Back with part four! One more part for this section, then…wherever this story goes after that lol :P Still not sure exactly how long it's going to be yet, but as long as you guys keep enjoying it, I'll continue it.

Part Four

"You must kill Dean Winchester, Castiel."

Castiel jerked awake with a gasp, flailing for a minute before he realized he was on the couch in the bunker. Shaken, he ran a hand over his face and was slightly relieved to see no blood on his fingers.

"Cas, you okay?" That was Dean, coming into the room now with a cup of hot coffee in his hand.

"Why did you let me sleep?" Castiel asked hoarsely.

"I figured you're still healing and we've all put in a ton of hours with all the research," Dean told him, fighting a yawn himself.

Castiel shoved aside several books that he had been reading and swung his legs over the side of the couch, running a hand through his already mussed hair. "I do not require sleep like you do, Dean. And I would rather not."

"Nightmares?" Dean asked him hesitantly.

Castiel looked up at him with a sigh. "Yes. They always seem to be there right on the surface."

"But not…visions?" Dean waved his hand vaguely. They still didn't know exactly what to call the episodes Cas had been having.

"No," he said firmly, then more hesitantly, "I don't know…I don't think so." He hoped not anyway, but the dreams did seem to have a different quality than the visions that would jump on him at any given moment without warning. Some of them anyway. Others, he wasn't quite so sure about. He hadn't told the Winchesters but there had been a couple times he had woken up with blood on his pillow or cheek.

"Well, I won't make you sleep if you don't want to, you're a grown angel," Dean told him, attempting to lighten the mood. "Come have some coffee."

Castiel followed him to the library table which was currently a mess of books and papers and boxes of files; anything that might remotely help them find what they needed, but they had been going at it for a week now and still nothing. There was very little known about angels apart from an outsider's perspective. At least from what they had found so far. There were vast amounts of knowledge that the Men of Letters had hidden away and they weren't quite ready to give up hope that there was some clue, no matter how obscure that might help Castiel with his problems.

"Where's Sam?" he asked, looking around for the second Winchester.

"I sent him to bed—well, dragged him really. He was out before he hit the pillow," Dean said as he set a full mug down in front of Castiel, and the angel gratefully inhaled the caffeinated aroma. Dean sat down across from him as if he was weighed down with a million pounds. "He's getting worse, Cas. Nothing helps. I wish he hadn't done this, like he had something to prove." Dean shook his head, biting his knuckle in the way Castiel had noticed he did when worried. "I'm never gonna forgive myself if he doesn't get better."

"Sam did what he felt was the right thing to do, Dean," Castiel assured him. "He would feel the same way if he was watching you suffer."

"But it's my job, you know?" Dean said with a wry smile. "Look after my pain in the ass little brother. But I guess I can't do it forever, I've gotta let him go his own way even if I hate it. I just have this bad feeling it's not gonna end well. These things never do, especially for us. And now you too, with this weird angel-cam installed in your head that we can't figure out how to deactivate. I can't help either of you, and it's making me go mad, Cas."

Castiel frowned, hating to see his friend once again taking all the weight on his shoulders, though he knew that was just how Dean Winchester did things. In fact, he might not know how to function if he didn't. "Dean, I think we should concentrate on the third Trial and leave my…condition for another time."

"Cas, we've already talked about this…"

"I know we talked about it, but I think we need to look at priorities. I'm just one angel and a broken one at that; this is just a personal issue I'm dealing with now, but closing the gates to Hell is a world-changing opportunity."

"Don't talk to me about priorities, Cas," Dean cut in angrily. "I've only got two priorities and that's getting you and Sam well. To be honest, I don't give a damn about locking down Hell anymore, not if it's going to end the way I'm afraid it's going to." He glowered across the table at the angel. "You and Sam are all I have, Cas. If you think I would throw either of you under the bus, even for the rest of mankind, I don't know where you've been for the last four years."

Though Castiel was warmed by Dean's loyalty, he was also worried. This had been the main failing of all three of them always, though Castiel could understand how easy it was to mess up when thinking you were doing what was best for humanity. He would never make a mistake like that again. Not intentionally, anyway. It had been Dean and Sam, after all, who had made him realize what free will was to begin with, and that loyalty to family and friends was often more noble than what might be considered the greater good. True, he had fallen for that reason, because of the Winchesters, but they had never cast him out, not once, and even now, after everything Castiel had done, even after lying to and betraying them because he thought he was doing the greater good, Dean and Sam still took him in and called him family. Because of them, he knew this was what family did; you stuck together no matter what.

But it was also obvious that most of their problems could be solved with the closing of Hell. Sometimes, maybe a sacrifice had to be made, principles had to be broken for the greater greater good. Of course, if it didn't mean Sam would get better, if he got worse or indeed died from these trials, Castiel knew that Dean would never see it that way, and they would be back at square one. Castiel didn't want to lose his family, so he was more inclined to agree with Dean than oppose him.

There was also another issue to consider and that was the danger he might possibly pose to them in his current state. Several of his dreams had been disturbing; Naomi trying to force him to give up his location, or betray the Winchesters in some way. He never did and knew it was likely paranoia, but on the small chance it wasn't and Naomi really could get him to talk while he was in his subconscious, then he was only putting the Winchesters in danger. He was tempted on more than one occasion to just go out and call for Naomi, put an end to this once and for all. The constant torment when he thought he had been rid of her was wearing on him more than he wanted to admit and he was so tired of running. For once, he just wanted to not have to run any more.

A sudden headache spiked behind his eyes, pulling him from his thoughts. He grunted and rubbed his temples, trying not to panic. It might just be a normal headache.

"Cas?" Dean asked warningly.

"I'm fine," Castiel replied right before he was blinded by another spike of pain and he had the sensation of being ripped from his body and transported somewhere else, hearing Dean's voice as if from far away.

But it was not Dean he was seeing; it was Naomi. He was sitting in a chair with her bent over him, her face only inches from his. Her hands were braced on either side of him, keeping him hemmed in.

"Tell me where you're hiding, Castiel," she demanded, eyes steely.

"No," Castiel told her.

She gripped his chin with her hand, jerking his face even closer to hers. "Tell me now or I will kill your precious Winchesters."

"You'll never find them," Castiel ground out.

"We have our ways," she replied, almost smugly. "Now tell me."

"Never."

She backhanded him across the face. "Tell me!"

"Go screw yourself," he said, channeling Dean.

Naomi was not amused. She brought up her angel blade and put it to Castiel's throat. "I have all the time in the world, Castiel, and I would love nothing more than to spend it carving every defiant thought out of you. Make you back into the good little soldier you're supposed to be. Don't worry, when I'm finished, you won't even know what you're missing. If I go far enough, you won't remember the Winchesters at all." He screamed as she started carving with the blade, felt something splash over his chest and face, and then…

He came to with a gasp to familiar surroundings, lying on the floor in the Men of Letters' library next to a toppled chair. Dean was standing over him with a worried expression and an empty glass. Castiel noticed his clothes were wet.

"Cas, you with me?" Dean asked hesitantly, putting the glass aside.

"Y-yes, I th-think so," Castiel managed, wiping his face on his sleeve, his breath catching in his throat as he pulled it away and saw blood.

"Here," Dean said quickly and grabbed some napkins off the table, dabbing at the angel's face himself as he saw how much Castiel's hands were shaking. Neither of them said anything for a long moment until Castiel finally couldn't take it anymore.

"Dean, it's getting worse. I think it's best if I—"

"No," Dean said shortly, standing up and tossing the napkins into a trashcan.

"If I can find Naomi I might be able to stop this once and for all."

"Are you crazy, Cas? She's able to get in your head now, who knows what she could do if you were standing right in front of her. I told you we'll figure this out and we will, no matter how long it takes."

"That's the problem, Dean, I don't think we have that long," Castiel snapped, his fear making him angry.

Dean threw his arms up. "What do you want me to do then, Cas? Hell, I'm half considering going to Crowley to barter for the angel tablet if that's the only thing that will break her ties with you."

"That's not an option."

"Well we don't seem to have any others."

"Dean—"

"You know what, Cas? No. I'm not gonna argue about this anymore. Do what you want, I can't stop you, but please just give us a little more time to look into this. We still have a few things to go through and who knows? we might find something. Just, please, don't do anything stupid. I can't have another person I care about throwing their life away right now." Dean left the room and Castiel watched him go with regret. He knew the elder Winchester was only trying to help, and that it wasn't fair of him to put this extra burden on him with Sam already so sick, but there was still a part of him that felt he had to do something, and fast, before everything fell down around their heads. Call it intuition, but he was almost certain this was going to come to a head sooner rather than later.


It seemed that the very next day heralded the downward slide he was dreading.

He had just gone to refill his coffee mug after long hours of research when a headache came on so fast that he only had time to register the crash of his mug on the floor before he dropped, blacking out almost instantly.

Castiel was in Naomi's office again, this time strapped down to her chair. He pulled at the restraints, but there was no hope of getting loose, there never had been.

"Why, Castiel?" came Naomi's voice behind him, making him flinch as she walked around into his view. "I just don't understand why you must continue to defy me. I'm beginning to think you're sick. If you'd just let me help you…"

"I'm not sick," Castiel said. "I just came to the conclusion that things here should be different and if you stopped to think about it, you probably would too."

She shook her head with a sigh. "Always defiance, Castiel. Do you have any idea how many times I've had to go in and re-arrange things to make you see sense?"

Castiel shuddered. "I would rather not know."

"I just don't understand how you are so stubborn. Though I know it's only helped along now by the deluded ideals of the Winchesters. They have corrupted you, Castiel. They made you fall. You'd think it would be a comfort to you not to feel anything for them."

Castiel couldn't say anything; he just glared at his captor. The thought of giving up Sam and Dean made him sick. He could never justify that.

"You know what I think, Castiel?" Naomi asked him, propping one hip against the arm of his chair, causing him to tense in discomfort at her closeness. "I think you want to come back to us. I really do. Just tell me where you are and we will come get you." She reached out to stroke his cheek and Castiel's skin crawled at the false gentleness. "Save you from humanity, from yourself and what you've become. You can start over, Castiel, a fresh start; everyone deserves that, even you. All those troublesome feelings can just go away."

Castiel jerked his head aside, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see her. "I will not betray Sam and Dean. They are my family."

"We're your family, Castiel," Naomi said, her voice steely once again. She moved and Castiel opened his eyes, watching her closely as she turned to the small cart beside the chair that held her tools, the instruments of torture that she had used on him countless times. His stomach flipped and his hands clenched. Why wasn't he waking up this time?

"Dean!" he tried shouting. Maybe it would register to them, maybe if they heard his distress they could snap him out of this nightmare. "Sam!"

Naomi's hand clamped around his throat, chocking him. "They can't help you. You're with me now. You disgust me, Castiel, depending so much on those filthy humans. Maybe I will wait to fix you again until you can see them killed in front of you. I want to see your face when I stab them in the throat."

"No," Castiel croaked out, before Naomi took her hand away and turned to the tray to select an instrument of choice. "I won't let you hurt them."

"I won't have to if you come quietly," Naomi said, holding up a thin, wicked-looking blade. "Renounce them, come to me of your own will and I will leave them be."

"You'll only make me kill them," Castiel said knowingly. "I couldn't live with that."

Naomi sighed. "Must you always choose the hard way, Castiel?" she demanded as she ripped his shirt open and put the blade to his flesh, a satisfied smile coming over her face as she listened to him scream.


It was a long time before Castiel woke. He wasn't sure what had happened, maybe he blacked out from the pain? He didn't want to open his eyes, but he shifted slightly, noticing that he wasn't tied down anymore at least. A groan escaped his throat, and suddenly hands were on his shoulders. He lashed out, whimpering at the thought of more pain, but he was shushed by a familiar voice, pressed back onto something soft.

"Hey, Cas, calm down, you're safe."

Castiel finally forced his eyes open to see an exhausted, worse for wear, Sam hovering over him, worry clear in his face. Castiel flailed a moment, gripping Sam's arm with one hand to make sure he was really there and searching his torso with the other for blood, phantom pain from the torture Naomi had inflicted on him still making his skin crawl. But there was nothing there. He was only wearing his shirt and trousers, but he could see his trench coat and jacket lying over the chair next to his desk—he was in his room in the bunker. Safe, as Sam said. Sam watched him take stock of his surroundings, still keeping a hand on his shoulder as if to act as an anchor to reality for which Castiel was grateful.

"You good, Cas?" Sam asked finally.

Castiel didn't know how to answer that. He didn't know what he was at the moment. "I, um… how long was I unconscious?" His voice was rough as if he had been screaming. He had been screaming. He frowned as he wondered whether he had actually been doing it out loud.

Sam glanced over to a clock on the bedside table. "About three hours now," he said. "You scared us, man. You just dropped and—" He shook himself slightly as if trying to shrug something off and gave the angel a small smile as he patted his knee. "But I'm glad to see you back now."

"Where's Dean?" Castiel asked, suddenly unnerved at the absence of the elder Winchester. After the confrontation with Naomi whether real or imagined, he found he didn't want to be separated from either of the brothers. He didn't want to know what would happen if the angels got their hands on them.

"He ran out real quick on a supply run," Sam told him, then swallowed hard. "He, um…he couldn't listen to your screaming anymore."

Castiel felt as if he were punched in the gut. His fears had been confirmed. What was worse is that he couldn't remember what had happened at the end. Had he said anything he shouldn't have? Had he told Naomi what she had wanted to know? "You could hear everything I said during my…vision?" he asked hesitantly.

Sam was silent for a while and then nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. It was like a one-sided conversation. Mostly." The haunted look in his eyes told Castiel how hard it had been to witness. He felt sick, but he had to know.

"Sam, please tell me," he began, swallowing hard past his aching throat. "Did I…did I say anything about where I am?"

Sam shook his head firmly. "No, Cas. Don't worry."

Castiel slumped back in some relief but was still not completely satisfied. He might not have spoken this time, but how many times could he resist before she broke him—again? If it had happened once, what was to stop it from happening again? Maybe he just wasn't strong enough. With a sinking feeling he knew what he had to do. He didn't like it, but it was the only way.

"Sam," he inquired. "Could you get me a drink? My, um, my throat is raw."

"Yeah, sure," Sam said and pulled himself to his feet, shuffling out of the room on the long way to the kitchen.

Castiel spent no time getting out of the bed and finished dressing before he stopped to look at a notepad on the desk. He hesitated, then scrawled a quick note, knowing it would do little good, but he could only hope. He heard the front door to the bunker creak open and knew he couldn't wait another minute. With a deep breath he stretched his wings and flew before he could have a chance to rethink his decision.


Dean climbed back into the Impala with his purchases—several bottles of scotch. With the way things were going lately, he would probably be back at the store before dawn. He closed his eyes and tried to force the image from his head of Cas writhing on the bed, the sound of his screams as he was suffering some phantom torment that he couldn't see. It was too reminiscent of watching Sam detox from the demon blood. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to shove an angel blade through Naomi's skull. If he didn't cut her into bite-sized pieces first.

He gripped the steering wheel hard as he drove back to the bunker. He almost didn't want to return, afraid of what he would find. But he knew he had to face it, and he couldn't really abandon Cas in his current state, that would be a dick move he wasn't about to make. But seeing him suffer like that, when he was already broken up enough seeing Sam walk around looking like he was on Death's door every day, was tearing Dean up. He needed to fix his family, they were all he had left and he wasn't going to lose either of them.

He was somewhat relieved when he entered the bunker and didn't hear screaming echoing through the halls. Maybe Cas had woken up or at least calmed down. He went to the kitchen and was surprised to find Sam there filling a glass of water.

"Hey, how's Cas?" Dean asked.

Sam offered him a small smile. "He woke up a little after you left. He's pretty shaken up, but I think he'll be okay. I was just getting this for him." He muffled a cough in his elbow and Dean promptly took the glass from his hand.

"You go sit down, I'll take care of Cas." He strode off down the hallway to the angel's bedroom and opened the door. "Hey Cas, I got your…" He stopped, frowning as he saw the bedroom empty. "Cas?" He quickly peeked into the adjoining bathroom but still no sign of the angel. As he turned back around his stomach clenched as he saw that the trench coat was no longer resting over the back of the chair and there was something scrawled on a notepad on the desk. Dean set the glass of water down and picked up the pad of paper.

I'm doing what needs to be done, don't follow me.

-Castiel

"Son of a bitch," Dean ground out as he turned and ran from the room.