A/N: I've got a certain Disney song stuck in my head here. ;)
Chapter 4: What Makes a Monster and What Makes a Man
Castiel felt heavy and disconnected from his body, mind too sluggish to fully comprehend why or how. He was vaguely aware of a voice fading in and out around him.
"If you didn't want me bothering you on the cell phone, you could at least acknowledge me praying by calling me back."
Consciousness trickled in slowly, and Castiel finally managed to pry his eyelids open, though at first his surroundings were only a smattering blur of black and orange. He felt a shiver run through his vessel, the action and sensation startling him into near complete wakefulness. He was cold. Why was he cold?
"Don't be a dick. Just call or text me back, alright?" Dean's annoyed voice faded, and Castiel groggily craned his neck around. He was lying on a stone slab in what appeared to be a concrete chamber. Shelves carved into the walls held urns with epitaphs engraved above them. Candlelight flickered across the ceiling, ebbing and flowing against the shadows, and the air was musty with decay.
He was in a crypt, which meant the raised stone table he was on was a coffin. Castiel lifted his head to inspect his condition, and found his arms and legs tied down with rope. Mere, mortal rope. It shouldn't have been able to hold him, but at the moment he could barely feel his limbs or his wings. His stomach also churned with the promise of violence, reminding him of the wretched sickness he'd felt after Famine's influence led him to consume all that raw beef. The memory itself almost made him vomit, along with the realization that there were still traces of demon blood in his system.
A shift in the air alerted Castiel to another presence, and he whipped his head to the side where the vampire from earlier was coming forward. Behind him, along the back wall of the crypt, was an altar with lit black candles, sachets of herbs, and tiny bones strung together. A tendril of smoke rose lazily from a bundle of incense, and its pungent aroma did nothing to help Castiel's precarious stomach. Paul was nowhere in sight.
Castiel struggled against his bonds as his captor stopped to loom over him, but the ropes were stretched taut over the edges of the stone slab and secured to something at the base that Castiel couldn't see.
The vampire closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Upon exhaling, his extra layer of jagged teeth slid out. "I think you're just about ready."
Castiel clenched his jaw, hating how utterly helpless he was. "For what?" he ground out. There were symbols on the altar, but he couldn't discern what magic they might stand for.
The vampire's face split into a grin. "For supper. I had to wait until there was enough demon blood left from the dosage to keep you contained, but faint enough not to ruin the meal."
Castiel stared at him incredulously. The vampire wanted to feed on him? That was what Paul had gone to the effort of capturing him for? Then…was that also what had happened with the other victims? But why?
"You…you said you were trying to stop Lucifer and the Apocalypse."
The vampire took another deep breath through his nose. "And so I shall. But first I must arm myself appropriately." He spread his arms to the sides and began to chant, voice dropping a few octaves. "Rahuraar, sakuriisat iisat a ti'pah kaawakit. 'A tarahkista'u a raah."
Castiel recognized the language as Maori, and the litany as a shamanic ritual, something to do with absorbing essence through consumption. It couldn't actually work, though…
The vampire placed his hand on Castiel's head, firmly turning it to the side to expose the angel's neck. Castiel's heart leaped within his chest, and he tried to buck the vampire off. Its grip was unyielding, however, as he leaned in. Teeth sank into Castiel's neck. He jerked under the shockwave of pain he'd been completely unprepared for, as though the vampire had somehow bitten straight into his true form. Or it was just that Castiel had become more anchored to his vessel since being cut off from the Host.
But then the vampire began to suck, and a shudder rippled through Castiel. He felt a hot trickle of blood leaking from the corner of the vampire's mouth, but also the sizzle of grace. His mind whited out in stunned shock when the vampire sucked again, drawing out not only mortal blood, but immortal grace as well. The agony of it tore a pained grunt from Castiel's throat as the vampire shifted his grip, teeth shredding flesh as more life force gushed from the angel's neck into the creature's mouth.
Dean tossed his cell phone onto the kitchen table with a scowl. Cas still wasn't answering, either prayers or his damn cell phone. At first, Dean had thought maybe the angel was just being petty. But now, several hours after returning to Bobby's, he was seriously wondering whether something was going on—and if it was, why the hell hadn't Cas come to them for help? Or at least let them know what was up. Dean thought Cas had finally learned how important it was to keep family in the loop.
Sam appeared from the den and leaned against the doorjamb, eyeing Dean's discarded phone. "Still can't reach him?"
Dean crossed his arms. "No." He glanced up to find his brother chewing on his lip.
"Me neither," Sam admitted. "Dean, something doesn't feel right."
He let out a frustrated breath. "You think he ran into angels?" It was always a possibility, given Cas was on Heaven's Most Wanted List, right after the Devil. It worried Dean sometimes, when Cas was gone for long stretches out searching for God. Or…maybe his powers had failed more significantly and he couldn't fly back here. But that didn't explain why he couldn't pick up his phone.
Sam's jaw worked. "I'm thinking back at the farm. How did Paul escape confronting that vamp without a scratch?"
"'Cause Cas did the heavy lifting?" Dean replied.
Sam pushed away from the door frame and moved further into the kitchen. "But Cas would never take off without making sure you and I were okay first. Maybe in the past he'd flit off without an explanation, but he hasn't done that in a while, and definitely not before checking on us."
Dean's gut started churning unpleasantly. Sam was right; Cas was always concerned about the Winchesters' well-being—sometimes detrimentally so. Him disappearing like that…yeah, something was off.
Dean swallowed hard. "You think Paul was lying?"
Sam shrugged. "I dunno, I just…it's bugging me. Paul didn't even bother to interrogate that vamp. What if there was more than one?"
Now Dean's gut turned to lead. That had been a pretty quick clean-up job. And why had they just assumed the vampire was working alone? Sure, that vamp they'd interrogated said it was just the one, but he could have been wrong, or lying. And what was the monster doing all the way out at an isolated farm, anyway?
Dean surged to his feet. Dammit, he'd gotten lazy, that's what it was. He hadn't wanted to work the case from the beginning, and he'd let that cloud his judgment into doing a half-ass job. Snatching his phone up, he strode toward the den to grab his keys. "We should go back to the farm, take a closer look around."
Sam followed on his heels in silent agreement. Neither of them said it, but they both hoped they hadn't screwed up royally…and that they hadn't just left Cas there when he actually might have needed them.
Nerves and tension made Dean push the speed limit a lot more than the first time he'd made this drive, and they arrived at the farm with half an hour to spare before sunset. Dean popped the trunk. They wordlessly retrieved their machetes, just in case, and then headed off in the direction Paul and Cas had gone to investigate that morning. The area was still eerily vacant, though a few crickets had started up their twilight song early.
Sam gestured toward a barn. Raising their weapons at the ready, they approached the closed door. Part of Dean felt foolish about the whole thing; it was too quiet for anyone to be here. And yet, that stillness also kinda terrified him.
He gripped the door and tugged it open with a grating creak. Sam slipped inside first, Dean right behind him. The first thing that hit Dean was the acrid tang of burnt reeds hanging on the air. Someone had lit a fire here recently. Maybe Cas had winged off to search the grounds further, caught another monster, and then stayed to take care of it, since the Winchesters had left without him. Which Dean felt damn guilty about now. Though, he also kinda hoped that was the case, and that was why Cas was pissed enough not to return his calls.
That meager hope was shattered, however, when Dean's gaze dropped to the ground and the remnants of a scorched circle that looked too much like it'd been a ring of holy fire. A trap for an angel.
"Sam," he said, voice hoarse with growing dread.
His brother glanced over, eyes widening when he also spotted the blackened circle.
"Cas!" Dean called, sweeping his gaze around the barn. Nothing answered, nothing stirred. The light was fading fast, and Dean had to step right up to the burnt ring in order to look for wing prints…thankfully, there weren't any. But then where the hell was the angel who'd been trapped here? And…what were the chances it had been Cas?
"Cas and Paul came this way together," Dean started. "And…Paul asked for Cas specifically to join us." But why? Dean's jaw tightened. "You don't think…Paul decided to hunt Cas?"
Sam's throat bobbed, though he didn't respond. His gaze narrowed on something inside the scorched ring, and he stepped over the charred hay to bend down and poke through a mound of straw. Then he picked up what looked like a tranquilizer dart.
Dean furrowed his brow; no way that would work on an angel…right?
Sam lifted the dart up for closer examination, and his eyes flew wide. The dart slipped from his fingers, and Sam stumbled away from it, right into the wall, chest heaving and face green.
"Sam?" Dean lunged forward. "Sammy?" What the hell…his brother was shaking. Dean reached out to steady his shoulder, angling slightly away in case Sam was about to lose his chowder.
"Dean," he choked out. "It smells like demon blood."
Dean quirked a confused look at Sam, then at the dart he'd dropped. Oh, shit…
Sam put a fist to his mouth and staggered toward the door. Once outside, he threw both palms against the side of the barn and doubled over, looking ready to puke any second. Dean had followed him out, but kept a respectful distance. After what happened with Famine, being anywhere near demon blood had to have been torture for Sam. And why the hell would someone fill darts with the stuff, anyway?
Dean glanced back inside the darkening barn where the scorched ring had faded into shadow. "What do you think demon blood would do to an angel?" he asked in a low voice.
Sam slowly lifted his head, his breathing more under control. "Nothing good." He gave himself a sharp shake. "I'd like to know where the hell Paul even got holy oil."
Dean's heart dropped into his stomach. Oh god, he had… "I gave it to him." His pulse throbbed painfully in his throat. "Told him about the banishing sigil, too, in case he ran into angels. Other angels. Cas isn't…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Dammit, how could I have been so stupid?"
"It's not your fault, Dean," Sam said. "Paul seemed fine with Cas when he first met him." He shook his head. "You couldn't have known he'd turn around and use the holy oil on Cas. Not to mention…the demon blood seems to have been all his idea."
Dean didn't feel any better, though he did feel a surge of righteous fury spur him into action. "We need to find Paul," he said, turning back toward the Impala.
"There weren't any wing prints," Sam said, on his heels. "And Paul shouldn't know how to kill an angel, especially without an angel blade, so Cas is probably still alive. We'll find him."
Dean could only nod, because he refused to believe there was any other option.
As the last of daylight faded, he flicked a glance up at the gloaming sky. "Cas, if you got your ears on, I know you're in trouble, okay? Sam and me are gonna find you. Just hang on."
Dean had wanted to call Paul up right then and there, but Sam said they needed a cover story that wouldn't tip the guy off. So Bobby made contact instead. The gruff old hunter was a well-known pillar in the hunting community, and Paul didn't seem to question Bobby Singer calling him in for a case now that the 'Winchesters had vouched for him.' He wouldn't get in till the following morning, though, and it was one of the longest nights of Dean's life.
He was having too many of those recently. It was just over a week ago when he'd thought he'd never have to experience such an agonizing, sleepless night as the one he'd spent listening to his little brother's screams as Sam detoxed from demon blood. He tried not to imagine whether Cas was locked in some dungeon, screaming…
Dean paced the length of the den as the rising sun cast slanted shards of golden light through the window. Sam was standing in the corner, back to the wall, ready for Paul's imminent arrival. Bobby sat behind his desk with a shotgun laid across his lap.
At long last, Dean heard the rumble of a large engine, and Paul's truck pulled up the drive. Hand tightening around the gun in its holster, Dean ducked out of sight from the window and nodded to everyone.
A car door slammed, and a few moments later there was a knock at the door. Bobby wheeled out into the foyer to answer, grabbing his flask of holy water on the way.
"Hey, man, what the hell!" Paul sputtered.
"Can't be too careful," came Bobby's grouchy reply.
"Fair enough," Paul's subdued voice responded.
Dean braced himself, watching as Paul entered the living room. The hunter was using a small towel to pat his face dry from the holy water, which provided the split second distraction they wanted. Paul spotted Dean first, and pulled up short with a surprised look on his face.
"Oh, hey…"
Sam moved away from the wall and came up behind Paul. In swift, coordinated execution, he snapped a pair of handcuffs around one wrist, wrenched Paul's arms down behind his back, and cuffed the second. The hunter let out an indignant grunt and struggled against Sam, but Dean surged forward and grabbed the guy's jacket. Together, the Winchesters dragged him to a chair and shoved him into it.
"What the hell is your problem?" Paul snapped.
"What did you do to Cas?" Dean retorted. No reason to beat around the bush.
Paul sputtered. "What? Nothing!"
"We saw the burned ring of holy oil in the barn," Dean growled. "And the darts with demon blood."
Paul glanced between the three of them, then shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Dean punched him across the face. "I gave you that holy oil!"
Paul stretched his jaw until it cracked, and then lifted steely eyes to Dean. "Like I said," he ground out. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Dean felt a coldness settle over him. He should have been more angry. He wanted to be angry, to feel that hot rage pumping through his blood. But all he felt was a chilling numbness at the realization of what he had to do here.
Wordlessly, he withdrew a knife from his waistband. It wouldn't be that hard, channeling his Hell days. He'd done it before, after being topside. Yeah, it'd made him sick then, but nowadays his soul was practically dead anyway. That's what Famine had told him. So, torturing again wasn't much of a fall from that point.
Dean caught Sam's widening eyes, and for a moment he felt a pang of regret. He didn't want his little brother to see this side of him. But this was Cas they were talking about. He'd already been missing for close to a day, and who knew where he was or what was happening to him.
Bobby jerked the side of his wheelchair into Dean's leg. "Mind if I speak with you boys a moment?" It wasn't delivered as a request, and Bobby spun his chair around to wheel into the kitchen before even getting an agreement.
Sam started to follow, slowly, as he eyed Dean warily.
Dean pointed the tip of his knife at Paul. "Excuse us for a minute." He followed Bobby into the kitchen, but stayed in the doorjamb so he could keep an eye on Paul, in case the bastard tried to escape.
Bobby glowered at him. "What the hell you gonna do with that, boy?" he hissed, nodding at the knife.
Dean glanced down at it, half turning the blade to catch a glint of reflected light. He swallowed. "What I have to. And you guys probably shouldn't watch."
"Dean." Sam reached out to grip his elbow. "No. It was one thing when the angels asked you to do this to Alastair, but Paul is human."
Dean shrugged his brother off. "Biology don't count for much when that son-of-a-bitch did something to Cas."
"You're better than this."
Dean shook his head. At one time he wanted to be, but the truth was…he just didn't feel anything anymore.
"Maybe Paul is a monster, Dean," Sam continued. "But don't you dare let him turn you into one, too."
Dean looked away. Part of him wanted to hold onto that. But he also couldn't stop thinking about all the people who he couldn't save up until now. Cas couldn't be the next on a long list of wretched failures.
Sam's hand landed on his shoulder. "Cas wouldn't want you to do this."
Well, that put a chink in his resolve. Dean clenched his other fist, knuckles still throbbing from when he'd punched Paul. "Then what do you suggest?"
Sam glanced into the den where Paul was still in the chair, but the guy had started darting his gaze around in search of an escape. "Try reasoning with him first?"
Dean snorted, but didn't argue. Bobby shot him one last warning glare before the three of them returned to the living room.
"I don't get it," Sam said to Paul. "We told you Cas was one of the good guys; he helped us in Worthington. Why would you turn around and decide he was a monster?"
Paul shifted uncomfortably with his hands cuffed behind his back. "I don't think the angel is a monster." He flicked a nervous glance at Dean, who was still holding the knife.
Dean hadn't exactly promised Sam he wouldn't torture Paul…but his heart wasn't really in it. Just like it wasn't in a lot of things. Except protecting his family, and if Paul pushed the wrong buttons…
"Then why?" Sam pressed earnestly.
Paul dropped his gaze to the floor.
"You need to understand something," Sam said. "Cas is family to me and Dean. If you hurt him, then it's gonna be like Judgement Day upon your head."
Paul snapped his head up, eyes flashing with fury. "I'm trying to stop the Apocalypse."
"By hunting an angel we told you wasn't in on it?" Dean shouted. He took a step forward, forgetting the knife was still in his hand.
Sam shifted as though to intercept him if need be, and Paul pressed himself further into the chair.
"We figured his powers would be useful."
Dean and Sam froze.
"We?" Sam repeated.
Paul started fidgeting.
"Who the hell is 'we'?" Dean demanded, moving to loom over him.
"The vampire!"
The brothers exchanged bewildered looks. "What?"
Paul scowled darkly. "The vamp that's hunting monsters…I'm working with him. To stop the Apocalypse!"
Sam shook his head in disbelief. "How the hell do you plan to do that?"
"Dude was a shaman before he got turned. He's been hunting monsters, those who are strong so he can store up their powers from feeding on them."
Dean felt the floor drop out from under him. That meant…they'd captured Cas so a vampire could feed on him? To…absorb his grace?
"Then," Dean gritted out. "What was the body you burned?"
Paul sighed. "Some other vamp that Lamont brought so we could throw you guys off his trail."
Sam's eyes widened. "Back in Worthington, you told him to pack up and skip town because there were hunters nearby."
Paul didn't meet his gaze.
Dean snapped. Lunging forward, he grabbed Paul's collar and pressed the knife to his neck. He felt Sam stiffen beside him, but neither he nor Bobby made a move to pull him off. "Where are they?"
"It's the end of the world!" Paul cried. "I only did what I had to!"
Dean's throat was growing tight, making it harder to breathe and see straight. His grip on the knife might slip. "Don't you think we know that? Sam and I are working on it. But Cas is on our side here!"
Paul leaned forward, almost nicking himself. "Well you obviously haven't had any luck so far," he spat. "Why should I wait around for someone else to do something?"
This time Dean intentionally drew blood. "Where are they?"
Paul sucked air through his teeth. "Lamont set up shop in a cemetery not far from the barn. But you're probably too late. It doesn't take him long to finish off a meal."
Dean pulled his arm back. He heard Sam's startled shout, but Dean didn't drive the knife into Paul's chest; he merely slammed the hilt into the side of the guy's head, knocking him out. Dean staggered back a step, shaking from fury and fear. A vampire shouldn't be able to drain all of an angel's grace, right? Cas wouldn't…he wouldn't die from it. Unless…unless losing his grace made him human. His powers seemed to be fading faster and faster lately. Dammit, they needed to get him back, now.
Dean gestured to Bobby. "Find that cemetery. Sam, help me drop this worthless sack in the panic room."
A muscle in Sam's jaw ticked, but he nevertheless bent down to haul Paul up. Together, they dragged his sorry ass downstairs and tossed him into the panic room, then locked it up behind them. By the time they got back upstairs, Bobby had the address for the cemetery, and said he'd call them on the road once he narrowed down a potential spot in it. Then, for what felt like too many times this past week, Dean got behind the wheel of the Impala and gunned it.