Chapter 2: Pain is Only Weakness Leaving Your Body

It was light. It was a morning kind of light, soft and warm. Dean fluttered his eyes open. Dust silently danced in the light rays that escaped the curtains. Despite the peace and stillness of the morning, he was uncomfortable. His clothes were grimy with old sweat, his hair was plastered to his face, and his hands were covered with flakes of dried blood.

Blood.

Oh.

Dean vaguely remembered weaving hundreds of stitches, linen wrappings, and copious amounts blood.

He sat up quickly and sought out Cas with his sharp eyes. The Lord's warrior lay on what was supposed to be Sam's bed, exactly where he left him to rest last night. The light pooling from the windows swathed his body. An ethereal aura surrounded his being, reminding Dean that he was, indeed, not human. Even though he was in bad shape—worse than Dean has ever seen him—his bruises were more of a lavender color than an ugly purple. Light welts were gold instead of a dusty yellow. Dean thought even his face was…different. It had an other-worldly quality; he was too beautiful to be natural. He was an angel. Cas's linin dressings were blotched with seeping blood and his lips were dry and cracked. Both his lower and upper lip had huge splits. Dean had tried to do his best to heal those with only a bit of Vaseline. He hoped it helped. Those were going to be painful.

He tore his gaze from his friend.

Sam laid like a dead starfish on the couch, his long arms draping down the sides and fingers lightly grazing the floor.

Dean threw his legs over the bed, feeling a distinct weariness lodged deep in his muscles and bones. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. Slowly, he stood and lumbered across the smelly carpet to his angel.

Cas's skin emanated a rosy glow. He sighed with relief and sat next to Cas on the bed, careful not to shift the bed too much. He watched as deep red liquid seeped into the night-old gauze. Shit. Dean got to work. He needed to replace to linen. He unraveled the soiled cloth and gathered it into a loose ball, shoving it in the trash can near the night stand. Cas's eyes flickered open weakly, brows furrowing in an adorable display of confusion. Like magnets, they shot straight to Dean's gaze.

His eyes grew wider. "Dean." The angel's companion was shocked at how crisp and sure his voice was. Cas inched back, the little pink tone in his skin draining slightly. He was obviously nervous but too proud to let it show more than it was. His body betrayed him. Cas's cold mask was replaced with mortification. He shot a trembling hand over his mouth, tendons jumping. It took a moment for Dean to realize Cas was trying to silence himself.

"Yeah, Cas. It's me. You're okay." He placed his hands in front of him in a calming gesture, palms outward. His eyes were filled with compassion and confusion. "What happened, man? You got hurt pretty bad."

Cas lowered his trembling hand, piano fingers slipping from his mouth. He seemed to notice its unnatural shivering and closed his other hand over it, attempting to stop it. His legs and shoulders started to shiver instead. "Y-yes." He whispered oh so quietly, eyes glancing up in an almost shameful expression.

"No shit." Cas flinched. "Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to lash out. It's okay to talk, Cas. Tell me what happened. Jesus."

Cas slumped against the back of the bed. "Forgive me." A sparkling tear ran down his cheek and he lifted a hand to touch it, perplexed at his lack of bodily control.

"Cas. Cas, tell me what happened." He kept his fingers on his face and his eyes glazed as he remembered. It scared Dean how many emotions Cas was showing. He was an angel for fucks sake. Angels weren't supposed to be so out of control and fragile.

"Am I…Are these tears?"

What could make his angel so broken? Dean slumped forward and reached out to place a hand on Castiel's shoulder in attempt to comfort his angel. Not such a smart move.

Dean was not expecting Cas's reaction.

He jerked hard and skirted to the edge of the bed, trying frantically to escape from Dean's space. His feet bunched into the quilt, eyes wide with feral fear.

"Cas, careful-" Dean was unable to finish as Cas toppled off the bed. He landed with a heavy "Oof" on his back. Dean leaned over the edge of the bed, wary and ready to help Cas if he needed it. He wasn't about to pull a touchy-feely on him again.

He locked eyes with Cas once again but they were wide with shock. He made a choking noise, sounding like a wounded animal. "Cas? Are you-?" A scream cut though his lips and he arched his back at an unnatural angle. His angel voice slipped into the human dimension and Dean covered his ears. He watched nervously as the air warped around Cas's back.

Gigantic, black wings manifested themselves. They flapped outward in a powerful burst of muscles, pushing forward a strong gust of wind. The temperature dropped slightly and the sound on bells rang though the room, composing an eerie melody. The ashen feathers rippled like water and shimmed a dual color of sky blue. They mirrored the color of Cas's eyes. Red wetness glossed over the beautiful feathers. Red prickles of blood shot Dean across the face as they rolled of Cas's wings like water on a duck. Damn it.

A pressure built up in his skull and he felt like he was struck in the gut again. He wretched forwards and dark images forced themselves into his brain.

"Are you ready to continue, dear pet?"

Cas tugged at the threads on his wrist weakly. The strings held his arms above his head, tangled around pipes on the ceiling. They were strong like spider-webs and had the ability to capture beautiful winged creatures. His feet barely grazed the ground. His wrists were raw and wet where the fibers cut into his skin.

For some reason, he could feel the pain as the thread shredded his skin. Was it the result of a spell, or was he being hindered by a supernatural being's power? The voice crept into his musings. He opened his eyes wearily. He felt something sharp and cold climb up his chest. He vaguely wondered if it was a spider.

"Obey me."

"I will never-" A fist joined with his face. "I will never obey you." He spat blood out though his teeth and snarled. He would give anything to break his binds and lash out. To release his wrath on the malicious entity before his would be quite satisfying. His eyes darkened at the thought. "I don't care what you do to me. I don't care how much I scream. I don't care. I will never obey you."

"Oh, your brothers sent you down here to obey me. It's my duty to make that happen." The same fist collided again with his face. Then again, and again, and again. His lip tore and blood and saliva sprayed outwards, decorating his skin. "I am obsessed with the hunt. I'm obsessed with the chase. I'm obsessed with you, little boy angel. And your brothers brought you to me as a gift. Believe me, you will obey me."

Suddenly, his wrists were harshly unbound and he fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. He quickly attempted to push himself up but a boot slammed into his gut.

"Gyugh." A cold fist wrapped around his hair and lifted him up. His legs weren't responding and he was too weak and weary to fight back.

"I may be weak, daemon, but I will never give you the satisfaction of breaking me."

"Deaaaar. Don't be so defiant. Guess what? I brought you a present." Black eyes gazed into Castiel's hard blues. "Those baby blues are going to get so big; I can't wait to see your surprise." The hand released Cas's hair, letting him drop once again.

The daemon walked into the icy blackness, only to come back with a glinting, glass jar. The angel lifted his tired eyes onto the object, helpless against his enemy. He would never be broken. He would never, ever be broken.

"This here, dearest, is holy oil. Oh, wow! Look at that beautiful face of yours!" Castiel's heart fluttered. A fear clawed his brain, paralyzing his limbs. Shaky, sharp breaths escaped his nose and his fingers dug into the stony ground. "Oh, yes. Just the reaction I was hoping for." He shrank backwards like a cowering cat. The daemon stepped forward, giving Castiel a clear view of his black studded boots. Naturally, an embroidered little skull adorned its tip. The boots lifted up and pressed onto the back of his neck, shoving him down into a submissive posture. His heart wretched in protest against his submission but his brain was frozen.

The daemon pulled the cork out of the bottle. A loud pop resounded across the cell (was this a cell?).

He knew pain awaited him.

The only thing Cas could feel for an immeasurable amount of time was fire. Everything was fire. His skin was on fire. Jimmy was on fire. His Grace was on fire.

There was no way of telling how long he burned. Time does not exist. Time is an invention of man-kind.

Humans were the only beings in the universe who were able to successfully measure something that does not exist. Time is multi-dimensional. It reaches up and down and does not restrict itself to a linear form. It is an intangible element.

Cas was stuck here. He was not moving forward in time, therefore, the burning would never stop. He wished he was a human so he didn't have to feel his Grace burn. He wished he was a human so he could pretend time existed. For just this once, he wanted to feel hope. He wanted to hope that his time being alive would run out.

But the monster in front of him—dancing in delight in and feasting on his pain—had no such mercy. He could faintly hear the delighted shouts of glee coming from his captor over his own screams.

Slowly, the overwhelming flame diminished into a throb. His entire vessel pounded as his blood rushed.

Gush. Gush. Gush. He could sense it in his ears and in his fingertips. Gush. Gush. Gush.

The beatings and the abuse continued. The evil spirit moved from his legs to his chest. Then he worked on his arms and his hands. Finally he reached his wings—the center of his soul and grace. The weapons didn't matter. He couldn't feel them. Their sharp edges, cold metal, and evil intent only penetrated his vessel, but nothing can compare to the humiliation and the shame. The monster's touch on his wings violated his very being.

No one can relate, but he had his resolve. He still had his honor, though it was shredded and defiled. He still had his voice, though it poured out of his lungs in waves of horror and pain. He still had his heart, though it threatened to crumble into pieces. His was determined to not be defeated. He was determined to not to owned. He would stay clean. He would not be cold. He would not be emptied. He would not be broken. He was not at fault. This unholy darkness would cease.

Just one more time, he would fly. Maybe there was a God above. Maybe he would learn what love was. Maybe there was still time. Maybe he could sing once more. There was so much more to do—to experience.

And then there was Dean. He wanted to be with the human at least one more time. He wanted to please the human. He wanted to make him smile. He needed Dean to be happy.

He would find strength buried in this pain. He would seek out that light. He would make it out of this cave. He needed freedom now.

Would freedom ever come?

Would Dean ever come?

Dean blinked his eyes and gasped at the air, starving for it. He gripped his shirt, tearing at the spot right above his heat. It hurt so badly. It ached like invisible hands were tugging at it, threatening to rip it out of his rib cage. His eyes met Cas's.

"You weren't supposed to feel that. I didn't want you to see it. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry." The angel was gasping also. He turned his head up, baring his neck and looking away from Dean—away from his agonizing wings, away from the reminder of his pain. He writhed, opening the wounds on his chest and stomach.

His wings still laid unfolded and the long, thick flight feathers splayed themselves like fingers on the floor.

"I didn't know." The words escaped Dean's lips softly.

"God. Fucking. DAMNIT." He buried his face in his palms, tears threatening an undignified escape. "I swear I didn't know, Cas. I can't believe I was here being a pussy about you not being around and you were stuck in a fucking nightmare. Gyugh." A gut-wrenching sob ripped itself from Dean's lungs. Slowly, the residual energy of Cas's memories died down, untangling themselves from around his heart. He sniffed loudly. Crying was a girly thing to do.

He lifted his head out of his arms.

Dean could almost taste the awkward.

The two of them stayed exactly as they were, scared to move and sniffing like little kids with colds. Dean coughed. His angel needed him. And God smite him right now if he was going to let some awful tasting awkward stand between his angel and him.

"Hey, man. Do you, uh…Do you want me to help you up?"

Cas shook his head. His face was as red as a polished apple. Cas's wing muscles twitched as he attempted to fold them to his body. He could only manage a weak, graceless flutter. Cas was obviously extremely embarrassed, mouth downturned and eyes glassy with shame. His fingers tugged at the plastic fiber on the carpet.

Dean remembered Sam saying that angel wings were kind of private. Oh shit. That sucks because Dean was staring at them for the past five minutes.

Dean looked away, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. "He scratched the back of his neck. "This is lame. Also, you're bleeding."

"I—"He let loose a quiet whimper, "I noticed."

Dean made a move to get off the bed and help Cas up, instead Cas scooted backwards. "Aha." He accidentally let out another moan as his wings drug across the rough floor. Blood was starting to pool around him like an evil halo.

"Shit, Cas. Please let me help you. You're going to bleed out like that." Dean pleaded.

"I-I'm not comfortable with this." Cas scrunched his eyes closed. "But I do need assistance. Would you please—Aaah!" Dean was already crouched next to the angel and slipped a hand under his back, pushing him up. "Not so fast! Aaah! Please." Cas, white knuckled, grasped at Dean's shirt. Dean met Cas's watery, imploring eyes. His beautiful, massive wings dangled limply behind him.

"I'm sorry. Here, let's get you back on the bed." Dean whispered reassuringly. Slower this time, Cas gained his footing by pulling himself up by his death grip on Dean's shirt. Dean's hands were on the angel's back and under his arms. The angel's knees shook so bad. It was like he hadn't walked in months. "Easy there, easy."

Eventually they made it to the bed where Cas splayed out awkwardly on his stomach, wings still spread out. Dean sat down next to him, running his hand along the slightly blood stained quilt, gathering up the courage to check Cas's wings.

He hesitated a second longer. "Hey, I need to check out your wings. Will you be okay with me touching them?" He realized that it was an extremely drastic measure for an angel to trust a human with its wings. He must be polite. Too bad 'polite' wasn't really Dean's strong-suit.

Cas hesitated for a moment before responding. "Yes, Dean. I trust you."

Dean was shocked. Trust him? Cas's blind trust in Dean unnerved him. He shouldn't be trusted. Really.

"Okay. Here goes." His voice came out a lot shakier than he wished.

He reached out, gently skimming his calloused fingers along one of Cas's flight feathers. Although Cas expected the touch, he still twitched.

The feathers, although appearing coarse and fibrous, were unbelievably soft. They almost didn't feel real. He splayed his fingers deeply into a patch of downy feathers, marveling at their delicate warmth. It kind of felt like his fingers were surrounded by a warm mist. He started to run his fingers up and down the length of the right wing, checking for any obvious signs of injury. Cas let out a shaky, contented sigh into the pillow.

Holy cow. Dean was touching the wings of and angel. Talk about a surreal moment.

"So," Dean broke the silence, "are you going to fill me in? I mean…Apart from what you showed me?" Cas let out another trembling breath. The rich color of his fluffy hair matched his wings, a severe contrast to his sickly pale skin and bloody gashes that littered his frame.

"M-my allegiance with humans has confused my brothers. They think I'm unclean. Like…" Dean nodded for him to continue when Cas peeked over at Dean, "…They said I was a disease. I was beginning to feel emotions. They decided to keep a hold on me, unsure if I was going to do something drastic. They don't understand emotions. They think they're catastrophically dangerous and disgusting." Dean continued to run a comforting hand up and down the wing.

"They still have a bit of me, I think. I'm not entirely here…" Cas trailed off in confusion.

"What do you mean by 'not entirely here?'" Something was fishy. Something felt wrong.

"Something's missing." Cas started to panic at the realization set in, gathering up the thin quilt in his tightly fisted hands.

"Wait, wait. Hold the fuck on. Are you saying your brothers sent you on a hell -train and gave you to an evil fart knocker? Then he took something from you?"

Cas nodded, distress rising. The eerie bell music started ringing again. What was with that? He'd have to ask Cas later. The angel pulled his wings in slightly, wincing when Dean found a cut. "No…No, they didn't take anything from me. They…they branded me. They still have me, even though I'm not in their direct vicinity. I feel it tainting my grace."

"Like a tattoo?"

"Vaguely. Dean, you're not safe around me." His eyes bore into Dean's, begging him to understand. "They still have me." His voice cracked.

Dean understood fucking well what Cas was asking him to do. "Bullshit!" He spat. "I'm not going anywhere, Cas. You may be an angel warrior and shit but you're my friend! Now that I have you here, I'd be ashamed of myself if I even thought to leave. Nobody has you but me. You and I, man. We're a team and I'm so sorry I didn't know this was going on." Dean rambled, madness controlling his dirty mouth.

Cas's expression changed. Although pain and confusion swam in his eyes, they glinted. Even though he didn't physically smile, he felt a lick of happiness contact his soul. Cas was showing him his appreciation and blunt devotion.

"You and I. I'm not going away."

They shared a moment of peace, Dean's fingers tracing patterns in the sea of dark feathers.

The moment shattered all too soon.

Before Dean's eyes, invisible knives started to carve into Castiel's back. The angel gasped at the surprise onslaught and inhaled hollow, shallow breaths. Slowly-painfully slowly- bloody lines manifested themselves on the pale skin. They were small and superficial, seemingly haphazard. Then they started forming letters.

"D-Dean. What's happening? My back. Urgh." He writhed, invertebrate, ribs, and shoulder blades rolling sickeningly under his skin. His wings thrashed and twisted. It was grotesque.

Dean could only stare. Letters were being carved into his skin… 'W'… 'E'…

"Dean? What's going on?" Cas panted. "Aaah."

Silence.

Next an 'A' appeared in a red line and then a 'K.'

"Dean!" A deeper gash ran underneath the letters, underlining them. It was drawn painfully slow and deeper than the rest of the lacerations.

"Weak." Dean whispered the finished word, stunned. Cas slumped into the bed, swallowing hard and gathering back his composure when the assault ceased. His wings collapsed, flight feathers grazing the ground next to the bed.

"Weak." Cas repeated in a whisper.

"There is the word 'weak' carved on your back, Cas."

"I showed weakness."

"What the actual fuck."

"I showed weakness in my emotions. Just a moment ago, I experienced contentment. I was weak in the eyes of my brothers."

"So, what? They're carving on your skin now every time you feel?"

Silence.

"I don't know, Dean."