A/N: This is an AU I've wanted to write for a while, but it never really came together until now. Some lines from "Holy Terror." Also, thank you guests for your reviews and I'm glad you're enjoying this series! You'll both probably be happy to know that my muse seems to have been tickled by the kid!Cas idea and has been throwing all kinds of scene images at me. Now I just need to see if I can make them into something cohesive and coherent!
2
The sounds of snapping lashes and strident screams turned to muffled echoes as the heavy door slammed shut behind them. Castiel was dragged to a support column, his back thrown up against it, and his arms forcefully yanked up so that cold metal shackles could be latched around his wrists. Muriel, already bound, was shoved to the floor against the left wall.
Castiel took a shallow breath that wouldn't jar his aching ribs. His elevated arms were tugging on his shoulders and back, also beaten and bruised. Everything hurt more now that he was human, for he had no grace to soothe strained muscles or knit split tissue back together. It was just constant throbbing and stinging. And there would be more to come, he knew.
"This is a bonus, Castiel," Malachi said. "We were tracking Muriel, cowardly holdout that she is, and wonder of wonders, she led us to you."
"Not knowingly," Muriel interjected.
Castiel knew that, and held no resentment toward her. The truth was, the other angels probably would have caught up with him eventually. But why wouldn't any of them believe him that he hadn't intentionally caused the Fall?
"I've explained in detail," he said wearily. "I don't know how Metatron's spell worked. Therefore, I can't assist in reversing it. I was an unwitting accomplice."
"Ohh, a dupe." Malachi walked over to a tray of surgical implements. "Top-of-the-Christmas-tree Castiel, no more than a dupe."
Castiel felt the weight of gravity seem to increase upon his shoulders. Yes, he'd been foolish. He'd trusted the wrong person and look what happened. He didn't deserve to be an angel anymore, not after all the damage he'd caused. And perhaps that was why the Winchesters no longer wanted anything to do with him. He was not an asset, but a liability. Dean didn't want to put Sam, who was still recovering from the trials, in danger because Castiel always seemed to do the wrong thing, no matter his good intentions. There was a saying about that, one of the few he actually recognized. 'The road to Hell,' or something. Well, chained in this dark, dank dungeon about to be tortured by his own brothers was certainly that.
He protested again that he didn't know anything, futilely though, and cried out when the blade sliced down his chest. Fire seared through him, leaving him panting heavily in an effort to breathe through the initial intensity. All he could hope for at this point was a quick death…
o.0.o
Sam stormed down the street, staccato stride pounding angrily across the asphalt. The chilly night air burned his nostrils with every sharp inhalation, but he didn't care. How could Dean have done this to him? Tricking him into being possessed by an angel? There were just so many things wrong with that, Sam didn't even know where to start. Not to mention this 'Ezekiel' was apparently not who he claimed to be, since Dean had overheard the poser in a back alley talking to Metatron of all people.
Sam shook his head against the urge to tear at his own hair. He'd woken up on the floor of their motel room an hour ago, with Dean standing next to some weird blood sigil on the wall. Sam never even remembered leaving the bar where they were having drinks with Cas. Dean had been near frantic, bombarding Sam with questions: did he feel okay, did he feel sick? He was fine, just confused. And then came the explanation.
At first, Sam had been too stunned to even speak. After everything they'd been through, how could Dean do that? Sam had made peace with dying! He was ready! And then his brother had to go and, and… Sam let out a frustrated grunt as he continued his harsh pace. He was headed to Cas's motel, needing to talk to someone other than Dean, because dammit, Sam was seriously on the verge of punching his dickhead brother. And apparently Cas didn't even know what was going on. Sam thought the guy just kept disappearing on them, which, okay, hurt a little. They were friends, after all, had been through a lot together. But Dean had kicked the now human ex-angel out and told him to stay away. And used Sam as an excuse!
His fingers furled and unfurled into fists, and he had to force his breathing to calm down because he was getting a little lightheaded. He counted his steps as the motel on the corner came into view, hoping to get himself under control by the time he got to Cas's door…though he'd likely get worked up all over again once he explained everything to Cas.
Sam used his fake FBI badge to check with the front lobby about which room Cas was staying in. The ex-angel had booked it under his own FBI cover, so that was easy. Sam headed around back, feeling a small swell of amusement at the image of Cas at that crime scene playing a federal agent. It was weird, sure, seeing him like that. Sam wondered what all he'd been up to in the past few months as a new human…which ignited Sam's anger again because Cas shouldn't have been off on his own this whole time. They were supposed to be a family, dammit!
Sam's murderous thoughts turned toward Dean again and the hell his older brother was gonna pay for this. As he approached Cas's room, however, all of those violent emotions were suddenly doused with ice at the sight of the door kicked in. Instinct and training took over, and Sam drew his gun before cautiously approaching the room. A quick glance inside revealed no one, but he checked the bathroom and closet to be safe. The place was empty. Cas's phone and fake credentials were on the bedside table.
Sam had a really bad feeling. He hastily scooped up the few personal effects Cas seemed to have, and then hurried back to the front lobby and demanded to see their security tapes. He scanned backward through the footage with baited breath until he finally spotted two guys dragging out Cas and a woman who looked like a state trooper—Sam would get back to that one—and shoving them both into a black van. Shit.
Sam pulled out his phone and dialed Dean's number.
"Are you ready to have an adult conversation, or want to cuss me out some more?" came the slightly joking, slightly morose greeting.
"Dean! Cas has been taken."
"By who?" Dean responded sharply.
"I'm guessing angels." Sam paused the footage as the van angled out of the driveway. "Get ready to take down this license plate."
There was a brief pause and mild rustling on the other end. "Go."
Sam relayed the info, then gathered up his stuff and headed for the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
The pace he set returning to their motel was the same harried one he'd left in, this time driven by worry and mounting fear rather than anger—though there were still traces of that. After all, Cas wouldn't be in this mess if Dean hadn't sent him away. But Sam couldn't let himself dwell on that right now. They needed to find Cas…before it was too late.
Dean had hacked into the traffic camera footage by the time Sam got back, and then it took a few more hacks into ATM machines to fill in gaps before they finally tracked the van's movements all the way to the industrial district. In wordless agreement, the brothers packed up their angel blades and climbed into the Impala.
The drive was also silent. Dean focused on navigating the various streets, while Sam was busy cutting into his arm and using his blood to paint some angel-banishing sigils on several pieces of cardboard. They had no idea how many angels they'd be facing, possibly too many to take on with just blades. At least they wouldn't have to worry about banishing Cas along with the winged dicks this time. Which was both heartening and somewhat sad.
"I didn't mean for this to happen," Dean finally spoke into the tense silence.
Sam didn't answer right away, his fingers tracing the memorized lines for the sigil. There were several ways he could take his brother's statement—Cas, Gadreel, or even just the fact that Sam found out. He decided to focus on the one that was currently most pressing, and was surprised by how his voice came out much softer than the roiling emotions underneath.
"Cas is wanted by every angel who fell from Heaven, and we're in a town where they're running around killing each other. What did you think was gonna happen?"
Dean didn't respond, only revved the gas harder as the Impala roared down the road. When they reached the industrial district, they had to slow down and start scanning abandoned lots for the van. Sam hoped it wasn't parked inside somewhere, because searching all these buildings would take too long; Cas had been missing for several hours already.
"There!" Sam exclaimed, and Dean cranked the wheel sharply, pulling into the next driveway.
He threw the car in park. "Okay, how we gonna do this?"
Sam handed him two of the cardboard, ready-made sigils, and slipped the other two inside his jacket, one on each side. Dean copied him.
"Almost like a literal ace up your sleeve."
Sam didn't even bother to deign the pathetic attempt at levity with a response. Climbing out of the car, he withdrew his angel blade and took a deep breath. He heard Dean's door slam.
"Are you sure you're up for this?" Dean asked warily. "'Cause I can—"
"Shut up, Dean. We're getting Cas out of there now."
His brother rolled his neck in discomfort. "Okay then, let's go."
They headed straight for the door, pausing outside and finally making eye contact long enough to simultaneously count to three before barging in. There was only one angel standing guard just inside, and Sam quickly dispatched him with a stab to the heart. Unfortunately, an angel's dying throes was bound to draw attention. Both brothers started down the corridor, every muscle coiled to act instantly for when they ran into someone.
They intercepted two angels next, and both were slain without hesitation. But around the next corner were five who came charging at them, and Dean opened the fold of his jacket where the painted cardboard was hidden, and slapped it with his palm. A white nova filled the dingy space, followed by several shrieks. When the light dissipated, the angels were gone.
"What are the chances that hit all of them?" Dean asked.
Sam shrugged. He wished he knew the radius on a banishing sigil, but that's why he'd made backups. Falling silent once more, they resumed their foray into the building. They searched several rooms, which could only be described as torture chambers. Blood splattered the walls and floor, and empty manacles hung from hooks in the ceiling. So far they were all empty though, which led Sam to think they'd been filled with angels. The factions were hunting each other, after all. His stomach turned with each passing minute as he hoped to find Cas in better condition than circumstances were suggesting.
Shouts echoed from up ahead and behind, and the Winchesters halted. They held their ground—and their breaths—as pounding footsteps surrounded them. Sam had one hand fisted in his coat, and waited till the last possible second before revealing the sigil and smacking it with his other palm. Another bunch of angels sent back to Oz, or wherever the hell they went with Heaven closed.
He let the smoldering piece of cardboard fall to the ground, then looked at Dean. This place was huge, and they had no idea where to find Cas…if he was even in this place at all. But Sam refused to give up, and picked another corridor to march down.
A few minutes later, he pulled up short and gestured sharply for Dean to stop and listen. The color drained from his brother's face when the echo of a scream filtered down the hallway a moment later. They both started running that direction. At the end of the dimly lit corridor was a single door, closed. But the pain-filled sounds were definitely coming from the other side. Sam didn't even bother to think before barging in. He registered a tall, muscular guy standing in the center of the room with his back turned, though he spun around at the door banging open. Sam recognized the grizzled face from the motel security footage, and immediately thrust his angel blade through the man's throat.
Dark eyes flew wide an instant before filling with radiant white light. The clank of metal echoed in the room as the scalpel he'd been holding hit the concrete. Sam threw his other arm up to shield his face from the ensuing explosion, and then yanked the blade out to let the body drop to the floor with a heavy thud. Then he lifted his gaze to find dazed blue eyes blinking back at him.
"Oh my god," Sam uttered. "Cas." He heard Dean suck in a sharp breath. Cas was cuffed to a support column, his shirt ripped open and his chest drenched in blood. His face was a mottled mess of blood and bruises as well.
Cas was staring at them with an odd mixture of disbelief and disquietude, almost like mistrust. "Wh…what are you doing here?" he managed to get out, voice dry and hoarse.
Why would he even have to ask that?
Dean finally moved, stepping forward and cupping the sides of Cas's head. "We're getting you out. Okay? Just hang in there. Sam?"
But Sam had already started searching for the keys. Bile rose in the back of his throat at the surgical accoutrements dripping crimson on a nearby tray. It'd been a long time since the sight of gore had made him physically sick, but this was coming pretty close. His gaze briefly roved over the dead woman in the corner, the state trooper he'd seen with Cas on the video. Another angel, then.
He spotted a ring of keys on a shelf and snatched them up. When he got the first cuff unlocked, Cas's arm fell limply to his side. Dean shifted to brace him, and Cas grunted when the movement brushed against the ex-angel's exposed chest.
"You're okay, you're gonna be okay." Dean kept up the steady mantra as Sam undid the second manacle.
Cas groaned again and squeezed his eyes shut. "'S not safe. Angels…"
"Are gonna wish they never came near my family," Dean growled, as though angels were the only parties at fault here.
Sam slung Cas's arm over his shoulder. Now was not the time for him and Dean to have it out. They shuffled toward the door, Cas suspended between them. The guy did his best to put one foot in front of the other, but kept stumbling. And every time Sam or Dean adjusted their grip, it elicited a stifled moan which made Sam's chest constrict.
They almost made it to the exit before enraged shouts rose up behind them. Sam glanced over his shoulder to find a handful of angels in pursuit.
"Run." Cas tried to push the Winchesters away from him, and Sam was so not having any of that shit.
Dean was trying to shift his hold on Cas and reach the cardboard panel in his jacket, but Sam's mind was awash with fury. He let go of Cas, who would have toppled to the ground if Dean hadn't lashed out with both hands to hold him up. Sam pulled out his piece of cardboard, and with a flooding sense of satisfaction, slammed his palm down on it. The contorted faces of the angels before they were ripped away to another part of the earth was just the icing on the cake.
Dean grunted under Cas's weight. "That better be the last of them."
Sam ducked in to help brace Cas again, and they resumed their staggered retreat to the Impala. Once there, they eased Cas into the backseat, and Sam retrieved their first-aid kit from the trunk before climbing in beside him. Dean got behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition, and booked it out of there.
Sam finally got a concentrated look at the wounds, and started feeling sick all over again. There was so much blood—human blood. Sam hadn't realized that he had yet to get used to the idea of Cas as human, which meant these slashes and puncture wounds would not be mending themselves. "Shit, Dean, this is bad. Like, he needs a hospital bad."
"That's…probably the best place…to drop me," Cas half-mumbled. He'd slumped down in the seat, head tilted back against the rear dash.
Sam saw Dean's shoulders go rigid in the front seat.
"We're not dropping you anywhere, Cas. You're staying with us."
Cas let out an uncharacteristic snort. "Now I'm hallucinating. Blood loss does that, correct?" He lifted his head with what looked like great effort in order to gaze down at his chest, and fingered the tattered edges of his shirt. "It's a nice break, from Theo…although, everything…still hurts." Cas sagged against the seat again, eyelids drooping.
Sam's heart leaped into his throat, and he leaned over to pat Cas's cheek. "Cas, hey, stay awake. Dean, hospital now!"
Dean craned his neck to look back at them, expression raw with fear. He hit the gas harder, and the Impala lurched forward with increased speed. Sam kept prodding Cas to stay awake, but it was a losing battle, and the ex-angel was completely unconscious by the time they pulled up outside an emergency room.
Three hours later, Cas was all stitched up and swathed in bandages. He'd been placed in a single room in the ER and hooked up to a couple monitors, an IV drip, and another line delivering a transfusion of blood. Sam sat in a chair by the bed, keeping vigil. Dean had stayed long enough to hear from the doctors that Cas would be okay, and then retreated with some dumb excuse about finding a motel and getting it heavily warded enough for when Cas was discharged. Sam had felt the storm cloud of guilt radiating from his brother, but hadn't cared to try doing anything to ease it. He didn't have the energy. Or inclination.
Cas shifted under the light bed-sheet, face scrunching up in pain. Sam leaned forward and squeezed his hand. Dark lashes fluttered against starkly pale skin before finally managing to open.
Cas blinked blearily. "Sam?"
Sam smiled. "Hey."
Cas's gaze tracked across the room. "Is this a hospital?" he rasped.
"Yeah. You were pretty roughed up, but the doctors said you're gonna be fine. Are you in pain?"
Cas's brow furrowed. "Yes…" he answered slowly. "But not as much as before." His throat bobbed. "Thirsty."
Sam reached for a cup of ice chips the nurse said he could give Cas when he woke. He fed Cas three before reluctantly pulling away and saying they had to take it slow.
Cas licked his lips, and asked hesitantly, "Where…where's Dean?"
Sam sighed. "We're avoiding each other."
"Is it…because of me?"
"No!" Sam winced and glanced at the open door to make sure he hadn't drawn the nurses' attention. He turned back to Cas and clasped his forearm. "No, it's not because of you. In fact, there are some things I need to tell you."
Cas listened with rapt attention, eyes gradually growing wider as Sam explained about the Trials leaving him in a coma, Ezekiel who turned out to be Gadreel, Dean's reasons for making Cas leave. The heart monitor started beeping, and Sam had to stop as a nurse dashed in.
Cas shook his head at her and politely insisted he was fine, though he complained that he was thirsty and wanted more than ice chips. She gave Cas a dubious look, Sam a warning one, and then left again with a promise to check with the doctor about letting Cas have water.
Sam lowered his voice. "I never wanted you to leave, Cas. I thought you were the one who didn't want to be near us. Dean never should have done that to you, and I'm so angry that he did that I just want to…"
Cas reached over to grasp his wrist. "He was trying to save you. I know that doesn't excuse how he went about it, but he didn't mean to cause you pain, Sam."
Sam ran a hand over his hair. "Are you saying you forgive him? He kicked you out onto the street when you had nothing, and he didn't have your back yesterday when he should have, when we should have been there to stop those angels from taking you."
Cas lowered his eyes, and Sam found himself hanging on the edge of hearing what the answer might be. Maybe that was why he'd wanted to talk to Cas in the first place, because if the angel didn't forgive Dean, if he shared Sam's righteous anger, then it was justified. But if Cas forgave Dean…surely Sam could as well?
"Yes," Cas finally said. "I forgive him."
Sam let out the breath he'd been holding. "Why?"
Cas looked up again, and there was an anguish in his eyes that was reminiscent of Dean's. "Because I have to hope that one day my family can forgive me."
Sam's heart clenched, and he didn't know what to say to that. Cas had been trying to help Heaven when Metatron had tricked him and caused the Fall, an act which all the angels now blamed Cas for. It wasn't the same, not exactly, but how many times had Sam's own road of good intentions led him and the world to destruction? He still needed to have a serious talk with Dean, but perhaps Sam could now manage it with resolution in mind, rather than blame.
He patted Cas's arm. "The angels may be your siblings, Cas, but your real family, we want you right here with us. So you're coming back to the bunker, and the next person to try to kick you out is gonna get a beanbag round to the face."
Cas's eyes drifted shut, morphine still swirling through his system. "I have no idea what that is, but the first part sounds nice."
Sam smiled as Cas drifted off to sleep. Then he pulled out his phone and texted Dean.
A/N: Just assume Cas stole an angel's grace another time so this can flow back into canon.