Well the stupid reviews had to act up AGAIN all of friday but they seem to be fine now. I think I managed to reply to everyone, but if I didn't THANK YOU! :)

Okay, first, don't hate me for this chapter, and second, Crowley makes his regularly scheduled appearance. And Third-I'm sorry, Cas…(and Sam for that matter)

Chapter Seven

Castiel woke groggily, his whole body hurting and still twitching from the electric shock. They had really gone overboard with the cattle prod this time. He slowly levered himself up onto his elbows and tasted a coppery tang on his tongue. Upon exploration, he realized he must have bitten himself while being electrocuted and wiped the drying blood off of his cheek. Looking around, he saw he was back in the cage, chained only by his collar again. But he also realized something else.

Lauriel wasn't there.

Panic settled into his chest. He had abandoned her when she needed him most and now it might be too late.

Frantically, he checked inside the leather breastplate he wore and was relieved to find the small set of keys he had stolen from the guard. At least these hadn't fallen out. He was up and looking around the gallery but saw no one else there, so he decided to take a chance.

He leaned out of the bars as far as he could and was just barely able to reach the lock that kept him chained to the wall. It took a few tries at the awkward angle, but he finally managed to free the chain. This he pulled off of his collar and then easily reached through the bars to unlock the cage door. He saw the other creatures watching him as he got out, looking eager, and he nodded to them and said, "I'll be back."

He slipped cautiously across the large gallery and through the smaller room attached to it, and then out into the hall that he knew led down to the basement. He had to duck into a side room once to avoid a maid, but besides that, his journey was uneventful.

Castiel made it to the door that led to the basement and opened it, wincing as it gave a slight screech. He carefully descended the stairs and continued down the passage to the room they had been taken to earlier.

He heard voices ahead and quickly ducked into one of the cells, pressing his back to the other side of the door as he listened to two of the guards talking as they walked down the hall and up the stairs back to the main floor of the house. Castiel stayed in his hiding place for a few more seconds just to make sure they were gone and to listen for more, but he heard nothing and he decided it was safe to continue.

He found the room he and Lauriel had been taken to earlier but when he opened it, no one was in there. He looked around, wondering where else he could look, when another sound caught his attention.

He frowned, listening to the muffled sound, and realized with a pit in his stomach that it was someone sobbing. He swallowed hard and forced himself forward on heavy feet to the double doors that led from the small anteroom.

The smell of fresh blood hit him as soon as he entered and the sound ceased before he was met with a quiet inquiry. "Castiel?"

He couldn't move. He stood there, eyes unable to look away from the scene he was met with and feeling like his legs would give out under him.

Lauriel was strapped face first against a steel table that was tilted slightly upright, and the cause of her distress was obvious as Castiel, horrified, saw the wounds on her back where her wings used to be, the blood seeping down her sides and staining the white dress she wore. A table next to her contained a bloody angel blade, the only thing that would have been able to take her wings. Rage and grief surged through him as he realized they had just left her here, meaning nothing to them now that they had her wings. No one had even bothered to take her off the table.

He finally found his feet again and surged forward, unbuckling the straps that bound her. "Lauriel," he breathed, her pain making his chest ache. She gasped as she slid from the table and he caught her as gently as possible and lowered her to the ground, cradling her in his lap and careful not to let his hands graze her back. She clutched at him weakly, her tearstained face resting against his chest.

"I'm so sorry," was all he could say and that wasn't enough. Not for this.

Castiel held her for a long time, several tears slipping down his own cheeks before she raised her head and looked at him, gripping his arm tightly.

"Castiel, you must help me," she pleaded. "I cannot live like this."

His stomach churned. "Lauriel…"

"No," she said, her voice shaky, but firm. "Tobias will kill me anyway, just like the others. Dispose of my body. Maybe cut out my grace." She choked on a sob. "I would rather it be you. Please, brother."

"I can't," Castiel pleaded, horrified that she would ask that of him.

"Castiel, please, it's all I ask."

Castel felt a stab of guilt through his chest. It was because of him that this was happening, he didn't deserve to be weak right now, and it was true, what had happened to Lauriel was irreversible now. Death would be the only mercy she would get, and it would be kinder at Castiel's hand than Tobias' and especially Zachariah's. It was the least he could do.

He took a deep breath and shifted to reach for the angel blade, propping Lauriel up against his shoulder. "I don't want to do this," he told her.

She mustered a wavering smile. "I know. But I'm glad you're here." She reached up a shaking hand and placed it gently on his cheek. "Thank you, Castiel."

He choked back a sob, kissed Lauriel's cheek, and closed his eyes as he quickly drove the blade through her heart, making it as quick and painless as possible. She gasped and her grace burned out in a flare of light before she went limp in Castiel's arms—no wings to leave ashy marks against the floor. He carefully drew the blade out and let it clatter to the floor, before he settled heavily down, and held Lauriel's body, leaning over to press his forehead against hers.

"I'm sorry, sister," he whispered before the tears came uncontrollably and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

That was how Cartwright and the guards found him an indeterminate amount of time later.

"Castiel!" Cartwright's voice snapped through the room. "What are you doing out of your cage? You are being very unreasonable. You must go back where you're meant to be!"

Castiel didn't even look up at them. He just stayed on the floor, clutching Lauriel's dead body to him. Two guards came forward and tried to take her from him, but he only held on tighter. Cartwright wasn't pleased by this at all.

"Drop the body, Castiel! You are going back where you belong! Do not make Simpson and Martin force you."

Castiel snapped, finally raising his head to meet the madman's eyes. "I do not belong here, nor did Lauriel. You are a monster, an abomination; you and all the others like you!"

"You belong to me! It's not right—this is not right!" Cartwright screamed, fists clenching as he strode forward angrily. He snatched the angel blade off the floor and pressed it up under Castiel's chin, Lauriel's blood still slick on the blade, staining his skin.

"Do it," Castiel dared, glaring up at him, his anger making his reckless.

"Get up!" Cartwright screamed before raising the blade and using the pommel to hit Castiel across the face. It connected with his cheekbone and split the skin there, blood trickling down to his chin.

"No. I am not yours," Castiel told him. "I am no one's."

"You are!" Cartwrightscreamed again, getting more agitated and hit Castiel several more times before two of his men silently stopped him and drew him away from the angels while the rest of the guards finally succeeded in extricating Lauriel's body from Castiel. He struggled, but a few rounds with the cattle prod and he was subdued easily enough, to his shame. The right side of his face ached and felt stiff and swollen, his eye was already closing on that side. They hauled him to his feet and dragged him back up to the gallery, Cartwright babbling all the time about the angel being his and that he must do what he was supposed to. Castiel wanted to tell him something biting like Dean might have, but the truth was he didn't have the strength. He had failed Lauriel, gotten her killed, and though he knew he had done the merciful thing, it would be a long time before he forgot the feeling of putting the angel blade through her heart. The look in her eyes when she had begged him to do it. He'd had to kill his brethren in battle while protecting Sam and Dean, but this was different. This had been pointless, and Lauriel's death settled inside of him like a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.

Once back in the cage, they reattached the chain to his collar, but Cartwright wasn't satisfied with just that.

"Make sure he can't get out again. He must stay where he's supposed to be," the madman insisted.

Upon Cartwright's instructions, the guards ran chains with manacles from each side of the cage, securing them around Castiel's wrists and ankles so that he had to stay standing and could only move about a foot in either direction, not enough to get close to any of the locks for picking.

Then, even worse, they took his wings and attached hooks over the arms of them, keeping them spread open in a mockery of Arundel's mounted wings on the wall behind him. It didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable and demeaning and felt very vulnerable. Castiel was tired of being a spectacle.

To his disgust, Cartwright seemed appeased now, calming down significantly as he looked at Castiel with a pleased smile on his face. He reached through the bars and ran his fingers over Castiel's feathers, which he was no longer able to draw away. "Yes, yes, perfect, that is much better now, isn't it Castiel? Now you can't run away from me again. I do think that I will keep you after all, a permanent addition to my collection. You'll do well enough now. I know you will."

Thankfully, he left soon enough, and Castiel hung his head, no longer pretending his defiance. His muscles shuddered already at the awkward position he was stuck in and he couldn't help but wish for some miracle that would get him out of there.

Dean and Sam were frantically looking through everything they could find about anyone named Cartwright. Bobby hadn't known anyone off the top of his head, but he said he would look into it too and then all three hunters had started into research.

Dean hated doing research, always had, but there was something odd about researching a person and not some monster. Of course, any man who kept people—okay, he knew Cas was technically not human, but whatever—in cages could easily have been classified as a monster in his book. But he also knew that the quicker they found out who this SOB was, the quicker they could get to Cas and that other angel in the video who he figured was Lauriel. His stomach twisted every time he thought of his friend's situation. He and Sam and studied the video at length, trying to see if there were any clues they could decipher about the location—there hadn't been much else to do the night before—and they had realized both angels had collars on that seemed to be carved with sigils, likely keeping their powers on lockdown. And since Dean knew Cas wasn't at full power anyway, that could only make the situation worse.

His phone rang and he snatched it up as quickly as possible. "Bobby?"

"Yeah, I got your guy," Bobby said, without preamble as Dean switched to speakerphone. "You're looking for an Edgar Cartwright."

"Edgar," Sam muttered to himself. "I saw him in the records, okay, got it. That's great, Bobby."

"Well, not so much," Bobby told them grimly.

"What do you mean?" Dean demanded.

"Well, this guy ain't exactly a full barrel of monkeys if you know what I mean. Apparently he was the sole heir of a family that came from old money, and inherited the lot when he was only thirteen and his parents died in a car accident."

"So he's rich, so what?" Dean cut in.

"I'm getting to that," Bobby said annoyed. "He was taken in by a distant relative or something and soon after interred in a mental hospital because he suffered, quote 'certain psychosis'." Sam and Dean looked at each other. "Apparently he was always a strange kid, though I can't find any reliable record of what those psychosis are exactly. That stuff is all sealed, and technically isn't conclusive since he was a minor. However, he was released when he turned eighteen because he seemed to mellow out and apparently wasn't dangerous enough to keep in a padded room anymore. That's what the records say anyway, after that I couldn't find much. He seems to disappear off the public record."

"Yeah, I can see that," Sam said, still searching around the web himself. "The only thing I can find here is a current address which is…about two hours from here."

"Great, let's go," Dean said, already getting to his feet.

"Hang on, idjits," Bobby barked over the phone. "Cartwright is an obsessed lunatic, he ain't gonna just let anyone walk in there."

"Well, I never said I was gonna ask," Dean growled.

"Yeah, and he's probably got alarms and people watching his property, and landing your ass in jail ain't gonna help Cas one bit."

"So what do we do?" Dean demanded. "I'm not gonna let Cas stay there any longer, he's chained in a friggin' cage, like a damned canary, Bobby!"

"I know," Bobby said, voice calming. "But you have to play this right, or it isn't gonna go well. He may invite you in himself if you prove you have something to trade."

Sam huffed. "He's never going to believe us, and we don't have anything to trade, I mean, nothing he would likely want anyway."

Dean paced, trying to think of a plan when one sprang into his head, and even though he hated it, he knew it was their best option. "Guys? I think I have an idea. You're not gonna like it," he leveled his gaze at Sam.

"What?" the younger man asked warily.

"I know someone who could probably get us in there and may have something to trade to boot."

"Dean, what are you thinking?" Bobby demanded over the phone.

Dean took a deep breath and said, "Crowley."

"Balls," Bobby cursed.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Sam grumbled as he finished painting the devil's trap on the road as Dean worked on burying the box of summoning items.

"Yeah, well, we don't really have another choice," Dean told him.

"But Dean, he totally screwed us with the Colt, it didn't even kill Lucifer! How do you know he's not just gonna screw us again, we don't even have leverage!"

"I'll think of something," Dean told him.

"You are not making another deal, Dean!" Sam cried.

Dean closed his eyes. "Sammy, I promise not to do anything stupid, okay? I don't like it any more than you, but if Crowley is our only chance of getting Cas out of there in one piece then I'm gonna take it."

Sam shifted uncomfortably, wanting to argue further but couldn't. He had to agree with that; at the moment, they had no better option than Crowley. He just hoped their decision wasn't going to come back and bite them in the ass.

"Well, well, look who's coming to me for help—again."

Sam and Dean turned around to see Crowley standing just inside the devil's trap, hands in pockets, looking composed and smug as usual. "Hello, boys."

"Nice of you to show," Dean grunted. "Now let's get to business."

Crowley gave him a withering look. "You two, such big heroes, and yet you can't manage to do anything without my help lately, can you? What is it this time that has caused you to come to me as your last and only hope? Don't tell me you lost the Colt again."

"Yeah, for the record that didn't work so well," Sam growled.

"Hey, I don't make guarantees, I just deliver. Can't say I wasn't hopeful." Crowley shrugged. "So come on, spit it out, I don't have all day. Especially since I'm on the radar of every bloody demon now working for Lucifer not to mention the devil himself, since I decided to help you two!"

"Okay, enough of the sob story," Dean cut in. "We need you to help us get into a place."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "A few specifics? What kind of place? Because as much as I would love to aid in your pervy little fantasies, Dean, I really don't think now is the time."

"There's a man: Edgar Cartwright," Sam said.

"Oh, Cartwright?" Crowley asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Wondered if he'd ever get on your radar."

"You know him?" Dean inquired. "Why am I not surprised."

"Did some business with him on several occasions. Procured hard to find items. Of course he never knew who I really am. To him I'm just a fellow collector." Crowley shrugged. "So what do you want with crazy old Cartwright? He have something better than the Colt in that collection of his for shiving Satan?"

Sam and Dean shared a glance. "It's personal," Dean informed the demon flatly. "We just need a way in. An artifact or something to offer."

"Oh, personal is it? Well, I'll need to know the value of the item before I can offer you something he would want for it."

Dean hesitated but finally nodded. "It's Cas. He has Cas."

Crowley's eyebrows shot up with delight. "Castiel? Your little pet angel? Well, well, this does make things interesting."

"Yeah, so do you have something we can trade for him or not?" Dean snapped.

"Hold on, sunshine, first we talk price," Crowley told him firmly.

"We're not making a deal with you," Sam said, and pulled the demon-killing knife out where Crowley could see it. "And we can make you comply if we have to."

Crowley tsked. "Easy, Moose. As it turns out, I don't care much about your souls—they'll be worth nothing if Lucifer and Michael manage to take your bodie as vessels. There's higher stakes to be had. So, I'll make a counter offer."

"Great, what is that?"

"If I help you spring dear Cas from his birdcage, you two have to help me stop the last two horsemen, Pestilence and Death."

Sam and Dean stared at each other, frowning. "Okay," Dean said slowly. "We were kind of planning to do that anyway, so what's the catch?"

Crowley heaved a sigh. "No catch, at least none I can foresee at the moment. You see, I want the bastards gone as much as you do, and I can't show my face to stop them because if I do, they'll make me into shoes. However, I know for a fact you will never find them without my help, at least not before they make you into haggis. You two are actually valuable players in this game, so really you have nothing to lose. Besides, your track record stopping War and Famine is rather excellent, if I do say so."

"So we're going to do the dirty work for you, while you sit back and sip margaritas, is that it?" Dean asked.

"Pretty much; I feed you the info you need, you get the job done and I don't have to stick my neck out." Crowley shrugged. "Come on, boys, we're in this together, right? We both want the same thing. Stop the apocalypse and get everything back to normal. I know you want to get Lucifer back in his cage as soon as possible." He glanced pointedly at Sam.

The younger Winchester shifted uncomfortable and turned to his brother. "Dean, I don't know about this," Sam said quietly, dragging the older man a few steps away, an uneasy feeling spreading through him.

"Sam, we need him," Dean replied. "And really, it might be easier to find Pestilence and Death with his help."

"You really trust him?"

"No, of course not," Dean said firmly. "But all I care about right now is getting Cas out of that freak show. And if Crowley's the only way to do that, then so be it."

"Look, I want to get Cas out too, Dean, but if he screws us over again—"

"Then we'll gank his ass too," Dean said firmly and gripped Sam's shoulder. "Come on, like it or not, we need him."

Sam glowered at his brother, but then sighed, caving. "Fine."

"Is that a deal then?" Crowley asked, leaning toward them.

"Not a deal-deal, but we have an agreement," Dean said without leeway.

"Then let me out of this trap and we'll talk about appropriate trade items."

Dean hesitated, but stepped to the side and scraped the demon trap with his boot, breaking it. Crowley nodded his thanks.

"You're going to need something unique to trade for your feather duster," Crowley informed them. "I'm not sure I have the right kind of item close to hand."

"Well, then you better figure out how you can get one, Cas doesn't have a lot of time," Dean growled.

Sam looked down at the knife in his hand. "What about this knife? Or the Colt?"

Crowley shook his head. "He might be interested in the items themselves, but he's hardly going to trade an angel for them. Trust me. He's been after angelic relics for ages, now that he has the genuine article there's not going to be much he will give it up for."

"We don't need to trade the item, we just need a reason to get in there," Dean said. "After that, we can do whatever we need to get Cas out."

"Well, in that case, we can go all out," Crowley said sardonically. "There is something that he might be interested in, at least enough to get his mind off Castiel for a minute."

"What?" Dean asked.

Crowley cast a sideways glance at Sam and the younger Winchester shifted uncomfortably.

"Cartwright has always liked rare oddities of a more organic nature," he said. "I could probably get a meeting with him this afternoon if I told him I had a new freak for sale."

Sam's breath caught in his throat, but Dean didn't seem to see what Crowley was getting at.

"What do you mean? We don't have a freak for sale."

"Yeah, we do," Sam said quietly.

Dean glared at him. "What? No, we don't."

"Dean," Sam shifted uncomfortably. "He means me."

Understanding dawned in Dean's eyes, quickly replaced by anger. "No. No freakin' way. Sam—"

"A boy with psychic powers would tickle Cartwright pink," Crowley said, seeming to enjoy the contention.

"Dean," Sam tried.

"Dammit, Sammy! No!" Dean shouted. He was pacing angrily, running his hands through his hair. "Not gonna happen!"

Sam turned to Crowley. "Are you sure it would get us in?"

"Stop pretending like this is actually an option," Dean growled. "Are you insane?"

Sam ignored him and looked expectantly at Crowley.

"Yes, definitely; in fact, I could call him right now to make sure," the demon told them. "Look, he might want to see the Colt or the knife, but he wouldn't be excited enough about it to get us in today. Maybe next week at the latest, and since you don't seem to want your angel pal in his clutches any longer than need be, this is the quickest way to it."

Sam sighed and turned back to Dean. "Look, I don't like it either, but if this can get us in to see Cas, then I'm willing to do it."

"But he's gonna need to see a demonstration," Dean ground out from between clenched teeth. "And you know what that means, Sam."

"Yes, I do," Sam told him, already nauseous at the thought. "But Dean, Cas will die if we don't get him out. We can't let that happen."

"Dammit, Sammy, I'm not gonna let you drink any more frickin' demon juice," Dean almost pleaded with him. "You're gonna have to detox again…"

"I know," Sam said quietly, eyes wide and pleading with his brother to understand. "But Cas is family, Dean. Tell me you wouldn't do the same if you were in my place." Dean clenched his jaw shut but didn't argue. Sam knew he would have done it in a heartbeat. "You can't always be the one to throw yourself under the bus, Dean. And I won't need much. For once maybe the demon blood will do a good thing." That last part he said mostly for himself. He was scared to death just thinking of drinking more of it. The rift it had caused between him and Dean, just seeing the way his brother looked at him, actually said that he couldn't trust Sam anymore. Though they had gotten past that, it still hurt, especially when he had drunk the blood again when they were fighting Famine. But this time he had control of himself, and he was doing in for a good cause. That was enough for him, but he still needed his brother's blessing on this one because he knew he couldn't do it unless Dean agreed. He straightened his shoulders as he saw Dean's sag in consent.

"Fine," Dean forced out. "But I don't like this."

Sam nodded in agreement, relief that Dean was backing him taking a little of the nervousness away.

Crowley sighed. "Well, are you two going to hug it out or are we going to work on saving your angel?"

"Let's go," Sam told his brother and they headed back toward the Impala.

Yep, all the angst, but the boys are *actually* on the way now, so a rescue is imminent…eventually.