Title: Wings to the Wall
Authors: Seven Hyde and Twisted Skyward, also known as Legolyn Fay and Avery
Rated M: For graphic violence and foul language.
Pairing: None, although you could read it as Dean/Castiel if you wanted too.

Disclaimer: Supernatural, it's characters and concepts do not belong to us. This is a non-profit, non-riot fic, written solely for enjoyment. No infringement is intended.

Authors' Note: This story is a work in progress, in that we are working on it as we go along. It's an AU to the extent that it doesn't fall in the realm of the series, but the characters and their world are the same. Enjoy!

Legolyn's Note: sorry, this was much more delayed than we expected, but have no fear, your fingernails can stop clinging onto that cliffie. at least until you finish reading this chapter, heh heh. also, the utter lack of capital letters in this note was intended to harm avery's psyche.

Dean's breathing was labored. The damn hallway seemed endless. Just a long stretch of white, going nowhere. Castiel was barely breathing, and Sam kept looking at him with questions all over his face, "How do we fix this?" and "What do we do?" pouring from his brother's eyes. He couldn't look at him. He didn't have those answers.

"Cas." Dean muttered, as the hallway took yet another long winding turn. "Is there any end in sight to this? Can you just, you know, zap us out of here?" The angel didn't raise his head, and when he spoke, it was a pain-filled whisper.

"I do not know. I have little…little power-" he gasped, inhaling sharply, "But I may be able to get us out, to the place where we were taken from. I pray it will be enough." He opened his eyes to look at Dean, and the hunter's heart clenched. All that pain, and the angel was still willing to try to get them out. He looked away, at Sam, and nodded.

"Fine. Poof us. Just as long as we end up somewhere other than the freaking Hall of Eternal Bullshit." His legs were beginning to wobble with every step, his strength not enough to keep them going much longer.

Castiel whispered something, a fervent string of syllables and pressed his hands to both brothers' heads. When the light cleared from their eyes, they were next to the Impala in the parking lot of an empty gas station. The angel had passed out cold.

Dean grunted, pulling Castiel to him before he hit the ground. "Sam. Help me get him into the back." The brothers leaned down and grabbed the angel by the arms, carefully maneuvering him into the back. Dean plopped himself into the driver's seat, exhaustion weighing him down.
"What the hell do we do now?" He muttered, resting his head on the steering wheel. He had a bleeding angel in his backseat, the whole of Heaven after his brother's blood, a headache the size of Montana, and not even the hint of a plan. Luckily, Sammy could always be counted on in a crisis.

"Bobby." Sam said firmly. "He might know what...what's next." He looked at Dean critically. "Hey, man. You gonna be ok?" Dean gave him a Look. Sam shook his head and looked away. "It's a simple question."

Dean turned and faced forward, and put the car in gear, choosing to ignore the question, simple or not. "Bobby's it is. We gotta get Cas taken care of. Angels don't pass out." He glanced at the unconscious form in the backseat. "At least, they're not supposed to." He hit the gas and peeled away from the curb.

"He was weak as it was, what with...you know. But he still found the power that got us out of there." Dean knew Sam was just trying to be reassuring, but he really wished he'd stop talking. Sam shook his head. "He's either suicidal, or he actually gives a real damn about us."

"Well, then he's suicidal." Dean's tone made it clear that the conversation was over. Night fell as the Impala made its way steadily towards their only safe haven.

Some time later, Dean had lost count of the hours. Castiel lay face down on Bobby's sofa, still dead to the world. Dean paced the floor near the desk with his hands buried in his pockets, trying not to look at him. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation. "We have to cut the rest of the wings out, Bobby."

Bobby nodded, face stern and impassive. He hadn't said much since the boys had shown up, didn't ask for the story, just accepted Dean's pained eyes and Sam's worried hand wringing with usual stalwart grace.

Dean glanced at the hard expression on Sam's face, flicking his eyes down to the floor quickly, unwilling to look his brother in the eye. Bobby didn't miss the gesture, as Dean knew he wouldn't, and he blinked in acknowledgement. Sam needed to be gone.

"Yeah, you're right. But I don't have the supplies we're gonna need for a job like this. Bandages, antiseptic, hell, he might even need stitches, I don't know." He looked at Sam. "There's a drug store up the road a piece. Clean them out, and get back here, got it?"

Sam looked at him for a moment, clearly unhappy. "Bobby, I don't think we should do this. How do we know what pulling out an angel's wings does? We could kill him."

Bobby stepped into him, with an expression that invited no questions. "I don't recall putting this to a vote. Now get goin'." Sam was silent, and he looked at Dean imploringly for a moment. When his brother refused to meet his eyes, he nodded and walked out the door.

Bobby looked at Dean as the door slammed shut. "There's only one thing I can't figure. I'm not looking at the body of the sumbitch that did this to your angel, and I'm a mite curious as to why that is."

Dean froze for a moment, staring at the man. His head dropped and his shoulders raised defensively. Emotion tugged at his face, but he shut it down. "Because. I did it." He refused to look Bobby in the face. "I cut his wings off."

Bobby didn't flinch, or show any kind of emotion at the statement. He'd figured as much, from the way Sam kept looking at Dean like the boy would break any minute, and the guilty way Dean wouldn't leave the angel's side. "You had a good reason?" he asked.

Dean laughed, but the sound had no humor in it. It was cold, bitter, and hard. "Yeah. I had a damn good reason." He stared at Bobby, daring him to call him a monster. "He was nailed to a wall, Bobby, nails fucking shoved through his wings, pumping him full of poison. I had to cut him loose." He stared at the blood still caked under his nails. "So I did. He begged me not too, but I did it anyway."

Bobby put a hand on Dean's shoulder, regarding him silently.

Dean shrugged the hand off. He couldn't afford to break, not now. "We have to cut the rest out."

Bobby nodded. "What do you need?" He figured he could either press the matter and get Dean to feel his damn feelings about the matter, or go ahead with what the boy wanted and let him preserve his sanity for a little longer. He chose the latter. It wouldn't do to have the angel wake up to find no one had done a damn thing for him.

"A knife. Towels. Rope." Dean studied the stumps of wing carefully and thought he could remove them without too much trouble, God willing.

"For all our sakes, I hope he stays asleep." Bobby went to get the things Dean asked for. "You want me to do this?" he offered, holding the sharpest knife he owned. Dean took the knife, turning his back to Bobby. "No. I started it. I'm finishing it."

He hovered over Castiel, staring at the blood still flowing from the rough wounds. "Bobby. Move him to the table. Tie him down. He's not going to stay asleep for long."