Torn and Saved

It was dark when the four-man rescue team reappeared in the parking lot of Hastings Municipal Airport. The Impala was untouched and hopefully undetected. Inias clambered into the back with Castiel and the carefully packed supplies. If the vehicle had been confining before, it was even more so now. Castiel seemed used to it, at least. The Winchesters were still barely speaking to one another. The drive to the factory passed in oppressive silence. Inias tried to keep his focus on the passing streetlights, but it inevitably returned to thoughts of Samandriel and of what was being done to him. Of whether they were too late.

They rolled up to the factory, careful to remain out of earshot of the guards. Inias and Castiel flew free of the car; the younger wincing as Sam and Dean shut their doors. Be quiet...

"So," Castiel began. "There are four main points of warding—north, south, east, and west—and four Enochian symbols, like this that you need to destroy before Inias and I can enter." He drew the symbol on Sam's palm.

"Okay, so, what? We go in, take care of the hell mooks, and you two extract the angel?"

"Yes." Castiel looked from Dean to Inias. "After killing so many, I need to save at least this one."

Inias smiled at his former commander as Sam replied. "Sounds like a plan."

"Okay. Let's do this."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Inias prodded at the warding several times as they waited. He was starting to be able to feel what was happening inside. The wards were thinner but still impenetrable. No matter how hard he tried, how hard he pushed, no part of him could get through. Worse, sounds were now filtering through. The heartbeats of the humans and the high, electromagnetic buzz of demons were things Inias was accustomed to. But now and then they were joined by heart-wrenching, agonized screams. Screams in a timbre and pitch that could only be Samandriel.

He wanted to weep at his own helplessness, but he forged his grief into anger instead. Anger he could use. Anger would propel him through the fight that awaited him. Anger would be the gale that scattered the chaff. He paced at the edges of the wards, his wings open and ready for flight. His heart was hammering. After what felt like lifetimes, the warding finally fell, the whine of its energies fading into silence. Inias bolted, inside before Dean had even opened his mouth to call. Castiel was strangely hesitant behind him.

Once within the walls of the factory, Samandriel's pain hit Inias full force. The waves of emotion were so intense and so frequent that they staggered Inias. Nothing he'd ever felt could have prepared him for the scattered energies and jagged threads of radiation flaring from somewhere deep inside the building. Castiel was bent double, panting. Not for the first time, Inias wondered what was wrong. Surely Samandriel's pain shouldn't have been affecting Castiel any worse than it was affecting him.

"Cas! Hey! You okay?" Sam immediately lent support.

Castiel's wings twitched and drooped, almost submissively. "It must be the sigils. I'm not at full power."

Dean readied his spray paint. "Sam, help me muss this crap."

"There's no time!" Inias protested.

Dean tried the lock on the door but Inias' patience was exhausted.

"Move," he ordered.

Neither Dean nor Sam hesitated. They didn't need to see Inias' wings to see his aggression. He was already in a fighting stance, a white-knuckled grip on his blade. His eyes were fixed on the door like a bird of prey and in the low lighting they were reflective like a cat's. The second the Winchesters were clear Inias ripped the door clean off its hinges, sending it straight back into the wall where it embedded itself in the concrete.

He didn't wait. He flew the few meters to where Crowley and his lackey stood, his blade flashing. Crowley vanished, but Inias' knife found purchase in the other demon's eye socket. Brief golden flashes erupted behind the vessel's retinas before he fell, his hand having never reached his assortment of blades.

By the time the demon hit the floor, Sam and Dean had joined the fray, grappling with a particularly large demon. Castiel staggered in behind them, looking for all the world like he was seeing something other than his actual surroundings. Inias dismissed his blade and hurried to the side of the prone and bloodied figure strapped in the chair. Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't this.

Samandriel was slumped over, held aloft only by the heavy leather straps across his chest. The flesh of his arms, chest, and face was flayed, blood caked on his skin and soaked into the fabric of his vessel's clothes. He stank of stale sweat, dried blood, and tears. His hair was plastered to his skull, his wings mangled and missing most of their feathers. His grace was in tatters, too weak to heal the vessel, let alone himself. Most sickening of all was the grotesque crown of thorns weighing down his head. The mock halo of titanium was sparklingly clean, reflecting Inias' own grief-stricken face. Bisecting its smooth surface, six long metal picks were embedded in Samandriel's head.

Inias fought the rage, terror, and revulsion spiralling in his gut and took a steadying breath. Extending his grace out from his fingertips, he twisted the first pick cleanly out of the vessel's brain, skull, and flesh and out of the crown. Samandriel didn't even twitch. Four more of the picks came free with no response of any kind. He didn't start to move at all until the final pick, the large one in the center, slid free of his head. As blood started to run down his nose, Samandriel's eyes opened.

Inias lifted the contraption away, tossing it aside and returning his hands to his mate. Samandriel raised his head and relief morphed to shock in his eyes.

"Inias..." he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"It's okay," Inias cradled Samandriel's face. "It's all over. You're safe now." He leaned down, pressing his lips gently to Samandriel's. When he pulled away there were tears on the other angel's cheeks.

The leather straps came away easily and then Samandriel was clinging desperately to Inias' shoulders with mangled fingers. The soldier ran soothing hands over abused wings and down his mate's trembling back. Castiel joined them, still staggering, just as two more demons charged into the room. As much as it pained him to leave Samandriel's side, Inias knew the Winchesters would need his help.

"Castiel," Inias squeezed his older brother's arm. "Get Samandriel out of here. I'll handle the demons."

Samandriel whimpered a protest but he didn't manage anything more coherent before Castiel gripped his shoulder, spread his coal-black wings, and took off, vanishing from the warehouse. Inias' blade dropped down into his hand again and he whirled into the fray. A slice knocked the largest demon's hand away from Sam's head and a simple slap of hand to forehead finished it off in a flare of white light.

The second newcomer presented a significantly greater challenge. He was older, that much Inias could see. By his age and bearing he'd guess Greek, fourth or fifth century BC. Still young compared to Inias, but the angel blade in his hand was held with practiced ease and his eyes assessed Inias like a wolf looking for a weak spot in a herd. Inias let the demon come to him.

The creature's movements showed training; his strikes were quick and controlled, his blocks were steady. He came close to slicing Inias' flank and there was a near miss with his right shoulder. But the demon's manoeuvres were textbook Grecian hand-to-hand. Eventually patterns showed up. Angels were built for patterns.

In the span of a second the fight became a probability map in Inias' head, and his victory a series of waypoints: Feint right, duck, slice beneath ribcage, shatter kneecap, block elbow, twist arm until blade is dropped, finish. The demon hit the floor, dead, with a look of surprise forever frozen on his face. Sam, meanwhile, finished off the last, who'd had Dean in a chokehold. For now, at least, the warehouse was quiet.

"Let's get the hell outta here while we still can," Dean coughed.

Sam nodded at Inias. "Go. We'll catch up."

He didn't need to be told twice. He could feel Samandriel and Castiel outside and he smiled to himself as he spread his wings, gliding past the walls and re-emerging in the cool night air. He was about fifty feet from the Impala, where Castiel supported Samandriel's battered form.

He narrowed his eyes. Something wasn't right. Castiel was stock still and silent, an unflinching grip on Samandriel, whose wings were tucked in unmistakable fear. A fresh wave of adrenaline rushed into Inias' borrowed bloodstream.

"Castiel?"

A flash of steel and his heart stopped.

Without hesitation, without even drawing his own blade, Inias bolted. He crossed the distance between them faster than a thought. Just fast enough to catch Castiel's wrist and still it. Just fast enough to halt the blade that hovered only millimetres from Samandriel's heart.

"What are you doing?!" Inias howled. "Castiel?!"

"Samandriel is compromised. I have to do this." Castiel was monotone, as if he were reciting lines. "Release my arm."

"No! What's wrong with you?!"

"Inias, that is an order."

"He's my mate! You can't order me—"

Castiel lashed out, the blade in his hand slicing dangerously close to Inias' stomach. Inias overbalanced, falling to the asphalt in an awkward tumble. Castiel swooped down and Inias rolled away in time to avoid what would have been a finishing blow. Samandriel yelped as the point of Castiel's blade skittered across the pavement, spitting sparks.

Inias spun into a crouch, putting himself squarely between Castiel and Samandriel, drawing his blade. He blocked Castiel's next blow, the clash of metal on metal echoing in the night air. The other angel's eyes were blank, like he wasn't even there anymore. Whatever had sapped his strength in the warehouse was gone now. They grappled, catching each other's wrists. With weapons pinned, Inias took his chance.

"Castiel, listen to me. Whoever is controlling you, you have to fight! Resist, brother!" There was no response, no change in his expression. He was like a shark—completely fixated on his prey. Devoid of remorse. "Castiel, please!" Inias' knees gave out under Castiel's superior strength. The blades hovered between them. One slip up and someone would die.

"Cas?" Dean's appalled voice called from the corner of the warehouse. The Winchesters' footsteps raced down the alley. "Cas, what the hell?!"

There was a moment more of stone-cold, unyielding pressure from Castiel. A brief moment where Inias thought that the other angel would succeed in driving his blade into his chest. But the very next second, in a flutter of wings, Castiel was gone. Inias fell forward, his blade bouncing away across the pavement. The sounds of the Winchesters' feet rebounded off the corrugated metal walls as they ran toward where Inias panted.

Both humans hung back, uncertain. Understandable; they had no way of knowing what had just happened. In that moment, however, Inias couldn't care less about the two mortals. All that mattered was the trembling figure slumped against the rear door of the Impala.

Inias scrambled to Samandriel's side and his battered mate snagged fistfuls of his suit. He was wide-eyed with fear, shaking and breathing hard.

"Please don't leave me," he rasped.

"I'm not going anywhere." Inias leaned forward, pulling Samandriel into a kiss which was desperately returned. He wanted to weep with relief. Twice he'd almost lost his mate—his mate who should never have been in the line of fire in the first place. His heart ached to see him so broken, but in the same breath it swelled simply to feel him in his arms again.

Their lips parted and there were fresh tears on Samandriel's cheeks.

"I thought you were dead." His voice shook.

Inias pulled Samandriel against his chest, the smaller angel's head falling snugly in the curve of his shoulder. "I'm so sorry." He inhaled, ignoring the smell of blood of sweat and searching out that scent that was uniquely Samandriel's: Pine and wet earth and jasmine. "I should have come home."

Off to his right, Inias heard someone clear their throat.

"I hate to break this up," Dean said, "but we have got to get out of here."

"He's right." Inias kissed Samandriel's bloody cheek. "Can you stand?"

"I don't think so."

Sam swooped in without waiting to be asked, helping Inias lift the battered angel to his feet. He groaned in pain as several deep gashes started bleeding again. Between them it wasn't difficult to load Samandriel into the back seat, his head coming to rest on Inias' lap. The rumble of the engine was comforting this time, rather than stifling, especially when they pulled away and left that warehouse behind them.

Inias brushed blood-matted hair out of Samandriel's face, running a soothing hand over his shoulder and down his arm. It was clear that his mate needed sleep. Angels didn't require it to survive, as humans did. There were some angels who had never once experienced sleep in their long lives. For others it was a way to relax—a meditation of sorts. Some simply enjoyed dreaming. But sleep could heal, and that was what Inias hoped for now.

"PAGE A HOATH," he whispered, squeezing Samandriel's hand. "GEH COD."

Samandriel smiled weakly and let out a long sigh. His wings folded as comfortably as they could, and Inias cradled them with his own. It took fifteen minutes, almost on the dot, for Samandriel to drift off to sleep. His face slackened, his breathing evening out, and for a moment he was still, the glow of passing streetlights streaming over a face that was serene despite the dried blood and bruises. A second later his eyes opened again, but Inias could tell by his wings that Samandriel was still sleeping. He stirred, gasped in pain, and collapsed back into Inias' lap. His gaze was fixed on the front of the car; fixed on Sam.

"Sam? Dean?" There was a different quality to his voice. He sounded younger.

"What's up, Alfie?" Dean asked.

"Holy shit, it is you."

Sam and Dean shared a glance and Sam looked back toward their crippled passenger. He shot a questioning glance at Inias.

"It's the vessel," Inias clarified.

"We've met before?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." The boy winced as the Impala bounced over a rough patch on the road. "I was the, uh, the pet Tarantula kid."

Sam's eyes widened. "Matt?"

Matt nodded, grinning past the pain in his eyes. "Didn't you say things'd get better in college?" He laughed at Sam's stricken expression. "Hey. It's okay. I'm kidding."

"Why the hell does your tag say 'Alfie'?" Dean sounded somewhat frustrated.

"It's a nickname, from school. I was making these short horror films—riffing on Hitchcock. They started calling me Alfie and it kinda stuck." They hit another bump in the road and Matt yelped. Sam reached back and grabbed his free hand.

"Hang in there, Matt." He turned to Dean and, in a whisper, implored: "We're not going to make it to Rufus' cabin. He needs a hospital."

"We can't take an angel into a hospital," Dean replied. "Look, we've got Inias. He'll keep him alive. Just talk to the kid. Keep him distracted."

Inias nodded encouragingly at Sam when the human turned.

"So, Matt. You went off to college, right?"

Matt coughed and thick, dark blood oozed out of the gash on his chest. Inias covered the wound with his hand and let his grace knit the flesh back together. Matt hissed, but conscious of the attempt to distract him, answered the question.

"University of Washington."

"Go Dawgs," Sam replied, chuckling at Matt's surprised expression. "I got to know some of the teams while I was at Stanford." He twisted around a little more in his seat. "What are you studying?"

"Drama major. Filmmaking."

"Still living at home?"

"Yeah, I..." Matt swallowed, a look of horror dawning on his face. "Oh god... Dad... I... I've been in that damn warehouse for two months! He... he probably thinks I'm dead!"

Sam whipped around, rooting through the glove compartment until he retrieved an old Nokia and checked the charge.

"Here," he said, passing the phone back to Matt. "Call him."

"It's almost three in the morning—"

"Call him."

Matt took the phone after a moment of hesitation, dialling with shaking hands. He shifted uncomfortably and Inias sealed another open and bleeding wound. There was a silence. Sam and Dean said nothing, the only sound the faint trace of the ringing phone. Inias could just hear the sound of a voice on the other end.

"Dad?" Matt's voice was rough and hoarse. Too many weeks of screaming had taken their toll. "I'm fine... I swear, I'm fine. I'm with the Winchesters... Yeah, Sam and Dean..."

The Impala lurched over a pothole and Matt whimpered.

"No, it's okay... I'm just a little beaten up... You don't want to know... I mean it, Dad. You..."

As Matt attempted to explain to his father what had happened—attempted to comfort his dad and assure him that he was unharmed—Inias turned his attention to the tattered wings sprouting from the young man's back. They were twitching and shivering, lost to dreams. Inias ran his hands tenderly over the ravaged feathers, preening them, plucking out those beyond repair. He sealed the deepest of the wounds and spread fresh oil over his plumage. Already, he looked better. Washing the blood off, however, would have to wait.

"We're driving to a safehouse... I don't... Sam? Where are we headed?" Matt asked.

"Whitefish, Montana."

"Whitefish... Yeah... You don't have to... Dad..." Matt sighed, his voice softening. "I know... I'm so sorry. I would have told you if I had the chance... Okay... I know... Believe me, I'm glad I'm out of there too... I'll hand you over to Sam for that... Yeah, I... I love you too, Dad... Okay. See you soon."

He handed the phone off to Sam and settled against Inias' lap again, shivering.

"Thanks," he said quietly, his hand squeezing Inias' knee. "I know you did it for Samandriel, but thanks for stopping Cas."

Inias wrapped a wing around him. "I'm just glad I was fast enough."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

The rest of the drive alternated between quiet stretches where Inias could almost have dozed off and moments of abject terror. Twice Samandriel woke screaming and struggling and Inias had to soothe him back to sleep. Several times, wounds reopened and had to be tended. In a moment of wakefulness, Matt lamented their lack of anaesthetics.

When the Impala rolled up next to the old Whitefish cabin both Matt and Samandriel were sound asleep. The brothers went straight to work setting up wards and angel-proofing; Inias showing them how to write in specific exceptions. The moment the sigils were complete, Inias bundled Samandriel in his arms and carried him, still asleep, into the cabin.

"Are the wards working?" Dean asked, rooting through cupboards for medical supplies.

"Perfectly," Inias replied.

"Awesome." He tossed two first aid kits onto the sofa and dragged the camp bed out in front of the fireplace. "Sam, we should get this fire going."

Inias eased Samandriel down onto the creaky old camp bed, igniting the fireplace with a snap of his fingers before Sam had even retrieved the matches. Samandriel stirred at the sharp sound, groaning in pain and fear. Inias knelt at his side, brushing errant strands of hair aside, soothing him as gently as he could.

"It's alright, A HOATH. You can rest now. I'm here." He pressed a feather-light kiss to Samandriel's eyelid.

"I thought you were dead," Samandriel whispered. "After we recovered Hester's body, and Ra'amiel's and Satqiel's... When the Leviathans slaughtered your garrison..." He swallowed, his voice wavering. "When the survivors were scrambling home, I waited for you. I waited all night. When you didn't come back I thought... I thought I'd lost you. We looked for your body..."

"I'm so sorry, Samandriel." Dean came with cloths and an old, cracked ceramic bowl full of lukewarm water which Inias accepted with a nod of thanks. "I was a coward. I ran and I was ashamed... and I was afraid of the punishment." Wetting the first cloth, he continued. "I should have come home to you and endured the lashes with my head held high or I should have died alongside my brothers. I shouldn't have abandoned you."

Samandriel's eyes opened, his vessel's irises just as bright a blue as his own. "I'm glad you ran." He lifted shaking hands to Inias' cheeks. "I wouldn't have been able to bear it if you'd died. Just that year alone was too much. But if you had come home, Naomi would have snared you like she did the others... You wouldn't have been there to save me."

"Naomi could never make me hurt you or prevent me from defending you." He took Samandriel's hands from his cheeks, pressing a kiss to one palm before laying them at his sides. He was beyond gentle as he began wiping away the layers of dried blood and grime.

"A TOANT G," Samandriel whispered, eyes closing again as the warm cloth brushed along his cheekbones, erasing weeks of filth and tear trails.

Inias smiled, leaning down to press his lips to Samandriel's. "A TOANT G."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

It didn't take long for Samandriel to fall asleep again. Inias remained as gentle as possible, working carefully around open slices and scuffs. The water in the basin had rapidly changed from pink to red. Not long after he drifted off, Sam swooped in to change the water and Inias enlisted Dean's help in divesting Samandriel of the blood-soaked uniform he still wore.

With his clothes removed, the full extent of the damage became abundantly clear. Samandriel's entire upper chest and both his shoulders were covered in jagged, criss-crossing cuts. Some were nothing more than pale scars, some red and freshly healed. Most were open and weeping, a few so deep that bone showed through. In one spot it looked as if the blade had scratched into his sternum.

Inias took up a fresh cloth and returned to his work. As the blood came away the bruises beneath were revealed; black, purple, and green blotches on his otherwise pale skin.

Dean proved proficient at stitching up the deeper wounds, sterilizing and dressing them one by one. Samandriel's arms and comparatively untouched legs took little time to patch up and once both Inias and Dean were satisfied, they slipped him into fresh clothes: a thick, green flannel shirt, boxers, and a pair of jeans that Dean retrieved from one of the duffels in the corner. They were a tad big but at least they were clean.

With the third and final cloth and another basin of water, Inias set to work on Samandriel's hair and wings. The caked-in blood took a long time to clear, especially with how delicate Inias was being. But with each pass of the cloth Samandriel's hair lightened; turning from a dark reddish-brown to a soft sandy tone. Getting the blood off his feathers was more of a challenge, and some spots proved to be permanently stained. They would remain until Samandriel next moulted.

Inias pulled the blankets over his sleeping mate and, with a kiss to his forehead, retreated to the kitchenette with the now-crimson cloth and water. Sam and Dean watched him expectantly.

"How's he doing?" Dean asked.

"Better now." Inias poured away the water. "The sleep will do him good."

The Winchesters looked at each other briefly before continuing in more conspiratorial tones.

"Okay, what the hell?" Dean snapped. "He comes to me wanting to rescue Samandriel and then tries to kill him?"

"Samandriel seems to be under the impression that one of our siblings has somehow gained control over the Host, Castiel included."

"I told you something was off with him since he got back from Purgatory." The anger in Dean's voice belied the sadness in his eyes. Old pain had been dredged up. Inias chose to leave it be. The older Winchester didn't seem the sort to discuss such things with someone he barely knew.

"So someone's messing with him?" Sam looked to Inias.

"Specifically, Naomi," Inias replied.

"Why would this Naomi want Cas to kill another angel?"

Inias paused and sighed. "To be honest, I have no idea. I've never met her. One of my brothers was under her command but that's all I know."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, visibly agitated in a way that only mammals and birds seemed capable of, and turned to his brother. "You know what, man? I got this. You go."

"What?"

"Don't you have a girl to get back to?"

Inias really couldn't tell if that was bitterness in Dean's voice or just exhaustion. There were bags under his eyes but the angel knew that that was nothing new. The Winchesters had had many a sleepless night in the past.

Sam looked bewildered. "Yeah... I guess I do. Um..." He paused. "Since when are you on the Amelia bandwagon?"

Dean shrugged, making his way to the fridge. "I don't know. I'm just tired of all the fighting." He pulled two beers from the bottom shelf, tossing one to Inias and cracking open the other. "And, you know, maybe I'm a little bit jealous. I could never separate myself from the job like you could." He took a swig. "Hell, maybe it's time for at least one of us to be happy."

Inias inspected the bottle as Sam replied, cautiously amused.

"What, you being such a big hugger and all?" He smiled. "She does make me happy, and she could be waiting for me if I went back. I'd be a very lucky man if she was. But now..." There was discomfort in his pause, but relief too. "With everything staring down at us, with all that's left to be done... I don't know."

Dean huffed a non-committal noise and Sam answered with a "Yeah." Inias couldn't help but see the similarities between the two men and the angels who would have used them as vessels. Granted, Sam and Dean weren't intimate as Michael and Lucifer had been. They weren't lovers or mates as the angels always would be. But in Dean's calm acceptance and Sam's indecision, Dean's stillness and steadiness and Sam's need for freedom and change, Inias saw his twos eldest brothers.

As above, so below.

Dean swallowed another swig of his beer. "Well, I do know this: Whatever you decide, decide. Both feet in or both feet out. Anything in between is what gets you dead."

"Yeah. I keep hearing that. I'm... gonna take a walk. Clear my head."

Sam slipped out of the cabin, leaving a not-quite-frosty silence. Dean sighed and lacking anything to add, Inias opened the beer he'd been given and took a sip.

A mistake, he quickly decided. The fermented liquid was disgusting. Inias made a face, forcing himself to swallow the mouthful and laid the bottle down on the counter. Dean glanced at him and smirked.

"Baby."

Enochian

PAGE A HOATH: (pah-geh ah hoh-ah-teh) Rest, my love

GEH COD: (geh-heh koh-deh) = You're safe

A TOANT G: (ah toh-an-teh geh) = I love you