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"Wake up."

Castiel winced as his mind surged back towards consciousness, bringing with it the stings and stabs and throbs of pain. He tried to bury himself in the darkness again before he could reach a level any more aware, but already he could feel the chains around his wrists, which had by now rubbed his skin raw and tender, the tight straining of his arms and shoulders, the agony all through the rest of him that he didn't want to comprehend. If he could just block it all out then maybe he could retreat once more to that place where he could no longer feel anything at all...

"I said, wake up."

A jolt ran through him as another being reached striaght into his mind and jerked him back, cold and razor sharp. Castiel flinched, moaning as his eyes flickered open. The world swam before his eyes, blurred and dark. With an effort that made him feel dizzy and sick, Castiel lifted his head. Zachariah stood before him, arms folded, one eyebrow raised.

"Always pushing me to such lengths," he scolded, shaking his head. "And needlessly, too."

Castiel blinked at him wearily. He couldn't remember whether he had fallen asleep or passed out, or why. Everything hurt, everything throbbed and seared as he pulled shallow, uneven breaths in and out. Zachariah stepped closer, tutting softly.

"You know how much I hate to do this," he said. "You know how I hate to cause my brothers pain. But you have brought this on yourself. Just tell me where they are, and I'll release you at once."

Castiel felt a small, slightly delerious laugh burst past his lips. Zachariah put on a fake, inquisitve expression, calmly raising his eyebrows, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"I'd love to know what you have to laugh about, Castiel, I truly would."

"You... do not... understand," Castiel breathed, his voice rasping from the screams. "Even if... I could br-bring them here, I wouldn't. And th-they won't c-come for me. Why should they?" He fixed his gaze on the floor. "You're w-wasting your t-time. I-It'll... never happen."

Zachariah's mouth quirked in a smile. "Well, you're quite wrong there. If there's one thing I know about the Winchesters, its that they can't bear knowing that there's someone out there suffering because of them. Its the hero complex - they have to save everyone and make a sacrifice at least three times a day."

"They're b-better than you."

Zachariah sniggered under his breath and turned away, wandering a few steps before spinning to face him once more. His calm smile was gone, replaced by a sadistic grin. He raised one hand in before him, curled it into a fist. Castiel's breath caught in his chest as he felt the attack, this time not on his body but on the limbs extending from his shoulderblades. His left wing joint cracked sharply and he screamed harshly, the agony searing through his brain in a way that flesh and bone never could. He could hear himself begging, pleading for it to stop at the top of his lungs but his stunned brain still couldn't quite comprehend what was happening enough to stop. His wing twisted and he cringed against the bar, tears flowing uncontrollably down his cheeks. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't be- The pain let off abruptly and Castiel's shaking legs buckled beneath him. His head dropped heavily forwards, blood and saliva dripping steadily from his lips. His whole body was shaking, trembling, convulsing around him. All he could do was hang there, trying to breathe.

"How did that feel, then? Are they still better than me?"

Castiel's voice had shrivelled up into nothing. Zachariah jerked his fist once more and a raw sob ripped from Castiel's throat as his limb twisted again.

"Well, brother? Are you going to tell me yet?"

His blood was roaring in his ears, his heart pulsing fast... no, not fast, he could hear the beats slowing, beginning to falter every so often. A sudden heat blazed from his eyes, only for a second, and then slipped away. He sucked in a rattling gasp, doing his best to calm down, tears still slipping down his face.

"I believe you're nearing the end, Castiel... was that what I thought it was?" Zachariah arched one eyebrow, a smirk once more flickering across his face. "I was going to hold you here until you talked to me. Of course, now it looks like you're not going to make it that far."

Castiel wished he could lift his head and shout something that would make Dean proud. But his eyes remained fixed on the floor, his mouth remained dry and bloody, his body kept shaking. He couldn't do it. Zachariah laughed and turned, striding away across the warehouse and leaving Castiel alone with his despair.


"This isn't gonna work."

Sam looked up from the huge chalk symbol he was drawing on the floor and glared.

It had taken seven hours for them to reach Missouri rather than eight, with Dean racing over the speed limit as soon as he hit the highway and Sam spending most of the journey with his eyes squeezed shut and trying to pretend he was completely safe. They had checked into the first motel they saw... and Bobby rang. What he said made Dean snigger and mutter under his breath until Sam finally snapped and yelled at him to shut up. It was a long shot, but if it worked, they might just get through this alive. And so Sam was willing to try it. They had torn up the carpet of their main room - this was actually a nice motel with a bedroom holding two singles, a bathroom and a large kitchen/living room with a television and microwave and tiny fridge, and a sofa which folded out into a third bed - in a rough, two-meter square to reveal the concrete floor beneath. It was on this hard surface that Sam was now chalking out the circle, pentagram and intricate symbols within that Bobby had sent him.

"You've already said that," Sam growled. "A lot. This floor is hard and my knees are killing me and I've screwed this symbol up three times already so, unless you have something helpful to say, shut the hell up."

"Jesus, you're so cranky when you're wrong," Dean muttered. He pushed off from his place against the wall and began to pace slowly, cracking his knuckles. "I mean, what if it really does not work? We'll be dead. And with angels that powerful on our ass, its gonna be a damned painful dead too!"

"It doesn't matter. Cas needs our help, like, yesterday."

"I know, I know, I just don't think this is right. Remember, go in smart or not at all, right?"

"This is as smart as we're gonna get! Dean, we don't have time to work anything else out!"

Dean nodded. "I know. I just wish..." he sighed heavily and shook his head. "I just wish we didn't have to go in blind like this."

Sam returned his gaze to the symbol and began to copy it out for the fourth time. Dean watched him for a few seconds before returning to the map they had spread out on the table, placing both palms on the wood and staring down at it intently. They had marked out the collection of warehouses that was their target and their way in with a thick red pen. Dean ran his eyes over their route, wetting his lips. Sam finally finished his work and sat back on his heels, putting down the chalk. He lit five candles, placed them at each point of the pentagram, then reached for the jar sitting beside him and unscrewed the lid. He poured the blood Dean had lifted earlier from the hospital into the centre of the circle - it formed a perfectly equal six-pointed star. Sam heaved himself up onto his feet, wincing at his stiff knees, and made his way over to Dean.

"There," he muttered. "Done. What time is it?"

"Five."

"Shit..."

"I know," Dean said, straightning grimly. "Its been thirty nine hours." He passed a hand over his eyes, turned to face his brother. "Fine. We'll do this plan. We got everything we need?"

Sam picked up the rucksack that was lying on the floor and placed it on the table, sifting through it. Inside were two spray cans, a coil of rope with a thick metal hook at one end, two torches, a pair of bolt cutters, and a strange, metal cylinder. Sam's fingers brushed the cylinder.

"Still can't believe you actually found one of these."

Dean offered a smile. "I know where to go. So we're ready?"

Sam nodded steadily. "We're ready."

"Okay," Dean said, mirroring the nod. He looked Sam straight in the eye, swallowing hard. "When do we leave?"


If Castiel shut his eyes and tried as hard as he could, he could picture the moment he had stood at the motel window and watched the golden rays of the sun picking out every detail of the street far below, listening to Sam's stiff breathing and the crunch of Dean's teeth on his hot dog, just three days before he had met up with them once more in the darkness of the alleyways. He could remember the magic of peach fading to pink fading to purple fading to deep blue. He could remember the way the buildings had looked silver. He could remember the feeling of belonging, of needing to stay... he could keep pretending for a record of seven seconds before the whip snapped down on him again like a tongue of fire and ripped his skin apart, thick, warm blood rushing down his body.

Then the game was up, and the real world crashed back into him once more.

He clenched his jaw tightly, barely suppressing a moan as he hung from the bar over his head. Kushiel moved around him, flicking the whip from side to side like the ticking of a clock. He wiped flecks of blood from his cheek, glancing at them critically before wiping his palm on his trousers. Without warning, his arm whirled up and over, bringing the leather strip across Castiel's shoulder and elicting a rough yell.

"You realize, if I slit your throat right now, you would die?"

Castiel bit his lip hard, doing his best to hold back any other of the sounds that were welling up inside him. He didn't have enough left inside to reply, and he didn't want to anyway.

"Zachariah is telling the truth. He wants you back on our side. He wants you fighting the right fight again."

"You spineless, soulless son of a bitch..."

"Oh, so I'm your bullet sheild?"

"The father you love, you think he'd want this? You think he'd ask this of you?"

"What you're feeling... its called doubt."

"We're done. We're done!"

"You're angels, you're supposed to show mercy!"

"Castiel?" The whip licked across his back. "Are you listening to me?"

The voices ringing in Castiel's head broke off, and he yelped as the pain slammed into him once more. It had been happening more and more over the past few hours, his mind drifting away to the past for short snatches of time. His head was spinning wildly, sickeningly, jolting back and forth between now and then like a jumping record. Between the blood and the pain and the shouts and the lies. Every time he came back, he was reminded that he was left with nothing.

No one was coming for him, he was sure of that.

He knew he should be grateful, should be thanking god that Sam and Dean had followed his orders and run for their lives. He should be happy that they were safe. And he was... he just wished that he was with them. And a selfish, spineless corner of him wished that someone was coming. He hated himself for it. He wouldn't want anyone to come here: they would be struck down at once. He was wishing death to whoever he wanted to save him.

"He'll be back soon. Zachariah. He said he wanted to be there when that stubborn light of yours finally goes out."

It struck him again, snapping around his arm. Castiel shut his eyes tightly. He could feel 'that stubborn light' blazing inside them once more, yet another threat. He doubted he had long left. The whip bit him once more and the light shrank away into his head. Castiel felt the whip again, striking once, twice... he couldn't feel pain anymore. He was beginning to drift again, only this time he wasn't coming back.

"Our father! He stopped being that when he created them."

"Its time to think for yourself."

"I don't know what to do..."

Maybe Kushiel was still hitting him. Maybe he wasn't. Castiel wasn't sure anymore.

In all honesty, he wasn't sure if he even cared.


Sam hefted the rucksack on his shoulder and sighed, his breath misting in the air before him like smoke. Crouched behind the back wheels of the huge yellow crane just inside the gates of the building site, he felt uncomfortably exposed. The icy night air bit through his jacket and ate into his bones, and he shifted from foot to foot on his haunches, one hand gripping his rifle. He also had two knives in his belt and a small handgun, and yet still he felt helpless. The steady aching in his side that the pain killers couldn't quite mask reminded him of the wounds he was still healing from, and that he wouldn't hold up for long in a hand to hand fight. It was for this reason that Dean was scouting the area, not him.

They had left the motel at eleven, as soon as it had become pitch black outside and they were one hundred percent sure the builders would be off for the day. They had left the Impala behind at the motel and taken the bus into town, then walked to the building site that Dean had tracked Castiel's mobile signal to. Despite the fact that they were eighty percent sure that it was angels behind this, Dean still carried a flask of holy water and Ruby's knife and Sam the rock salt rifle. Sam also had with him the rucksack filled with everything they needed. Their plan was sketchy, almost completely based on luck, and reckless as hell but Sam wasn't prepared to wait any longer. And with the building site deserted, the warehouses locked up, they had needed no more reasons to wait.

A dim scuffling reached Sam's ears and he tensed, rising up on one knee and lifting the rifle. To his right the scuffling grew louder, and then Dean suddenly appeared from behind the huge wheel of the crane and crouched down beside him. Sam relaxed, lowering his weapon.

"Okay?" Dean asked. "You gonna shoot me?"

"Sorry," Sam muttered. "Just a little edgy. What'd you see?"

Dean's eyes flicked towards his right. "All the warehouses are deserted apart from one over there. Lights are off but we've got guys wandering around outside for no reason, all in suits, all obvious as hell. Angels haven't learned much about laying low."

"And you're absolutely sure?"

"Pretty much," Dean replied. "Sure enough to go for it. So, you ready?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Lets go."

Dean held his gaze for a moment, and then turned and crept out from behind the wheel. He made a break for the nearest warehouse, ducking into the shadows. Sam took a deep breath.

"Hold on, Cas," he murmured. "We're coming."

And he moved out into the open after his brother, rifle in hand.

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