them, then maneuvered the demon to the door of the suite. A quick check revealed no one in the hall, so he ducked out, grunting as he carried Crowley's limp body to the stairwell.

He made it to the stairs safely, breathing slightly easier as they ducked through the door. Hauling Crowley down the stairs was an irritating and awkward task, one he doubted he would have been able to accomplish without the greater strength of his angelic abilities. Still, he made it to the ground floor. He was about to open the door when it was shoved open from the other side by a young hotel staff member.

The boy stopped, eyes wide. Castiel stopped too.

The young man swallowed once, then spoke. "Sir..."

"My associate was injured. Mugged. He doesn't seem to be able to tend to his own injuries, so I'm taking him to get help." Simple, quick, and as close to the truth as he could tell it. Exactly like Dean had once taught him. Once Dean had trained him out of stating flatly that he was an angel, that is.

"Oh. We can call an ambulance for you..."

"I'd prefer to take him myself. He has...special requirements." He glanced around. "Assistance in getting him out to my car without onlookers would, however, be greatly appreciated." He shifted Crowley's weight against his side. Then he recalled something Dean had once done, in a similar situation. Money.

Dean and Sam had made sure after Gadreel's departure that he always had cash. And a credit card. He didn't need food, but it had proved essential for motel rooms and making sure the car had gas. And fortunately, it was in his suit jacket pocket instead of his trench-coat pocket.

He dug into his pocket, extracted a bill awkwardly with his hand and pulled it out. A 20. Hopefully good enough. He held it out to the young staff member. "For your services."

The young man nodded. "Sure. Give me a second. You parked in the parking garage?"

"I parked in an empty place near the street. I was in a hurry." He considered leaving it at that, but that might be too vague for the young man. "It was near the back."

"You mean the service entrance?"

"Possibly. I didn't stop to read the signs."

"All right. Well, most of the staff's out. Give me a second to check and see where the night service staff are and clear the way for you." The young man considered. "Can you wait here for ten minutes, then bring your friend to the staff doors?" The young man must have seen his frown. "They're marked as Staff and Management Only, no Unauthorized Access."

"Very well. That should be adequate."

"Right. Ten minutes." The young man stuck his head out of the door, then disappeared through it.

He waited the requested ten minutes, Crowley's dead weight getting heavier on his shoulder, then carefully eased himself and his burden through the door.

There was no one in sight, except for the young man, who was waving at him frantically from a door to one side. He took the hint and followed made his way to the door as quickly as he could, glad for the increased strength of an angel. And the fact that he was taller than Crowley was. It made his task much easier.

He slid through the door and the young man shut it behind him, then led him to another, thicker door. "Here. This'll take you out the back way. Other end of the hall is the service entrance. If you move fast, you shouldn't run into anyone. They're all doing clean-up and stuff. It's only our stocking clerk, and I asked him to check something in the room service supplies."

Castiel stuck his head through the door, to see a long hallway, and a metal door marked 'Service Entrance' at the other end. He turned back to the young man. "Thank you." He remembered Dean's habit of tipping people who helped him and dug into his pocket for a few extra bills. He handed them to the server. "For your assistance."

The young man offered him a shy smile. "Yeah. No problem." His head turned toward the door. "Good luck sir. I'd take you to the exit, but I have to go take care of my work before I get caught. Don't want to get fired."

"Of course. I can manage from here." He wedged the door in front of him open with a shoulder, then maneuvered Crowley through it. He didn't bother to look back at the young man. He simply stayed focused on moving fast, as suggested. He thought he heard the click of the door, but didn't check.

Within five minutes, he was out the door. Fifteen minutes later, he found where he'd left his car. He unlocked it, lowered Crowley into the front passenger seat where he could keep an eye on him, then got in behind the wheel and started the vehicle.

Within two minutes, they were on their way.

Author's Note: Rescue accomplished!