2. A Bishop's Crypt
With every step Dean can feel the temperature dropping, and there's no end in sight, not least because there's no light again. Mostly, he's going by feel and guesswork and he hasn't fallen down the narrow, stone staircase yet, or hit his head on the low roof, so Dean's calling it a win. So far.
Bracing himself on the walls either side of him Dean can feel the brickwork crumbling beneath his hands. It's really not encouraging at all and possibly one reason why Cas is leading him at a fast pace. Dean can relate. Being trapped in a stupidly narrow staircase is not his idea of a good tactical position either. Especially when you've got fuck knows how many demons at your back and only one way out. Dean really wants to ask Cas if he's really sure about this and does he actually have any idea in hell about where they're headed?
Then Dean hears a scratching, scraping above him that tells him the demons are following, and he realizes that whether or not Cas knows doesn't make an awful lot of difference. They're committed now.
Even worse, Dean doesn't even have his demon-defeating bible anymore. That was lost in the scuffle to retrieve Cas's precious book, which is a pain in the ass, but Dean's got to admit he's pretty proud of his pitch that sent the book and two demons right through a burning stack. Even Cas raised an eyebrow at him and that's high praise if ever Dean saw it.
So, now Dean's got no flashlight and one demon blood-covered knife which is just about useless when you can't see what you're supposed to be stabbing with it. It does make him feel a little bit better though, shoved back in the waist of his jeans.
He can only just make out Cas's figure out in front of him, little more than shadow lit by the firelight behind them. It's heat; it's reds and yellows fading fast now as the stairs plunge deeper, steeper. The uneven gait is making the descent about a billion times more difficult than it really needs to be and Dean's got to wonder at the crappy workmanship of the people who built the staircase.
There are rats down here too, Dean can hear them, and with his luck Dean's thinks they're probably possessed. He hasn't seen any yet, and for that he's thankful, but it's getting darker and more damp and Dean knows that soon the first clue he's going to get that there's a rat nearby is if he steps on one of the little fuckers. Dean winces and decides it's something he's not going to think about.
He's about given up on the stairs ever ending when Cas slows, his steps silent even as Dean's feet slap loudly against stone and in puddles, and Dean really wishes he knew how Cas did that. Angel thing, he supposes.
When Dean is close, Cas draws to a stop and leans back towards him. Dean tries not to think about the proximity because they. Are not. Like that. Earlier it had just been the demon voodoo magic crap and nothing else. Dean doesn't even want to think about it, because that just brings back things he knows he shouldn't have felt. Doesn't feel. Hasn't ever felt before. Whatever. Not thinking about it.
"There are seven more steps," Cas whispers, right in Dean's ear and Dean just breathes. "Then we shall be in the crypt. There will be no light so I will guide you."
There is shifting and shuffling and Dean thinks he can make out Cas trying to move his precious book from one hand to another. From what Dean can hear it doesn't seem to be going very well, and Dean remembers that Cas's arm was broken to bits not long ago. From personal experience Dean knows Cas can take a knife to the chest without batting an eyelid, but his arm certainly hadn't been looking at all healed when they began descending the stairs, and even if he can't see very much Dean can hear that Cas doesn't sound too happy about something.
"You all right?" Dean asks gruffly.
There's a pause before Dean feels the edge of the book pressed against his arm.
Cas says, "I need you to carry this."
"I'll take that as a no." Dean takes the book gingerly because he's not convinced the whole necking incident wasn't at least in part its fault. He can remember warm letters beneath his fingers, the feeling that he could understand the words even if he'd never seen the language before. And then Dean remembers that he's not thinking about that and frowns at Cas.
"You're not healing," Dean states, which Dean thinks is a pretty important thing to discuss, but Cas seems to disagree because Dean can just about make out Cas shaking his head before he says, "We don't have time for this," and then Dean feels Cas's too-warm hand cover his own.
Dean pulls his hand away without thinking because, shit, he's not a helpless girl.
"Dude," Dean hisses back. "I'm not holding your hand."
Cas is so close Dean can feel him shift his shoulders and sigh like he's annoyed. He says tightly, "Then hold onto my wrist. I can't watch you and be ready for whatever might greet us down there at the same time."
He taps Dean's hand with his fingers and Dean concedes because, yeah, all right, he doesn't particularly want to get lost in some creepy old crypt.
"You don't know what's down there?" Dean asks. "And, what, you just thought it would be awesome to find out?" Which is just about the worst idea ever if there's something up with Cas.
"I know there's another way out," Cas replies, like that's answer enough. Dean can feel him turn to look back and Dean thinks he might be making a good point because it's not like they can go back and Dean knows it.
Cas tugs on his hand then and Dean follows because the scuffling and scratching behind them is getting louder. The sooner they get moving the sooner they can get out of this nightmare.
It's the Story of Dean's life, though, because things only get worse when the staircase curves around for the last few steps and Dean is plunged into complete darkness. Dean would never admit it, but he's really kind of grateful that Cas thought to grab onto him before they got to this point. It's disorienting and uncomfortable and Dean knows he's tightened his grip on Cas's wrist but he doesn't care if it's a little bit girly because it's fucking dark.
Cas moves slowly, cautiously. There's uneven stone and gravel underfoot and Dean cringes at the loud crunching of his steps in the eerie silence that seems to surround them. It doesn't help that Cas doesn't seem to be making much noise at all, and Dean is really damn jealous that Cas can do that. And that he can, apparently, see in the dark. Now if only Cas could do something really useful and freaking glow in the dark, Dean grouses.
Cas pulls him closer, leading Dean around something. Dean reaches out with his free hand to run fingers along the cool edge of crumbling stone, feels indentations and sculpted patterns and suspects it's a tomb.
From the way Cas's wrist keeps pulling away before relaxing, Dean realises Cas must be looking around, and when he pushes Dean back so abruptly he stumbles and falls half against the tomb Dean's pretty damn sure he's seen something.
Dean would love to bitch at Cas for shoving him around but Dean knows when to be quiet and now is one of those times. Cas is moving back, around the tomb, until Dean feels brick against his back and Cas is tense and alert in front of him. He can tell because Cas pretty much has his back pressed up against Dean's chest. Dean's beginning to wonder if he's going to need the book to fend off a horny Cas, and if he even would, when Cas turns suddenly, moving hurriedly, keeping close to the wall and it's all Dean can do to follow.
It's really not helping that he can't hear anything other than his own footsteps, and the dark is so fucking oppressive it's like someone's dipped his head in tar. He's close to freaking out when Cas pulls him around a corner, puts both hands on his shoulders to lead him up a step and then he's standing on smooth stone and the air feels closer, quieter, like they're in a small room. Dean can't help but think tomb and then Cas leans close to his ear and asks in a low voice, "Are you alright?"
"Wonderful," Dean whispers back. "What was that?"
"I'm not sure," Cas replies. "But it seemed best to avoid whatever it was rather than confront it."
Dean hums an agreement, ignoring the nauseous feeling that he's helplessly floating about in ink, hangs onto Cas's wrist and lets the warmth and the contact assure him that there is still a world, somewhere, with things like light and fresh air and warmth. And then he feels Cas shiver beneath his fingers and there's something just really wrong about that.
"You alright?" Dean asks pointedly- again- remembering Cas's arm and the bruises on his face that he'd never explained.
"I'm fine," he says, sounding about as convinced of the fact as Dean feels.
"And you know where we're going, right?" Dean feels the very strong urge to ask.
"I... do."
The pause is not encouraging.
"Cas," Dean warns, trying to sound stern. "If something's wrong you gotta tell me."
"I told you," Cas replies impatiently. "There is something preventing me from doing... certain things."
"Like healing."
"I have almost healed now," Cas argues.
"Like not knowing where you're going."
Dean hears Cas make a noise that sounds like frustration before tugging his arm, pulling him further into whatever room or tomb or corridor or whatever they're standing in. Cas stops abruptly and Dean hears a scuffling of shoes against a wall. They're backed into a corner, Dean supposes, and when Cas leans close, his voice even lower, Dean knows they are hiding.
He says, "I can see. I know where I want to go, but there are many things here and we have few weapons against them."
He doesn't say, And I have to look after your sorry human ass, but Dean thinks it's very much implied in the way Cas draws his arm against his chest, taking Dean's hand with it.
Bastard.
Dean opens his mouth to argue but then there's a hand pressed against his face and its a lot like that time back in the Green room, except Dean can't see Cas and doesn't know what the fuck's happening. He can only hang on, holding as still as he can, breathing low and quiet and listening.
It's getting colder, Dean thinks, and in that icy-wrong way which he's become all too familiar with over the years: a ghost. A spirit. And he really shouldn't be surprised because this is a crypt they're in. But it is a bit discomforting that Cas seems to think it's something worth hiding from.
Dean's never heard of hiding from a ghost either. But, no salt, no iron, so he guesses it's Cas's call.
They wait there so long Dean's muscles are becoming painfully tense and Cas's hand is still on his mouth, making it kind of difficult to breathe properly and making his chin sweaty. He wonders if Cas would move his damn hand if he licked it, and then he reminds himself that it's a really bad idea to think things like that right now.
Gradually, painfully slowly, the cold recedes until it's just your average damp-crypt chill and Dean is glad when Cas relaxes, lowering his hand from Dean's face. They're too close still, just that damn book between them, and Dean is finding it impossible to forget the soft slide of Cas's skin and the way he kissed. How does someone who's never kissed before know how to do that? It's just not right, Dean thinks, hoping very much that Cas will hurry up and get them moving again. He wants to ask if this is still the demon's influence. He wants to ask if Cas is feeling it too, but he's scared of what the answers might be.
"We should hurry," Cas says, finally, pressing his free hand against Dean's chest, manoeuvring him away so Cas can move out of the corner.
Dean hefts the book up more comfortably under his arm, squeezes Cas's wrist to show his agreement. "You see anything iron you stop and pick it up," Dean suggests, mostly because he's pretty sick of feeling completely useless. Even the super-duper demon-killing knife will be completely useless against ghosts.
Dean can't see it, but he thinks Cas is nodding because then he says, "A good idea," before leading Dean back down the step and turning to the left, following along close to a wall.
They move quickly, turning right, then right again, then left and Dean's beginning to think they're in some kind of creepy labyrinth, but at least Cas seems confident in where he's going so he tries not to be too freaked out. The further they walk Dean guesses from the way the sound of his shoes crunching against gravel seems dampened, closer, the roof is getting lower too, and the walls are drawing in. It's not a nice thought, and he's not thinking about coffins or being buried alive or anything morbid like that. Oh no. Not at all.
Cas stops abruptly then, and Dean almost drops the book, but he's tense and on alert immediately, thinking there's something out in the dark, nearby, that means them harm.
"Stay here," Cas says, trying to pull his hand away and move away from the wall.
And, yeah, "Fuck no." Dean grips Cas more tightly. There is no way in hell he is letting go.
Cas hesitates for a second, putting his other hand over Dean's. "I'm only going to the other side of this passageway," he tries, like it's perfectly reasonable to leave him completely helpless and blind in this fucked up tomb.
"Yeah, no," Dean argues, "You're not going anywhere without me." He thinks, anything could happen between the wall to his side and the opposite wall which, for all Dean knows, could be twenty miles away. And if Cas got in trouble Dean wouldn't even know where he was. And anyway, "What's over there you want so bad?"
Cas sighs and Dean thinks it sounds like he's going to give in. Which, just, thank God.
"There is iron," Cas tells him. He shakes his wrist in Dean's hand. "I will need my arm to retrieve it."
Dean raises his eyebrows. "Careful, Cas. Sarcasm's gotta be a sin somehow."
"With you Dean, it is a matter of necessity," Cas replies dryly, startling a laugh out of Dean. The sound echoes, loud in the darkness and Dean sobers.
"Iron then," he says.
Cas lifts Dean's wrist, laying his hand on his shoulder. "Yes. Stay close."
Dean snorts. "As though I'm going anywhere."
He feels Cas shift under his hand, turning then slowly leading Dean, to the other side of the corridor he supposes, but he really has no clue, so he shuffles along, afraid he'll trip or something equally embarrassing.
It feels like Cas turns his head towards Dean when he tells him, "There are no obstacles in our way." There's a pause and Dean is about to tell Cas that's easy for him to say, but then Cas takes his hand from his shoulder and presses it against a ledge. It's cool, rough under his hand. "We are here," Cas says. "I will be directly in front of you." Then Cas takes his hand from Dean's and Dean has a moment of panic, feeling nauseous like he's seasick and he imagines being lost in the nothingness forever. He tries to breathe, to get a grip, because it's only a little bit of dark filled with fuck-knows-what and it's not like this is anything new in his life. Even if he can't ever remember feeling this heavy darkness before, this complete not knowing. This crypt, or whatever it is, feels like a place he shouldn't be. Where humans aren't supposed to be. The air seeps supernatural, the smell of magic filling Dean's lungs, and the ice cold and death and decay and evil seeping into his bones. Dean hates it, and he's pretty sure Cas doesn't much like it either.
He thinks maybe Cas reads his mind then or something because he says, "Men built this place, a very long time ago."
There's a scuffling, like the shifting of feet, indistinct noises which Dean supposes must be Cas trying to get at whatever iron he's seen.
"What happened?" Dean asks, more to keep talking, to know that Cas is still there and in one piece rather than out of much interest.
"It was forgotten." There's the creaking of metal and the scraping of brick. "This place has power, and things grew here from that, or were drawn here." He sounds strained, like he's exerting himself.
Dean frowns. "That why you having angel impotency?"
He feels Cas still beside him for a moment and Dean really wishes he could see his face, to know if he even gets it. Then there's a shuffling, thuds like stones falling to the ground, gravel being moved about.
"It is not this place, exactly," Cas replies, finally, and Dean can tell he's hedging and doesn't like it at all. He opens his mouth to ask Cas what the fuck that's supposed to mean when he senses Cas tensing somewhere close by. There's a sudden hiss, growl, painful scraping like claws along brick and then Cas is thrown into him. Dean topples back, scrabbling at the wall beside him, hearing a splash as the book drops to the ground, swearing and shit but Cas is heavier than he looks. Or it could just be that he's fallen pretty much right on top of Dean.
Cas pulls himself off him painfully and Dean has to just breathe for a moment, pulling the knife out from the back of his pants and desperately trying to think of something he can actually do with it that won't involve risking slicing up Cas or himself, not sure that Cas in his current state can just brush off a few accidental stab wounds like they're nothing.
He thinks he hears Cas thumping the whatever-it-is, sure it's Cas because the hit sounds like skin against leather and the creature grunts. It doesn't seem to do much more than piss the thing off though because then he hears Cas gasp in a way that really does not sound good. There's a lot more scuffling and thuds and he thinks someone has gone into the wall then. Cas is breathing hard and the creature sounds mostly like it's cackling. Not a good sign.
Dean knows he has to do something; that Cas isn't winning this fight, and he can't think of a fucking thing. He's useless and it's the feeling he hates most in the entire universe.
He pulls himself to his feet, at least, pulling at aches that Dean knows are going to be awesome Cas-elbow-shaped bruises, clutching at the knife, wishing he'd given it to Cas, but he just didn't fucking think. He didn't realise just how weakened Cas was and he hates himself for not noticing.
None of this is going to do Cas a bit of good though. The fight, Dean can hear, is vicious and there's a lot of what sounds like scratching and biting and there's no doubt that's the demon. It sounds like Cas is holding his own, on his feet for the most part and using his fists and feet and knees, keeping the demon back.
Away from him, Dean realises.
It's so fucking infuriating, frustrating, but there's no way he can get the knife to Cas without getting them both killed in the process. He needs something to see by. Anything. Then Cas is hissing in what sounds a lot like pain and Dean starts turning out his pockets. There's nothing in his jeans except some really skanky-feeling tissues, nothing in the back pockets at all. Car keys in his jacket. String. A couple of pins. Bottle top. And then, God, then Dean feels a box, runs his finger along the rough edge and nearly chokes in relief. Matches. Fucking matches. Great for lighting up corpses and for light.
It might be a really terrible idea to start a fire down here, but the creature Cas is fighting sounds like it's howling with laughter and Cas is making pained noises. He can hear grappling and as fast as he can Dean pulls the box from his pocket, fumbles with the knife as he tried to slide the matchbox open because he can't see, desperate not to drop anything but needing to stop whatever the demon fucker is doing to Cas and right now.
He pulls out as many as his fingers can grab at, shifts the box to his knife hand and strikes the bunch of matches sharply against it.
Yellow-red light flares, hot against his fingers, and hurts Dean's eyes for a second, startling after so long in the pitch black. The demon screeches in surprise too and Dean can make out movement, as his eyes adjust; the creature shrinking away from the light or the fire, Dean doesn't know or care. He just knows he doesn't have long, and now he can see, he kind of wishes he couldn't.
The demon, scales shimmering like oil on water in the dull orange glow, is like a thing from a nightmare; a creature with sharp, long teeth and heavy brow and long, bony fingers. Its eyes reflect white and Dean thinks it must be blind. Dean remembers demons like that in hell but never on earth and it freaks him out.
Dean really can't think about that though; can't think about hell, because the demon has its twisted arms stretched out towards Cas and it's clawing at his face, digging into Cas's face and there's blood all down the side of Cas's face and neck and arm. It makes Dean sick, and as soon as he sees it, and realises what he's seeing, he launches himself forward. He knows the matches won't last long anyway so he shoves them into the creature's face.
The demon-thing shrieks and Dean hears Cas drop to the gravel and then all Dean wants to do is rip the fucking monster to shreds. This close he doesn't need to see, he can feel the demon there, body twisting to fight Dean off and sharps nails trying to rake over his face but Dean just thrusts forward, stabbing as hard as he can into its guts. He feels triumph when the creature howls in pain, so he twists the knife, pulls back and stabs again and again. The creature's blood is warm on his hands as it shudders and grasps at Dean weakly. It's like Dean can't stop himself because he wants the fucking thing to suffer, so he slashes and he rips at it and it's like riding a bike, he thinks. Even in the dark, it's easy and all Dean can think about is making it hurt for as long as he can. Then, in his madness he hears his name, and it's choked and rough but it's got power behind it, and worry even, and Dean knows its Cas and he has to stop.
Quickly, Dean raises up the demon with one hand. The demon gurgles and whines low and Dean drags the blade up its chest until the sharp edge reaches the neck. Then he slits its throat in one swift, practiced motion, before letting it fall to the ground like the piece of hell trash it is.
He just breathes then, remembering where he is and what he's supposed to be doing.
Cas, he thinks. Fuck.
It's difficult to hear anything except the pounding of his blood through his ears and the static, red, blinding memory and sickness in his head at what he was doing. At what he wanted to do. But he knows Cas is near, his breath fast and laboured, hitching in pain, Dean supposes, because he saw where that demon had shoved its nails into Cas's eyes and shit that had to hurt. So Dean drops to his hands and knees and tries to feel his way towards the noise.
Finding an ankle, Dean calls, "Cas," hand following the leg up to Cas's waist, fingers as light as he can because he has no idea what other damage the demon fucker did. They have to get out of here, Dean thinks. If Cas is bleeding to death or something there's nothing he can do and Dean'll be damned if he's just going to sit and watch this stupid, annoying as fuck angel die on him. Dean just can't. And Cas had better know it too. "You're not dying on me, you bastard," he tells Cas, and is relieved, glad when he hears Cas huff in what Dean thinks is amusement.
Dean can feel Cas's chest under his hand, breathing strong and even, can feel the movement when Cas says, "I'll be sure to remember that."
Cas doesn't sound like he's at his best, but he doesn't sound like he's going to drop dead any second either, so Dean follows the line of Cas's side to his shoulder so he can pull him up and off of the hard gravel, out of the damp.
"Anything broken?" Dean asks before he moves Cas anywhere. He doesn't like how Cas feels like he's shivering, and when Cas answers that he thinks he's okay, Dean quickly manoeuvres himself to kneel beside Cas, pulling him up against his chest. For warmth. Because it would absolutely suck for an angel to go into shock on him. How would you even deal with that? And then Dean remembers what he saw of Cas's eye, and feels queasy again.
"Can you," he starts. He has to ask. They can't hang around here. Dean can't see, and if Cas can't see either they are well and truly screwed. But the thought of some demon getting his nails in Cas's eyeballs, and there was so much blood, and Dean hopes to Christ that isn't going to be permanent. Almost prays Cas will be able to heal that when they finally manage to escape. If they manage to escape.
Dean tries again. "Your eyes..."
Seems like Cas catches on because he replies, "I can see with one, still." That's good, but.
"Your other eye?"
Cas doesn't say anything, but this close Dean can feel him shifting uncomfortably, tensing. It's answer enough. Dean can't see it, but he reckons Cas is covering the eye with his hand. He knows it's got to hurt like hell.
And it's back to really needing to see again. He's still got matches, shoved back in his pocket, but they won't give him light for long.
"I need something to burn," Dean says, thinking about the book he dropped and left somewhere when the demon pushed Cas into him. It fell into water, Dean remembers so that's probably out anyway, regardless of the way Cas tells him, "No," and starts wriggling like he's trying to stand up.
"Your damn trench coat, then," Dean throws back, teasing, though actually he really wouldn't mind never seeing the ugly thing again.
He almost laughs when Cas seems to draw his coat tighter around himself protectively. "I can make a little light," Cas offers. He doesn't sound sure about it either.
"And you didn't think to tell me that before?" Dean thinks he might be a little bit pissed at that. "I could've stopped that demon from gouging your eye out!"
"My eye is not gouged out," Cas argues. "It didn't seem wise to make our presence so obvious."
Fair enough, but Dean thinks the advantage of him being able to see would have outweighed the threat. Probably.
"Well that worked out great," Dean says dryly. "Light. Now."
Cas sighs heavily, sitting himself up slowly and leaning away from Dean. Dean loosens his grip, lets Cas move. Then he hears scrabbling, like stones being moved about and it goes on for so long Dean thinks Cas must be making some really spectacular stone sculpture or something out there in the dark.
"Sometime this century would be good," Dean says, because it's cold and uncomfortable kneeling on gravel and Cas could be bleeding to death for all Dean knows. Cas certainly doesn't seem stable. His movements are slow and careful and his breathing still sounds a little fast and pained. Could be from the eye gouging, Dean thinks sardonically.
Cas shivers against him. The faster Dean can see the faster they can get moving again. He just hopes Cas can still guide them, one eye down and Dean is fairly certain Cas is getting weaker every minute they're in this god-forsaken place. Which is a pretty fair description really.
Finally, Cas leans back against him. He seems to sway where he sits and Dean holds onto his shoulders more firmly. Feeling Cas shiver again, Dean finds himself rubbing fingers over the fabric of Cas's coat. For warmth, Dean assures himself again, and it seems that Cas appreciates it because the other man leans closer, pressing back into Dean's touch.
If it were any other time this touchy-feeliness would be incredibly embarrassing, but even though Dean knows Cas can see pretty much everything he's doing, Dean finds he doesn't actually care. He wonders if this is the start of another round of molest-the-angel brought about by demons or bad air or whatever the fuck caused them to go crazy over each other up in the library. But this feels different.
Dean focuses on the feel of his fingers as they rub over Cas's shoulder and he's certain he's not doing it because of some demon magic. This is offering warmth and companionship and help and nothing else. There's none of the burning need and lust, like he'd implode if he didn't touch skin and kiss and feel. None of the madness. He just wants Cas to be able to heal.
In front of Dean, somewhere close in the darkness, Dean can hear Cas's low voice, words clipped and unfamiliar and Dean wonders if that's what angel language sounds like. There's power there, and presence, and a feeling of ancientness, but it sounds cold. Impersonal. Almost cruel. It's not the sort of thing you'd associate with the fuzzy bathrobe-wearing angels you see on TV, but then, it perfectly fits what Dean's come to know of real angels.
Against Dean, Cas takes a breath and suddenly there is light.
Just like with the matches, it makes Dean's eyes ache for a moment, and he snaps them shut.
He feels Cas shift against him. "You ask for light, and then you close your eyes?" Cas says, sounding faintly incredulous, and even a little amused.
"Shut up," Dean snaps, but he might just be smiling a tiny bit because if Cas has the strength to try for being funny, he can't be that bad off. "I got used to walking around in the pitch black. And it's not like you were any help."
Dean squints, opens his eyes just a fraction and through the blur and the momentary stabbing pain at the initial brightness, he sees the shape of Cas nodding. And then things come into focus, and he opens his eyes wider and sees that he hadn't realised half of what had gone on in that fight.
"Shit, Cas," is just about all he can choke out. He doesn't even think, just pulls Cas closer and lays his fingertips lightly against Cas's hand, held close to his face.
"It looks worse than it is, I'm sure," Cas tells him, struggling for Dean to loosen his grip because, oh yeah, Dean can see now. When he looks down, Cas is holding a stone in his hand and it's lit brightly, not like it's glowing, but more like it's got a bulb inside it. The light is dim, a sort of yellow-green, but it's enough to see by. Enough to see the blood covering Cas's hand where he's covering his eye. It's all down his shirt, which is torn and dirty. There are red stripes of blood where the demon must have slashed him, on his arms and his chest and his neck. Black smudges that might be demon blood. Bruises too, on his face, long finger-shapes twisting around Cas's neck that make Dean angry. It just all looks so wrong.
"Let me see, then," Dean demands, and Cas gives him a sour face but pulls his hand away and Dean frowns, "Fuck," because his eye is mangled.
Dean can't really even see it properly; it's just thick blood and bloated skin, red raw and heavy with bruising. "It tried to take your eye out," Dean realises.
"It did," Cas agrees. He sounds tired and ill, and Dean really can't blame him.
"I don't know what I can do for this," Dean says, feeling really shitty that he doesn't even have any painkillers on him. He would try and wipe away the blood but he thinks that would just hurt Cas more.
"It will heal." And at least Cas sounds sure about that. "I think it was worse," he adds, and Dean chokes an incredulous laugh.
"How the crap could it have been worse?"
Cas replies, "It doesn't hurt as much."
Dean shakes his head. "That could be shock."
Cas frowns, or at least, Dean thinks he's trying to frown, but he's only got one eye to do it with. "No. It will be fine." Cas pauses then, pressing his hand and the stone towards Dean's chest. "Take this. We should go."
Cas moves to stand up, but doesn't make it very far before he falls back, looking horribly pale in the dim light.
"Yeah?" Dean says. "Going somewhere?" He really can't help teasing, knows he shouldn't but it's like Dean's most tried and tested defence mechanism. Bad situation: make light of it.
Still, they have to move, and the other cuts and scrapes don't seem too serious. Cas's eye doesn't look like it's gushing or anything, so Dean nods amiably in reply to Cas's unfriendly face, saying, "Yeah, yeah, I know". Dean tugs Cas's arm around his shoulders, sliding his hand around the other man's back and heaves them both to their feet.
Cas really does sway then, stumbling even, so Dean plants his feet and holds on, letting Cas get his balance.
As Dean waits, it's the first chance he's had to look around properly; to see where they actually are, and he can't help but grimace. When Cas has said crypt, he really had meant crypt.
They were standing in a fairly narrow corridor, walls of old brick that looked dark and black but Dean thought they were probably more red in reality. They looked chipped, falling to pieces. Ancient. The roof above them didn't look much better either. Higher than he'd thought, arching above them, Dean can see the patterns of brickwork through decaying plasterwork.
While one side of the corridor is flat, solid, into the other wall are built alcoves, shelves like Dean had been hanging onto, and on them lie bones, barely a shred of cloth, some so old there's nothing but dust. There's no writing that he can see. No names. Just bodies lined up and left to rot. No wonder Cas hadn't mentioned the rows of dead, and had instead kept them to the other wall. There could be hundreds of miserable, angry, vengeful ghosts, and not even the demon knife would do them any good against that.
At the thought of that Dean looks closer at the alcoves, spotting the metal bar Cas must have been trying to free when the demon attacked him. It looked about as decayed at the rest of the place, but it was iron, and once he had Cas moving he was going to take it himself. He wasn't going to let anything else get the jump on them.
After a few minutes, Cas seems to straighten himself up, and says slowly, slightly breathless, "This is... unpleasant."
"I hear ya," Dean commiserates, pulling Cas closer, making sure his grip is secure. "You gonna be okay to move?"
Cas nods, points their stone-light that Dean never took towards the closer wall. "The book," he says, and Dean sees it, laying in the gravel and dirt, one edge resting in a puddle of water.
They've brought it this far, Dean supposes, so they might as well take it the rest, so he shuffles them both towards it, Cas leaning heavily against him.
"I'll get the iron," Dean says, untangling himself from Cas, propping him against the old wall. Cas offers the stone to him and this time Dean takes it.
The iron comes free quickly, already loosened by Cas. It's pretty crumbly and flaky in his hands but Dean supposes just so long as it doesn't have to hit anything more corporeal than a ghost it'll work.
Returning quickly to Cas, Dean sees that he's got the book tucked under his arm and he's standing against the wall, head bent back, breathing slowly, like he's trying to control the pain. The side of his face is swelling, turning purple and blue. The blood in his eye is turning black, and Dean has to look away.
"They are drawing close," Cas sighs. "The demons from the library." Dean looks up at him and Cas reaches out for help.
The gesture is surprising in the ease with which Cas trusts Dean to respond, in how natural it feels to wrap an arm around his back again and to pull Cas's arm around his own shoulders. That Cas, an angel, would trust like that makes Dean wonder just what Cas thinks of him.
It's awkward to carry Cas, a stone and an iron rod all at once, but he manages, and Cas directs them through what Dean can see now is a maze of passages which seems to slope ever deeper, the air turning colder, damper.
"We're going to get pneumonia at this rate," Dean gripes and beside him Cas nods seriously.
"If it's any consolation, the demons from before will hate this even more than we do," he says. "I brought us into this labyrinth for that reason. And because it will make us more difficult to find."
Dean frowns. "So we're not actually heading for the exit here?"
"We are," Cas says. "Just by a circuitous route."
That makes sense, and Dean nods, even though he wants to be taking the shortest route to warm air and real light they possibly can.
They walk for a time in silence, Dean listening with increasing concern as that scratching, scraping sound from the staircase gets louder, closer, and he knows that the demons from the library are catching up. He pushes Cas, and himself, because his limbs are getting so cold they feel heavy and stiff, and he's thirsty but there is no way in hell he is going to drink anything down here. And Cas. Cas is breathing heavily, still, propped against Dean, stumbling more often, leaning more heavily against him the further they go.
"I thought you were supposed to be healing?" Dean asks finally, keeping his voice low, after Cas trips for what seems like the fiftieth time over his own feet and sighs a shaky breath in irritation.
Cas pulls himself up, gathering himself, and they press on. "I cannot do so many things at once," he answers.
"Like walk and heal?" That doesn't sound very likely, Dean thinks. Especially when he's doing such a piss poor job of the walking part.
Dean sees Cas's eyes fall on the stone in Dean's hand, and then Dean gets it and he is fucking pissed.
"You're using all your angel juice for this thing?" He looks down at the stone, light pale but steady, then back up at Cas, shaking his head, incredulous. "Cas, you frigging idiot." Dean really wants to drop him on the ground, beat some sense into him. Except Cas just looks at him with his bruised face, confusion clearly written all over him, and shouting at that? It would like kicking a puppy.
And Dean is not thinking of Cas as a puppy.
"I thought that," Cas starts to say, but Dean cuts him off.
"What? That light for me was more important than healing yourself?"
The look the Cas gives him says that yes, that was exactly what he'd thought.
"Shit, Cas," Dean admonishes, shaking his head. Then, more softly, "You don't need the light?"
Cas shakes his head slowly. "I can still see."
The way he says "see" makes Dean think he means more than sight, and that leads him to wonder if Cas was reading his mind when Dean wasn't comparing him to a puppy in his head. Cas seems preoccupied with being clueless though.
"Then turn it off," Dean tells him, and then because it seems like Cas needs to be told. "Heal yourself. We need to move faster."
Dean sees the grimace on Cas's face and Dean really wishes they had time to rest, for Cas to at least regain some strength. But Dean can feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising up and he can hear the demons at their back.
The light disappears without Cas even breaking step and the sudden change makes Dean misstep and almost send them both to the ground. He curses, jostling Cas in annoyance before pulling him tighter again, regaining his grip around Cas's back and on his wrist.
"A little warning, Cas," Dean says in annoyance. He closes his eyes, opens them again, irritated when he can't tell the difference. But if Cas can heal, they can move more quickly, and in any case he's not so much of a bastard that he would want Cas to suffer. He's suffered enough, Dean thinks, and before this whole apocalypse thing is over he knows it can only get worse.
"I am sorry," Cas apologises. "I wasn't thinking." He sounds like he's annoyed at himself too, perplexed like he doesn't know why he did that so Dean reckons it must be the pain or the cold or the blood loss or whatever else might be wrong that Dean has no idea about, so Dean just shrugs.
"Just. Be careful."
Dean feels movement beside him and figures that must be Cas nodding.
Cas doesn't seem to be making any move to start walking again, just breathing beside him, leaning into Dean, shivering.
"Lead the way, then," Dean encourages and Dean is relieved when Cas tugs him towards their left and they are moving again. He's cold himself, the cold and damp of the crypt getting to his lungs and his joints, freezing up his joints and he thinks they both need the movement.
After a few minutes, once Cas has set a steady pace and Dean has grown accustomed again to the complete blackness around him and to relying solely on Cas to lead him and warn him and not let him get his feet soaked in deep puddles, Cas says suddenly, like he's just remembered it, "Hold on to the stone. We may need to fight."
"Okay," Dean agrees. He'd slipped the stone into his pocket without thinking when Cas had first turned off the lights and he shoves the iron under his arm so his hand is free to feel it now, to make sure it's still there, smooth and weirdly warm under his fingers. "But no more fighting for you," he adds sternly. Cas is a mess, and if he loses his other eye they are going to be stuck down in the crypt completely blind.
"I am healing." Cas sounds kind of petulant which makes Dean want to laugh.
"You can see with that eye of yours then?" Dean asks.
Cas shifts uncomfortably in his grip and Dean squeezes Cas's wrist. "Thought so."
The corridor turns, or Cas leads them down a different passage, and then the gradient is sloping upwards.
"Going up?" Dean says. He's weirdly glad at the thought, as if now that they're going upwards they're finally getting somewhere. He's less pleased when Cas says, "We are close to the centre of the crypt now."
"We're halfway? We're only half-freaking-way?"
They must have been down here at least a couple of hours and Dean is really not convinced they can keep up this pace for that long again.
"We have been lucky," Cas tells him, calmly, if a little hoarsely. "I expected more demons and more ghosts. It is the book, I suppose, keeping them away."
"That book." Dean considers. "What would it do to them?"
"It weakens supernatural creatures."
"That demon that attacked you didn't seem so weak," Dean points out.
There's a pause, like Cas isn't quite sure what to say to that, and it makes Dean suspicious.
"It was weakened," he says eventually.
"What else?" Dean asks. Something not right here, he thinks. He's certain that Cas is hiding something, and he doesn't even need to see Cas's face to know it. Cas shifts uncomfortably against him and Dean pulls his closer. "Cas," he demands.
Another long pause, then says replies slowly, "It is powerful, as I said. It is written in our language. There are few books of this kind in existence."
"That's not exactly useful information, Cas," Dean grinds out in annoyance.
"I don't know what you want to know." Cas sighs, sounding put out and pissy. "It is a powerful thing. It can give us an advantage against demons and..."
Cas stops again and Dean can feel his hefting the book in his arm.
"And?" Dean prompts.
"And against angels," Cas says quietly. Dean really doesn't like where this is going.
"Against angels," he repeats. "Angels like you, for example?"
Cas is pretty much squirming against him now and Dean thinks he's going to break Cas's neck because he is an idiot.
Cas tries to straighten himself up, as though that's going to convince Dean of anything. "It is not just the book," he pre-empts quickly. "This place has power too."
"So you can't heal."
"I can heal," Cas argues. "It's just taking some time."
Well fuck that, Dean thinks.
"Cas, you are more stupid than I ever realised. You're telling me that book is making it harder for you to heal, we're being chased by a demon horde, and you think it's a great idea to hang onto the damned thing?" He knows his voice is rising, and he should really keep it down, not wanting to attract anymore unwanted attention than they already have, but Cas is just that monumentally backward.
"They are not a horde."
"Cas," Dean warns.
"We need the book. After all this, it would be absurd to leave it behind."
"Absurd?" Dean repeats. "Absurd? What is absurd is you apparently thinking it's an awesome idea to hold onto it. Why didn't you tell me?"
"It was not relevant," Cas replies, and he says it as though he actually believes that, and that more than anything makes Dean actually, really, truly angry.
"You don't get to decide that, Cas," Dean says. Tells.
It's weird, arguing with nothing but a voice and the shape of a body against his side. He wants to point his finger and take Cas by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, except they can't stop, and Dean's not convinced it would do any good anyway.
"I am sick of people deciding for me what I should and shouldn't know." Dean shakes his head. "We get rid of this book and you heal, right?" he asks, scowling at Cas, knowing, hoping at least, that Cas will see it and understand that if he lies to Dean now, there will be blood. More blood. Whatever.
"There is still the effect of this place," Cas protests. "It will not be so easy still."
"But it will be better." It's not a question because Dean knows. He knows that need to protect. To put someone else before yourself, and if there is one thing in this life he does not want, it's someone else doing that, feeling that way, for him.
Cas sighs, leaning more heavily against Dean. "It will." He adds quickly, "But Dean, it's not so great a difference. This book could hold the answer as to how to stop this apocalypse."
"Which would mean exactly nothing if we are dead, Cas."
Dean supposes Cas concedes the point because he makes no reply, just seems to curl in on himself, and it feels to Dean as though he pulls the damn book closer, holding it more tightly. Stubborn bastard.
They walk and Dean can tell Cas is making a concerted effort not to sag or lean too much or trip. But Cas's breath speeds up, his muscles tensing and Dean really. Wants. To Slap. Him.
"We're burning it," he grinds out finally because, fuck this stalemate. Cas's arguments suck and he knows it. Them living through this is infinitely more important than just a possibility that maybe the book will help. He's not willing to risk Cas's life, the life of a fucking angel on that off chance.
Cas had died for him once, and Dean is not going to let him do it again. Ever.
Cas starts, softly, "Dean," and Dean knows Cas is not going to stop arguing over this. Will tell him to have hope or faith or that it doesn't matter, except it does. Dean doesn't want to consider why Cas's life means that much, but he owes him, and Dean Winchester pays his debts.
"No, Cas," Dean interrupts sharply.
Dean would have taken the book then, set it alight and be glad for it but the air shifts, turning icy, hopeless, like death and Dean knows.
Ghosts.
Beside him Cas tenses, pushes at Dean to move them towards the passage wall until they are standing with their backs to it. Dean unwraps his arms from around Cas, leaning him back against the wall, feels cold, crumbling brick, lines of water, soft moss when he presses his hands against it.
Cas whispers, "There are many ahead." He takes Dean's wrist. "You have the iron."
Dean hefts the old metal. "We have to go this way?" he asks.
"Yes," Cas replies simply.
"I can't see," Dean reminds him, because he feels kind of ridiculous brandishing the iron against the darkness. All he knows is that there are spirits close by, their presence marked by that depressingly familiar feeling of despair. It's strong, maybe stronger than Dean's ever felt it before and he doesn't doubt that there are not some small number of ghosts ahead of them.
"I am aware," Cas says. "We are coming to the centre, and I believe that is where the ghosts will be. There will be some light there."
"You didn't think to mention this either? That we were on our way to face half the cast of Ghostbusters?" Cas really needs to learn to tell him crap like this.
"I had hoped the demons would have... scared them away."
Because, oh yeah, demons behind them.
Wonderful.
"I don't even know how that's supposed to work," Dean says, shaking his head. "You have any more brilliant plans?"
"We can use the book."
Dean clenches his hands more tightly around the iron at the mention of that damn book.
"The book that's killing you, you mean?"
Cas's grip on Dean's wrist loosens and Dean hears Cas sigh wearily.
"It isn't killing me, Dean," Cas replies, sounding exasperated.
Dean hums, unconvinced and they really don't have time to argue this because there are demons closing in on them and that is just not a happy thought.
"So, what, we throw the book at them? Wave it about?"
Maybe he's being difficult when he really doesn't need to be but Cas totally deserves it, Dean thinks. Cas really needs to learn that amazing thing called communication; actually possibly telling him what the hell they are doing once in a while.
Damned mysterious angels and their mysterious plans.
Cas nudges an arm against Dean's side, like he knows exactly what Dean was just thinking. "They should keep their distance, if we remain close," he tells Dean.
"And if they don't?" Dean asks.
"You have the iron and I think I can still dispel them."
He really doesn't sound too sure about that.
"Cas," Deans feels he needs to point out. "This is a really bad plan."
Cas nudges at him again, like he wants to move and he wants to move now, and Dean wonders if maybe it's the demons getting closer that's making him all antsy.
"It isn't ideal," Cas admits and Dean thinks, understatement of the year. "But we have little choice. The demons will be upon us soon and I would prefer to face the spirits of the dead than them."
Dean is willing to admit, he makes a fair point. They can't go back and Dean can't see another way out of this.
"Forward then," Dean agrees.
TBC