Hey! I just wanted to add a little note and thank you guys for reading! To clarify, this is written as if the whole purgatory and leviathan stuff never happened. Gabriel never died and Cas never became God. Alright. There ya go. Enjoy~

"Dean?" Sam whispered from his spot on Bobby's couch.

The room was bathed in dim light from a single lamp. The basin they had used earlier for the ritual and all the ingredients had been pushed aside so the older winchester could work at Bobby's desk. He had been doing research on Cas' captor for about nine hours now, with no leads.

Dean glanced up at his brother who slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes, then back to the page he was reading on a Zula.

"What's up, Sammy?" he mumbled, flipping to the next page.

"It's four nineteen," Sam continued to whisper, "You can't keep reading the same books all night. At least get a few hours of sleep."

"Yeah, Sam, I will," Dean waved a hand in his brothers direction, "Go back to sleep."

"You're no good to Cas burnt out, man," Sam sighed and moved to lay back down.

"Mmm," Dean replied, rereading a paragraph he'd read six times already, only half listening to his brother.

The hunter blinked and the room was cloaked in darkness. He squinted his eyes, adjusting them enough to the darkness, to see Sam pulling his arm back from the lamp.

"Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam quipped back.

Dean knew any attempt to argue or turn the light back on would end up the same. The light would end up out and Dean would be left to fight sleep until morning.

The thing with Dean was, no matter if he was given a break or a couple hours rest, he couldn't take it. Not on a hunt. Not when something was still out there. And definitely not when his best friend was missing. Because that's what they were. Best friends. That's why Dean had a huge pit in his stomach and couldn't think straight. That's why he couldn't eat and felt like there was a thousand pound weight on his chest. Best friends felt that way.

Dean mentally slapped himself. Thoughts like that were definitely not going to help him sleep. The cot he had set up earlier was comfortable enough, maybe if his mind would shut the hell up he could get some shut eye. Dean rolled onto the makeshift bed and shut out the moonlit room. He waited for sleep to come, silently praying to an angel who couldn't hear him.

~•~

"-I really need you back, Buddy. Just... Just stay alive, okay? Please... Please..." and then it was over.

Castiel slowly pulled the hands away from his face. Torture. That had been torture. Unlike anything he had ever encountered. More painful than any blade or any infiltration of his mind. Listening to Dean's prayers, knowing that he couldn't respond or stop the hurt in the man's voice. It twisted like a vice on his chest.

And all he could do was sit. Sit and wait.

Wait for what? he thought. Death? An angel? The Winchesters?

Castiel knew the brothers were tough, even tough enough to trap Lucifer back in Hell. But this... This thing holding him was too powerful. It would rip them to shreds before they could even fight back. Castiel just hoped that he would be dead and the thing would have moved on before the brother's could find his prison. Then they could be safe.

If only Castiel could warn them.

~•~

The room was bright. Like, twelve o' clock noon bright. How long had he slept in? Dean rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced around Bobby's living room. Everything was blue, bathed in deep indigo. He turned to the window and the moon stared straight back at him. It was impossibly huge, at least ten times it's normal size. But that wasn't what held his attention. The air was full of crystals, suspended in space. Just hanging there for no one in particular. They were almost hypnotizing. They pulled Dean toward the window, willing him to come outside, to come closer.

He responded as if in a trance, walking straight out the backdoor without any protection from the frigid November air. The world was eerily silent and at any other time Dean would've armed himself, but he felt so peaceful. So safe. The hanging crystals passed through his fingers as he felt for them, leaving nothing but cool air on his fingers. He wondered what they were, why they pulled at him.

"Dean," a voice whispered, too familiar to be anyone else's.

"Cas," Dean breathed, turning to see the angel standing before him, practically glowing in the blue light.

He stepped closer and Dean felt his breath catch in his throat. He tried to laugh it off, but Castiel was looking at him with those eyes, the ones that shone like crystals.

"How long has it been?" Castiel asked, stepping even closer.

"Three or four months," Dean replied automatically, then softened, "Cas, I miss you so damn much, I can't even-"

"Shh," the angel rested his forehead against his. Dean leaned into it, accepting the comfort. "I'm here, Dean, I'm not going anywhere."

Dean opened his eyes, not even realizing he had shut them and stared into bright blue. He brought his lips to Castiel's and-

"DEAN!"

The scream shook him violently. He was standing back in the living room. The moon was back to normal and the crystals were gone. The only thing remaining was an electric current running back and forth over his lips.

"Dean," the same familiar voice spoke.

"Cas?"

He stood in front of Dean as before, but looked less... Solid. More like a projection of himself, like a ghost...

"Oh, God Cas, tell me you're not-"

"I'm not dead. I'm projecting myself into your dream," his image flickered, like television static, "It is more difficult with humans. I'm not sure how long it will last."

"It's okay, um," Dean's mind flashed back to a minute earlier in the backyard. God, he hoped the angel didn't see that. "Where are you, Cas? What's got you?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel grimaced, "On either accounts. I have only seen the inside of my prison cell. The wards are keeping me from using my abilities or contacting my brothers. But this... Thing is powerful. You can't come looking for me, Dean. Not even the angels would be able to stop it. You have to promise me-"

"Cas, you know I can't do that," Dean cut him off, "You know I can't just sit here with my thumb up my ass while you're stuffed in some freak's basement. I can't... I can't promise you I won't come looking. I can't."

"Dean," the angel squeezed his shoulder, "If you come after this thing, you will die and so will Sam. I can't have your blood on my hands, Dean," he let his hand fall back to his side and straightened his shoulder, "Because if I do, I will have killed myself long before this monster could."

Dean felt his heart drop into his stomach, "Cas, I-"

"Please, Dean," Cas sighed, sounding tired and a lifetime older, "Don't."

But he knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't just not do anything and wait for Cas to die.

The angel's image became fuzzier, flickering frequently. "I have to go. I don't know when I'll have the strength to project again. I-" he stopped, his mouth twisting with pain, "If I don't see you again, thank you, Dean. For everything."

"Don't talk like that. I'll see you again. Just don't give up, Cas. Stay ali-"

~•~

Dean sat up straight on the cot, gasping for breath. His clothes were plastered to his skin with sweat. His hair felt like he had just run through a sprinkler, yet he shook with cold chills coursing through his body.

"Dean?" Sam was at his bed in seconds, looking panicked in the early morning light, "What's wrong? Are you-"

Dean had a two second warning before he leaned over the other side of the bed and vomited, ridding his stomach of all it's contents. His brother looked even more worried, if that was possible. His brother mumbled something about a cool rag and ran into the kitchen. Dean tried to gain composure before he got back, but obviously dream projecting really wasn't meant for humans. But it was worth it. It was worth more than anything in the world.

An hour of 'I'm fine's and 'Come on, Sammy's later, had Sam and Dean in the car and on their way to Lawrence.

"So why are we going to Missouri's again?" Sam asked for the third time, confusion wrinkling his face.

Dean sighed, "I told you, Sammy. Back when Dad would head over there every other week, I actually listen while you just sat there looking stupid. He would always ask about some dream he had about Mom and Missouri would say that 'the connection is always strongest after you dream of someone'. But this wasn't dreaming, Sam. This was an actual connection."

Dean paused letting that sink in, "Maybe she'll be able to work her hoodoo mumbo and find Cas."

"Yeah, Dean," Sam pulled his best 'I'm not sure about this' face, "But, even if she can find Cas, we still don't know how to kill the thing that took him. And if it's as bad as Cas and Gabriel say it is, then I don't think just betting on Ruby's knife is a good plan."

"We can worry about that later," Dean spotted the road sign that read Lawerence, Kansas 47 miles, "Just drive faster."

A half hour later they pulled into Missouri's driveway with her already waiting on the front porch. As soon as they were within ear- shot (or mind- shot or whatever) her face contorted with concern.

"Come in, come in, boys," she all but pushed them through the door, "We have to hurry now."

"Missouri, I-" Dean started, but the psychic stopped him with a small smile.

"I understand, Dean," she turned to Sam, "I love you, boy, but you cannot be in here for the reading. I must have complete and utter focus on your brother's noodle here."

Sam seemed wary. He shot Dean one last worried glance and he nodded, attempting a grin, but feeling a grimace. His brother reluctantly went to sit in the living room while Missouri dragged Dean down another hallway.

"First off," the little woman turned around to smack him on the shoulder, "How dare you let four months go by, thinkin' nothing of it."

"I know, I know, I-"

"Second off," Missouri continued into a small candle lit room, "Why won't you man up and admit to yourself what's really going on between you and that angel?"

Dean froze pulling out his chair. He started to deny it, but Missouri spoke again, "You know what? Never mind, now your mind's runnin' a mile a minute. One thing at a time I suppose. Here, give me your hands."

Dean sat down at the little table and offered up his hands. He willed his mind to shut the hell up already and focus on the dream. Missouri chuckled. Damn, he hated having his thoughts on display.

After a moment of silence, the psychic's brow furrowed. "Oh, oh my," she whispered, clutching his hands tighter.

Dean wanted to asked what she was seeing, but knew that it was best not to interrupt. She would relay everything back to him soon enough.

"Castiel," she said, like she was weighing the name on her tongue. Dean fought back a shiver. "He... He does not want to be found. It's proving to be... To be difficult to locate him. I'm..."

Dean waited, literally on the edge of his seat. "This thing keeping him is old. Older than The Lord himself. He... I can't quite make out a name... But he's got your angel by the wings and he has no intentions of letting him go... Wait... Wait, I'm-" she paused, beginning to shake violently.

The candles in the room were instantly blown out. The temperature dropped thirty degrees. Missouri titled her head up to Dean and opened her eyes, revealing them to be a deep crystal blue.

"Dean," she spoke, but the voice wasn't her own.

Dean nearly choked, "Cas? What're you-"

"I told you not to look for me. You have to stop-" Missouri blinked, her eyes returning to their usual brown. "Castiel," she spoke, her voice her own, "Castiel, where are you?"

Dean waited, holding his breath.

She blinked again, "Dean, you have to stop. I can't take-"

Then he was gone. The chill disappeared as if nothing had happened, the candles relit themselves. Missouri sat, pressing three fingers to her forehead, eyes closed.

"Missouri?" Dean asked tentatively, crossing the space to her.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she waved him away, "I wasn't expecting that. But I... I got his location. Although I'm sure he doesn't want you to have it."

Dean pushed his shaking hands into his pockets, waiting for her to say more. When she didn't, he couldn't of held back if he tried.

"Missouri, you have to tell me where he is. I can't- I have to find him. He's my-" the words stuck in his throat, "My best friend. I can't just wait for him to die."

Missouri lifted her head, her features looking as if they'd aged years in minutes, "Dean, you know I can read minds, yet you continue to lie to me."

She paused, thinking over her next words, "But I'm a sucker for you two," she smiled, "Your angel's in Michigan. Luther, Michigan. In some kind of underground bunker," she sighed, standing up from the table.

"That's all I can give you on location. But this thing that's got him... It's not going to be easy to kill. Just... Be careful, alright?"

She patted him on the shoulder as the entered the living room. Sam shot up like a rocket, ready for any new information.

"Thanks, Missouri," Dean grinned, "I'll call you as soon as we've got him."

"No need," she walked them to the door, "I'm sure that little episode will have me connected to the angel for a bit."

Sam gave the psychic a hug and jogged to the impala. Dean was already half way in the driver's seat, ready to map out the back ways and push ninety all the way to Luther.

"Oh and Dean," Missouri called from the front porch, "I saw that little dream of yours. With the crystals?"

Dean felt his face turn seven kinds of red. Same just looked at him then back to Missouri, confused.

She smiled, turning back to her front door, "Maybe you should try that when you see him again. I'm sure your angel wouldn't mind... Not at all..."

Dean slammed the impala's door before she could continue. He had the car out of the driveway and back on the road in ten seconds flat.

"What was that all about?" Dean could feel his brother's eyes burning a hole in the side of his face, but he kept his eyes on the road.

"Nothing, Sammy," he answered, "The important thing is, we got Cas' location and know a bit more on that evil son of a bitch."

Sam's excitement was electric, "Where is he? Where are we going?"

"Luther, Michigan."

Dean flicked on some AC/DC and turned the volume all the way up. He could almost feel his brother's eye roll as he floored it all the way out of Lawerence.

~•~

"I told you, Castiel," the man wiped the red covering his hands onto a handkerchief, "What did I tell you?"

Castiel wretched for the sixth time, pure blood emptying from his stomach. Blood laced with gold, the grace of an angel.

"To not... Not to... Call for help," Castiel wiped his mouth, "But I wasn't- I-"

The man kicked him, hard, in the stomach, forcing the angel to land on all fours.

"Fine then, allow me to be more specific," he brushed a black feather off of his cloak, "If you make any attempt to communicate with your little fuck buddy human again, I'll finish what I started tonight and you'll never fly again."

Castiel could only barely hear the door slam, dull pain aching in his ears. After some time, he gathered enough strength and turned back to look at his wings.

The beautiful, pristine works of art that once occupied his back were now gone. Completely mangled, dripping with blood and his golden grace. Feathers littered the floor, reminders of each painful rip.

They were broken in every way possible.

And Castiel only wished that the man would've just finished the job and cut them off entirely.