A/N: So sorry for such a late post, trying to keep to a weekly schedule, lets me ephasize, trying :)
He sighs angrily, frustrated as he lays Castiel's arm back down, hand lingering for a second longer than it has to on the angel's. He steps away, retuning to his pacing.
They stay that way for a long time, Sam taking up residence in the chair and Dean continue his mindless pacing until he gets too tired and has to join Sam in the other seat. He doesn't know how much time passes before Castiel stirs, hands twitching and his head flopping to the side. Dean is at his side in an instant.
"Hey, Cas, you in there?"
The angel's eyelids flutter and he makes a small, unintelligible sound then stills. Dean waits for a moment, waiting for some further sign the angel is regaining consciousness but when he gets none he rubs his eyes, patting one hand against Castiel's wrist before joining Sam again at the end of the bed.
"You almost look as bad as him." Sam says.
"Must be looking in the mirror." Dean replies, looking right at Sam.
A small smile quirks Sam's lips.
"I'm going to go find us some coffee before we really do collapse."
"You do that man."
After Sam leaves Dean returns to his pacing when Castiel all but flies out of the bed. Before Dean can stop him he has his feet on the floor and is making a bid to stand.
"Cas!"
He lurches to his feet only making it about two steps before he practically runs into Dean as his knees give way and the man is forced to catch him.
"Whoa, whoa. Easy, man, easy."
Gripping Dean's shoulder, Castiel forces his feet underneath him, demanding they hold his weight. They're uncooperative, but he manages to stand, trying to push away from Dean but finding he's being pushed back instead.
"Sit down, you lunatic!"
Dean all but shoves him back onto the bed, as careful of his injures as he can be, what with the angel seemingly insistent on moving forward. It's only the stab of pain throughout Castiel's chest that stills him, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed.
"Dude, one minute you're comatose and the next you're damn near streaking in the halls."
"I have to leave, Dean. Zachariah-"
"Hold up, you don't even have any proper clothing on. And don't even think about blinking out of here, you hear me?"
Castiel looks down at himself to find he's only garbed in a flimsy fabric gown with polka-dots on it, which, for the most part, lacks a back entirely. Clothing is not especially important to an angel but he knows that this would go against social protocols and stand out far too much. On any other day he could simply make clothing out of thin air, but like this…it's too much energy, too much time.
He spots his clothes, the mess that they are, thrown over the back of a chair next to the bed. He notes that the shirt and jacket are not among the items there. Dean notices his attention wander to the clothing and his eyes follow.
"Yah, they had to cut the jacket off you because it was basically glued into your wounds but they saved your stalker coat.
Dean picks up the coat and gives it to Castiel who carefully takes it with both hands.
"The back is cut up but you can probably fix that once you're better."
A horizontal tear has neatly cut across the lower back, edges saturated with deep red blood, already dried and stiff.
"Are you well enough to stand? If you want to get moving we're more than happy to get going." Dean says.
In all honesty, Castiel would like nothing better than to return to his blanket of darkness and 'sleep it off' as Dean would have put it. But that is not even an option. He also can't go with the Winchesters, he might as well hand them over to Zachariah gift wrapped. He also knows they won't simply leave him. He'll have to deceive them in order to save them. They won't like it, but he hardly has any other choice.
"No, I…I need to rest a little longer…"
A small, sad frown captures Dean's face, but Castiel pretends he doesn't see it. He needs to wait Dean out, needs him to leave before he can make his escape. He hauls his legs back into the bed and lays back, nervously and restlessly. Dean doesn't seem to notice as he continues to pace. While Castiel waits to execute his plan he carefully feels out his grace, exploring the damage to his body. Minimal healing has already set in but not enough to do much good yet. His hands still have raw holes punched through them, the bandages the only thing separating them.
He runs his grace along all the stitches adorning his body but finds they're sound, tight and sore, but good enough. Even his lungs are feeling whole again, at least not on the verge of collapse. It's the hole in his shoulder that's causing him some problems. The surgeons obviously did what they could in such a hectic time but it's still a vast, gaping wound, pulsing with each heart beat.
Dean is finally forced to leave Castiel's side in search of Sam and coffee. He promises to return soon, but the angel really hopes he's not too quick. He'll need at least five minutes to pull this off and he's known Dean to returns much quicker than that from more complicated errands. The second he hears Dean's footsteps fade away he's heaving himself out of the bed, throwing his lead weight legs over the side and carefully reacclimatizing them to actually holding weight. He tears off the papery hospital gown and throws it on the bed as he reaches for his clothes. To say dressing is a struggle is an understatement. He can hardly move his right arm, the drugs in his system only further hampering his efforts. Every minute movement of any muscle seems to cause him pain. Some how he manages though, getting his pants on, hastily throwing his trench coat over top. He can't be bothered, nor does he have the time to battle the shirt or the belt. He carefully spreads his wings, testing them gingerly before taking a test flight.
He doesn't intend to make it very far and fortunately he didn't have high hopes because first he finds himself outside the hospital. He tries again, this time making it half a mile down the highway. He realizes that that is the end of his flying, but that's okay, he wasn't expecting much anyway. And at this distance, when the angels do come, they won't hurt anybody at that hospital, but most importantly, they won't hurt Sam and Dean. With one final glance backwards he begins his trudge down the highway to nowhere, simply waiting for the storm he knows is coming.
Dean stares at the hospital bed, uncomprehending for a second on how it could possibly be empty.
"Son. Of. A BITCH!" He growls, loudly.
The next half hour is spent in a frantic hunt of the hospital before they decide he can't be anywhere inside. They head out to Impala, quickly blowing by nurses and side stepping patients. Dean is about three words away from a complete melt down so Sam keeps his mouth shut, following hurriedly to the Impala. On a hunch Sam heads to the trunk, fishing out the old CB radio and turns it on. John had bought the thing and hardly used it, but that didn't make it a young machine.
"Come on, Sam. We have to go!" Dean hollers from the driver's seat.
"One second."
He can almost hear the mental huff Dean gives him. Or maybe it's an actual huff
Surprisingly, the radio works, static crackling before voices start pouting out of it, garbled, but at least comprehensible. He's heading towers his seat when he hears what he wants to hear.
"There's a drunken guy in a trench coat on the side of the 79 near Pennington, try not to hit him, he's weaving his sorry ass all over the fricken' road."
"Dean, did you hear that?" Sam says, all but leaping into the car. "He's down the highway, near Pennington."
"Well, he didn't get very far." Dean grumbles.
They roar out of that parking lot, hitting the road like the devil himself is chasing them.
Castiel's been waling for half an hour now. Walking is the polite term to use. If he was being entirely honest, he'd say he's been stumbling for the past hour.
The cold wind and even colder night bothers him more than is should, more so now that he only has his trench coat on. He can't spare any Grace at the moment on something as trivial as numbing his vessel's nerves, all his focus is still on his more pressing wounds. At one point his foot catches on a large stone, pitching him into the gravel face first. The jarring impact sends his bones shuddering and sets his wounds on fire. He tries to get up right away, but his arm gives away and he's down again, face in the gravel. He hates himself for it, but he has to catch his breath before attempting to stand. The burn of his wounds subsides, letting him crawl to his hands and knees, favouring his right side before shakily ascending to his feet. He gains his bearings before setting out again, at an even slower pace than the previous one. He knows the Angels and Zachariah will be on him far too soon. He has to cover more ground. A large logging truck trundles along, blowing past Castiel in a gust of wind that almost knocks him over. He glares at the truck's retreating form but really, he's mad that something so pathetic could do that. And then he's upset over the fact that he could be mad at all. Taking a deep breath that comes out as more a sigh he steadies himself before trudging on.
Dean is fuming, coming up with thousands of things to say to the stupid angel he's going to find but one keeps jumping to the forefront of his mind more than others 'Cas, how can you be such an idiot!'
Dean thought it nicely summed up his thoughts and the angel's actions, followed by some more colourful words that will come out in the heat of the moment, he's sure it will make him feel better. Sam remains quiet, eyes scanning the highway. It hardly forty minutes before a streak of brown is illuminated in the dark.
"Dean, there." He says, pointing.
Like a hawk's, Dean's eyes latch onto the stumbling form, slowing down as they approach. The closer they get the more apparent it becomes that it is indeed Castiel. The angel only spares them a glance before looking forward again and continuing on his pathetic path. Dean slows to a mere crawl and then a stop a few meters in front of Castiel. When he reaches them he stops looking down into the car at Sam and Dean. The stare, despite how weary and worn he looks, gives Sam the feeling that heaven's wrath is being directed though those blue eyes.
"Cas, what are you doing?" Dean growls from the other side.
"Walking."
"Where?"
"Away from that hospital. You should go, Dean. Zachariah and the others will-"
"Screw it, Cas! I'm not leaving you to those dicks so get in the car."
Castiel doesn't stop so Dean slams on the car horn, making Castiel jump, bumping into Sam's door and then clutching at the car roof as he grimaces, hand gravitating to his chest. Dean can see through his open coat the neat lines of stitches, red and enflamed skin surrounding them and even the patch of bandaging on his shoulder is stained rain. He manages to swallow his guilt at hurting Castiel more in his already abused state. His eyes meet the angel's and both look resolute and unyielding. Sam feels caught in the middle of one of their more intense staring contests.
"Dean-"
"Cas. In the car."
Castiel opens his mouth to say something when he's suddenly ripped back with a short cry.
"Cas?!" Sam and Dean shout in unison, leaning towards the window.
"Hello, boys." Another voice says.
Both their heads snap back to Dean's window where Zachariah is leaning smugly against the doorframe.
"Son of a-!"
Dean fumbles for a weapon, anything, when Zachariah taps his fingers against his forehead and he's suddenly outside the Impala on the shoulder of the road. Sam is vaulting out of the car, while two other angels hold Castiel pinned to the car, one holding his blade threateningly and the other with his arm across Castiel's throat, his sword poised over his stomach, ready to pierce. A third stands off to the side, watching intently.
"Cas?"
The angel's eyes dart in his direction and Dean gets the distinct feeling he's trying to tell him something, but he can't figure out exactly what. Sam hovers just a few feet away from Dean, taking in the scene, trying to think of a plan.
"So, now that everyone is here why don't we get started?" Zachariah says, clapping his hands together.
He turns to Dean, eyes sharp and only a foot away from him
"Since you don't care about yourself and what I would do to you, I'm going to use something that you do care about and that I'm willing to break." His eyes skip to Sam briefly before returning to Dean.
"Don't do it, Dean! Don't-"
Castiel's shout is cut short as a blade is pressed to his throat and his head is wrenched back.
"Easy. Let's at least let the boys know what's going on." Zachariah chides and the angels stop but they still hold Castiel in that threatening position.
The head angel turns to Dean, who's looking stricken and horrified and Sam isn't that much better off. Zachariah, smug grin still firmly in place, steps towards Dean.
"If you don't say yes to Michael I'm going to break this angel and then I'm going to kill him. While you watch. And hey, I may even have you do it." He says, stabbing a finger at Castiel.
"Dean, don't-" Castiel warns again but he gets the point of a sword under his chin as a result. Dean doesn't think his head can go back much further when the blade draws a sluggish trickle of blood down his neck from the single point. Any more pressure and it could easily punch through the weak underbelly of his jaw, killing him. The other angel draws his blade over the first few stitches across Castiel's neck. Castiel tries to push them away, struggling, but he's no match for the two that have him pinned so vulnerably, especially in the state he's in. Dean can see the corner of the wound open anew, blood beginning to spill down his neck.
"Stop! Just stop!" Dean shouts, trying to move forward, but Zachariah deftly moves his hand and he can move no more.
"Then it's settled. If I call Michael you'll surrender yourself, body and soul, to him?"
"Dean, no, please." Castiel pleads and is promptly choked at the hard press of a sword.
He struggles to keep his eyes open, locked with Dean's. Dean feels like he's caught between two raging monsters. If he says yes, he'll save Castiel (maybe) but betray him none the less. If he lets him die its likely he'll be forced to say yes anyway and he'll have the added agony of watching his friend gasp his last breaths and be helpless to do anything.
'What's it going to be, Dean? My patience is far from infinite."
Dean hesitates just a second too long for Zachariah's liking. He motions with his hand and suddenly the sword isn't on Castiel's neck but leaning against his eyebrow, ready to slash downwards. Even Castiel's eyes widen, terrified.
"Okay, okay!" Dean says, trying to buy time, still unsure of what he's going to do.
All eyes snap to him.
"Dean!?" Sam says.
"Shut up, Sam."
"Now, your not going to do something stupid, are you Dean?" Zachariah presses. "Because if you try and fool me, something very bad will happen to him angel."
Zachariah says, fingers flicking outward.
"No, wait!" Dean shouts.
But it's too late. The second angel plunges his sword into Castiel's thigh, all the way up to the hilt. He screams, head jerking, body spasaming as the blade against his throat slicing a thin, new line above the old one as he jumps forward reflexively. His knees give out on him, the only thing appearing to keep him on his feet are the other two angels, body pinned against the Impala.
"Stop!" Dean shouts again, making a run for them.
He makes it half way when the angel twists the sword again, wrenching another cry from Castiel, agonized and sharp as he throws his head back against the Impala, chest heaving. Instead of being stopped short Dean manages to run right to them, wedging his way in between the butchering angels and Castiel. As he does so the angel yanks the sword out and Castiel flails, left hand clenching in Dean's coat as he pulls him close. Dean is so close he can feel the ragged beat of Castiel's heart through his coat, the heat radiating off his skin and the shallow gasps of air puffing out against his cheek. He knows he's only gotten this close because Zachariah wants him there and now he knows why. With Castiel clinging to him, so hurt and weak it becomes a thousand times worse then watching from afar. Suddenly the other angel pull back and Castiel begins to slide down. Dean's arms shoot out and he tries to hold the angel up, but the painful groan he gets in response prompts him to sink to his knees, still holding Castiel. His whole body is trembling, gasping for air through the pain, hand still clutching at Dean.
"Don't…don't you dare…" Castiel gasps, fingers tightening in the front of coat.
His eyes, bright from pain, are drilling into him and Dean does his best not to cave under them. He can almost feel Castiel trying to will him, will him to let him lie here and die, anything but saying yes to Michael.
Anything.
But resolve of his own creeps into Dean's eyes, hardening angrily as he takes in the full enormity of what's happening. He's holding Castiel, Castiel the angel, bleeding and shaking and in pain like no angel should ever have to be. This is an angel, his friend, perhaps his best friend. There's no friggen' way in hell he's going to let him die. He takes Castiel's hand, the one gripped in his coat, loosens it and squeezes it tight, eyes locked with the angel's. But he doesn't see what he expects to see there. The fear, the panic is gone, replaced with resolve not dissimilar to Dean's. Castiel squeezes his hand back, shakily, but he suddenly pulls it into his coat, wrapping Dean's fingers around the handle of a blade there. Dean doesn't even hesitate. He yanks the blade out, wheeling around and stabbing at the nearest angel.
The tip of the sword pierces the angel's chest. He looks shocked for a moment before his eyes light up and he screams, white light pouring everywhere before snapping off as the empty body collapses into the dirt. That's as far as he gets before the other angel grabs him and throws him into the ditch. He drops the sword somewhere between leaving the ground and landing on his back so hard he feels like bones shatter. He heaves for breath, scrambling to his feet to come face to face with Zachariah, looking very, very pissed.
Castiel scrambles for his discarded sword, hands locking around it just in time to parry Leochoir's blow that aimed to chop off his head. He shoves himself up onto his knees, shoving Leochoir away with one arm, the other lashing out with his sword. Josiah rises up behind him. He pivots on his good leg, stabbing sharply. He feels the blade pierce Josiah's chest in a burst of light. He doesn't bother to watch his death before he leaps forward, making a run for Sam. A sudden gut wrenching pain flares up his back, blinding him with its intensity. He can hear himself scream, stumbling and falling to his knees but getting back up right away. He can't afford any weakness now, not with the Winchester's lives at stake. He can't see for a few more seconds but he continues forward, stumbling until he collides with the person he's looking for. His hand fists in the front of Sam's shirt as he half turns, vision returning as he stabs at Leochoir charging from behind. His sword grazes his lip, punching through his cheek with ease, blood spewing out of his mouth. He reels back, clutching at his face with a grunt. Castiel's window of opportunity is small so he doesn't waste one second. Hand still on Sam he locates Dean, yanking him along with him despite the searing pain in his back which has spread to his wing. His leg throbs but he shoves that away too, forcing onward. He doesn't even know how he manages that, soundly ignoring the implications of what that could mean for him. He focuses on one thing and one thing only: Escape.
Zachariah is beating Dean to Kingdom come, barely breaking a sweat as he delivers a devastating blow to his face. Dean coughs and he promptly drops him, straightening up. He scowls at his suit, pulling it straight and swiping at the dirt and speckles of blood. Dean lies on his back, groaning as he struggles onto his side, spitting blood feebly.
"You mud-moneys think you're invincible. You're not." He growls aiming a kick that catches Dean in the chest, flipping him completely onto his stomach. Zachariah chuckles. He isn't even breaking bones yet he has the 'Righteous Man' a quivering heap on the ground. A scream registers faintly in the back of his mind but he pays it no mind, so focused on the task of enjoying himself and this moment.
"If you weren't the vessel, I wouldn't hesitate to peel the skin from your flesh and strip that pathetic body of yours down, one layer of flesh and muscle at a time till all I have is bones. Castiel won't be so lucky."
As Castiel hauls Sam down into the ditch Zachariah is leaning over Dean, hand fisted in his coat. Castiel stabs at him, silver blazing in the pale moon. Zachariah turns at the last moment, lurching away, sword cutting his coat. Castiel can't stop his momentum, Sam's weight behind him, propelling him forward as he charges in, knees all but giving out as he reaches Dean and grabs his wrist.
"You!" Zachariah growls, trying to lunge in and grab them but he's too late. Darkness crowds in on Castiel and the last thing he's aware of is crashing into something hard and then collapsing.
TBC
