A/N: This is just an alternate ending to the previous chapter, and probably not as good. No retribution yet, I'm afraid, but there will be in future chapters. In this version Jon and the gang drove Cas somewhere before leaving him tied up. Cas is just now returning.

Castiel makes it back to the bunker and knocks when it's locked. Midday, so the front room should be teeming with people. It's Sam who answers. His eyes widen and he steps outside, hands lifting toward Cas's blood-stained torso. "Cas?"

Cas steps forward and stumbles. Sam catches him, throwing an arm around his waist and going to lead him back inside. Jon blocks the way.

"Help me," says Sam.

Cas mumbles, "He won't help." He tries to shove away from Sam but Sam refuses to let go. "Go back in without me." He looks at Jon. "I'll go. Let him in."

Sam tightens his grip on Castiel. "What the hell? You're not going anywhere, Cas." He looks at Jon, "Move."

Jon gestures to someone inside. A member of his ever-present entourage.

It seems Sam is too close to the doorway-half inside it, actually. Someone throws something and it grazes Sam's shoulder. He stumbles backwards with Cas, "What the hell?!"

The door slams closed.

Castiel slumps downward and Sam slows his fall. "What's going on?"

"They don't like me," says Cas, and reaches out with two fingers to heal Sam. The other hand follows because they're still manacled together.

"Don't," says Sam, "fix yourself. It barely touched me."

"Okay." Castiel slumps back down.

"Shit," says Sam. He pulls Cas up. Or tries to. "Come on. We'll go around to the other door."

"I don't want to walk anymore," says Cas, "my feet hurt."

Sam looks down. His face distorts. An almost-horror ghosts across his mouth and eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let's just go over to the wall, we can lean against it. Just a couple steps. Here, I'll carry you."

Cas sloughs him off, unsuccessfully. "I can walk." They stumble over to the wall and Cas drifts downward. He sits, feet spread out before him. "Go around, Sam. I'm fine."

"I'm not gonna leave you here, Cas. I could carry you, if you—"

"No," says Cas. "If I'm with you, they won't let you in."

Sam scoots closer, hands ghosting over the angel's darkened torso. "I don't care. They probably don't even know about that door."

"We can't take the chance. Just go, Sam."

Cas is shivering. Sam takes off his jacket and wraps it around him. Then he takes off his flannel and presses it, squelching, against the knife-wound in Cas's side. He folds his hand over the angel's leg and presses down there as well. "Sorry, Cas."

Cas groans. "They'll let you in. Tell them you don't like me. You can find Dean."

"And what if they decide to come out and deal with you while you're sitting out here alone and injured? What if they lock me in the dungeon because they don't trust me? We're sticking together, Cas. Here," he pulls the angel's hand over his bleeding side. "Keep pressure on that, I've gotta—" Sam pats down his pockets one-handed. He pulls out a phone and his face lights up. "Ha."

He brings it up to his ear. His face lights up even more. "Dean. Dean, we have a situation. A bunch of guys from the other world tortured Ca—"

Cas moans. "They didn't torture me."

Sam pulls the phone down a little. "That's sure as hell what it looks like."

"Tell him they surprised me."

"I'm not gonna say they surprised you, Cas. That makes it sound like a thirteen year old girl's birthday party. They freakin' tortured you. Locked you up and everything."

"They chained me to a tree and left me. I'd hardly call that torture."

"They chained you to a tree?!" And then, "Shut up Dean. I don't know." And then, "I want the full story, but first we need to get back inside. Dean, they locked us out of the bunker. I need you to come up and open the door for us."

"Sam, you could get in just fine if you—"

"Shut up, Cas. You're delirious from blood loss." And then, "No. No, we can't."

Dean says something that makes Sam roll his eyes. "Because Cas's feet are all torn up, that's why. Just come and get us." Sam listens for a beat and then turns to Cas. "Cas, who attacked you?"

"Attacked, see, that's a much more suitable word than tortured."

"Cas."

"They didn't bother to introduce themselves."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "You mean you never learned names?"

"I didn't need to. All I needed to learn was how to avoid—" he cuts himself off, because that's not what Sam meant and he hadn't meant to reveal that.

"Cas," says Sam, "please tell me this is the first time they've attacked you."

"Well…"

"Shit, Cas. You're telling me later."

Sam talks into the phone, "I saw Jon and Nate. Don't know who else. Just bring extra keys and don't come outside if you can help it. Throw the door wide open so everyone inside can see. Or you could clear the room instead, make everyone go downstairs or something… Yeah. Yeah, that works too. I just don't know how many there are."

"Five," says Cas. "In total. And three more who didn't...interfere."

Sam twists the phone up, "Cas says five active and three turning a blind eye… Yeah, okay. Bring some lock picks… They're not for the door."

Sam hangs up. "Dean's coming around through the other door. He's gonna help me get you down there."

Cas frowns. "I can walk."

Sam shakes his head and tilts forward, hands hovering. "You said you didn't want to, so you're not going to. We'll do a chair carry."

"I can walk," Cas says again, more firmly.

"We'll talk about it when Dean gets here." Sam tilts Cas's head forward, "What happened here?"

Cas shrugs. "Did something happen there?"

"You're bleeding."

"Yes, I know." Cas lifts a blood-stained hand and waves it in Sam's face. "It's very annoying."

Sam pushes the hand back onto his side.

"It's cold out here," says Cas.

Sam narrows his eyes. He wraps his jacket tighter around Cas. "How badly are you hurt? Can you access your grace at all?"

Cas lifts his hands, manacles included, "it's blocked."

"And how badly are you hurt?"

The hands fall back down with a clank. "I'll live."

Sam huffs but nods, adjusting Cas's hand until he's applying pressure again, and then his own hands float up to ghost over Cas's vitals. "Right. Tell me your injuries."

Cas peers into the distance. "How far is that door? Shouldn't Dean be here by now? You should go check on him."

Sam's focus doesn't waver for a second. "Dean's fine. Tell me your injuries."

"You can see them just fine."

"All of them?" Sam gives Cas a pointed look.

Cas looks right back. "Yes?"

Sam skitters over Castiel's ribcage, "And what do these bruises tell me?"

"That I am bruised."

"You got broken ribs, Cas? Internal bleeding? A punctured spleen? Tell me."

"Yes. Yes. No." Cas answers each question in turn.

Sams's face twists. He starts pressing against Cas's torso, looking for the bleeding. "Shit. Anything else I should know about?"

"No." Cas stares straight ahead. There's something coiling in his chest, stiff and dark and unsettling. Something very wrong, like the feeling that something horrible is about to happen.

"Cas."

"I think I—my hand hurts." His fingers twitch.

Sam's gaze skates down. He lifts Cas's arm, but not far enough to pull the other one. "That's because your fingers are broken." He sets it carefully back down. "What else?"

"He stabbed me."

"Those two I can see. What else?"

"Three," says Cas, and Sam stills.

"What?" Sam asks.

"He stabbed me three—"

Sam jerks a little, eyes roving, "Where?"

Cas leans forward. "I think it hit the back of my shoulder."

Sam maneuvers to check. He swears. "He stabbed you? Are you sure? Looks like he tried to flay the skin from your bones. Shit, Cas."

Cas shifts under the scrutiny and doesn't respond.

"Well this looks bad," Sam presses the edges of the wound. "Looks infected already. How long ago was this?"

Cas furrows his eyebrows because he doesn't know. "What time is it?"

"Two something," Sam shrugs.

"Mmmm… 16 hours, maybe?"

Sam's eyes widen. "And it's still bleeding?!"

"Is it?" The feeling is still there. The dread. Something very wrong.

"Yeah, Cas. Crap," Sam rubs harshly at his forehead before he's looking Cas over again. He presses Cas's shoulder back against the wall, the layer of jacket between, and Cas can't help the wince. "What else?" Sam asks.

"What else what?" The pain is making his voice more gravelly than usual.

"What else is hurt?"

"Oh." Cas takes stock of himself. "My ankle?"

Sam shifts, still holding pressure on Cas's thigh, to peer down. "Looks swollen," he says. "How long did you walk on it?"

"After it was injured?" Cas asks.

"Yes."

Cas stares off, calculating. "Seven hours?"

Sam looks up to meet his eyes. "Are you serious?"

Cas nods.

Sam shifts his weight. He's crouching now. He was kneeling before. "And how long did you walk without shoes?"

"Eight hours."

Sam shakes his head and opens his mouth to say something but then footsteps come drifting around the corner. Sam stands, feet braced, but it's Dean that appears.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean grinds to a halt when he peers past Sam, face darkening. He throws the first aid at Sam. "Here." Dean walks past him and pulls a set of lock picks from his pocket.

"His fingers are broken," Sam tells him, already pulling out compresses for stab wounds.

Dean moves carefully, picking up the manacles without jostling Cas's hand too much. He sets Cas's arms back on his lap and stows the manacles in a jacket pocket. He looks at Sam, "We good to go?"

Sam is pressing down the last pad over Cas's side. He nods.

So Dean scoots closer to Cas, and leans him forward away from the wall. He latches hands and arms with Sam.

"I can walk," says Cas.

"You'll stain the floor with bloody footprints," says Dean, "Nah. This is easier. Get on."

It's a testament to how tired and hurt Cas is that he doesn't argue further. He maneuvers backwards, putting his arms around Sam and Dean's shoulders. They lift.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the dread starts to dissipate. They slip inside, Dean clearing the way before they carry Cas and take him to the room Sam and Dean are sharing.

Cas makes it back to his home, and he doesn't have to wait long before Sam and Dean make it safe again.