Chapter Two: Taking Blame
Word Count: 5,414
The room was dark except for the moonlight outside his window. Another cheap motel, where the paint chipped off the walls and the faucet in the bathroom leaked. There were two beds even though only one of them was actually being used. The bed on the far right was still made and a duffel bag rested on top, guns, knifes, rope and clothes littered its surface. The bed to the left was unmade with the top cover falling off the side and the sheets rumpled. Not even hours before had there been two bodies in that bed, both slick with sweat and craving release. Of course she was gone now and he was left to himself. The room still smelt of sex,leaving the room's only occupant sticky and unclean, and alone at the table in front of the window. His chair was just to the left if someone were to look in. The headlights of a car rolled passed bringing his face into view for just a brief second. He's aged, not much
physically but the set in his jaw and the look in his eyes show the horrors he's seen. With short dark hair that reached out in every direction further proof of his previous activities he focused his attention to a spot on the table. Eyes dark, hard with intent, his jaw was clenched and his lips were pressed together firmly. His left arm was laying out in front of him on the table, in his hand was a silver dagger. It was a decent size, the blade itself was thick and deadly sharp. The handle was sturdy and made of steel, holes sat in pairs on the handle increasing until they were large enough to slip ones fingers into.
Where his finger was currently curled through holding the weapon just above the table. With a flick of his finger the blade was swinging back and forth, his eyes following it and narrowing at the sight. The blade was pointed down towards the wooden surface, the moonlight reflecting off it's surface as it swung.
Days, weeks, months had passed since Sammy had gone into the pit with Michael and Lucifer. Still they were no closer to getting him out even if there was a way. With a final flick of his finger Dean's knife circled around his finger and he grabbed the handle in a practiced manner plunging the blade down into the table before him. Anger boiled inside of him. There was nothing he could do to help his brother and he felt helpless. He was supposed to be able to help his brother, get him out and patch him back together again. He wasn't even supposed to be in that damned pit. Slamming his clenched fist on the table next to the knife his breathing grew heavy. He could only imagine what was happening to Sam down there. He pictured Sam tied up in chains and bound to the point where he couldn't move. He imagined Lucifer and Michael taking turns on him as if he was some whore laid out for their pleasure. Standing and shoving the table away from him with such a force that it tipped over on its side he paced the room. His right hand brushed through his hair mussing it further then down his neck and up to cover his mouth where he then cupped his chin before letting his arm fall down again. Pacing the area between his bed and the table he just pushed over he brought both if his hands to rest
behind his head. They had just hit another dead end with from another rumor where a hunter claimed they knew someone who could get Sam out. That was why Dean wanted to drive all the way to fucking Southern Virginia- and maybe distract himself with another hunt but that did him no good. Now he was alone in a hotel room with nothing but himself to keep him sane. With a scoff, he could tell how well that was going and Cas had yet to return from where ever he went.
Sadness clawed away at Dean and he fought off tears as he let out a sound that was caught between a growl and a cry. When he overturned the mattress in his bed forcing it to knock into the other bed beside it and litter the floor with his toys. Frustration tore at him as he flung his arm out and knocked over the side table lamp and despair ate at him as he fell to his knees. His arms came up to hide his face as he collapsed into himself finally breaking down after all of this time. A sob tore through his lungs then another and then another until he could no longer breathe.
Something snapped inside of Dean then, and he felt something that he hadn't felt in a very long time. He wasn't sure how long he had been there sobbing like a baby but he was filled with sudden coldness, like an eery calm that settles in before the storm. His back was stiff but his shoulders were relaxed. He looked as if he had simply been brought to attention as he stood back up and looked around the room. With stony awareness he set the table back in its original position. Dislodging the knife and laying it almost reverently down on the table but only after he wiped the blade clean with his fingers. Turning around he knelt down and picked up the pieces to the broken lamp and set them on the table as well. Moving around he righted the mattress and settled it back down in its spot. He even went as far as to make the sheets and straighten out the duvet. Gathering his clothing he folded them all into his duffel back with military like precision and zipped it up. Setting it down at the edge of the bed he went around slowly picking up every weapon that had fallen to the ground along with the rope that he happened to have stored away. Each was held in his hands like it was his first born child. With every knife he would pick up he would admire the blade and run his fingers over the shinning silver, remembering the things he had done with the blade in particular. When he came across his colt he held it up and let it shimmer gently in the moonlight. His right hand moved slowly over the barrel as he cradled it in his left hand. Bringing it down gently to lay it down on the bed spread next to his knifes he finally let out a deep sigh.
He paused then, suddenly aware of the way that the air changed, closing his eyes and breathing in and out before he turned around. He hadn't expected him back so soon or even at all. It still surprised him that Castiel would still show up and help him. Never disappearing for more than a couple of days or so, instead of weeks or all together.
"Dean." Castiel's rough voice came from behind him and he opened his eyes.
"Cas." He greeted turning around slowly to face his angel.
"I apologize. I was...gone longer than I anticipated." Cas said looking around the room before letting his gaze fall on Dean.
"Things happen." Dean replied with a shrug of his shoulders but his eyes were cold, hard.
"Something has happened." Cas stated his brow furrowing together and his head tilting to the side.
"You can say that." Dean nodded in agreement as he slowly approached Cas. "You can say a lot of things have happened since Lucifer took Sam as his meat suit." The elder Winchester spoke calmly and coldly as he stood in front of the Angel, their faces only inches apart. "You see Cas, a lot has happened since then but nothing has gotten us closer to getting him out." Dean's jaw clenched and Cas straightened his stance.
"There have been no leads." Cas said, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Whose fault is that?" Dean took the last step, getting in Cas's face.
"You are not the only one who is suffering, Dean." Cas spoke with authority, eyes narrowing even further.
"No," Dean met the angel's eyes before looking down. "you will be too." The moment that Cas tilted his head in confusion Dean took that as a chance to shove.
The back of Cas's head hit the wall as he collided, plaster crumbling behind him. Dean grabbed the front of the angel's trench coat and pulled him forward. Using the momentum to throw him unto the bed that Dean had occupied just hours before. Bouncing off of the mattress and falling to the floor, Cas rolled over unto his side. Spiting the blood that had gathered in his mouth from biting his lip as his head came in contact with the wall- he began to stand. Dean took advantage of his momentary weakness and kicked him in the stomach. Boot coming together with flesh repeatedly, bones easily cracking and breaking with each kick. As Cas lay there on the wooden floor, bleeding Dean yanked him up by his collar and dragged him to the table. Forcing him to lay back down unto its surface Dean reached out with his free hand and grabbed the knife that was sitting just above Castiel's right shoulder. Turning the knife around to get a better grip on the handle, Dean forced all of his weight onto Cas.
"We all suffer, Cas." Dean's face was close to the angel's as he held the knife just above his throat.
"You can't hurt me, Dean." Cas choked out blood spluttering onto his chin, Dean knew that Cas's body was healing as they spoke. He wasn't going to give the Angel's vessel time to repair itself, not with what he had planned.
"Watch me." Dean spat getting a firmer hold on the knife's handle before gripping it and thrusting it into Castiel's shoulder.
Crying out the angel attempted to claw at Dean, trying to move him in order to remove the knife from his shoulder. Dean just pushed further, forcing the knife deeper, and pushing himself more into the body beneath him. With a quick twist of the blade, the knife torn away muscle and scraped over bone. Castiel groaned in pain and failed at another attempt to get Dean off of him. Lifting off of him just enough, Dean reached with his elbow and smashed it across the angel's face. Bone cracked and blood spurted everywhere, leaving the angel unconscious. Standing up slowly Dean looked down at the mess before him. His eyes were cold and empty but his lips twitched up into a sinister smile. He felt good, he couldn't remember the last time he let this part of himself free.
His eyes fluttered open and he was met with the harsh bright light overhead. The air around him was hot and moist. He was left only in the slacks that he always wore and there was sweat sliding down his back and chest. Chains held his wrists just high enough to let him hang and still have his feet brush the ground. His arms were slightly behind him as he leaned forward in an attempt to pull himself free. Yet he was powerless, too drained to put up much of a fight. His previous injuries were healed, still he was sore from Dean's earlier abuse and the fight that he had been in before. The struggle to get Sam, one that had ended in a way that Castiel and not expected. Looking over to his right he could see nothing past the light that was shinning just above him and as he rolled his head forward it was the same no matter where he looked. His time helping Dean had left him weak and his powers were too drained to permit him to do anything. The irony of his position did not escape him either, he suspected Dean had purposefully put him in the same manner Jesus had been on the cross. With another attempt of lifting himself up, he flexed his arms working hard to somehow pull himself out of his restraints. The muscles of his back flexed almost painfully with the way his body was and a strangled groan escaped his lips. That's when he heard heavy footfalls sound in front of him. It wasn't until he heard the sound of something being dropped on what he could only imagine was a table to his left that he was again face to face with Dean Winchester.
"I must say, Cas. You were out a lot longer then I thought you would be." Dean sinister smile was inches from his face. "Not that it mattered much. It gave me time to prepare myself. After all, we do share a Profound...Bond." Dean leaned in even more his breath could be felt on his lips, subconsciously he licked them. Noting the way Dean's eyes followed his tongue.
"What do you think you will accomplish by doing this?" His question came out harsh and gritty, much like the way his throat felt.
Instead of getting an answer, Dean took a step away from him and turned away. He couldn't see but he could hear the sound of a bag being unzipped. Immediately he thought of Dean's duffel bag, and over the months of them spending time together he had memorized everything that was in that bag. He imagined Dean pulling out a silver dagger, one he kept just in case he encountered another shape shifter. The blade itself was no longer then six inches, the handle was shinning ivory and it looked old. It would be handled with great care but he wouldn't know why. His only theory was that it was given to Dean by his Father before he died. Next would come the dozen throwing knives he carried, mainly only used for target practice but were handy in a fight. There is a whole at the top of each handle, just large enough to get a finger in giving the one throwing it leverage to throw it anywhere they want. He remembered Dean used some to pin down a demon he was attempting to get information from. They cut deep but left thin lines. Making the one that had been injured seem like they had only been scratched, when in reality a major artery was punctured. They would then bleed out more slowly then normal, begging for death as they laid there and watched their attacker leave them there on the floor.
The next weapon Dean would pull out would be his Colt 1911 A1 .45 semi-automatic, his hand would caress the engravings and he would hold it with reverence as he admired the ivory handle. He will hold it in his had for a moment, remember all the times he had to use it. Relive each and every one of those memories, the evil things he's killed and the lives he has saved. Then he will set it down gently, but off to the side not near to the weapons he has recently pulled out. This is because he wouldn't use it. Castiel predicted that in the next few minutes Dean would finished gathering all of his knives, his wide collection of newer and older, almost ancient looking blades. One that stood out the most had a thick black handle, easy enough to grip and the blade, wide but narrowed as it curved slightly upwards. This was the most lethal blade of Dean's collection, to thin to be felt at high speeds, nearly impossible to stop. Setting that knife down Castiel pictured Dean reaching into his bag for his last weapon.
This one's handle was too large for Dean's hand, needing to hold it steadily with both. The top was smooth and silver could be seen under the leather wrapping. Crisscrossing down the handle the thick leather covered the handle of the blade and passed onto the blade about an inch and a half. A knot was tied to keep the wrapping in place. This blade was thick and extended down Dean's forearm to end just after his palm. It was too long to be a dagger for Dean but not long enough to be a short sword. Except to it's owner it was the perfect size. Castiel closed his eyes and hung his head forward. He could almost see Dean stare at the weapon in his hands, gripping the handle reverently at first but then tightening at the memory of losing his brother. He pictured Dean's hand wrapped around the blade, his jaw would be clenched and his eyes would be focused on his now bleeding hand forcing the tears to disappear. Cas knew better then to talk Dean out of what he was going to do. He heard Sam's weapon be set down as the table was moved closer to him. Closing his eyes he let himself feel what Dean was feeling. He knew what it was like losing his siblings, knowing that there was no way that he could have prevented their deaths. Gabriel was in the fore front of his mind and the pain he felt tore through him, choking him so he couldn't breathe. Gabriel had sacrificed himself just like Sam had, except there was no way to bring his brother back. Pausing, he swallowed down the human emotions he felt. Raising his head he opened his eyes again to the harsh light before him and met the cold hard eyes of Dean.
Dean held in his hand a container, it was large and ceramic looking. Castiel recognized it as the one he had handed the hunter not too long before- maybe only months. The angel had to hide his surprise, it was the one thing that Cas never told the Winchesters' about Holy Oil. Not only was it good for keeping angel's from running away but the oil had other uses, ones that until this point the Angel never considered Dean would use. The hunter held up the container, making sure that Castiel could watch as he pulled out the cork. A smile made its way to Dean's lips, it was sinister and promised of things to come, things that Cas did not want to think about.
"Dean, you don't have to do this." Castiel rasped pulling at his chains. Dean let out a menacing laugh.
"You see Cas," Dean smirked at the Angel, holding the oil up higher. "I do and you know why?" He asked looking at the angel in the eyes, moving an arm his free arm to rest on Cas's shoulder. "Because this is all your fault." The hunter said before taking a step back to tip the oil container to the side.
Cas watched with wide eyes as the oil started to seep out of the top of the container. Dean had tipped the oil over the angel's head and let it hover, letting the anticipation build. Cas was shaking, waiting for the pain, waiting for whatever Dean was going to do to him. Except, this was something that he was never going to be prepared for. He didn't see it, the way the oil fell from it's container, or how it fell to his bare skin. All he could do is feel the way his skin boiled and how it burned.
His vision turned white and he was sure he could hear Dean chuckle over the way he was screaming. Blinded with pain, his head fell so his chin was touching his collarbone, the way his skin became charred- falling, slipping off of his shoulder and back. He heard it hit the floor with a squish, and felt the way his blood slid down his body. Searing pain coursed through him, never ending, there didn't seem to be a light at the tunnel. Another yell escaped him as he felt the oil burn its way through his scalp, his hair becoming singed. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils and he gasped for air. Breath he couldn't get from the pain, his skin around his lungs burning- his entire body burning.
Even as this was happening he could feel the process of his body repairing itself. His nerves were working over time, every inch of his body was throbbing. He felt pain, oh so much pain only to be followed by the painful revival of his vessel. Tears fell from his eyes and his voice became even more hoarse, calling out for Dean to stop.
"Stop! You want me to stop, Cas?" Dean had put the oil away and was now standing in front of the Angel. "I won't stop." The hunter bent down to make sure Cas could see him. "I can't stop. Not until I know how to bring Sam back." Dean snarled pointing at his chest.
Dean was oddly relaxed, his movements practiced and precise. He's been here before, he felt alive when he did this. His hands were shaking as the adrenaline pumped through his veins. He should stop, he knew this was wrong. Standing up and turning back to his table of tricks his line of vision no longer Castiel screaming, yanking on the chains as his body withered in pain. He closed his hands into fists, taking in a shaky breath as relaxed as he was he didn't think he could ever really get used to this. Ten years he listened to the mantras of screams, they became his music. He used to whistle along in Hell. He enjoyed it there, and now he wasn't so sure. Cas was his friend, and now he had turned against him. Pushing the thoughts out of his mind he remembered all the wrong Cas did to him- to Sam. Cas could have saved Sam but he didn't, Cas could go get Sam but he won't. Dean knew of what the angel was capable of, yet he never did anything. He just watched as Dean suffered and searched for ways to get Sam out of the cage. If though he knew the answer all along, but even if the hunter had asked Cas to do it, he knew he wouldn't risk it. Cas never would have done that for Sam, not like he did for Dean. Choosing a blade from the table Dean turned back around to his guardian angel.
He looked on as Cas choked up blood, the red liquid spurting from the Angel's mouth and dripping down his lips. Dean bit his own lip, nursing it between his teeth as he watched the angel. He turned the blade in his hand, the tip of it pressed against his finger as he twisted the handle in his other hand. The hunter let himself be taken over by memories, those of him and Sam. They late night rituals of drinking beer after a hunt and the silly pranks they used to pull. Good times. Times that were over now that Sam was gone, and a flare of anger passed over Dean once more. Lining the blade with Cas's forearm and pressed the tip of the blade to the sensitive skin at the inside of Cas's wrist. The cut wasn't deep, not even close but Dean drug the blade down the angel's arm, watching the blood come up to the skin and pour our. Not pour out, ooze out. There was no emotion left in the hunter's expression as he did this. He simply moved the blade up again to the same exact spot and proceeded with the same movements. He never increased his pressure or his speed, he took his time and blocked out Cas's screams.
The angel had his hands wrapped around his chains, yanking and tugging as the torture went on. The metal becoming slick as it bit into his skin and cutting away at his palms. Although it was nothing compared to the way his skin still continued to boil and sizzle as the cool air came in contact with him. His voice was almost nonexistent as Dean continued to drag the blade against his skin. It was slow and Cas became entranced with the way that the blade seemed to easily moved through his skin. The blade, which the angel could feel was serrated was no longer cutting through skin but now through muscle. He vaguely thought that if Dean didn't stop that maybe it would kill him but he knew that wouldn't happen. Seeing as that the hunter had stopped what he was doing to stand in front of him. As soon as the hunter stopped, his body started to heal itself and Dean watched for a moment. Almost fascinated in the way the muscles weaved itself back together before his attention was set back on Cas's face.
"Remember when you asked me to do this to Alistair?" Dean asked and looked at the blade in his hand as if it held all of the memories he possessed.
"I-" Cas started but choked on his own blood. "I had no right to ask that of you." Cas finally said, his voice nothing but a whisper and full of regret. A human emotion, something he was not used to.
"You asked me to anyway." Dean said looking back at Cas. "Did you know how it would affect me?" Dean started to circle around him as he spoke. "Did you know I would spend the next few months haunted by nightmares and having that itch to just-" He paused stopping in front of the Angel and taking the tip of the knife to the sensitive skin on his chest. "Cut."
The wound was deep, the angel's skin tearing as the blood from his vessel poured out over the blade. Cas threw his head back in a hoarse yell, his body was shaking and he wished that he could distance himself from this. Yet, he was bound to the vessel he took over and there was no escaping what Dean had in store for him. The hunter had stopped cutting, watching Cas as he panted and gasped. Tears fell down the angel's face, streaking the blood and dirt that was on his face. He choked out a sob knowing that he full well deserved this because he had let Dean down.
"I didn't want." Cas rasped, another sob escaping him. "I didn't want that from you." He said shaking his head as he tried to catch his breath. "I would have given anything to take your place. To protect you." He said his head still down.
"Protect me?" Dean asked, pulling on the Cas's hair to make him meet his eyes. "You wanted to protect me, Cas? What about Sam, huh?" He asked, his eyes became haunted. "Did you ever think the protect him?" Dean shoved the blade deep into Cas's chest.
Cas could feel as the blade chipped bone and tore through tissue, letting out a surprised cry at Dean's sudden attack. It was only seconds when the hunter twisted the knife with slow measured movements. He was becoming weak, weaker than when he arrived. Before he wasn't able to break free of his chains and fly out of here. Now he would barely keep his hold himself together as his body shook with pain. The skin on his shoulders start to tear and he closed his eyes tight willing himself not to loose control. The moment that Dean brought the blade out his wings jutted out. Launching in each direction, extending to the very wall of the room they were in and fell. The gray dusted feathers looked dull and singed in areas as the wings themselves could not be held up. The feathers lay on the cement floor and Cas's head hung low, his body was sagged. His wrists cracking as his legs gave out even more. He could not see Dean, but he heard as the hunter walked around him looking and inspecting what was before him. The footsteps fading off the the side only to return with more force. Cas wasn't prepared for the fire that passed through him, his vessel, to his very grace. Dean was no longer attacking his humanity but him, as an angel.
His feathers burned and turned black, some turning to ash as his wings started to burn. Moving up quickly to his shoulders and burning the flash on is back. The agony he felt was nothing he had ever felt before and he cried out as his very being was set to fire.
"Where is your God now, Cas!" Dean yelled over his screams.
Cas was sure that Dean continued to cut at his skin, dragging the blade down his torso and arms. The cuts were deep and he was sure that if he were human he would bled out long ago. Dean was angry now, the cuts weren't as measured and precise. They were ugly and uneven, full of rage and despair. The hunter before him was losing the battle within himself and all Cas could think of was that it would be over soon. Then Dean thrust the blade near his collarbone causing Cas to cry out. The hunter had paused, his eyes wide.
"Stop, Dean." Cas begged, tears on his cheeks.
"Your God can't save you now." Dean's voice was low and dangerous, his eyes still out of focus. "He won't heal you, just like he won't heal us. He won't come for you, Castiel. He'll just take away everything you love." Dean's voice was shaking as he brought up his other hand to rest on Cas's shoulder.
"This is the work of you God." Dean said his eyes shinning bright with tears. "This is the God you serve." He said his voice cracking as he pulled out the knife and Cas let out a soft cry.
Throwing the knife to the side, Dean stood next to Cas. He wasn't looking at the angel's face, instead he was looking at the damage he caused. Even as the angel's body slowly started to repair itself and Cas could see as Dean came back into himself. The hunter's eyes were tearful and wide with horror. He brought a shaky hand up to Cas's torso, careful as not to touch any open wounds.
"Oh god." He cried softly finally bringing his head up to look at Cas.
The angel could only look at Dean, his head tilted slightly to the side panting for air. His eyes were half lidded but the color of blue was dull.
"This is my fault." Dean said stepping closer to Cas.
Castiel could feel wetness, warm and not like the blood sticky on his neck. Dean was crying, and he could not comfort him with his restraints. Dean let his head fall in the junction between Cas's should and neck. Cas could only rest his chin on the head of the man that just spent hours on end torturing him. Yet this was till the same man that sacrificed his family to save a world that did nothing but wrong to them. This was the man that blamed himself for things that he could not prevent.
"No." Cas whispered after moments of quite sobs. "It's not your fault, Dean." He said pressing his lips to Dean's hair.
"I'm so sorry." Dean choked out, wrapping an arm loosely around Cas's torso.
The hunter's apology became a mantra. Cas wasn't sure how long they were there, or how long Dean cried apologies to him but soon enough he gather the strength to free himself from his chains. He wasn't sure how he did it, but the next thing he remembers doing is falling to his knees with Dean in his arms. He closed his eyes and let Dean cry against him, his damaged wings coming around as if to shield him. He wings would forever be scorched black but that hardly seemed to matter as the hunter gripped him tighter. Closing his head Cas just held him closer and nuzzled his face deeper into Dean's hair.