Chapter Twelve:
Prince Chuck had used his powers to zap them all the way back to the castle. They were now in Prince Chuck's study. There was Chuck's desk, messy as always. The chandelier above them cast ominous shadows on the walls, and nothing about the room gave Dean any sense of warmth. This castle had never felt like home, and now, knowing that Cas was still out there somewhere without Dean – well, it never could be.
Chuck placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "It's alright, Dean. In just a few days, we will be married and we can put all this unpleasantness behind us."
Dean felt his stomach twist. He shook off Chuck's hand and made his way back to his bedroom. He tried not to think of Cas, but it was at least a small comfort to know that he was alive and that Dean's sacrifice would keep him so.
Unbeknownst to Dean, Count Azazel had whisked Castiel's unconscious body down into his underground dungeon. Count Azazel had always been a man of great curiosity and science, but had very limited interests - and one in particular was dearest to his cold heart.
The study of pain.
Pain could do wondrous things to humans, angels, and demons alike. The Count loved to test the tolerance of his subjects, and had worked long days and nights in an effort to perfect pain-inducing methods.
Some might call it torture.
Azazel liked to call it research.
He was so extremely grateful that Prince Chuck never saw fit to hinder his work, and even utilized it on several occasions.
Like now. Chuck wanted this fallen angel - this Castiel - questioned and punished. Azazel was more than happy to oblige.
Azazel laid Cas down on a table within the dungeon. He secured his arms and legs with restraints.
"Kevin? Kevin, where are you?"
A shuffle from the shadowy corner of the room, and the young man named Kevin emerged. He was pale and of slight build. He bowed his head so as not to make eye contact with Azazel.
"Yes, Count?"
The Count smiled twistedly at his servant. "Kevin, we have a new subject. I'd like to you to dress his wounds so that he will be ready for The Machine later."
Kevin nodded. "Of course, sir," he said, hating himself. It had been a cruel twist of fate that had landed him as servant to The Count, and he despised every minute of it. He longed for the day when he could make an escape, but he dared not while The Count lived. He had little chance of overpowering him.
So for now, Kevin would do as he was told. His eyes strayed to the man on the table. Despite the injuries to his chest and arm, he looked strong. But Kevin knew he would not be strong enough to endure what was coming, and pitied him.
"I will be back in a few hours, Kevin. Have everything prepared by then."
The Count turned, headed up the stairs and exited, leaving Kevin to his unpleasant work.
The young man went and retrieved a towel and a small vial of diluted angel grace. He set to unbuttoning the man's shirt to have better access to his wounds. He soaked the corner of the towel in the grace and began dabbing at the torn skin.
With a great intake of breath, the man regained consciousness.
His hands and legs tugged within his restraints, but the leather straps did not give way. His eyes found Kevin's face. "Where am I? And who are you?"
Kevin didn't make it a habit to talk to the subjects - it was too painful to know them - but for some reason, he could not resist this time.
"You're in The Count's secret underground lab. They call it The Pit. And I - I am no one."
Something in the man's eyes softened in Kevin's direction.
"Not to me," he said quietly. "My name's Castiel, if it helps."
It didn't really, but the name seemed familiar for some reason. He sighed. "I'm Kevin," he said, continuing to dab at Castiel's wounds, which immediately began to heal at the touch of diluted grace.
"Well, Kevin. If I'm a prisoner, why are you healing me?"
Kevin clammed up immediately.
"Torture?"
Kevin wouldn't look at him. He put the cork back in the vial of grace.
"I can handle torture," Cas said, more to himself than anyone.
Again, Kevin couldn't help himself. "No," he said sadly. "You can't."
Dean was trying his damndest to make it work with Prince Chuck, despite the fact that all thought of the wedding made his stomach churn.
He took comfort once again in Baby, brushing her coat and petting her sweet, trusting head. He loved that horse, and even more so now that it was his last connection to his father (whom he had not been able to see since the engagement), and of course, to Cas.
He wished with all his heart that they could go back to those simple times - Cas the doting farmhand and himself as the somewhat oblivious boy that had fallen in love with him.
And then the day of the wedding dawned, bright and sunny. The ceremony was a hazy blur, but just like that, Dean and Chuck were married.
The -
"Wait, what?" exclaimed Jack, interrupting his father. His eyes were bright and anxious, angry patches of red on his small cheeks. "Dad, you read that wrong!"
His father frowned at him. "I don't believe I did," he replied, scanning the book as if to make sure.
"But, Dad. Dean can't have married Chuck. He just couldn't have. He needs to be with Cas!"
His father smiled softly. "Jack, I know you're invested, but I promise you - It says right here, 'Dean and Chuck were married'. But I think we should keep reading and find out what happens next, right?"
Jack nodded, but mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'dumb book,' under his breath.
His father ignored him, and found his place on the page once again.
"The castle courtyard was filled to burst with Heaven's citizens, all waiting to catch a glimpse of the newly wed royal couple.
Prince Chuck and Dean stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard, still dressed in their fancy wedding attire.
The crowd clapped and cheered loudly. Except one man near the front of the crowd. Instead, the older man booed and jeered at them with a raised fist, anger in his eyes. The Prince took notice at the same time Dean did. "Arrest that man," he said to the guards.
"No," said Dean. "Send me. Let me speak to him and find out what's going on."
Chuck rolled his eyes. "Very well, Dean," he said. Chuck snapped his fingers, and suddenly Dean was down below among the crowd, and standing right in front of the booing man.
Up close, Dean could see the grizzled and gruff look of the man. He had a beard and strange hat that none the less suited him. He raised a gnarled finger in Dean's direction and booed at him again.
"What's your problem?" Dean asked him.
The man's eyes were alive with malice. "Like you don't know, you idjit! Not a lick of sense, and yet you're supposed to lead us? You're no better than the monsters you hunt. Your true love lives and you spit in his face!"
"No," said Dean.
The man yelled out to the crowd. "This man had love come back to him, and he let him go again! Pushed him away, left him to die -"
"No! No, Chuck would have killed him, but I saved him! I had to save him!" Dean yelled back. He grabbed the man by the scruff of his shirt.
"Funny way of saving someone," snarled the man. "You let him go! Better to have stabbed him with an Angel Blade through the heart, you ass." Then he laughed cruelly at Dean.
"No...no..."
"No!" Dean woke up yelling. The wedding was still two days away. His heart was hammering in his chest, loud as thunder. Cas. He let him go. He let him go.
Dean shot out of bed and hurried to the study, where he knew Prince Chuck was likely to be.
"It was just a dream," remarked Jack excitedly. "See, I told you Dean would never marry that rotten Chuck!"
"Yes, yes, you're very smart. Now be quiet so I can read."
Sure enough, Chuck was there writing away at his latest story.
"I can't marry you," Dean said without preamble. "I belong with Castiel. And if you say I must marry you - well, I don't intend to live without him."
Chuck looked up from his writing. "I've never intended to force you into anything, Dean. You have free will, after all."
Dean waited. He knew there was a 'but' coming on. Sure enough -
"But have you ever considered that Castiel may not want you now? You were a bit cold to him when we left, after he fought so hard for you. You didn't even say goodbye."
Dean swallowed away the ache in his throat. You let him go, you let him go, you let him go played as a terrible mantra in his head. "He will come back for me," Dean said, with more certainty than he felt.
Chuck nodded. "I'll tell you what, Dean. Write four copies of a letter to Castiel, and I will send it out on my four fastest ships in order to reach him. If he chooses, he can return for you and I will not hold it against either of you. You can be together."
Dean could hardly believe it. "You'd do that for me?"
"I know you don't love me, Dean, and I've never asked for it. But I've grown fond of you and want your happiness. But - if Castiel does not return- will you please consider me as an alternative to suicide? I still need someone by my side to run this kingdom and would be glad to have you."
Dean swallowed. He didn't want to entertain the idea that Cas might not come for him. "Okay," said Dean. "If he - I'll write the letters."
Chuck smiled. "Good."
Dean left, and when he did, Chuck's smile fell and was replaced by an ugly look indeed.