Castiel wasn't hard to find. A large, smoking crater had appeared in the middle of one of the fields, a few miles on the other side of the bunker. Dean hastily parked the car and sprinted through the long grass, his heart hammering in his chest. The closer he got, the more he could see inside the crater, and he saw the burnt shadows of Cas's wings singed in to the ground, his limp body twisted in to an unnatural position.
"Oh God, Cas," he said, throwing himself down beside him. Cas's body was burnt and bruised, he wasn't moving. "Cas, don't you dare leave me again," Dean said, shaking him by the shoulders. "Cas!" Cas opened his eyes suddenly and Dean gasped with relief. "Thank God. I thought you were dead." Cas sat up, looking bewildered and shaken as Dean helped him to his feet. The angel leant heavily on him and struggled to put one foot in front of the other.
"How long was I gone?" he asked hoarsely.
"Like thirty seconds," Dean said. Cas frowned at the ground.
"It felt like many months."
"Months?" Dean repeated. "Where the hell were you?"
"I don't know," Cas said, starting to limp back towards the car, Dean supporting him all the way. "I was trapped in some kind of void between heaven and earth. The banishing sigil dragged me back to heaven but Metatron's spell kept me out so I was caught between the two opposing forces." He stopped in his tracks, breathless, staring at the grass in front of him. "I couldn't see but it was very loud, there was a constant roar that deafened me. I thought it would drive me insane." Dean felt anger well up inside him. He was going to kill Crowley for this. "It is good to hear your voice again," Cas added. "I didn't think I ever would."
"It's good to see you too, man," Dean said. They had finally reached the car and Dean helped him in to the passenger seat. His clothes were singed, the skin on the back of his neck was red and burnt, and so were his hands.
"Can't you heal yourself?" Dean asked, pulling Cas's collar down to look at his wounds.
"I don't have the strength," he said. "Being trapped has drained me of most of my power. If I lose any more energy I may die."
"Looks like we're going to have to do this the old fashioned way then," said Dean, hopping in to the car and starting her up. "Buckle up, angel."
Dean led Cas to his bedroom before setting about collecting medical supplies. It felt strange having to treat Cas's injuries like he usually treated Sam's.
"Take off your shirt," Dean said. Cas complied and began to undo his buttons but he didn't seem able to pull off the shirt, and when Dean pulled it from his back for him, he realised why. Cas's entire back was red raw, burnt and peeling. "Jeez, Cas, what happened here?"
"I didn't have enough strength to protect myself entirely from the fall. I appear to sustained some burns."
"You don't say." Dean started cleaning the blistered skin and Cas didn't even wince. "I thought you were dead," Dean said. "When I saw your wings, I thought..."
"That can happen when an angel comes close to death. I was very lucky." Every time Dean looked at the state of his angel, he desperately wanted to track down Crowley and beat him to death with some kind of blunt instrument. But equally he didn't want to leave Cas's side until he was better. Once he was finished, he packed away the first aid kit and looked at Cas who was about to redress.
"Keep your shirt off," Dean said. Cas obeyed but continued sitting immobile on the edge of the bed.
"Cas?"
"You need to assist Crowley in killing Abbadon," he said, reluctantly.
"Not a chance. Not after what he's done to you. I'm not going near that bastard again unless it's to put a bullet through his skull. I'll take down Abbadon on my own."
"You still have to find Sam."
"Not until I know you're okay." Cas lay down on his side and Dean was concerned by how exhausted he looked. He sat down beside him, absent-mindedly folding his shirt and trench coat in to a neat pile.
"You're a hypocrite," Cas said, after a moment.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's a Greek word meaning someone who pretends to have morals of beliefs that they do not actually possess." Dean was about to give an exasperated sigh when he noticed a little smirk on Cas's face.
"Did you just crack a joke?" Dean asked.
"I believe so." Cas said. Dean laughed.
"I feel like a proud momma bird." But his mirth vanished quickly as he saw Cas's weak smile fade.
"Seriously, Cas, are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes. I just need to rest. You should find Sam."
"No."
"Dean," Cas said, pushing himself up with a huge effort, his face just inches from his. The look of pain and exhaustion in his eyes almost broke Dean's heart. "You cannot be angry at Sam for not saving your life if you won't save his."
"He'll be fine. I'm sure Crowley was lying."
"Then how did Crowley get Sam's cell phone?" Dean was suddenly filled with doubt. Maybe Cas was right and Sam was being held hostage or tortured and Dean was sitting here in the bunker just letting it happen. Before he could make a decision on a plan of action, his cell phone rang and made the decision for him. It was one of Bobby's old hunter buddies who had a lead on Abbadon's second in command, who was last seen in a warehouse in Kansas with several other demons. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to lure out Abbadon and take her down once and for all. Then he would turn his attention to Crowley, kill him too and get Sam back.
Dean told Cas about the phone call. "Will you be okay?" Dean asked, feeling incredibly guilty.
"I'll be fine. If I was going to die, I would have done so already. As long as I don't use any more of my power I will eventually recover."
"You'd better," Dean said.
A few hours later, Dean found himself panting slightly, covered in blood in the middle of a grey warehouse and surrounded by bodies. He had arrived to find six demons, all being ordered around by a huge, seriously ugly guy who seemed to be in some kind of position of authority. He had short black hair to match his little black eyes. He reminded Dean of a pig. Dean had killed two of the demons before the rest even realised what was going on. A minute later, the rest of them were dead too, all except the ringleader.
"I suppose you're the deputy I've been hearing about," Dean said, holding the demon blade under his lumpy chin. "How fast do you think Abbadon will come running when she hears what I did to you?"
The demon didn't reply, he just laughed, a hysterical, hacking laugh, showing his yellowing teeth. Dean drove the blade in to his neck. In a spasm of orange light, the heavy demon fell to the ground, dead, his eyes still open and a manic smile still on his ugly face. Dean wiped off his knife and stowed it back in his jacket, observing the bloodshed before him. Admittedly, he felt a little better. It felt good to be proactive instead of sitting around worrying about everybody. Suddenly there was a voice behind him. His hand flew to his gun.
"What did your little angel friend look like when he crashed back to earth?" said a smarmy, English voice. "I would have paid good money to see that." Dean pulled his gun from his waistband and shot Crowley in the arm.
"Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with you?" Crowley exclaimed, clamping his hand to the bullet hole that was dripping blood down his sleeve. "This is my favourite suit."
"You almost killed him you son of a bitch," Dean said through gritted teeth. He thought Crowley looked genuinely surprised but a split second later, he was back to looking nonchalant.
"Well that's never happened before."
"Tell me where Sammy is."
"I don't have him, Squirrel."
"You're lying." Dean shot him in the other arm. The sound of the gunshot filled the entire warehouse with a long, metallic echo.
"Will you stop that?" Crowley yelled. "Scout's honour," he added, "I haven't seen the giant bastard in months. I just made a copy of his cell phone. A twelve year old could do it. I just needed to lure you out of the bunker so I could find you, dimwit. I don't give a monkeys about the Moose." Dean was surprised to find that he believed him. "Will you help me now?" Crowley added.
"No. Thanks to you I've got a broken angel in my bed."
"You're more than welcome," Crowley said, with a sly grin. "It's about time you boys admitted your feelings."
"Shut up Crowley. I'm working alone."
"You know your incessant stubbornness is getting rather wearing," Crowley said.
"Yeah, well so are you," Dean said, cringing inwardly and wishing he could have thought of a better comeback.
"Save the trash talk, darling, it's not your strong point." Just then, he caught sight of the bodies slumped behind the table and his face fell when he recognised the leader.
"You thundering moron," he said. "You do realise that he was Abbadon's second in command? He was our best chance at tracking down that bitch and now he's dead."
"Exactly. I'm tired of being two steps behind," Dean said. "I'm bringing Abbadon to me."
"Bloody hunters," he muttered. "No sense of finesse, you just shoot things until you find the one you're looking for. You're no better than cavemen."
"Hey, if it ain't broke," Dean said, feeling his frustration grow as so often happened when Crowley was around.
"You are seriously underestimating the element of surprise. You will never catch Abbadon if she knows you're coming."
"Wanna bet?" Crowley gave a long, theatrical sigh.
"I fear I've spoiled you boys. You seem to think all demons are as reasonable as I am." Dean just raised his eyebrows questioningly at Crowley. "She will kill you for this," he said, as though spelling out a sentence to a pre-schooler. "And I don't mean in the flirtatious way that we say it to each other, darling. She will actually kill you. No ifs or buts, no deals, no compromise."
"I'd like to see her try," Dean said.
"I wouldn't. You've really screwed up this time, Squirrel, and that's saying something. Give me a call if you're still alive in the morning." And with that, Crowley was gone, leaving Dean alone in the quiet warehouse. He pulled up an old metal chair, and sat down facing the door, gun in hand, stubbornly waiting for Abbadon.
Four hours later, night had completely fallen, and there was still no sign of her. Frustrated and embarrassed that Crowley had been right, Dean stood and threw his chair across the room.
"God damn it!" he yelled, his voice bouncing off the metal walls. He walked out of the warehouse and in to the rain, circling the warehouse once to make sure there were no witnesses to see him leaving a building with seven bodies inside it before making his way back down the silent streets.
He walked quickly through the rain, wishing he hadn't had to park the car so far away. As he walked passed a narrow, shady alleyway, he heard slow footsteps behind him. He pulled out his gun and turned, but there was nothing there, just parked cars and trashcans. He told himself that it was just his own footsteps echoing down the alley, but nevertheless, when he turned back, his pace was quicker and his palms felt a little sweaty.
At last, he caught sight of his Impala, parked in a shadowy spot, just outside the orange glow of a streetlamp. He was almost there when there were more footsteps, and this time he whipped around much faster, gun raised. Before he knew what was happening, a hand clamped over his mouth and dragged him backwards down a filthy, garbage-filled alleyway. He yelled in agony as a blinding, burning pain lit up his back, and his gun fell from his hand as his whole body spasmed in pain. He struggled against his attacker but his legs gave way beneath him as he was stabbed again, the only thing keeping him off the ground was the stranger's tight grip around his neck. The man thrust the knife in again and again and then one final time, twisting it hard. Dean was drowning in white hot pain as he felt the blade scrape against his ribs. As last, the man tossed him to the ground beside the trash bags. Through the gathering darkness, Dean watched the man wiped the knife on Dean's jacket, adding a long trail of blood to the pool that was dripping down his back and on to the floor of the alley. Without a word, the man pulled his hood over his black eyes and walked away, leaving Dean alone and immobile on the filthy, freezing ground.
A/N Clearly I have a thing for cliffhangers... I know a lot of people don't have the patience for relatively long fics anymore, so if you're still with me, thank you! I'd love to hear your thoughts if you fancy dropping a review. See you soon, CMPerry.