Just past the four hour mark, Cas had the passive thought that perhaps Dean had left for good, leaving him to rot here in this prison. He couldn't decide if that would be better or worse. However before five hours had passed, Dean blinked back into the room, staggering slightly but managing to stay on his feet as he landed. He walked towards one of the work tables, casually tossing the first blade onto it. Cas bit back a reaction, watching the hunter walk into the harsh light.
The hunter's skin was painted with gore. The jaw bone knife he threw on the counter was almost unrecognizable, slicked with deep red. Cas swallowed, feeling guilt for the hope that most of the blood somehow belonged to Dean. That would be better than all of it belonging to some poor innocent souls that ran afoul of the blood thirsty demon. Cas could smell something else, mixing with the sickening iron smell. A hint of… smoke?
Dean looked up, making eye contact with Cas. "What?" He challenged.
Cas opened his mouth before thinking better of it. He shook his head.
"Good." Came the gruff reply as the hunter turned and walked out of the room.
Dean walked into the dingy bathroom, listening to the lights blink and crackle on when he flipped the switch. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, almost entirely unrecognizable. Black eyes stood out against his crimson splattered face. He turned on the tap and cupped some lukewarm water, bringing it to try and begin to reveal the skin underneath, but all it achieved was smearing the blood further. He sighed, looking back up as his eyes blinked back to green. He took a deep breath, trying to ground himself.
Dean finally resigned himself, turning and switching on the creaky old shower before stripping down. He let the warm water wash over him, taking layers of thick and sticky blood with it. He ran his hands over his face and pulled his fingers through his hair, freeing it from the horrors that coated it. He closed his eyes, his mind trying to remember Crowley's words of warning the other day. Something about a steam valve. He wondered if it would have mattered if he had paid attention. Probably not.
Once his skin was scrubbed raw, he finally felt his breath even out, clarity finally settling into his brain. He shut the water off and grabbed for his duffel.
The angel looked up from where he had settled to sit when the hunter walked in, clad only in a pair of jeans, toweling off his hair. Cas raised an eyebrow. He seemed a little less high strung than when he had first appeared. He let his eyes land on the hand print scar on the hunter's shoulder, feeling a surge of emotion that he didn't know quite how to place.
Dean headed back to the bench. He took the now wet towel and went to work, trying to rub some of the caked on blood from the blade's surface. He watched the angel out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the eventual interrogation Cas was going to level against him.
"What happened?"
"You know what happened."
"Were they-?"
"Were they what, hmm? Human? Innocent?" Dean snapped his gaze to glare at Cas. "Yes."
Cas closed his eyes at the information. Sam had found a trail of bodies and he had been following more. Some beaten badly, and some dead, but those dead seemed to be almost exclusively demons.
Dean finished rubbing at least some of the blood off the first blade. He turned around to lean against the bench, arms crossed over his bare chest as he watched Cas. "Does that bother you?"
"Of course."
"Remind me Castiel, how many innocent lives have you taken?" Dean pulled himself from the counter. "How many people did you kill when you played God?" He shook his head. "So don't you try to pretend you have the moral high ground here."
Cas shut his mouth, feeling a flash of hot shame as he was reminded that Dean wasn't wrong. He watched Dean pull a box out from under the workbench, starting to pull varying chains out. He bit his lip, trying to watch Dean for any indication of what exactly he was doing.
Dean let the silence continue for a while, taking another moment to quiet his own mind. He tried to repress his own alarm at the sudden escalation of blood lust that occurred just hours ago. He shook it off, turning his attention back towards Cas. "You know what I realized?"
Cas couldn't help but engage him. "What?" He asked, trepidation mounting as he waited for an answer.
"I can remember you fishing me out of the pit." Dean paused what he was doing for a moment, looking at the angel. "When I was human I remembered the light breaking down the walls before waking up in a pine box."
"And now?"
"I can remember feeling your hand latch onto my soul. I remember…" He frowned. "I remember the time you spent fighting me out. I remember fighting you, to return." Obviously more of a presence. Even unshielded, his soul could not perceive Castiel's true visage.
Castiel nodded, taking note of the complicated expression on the demon's face.
"You did something to me."
"I did." Cas affirmed.
"What did you do to me?"
"I purified your soul of some of hell's corruption."
"That the only reason I was only half out of my mind when I reached land?"
"Yes."
"Huh." Dean remarked passively, turning back to the task, bringing out some longer chained shackles with deep warding magic etched into the metal. He pulled them from the box, letting them drag on the floor behind him as he approached a spot in the middle of the room, an anchor point in the concrete. He secured the shackles, letting them lay to the side.
"Dean, what are you doing?"
"Preparing." Dean grabbed a metal chair, pulling that over closer to the shackles, not bothering to anchor that in place.
Castiel studied the shackles closer, realizing that they were angel warding that would entirely incapacitate a celestial being. He sighed, resigning himself to his fate. "You intend to lock me down."
Dean looked up, his expression amused. "Oh don't worry honey, these aren't for you."
Cas frowned. "Then who are these for?"
"Castiel-"
"Dean, what are you doing?" Cas' voice was firm now, and more than a little agitated.
"It is no concern of yours."
"Dean." Cas moved forward, trying to stop the hunter, but he was ready.
Dean expertly grabbed Cas' wrists, yanking him off balance, making him fall into the demon. Dean snapped the pair of angel cuffs that had once kept Hannah locked down over his wrists. Before he could react, he was being dragged across the room, stumbling to keep upright, his dress shoes sliding on the smooth concrete floor. He found himself strung to that same hook in the wall.
Dean shook his head. "Now now now, Cas. None of that." He shook his head.
"Dean what-" But the hunter was gone again. Cas closed his eyes, his heart sinking.
It was another six hours before Dean reappeared, his prisoner behind him, struggling against the firm demonic hands that held him in place. He snapped the shackles on the angel in his grasp, and shoved him down into the chair.
Cas struggled weakly. "Dean what are you doing?" He took in the hunter's appearance. The new shirt he had put on was already torn in several places, evidence that he had been in quite a fight subduing this angel.
The news imprisoned angel turned sideways to make eye contact with him. "Castiel… should have figured I'd find you here with this stain."
"Erelah." Cas breathed.
"Perfect, you already know each other." Dean taunted. He spread his arms as he backed away from the bound angel, walking back over to his work bench. "Makes this a little easier."
"Just kill me and be done with it. I will give you nothing, demon."
"If I was going to let you just die, do you really think I would have gone through all the trouble of dragging you back here?" He shook his head. "You might just be able to help me with a problem I'm having."
Erelah didn't back down from his glare. "You're insane."
"Yes." Dean said simply. "Now I understand you were one of Metatron's loyalists? Explains why I found you in that gutter. You are running. From Hannah and her army."
Cas cringed. That's why Hannah had been anywhere Dean could grab. She had been hunting down Metatron's faithful, to bring them back to heaven.
Erelah didn't look ruffled. "Why would I tell you anything?"
"Pain, my friend. Pain." He dug the tip of the angel blade into the space beside Erelah's knee cap, pushing it in just enough to make the angel let out a barely stifled grunt of pain. "Now. I hear rumors that Metatron stashed away half a vial of Castiel's grace somewhere on earth, and you're going to tell me where to find it."
"Oh just get on with it."
Erelah took the pain of torture better than Cas took watching it. Despite what he had done, Cas did not want to see his brothers or sisters hurt in his name. "Please… Dean, stop it." He pleaded for not the first time since this new interrogation had begun.
Dean growled, his eyes flicking up, pure black. He straightened up, looking up towards the ceiling, his muscles tense. It was clear he was exasperated with the request.
"Dean-"
"Yes." Dean snapped, angrily. He looked over and made eye contact with Cas. He felt a pang in his chest and his breath stuttered, not expecting to feel any such emotion. He watched as the fallen angel closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall in defeat.
Dean hesitated a moment before he leaned down and unbuckled the shackles from the ground, gathering them up in his hands. He yanked on them, pulling Erelah roughly, the chair tipping and dumping him unceremoniously to the ground. He dragged the battered angel to his feet in front of him, pushing to guide him from the room into the next one, out of Castiel's sight.
In this new room he improvised, looping the shackle chains around a sturdy looking pipe, securing them in place.
Erelah watched in amusement despite the agony he felt, suddenly made to stand on his battered body. "Fascinating."
"What?" Dean growled.
"We have watched Cas follow close at your heels for years." Erelah managed a weak laugh. "You're such a sweetheart. Taking me out of view so you don't hurt his delicate feelings. Didn't expect to find a demonic Dean Winchester groveling here in a desperate attempt to save his angelic boyfriend." He shook his head.
"Yeah, well I didn't expect a bottom feeding flunky to have such brazen idiocy, so I guess we're all surprised today." Dean felt a mounting anger, starting in the mark and spreading through his body like fire. He breathed through it, remembering his training in hell. Letting a victim under your skin was counterproductive.
"I don't know where the stupid grace is, or if he even had any." Erelah spat.
"Or maybe you just need reminding." Dean replied simply, digging the knife in once more.
Castiel listened to Erelah scream in the next room, feeling a guilty relief that at least he didn't have to watch it. He finally heard the strangled sounds right before the silence set in. He watched Dean casually walk back in, trading the angel blade for the first blade before blinking out of the building again.
Three hours later, he returned with another, dragging her to the back room right away.
Six angels later, and Dean had his answer.
The demon stood in the library, trying to feel out the grace, but his senses picked up nothing. Well, so much for the easy way.
Dean grabbed the bookshelf closest to him, knocking it aside, allowing it's contents to pour out over the ground, starting to rip through books one at a time. He continued, one shelf at a time, row by row, text by text.
More than half the library was in ruin before he finally ripped open a novel and the small metal capped glass fell out from the pages. He knelt, grabbing it in his hands, inspecting it. He looked around him at the literary carnage and allowed himself to feel just a little spark of relief.
A blink and he was back, standing in front of Cas, holding his grace.