A/N: Hi guys :) It's been a while since my last update, I know, but things are gonna get real hectic now with college back on ¬.¬ - so I'm thinking maybe a chapter every couple days...

Yeah, this is Chapter 7 incase y'all didn't know already and it's fairly lacking in action but there's oodles of planning and plotting and just yeah, read and you shall see ;)

Enjoy, and thanks to everyone who reviewed my last chapter. Sorry Cas had to get so hurt – poor baby :( - but it was essential to the plot so...forgive me?


Chapter Seven

Comatose

Castiel is having a nightmare.

He is certain of this because he isn't in his tower cleaning his bells.

He is on a stage being ravaged by humans; humans of all variations, male and female, old and young are plunging their hands into his sensitive wings and ripping out feathers and Castiel cannot feel the pain and the images are blurry and it just isn't possible for him to be out of his tower.

Therefore this, he tells himself, is merely a result of his overactive imagination supplying him with a grotesque perception of the human species due to his fear of the unknown; his fear of being rejected and hated by society if he were to eventually be a part of it one day.

So Castiel doesn't worry when his vision clears for a split second enough to catch sight of his right wing: he doesn't worry as he takes in the bloodied mess of the exposed flesh, flesh that is supposed to be covered by the shimmering black feathers which are now scattered haphazardly in bloody pools about his body. He doesn't worry when he feels, rather than hears, the loud bang of a shotgun, sees the bullet cut swiftly through the air above his head and the faces of the crowd, blurry as they are, turn into masks of silent screams as they part and leave his crumpled body in peace.

Or pieces, rather.

A shadow approaches, dark and sturdy, with short spikes of hair and rough hands, flanked by another shadow of the long-limbed, floppy haired kind and steady hands reach down cautiously to hang on to him. A pained sound escapes the shadow's lips as it lean's down towards Castiel's face.

He is aware of nothing much after that, nothing of much significance anyway, except that his body is being moved, lifted upwards by some unknown force and for a fleeting moment he thinks he has died and is floating up to the Gates of his Father's home, but then his body rests as it reaches a certain height, safe in two strong arms, cradled against a firm chest as he is carried through the streets of Paris. His vision gradually fades back to black and the nightmare is over.


Dean encounters a problem when he's finally climbed the Steps of Death and, panting, face redder than a freakin' tomato, he reaches the door of Castiel's room. It's a very big problem too, of epic proportions . . . the sigils.

It seems that as well as keeping the angel trapped inside the upper quarters of the tower, they also keep him out. Sam had opened the door and walked through – standard procedure when entering a room, no? - but when Dean tried to do the same the most he could do was let his foot say peek-a-boo to the bells before an invisible wall slammed into his chest, sending him flying backwards. It became pretty freakin' apparent after the third time landed on his ass with Cas bundled and whimpering in his arms that the angel couldn't pass through the doorway.

Well shit.

He briefly toyed with the idea of getting Cas in through the window but that plan was shot down rapidly due to a slight hitch: they couldn't get the angel up to the balcony - he's seen the Disney version of the Hunchback of Notre Dame and no way is it as easy to swing from buildings with a fully grown person on your back as Quassy made it look. Plus, this fully grown person has wings – huge freakin' wings that are in terrible shape and are in desperate need of attention, though Dean has no clue what kind, he'd never got his hands on a How to Mend an Angel's Wings for Beginners book. The point is, even with both he and Sammy the Sasquatch combined, there is no way in Heaven or Hell they're gonna be able to haul Cas up the side of a building. And he doesn't much fancy the idea of squishing the poor bastard through a window back into that suffocating tower either.

"Shit Sammy, what're we gonna do?" Dean really wants to shout in frustration right about now but he catches himself when he remembers Cas – poor guy's sleeping against Dean's chest, drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness – and instead whispers it theatrically, face twisted in anger. Sam bites his lip as he looks at the angel then turns his puppy-like eyes to Dean and gives him that look, the c'mon Dean there's only one thing we can do and its really, really obvious look. Dean sighs and nods, "To Bobby's it is then."

Its four hours before they reach Bobby's junkyard out in the country and pull up outside the huge, practically empty house. Four painstaking hours of Dean driving for the most part like the Impala had turned into Marty McFly's souped-up DeLorean DMC-12, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching over the seat and clutching Cas's wrist, eyes constantly flicking to the rear-view mirror to check the angel was still breathing. Sam had to tell him more times than he could count on both hands to chill out, already. Panicking, apparently, wasn't getting them anywhere and so Dean had eventually relented and eased off the gas a smidgen. His hand stayed curled round Cas's wrist though and he didn't stop checking the mirror.

Bobby is waiting for them on the porch when they arrive, says he's got the bed in the spare room upstairs set up for the angel and Dean and Sam carry him, Dean with his torso, Sammy with his legs, up the brown carpeted steps and into the first room on the right. They lay Cas on the bed as gently as possible but the slight jerk when Dean removes himself from underneath the angel cannot be helped and it causes a cry of pain to sweep through his bruised and bloody lips. Dean bites down on his own lip to stop from crying, really, the angel is in terrible shape, really freakin' terrible shape and Dean is worried, more worried than he has ever been about anyone save for his family before and that scares the bajeezus outta him on its own. Not to mention that he's harbouring a whole big steaming pile of guilt for having been the one who convinced Cas to go all Great Escape in the first place - but he's trying his best not to think about that, trying to push it to the deepest darkest corner of his mind which until now he's reserved for fuck-ups like letting that shtriga get hold of Sam when he was a kid and being unable to stop his Dad from sacrificing himself to save Dean's sorry ass. He thinks this new addition to the list though, could be one of his more severe fuck-ups so far and he really isn't prepared to hang with his ultimate best friend Guilt right now. He needs to focus on getting Cas better and begging for his holy forgiveness because, while his idea resulted in these horrific consequences, his intentions has been entirely good , he'd convinced Castiel to go to the festival so that he could have some fun, gain life experience and all that hoo-ha.

He sighs and gets to work, gingerly helping Sam splay out the broken wings so that they aren't crumpled in on themselves or stuck under Castiel's comatose body, careful not to pull too hard or touch any extra-sensitive looking parts. Bobby brings all the first aid equipment he's got, which is a pretty damn lot, and the brother's start patching up the wings; Dean does the right one because it's the one that's more severely broken, the bone jutting out from the flesh and skin and weirdly, he feels that this is his responsibility, Cas is his responsibility. It's a hard job, understandably, and Cas moans and jerks and churns out bloodcurdling screams continuously as Dean eases the bones back into place and seals the gaping holes with heaps of bandage and gauze. When it's done and Cas's wings are mummified they move onto his body. Dean gasps a lot during that process, angry gasps as he surveys the absolute destruction humans have been responsible for. As he cleans up each new found wound, a stab to the angels shoulder, a slash along his right collar bone, a particularly dark scattering of bruises along his hip, Dean's anger builds up until he can feel it bubbling in the back of his throat, hotter than the fires of Hell.

Eventually and finally, they finish cleaning Cas up and Dean takes a step back from the bed and stands in the middle of the room. It was inevitable that he would get blood on his hands and Dean knows that, but he can't help the revulsion he feels as he looks down at the stark red of it staining his hands; the irony of it makes him feels sick, 'cause hadn't he just been thinking that, metaphorically, he has Cas's blood on his hands? Yeah, and now he definitely has, only for real and as he stands in the middle of the bedroom staring down at the crimson liquid his stomach churns and the bottom of it gives way and Dean rushes to the bathroom.

He emerges again when there's no nothing left inside of him but sharp pains twisting through his mid-section from heaving and makes his way to the kitchen where Bobby and Sam are sat at the table.

"You tellin' me that I'm gonna be havin' another house guest pretty damn soon and it's gonna be a royally pissed off archangel?" Bobby's face is incredulous and Sam looks sheepish as he nods. Looks like Sam's broke the news about Cas's Grace tracking device, Dean thinks as he scrapes a chair back from the table and flops down into it.

"Tell me you found away to torch the son of a bitch Bobby, even if it's only temporary..." Dean says, looking hopefully at the older hunter. Bobby's jaw tightens and he gets up from the table, two sets of Winchester eyes following him. He goes into his study and returns with an ancient looking book decorated with so much dust Dean thinks it might have been stuck in that tower with Cas for all it's life. He opens it about halfway in and points to a black and white sketch of what looks like an archangel holding a long pointed sword, kinda like a jousting stick, Dean thinks, but shorter. It is pure white from what Dean can see, and it seems to glow, much like he pictured angels to do when he was a kid and didn't know about the real angels, the ones that emerged and integrated in with the humans hundreds of years ago. Which don't glow one little bit – mammoth disappointment.

"This sword will kill an archangel-" Bobby says.

"Good, how do we get hold of it?" Dean can't help the utter hope that seeps into his voice.

"Slow down ya idjit," Bobby chastises, "It will kill an archangel but, only if it's stabbed by another archangel."

Dean swears under his breath, figures it would be too good to be true. Still, there's possibility in the idea; surely Raphael isn't the only archangel floating about. Maybe they can get their hands on a summoning spell and drag one of them feathery suckers down here to gank Big Bird, though it does seem unlikely. 'Cause whoever comes, if they do, would essentially be asked to kill one of their brothers and seeing as Cas has never met another of his brothers aside from Raphael, it's doubtful that they'll side with him and torch the mighty and powerful Raph to save his 'tainted' ass. Dean feels that anger bubble up again, only this time directed at the so-called-holy fuckers who all turned their back on Castiel. The injustice of the whole guy's life sparks fury in Dean like nothing else and he's beginning to worry that at some point he won't be able to control it.

"There is a temporary solution," Bobby pipes up and Dean motions for him to go on. "Those sigils you sent me pictures of, well there's different kinds: one's to trap angels, one's to summon them and one's to banish them."

"You got examples of these sigils Bobby? Proof that they work, we can't just go on faith alone 'cause I'm tellin' ya, that Raphael is gonna be pissed when he gets here and he's a powerful son of a bitch. We won't stand a freakin' snowballs chance against him if the sigils don't hold up."

Bobby turns the pages of the book and points out another picture. Sam scoots the book over to him and Dean and they survey the mass of symbols garnishing the double page spread. There's little clippings of text next to each one with directions on how they have to be done and how long they last. The banishing one is fairly straightforward, it can be drawn on any surface with any material and it lasts for a whole week. Okay, so in the big scheme of things a week is piss but it's something at least.

"I think," Sam starts, "that we should put theses all over the house. It says we have to touch the sigil when the angel's near in order for it to work so-"

"Hold up Sammy," Dean cuts him off, voice cold with realisation. The text also says that the sigil will banish all angels within the radius. Dean's not the sharpest tool in the box but even he knows that that includes Cas. "Cas has to do it."

"What?" Sam and Bobby say at the same time, twin expressions of confusion on their faces.

"Says here all angels will be banished 'cept for the angel who touches the sigil, so I'm willing to bet that if we go round palming up the damn things Cas is gonna go poof as well as dear old Raph. The only solution is for Cas to be the one to banish him." Dean explains, slightly proud of himself for being the only one who cottoned on.

"But Castiel is comatose Dean. And even if he were conscious I can't see him being well enough to banish an angel, it also says here that touching a sigil takes a lot of energy. Dean, we take any more energy from the guy and he'll be dead." Sam's worried face takes over his confused face and Dean slams his fist on the table.

"This is shit! Bobby, is there anything else? Anything at all to keep the bastard out?" Dean's tone is desperate and his eyes are pleading with the older hunter's.

"I'm sure I saw...hang on a sec." Bobby goes to his study again, takes his sweet time too, and returns with an even thicker, older looking book. He flips a few pages, skips a whole section on Angel Abilities and stops at a loose page with various symbols printed on it. He scans the text then looks up at the two waiting brothers. "Thought so, says here these sigils keep angels from entering places, specifically archangels, but it has to be a place on hallowed ground and it don't last too long either."

He shoves the book across the table and Dean begins to scour the page. It's a combination of 6 sigils, quite tricky bastards too, all which have to be drawn in blood and in a place on hallowed ground. If done correctly no archangel will be able to enter the building for 3 dawns - a full 72 hours. There doesn't seem to be any drawbacks to this one, aside from the hallowed-ground-has-to-be-drawn-in-blood thing but Dean thinks they can work something out with that; surely there's a church or something around here that they can hole up in for a few days while they try and figure out what to do for a permanent solution? The blood. . .well, yeah that might be a problem. It doesn't give specifics but Dean can't see say, goat's blood, doing the trick against an archangel; he's willing to bet that by morning him and Sammy will have nearly bled themselves dry drawing these things.

"Well, it's our only chance. Sammy, get your Google on: I want you to search out every abandoned church within a 20 mile radius, we don't have enough time to make it any further." Sam nods and fires up his laptop.

Dean turns to Bobby, "Don't suppose you wanna be charitable and loan us some supplies? Say food, blankets – that kinda shit..." Bobby raises an eyebrow.

Dean grins as Bobby heads for the kitchen with a muffled "audacious little idjit".


An hour later and the Impala is stuffed with supplies and Castiel is spread out in the backseat covered in blankets. Sam had managed to track down an old church a couple hours away and Bobby had loaned them as many spare quilts as he could find, old gas lamps and lots of food. The old hunter, not all too comfortable with angels, had turned down the offer of 'come with?' and so had tried to help out as much as he could in other ways – like getting his hands on a jackpot load of morphine for Sam and Dean when they eventually have to go emo and shed blood. Dean thinks it'll come in handy when Cas is conscious and the pain starts too so he vows not to be selfish and save the angel some.

They hit the road after thanking Bobby more times than the old hunter deemed necessary. Sam said he'd drive to give Dean a break and so the passenger seat remains empty as the Impala speeds through the roads; Dean opted to sit in the backseat with Castiel.

The angels head is resting on his chest, Dean is running his fingers through the angel's hair and Sam swears he can hear him talking to him softly every so often but he can't be sure. Dean isn't usually like this though, he has to admit he's noticed the changes over the past weeks; his brother smiles more, has become a lot calmer than he was previously, left behind some of his irrational hunting ways and – to Sam's intense dismay – has become more open to sharing his feelings, though still, Dean isn't exactly on the list of Oscar winners for Most Emotional Male.

At least not unless it comes to Castiel. . .and Sam isn't sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Hell, they're going up against an archangel for this angel, this weird little recluse angel who Dean's taken a shine to. Surely no good can come of this friendship – and Sam uses that term loosely – it's more than likely that they'll be toast by morning when that big feathery guy catches up with them, but then Sam can't deny that he wouldn't deprive Dean of this little bit of happiness he's found with the angel for anything in the world. For too long Dean has been putting everyone else before himself and it's the nicest thing in the world for Sam to see his brother be a bit selfish for once, although, admittedly holing up in a church and harbouring an angel fugitive of sorts isn't exactly selfish – no doubt Dean's thinking of Cas's well being before his own. Sam smiles at that, yeah friendship is a term he thinks he's always gonna use loosely when referring to Dean and Castiel.

The church is most definitely abandoned to Dean's relief; it's embedded in at least four feet of tall grass, ivy leaves creeping up it's once white walls. There's two entrances, one at the front that seems to be the main and a smaller hidden one at the back that Dean dares to hope could be useful if they need to make a quick escape. Fat chance of that working when they have an archangel tracking them though. The stained glass windows, amazingly, are still intact – three large ones on either side of the church and one smaller one on the tower that rises up from the left side of the church. It's pretty run down, despite the features of doors and windows though and Dean will bet his sweet ass that it's freezing, damp and stinky. Which, really, is what he was expecting but not what he wanted.

Sam's inside already, checking out the space and setting out some blankets to lay Cas on and Dean is unloading the trunk. When he's done he takes the stuff to the entrance and leaves them by the door for Sammy to pick up and take in. The Impala needs to be hidden, he isn't taking any chances of being found by anyone. On the off chance that Raphael can only sense the general location of where Cas is, doubtful as it is, Dean wants to make sure that he doesn't catch sight of his baby. Chevy Impala in mint condition parked outside a crumbling abandoned church just screams suspicious. He parks it round the back, hidden completely when looking from the front and then calls for Sam to come help him get Cas. His brother comes around from the front and the two haul the angel out of the back seat and into the darkened church. Inside is pretty much what Dean expected, apart from the damp aspect – the place is pretty dry, which is awesome. The altar has been ripped out and most of the pews save for about 5 too, the carpet is still intact which, again is awesome, and the place is fairly insulated considering its abandoned and looks like it's been empty since the freakin' prehistoric times. Overall, it's a decent enough place to sit tight for a few days.

Sam has set up a mound of blankets over in corner and they carry Cas over, lay him down gently and cover him with a couple more blankets. Dean's worried now; the angel has been unconscious for far too long and his skin is deathly pale and freezing to the touch. If he doesn't wake up soon he doesn't think he ever will and that doesn't sit well with Dean at all, not at all.

"Dean, it's getting light out. I don't think there's much time before Raphael goes in the tower and notices it's extremely lacking in Castiel."

Dean nods and grabs one of the many bags Sammy had brought in. He rummages and unloads until set out before him is the paper with the sigils, two freshly sharpened bowie knives, the majority of Bobby's remaining first aid kit, the morphine and a bottle of Jack.

"We're in for one hell of a night Sammy."