Chapter 12

Pain always came first. It was one of the ways Dean could tell he was still alive. He opened his eyes. There was no movement in the room, which meant Azazel wasn't here. He always made noise. He didn't seem to be able to remain silent. Sitting up, he tried to stretch without hurting himself and caught sight of an unmoving figure across the room. It was kind of eerie how completely still the man was. He wore a trench coat and a suit that he obviously found somewhat constricting from the way he'd loosened the tie and collar. Dean guessed him at about average height, with brown hair and vividly blue eyes that were fixed on Dean.

"Dude," he called. "I'm sorry."

"It was not your fault, Dean," the man said.

"How do you know my name?" Dean asked.

"I have been searching for you. I am sorry not to have found you before this time."

"Hey, dude, you don't even know me. I'm just glad someone's looking for me." Dean shrugged and winced. "Was looking for me," he corrected.

"Your father and brother are searching for you as we speak," the man said. He seemed to have an oddly monotonous voice, but it was almost mesmerizing. Very deep and husky.

"Right, Sammy left college to come look for his errant brother," Dean said, startled by how much the thought bothered him. "Not likely. Besides, Azazel says he's still at school."

"And you believe what Azazel tells you?" the man asked.

Dean blinked at him. Demons lie. It was a hunter maxim. "Not always," he said. "But Sammy wouldn't leave school. Not for me."

"You do your brother a disservice," the man said.

"Who the hell are you to tell me that?" Dean demanded.

"I am Castiel."

"Odd name. Are you Portuguese or Spanish or something?"

The man tilted his head. "I'm an angel of the Lord."

Dean blinked at him. "Okey dokey," he said. "Either you're insane or I'm hallucinating." He tilted his head. "Or both."

"You believe you might be hallucinating a crazy man?" Castiel asked him.

"That would be about par for my life right now."

"I am not crazy and you are not hallucinating."

"If you were crazy, you'd say you weren't," Dean said. "And if I was hallucinating, hell, you'd probably say I wasn't. That proves nothing." He held up a hand. "And don't try telling me secrets about my life, because I know all those, so all that would prove was that you were a hallucination."

Castiel blinked at him, looking puzzled. "I wish only to help you, Dean."

Dean was good with that. He grinned at the guy. "Then come over here and open the cage."

"I cannot leave the circle," Castiel replied. "Or I would."

"What would happen if you tried?"

"I would die."

"Okay!" Dean sighed. "So, you're not even a useful hallucination."

"I am not a hallucination."

Dean shook his head and lay back down. As delusions went, this one seemed pretty boring. Sleep was his best escape. Sometimes he even dreamed of happy things. If he couldn't have a decent hallucination, maybe he could dream of strippers. Before he could force himself to drift off, the door opened, and Dean sat up sharply. That had to mean that Azazel was back. Why this demon had made him a pet project, Dean didn't know.

"Dean?" the hated voice called. "I brought you your burger." Dean could smell it, beef and the bacon and the cheese. Even the mayonnaise. "Your reward for a job well done." His gut twisted. His reward for getting the crazy guy captured. Azazel walked up and put the bag down just outside the cage. "Eat up."

Dean looked at the bag and swallowed bile. "I don't want it."

"You asked for it, Dean," Azazel said, glancing at the crazy guy, hallucination, whatever. "I offered you a cookie, and you said –"

"I didn't know!" Dean exclaimed. He leaned so that he could see Castiel. "I didn't know, and I didn't mean it. It was a joke."

"I understand, Dean," Castiel said. "I do not blame you."

"He said he'd have a demon grab Sammy, and I couldn't take the chance. At school he doesn't have any kind of protections, and . . . and . . ."

"It's all right," Castiel said. "I understand."

"How sweet," Azazel murmured. "So, you're not going to eat my generous reward, Dean?" There was a dangerous quality to the demon's quiet voice, but even the smell of the thing was making him feel sick. He reached through the bars and grabbed the bag. Azazel smiled down at him, assuming he was cowed. Dean got as much of his arm out of the cage as he could, swung the bag, and threw it as far as it would go. It hit the floor a good ten feet off and skidded towards the edge of the fire circle. Castiel watched it with wide, hopeful eyes, and Azazel let out an angry exclamation. He raised his hand and the bag stopped moving, going flat like a heavy weight had landed on it. Castiel's shoulders slumped slightly, and Dean looked apprehensively up at Azazel. Not only had he refused the 'generous reward,' his manner of refusal had almost done something that made the demon furious. Dean didn't quite know what that was, but the reaction seemed certain.

Yellow irises glared down at him, but then the demon seemed to take hold of himself. "No harm done," he said with a parody of a friendly smile. "Now, it's time for your next procedure."

There had never been an audience before. Dean felt himself start to shake, but he tried to control it, not wanting to make this worse for the poor bastard who was trapped here with him. Azazel opened the cage, and, gulping, Dean crawled out. Azazel seized him by the back of his neck and guided him firmly towards the table. Dean tried to prepare himself for what was coming, but that was made more difficult by the fact that he had no idea what it would be. Thus far, he'd been cut on, he'd been branded, he'd had metal rods hammered into his body at various points and either heated or drizzled with some kind of penetrating liquid. He'd had myriad treatments for any and all of these injuries, some more painful than others.

"What are you doing?" Castiel demanded angrily.

"Preparing my tool for his end use," the demon replied. Dean started to balk. The closer he got to the table, the harder it was for him to even consider obedience. It made no difference. Within moments, Dean had a few new bruises and he was strapped to the table on his back. His chest heaving, he tried to stop himself from pulling at the chains.

"You must stop this now!" Castiel commanded, but it didn't seem to have much impact on Azazel. "I will destroy you."

That would be a trick, Dean thought. A delusion destroying a demon . . . of course the demon could be a delusion, too. He heard an odd spraying sound and looked up to see what the hell could be causing that. When he saw Azazel squirting a gel into his hands, his brows knit. Rubbing his hands together, the demon worked the gel into a foam. Was he going to lose the beard? Dean really hoped so. It was obnoxious and itchy. On the other hand, did he really want a demon using a razor that close to his throat?

Azazel bent and began to apply the shaving cream to the top of Dean's left thigh. Dean craned his neck to see what he was doing. He didn't want a demon using a razor down there, either. "Dude, what are you doing?" Dean asked.

"Letting that soften your hair," Azazel said, turning away. Dean could hear water, like the demon was rinsing his hands in a basin.

"Do not damage him further!" Castiel ordered, and Dean thought it was a good effort. He wasn't going to accomplish anything, but the thought counted.

The demon looked up. "You know, I thought this might be amusing, but I think I'll find your prating more distracting than I can afford under the circumstances. It's not as if I can mend his leg if I make a mistake." He turned around with a straight blade razor in his hand, and Dean felt like his heart was going to stop. Amateur circumcision hour? He didn't want to play.

"Please, don't!" he murmured desperately.

Azazel ignored him. He spoke a few words, waved his free hand, and Dean suddenly couldn't hear Castiel's voice anymore. Glancing over, he could see that his friendly hallucination was still taking, but the sound was gone.

While his attention was on the silent speech, Azazel got started. Dean felt the blade of the razor skim the top of his leg and tried to hold very still. The punishments he'd taken for moving at the wrong times were best not remembered, but he knew he didn't want to experience them again. With agonizing care, the demon shaved the entire top of Dean's thigh, not drawing even a tiny bead of blood. He turned away and came back with a bucket of water which he upturned over Dean's leg. Dean let out a hiss of dismay. The water was ice cold, and he started to shiver.

"Hold still, Dean," Azazel said, placing his hand on Dean's left thigh. "We don't want to have any mistakes, do we?" Dean focused hard on keeping as motionless as possible. Azazel smiled down at him, then looked over at Castiel. "You see, he can be taught."

Dean followed his gaze and saw the angel/hallucination staring inimically at Azazel. If looks could kill, Dean would be tied down without any possibility of getting free, because the demon would be dead and the angel would still be stuck in his little ring of fire.

Then he felt the knife biting into his leg and his face turned upwards. He stared fixedly at the ceiling, straining with every fiber of his being not to scream. Castiel was upset enough.

"You know, Dean, you've been with me for weeks now," Azazel said suddenly, his voice confiding. "And yet there's no sign of your loving family." Dean blinked at the ceiling, wishing he could tune the demon out. The knife made that kind of impossible. "Sammy couldn't wait to get away from you, and your father abandoned you at the first opportunity. I'm all you've got left." The plinking of Dean's blood hitting the trough on the side of the table started then, seeming to punctuate the demon's words.

Dean strained desperately against his desire to move and ground his teeth. His fists were clenched around the chains that held his wrist cuffs attached to the table. "Bite me!" he growled.

"One of these days, I may have to take you up on that offer," Azazel said, sounding amused. The knife left his skin, and Dean knew what he was doing. He was planning the next cut. "In the meantime, we have work to do." The blade bit again, and Dean couldn't help grunting from deep in his throat. And this wasn't even the worst part. As soon as the pattern met Azazel's approval, the demon would begin treatment, packing the cuts with that stuff that burned like acid but worked like glue to keep the wounds closed. He kept his eyes on the ceiling. Closing them only made things worse, and there was nothing else he could do.


Sam sat up sharply, his heart racing, his breath coming in gasps. He shivered in the chill of the air, his body drenched with sweat. His father slept in the bed next to his, and he seemed to be dead to the world. Light sneaking under the edges of the heavy blackout curtains told Sam that it was daytime, but the room was dim and quiet. As his breathing evened out, he realized that the sound of it had been drowning out traffic noise from the highway. He swallowed uncomfortably and slid out of the bed. He needed a shower and new clothes.

If he was really dreaming what Dean was going through, then he was going to have to destroy that demon. He grabbed his bag and went into the bathroom. After starting the shower, he stripped off, putting his clothes in a neat pile by his bag. When he'd lain down to sleep upon their arrival here, he'd barely taken the time to remove his jacket and shoes. Now his jeans and shirt felt like he'd bathed in them. If Dean was sane at the end of all this, it would be a miracle.

The door opened and his father came in, muttering profanely under his breath. "You okay, Sammy?"

"Fine," Sam said.

"You slept okay?"

Sam put his head under the water to soak his hair. Sighing, he shrugged. "Another nightmare," he admitted.

"And what was this one?"

"Acupuncture." That was how Sam had described the way the demon stuck rods into Dean's body, like acupuncture gone very, very wrong. Sam wasn't sure still how Dean had survived some of the impalings he'd witnessed in his dreams, assuming all the dreams were real.

"Where?"

"Lower abdomen," Sam said. "Three rods in an arc about an inch below his belly button." Sam swallowed, trying to keep his gut in check. "He looks really thin, Dad. Either the demon's not feeding him enough, or he's not eating what he's getting."

"It's probably a combination," John said. "I don't suppose you got any kind of direction with this?"

Sam stopped, staring at the wall of the shower right in front of him. "I don't know."

His father jerked the shower curtain back. "You don't know?" he asked.

"Dad!" Sam exclaimed, outraged.

His father suddenly seemed to realize what he'd done. He pulled the curtain back across. "What do you mean you don't know?" he demanded.

"I . . ." Sam shook his head, lathering up quickly. "It's a dream, Dad, I'm not thinking about using the information later, I'm just very in the moment. Maybe if I could get to one of these visions on purpose, I'd get a better feel for directions or locations."

There was silence, and then his father spoke hesitantly. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Sammy."

"We've got to find Dean, Dad," Sam retorted.

"Not if it's risking you, Sam. Dean wouldn't want that."

"I don't give a damn what Dean would or wouldn't want. We can deal with whatever consequences I have later, once we've got Dean safe." Sam turned off the water, snagged a towel from the rack and wrapped it around his waist before pulling the curtain back again. His father was leaning against the wall of the bathroom. "It's not going to kill me, and anything else we can manage later."

"Absolutely not," Dad growled.

Sam could see he wasn't going to get anywhere with convincing him, so he let the subject drop. Not the idea, just the subject. "What did Bobby say?"

"He wanted you to draw out the shapes of the marks you saw on Dean's body, so he can see what they might mean."

Sam blinked at him. "Okay, I can do that. Have you thought about food yet?"

"I figured I'd go to the restaurant across the way and pick something up. You want lunch or breakfast?"

"Breakfast," Sam said.

"Back in a little while." John didn't immediately go. "We will find him, Sammy. You know that, right?"

"I know, Dad," Sam said, now just anxious for his father to leave. John nodded and opened the door. As soon as he was out of the room, Sam started pulling his clothes on as quickly as he could. Once he was minimally clothed, he left everything else in the bathroom and went to sit cross-legged in the center of his bed. Resting his hands on his knees, he closed his eyes and tried some of the meditation exercises he'd learned at the yoga classes Jessica had basically forced him to attend. That thought made his eyes open, and he had to banish her from his mind before he could calm down sufficiently to concentrate.

Breathing deeply, he focused his whole mind on Dean. That seemed to be what had triggered the other vision, before. Sam sat there, willing the vision to hurry up and come so his father wouldn't come back before he got it. After maybe a minute or two, he shook his head. The yoga crap wasn't working. He needed to think. What was it Bobby had taught them to help them clear their minds in case they ever needed to do a serious working and had the chance to prepare?

He got off the bed, grabbed his dad's keys and went out to the truck to dig around and see if he could find Dad's ritual stuff. It was in the wheel well, under a false panel. Sam pulled out the things he needed, put the rest back and hurried back into the room. Turning off all the lamps, he sat down on the floor and lit three candles, setting them around him in a semi-circle. Then he lit a stick of incense and stuck it in the toothpaste cup from the bathroom. Closing his eyes, he focused on drawing the incense in through his nose and expelling it out through his mouth, ridding himself of negative energy on the outward breath. Then he thought of Dean. For several moments he just hung in limbo, Dean central in his mind, but nothing happening.

Gradually, he became aware of a tug. It felt rather like the one in the subdivision had, only stronger. It pulled him slightly south of due east, and he tried to follow it to its source.