A/N: Thank you guests for your reviews! I truly appreciate every one, and I'm thrilled so many are enjoying this series. =)
1
Castiel moaned as consciousness returned. His brow furrowed in pain, which caused a fresh spear of agony lancing through him as skin pulled around the metal spikes driven into his forehead. What was going on? Where was he? Sensation gradually returned to his limbs, and he realized his arms, legs, and torso were bound with chains to a chair, so tight he couldn't move anything. There was also a cold, metallic ring around his neck that seemed to be anchored to the back of the chair so that he couldn't move his head, not that he wanted to with the pounding pulses emanating from each metal rod jammed into his brain. Castiel's breaths started coming more raggedly as he fought to make sense of what had happened.
He'd been hunting Metatron, hoping the ex-scribe of God would know how to combat the Darkness. Castiel had been close, too, or so he thought. But before he'd been able to confirm whether Metatron had truly been in Denver, Colorado, he'd had an unfortunate run-in with some angels. Apparently, they'd been on the same trail.
Castiel thought he'd put up a fight; at least, he hoped he did. Everything was a bit fuzzy. Not that it mattered, because here he was, captured yet again. How long had he been here? Had he missed his check-in with the Winchesters? After everything with the Darkness and Rowena and Castiel nearly dying from the attack dog spell, Sam and Dean had set up a system where they were all supposed to check in regularly, no matter what. Castiel knew that if he didn't send them a message within a few hours of the scheduled time, the Winchesters would come after him. Part of him loathed the thought of dragging the brothers into his problems yet again, but at the same time, it gave him something to hold onto amidst the maelstrom of confusion and physical suffering—knowing that someone out there was searching for him, and not because he was on their 'shit-list'.
Another metal spike torqued, another explosion of agony behind his eyes, and for a moment, Castiel was in a sterile white room in Heaven with a red-headed woman looming over him. But then there were splashes of gray concrete and speckles of crimson, and the blurred faces shifting in front of him were male. Castiel couldn't even remember their names...and that should have worried him, right?
"Don't break him permanently yet," one with a black beard chastised. "We haven't gotten the information we need."
A second figure with a gangly build snorted. "Maybe he's telling the truth and he doesn't know where Metatron is."
Yes, Castiel wanted to cry, but his tongue didn't seem to be working. The words he wanted to say echoed strangely in his head, as though he had said them all before. Had he? Had he already pleaded with his brothers to work together? That they had similar goals and a common enemy?
"Yes, Heaven does have a common enemy, Castiel. You."
He remembered the device being strapped to his head, and then the first deluges of agony drowning out his screams.
Castiel gasped as another spike was twisted, his voice long since shredded. The angels must have been taking a sadistic pleasure in their methods, in addition to simply trying to gain information. Information he didn't have.
"This is pointless," the second angel groused. "No one even knows how to make this device work properly."
The one with the grizzled beard crossed his arms and bored his vitriolic gaze into Castiel. "Fine, you're probably right."
Castiel would have sagged in relief had the various chains not been holding him rigidly in place. Mercy, brothers, please.
"Wipe everything. And don't worry about precision; I want him reduced to nothing more than an empty shell. Then his poison will never be able to taint Heaven again."
Castiel didn't have time to brace himself before several spikes were rammed deeper at the same time. He felt his entire body jerk, every nerve ending consumed with fire. Interspersed throughout the blinding white haze were flashes of faces, each one flickering like bolts of lightning. Names should have been attached to them, and the places, but language was beyond Castiel's grasp at this point. It seemed to go on forever, and then it stopped. Not the pain, but the nova inside his head. The pins moved, but this time they were being withdrawn. The searing fire receded, leaving behind an icy sting in its wake.
Castiel blinked, and one of the faces that had bombarded his vision moments ago coalesced into a solid shape standing in front of him. Long brown hair framed eyes pinched with worry. The mouth was moving, but Castiel couldn't hear anything. Large hands pulled the last spike out and hastily yanked the metal device off Castiel's head, throwing it to the ground. Then those hands were cupping his face, that soft gaze desperately searching. And though everything hurt, Castiel felt a sense of…warmth, assurance, safety, seeping through the physical contact.
"Cas, can you hear me?"
So there was sound now—words?—but what did they mean?
"Where are the keys?" That was another voice, one as rough as Castiel's tormentors, and yet the undercurrent of violence in this tone was oddly reassuring. It promised retribution, just not directed at him.
There was the sound of flesh being smacked, followed by a faint jingle. Then another large shape was crouching beside him and fiddling with the chains. Castiel felt them tug against his bruised muscles before something clicked and those large hands were pulling the iron links away. The steel collar came off next, and without it, Castiel found himself tilting forward. Hands grabbed his shoulders and splayed across his chest.
"Whoa, easy."
Castiel blinked dazedly at the two humans. "I know you," he rasped, finally able to string thoughts into words, though his voice was thin and reedy. The two men exchanged alarmed looks, which Castiel didn't understand; he was feeling rather relieved at the revelation.
The shorter man spun away. "What did you do to him?" he snarled.
A garbled chortle responded, and Castiel rolled his gaze toward it. There was a body sprawled on the floor, black streaks arching up and out around it, and slumped against the wall behind it was another man, clutching a wound in his stomach that was oozing blood and bluish-white light. No, not a man…Castiel wracked his brain to fill in the gaps. Angel.
"What he deserved," the injured one spat. He tried shifting his long, wiry legs, and ended up wincing. "Castiel ruined Heaven. He ruined everything."
"They hate you." Castiel squeezed his eyes shut against the echo, which stabbed through his heart as painfully as a tangible knife would have.
The man with hazel eyes drew forth a silver blade. "I am sick and tired of all you dickbags blaming Cas for shit other angels caused. Metatron cast you out. Naomi probably had half of you lot programed like robots." Heavy boots purposefully strode toward the wounded angel.
Castiel's heart jolted. No, he didn't want…he needed…what? Something important. "Don't," he croaked. "Please."
"Hey, easy," the taller man soothed, hands still braced against Castiel's chest. "We're not gonna hurt you."
"And he's never gonna hurt you again either," the other said.
Castiel shook his head, which only made the pain worse, and he lost precious seconds when his vision whited out in response. He could feel his grace slowly knitting back together, and with it came the pieces he was desperately grasping at.
"Dean."
The man with the angel blade stopped abruptly, though he didn't look back. "You with us, Cas?"
The taller one—Sam—was leaning forward again, trying to catch Castiel's gaze. "Cas? Hey, you okay?"
"Please," he continued, hardly able to recognize his own voice. "So many…have…have died already…"
"He tortured you, Cas," Dean said in a slow, measured voice. "Tried to do worse."
Castiel attempted to stand, but his limbs weren't responding and Sam was still holding him. "I don't want…more to die."
Dean didn't move for a long moment, and the angel stared back at the Winchester with a mixture of defiance and uncertainty. Finally, Dean lowered the blade. "Cas is more of an angel than any of you dicks ever were. And the only reason I ain't gonna kill you right now is because he would actually grieve for your sorry ass." Stepping away, he walked back to Castiel, pausing to look over his shoulder and pin the other angel with his gaze "But if you or any other angel comes near him again, I will hunt every last one of you down. You understand? And if you doubt how serious I am, just remember that I'm a Winchester; we put both Lucifer and Michael in the Cage, ganked the head of the Leviathans, and defeated a Knight of Hell." Dean grabbed one of Castiel's arms and slung it over his shoulder, easing the angel up out of the chair. Sam took Castiel's other arm so that he was supported between them.
"You broke the world more times than you've saved it," the injured angel lobbed back. "Word is you unleashed the Darkness."
"And we'll take care of that too," Dean responded automatically, voice full of conviction. "But I mean it; don't think for one second that I won't drop everything if you don't leave Cas alone."
Castiel thought he should say something, but his head was spinning as the Winchesters started carrying him forward. The other angel—and Castiel finally stopped thinking of him as a brother—stayed where he was and watched them go.
The burst of fresh air that buffeted Castiel when they emerged from the warehouse was both invigorating and harsh. Fortunately, a sleek black vehicle sat parked only a few yards away. 'Baby,' Castiel's mind automatically supplied, but that didn't make sense; he was fairly certain this mechanical trap was not a human child. His brain must still be trying to put things back together.
They reached the car, and the Winchesters tucked Castiel into the backseat. He sagged against the upholstery. Everything felt so...heavy. Sam climbed in next to him and opened up a med kit on his lap. Scooting closer so that their shoulders were bracing, Sam pressed a cloth against Castiel's forehead. He leaned into the contact; he'd been on fire before, but now he was so cold.
"Turn on the heat," Sam said after Dean had started the engine. A puff of cool air billowed from the front, making Castiel grimace away from it. Sam's other hand came up to clasp the back of his neck and hold him still. It was gentle, though, not restraining like the collar had been. "Easy, Cas, you're okay. We got you."
Castiel was inclined to believe him, and a few minutes later, the blowing air turned warmer, washing over his chilled skin.
"He healing?" Dean asked.
Sam removed the cloth from his head. It was replaced a second later, and the younger Winchester's voice came out tight. "Not yet."
Several moments of silence followed, save for the steady drone of the Impala's engine. It was comforting, familiar.
"What do you wanna do?" Sam asked quietly.
Castiel listened to Dean's tense inhale.
"Bunker's safest. Think he'll make it?"
"Can't see that stopping at a motel will make a difference," was Sam's frustrated reply.
Dean met Castiel's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Cas, come on, man, say something."
He furrowed his brow, thinking about what he should say. He finally settled on, "I'm tired."
Dean's expression softened with a mixture of relief and continued concern.
Sam shifted next to him, and Castiel groaned as his aching limbs protested being jostled. Then Sam was gently tilting his head down to rest against the man's shoulder while still holding the cloth to his bleeding head. "You can sleep, Cas. Dean and I are right here. You're safe. Just close your eyes."
He obeyed, lulled into a calming sense of security with the familiar rhythm of two beating hearts and the rumble of an engine wrapping him in a warm cocoon of sleep.
o.0.o
When awareness returned, Castiel registered that he was lying prone on a soft, cushy surface, and it was silent save for the rustle of paper every couple minutes or so. He pried his eyelids open. The sight of the bare ceiling, the scent of clean linen, and the sound of old pipes rattling somewhere gave him an odd sense of deja vu. He flexed his fingers, slowly cataloging the state of his body.
The crinkle of turning pages stopped abruptly. "Cas?"
He turned his head to find Dean sitting in a chair to his left. The man's shoulders were coiled tight, and he was looking at Castiel with a guarded expression.
"What's my name?"
Castiel frowned. "You forgot?"
Dean huffed out his annoyance. "Just say it."
Confused, but willing to oblige, Castiel swallowed to moisten his dry throat. "Dean."
The hunter's expression eased only marginally. "You know where you are? And be more specific than 'earth.'"
Castiel shifted his gaze around the room, taking in the cold concrete walls that clashed with the warmth of the wooden writing desk and chair Dean was currently occupying. He let himself relax further into the comfortable mattress. "Home."
Dean's eyes widened briefly, and then the wariness bled away and he leaned forward to rest his arms on the side of the bed. "You scared us, Cas."
"I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault," Dean said somewhat sharply. "It was those bastards who tortured you."
Memories flashed through his mind, and Castiel squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught.
"Cas?" Dean called worriedly.
"I'm alright," he rasped, and forced his eyes open to focus on his friend, the man who had been his anchor throughout everything. Not just this recent experience, but for years now. He had grown to consider the Winchesters an adopted family of sorts, while still retaining a love and loyalty for his original one. But that had changed. Sam and Dean were the ones who always forgave him for his mistakes, who continued to care about him despite everything. The angels didn't understand why Castiel always chose the Winchesters, but it suddenly made sense to him with perfect clarity. They were his real family.
Castiel's chest felt tight with brimming emotion. "Thank you."
Dean reached out to grip his shoulder, and then called for Sam. Castiel was safe; he was home.
A/N: There will be one more one-shot to this! It wasn't exactly an "opposite" of everything leading up to now; more like "5 Times Castiel was Heaven's Most Wanted...and one time it didn't turn out how he expected."