Well, Cas is on the hunt, let's see what he can find! Thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed! And thanks to my guest reviewer as well :)

Warning: If you have a problem reading about someone stuck in tight places you may want to skip the part at the end. :-/

Chapter Four

Castiel landed at mile marker 50 where Sam was supposed to have been found. They were about twenty miles from the hospital and even that flight left him feeling a bit winded. He gritted his teeth as he thought about how quickly he was falling. Ever since their encounter with Famine it had only seemed to get worse. He had been disgusted with himself for succumbing to such human needs and desires, and almost wished he'd had the luxury to detox from the hamburger binge as Sam had from the demon blood. He knew it was only going to get worse from here on out, and how long would it be before he actually did have to imbibe in food just to keep a human amount of energy up and to keep his vessel alive?

In the meantime, however, he could still track and he could still fight and he was going to find Dean and bring him back to his brother, and he didn't need his full 'mojo' for that.

He searched around the area next to the road, until he came to a spot that definitely looked to be where someone had tumbled down the incline toward the road. And at the bottom some bloodstains could be seen in the loam. He was certain this was the place Sam had come to rest and with a couple flaps of his wings, he was at the top of the rise, now looking down on the highway.

He cast about up there for a few minutes before he found a rather large puddle of blood soaked into the leaves and moss on the ground and more spattered onto a rock nearby. He crouched, frowning. It wasn't enough for a fatal wound, but if Dean had been shot, he would be weak and could have lost more if they had dragged him through the woods.

Castiel saw there was a faint trail, looking like a body had been dragged; hopefully it was a still living body. But Castiel somehow knew Dean wasn't dead. He may not be able to physically sense the hunter anymore with the warding on his ribs, but there was still a vague connection between the two of them, because of his handprint burn on Dean's shoulder where he had laid claim to Dean's soul to raise him from perdition. It was enough to tell him that Dean lived.

He proceeded cautiously through the woods, following the trail, but keeping an eye out for anyone who might be around. He finally came near a clearing and saw a cabin, smelling wood smoke that he hadn't before because of the direction of the wind. This must be the cabin Mark and the other hunters had.

Castiel furrowed his brow. He couldn't just go in 'guns blazing' as the humans would say. If the hunters had been working for Zachariah, then it was likely they could have even warded the place against angels in preparation for his inevitable appearance. He decided the best course of action would be to observe their movements and then decide how best to get Dean out, even though the thought of leaving Dean with them any longer than he had to frustrated him. If only he was at full power, he could have gone in, blowing through the door and smiting all the hunters before they could raise their inferior human weapons toward him. But now he couldn't even smite and Zachariah may have given them weapons that could actually hurt him. Of course, Castiel wasn't sure what couldn't hurt him anymore. Maybe a plain bullet would actually do him damage after all. He hadn't exactly put it to the test.

Castiel went further into the woods again and worked on circling the cabin. As he got closer, something made his skin tingle and he frowned, before stopping instantly and carefully crouching at the edge of some newly turned pine needles. He took his blade and flicked some of them aside, seeing a sigil scratched into the dirt—a nasty trap that would have left him helpless. He quickly slashed through it with his angel blade. Yes, Zachariah had told them to prepare for him. He would have to be careful.

There was another smaller place out back that looked like a shed or something, and as his eyes scanned over that, he saw a large dark shape hidden further off among the trees.

Castiel frowned, going over to see what it was, finding the object was covered in several dirty tarps. He began to pull them off until he unearthed the Winchesters' car, Dean's beloved Impala. Castiel knew Dean would want to know where his car was, so he was glad he had found it, but now to actually find Dean.

Perhaps if he waited at the back of the cabin for the hunters to come out he could start taking them out one by one. This seemed like the best option he had, and surely one of them would come out at some point even if it was just to answer a call of nature.

As he made his way back toward the cabin though, he felt something shift under his foot and there was a click and a sudden flare of agony shot up his leg, wrenching a surprised yelp from his throat as he tumbled to the ground. He looked down in horror to see a clawed bear trap biting into his right ankle and lower calf. Upon further examination, he saw the metal had been inscribed with Enochian sigils. He hadn't expected something quite this physical.

Castiel tried to pry the thing from his leg, but only managed to make it chew deeper into his flesh. He gritted his teeth, feeling woozy as he watched blood and sparks of grace seeping out around the cruel teeth of the trap.

The pain was so great that at first he didn't notice the two men who had exited the cabin and were coming toward him. But then he heard a surprised whistle and his head snapped up, his angel blade sliding into his hand as he glared at the new arrivals. One was a dark haired man in his late thirties and the other was an older greying man, more heavy set, and carrying a baseball bat.

"Well, look at that, Harry," the baseball bat man said. "You think this is our angel?"

"Doesn't look like much," Harry replied. "Nothing more than a birdie in a trap."

"Where's Dean Winchester?" Castiel demanded, trying to get up on one knee, even though the effort sent pain shooting up his trapped leg.

"You'll see him soon enough," the baseball bat man said as he raised the weapon.

Castiel was about to lunge with his blade when the bat swung down and struck him in the temple. He was thrown to the ground, grunting as the trap dug into his leg further and black danced across his vision. He tried to push himself up but he was hit again, and then again, and finally Castiel couldn't stop himself from slipping into unconsciousness.

Dean spat out a gob of blood during a breather in the beating, panting as he sagged in his bonds. He was going to be lucky if he came out of this with any of his ribs intact, right now he had figured at least five were broken accompanied by what would likely be bloody bruises on his chest and abdomen. He cautiously searched his mouth with his tongue and was actually surprised to find that none of his teeth had been knocked out. It could have been worse, he figured. Of course that didn't mean the pain was any easier to deal with, but he would take a million beatings so long as he didn't have to watch Sam get smashed into pulp with a baseball bat.

Mark was in his face again soon enough, hand gripping his bloody jaw. Dean winced as he stared balefully up at the older hunter.

"Ya gonna ask me again where Cas is?" he slurred. "Shove it up your ass Mark—gah!" Mark's other hand wrapped around his thigh and squeezed over top of the bullet wound. Dean growled past the pain, his eyes watering. Mark kept squeezing until tears were streaming down Dean's cheeks, making tracks in the blood at the burning agony that tore right down to his toes and up to his hip.

"You just don't break easy, do you, Winchester?" Mark snarled.

Dean forced his eyes open, panting as he ground out. "Yeah, kinda took Hell's head interrogator thirty years, so I wouldn't hold your breath."

Mark nodded thoughtfully, as he finally stood up. "Everyone has their breaking point, Dean. I'll find yours too."

There was a sudden noise from outside. If Dean heard correctly he thought it almost sounded like a human shouting. He frowned, and then with a horrified thought, hoped it wasn't Sam who had somehow made his way back up to the cabin and was attempting to rescue his brother in some incredibly stupid suicide mission. Mark must have noticed a change in Dean, because a small smile came over his face as he turned to his companions.

"You hear that, boys? Why don't you go check it out?"

Frank and Harry left the cabin, Frank carrying the baseball bat as he went. Dean hoped it was just an animal. Mark watched him before he propped one hip up on the table and stared across at Dean.

"Ya know, son, if you really thought about it, you would say yes in a heartbeat to being Michael's vessel. How many other people have a chance to really help save the world?"

"Oh, we are so far past the good cop stage," Dean groaned at him, slumping back against the post with a wince. "Mark, I'm gonna be honest with you, if I truly thought I had to let Michael jump my bones to stop this thing, then I would do it in a heartbeat. Stop Lucifer before he got to Sam and put an end to the apocalypse. But what you don't get is that neither side can win, Mark. It's a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation. Everything is not as it seems, and I know Zach probably gave you some crap about paradise and everything, but truth is, there ain't no such thing as paradise, it's just another prison with a fancy name."

Mark looked angry. "Maybe if you'd lost a wife and child you would think differently."

Dean stared at him, too tired to argue the point. "I've lost enough."

Sounds of struggle could be heard outside the cabin and Dean's ears pricked up. Mark was distracted from their conversation and he smiled down at Dean again, standing up to peek out the window. "Huh, looks like one of our traps was fruitful."

Anxiety roiled in Dean's stomach and he tried to fight down his panic as he braced himself for what Frank and Harry were bringing back to the cabin. He could hear their steps outside, and then the door swung open to reveal Frank and Harry dragging a trench-coated figure behind them, which they dumped a few feet away from Dean.

"Looks like we caught a bird in our net," Harry said to Mark with satisfaction.

"Cas!" Dean cried, horrified to see the blood staining one side of the angel's face and making his dark hair stick up at odd angles, but as he looked harder, he also saw Cas' right pant leg was shredded, and bloody, deep puncture wounds in his pale flesh showing through the fabric.

"What did you do to him, you sons of bitches?!" Dean demanded.

"Relax, Dean, he's an angel, he'll recover," Mark told him. "You on the other hand, we're gonna have to think about. I've still gotta find something that will make you talk." He turned to his companions. "Boys, I think it's time to try our plan B."

"Gladly," Frank said with a smirk.

"We'll give Dean some time to cool off while we work the halo over," Mark gave Cas' unconscious body a kick in the ribs as he accepted the angel blade Harry handed to him. Anger flared through Dean as he watched the hunter handle Cas' blade. "Heh, can't say I'm not curious to see what sort of damage this does to an angel," Mark said, looking pointedly at Dean.

"You'd do better saving it for Zachariah. If you take that blade to Cas, I swear I'll kill you all," Dean growled at him as Frank and Harry started untying him and were busy heaving him to his feet.

"Well, you are a loyal friend, Dean, I have to give you that," Mark said. "Cas and I will be sure to chat about that while you're having a time out."

Dean's body sang with pain and he almost lost consciousness upon standing. His legs shook under him, and his injured one wanted nothing to do with movement whatsoever. He didn't want to leave Cas alone and seemingly helpless with Mark, but he also knew the angel could take care of himself. At least, he hoped he could. Cas had been a lot weaker lately, more than before, even. But these guys were just humans, and Dean had no doubt Cas could take them if he needed to. What worried him was if they decided to invite Zachariah to the party. That feathery douchebag wouldn't be so docile.

"Where the hell are we going?" Dean demanded as he was shoved out the door and dragged across the yard. He saw a shed outside the back of the cabin, and figured it was used for cleaning the kills the hunters brought back. He swallowed hard, hoping they weren't planning on stringing him up and gutting him like a buck, but they bypassed the shed for a spot of freshly dug earth beside it. Dean was confused until he looked down into the hole and saw a long wooden box. His knees folded instantly.

"No, no, hell no," he shouted, renewing his struggles as Frank and Harry fought to keep dragging him forward and Dean just dug his feet in.

"Seems like we picked the right thing, finally," Frank said with a smile.

"Guys, come on, you're not really gonna do this," Dean tried to plead, embarrassed at the panic in his voice. But all he could think about was waking up in that coffin after Cas pulled him out of hell, alone, no idea how he had gotten there. Punching his way out as the air got thicker and thicker, thinking he was just going to die there and go straight back to the pit. He couldn't do that again. Could not do it.

"Sweet dreams, Deano," Harry told him before he took hold of Dean while Frank grabbed a shovel. Then Harry shoved Dean forward and the younger man tumbled into the freshly dug grave.

The last thing he remembered was falling into the wooden box and then he hit his head and was out.

Castiel came to with a start. Unconsciousness was an odd feeling, one he wasn't used to. There was a vague throb in his head and another in his right lower leg but he was sitting upright, which was odd, he should be on the ground. Then he realized his back was flush with something hard and his arms were wrenched around it backwards and tied together. He blinked several times to clear his blurred vision and looked around the room, seeing a man sitting back in a chair a few feet away, tossing Castiel's angel blade from hand to hand.

He looked up when he saw Castiel stir and kicked out at his foot. "You awake there, halo?"

Castiel glowered up at him. "I'm not asleep, no."

"Good, I was hoping you wouldn't stay out for much longer. Castiel, right?" the man asked, pointing the blade at him.

"Yes. And you must be Mark." Castiel discovered with some surprise that he had only been bound with regular rope. Even in his fallen state, he could easily snap that to get free. If these men had been expecting him, wouldn't they have taken more precautions? And then he looked down and realized why they hadn't bothered. A crude circle of binding sigils had been painted around the post he sat against, kind of the same idea as a demon trap. It would trap him in the circle unless broken and keep a hold on his already depleted powers. Even now, he felt his grace trying to heal his body, but it was sluggish at best.

"Sorry, Cas, not going anywhere for a while," Mark told him as he stood up and went to stand at the very edge of the circle at Castiel's feet, pointing the blade at him. "I got someone willing to pay a handsome price for your return."

Castiel chose not to say anything, but a sick knot formed in his stomach. He knew Zachariah would not be merciful when he got his hands on him. And Castiel couldn't allow himself to be taken yet, not until Dean was safe. "Where is Dean?"

"He's taking a much needed rest," Mark told him with a small smirk that Castiel didn't like at all.

"What have you done with him?" the angel demanded, leaning forward as far as his ropes would allow.

"I don't think you need to be concerned with him right now, I think you should be more concerned for yourself," Mark said, crouching in front of him and tapping the angel blade against his chest. "See, Deano probably isn't going to be at his best when we get him back in here later and it will be a prime opportunity to wheedle a little yes out of him. And what better way to move that along than getting one of his best friends to urge him to do it."

Castiel glared at him. "Dean will never say yes to Michael. I won't let him."

"Well, I'll see if I can persuade you then," Mark said, and sliced the angel blade experimentally down Castiel's jawline. The angel winced slightly and Mark watched in fascination as the wound briefly glowed with grace before filling with blood and dripping down Castiel's neck. The hunter whistled appreciatively.

"Well, this really does work well, doesn't it?"

"You think your petty human interrogation techniques can really sway me?" Castiel asked. "The things Zachariah has planned for me you cannot even imagine."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to step up my game then," Mark said and reached out to loosen Castiel's tie, popping the first couple buttons of his shirt and dragging the blade deeply across his sternum. Castiel cringed, biting back the yelp that wanted to escape at the burning pain.

Mark was interrupted when the door opened and the other two hunters, Frank and Harry entered, smug grins on their faces and dirt on their jeans. Mark stood and turned to them.

"Well?" he asked.

"He didn't like that at all, good call, Mark," Harry said. "I think he'll be nice and complaint by the time we pull him up."

"What have you done with Dean?" Castiel demanded, hating the sneers on the hunter's faces. He wished to wipe them off with the blade Mark now held.

"Don't you worry your pretty head, halo," Frank said with a smirk. "He's not your concern."

"Help me work the angel over, boys," Mark told them. "I want him to be well done by the time Dean sees him again."

Mark strode toward Castiel with the blade again, but this time, the angel was ready for him. As Mark stepped over the edge of the circle, Castiel kicked upward suddenly, catching the hunter between the legs and dropping him with a grunt. He snapped his bonds, grabbed his discarded angel blade and slammed it into the sigil, instantly cutting it's power. Then he was on his feet, meeting Frank and Harry who rushed toward him with various weapons.

Castiel dodged the bat Harry swung at him and smashed the hilt of his blade into the man's temple, dropping him like a rock. Then he turned to grab the barrel of the shotgun Frank was trying to shoot him with and shoved it backwards into the man's gut, folding him over before Castiel threw him across the room where he slammed into the wall and stayed still.

Mark was staggering to his feet and Castiel helped him up the rest of the way, slamming him against the post he had been previously tied to and putting his face close to the hunter's.

"Where is Dean?" he demanded.

"Zachari—" Mark started to shout, but Castiel cut him off with his blade pressing into the man's jugular.

"Another word that is not about where Dean is and I will bleed you out and move to the next one, do you understand?"

Mark stared at him for a moment before Castiel slammed him against the post again. "Dean! Where is he?" He gathered his strength and forced it to manifest in his eyes, glowing blue and angry. Mark looked about ready to wet himself by now and started babbling.

"Okay, okay, he's out back. By the shed! Take him and go! It's not like Zachariah won't find you."

Castiel stared at him for several long seconds as Mark shook in his grip, then he nodded once and slammed his blade hilt into the man's head, knocking him unconscious before he dropped him carelessly to the floor.

Castiel stowed his blade and quickly tied the three hunters up so they couldn't leave. Then he frowned and straightened his tie before he left the cabin and hurried to find Dean.

Dean woke in darkness. He couldn't see, but there was a feeling of closeness to his surroundings, suffocating and warm. He groaned and turned his aching head. His whole body ached, really. He drew one arm up to touch his head and found the action difficult. It was as if he were stuck somewhere.

Getting more and more uncomfortable, Dean tried to sit up, but only got a few inches before his head hit something. He shuffled around, pressing shaking hands to all sides and tried to force back the panic that was rising in his throat. No, no, it wasn't happening again. It couldn't be happening again.

He fumbled in his jeans pockets, but there was no lighter.

"Hey!" he tried to call, but his voice was hardly a hoarse whisper. Sweat beaded down his face as he started weakly thumping at the wooden sides of the box. He would not call it a coffin, he wouldn't.

But that opened the floodgates as all rational thought slipped away from him and he was only fighting to survive. He began slamming at the roof, until his hands bled, clawing until he broke his nails, and kicking as well as he could. And screaming. Somewhere in his mind he knew he shouldn't be expending energy like that, that he should reserve what air was left in the space, but he was beyond all that, he was already too far gone.

He just needed to get out!

I am actually sorry for that cliffie- poor Dean :( But I decided since this one is particularly mean and there's only a couple chapters left of this story, I'll post the next one on Monday! so look forward to an update then! (And if I forget, feel free to send me a message to complain lol)