Disclaimer| I do not own. Obviously. I wish I did though.
A/N| I love supernatural and I love the concept of angels, so I wanted to go a bit deeper into that. This is not a happy story. It's hopeful.
Summary| Angels are a rare species. There's something in their blood the government needs. Castiel is the only one to have survived this long. Dean will do whatever it takes to save him.
The Trains ran screaming above the roofs of The City.
They were clunky, and loud, and would run even without anyone on board, just mocking the remaining few who didn't have enough for a ticket. Sam and Dean had enough at times. But they had used up all their currency since then. Smuggling Angels out of The City was nearly impossible. In eighteen years they've only managed it twice.
Their first failure was the worst, and Dean didn't like to dwell on it so Sam didn't usually bring it up. He was only four at the time, he didn't remember much except for a sweep of blonde hair and their father's screams. Dean remembered everything though. So Sam was careful not to bring it up.
Often, Sam and Dean would drive up to the Station, park, and watch the Trains leave. They would both fantasize about what it would be like to be sitting on one, not looking back, just going forward.
Not many people knew what life was like outside of The City. The people who had left never came back. In Sam's mind anywhere but The City must look like heaven. Maybe it was where the Angels came from. He had asked Dean once, when they were little and their dad was still with them, why The City wanted the Angels. What was so important? Dean had looked up from bandaging a cut on his knuckles to regard Sam almost tiredly.
"Because they're different, Sammy. Humans aren't keen on differences."
"How are they different?" Dean had clenched his teeth, shook his head and looked out the window at the Trains rushing by.
"They're beautiful, and pure, and can live far longer than we can. Imagine the strength their DNA could bring to us." His voice had taken on a monotonous edge and Sam had dropped the subject afterwards. A few hours later their father had come in smelling like alcohol and cheap rolled cigarettes. Dean had left early that morning to go and try to make back the money John had blown.
"So his name's Castiel and he's number 401. He the last one or something?"
Dean shrugged out of his jacket, the leather crinkling as he threw it carelessly on the futon where Sam was sitting, lap covered with papers and files. The lights of the City outside cast a dull glow into their otherwise dim apartment, the only direct light coming from the small lamp connected to the wall beside Sam's head.
"I dunno. Maybe. But we got a name and we got a number, and that's more than we usually have." Sam nodded, leaning back with a tired groan, moving the papers off his lap and onto the small table before him. Dean sat down in a wooden chair opposite the futon, rubbing his hand roughly through his short hair.
"I lost 399 tonight, Sam. She was shot through the head." Sam's eyes seemed to flash and his jaw clenched unconsciously.
"So they're killing the ones that escape now?"
"I guess they're closer to their goal or else they'd keep her alive, wouldn't they?" Sam shrugged, shaking his head and sighing.
"You would think. Look, Dean, I'm not sure if this last Angel can be saved. I mean, maybe we shouldn't…" But he trailed off at the darkening of his brother's face, the way Dean's hands had fisted in his lap.
"You don't think we should at least try and save it?" His words were biting and sharp and Sam immediately regretted saying anything.
"Dean, I mean, look, we've given our lives to helping them. We almost have enough saved up to get out of here! Wouldn't you rather leave?" The silence that followed was thick and heavy, and Dean stood, eyes darting to the Train's lights outside.
"No. It's like you said, we've given our lives to this. Why give up on the last one?" Sam slumped back against the tattered fabric of the futon, biting his lip in thought. Dean turned away, going to the small fridge on the other side of the room and jerking it open. He closed it harder than he had meant to, but he picked up his jacket and shrugged it back on.
"Where are you going?" Sam called as Dean reached the door, and Dean's hand hesitated on the handle.
"For a drink. I'll be back later." Sam didn't respond, just listened as the door clicked shut behind his brother. Silently, he walked over to the kitchen, opened up the fridge and looked inside.
Three brown bottles stared up at him.
The bar Dean usually visited was underground, hidden because alcohol was getting hard to come by and the police were closing down pubs like crazy.
The air was familiar around the counter, sour almost, and heavy with smoke and dirty words. Dean took a stool near the end, the bartender recognizing him immediately.
"Shit, you look like hell." He observed, placing a holder in front of Dean followed by a glazed shot glass. He poured Dean's usual into the clear cylinder. Dean shook his head, sighed and tilted his head back, downing the shot in one.
"Just one of those days, Ash." He responded and Ash nodded, filling his glass again.
"I feel ya. The institution has seemed even more uptight lately. Won't let anyone tour anymore. I think they're closer to their goal or some shit like that." Dean relished in the cold burn of the alcohol as it slithered down his throat like blood. He hated drinking, he truly did, but it was times like this where he couldn't bring himself to care as much about it as he would have liked.
"What're they doing to 'em in there anyway? Can't be looking for halos or anything like that?" Ash shrugged, filling his glass almost instantly.
"You got me, man. Those fucking bastards are ruining the purest thing left in the world."
"You shouldn't talk like that." A woman by Dean hissed, red nails picking at the wood beneath her fingers. "They'll kill you for it." She continued noticing the blank look she got from the two men to her right. Dean grinned then, leaning forward and taking her in. She wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, but he met her gaze evenly and she let her tongue slide slowly over her bottom lip.
"You're not scared of them?" She whispered and Dean shrugged, grin slipping slightly around the edges, turning into something a bit more predatorily.
"I have no reason to be. They're cowards. They hide behind their badges and masks and attack when your backs turned."
"Seems like you have some experience with them." Dean shook his head, righting himself but noticing how she had turned to him, legs slightly parted, just enough to give him a glimpse of the smooth skin of her inner thigh. Usually he would take advantage of a situation like this. But now he was too tired.
She wasn't his type anyway.
It was cold as Dean walked the streets, the alcohol sitting warm and thick in his veins.
He swayed slightly on the curb, his insides twisting at the rough jerk. His eyes trailed up the stars bleeding silently through the polluted governed sky. The buildings around him looked brown and melting, and he absently kicked an empty bottle at his feet. It skittered to his left and shattered somewhere off in the dark. He hadn't realized where he was until he was face to face with a tall cement wall, towering at least eleven feet above his head.
Behind it a tall skyscraper was raised, no windows, and no doors that he could see. He spit at the bottom of the wall.
His breathing had picked up and he walked along the barrier of the wall, studying the foundation. He and Sam and snuck in before, they still had the uniforms. He should wait for Sam before he tried anything. Before he risked everything. It physically hurt for him to walk away, his teeth grinding together as he tried to keep a hold on his emotions. He hated them.
He hated the doctors, the scientists, the fucking government officials.
His mom was holding their father's hand, her hospital gown scratching against her pale, bruised skin as they ran.
Dean stumbled some, his breathing picking up as he looked back at the building once more.
"Come on Dean, come on baby, you have to keep running. You can't look back, don't look back–"
"I'm sorry." Dean choked, feet catching on the broken cement below him and he fell heavily to his knees. "Fuck…" His hands scratched at his head and he screwed his eyes shut. "Stop…" He whispered as his mother's face came into view, eyes blue and scared and she was so broken, too broken, and Dean had stopped, his small hand slipping from hers. She stopped with him, trying to gather him up–
"Stop." Dean growled, hitting his hands against the top of his head. The images swayed in front of him before they disappeared with his mother shielding him. She was always shielding him. Always, always…
"It's okay, baby. Angels are watching over you."
Dean staggered to his feet.
He walked numbly back to his and Sam's apartment. Sam was spread out on the futon and Dean disappeared into the tiny adjoining room, collapsing heavily on the box spring mattress that took up the expanse of the floor.
He didn't cry.
When Dean and Sam awoke they took their duffle and filled it with everything they could think of, old badges, the doctor's uniforms, gloves, boots, finger DNA clips.
They headed over to Bobby's the sun just rising although it was still dark. It was always dark in The City. Sometimes you would get a nice sunrise. Today they almost had it.
"My head's killing me." Dean grumbled and Sam ignored him, shoulders tensing as they made their way down the street. They never took the Impala on jobs like this. She was too recognizable. Bobby answered the door after the third knock and slapped a large hand on Sam's shoulder.
"It's been a while, boy. How've you been?"
"Fine, Bobby. What about you?" The man shrugged and ushered the two brother's inside. Dean's eyes fell immediately to the table the Angel was on the night before. No signs indicated that she had ever lain there. The surface was perfectly clean.
"You two idjits be careful, you hear me? No dragging the police into this like the last time. I damn well almost lost my house." Dean grinned crookedly, nodding while Sam promised nothing as flashy as last time. They placed the finger DNA clips over their thumbs, the blood inside still kept from their last visit. Dean stuck the gloves in his pockets. The two boys got dressed silently, and before heading out Bobby let them take a swig out of his silver flask.
"I except to see an Angel when you boys get back." Sam smiled at that.
"So do we."
Dean didn't say anything.
He just thought of his mother's eyes and inhaled a shaky breath.
Don't look back, don't stop; just keep running.
Castiel never liked it when they came into his room.
They would crowd around and two of them would be holding a syringe, while three others wheeled in a narrow metal table.
"It's Thursday." One said. The rest nodded. Castiel let them help him to his feet, and he tried not to think too much as they slipped the needles into his arms.
"It's Thursday." They repeated. They picked Castiel up and laid him across the metallic surface, securing his arms and legs down with a strap made of a fiber Castiel couldn't break. A longer one was placed over his waist. The room spun as they wheeled him out. The florescent lights bloomed above his eyes, made him tired. He turned his head to his right. A doctor with green eyes stared heavily down at him. Castiel didn't recognize him. When the man winked Castiel's brow furrowed but he said nothing. He couldn't really, not with how his vision was already swimming.
"It's Thursday." The doctor with green eyes whispered. Castiel felt the table stop it's movement down the hall. The other doctors seemed to freeze, their hands twitching as they turned to look at the man with the green eyes. There was another man to the right of Castiel, he was tall and his expression was more focused than that of his counterpart. He was holding something black in his hands, something that made the other doctors still.
No one moved. The straps around Castiel's wrists loosened, his waist free again and he rolled his head to his left, the green eyed man looking softly down at him.
"Close your eyes." He whispered, words muffled by the mask covering his mouth. Castiel obeyed. Warm hands cradled the back of his head, wrapped beneath his knees and he was pulled up, held tight to the warmth of the man with green eyes.
Castiel had never been warm before.
He heard the shuffling of feet, the outraged cries of the others and then there was a dreadful shot and the chilling thud of a body crumbling to the ground. And he was being moved. He opened his eyes, even though he was told to close them, and studied the man holding him. The hallway was passing by in a blur, and the man didn't look back, didn't stop running. The taller male was back a ways, but catching up. There were a couple of red dots scattered across the white fabric of his shirt.
"You're…you're not them." Castiel whispered, and the man holding him looked down, his eyes shining with pride, and excitement, and victory.
"Hell no." He laughed, hold tightening around Castiel. "I'm getting you out of here, Angel." Castiel's vision swam. He was aware that they crashed heavily down the stairs, and vaguely he could hear the shrill call of a red alarm screaming throughout the white halls of his imprisonment. He had never seen these floors before. The taller male had gotten in front of them, and he didn't hesitate to take out anyone who came near.
"Sam! This way!" The man holding Castiel shouted and Castiel focused on breathing, his breaths had grown shallow. His head fell against the green-eyed man's chest and he let his eyes slip closed. He didn't know how long they had been running but he jumped in the man's hold when a blast of cold fell like rain against his skin. His eyes flew open and his mouth went slack, the air around him feeling clean and pure and…and…was that the sun? It was just how Anna had described it. The longer he looked at it the more his eyes burned, but he couldn't turn his gaze away.
Tears fell steadily down his face and the man holding him shook him slightly. He tore his gaze away from the sky. The green eyes were hard but there was something bright behind them. He stole a glance over the man's shoulder. A tall building was disappearing behind them, growing smaller, and Castiel heard the man huff out a curse before ducking inside the tucked away stretch between two buildings.
The taller male, Sam wasn't it? appeared beside them, pulling the mask covering his mouth away with a staggering huff. He had a light scratch on his cheek, and his hands were shaking some as he through the black object to the bricks beneath him.
And then he smiled. It was bright and welcoming, and he looked down with Castiel with the most childlike wonder the Angel had ever seen.
"Holy fuck, Dean! We did it! We fucking did it!" Dean gave out a breathless laugh and they moved through the alley, quiet now but the air about them buzzing with excitement. Castiel shivered and Dean held him closer.
"Hey, you okay?" He whispered, and it took Castiel a moment to realize he was directing the question to him. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to answer.
"I am not sure…what's…what's happening?"
"Just calm down. You're safe now. We're gonna get you out of here. Okay?" The total assurance in the man's words made Castiel breathe a bit steadier, and he nodded, eyes drooping.
Dean's arms were growing sore, but damn, the Angel was lighter than he thought he would be, and he followed Sam steadily behind the backs of shops and other establishments. Bobby was waiting for them outside, his door opened, and his eyes were wide and urgent as he ushered the two boys and an Angel inside.
"Ellen's here." He hushed, and Dean didn't truly hear him as he climbed the stairs to his right to Bobby's room. He heard Sam stumbling around downstairs, telling Bobby to hook up the curtains on the windows. No doubt The City was already out looking for them. Dean cradled the Angel gently in his arms; it felt that if he held on too tightly he would break in his hold. He pushed open a small door, closed it and stumbled about a dark room for a moment before lowering Castiel on a small bed. He groaned as his small frame hit the blankets and Dean's heart clenched.
Castiel's eyes were as blue as his mother's were. He couldn't stand looking at them. But he helped Castiel get situated, pulled the blankets around his shivering frame.
"Hey, hey, can you hear me?" He asked, hands hovering over the Angels' thin frame. He nodded dumbly and Dean began to worry if maybe he was sick. He looked like it. "You in pain? Anywhere, does anywhere hurt?" Those eyes met his and it made his stomach coil.
"Thank you." He whispered, voice rough and broken, but whole, deep, and Dean wasn't sure what to say. The door behind him opened and a woman with brown hair and wise eyes stepped in.
"Okay, Dean, up. I need to check him, make sure he's okay. Don't want him dying on us." Dean nodded, standing and throwing one last look at the crumbled Angel on the floor. He was so pale his skin almost seemed to glow in the dark, and the purple bruises that decorated his arms and neck made Dean want kill something. He shook his head and left Ellen to it, his adrenaline rush dying down and the worry came back. Sam and Bobby were seated at the table, a bottle of bourbon between them. Dean took a seat and reached out, grasping the bottle's neck as he took a swig. He met Sam's eyes. They were glowing, they were so bright, and filled with such exhalation that Dean couldn't help but smile.
"Fuck, we did it." He whispered, shaking his head as he passed the alcohol to Sam who took it gratefully.
"You two idjits are gonna kill me one day." Bobby grumbled, patting Dean harshly on the back. Dean grinned, feeling the happiest he had in months. They spent that night around the table, Ellen coming down every now and then to get a clean rag or some water, and on occasion a swig of bourbon for herself. When they asked how Castiel was doing she'd shake her head.
"Those bastards really did a number on him." She replied and then would disappear up the stairs once more. That night they turned on Bobby's small TV, watching the news reports about the stolen Angel and tried their best to look as inconspicuous as possible when the police arrived at their door every hour to check to see if they had seen Angel 401. When they said no they weren't lying.
They had seen the Angel Castiel.
Reviews are greatly appreciated! And so is constructive criticism! Thank you for reading!