A/N: This one-shot is a slight AU of season 8. Some lines are from "The Great Escapist"; they're not mine.
3
"I've been acquiring a taste for coffee," Castiel said.
Dean chuckled on the other end of the phone, followed by the rustle of papers being shuffled. "Finally."
Castiel scanned the Biggerson's he was currently seated in. They all looked the same, which was what made them the perfect places to flit between to evade the angels. It was lonely though. The first time he'd called the Winchesters after taking the Angel Tablet and fleeing the crypt, Dean had been angry. It'd taken a combination of Castiel attempting to explain, and Sam's mediation, to come to a begrudging sort of understanding. Castiel needed to stay on the run from Naomi and her lackeys. The bunker may have been warded against every possible supernatural entity, but Castiel didn't trust it. He didn't trust himself. Which was why he refused to leave the Tablet with the prophet. Sam seemed to have understood more easily than Dean, and it'd been him to finally convince his older brother to let Castiel go, with the promise that he would check in with them this time. Granted, he hadn't intentionally been ignoring Dean's prayers before, but he was determined to do what he could to mend their relationship. Besides, he missed them.
"You know," Castiel mused. "I remember when you first discovered it. Before you started brewing it, you'd just chew the berries. Folk tale is true, by the way, you learned it from the goats."
"Uh, okay."
"Hey, Cas," Sam's voice crackled over the line. Dean must have had his phone on speaker. "You should try pumpkin spice chai tea. It's the season for it."
Dean made a garbled sound. "Don't listen to him, Cas. You don't need to acquire taste for froufrou drinks."
Castiel was about to ask what a 'froufrou' was, when the table started to rattle and the lightbulbs buzzed. "They're getting closer," he murmured.
"What?" Dean asked.
"I have to go." Castiel hung up and took to the ether.
o.0.o
"You have to stop. You have to stop."
Castiel's heart clenched with each pitiful, tortured plea from the waitress. When Naomi finally snapped her fingers and broke the woman's neck, it was a mercy. She was dead anyway, eyes burned out and soul seared by an angel's smiting judgment. There was no healing for that, and therein lay the cruelty.
"We were supposed to be their shepherds, not their murderers," Castiel ground out in frustration. All these people, the bodies strewn across the restaurant, had suffered because of him.
Naomi angled a disgusted glower at him. "Not always, angel. There was that day, back in Egypt, not so long ago, where we slew every first-born infant whose door wasn't splashed with lamb's blood. And that was just PR."
Castiel shifted in his seat, hating the feeling of being trapped. Two angels stood behind him, oppressive sentinels whose invisible wings spread like a partial cage around him. "Well, I wasn't there."
Naomi smirked. "Oh, you were there. You just don't remember it."
Castiel stiffened, and it took all his willpower not to fidget nervously. He had the tablet, and Naomi would never find it. She couldn't touch him this time. But… "How—how many times have you torn into my head and washed it clean?"
"Frankly? Too damn many." She snapped her fingers, and a chair slid across the floor toward her, which she eased herself into. "Where is the Angel Tablet, Castiel?"
He glanced away. He knew what was coming, what the price for his insolence would cost. But he took solace in the belief that no matter what she did next, Naomi could not take his free will again. She would not force him to kill Dean. All other forms of torture were bearable in comparison.
When he refused to answer, Naomi ordered two of the angels to search every Biggerson's in the continental United States, thinking Castiel had hidden it somewhere along the way. Then the 'persuasive' beating began. Castiel grunted against the painful blows, but kept his staunch silence.
A muscle in Naomi's jaw ticked, the only sign that she was growing impatient. One of the angels returned, and she stepped away to confer with him. "Did you find it?"
He gave a clipped nod, and Castiel was immediately confused. They hadn't found the tablet; he still had it, safely tucked away in…
"Bring them," Naomi said.
The angel disappeared, only to return a moment later with two more people. Castiel's heart dropped into his stomach. The Winchesters were on their knees, being held up by the angel who had a fist curled into the back of each of their collars. Sam looked shaky and feverish, and Dean had a blossoming black eye. Dean spotted the dead restaurant patrons first, mouth parting in surprise and horror, before his gaze landed on Castiel.
"They were easy to find," Naomi said conversationally. "What with Samuel here resonating from the Trials."
"You know we're doing you a favor, trying to close the gates of Hell," Dean growled, giving a half-hearted struggle against the immovable angel at his back.
"And I would be glad to help you with that," Naomi replied. "After you give us the Angel Tablet."
"They don't know where it is," Castiel insisted. "I wouldn't tell them."
Naomi stood, leaning over him and gripping the armrests of his chair. She was so close her breath wafted over his face and the open cuts when she spoke. "You will tell me, Castiel. Or I will burn out Dean Winchester's eyes but leave him alive long enough to crawl around this dump, begging for death."
Terror coiled around Castiel's gut. He couldn't let her kill Dean…but if he gave her the tablet, she'd make him do it, and Castiel didn't know which was worse. There had to be some way to get the Winchesters out of here; he just needed to buy some time.
"It's…" Castiel ground out.
"Cas," Dean called. "You don't have to do this."
Castiel turned a saddened look his way. There was so much he wanted to apologize for. Again. So much he wanted to convey about family and belonging, concepts the angels had never been able to understand, even though Castiel had always wanted them to.
But there wasn't time.
Castiel turned back to meet Naomi's gaze and leaned forward. "In the words of a—good friend…bite me." Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a proud smile quirk Dean's lips, which for some odd reason bolstered Castiel's resolve.
Naomi, however, did not appear amused. "Oh, we'll bite. Don't worry."
A sharp report cracked the air, and the angel holding the Winchesters suddenly jerked backward and hit the ground with a pained cry.
"Naomi, darling, miss me?" a familiar British accent spoke up.
Castiel didn't know what Crowley was doing here, but his attention stayed on the Winchesters, trying to see if there was a way they could use this distraction to escape. Dean was openly gaping at the demon, even as he inched closer to Sam to help hold him up. The younger Winchester was not well, and Castiel wished he could surge out of his chair to their side, but he dared not move with Naomi and Ion still crowding him. He caught a reflection in one of the framed pictures of Crowley tilting a gun for Naomi to see.
"Do you like it? I had my R&D people melt down one of your angel blades, cast it into bullets. Seems to do the trick."
"How dare you," Naomi seethed.
"I'm the daringest devil you've ever met, love."
Naomi's eyes began to glow, and a halo of white light suffused around her. No, the Winchesters still needed to escape. Castiel cast them a frantic look, silently pleading for Dean to slip out with Sam. Except the younger Winchester didn't seem capable of walking.
Crowley aimed his gun at Naomi. "We've been here before, haven't we? Let's see who blinks first."
The gun fired, but Naomi vanished a split second before the bullet zinged through where she'd been standing, and struck the wall instead.
"Hmm," Crowley hummed, and walked around to face Castiel. "Hi, Cas."
Castiel warily shifted his gaze from the demon to Ion, wondering why the angel wasn't doing anything to stop him.
"That's right, Cas. I got me an angel on the payroll. It's that kinda universe these days."
"You traitorous son-of-a-bitch," Dean growled from the side where he still knelt on the floor with Sam. "You angels are no better than demons."
Crowley shrugged, and then lifted his gun toward Castiel and squeezed the trigger. Castiel jolted as searing pain ripped through his stomach. The bullet made from an angel blade not only tore through flesh and muscle, but through his grace as well.
"Cas!" Dean shouted.
Crowley turned to Ion. "Now grab him and follow me."
Castiel felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, and heard Dean's desperate protest a moment before he was yanked away.
o.0.o
Dean tugged and pulled at Sam's collar, trying to get him to sit up straight. "Sam, come on, we gotta go, man." Dean was trying not to panic about the fact that Crowley had Cas, who had just been shot with an angel-killing gun. What the hell did Crowley want anyway? The Angel Tablet? Dammit, why did Cas have to run off with the thing and make himself the Most Wanted guy in all of Heaven and Hell?
"D'n?" Sam slurred, eyelids fluttering heavily. "Whas goin' on?"
"We got angel-nabbed, and now Crowley has Cas."
Sam's brow furrowed. "Crowley's an angel?"
Dean would have laughed any other time.
A low groan had him twisting around so hard he almost wrenched his back. The angel who'd grabbed them was slumped against the diner counter, one hand clutching his shoulder where blood and grace were oozing between his fingers. Dean frantically looked around for an angel blade someone might have dropped, but then thought better of it.
Crawling over, he grabbed the guy's shirt and thrust him hard against the panel, making him squeeze his eyes shut and grunt in pain. "Do you know where Crowley took Cas?"
The angel pried his eyes open and glowered. "You think…I'm working with…that scum? He shot me."
"That's Crowley for you," Dean replied blithely. "Alright then, what about the angel traitor? You guys can track each other, right? Where'd he take Cas?"
The angel stared at him incredulously, and Dean gave him another shake.
"You want Crowley getting his hands on the tablet?"
"You would…" he wheezed. "Go after the demon yourself?"
"Yes. And not because of the tablet you ass, but for Cas. So can you find them or not?"
The angel's brows furrowed in consideration, and after a moment he tried to push himself up straighter. "Very well. I will drop you off outside their location. But I will not help you rescue the traitor."
"Never asked you to," Dean muttered, and then turned back to Sam. Crap, what was he going to do with his brother? Truthfully, if he was going to take on the King of Hell and an angel lackey, he could use the help.
"I…" the angel behind him hesitated. "I can heal him. Not a lot, but enough for…"
Dean's gut tightened at the thought of letting angels anywhere near his brother, but Sam was in bad shape, and Dean needed him. "Alright," he said grudgingly.
The angel winced as he crawled over to place two fingers to Sam's forehead. It took a few seconds longer than normal, but then Sam opened his eyes all the way, the fevered glaze gone and his skin no longer flushed. The angel sagged sideways onto his elbow.
Sam stared in bewilderment at the angel and then at Dean. "What's going on? That isn't Metatron, is it?"
The angel lifted his head sharply. "Who?"
"No one," Dean said hurriedly, and gripped Sam's elbow to silently convey the need to be quiet on that front. "Listen, you good, man? Because Cas needs us."
Sam glanced around at the trashed diner, complexion going slightly pale at the sight of all the bodies. "I'm…I'm okay." He shot Dean a questioning look, but kept silent for now.
Dean nodded that he would explain when he could. He turned to the angel. "You ready?"
The guy narrowed his eyes appraisingly, but then reached out to touch both their arms, and the diner disappeared in a whirl of wind and shadows. They landed in an alley outside a small business in god-knows-where.
"Ion and Castiel are in there," the angel said, nodding toward the building. He took a staggering step backward, shaking his head almost to himself. "Naomi will not be pleased," he murmured before flying off.
Sam finally whirled on Dean, who gave as hasty an explanation as he could while surveying the building for a way to sneak in. Sam was still a little wobbly on his feet, but much better than before, and he was able to make sense of all the details Dean had thrown at him.
"Crowley has angel-killing bullets?" Sam hissed as they picked the lock on the back door.
"Yup, really not good," Dean mumbled, jiggling the handle until the lock clicked. He eased the door open and peered inside. The hall was empty. He motioned for Sam to hand over Ruby's knife. They didn't have an angel blade to use on Ion, but if they could gank Crowley, they could snatch up that inventive gun of his.
Only, when they finally found an office room with occupants, Crowley was nowhere to be seen. The traitorous angel had his back to the door where the Winchesters were peeking in, and was instead staring hollowly out the window. Cas was slumped low in a chair, his back also to the door. But he was moving ever so slightly, which gave Dean a rush of relief that he wasn't dead. But where was Crowley? Shit, how were they supposed to get Cas away from Ion?
It turned out they didn't need to. Cas rose shakily from the chair and came up behind the other angel. He tackled him and they went down in a heap. Dean and Sam burst into the room just as a pain filled scream echoed off the walls and a flash of light briefly exploded. The brothers stared in shock as Cas rocked backward and slumped against the wall under the window. Then he blinked up at the Winchesters with a frown.
"You're…no…" His face contorted with grief, and he squeezed his eyes closed. "Please just be hallucinations."
Dean's brows rose. "Gee, thanks, Cas."
"Better than ghosts," he murmured, and realization punched Dean in the stomach.
"Shit, no, Cas, we're not dead." He and Sam surged forward, each one crouching down on either side of Cas. "Seriously, look at me." Cas opened one eye cautiously, and Dean tried to give him a genuine smile.
"Did Crowley go back to capture you as well?" he asked.
"No, the angel he shot was willing to help us find you. He tracked asshat over here—" Dean cocked his head toward the dead angel. "And then dropped us off outside before taking off. Even healed Sam a bit."
Cas's gaze shifted to the younger Winchester, and his brows pinched as though he could tell Sam wasn't fully healed. Dean tried to ignore the pang in his chest because he knew the same.
"That was, uh," Sam started. "Pretty badass there, Cas." He glanced at Ion's empty vessel, forehead creasing. "How'd you do that?"
Cas shifted, and then winced. "I dug Crowley's bullet out of my stomach and shoved it through Ion's eye."
Dean's expression went slack. 'Badass' was an understatement. But then his brain caught up with him and he was pulling the blood-soaked trench coat and shirt away from Cas's torso to get a look at the wound.
"Oh my god," Sam uttered.
Dean swallowed thickly as he took in the shredded flesh and exposed muscle, all of it tinged with leaking grace. "What the hell…" The wound was too big for a bullet hole, and stretched far too wide from just Cas digging around in it with his fingers.
Cas dropped his gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry, Dean, Sam. Crowley…he took the Angel Tablet. He guessed where I'd been hiding it and dug it out."
"Dug it out," Sam repeated, before sucking in a sharp breath. "Shit, Cas, are you insane?" Now his fingers were ghosting over the tattered flesh, probably trying to see if he could put any of it back together.
Dean looked at the injury with new insight he could have done without, and his hand fisted in Cas's coat. "Where is Crowley?"
"I don't know." Cas suddenly flinched and tried to jerk away from them, his breaths panting now. "He got a call…and left."
"Okay, then we gotta get out of here before he comes back."
"I can…" Cas winced, but lifted both hands toward the brothers. "That bunker you found…Lebanon, Kansas, correct?"
Dean exchanged a look with Sam. He would have protested, except he really wanted to get out of here. Besides, the sooner they got to safety, the sooner they could properly tend Cas's wounds. He nodded.
Flying this time was starkly different from the angel trip before. The winds seemed rougher, buffeting Dean as though he'd been sucked into a tornado, and the landing was even worse. He ended up sprawled on the ground, palms scraping through gravel and pain radiating down his spine.
"Ungh, what the hell." He pushed himself onto his elbows and found Sam lying flat on his back next to him. His brother groaned. Dean looked around and was surprised to find they were in the middle of the drive that led to the bunker. Only, why were they several yards out?
He slowly sat all the way up and turned around. Cas was also lying in the dirt road, propped up on one elbow. He looked horrible, blood splattered across his face and clothes.
"Jeez, Cas," Dean muttered, and scrambled over to him.
Cas blinked, and then squinted at the bunker up ahead. "Sorry, I was aiming for the door."
Dean tried to brush it off as an easy mistake since Cas hadn't actually been to the bunker before, even as his pulse started ratcheting up again with worry. He and Sam regained their own balance, and then hauled Cas off the ground. Supporting the angel between them, they hobbled the rest of the way to the secret bunker.
Once inside, they half-carried Cas down to one of the rooms and laid him on a bed where they basically performed field surgery on him, which was not an experience Dean wanted to repeat again. Ever. Cas had insisted he'd heal eventually, and Dean had snapped at him that he didn't care to see the guy's intestines hanging out in the meantime. Cas fell silent after that, stoically enduring the stitching before they bandaged him up and settled him back on the bed. Two minutes after that, Sam retreated to his room to crash.
Dean puttered around the room, cleaning up bloody rags and sutures, and trying not to think of his poor baby left alone in New Mexico.
"I'm sorry, Dean." Cas's low voice penetrated his brooding.
Dean stilled his movements, and with a sigh, walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, resting his arms across his knees. Even though he'd begrudgingly agreed to let Cas go AWOL with the tablet, he'd still held some resentment over it. Now, though, he was beginning to understand what Cas and Sam had been trying to tell him.
"You were that afraid of Naomi? That you had to stick the tablet in your friggin' stomach, Cas?" The bulge of bandages underneath the blanket covering Cas were still disconcerting to see.
His friend's answer was so soft, Dean almost didn't hear it. "Yes. As long as I was touching the tablet, she couldn't…" His voice hitched, and he swallowed hard. "What she made me do to you…I couldn't let that happen again. I'm sorry, Dean. I know you think I didn't trust you, but that wasn't it. I didn't trust myself."
Dean ran a weary hand down his face, phantom bruises pulsing in response. "I get it, Cas, I do." He let out a heavy sigh. "And I know Crowley having the Angel Tablet is seriously bad news, but…but I'm glad you're back with us."
For a second, Cas almost looked equally grateful, but then he roved his gaze around the walls guardedly. "Dean, if Naomi…"
Dean reached out to grip Cas's forearm. "She can't get you here, I promise. And we'll figure things out, just like we always do." For Cas, for Sam, for Kevin. Because they were family, dammit. And no one messed with Dean Winchester's family.