A/N: EDIT: Hi again! For those of you who read the first version of this chapter I am SO sorry, 'cause really, it was a train wreck. But because I was so unhappy with this chapter and my amazing, amazing, amazing best friend pointed out that there were holes all over the place I went back and changed it up a little – well, maybe a lot but the basic plot is the same, I think. So the first version had Cas up and ready to do karaoke – err what? And Dean was ok with this? No, it was ridiculous.

So this new and (hopefully) greatly improved version of Chapter 6 should be a lot more believable and if it isn't then I suck :P

Enjoy :)

Oh and - Dean and Sam are in France 'cause...well they just are. I dunno, I guess we could just, yanno, shake SPN up a bit and say that the Winchesters are French? Haha.

EDIT: Present for you Angel Of Notre Dame fans (remove the spaces): http : / i53 . tinypic . com/ r7is13 . jpg


Chapter Six

Damage

Over the next few weeks Dean and Sam visit Castiel almost every day and the angel is more than grateful for their company. Usually, they sit and talk; the Winchester's tell Castiel of ghosts and demons, rogue angels and ghouls and all the other supernatural beings that they so frequently have to take care of. Castiel talks of his life in the bell tower, albeit there isn't much to tell, but the brothers sit and listen to the tales all the same. Castiel remembers the look on Dean's face when he told him he hasn't ever spoke to a woman much less 'been' with one; it was then that he promised the angel that he wouldn't let him die a virgin and assured him that Dean Winchester never disappointed when it came to promises. Castiel looked nervous at that and Sam guffawed over in the corner, mumbling something about 'wrong end of the stick'. The angel didn't quite understand.

Sometimes life gets in the way of the growing friendship between the three of them, however, which means that the brothers cannot always be around. Nevertheless, if they don't visit then Dean calls Castiel on his brand new shiny cell phone. Castiel had woke up the day after Dean's night visit and found the phone in a green bag on his desk along with a rather large packet of peanut M&M's. The device is nothing special, Dean assured him of this, but it is enough that when Castiel feels saddened by the lack of Winchester company during the day, he has something to look forward to when the night takes over and he is lay in bed.

The first time Dean had called him was just to say 'hi' and to check that the angel was still alive; Castiel had found that odd but had answered the question nonetheless, of course he was alive. Then the phone had rang a second time and Dean had called to say 'hi again' and that he wasn't going to be coming to the bell tower that day because they had to take care of a poltergeist in Lyons.

The angel's voice had gone noticeably quiet during that conversation and that was when Dean had said that he would call him later and they could talk for a while, and thus, it became a tradition that Dean would squeeze him in whenever they were too busy to show up.

It is during this thought process, this re-thinking of how the calls came around that the small device buzzes against Castiel's knuckles where it is perched on the desk.

He snatches it up and hears Dean's low voice on the other end.

"Cas, were coming up. Get the glasses out, it's party time!"

The connection is broken before Castiel can utter so much as a 'hello' and the angel is left mouth open, phone to his ear for a moment or two until he finally processes the information. The glasses Dean had mentioned are in the cupboard under the sink, three sparkling clear shot glasses that are forever accompanied by a bottle of thick brown liquor that Castiel finds he isn't much a fan of. According to Dean it is 'the best damn alcohol ever to sear a man's throat'. Castiel disagrees, fervently.

In spite of this, Dean gets him to drink some again today, two glasses instead of one this time and Castiel's eyes water with the stench let alone the burn of it running like acid down the back of his throat. It does take away some of the pain in his ribs from Raphael's latest beating though and he is glad for that.

"Well Feathers," Dean says, clapping a coarse palm on his shoulder, "Looks like you do have a taste for the strong stuff after all. Sammy, hit him again."

Sammy pours and so it continues.

The brothers stay with Castiel all day that day, drinking shots and laughing loudly, oblivious to the events that lie ahead.


It is Halloween.

Castiel is on his balcony, staring down at the crowds of people that have gathered to set up stalls and tents and a large stage in time for tonight's festival. The Festival of Fools they call it and Castiel knows it to be a huge event where males dress as scary, gory creatures, ladies try to outdo each other by wearing as little amount of clothes as possible and everyone comes together to dance, drink and sing. Loudly.

He watches a group of young people setting up the haunted house and sighs, how he really wishes he was down there with them, setting up, taking part, hell, even getting drunk would be fun for him despite the last time when Dean had to all but carry him to his bed due to his sudden lack of balance. But the Festival of Fools would be a change of scenery, a chance to experience new things, something more from the world other than this stone tower.

He is voicing these foolish desires down the phone to Dean whilst sat on the edge of his bed when Raphael walks in and Castiel fumbles, flips the phone shut and hurriedly pushes it under his pillow before he can see. The archangel strides over to him, eyebrow arched in disapproval.

"Who are you talking to Castiel?" His tone is dangerous and Castiel swallows a lump in his throat, he doesn't have an answer for his master and he panics, eyes darting around for inspiration.

He gestures behind him, out the window.

"The gargoyles," he says unthinkingly and winces internally.

Raphael eyes him suspiciously, squints as he takes a seat at Castiel's desk and pulls out a bunch of grapes. The feathers of his wings sharpen, "Castiel, gargoyles are made of stone. Can stone talk?"

"No, master. It cannot."

"Good. You are smart enough to know that much." He pops a grape into his mouth and gestures for Castiel to join him. The angel obeys, goes and takes a seat opposite Raphael and stares longingly at the expanse of the impressive white wings that stretch out behind him.

"Shall we commence with the revision of your alphabet?"

The angel nods.


Castiel is climbing down the rope, still unsure of this plan, later that night.

After three shots Dean has somehow managed to persuade him to go to the Festival of Fools. Apparently, he had been thinking after Castiel's phone call and had come up with the conclusion that Halloween would be the perfect cover for Castiel's unique wings – they can pass them off as a very realistic, very original angel costume. Castiel, truthfully, had been thinking the same thing that morning; if there is ever going to be a time when he can walk amongst the public unnoticed it will be tonight. It is rather perfect opportunity and, as Dean pointed out, Castiel shouldn't just throw it away - which is why he's currently scaling the side of the cathedral. But he doesn't quite know what he's getting himself into and his stomach is flip-flopping as he inches closer to the floor. If Raphael were to find him amongst these people, out of his tower, he would...well, Castiel doesn't know but he knows for certain it would result in shouting and anger and pain. He shudders, maybe he should go back. It isn't too late; he can easily climb the rope back to the top. Can slip in the window and go to his room, breathe in the familiar metallic scent of the bells and slide into his bed and be safe.

But he doesn't want to.

This is just one night, just one night where he can enjoy himself, can be free of his tower and have some fun.

Can be normal. And that's all Castiel has ever wanted.

So he tries to stop the fear of being discovered from taking over him and continues down the rope; after all, he has been out of the tower before and not been caught. Why should tonight be any different? Why should this one night that he so desperately wants to experience be any different?

"Cas! Hurry you're feathered ass up and get down here before the Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel decides to turn up." Dean shout-whispers up to him and Castiel quickens his pace. It isn't easy scaling a building at the best of times; he's done it before, of course, so he isn't completely hopeless. But when his hands are shaking with nerves and his head is swimming with thoughts of Raphael appearing, white wings raging, he finds that it is much easier to lose his grip and footing. Although when that does happen and his foot slips he finds that Dean's steady hands appear at his sides to stop him from swaying as he reaches the ground. He thanks him and smoothes himself over.

"Okay, where to first?" Sam asks when they reach the town's square. Castiel is a little overwhelmed; there are hundreds of people, stood packed together, dancing and eating and laughing and there are bright lights in a range of colours wherever he turns. The angel doesn't know where to look or what to try out first.

"Dunno man, but that blonde chick with the beamers over by the Hook-A-Duck is totally checking me out." Dean suggests, nodding at said woman and winking. Sam sighs, grabs his brother by the arm and drags him in the completely opposite direction of the Hook-A-Duck stand, telling Castiel to follow – he does, staying close behind the two for fear of getting lost in the masses of people.

They arrive at a stall selling masks and Sam asks Castiel to choose one. He supposes this is to stop him from standing out further and Dean confirms this when he tells him that no-one would go to a Halloween festival wearing an angel costume that consists only of wings. Castiel nods and looks at the assortment of masks in front of him; there's dozens of them, some small, some large, some scary, some pretty, in all different colours and fabrics and really, he doesn't know where to start.

"How about this one, Cas?" Dean picks up a deep blue satin mask. It's one from the collection that fits over the eyes, leaving the rest of the face exposed and Castiel can't help but notice that Dean picks the one in the colour that best matches his wings.

"Sammy, why didn't you tell me we were going to a party with The Mask of Zorro?" Dean comments as he adjusts Castiel's mask. The angel's eyebrow goes up at this but he doesn't question him, he is used to Dean's never-ending references to TV shows and movies and famous people - and he is used to not understanding them. Dean laughs at his expression nonetheless and Sam buys the mask.

The three of them press on, heading for the crowds, Castiel all but stuck to Dean's back.

They visit numerous stalls and tents, take a peek in the surprisingly dismal haunted house, buy hot dogs and cheeseburgers and beers and Castiel thinks that if he never has another night like this for the rest of his life it won't matter because right now, with Dean and Sam at his side and the crisp night air nipping at his cheeks and the cheesy taste of the burger still in his mouth, it is enough to last him this lifetime and the next and maybe even the one after that.

The angel doesn't realise when it happens. One moment he is gripping the back of Dean's jacket as they push their way through the crowd and the next he's holding on to thin air and he is being jostled away from the two brothers - he doesn't think Dean has noticed because he hasn't turned round. So, trying his best not to panic, Castiel begins to squeeze through the tiny gaps between sweat drenched bodies and heads for the direction of Dean and Sam. People, he finds, are very stubborn when it comes to giving up their space, even if only for a few seconds in order to let someone through, so Castiel ends up stuck in the middle of the masses with no easy way out.

"It's time to pick a winner for Best Costume everyone!" A stout man dressed as a jester stood in the centre of the stage screams into a microphone.

Castiel looks around helplessly to try and get his bearings back; he is much closer to the stage than he was previously, there are at least twenty rows of people between himself and the open space at the back of the crowd and he doesn't think he can get through that amount of people even if he did have Dean's jacket to grip onto.

The man stood next to him is talking in his ear as Castiel flails around in full panic mode. He can't decipher what he is saying and truthfully, he doesn't really care, he just wants to get back to Dean and Sam and safety.

"You should...up there...get your prize, man..." is all he distinguishes and before he can tell the man that he really cannot hear him above the roar of the crowd, hands are pushing him forwards, towards the stage and Castiel is powerless to stop them.

It is a short distance to the front of the crowd and Castiel finds himself being dragged up a set of steps by at least five different pairs of hands and then the jester is hauling him into the middle of the stage and Castiel is facing the crowd of people who are roaring at him and clapping reverently. He is more than a little bewildered and he doesn't know what to do, really he doesn't, so he just stands there stock still scanning the crowd for Dean or Sam as the jester shouts some more into the microphone.

"Is this our winner?" Castiel hears him say and then a louder roar of appreciation sounds through the air and Castiel is being ushered to the front of the stage and the jester is talking to him.

"Zachariah," he says and extends a hand towards him. Castiel takes it and shakes, just like Dean had taught him. "Tell me kid, what's your name and where did you get such an amazing costume?"

A microphone is pushed into his face and Castiel just ignores it and continues staring out to the crowd, searching. He sees men and women and children, faces eyeing him curiously, waiting for his answer but he doesn't care, he needs to find Dean. He's about to give up hope of ever spotting them when he sees Sam's lanky frame bounding through the throngs of people, Dean elbowing his way through behind him.

Castiel feels the weight lift from his chest – they're coming.

Everything from that point onwards seems to occur in slow motion for the angel, he can see the pigeons flying above them all in a V formation, can see Dean's determined face as he and Sam power through the crowd and he can see Zachariah's hand as it reaches out to grip his left wing. Castiel's body goes tense with shock as the meaty hand closes around bone and flesh and feathers and pulls ever so slightly to get his attention. His wing twitches violently underneath Zachariah's hand and Castiel can see the faces in the crowd go white with shock as they realise that no, this is no costume, this is real, Castiel is real and he is something they've never encountered before.

Zachariah turns to him, hand still firmly on his wing; his face is a mask of astonishment as he pulls again, harder. This time Castiel flaps his wing aggressively in defence, feathers whipping the air, bone colliding harshly, with a sickening crunch, against Zachariah's body hard enough that he flies across the stage and slams into the wall. Castiel watches, eyes huge, as his body slides lifelessly to the floor and blood seeps down the side of the jesters face.

A split second of silence.

The bristle of feathers.

A glimpse of large white wings retreating to the back of the crowd.

Dean's face one of panic and determination as he and Sammy finally reach the stage and begin to climb.

He knew this would happen.

"It's the monster from the bell tower!"

With these words the silence is broken and the crowd surges forward.

Castiel only has a fraction of a second before hands are all over him, gripping him, clawing at his clothes like pack animals and he's screaming Dean's name at the top of his lungs. He can't see through the wall of bodies pressed up against him, closing him in a circle of hate filled words and wounding blows but he dares to hope that if he screams loud enough he will hear.

Dean has to hear.

Castiel can handle it for now, can take the pain and the abuse of punches and detestable saliva drenched babble leaving the people's lips but then someone grabs his wing and he is in a frenzy.

Oh Father, no, please no!

Castiel's eyes roll back in their sockets as the pain sweeps through him, with that first tug at his wings, like a knife cutting through butter.

They are touching his wings, not just touching but tearing.

He can feel the insensitive hands diving into them, gripping at the root of his feathers, pinching at the flesh beneath them and pulling hard, so very hard, until the feathers rip away from the skin, leaving gruesome, bloody holes in his wings. Over and over he can feel it, the unbearable pain, the slice of knife like hands. He can't take it; he feels the loss of every feather like a human would feel the loss of a limb and as each raven plume is yanked out and his wings are shredded to nothing but blood soaked flesh, Castiel howls in torture.

It lasts for what feels like years. He is pushed to the ground, stamped on, punched, kicked over and over, his feathers are continuously slashed from his wings, his hair is pulled, his face is throbbing, his legs are shattered, his spine aches from the pounding of heavy boots smacking against it, his arms are sliced open, someone must have had a knife...

...and then finally, finally he blacks out.