Castiel wondered idly if he had shot straight through the Earth and right into Hell. Every inch of his being ached and he was vaguely aware of something burning. He couldn't remember why he had decided to do this and the revelation bothered him immensely.
More urgently, he realised that he felt the pain more acutely through his vessel than any he had ever felt before. He was instantly overwhelmed by a cornucopia of new sensations. He felt hunger, which he found ridiculous given his state. He recalled the feeling from the effect that Famine had on his vessel during their encounter with the Horseman during the Apocalypse. Confusion he identified as well, not unknown to him but immensely powerful, far more intense than he had ever experienced. Relief furthered his confusion. Why would he feel relieved, when he did not know where he was or what precisely had happened? Fear. No, this was stronger than mere fear. It was the yellow bile of terror that crept up the back of his throat. He felt all these things and more, so many other emotions that he found he could not define.
But above all else, there was pain. And fear.
He tried to move, to pull himself out of the hole he now found himself in, and discovered he could not. He reached for his Grace, only to find that it was gone. Fear turned to panic.
He became vaguely aware of something near him, whimpering pathetically. A pitiful, wounded thing. He focused on the sound and curiosity turned to horror as he discovered that he was the source of that sound.
Again he tried to move. With determination, fighting back the urge to curl into himself at the pain that radiated through his battered form, he managed with slow progression to pull himself to the edge of the crater that he was vaguely aware he himself had created.
It was then that he felt a pair of strong hands grip him tight, power radiating from them as he was pulled out of the hole, laying him gently in the soft grass beneath the waning half moon.
He felt a familiar crackle of energy pass over and through him as two gently fingers pressed lightly against the flesh above his left eye, sweeping away much of the pain and leaving a dull, throbbing ache in its wake.
Chancing to open his eyes, he saw a vaguely familiar face above him, the expression of worry and sadness seeming alien on the entirely human face. He could not see through to the being he knew should lay within.
"Inias..." his voice felt like molasses trying to fight it's way to his lips, his throat a column of jagged ice that protested the sound with a dull burst of fire.
"You cannot remain here, brother," Inias breathed. "Human authorities will be arriving shortly."
There was something off about his brother's voice, something unheard that should be heard, and he was acutely aware of the sadness in his borrowed eyes.
He could not see Inias. He could not hear Inias. He saw and heard only the form and words of his brother's vessel.
Slowly, as he felt himself lifted once more, he recalled the sensation of free-falling, of plummeting.
A single syllable word came to the forefront as his mind fluttered above the abyss of unconsciousness.
"Dean," he breathed. And then everything was cool darkness.
[XXXXXX]
Dean sat at the small, green formica dinette table in the tiny, yellow-tiled kitchen of the motel room he was currently sharing with his brother. They were between jobs right now, holed up in the small town of Bothel, Washington, where two days ago they had taken out a small nest of glitter-wearing-goth college kids who had somehow gotten involved with a real vampire.
Sam had gone to the diner a few blocks down the road, and Dean was certainly not on his brother's laptop in the sasquatch's absence, nor was he currently logged in to Busty Asian Beauties dot com.
The last month had not been a great one, though it had had a few highlights (Sam was still teasing him for aping on Braveheart). Between time-traveling douchebag car thieves, demon knights, witches, fairies and, oh yeah- having your socially retarded angel friend gank his buddy on top of your car and going missing.
But at least you and Sam are talking, he thought to himself with a bitter sense of mixed irony.
Needless to say, it startled Dean when he heard the familiar sound of wings, accompanied by the sense that someone was now crowding his personal space, directly behind him.
With a huff that was more irritated than he really felt, being actually glad to hear from Castiel again after their troubling goodbye following Operation Rescue Alfie, he slammed the laptop's screen down, closing it.
"Dammit, Cas," he growled half heartedly. "I freaking told yo-"
The sight he took in when he turned to face his angelic bubble-violator was not the one he had expected, nor was it one he had particularly wanted to see.
It was another flying ass-money, wearing a thirty-ish blonde guy with shoulder-length hair and kind of weasely features in the typical black suit favoured by the legions of Heaven's crack team of lawyers and holy tax accountants. Had he met this one before? He vaguely remembers. Just over a year ago, one of Cas' allies who had helped them with the prophet Kevin.
The angel appeared distressed, and rightly so given what he was carrying in his arms. Something that Dean was not quite prepared to look at. Something bloody and battered and either unconscious or dead, wearing the tattered remains of a black suit and beige trench coat.
Dean held the lost-looking angel's eyes for a long moment, keeping his face a mask of unreadable stone as he mentally prepared himself, fearing the worst at the memory of when he had last seen his best friend.
Slowly, he allowed his eyes to lower to the angel's arms, inhaling sharply as the sight came as a nearly physical blow.
Castiel looked as though he had been fed through a wood chipper, burned, buried, dug up and then dragged down several miles of gravel road. It seemed as though every square inch of his body was covered in blood from numerous cuts and scrapes, though none that Dean could see appeared to be too serious or life threatening on their own. His clothes were all but completely destroyed, scorched, leaving him only barely above the 'modest' line.
"Please," said the guest angel whose name was still eluding the hunter. "He trusts you. Please, keep him safe."
Dean couldn't think. Cas had to still be alive, otherwise the angel wouldn't have brought him here, right? He couldn't find the words, so he just nodded and pointed to his bed.
"Thank you," said the angel with the name that started with an I (or was it an A?), laying Castiel where Dean had indicated and giving his unconscious brother a sad, fond look before turning to Dean.
"My name is Inias," the angel said quietly. Dean mentally congratulated himself. He knew it started with an I. "I was able to heal the most severe of his injuries, though unfortunately I am unable to do more. Please look after my brother."
Dean didnt miss the shift in Inias' eyes.
"Woah, back up a sec," he said, sweeping his arms in a motion indicating 'time-out'. "You don't think you should maybe give a bit more explanation? Like, I dunno, what the hell happened to Cas?!"
Inias drew himself up to his full height, staring Dean down. "What has happened to Castiel is of his own doing. He will require your protection. I have done all that I can, and now I must return before I am missed, which I assure you would only bring you further trouble."
Dean blinked as the angel promptly vanished the instant he was done chewing Dean out.
Dean shook his head and looked over to where to Mr. Comatose had settled in to his bed, then took out his phone, hitting the speed dial as he reached down to check the angel's pulse- not that he was sure that meant anything, really.
"Yeah, I got your stupid pie," The voice on the other end of the line answered on the third ring.
"Sammy," Dean cut in. "Got more important things going on here than pie at the moment."
There was a long, deafening silence on the other end. Long enough that Dean had to check the phone's screen to be sure the call hadn't dropped. "Sammy?"
"I'm almost back. Should I come in prepared?"
"No," Dean sighed. "But Cas is here."
More silence from his brother.
Dean swallowed, looking down at the bed. "He's in pretty bad shape, Sammy. One of his angel buddies just dropped him off. Just... get here quick, okay? I'm gonna need some help."
"Yeah," Sam said after another long pause. "Yeah, okay. See you in a few minutes."
Dean tossed the phone down on the nightstand between the two beds, sitting carefully on the edge of the one Cas currently occupied, running a hand over his face, watching the wounded angel like a hawk until his brother got back.
[XXXXXX]
Sam had gotten back to the motel in record time. Dropping the bags containing their dinner unceremoniously on the table as he came in, he began to take stock of what he saw in the room.
Dean had pulled out the emergency first aid kit and was in the process of cleaning the unconscious angel's wounds.
Sam had to admit the angel looked to be in a pretty sorry state, and he assumed from his general appearance that the blood covering him was probably his own.
"Jesus, Dean," Sam breathed as the full weight of the scene settled over him. "What the hell happened to him?"
"Dunno," Dean didn't even look at his brother as he answered. "His friend Inias dropped him off just before I called you. Said he needed our protection."
"You think maybe Heaven's got it in for him again," Sam asked. "Another Raphael, maybe?"
"I dunno, Sammy, but these wounds are sticking. He's not, you know, mojoing himself better."
Sam frowned, wondering what could be preventing Castiel's Grace from healing him.
"Guess we'll ask him when he wakes up."
Dinner for the moment forgotten, Sam moved to the side of the bed opposite his brother and assisted in patching up their injured friend.
The awkward part was when Sam had insisted they cut away Castiel's ruined suit. Dean had protested that they should wait until Cas was awake, but Sam won the argument in the end and they had put the angel in a pair of Dean's sweats and an old van Halen t-shirt.
When they had done everything they could think to do for their friend, they covered the angel with both of the thin blankets from their beds and sat at the table, picking at their food but neither particularly interested in eating at the moment, watching over Castiel in nervous silence.
"What if he-" Sam began, cut off by an angry look from Dean.
"He will," Dean growled, leaving no room for argument. "He'll be fine. Son of a bitch always is."
Sam placed the lid back over his salad, moving back out to the main area to check on the wounded angel. Dean found himself irritated by Sam's initiative, tearing furiously into his burger, gnawing out his frustrations on the half pound of cooked red meat.
"Hey," Sam said once he was satisfied that Castiel hadn't gotten any worse. "I'm going to run to the store and grab some stuff. You need anything?"
Dean just waved him off, cleaning up his mess and wandering over to the television.
"Right," Sam said, shrugging off Dean's douchy response. "Ill just, uh, I'll be back in about an hour."
"Peace," Dean confirmed that he had heard his brother.
Once Dean heard the roar of the Impala's engine, however, he went to Cas' side. He wasn't sure why he'd gotten pissed at Sam, but whatever. He'd get over it.
He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Castiel's shallow but steady breathing. It didn't seem right to see Cas look so broken and beat up. Aside from right at the end of the Apocalypse, when the dude had lost his mojo, he'd rarely ever seen Cas blink, let alone sleep. Those depthless, complex blue eyes should be open, damn it.
Dean wiped at his face with the sleeve of his flannel. He was certainly not having a chick flick moment over his best friend. And he definitely wasn't so worried he was crying about it.
[XXXXXX]
He found himself in a strange, white place, one that he knew, but couldn't say what it was or where. He felt himself drowning in that sterile, white room. He saw her eyes, cold, emotionless, merciless as she cut into him. He stood in front fo the door, listening to his brother's tormented screams. He froze, something about the white... standing in front of him, the blade was in his... rivulets of scarlet against pale flesh... Grace burned as the blood... Watched the light go out of his brother's eyes... (stop.) Heaven compromised... (No.) Felt the blood wash over his hand... (Stop it!) Self defense... (Please!) face devoid of life...
"SAMANDRIEL! NO!"
Something was weighing him down, covering him, something hot and suffocating that wouldn't let off no matter how much he fought it.
He felt the weight lifted away suddenly, a sudden, brilliant light piercing his eyes and forcing him to turn away from the sudden pain that accompanied it. Naomi, his mind insisted. She's caught up to me...
"Who's caught up to you, Cas?" The voice was familiar, threadbare and whiskey soaked... and comforting.
As his eyes adjusted to the lamp light, Castiel could see Dean's face come slowly into focus as he rode out the waves of panic from his strange, tormented vision.
"Cas," Dean said again, startling the angel into attention with a sharp snap of his fingers inches from Castiel's face. "Hey, you okay? You with us?"
Castiel tried to put his thoughts into focus, but every time he attempted to do so they flitted away like frightened birds. He felt stiff, and his mind felt dull and muddy and he didn't understand why he felt so faint. It frightened him that his respiratory and cardiovascular functions seemed to have increased exponentially, and he had no idea how to bring his body back under his control.
"Dean," Sam's voice. Sam was standing behind his brother, his eyes wide and concerned, frightened. Frightened of him? Frightened for him? Castiel couldn't think. "Dean, back up- give him some space, I think he's... hyperventilating..."
Dean gave his brother a disapproving look, but did as he was told. Or, at least, he tried to, before Castiel- afraid that the hunter would leave- reached out and snatched Dean's arm and pulled him back.
"Okay, Dean said, looking disconcerted. "Okay, Cas, I'm right here. You're okay, you... I think you just had a nightmare..."
"N-nightmare..." Castiel rolled the word off his tongue. Even when he had slept, when he had been cut off from heaven, or on the occasion that he had been injured to the point of requiring rest, he had never dreamed, let alone had nightmares. This was frighteningly new to him.
"Yeah," Dean said, glancing again to his brother.
Sam sat down at the foot of the bed, watching Castiel closely.
"Cas," The younger hunter said softly, a tone one might use to sooth a frightened child. "... What happened to you?"
Castiel frowned, looking down at his hands. He found that his breathing was becoming easier, less rushed, and that the pounding beat of his heart was no longer deafening in his ears.
He averted his eyes from the hunters, the two humans that he cared most for and called his friends, and who had called him as such even when he had been at his absolute worst.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply to calm his racing nerves.
"I... fell."
He hated the way his voice broke on the words, like so much brittle glass.
(So this came to me at work today, and I furiously wrote it all down as it came spilling out of the depths of my brain. What do you think? I probably won't update this one as frequently as my main AU, Ride the Lightning, but there will likely be at least one update a week. I have plenty of ideas for this story, they're just going to take a little time to organize.)