Chapter Four
Castiel was dragged back through the mansion toward the slaves' quarters. He staggered between the guards, his legs still shaky from the major shock he'd received from touching the wall. He was disgruntled to say the least. Of course they would have warded the walls so that no one wearing one of the collars could cross them. Even the short amount of time he'd been in the captivity of the faeries, he could tell that they weren't the type to play around when it came to keeping their 'property' in check. Power play seemed to mean everything to them.
Still, he was possibly angrier that Crowley had been right and that the demon hadn't had the decency to say anything, just watch as he shocked himself on the barrier and alerted the guards before promptly disappearing, thus leaving Castiel to serve whatever punishment came now alone.
Demons.
He was dragged into a room off of the bathroom, also with blank tile floors and walls. It was dark and dingy and had chains and manacles and other foreboding things lying around.
Castiel was shoved inside and Aiden appeared soon after, his baton in his hand.
"What happened?"
"Little bird tried to escape," one of the guards sneered, shoving Castiel hard in the back and sending him staggering forward a step. "Got a bit of a surprise."
"Ah, yes," Aiden said, coming forward and shoving his baton up under Castiel's chin, raising his head. "I forgot to mention not to bother trying to escape over the wall. Those runes in the collar are linked to our magic which is protecting this place, keeping it hidden from those who shouldn't be seeing it. And making sure that those who are supposed to stay inside do so."
Castiel grit his teeth and glowered. Aiden stared him down for a second before he stepped back, nodding to the guards. "Tie him up."
They yanked Castiel toward the back of the room where a grate leaned against the wall. His coat was manhandled off of him, followed soon by his shirt then he was shoved face first against the grate and his arms were spread and manacled at the wrists to the metal slats. Castiel shifted in discomfort as his skin pressed against the cold, rough metal. It looked rusty, but upon closer inspection, Castiel realized the color wasn't in fact from rust.
It was from blood.
A pit opened in his stomach. As if the day couldn't get any worse.
He saw Aiden out of the corner of his eye. The faery was opening a cupboard in the wall and pulled something from inside. Castiel felt his stomach sink again as he saw it was a whip, a cat-of-nine tails. He swallowed hard.
"You will learn your place here, angel," Aiden said, coming over to the grate and leaning close to Castiel, the lash's tails tickling against his arm as Aiden rested his fist on the grate above Castiel's head. "And it can get a lot worse than this, I promise you that. I want you to think about that while I'm flaying the skin off of your back."
Castiel only glowered at him, keeping his mouth shut, before Aiden pressed his lips into a thin line and stepped back, going to stand behind Castiel so the angel couldn't see him.
All the angel got in warning was a whistle before the lash struck him across the shoulders. The air was punched out of him but Castiel clamped his jaw shut, refusing to make a sound.
Another blow followed in the same place as the first, and another. Castiel exhaled sharply, feeling wetness trickle down his back in a couple places. He arched his back and choked out a muffled cry as the next blow landed across the small of his back.
"What's going on here?"
Castiel took a shuddering breath as Aiden halted, and he craned his head to see that Lord Calen had come into the room. "I heard that the angel attempted an escape," the tall faery said drolly. "I see you have it taken care of though, Aiden."
The slave master saluted with the lash he still held. "Yes, my lord. I am just seeing to his punishment now."
"Then by all means, carry on," Lord Calen said and lounged against the wall to watch.
Aiden nodded and raised the whip.
"Ah, Aiden, hold up," Calen said and stepped forward. "The angel must learn his lesson properly. So he doesn't try something so foolish again. You need to leave a firm impression."
Castiel shuddered, practically feeling the faery lord's smug smile boring into his back. He didn't think he would like what came next.
"Show your wings, angel," the faery said.
Castiel blanched, stiffening against the grating. "What? No!" he cried.
Calen must have used his powers because Castiel felt the electric shock of faery magic surge through him again and cried out, collapsing against the grate. When the pain stopped, Calen was standing next to him, a hand gripped in his hair, hauling his head back.
"Show your wings voluntarily, or I will make you show them," Calen said coldly.
Castiel decided then, looking up to meet the faery's icy eyes. He had suffered enough humiliation that night. He was going to suffer either way, he may as well try and hold on to what little dignity he had left. And really, he had nothing to lose. There was no one who would be hurt because of it except him.
He licked his lips and stared defiantly at Calen. "No. I won't."
The faery sighed. "Very well, have it your way then." His hand went from Castiel's hair down his back where he planted it in the blood between his shoulder blades. Castiel flinched but that was nothing compared to what came next.
He felt the faery push magic into him, the runes on his collar activated and the power charged through him, fraying every nerve like fire. Castiel screamed, arching his head back as he felt something tear in his back—not his vessel but his true form.
Static crackled on either side of him as his wings were ripped from the ethereal plane and appeared. Calen stepped back, satisfied, and Castiel shuddered at the shock, pulling his wings in toward his body instinctively.
Calen nodded to the guards. "Hold them open."
Castiel fought as the guards came to take hold of his wings, yanking on them to unfurl the large appendages. They already hurt, damaged from years of low grace and little care and having them forcibly stretched open like this made them hurt even worse, causing him to eventually have to give up his struggles.
Calen returned to the other side of the room. "Carry on, Aiden."
Aiden chuckled with cruel anticipation and stepped forward, lifting the lash again.
"You really will be sorry now, halo," he said and swung.
The lash landed across Castiel's right wing and he bit back a cry, still not wanting to give the faeries the satisfaction. The next blow and he bit into his lip. The next blow sent several feathers to the floor and blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth from the damage he was doing to himself with his teeth. The fourth blow came and he couldn't contain his agony any longer. He cried out, and continued as each lash fell.
He lost count, it didn't matter. It was just one flare of agony after another. The abuse rained down upon his already injured wings, reaching levels of pain that he had rarely felt before. He wasn't even fully aware when it had stopped. He simply slumped against the grate he was tied to, the manacles the only thing keeping him upright. Feathers and splatters of blood littered the floor around him, appearing in his blurry vision. He didn't realize it before but there were tears of pain leaking form his eyes.
A hand grabbed his hair and lifted his head. "Well, halo? Do you think you've learned your lesson?" Calen's face appeared in front of him, a satisfied smirk on his lips.
Castiel couldn't form words. The only thing that came out of his mouth was a pitiful whimper.
Calen reached out and grabbed his wrist, wrenching it around to reveal the brand there. "You belong to the King of the Unseelie. Remember that, angel."
He left, and the guards came over to unlock the manacles. But by the time Castiel slid to the floor, he was already blacking out.
Crowley sat on the cot, looking at the opposite wall of the cell, mildly curious as to what was happening to his angelic companion. Okay, yes, he had left Castiel in the lurch, but the angel could have listened to him. Should have. It wasn't his fault the bloody creature was just so damn contrary. He wasn't going to feel bad about it.
Still, he couldn't deny they were in a bad situation. Probably about to be made worse with whatever they were doing to poor unfortunate Feathers. Crowley just hoped it wouldn't mess too badly with their plans to find a way to escape. He really wanted to be out of there before the ominous guests came for the so-called summit.
He glanced up as footsteps sounded from out in the hall and there was the telltale rattle of the key in the door. It was opened and a few seconds later, a bundle of dark feathers was thrown inside before the door was shut again.
Crowley raised his eyebrows as he looked down at what was left of Castiel. The angel was unconscious, winged, and covered in blood.
"Castiel," he called in a droll voice. "Are you all right?"
There was no answer. The angel lay there unmoving, bleeding from a mess of lashmarks on his back, his wings an absolute disgrace.
And there the demon came across a dilemma.
Crowley could leave him there, of course, wait until he woke up, but Castiel wasn't going to be healing himself like he normally would. Not with the collar. Crowley was sure it was tamping down the angel's powers just as much as it was his own. Without the ability to heal, Castiel would need care, lest he take a turn for the worse—the wounds weren't exactly scratches, even Crowley could see that.
And Crowley ideally needed another set of hands to help him escape. Besides, he would never survive the Winchesters' wrath if they found out he had left their pet angel a slave of faeries while he made to escape by himself. On top of that, Cas had agreed to help Crowley find Lucifer—it wasn't really a deal, but it was close enough and Crowley always kept his side of a deal. That's how he had become King of the Crossroads after all. Like it or not, they were a team, and Crowley respected that. Even if he wished the angel would be a little more conscious of others around him when he went and screwed up.
He rolled his eyes skyward and heaved a sigh. "Bollocks."
He climbed off the cot and bent to grab Castiel under the shoulders. The angel was a dead weight and Crowley grunted, cursing at the feat it was to maneuver the angel and his massive feathered appendages onto the tiny cot. Castiel whimpered, flinching, but Crowley ignored him, dropping the angel a bit more harshly than he had meant to onto the cot face first, hefting his legs up after and standing back, looking down at what he had to deal with.
"You know, Cas, just once, would it kill you to do things the easy way?"
He looked around and saw there were some cloths and soap stacked by the small sink at the back of the room. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.
Crowley walked over, wet one of the cloths, and returned to the angel to start cleaning his wounds.
He reached out to touch one of the wings that was hanging over the side of the cot, prodding at a broken feather, when Castiel's eyes shot open and he reached out to grab the demon's wrist in a crushing grip.
"Easy, just trying to help you out," Crowley cautioned.
Castiel stared at him for a long moment. "Crowley," he finally said as if just now recognizing the demon.
"Yes, no one's ever complimented me on my bedside manner but I can't be much worse than your flannel wearing bumpkins," Crowley snorted.
Castiel was already pushing himself up, but he huffed a pained groan through clenched teeth and Crowley forced him back onto the cot.
"Easy, Cas. You took quite the beating."
"I don't need help from you," the angel grunted.
"And you're going to clean your back and wings yourself and heal the wounds with your grace?" Crowley inquired wryly, raising an eyebrow. The angel glared up at him.
"Why do you suddenly care? You're the one who left me out there to begin with."
"And if I had gotten caught with you who would be tending your wounds now?" Crowley demanded. "I know you're used to partnering with self-sacrificing idiots, but I'm actually interested in getting us out of here, not sharing in the suffering. And we're not going to get out of here if you're half dead, now, are we? So I would appreciate it if you lie back and let me clean you up. I won't offer twice."
Castiel watched him for a long moment, a flurry of emotion on his face, his jaw working, before he finally slumped, dropping his head down onto one arm. "Fine."
"Finally seeing some sense," Crowley quipped and bent to begin cleaning.
The angel really was a mess. Deep lashes across his back, and the wings…Crowley tutted. He had seen cleaner work in Hell.
As he turned from the angel's back to his wings, Castiel shifted, tucking his wings away from Crowley's touch, turning to look at the demon suspiciously.
"You've done enough," he said hoarsely.
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Please. Yes, I'm a demon, and I'm sure it's taboo for one of my ilk to touch an angel's wings, but let's get with the times, Cas. And the situation. I may not know everything about wing care, but I know broken off feathers can't be a good thing. If you want to risk an infection, be my guest, but don't think I'm going to carry you out of here on my shoulders if you fall into fevered delirium."
Castiel's face was tight with pain, but there was defiance, pride in there too. Crowley fought the urge to roll his eyes again. Angels really were all the same. Cas didn't want to admit he was like the rest of his kind, but he was in so many ways. Especially that pride, and the racism. Even if a demon tried to help him he didn't want anything to do with them. Typical.
"It's not like the Winchesters haven't seen your wings, tended to them," he tried, probing.
Cas ducked his head though, looking at the floor. Crowley furrowed his brow. "What? You're telling me even Sam and Dean haven't seen your feathery bits? I suppose that explains the state of you."
"It's not their problem," Cas gritted out, finally sitting up, his face paling even as he did that. "And it's not yours." He snatched the cloth from Crowley's hands and glowered at the demon.
Crowley folded his arms across his chest. "Have it your way then."
He went back to sit on his own cot, watching the angel attempt to tend to his own wings. He pulled one around his shoulder and tried to clean it, pressing the cloth awkwardly into a bleeding area. But the position Castiel had to contort himself into in order to reach seemed to only put extra pressure on his injuries and he was hissing, biting his already chewed lip to hold back even the smallest of exhalations.
Prideful, not to mention infernally stubborn.
But maybe not completely stupid, because after a fifth failed attempt, he growled out and slumped over his knees, throwing the cloth onto the floor. "Fine. It…it seems I may require your assistance after all."
Crowley couldn't help the smirk, continuing to lounge on the cot for a moment longer, enjoying being proven right yet again. "Are you sure, angel?"
"Yes, dammit!" Cas gritted out, then bit back a cry as his back pulled.
Crowley enjoyed the moment, the angel dependent on him, as he got up to get a new cloth and wet it with warm, soapy water.
Cas shifted reluctantly as Crowley returned to him and canted slightly to the side. Crowley reached out to steady his left wing, touching the arm of it and Cas stiffened instantly.
"Relax," the demon chided as he began to clean the blood from the black feathers. "You don't trust me?"
Castiel snorted. "Is that a rhetorical question?"
"And after everything we've been through together. We're partners!"
Castiel huffed back at him and Crowley shook his head. No respect, not from Cas, not from the Winchesters. And after all he did for them. He went back to focus on the task at hand.
Castiel shuddered and flinched as the cloth removed the clotted blood, revealing the lashmarks on the bare skin between where the feathers were sparse.
By the time he had finished the cleaning, Castiel at least seemed more comfortable with him. Or maybe it was just because the pain was making him more compliant. Still, the inevitable would have to be seen to.
"These broken feathers need to come out," Crowley said matter-of-factly.
Castiel stiffened again and turned around to look at the demon. "How many?"
Crowley searched his wings, pursing his lips. "At least ten."
Castiel sagged, hands gripping the side of the cot until his knuckles were white. He was silent for a long time, until he finally said, "Do it."
That was all Crowley needed. There was no point dragging out the inevitable agony. He reached out and swiftly, efficiently, yanked the first broken feather out.
Castiel arched his back and yelped. "Some warning?"
"It would hurt more if you knew it was coming," Crowley said and yanked out the next one, gaining a curse from the angel, which made Crowley's eyes widen, impressed. Dean Winchester had definitely been a bad influence.
By the third Castiel was panting heavily. By the fifth, he was slumping low, groaning in agony.
When Crowley finally finished, he wasn't sure how the angel was still sitting upright. Though pure stubbornness probably had something to do with it.
He picked up the cloth and wiped his hands on it. "That should do."
Castiel sighed in relief. His wings shimmered then they disappeared back to their place on the ethereal plane. Then he finally slumped down onto his stomach and closed his eyes.
Crowley watched the angel with a scrutinizing look. He really hoped this wouldn't keep Cas down for too long. He would like to get out of there before Midwinter if they could and they only had days. Being captured by one faery court was bad enough, but being caught in between two warring factions during a 'summit' was something Crowley was not at all interested in, thank you very much. He'd rather be Lucifer's dog than find out what creative things faeries could come up with for the people who were unlucky enough to be kidnapped by them.
Long story short, Cas had better hurry up and heal or his feathery arse was getting left behind.