On to chapter two! Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far! Also thanks to my guest reviewers, Guest1254 and Kathy :)
Chapter Two
Castiel was dropped to the ground on the other side, collapsing in a heap, his stomach heaving. He choked on bile, retching into the ground. Demonic transportation was not at all friendly to angels, especially when his wings and grace were bound from the sigiled chains. He groaned as hands gripped him under the arms, and he was hauled up, and dragged several feet to a cell before he was dropped unceremoniously to the ground again, the breath whooshing out of him.
A chuckle was heard as the door slammed shut, and Castiel looked up to see the female demon leering down at him.
"Just wait until his majesty shows up," she said. "Then we'll see just how many feathers you have in those pretty wings of yours."
Castiel just glowered at her, but the effect was rather ruined by the fact that he was lying in an undignified heap of chains and feathers. The demons just laughed again and locked the door before walking off down the corridor, chatting about all the things they wished Crowley would do or let them do to him.
Once they were out of sight, Castiel wriggled in his chains, trying to get them loose, but they were bound too tight and the struggling just made them dig into his wings painfully, bending the pin feathers. He didn't want to risk damaging his wings before Crowley got the chance to do so so he gave up with a huff.
He did, however manage to orient himself as to his location. And he realized with dismay that he was in Crowley's 'secret hideout'. The old asylum he had taken over. He had been taken all the way to Massachusetts, when he had left the Winchesters in South Dakota. Not that he wanted Sam and Dean anywhere near Crowley and his demons, but he also realized how difficult escape would be alone. Crowley was smart. And he had a serious issue with Castiel after their business deal had gone south. Knowing the enterprising demon, he had probably been planning this ever since he had found out about Castiel's betrayal. He would have contingencies for his contingencies. Castiel would most certainly need help getting out of this.
The other thing he didn't even want to admit to himself though, was that he was honestly terrified of being tortured again. What he had gone through in Hell at the hands of Samyaza…it still haunted his nightmares on bad nights. After the Winchesters had pulled him through his recovery, he had finally come to realize that torture was not penance, and though it had taken a while, Sam and Dean had somehow convinced him that he hadn't deserved what had happened to him down in Hell, not even for breaking Sam's wall, or for betraying their trust. He was afraid what being tortured again would do to him. Would he be right back in Hell with Samyaza? Would he feel like he deserved it again? It was foolish to think about really, what was going to happen was going to happen either way now, and there would most certainly be torture. He just hoped he could endure.
Because truthfully, his biggest fear was bringing himself back to the Winchesters a completely broken mess again. They didn't need to go through that either.
He stewed in his cell for what seemed like hours, his stomach in knots, contemplating his future while he tried to work the chains off with no better luck than before.
That was when he caught the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor. Castiel struggled onto one elbow, trying to look as defiant as possible.
A figure in an immaculate suit of all black came into view, standing in front of the cell. One eyebrow raised, the only indication that Crowley was at all pleased with what he was seeing.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't my old business partner."
"Crowley," Castiel growled it like a curse. That was pretty much the way he was feeling about the demon right now.
"So nice of you to drop by," Crowley said. "Fancy a chat?"
Dean drove the Impala into the parking garage, tires screeching around the corners, as he and Sam both looked around for any sign of Cas, or demons.
"Dean, there!" Sam cried and Dean slammed his foot into the brake.
They hurried out of the car and went over to look at the dead body lying near the elevator.
Dean nudged it over with his foot, seeing burned out eyes and a familiar looking stab wound in its chest.
"Demon," he said. "Cas got at least one."
"Yeah, but where is he?" Sam asked, looking around, phone already in his hand as he dialed the angel's number.
Dean felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he heard the ringing and glanced over in the direction it was coming from, seeing the phone light up behind a tire of a parked car.
"Dammit," he groaned, as he went to grab the phone. His heart was in his throat. Not only was Cas taken by demons, but they didn't have a way to track him. He could be on the other side of town, or the other side of the world by now.
Sam ran a hand over his face. "I knew we shouldn't have let him go off alone like that."
"You think we could have stopped him?" Dean asked, looking around the scene for any other clues he might be able to find. "At least he might have saved that woman. We can track her down and see if she's alright. Maybe she knows something."
There was also not any copious amounts of blood at the scene so Cas hadn't been dealt a fatal blow.
But that was little comfort because Dean knew exactly where Cas was headed. Probably for a meet and greet with Crowley.
"We gotta find him, man," Dean said. "If Crowley has him…"
"I know," Sam said grimly. "But, no matter what, you know Cas would want us to make sure the woman was safe first."
Dean clenched his jaw, but nodded. "You're right. Let's do that then. Quicker we clean up here, quicker we can get to Cas."
They got back in the car where Sam tracked down the woman's address from her driver's license and they swiftly drove to a small house in a suburban area.
It was dark by the time they pulled up, and there didn't seem to be any lights on in the house, but her car was parked a little ways' down so it seemed like she was home.
Dean glanced at Sam and they got out of the car, armed with angel blades, holy water and the demon knife. Dean nodded to Sam to keep a lookout as he went forward, blade held at the ready as he knocked on the door.
"Miss Cobern?" he called.
There was no answer. He knocked a few more times and then simply pulled out his lockpick set. Within seconds he was through he door, Sam behind him.
The house was dark, and Dean wondered if she hadn't already been taken, or gotten the hell out of dodge.
Then all of a sudden movement flashed to his right and he spun around, ducking just in time to keep from being brained by a baseball bat. It still took him in the shoulder though and he grunted, instinctively wrenching it away from his assailant.
He was about to attack, when Sam switched the lights on. "Dean!" he called.
Dean finally saw that his attacker was a cowering blond woman, shaking so badly, she could barely stand.
"Please, don't hurt me! I don't know anything!" she cried.
"Hey, hey," Dean said calmly, holding his hands out before fumbling in his pocket for his FBI creds. "It's okay, we're from the FBI. I'm Dean, that's Sam."
"FBI?" she asked, looking a little steadier. "Is this about the murders?"
Dean glanced at Sam, and the younger man stepped forward. "Yes, it is, we think you might be a possible target." She whimpered in horror, but Dean pulled his phone out, flipping through pictures.
"Miss Cobern, have you seen this man?" He asked, showing her a picture of Cas.
Her eyes widened. "Yes, he stopped me when I was out on a delivery. He—he stabbed that man in the parking garage. Oh God, he's not the killer is he?"
"No," Dean said hurriedly. "He's our partner. And he's missing."
"He's an agent?" she asked incredulously. "He was saying weird stuff. Like, I should hide and put salt around the doors? What does that even mean?"
Sam quickly stepped forward and took her elbow gently. "Miss Cobern, why don't you sit down. We have a couple questions."
Sam got her settled while Dean went to the kitchen to make her a cup of tea. When Dean came back, Sam had gotten her settled on the couch and Dean handed her the cup of tea, which she took gratefully.
"Now, Miss Cobern, we understand these questions might sound a bit odd," Sam began, leaning forward, somehow still effecting that earnest caring look even though Dean knew he was just as worried about Cas as he was. "But did anything…strange happen to you within the last couple years?"
"Strange like…?" she asked, furrowing her brow.
"Were you attacked? Had time you couldn't account for?" Dean asked her.
A look crossed her face and she gripped the mug tighter between her hands.
"Miss?" Sam coaxed. "Whatever you have to say it might really help us in our investigation."
"Well," she said hesitantly. "A few years ago now, there was this…well it was almost a month I have no recollection of. I just remember waking up in a hospital and they said I had been in a coma, but the weird thing was that I had only been there for a few days, and a whole month had passed that I couldn't account for."
Sam shared a look with Dean and the older hunter nodded. Yeah, that sounded like possession to him. The girl was lucky she was even still alive.
"But I don't see how that could help your investigation," she said, shaking her head.
"We're not really at liberty to say," Dean said quickly. "You don't remember any of the men who attacked you tonight, do you? Know any of them?"
She shook her head. "No, definitely not. Why am I being targeted? Is it because of what happened before?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Sam told her.
That was when a thump was heard in the back of the house and all three of them spun around.
"What was that?" the girl asked.
"Just stay here," Dean told her firmly, standing up and pulling his angel blade out of his coat. "Sam." He nodded for his brother to go the other way, but the attack was already starting.
Two men sprung from the shadows toward Sam and Dean as another two headed toward the girl.
"Dean!" Sam cried as he fended off his assailant, scoring a hit to the demon's shoulder before kicking him away. The demon snarled, and flicked a hand at Sam, sending the younger hunter flying backwards to crash into the coffee table.
Dean swiftly threw his blade at the demon as it lunged for Sam and hit it center mass. It sparked and slumped to the ground.
"Dean, watch your back!" Sam cried.
Dean spun back toward the other demon, only to have it take him by the front of the coat and throw him backwards. Dean landed in a heap, breath knocked from him as he heard the girl screaming someone further in the house.
"Sam, get the girl!" Dean grunted, snagging the angel blade out of the dead demon as Sam was already running from the room.
The demon stalking after Dean smirked. "Figured you boys would show up at some point. We have your angel."
Dean growled as he got back on his feet and lunged at the demon, punching it in the face with the pommel of his blade. The demon was startled long enough for Dean to stab it through the throat. He was off down the hall toward the sounds of struggle before the body hit the ground.
"Sam!" he cried.
When he found his brother, Sam was being strangled by a female demon, pressing him against the wall and laughing while her companion was dragging the girl toward the back door.
"You'll get your turn, Sammy, don't worry," the demon was leering. "Crowley has a new toy of his own, so I'm sure he won't mind us taking first turn with you and your brother."
"Oh eat me," Dean snarled as he shoved his blade into her back.
The demon screamed and collapsed, releasing Sam who slumped down the wall, Dean barely catching him.
"You good?" Dean asked.
Sam only nodded, rubbing his throat, but he snatched his dropped blade from the ground and they both surged toward the room.
The demon was shoving the girl into a chair and readying rope to tie her to it when they burst in. Dean instantly surged forward, tackling the demon away from the girl and straddled him on the ground, raising his blade for the final blow.
"Dean, wait!" Sam cried, surging forward. "He can tell us where they took Cas!"
Dean looked down at the demon and nodded, grabbing his sigiled handcuffs from his coat. "That's right. Look like it's your lucky day pal," Dean quipped as he shoved the demon onto his stomach and slapped the cuffs on him. "I hope you're feeling chatty, because I'm not in the mood to beat around the bush tonight."
Crowley had Castiel taken to a room at the end of the cellblock, and as soon as Castiel saw it he knew what it was.
Crowley's torture chamber.
He tried to keep the weakness from his knees, but he couldn't walk anyway, so what was the point? The demons dropped him unceremoniously onto the ground and Castiel cringed as he came face to face with the stains there.
"Unchain him," Crowley ordered. "He's not strong enough to fight me in his current state." He seemed pleased, as he looked Castiel over. "Falling is bad for angels. I bet you can't even smite demons anymore, can you, darling?"
"Bite me," Castiel growled out, channeling Dean.
"Hm," Crowley made the sound, unimpressed. "Well, not if you're going to ask for it." He watched as the demons unwound the chains from Castiel's body, and pulled him upright. He tried to put his wings back on the ethereal plane, but he found them stuck. Crowley smirked.
"Oh, yes, that's not going to work. I've taken precautions." He strode forward, looking Castiel up and down, and the angel pulled his wings closer to his body. "I have to admit, you look a lot less intimidating without the trench coat, but the wings are a nice addition. I'm surprised they look as good as they do. I heard you were in Hell. Sorry I didn't stop by, send a care basket, but I make it a point not to go to the further reaches. They're barbarians down there." He walked over to a metal rack and began to fiddle with it, pulling it apart and producing two long extensions on either side. Castiel swallowed hard, having a feeling he knew what those were for.
To distract himself from the inevitable, Castiel started talking. "Why are you sending demons to torture previously possessed humans?" He asked.
Crowley cocked an eyebrow at him. "I don't have to answer to you."
"It just seems pointless. What could they possibly know?"
Crowley jerked his head to his demons and they grabbed Castiel shoving him over to the rack. He flinched as they took out knives, but they just cut off his coat, leaving him in only his black jeans and a grey t-shirt.
"I didn't invite you here to talk, I invited you here to scream for me," Crowley said firmly.
"What do you want?" Castiel demanded, struggling to resist them lifting him bodily onto the rack for as long as possible.
"Nothing, only the satisfaction of carving you apart for how you broke our business deal!" Crowley cried, getting louder with each word.
The demons heaved and Castiel's back slammed against the cold metal of the rack. He fought as his wrists and ankles were strapped down, then more bands across his hips and chest. And finally, they took hold of his wings and spread first one and then the other out on the extensions strapping them down too. Castiel's breath was coming in short bursts now, panic settling in.
Crowley was putting on an apron and rolling up his sleeves, as he came over to the rack and reached down to fist a hand in Castiel's hair, pulling his head back to look at him.
"Now, where do we start?"
The holy water sizzled as Dean threw it in the demon's face. It screamed and flinched back, jerking in the chair they had tied it into. They'd driven back to the motel, which was deserted enough that they hoped they wouldn't raise any questions if the sounds of screaming were heard.
"Tell us where you took Cas!" Dean demanded, holding the demon knife up threateningly as he loomed over the captive.
The demon just laughed, his eyes flicking black. "Aw, lost your feathered boyfriend? I'm sure Crowley's taking real good care of him."
Dean slashed the blade down the side of the demon's face and pressed it under his throat. "You better start giving me the answers I want or it's gonna get real nasty in here."
"I'm shaking," the demon replied blandly with a mocking shudder and grunted as Dean sliced into him again.
"You will be if Crowley finds out you're here," Sam stepped in, holding an angel blade and a flask of holy water ready. "You tell us what we want to know, we'll give you a quick death. You don't and we send your ass back to hell for Crowley to deal with."
"Yeah, you think your boss is gonna let you live if he finds out you were captured? It won't matter if you give anything up or not, Crowley will treat you the same."
The demon snorted. "I think you overestimate your pull here."
"Do I?" Dean demanded flatly, leaning in close to the demon, the blade close to his eye. "You know what I did in Hell? I tortured Alastair himself up here, you think I can't make you hurt?"
"I think you're not nearly as creative as Crowley," the demon smirked. "So I'll take my chances."
Dean slammed the blade into his thigh and left it there as the demon screamed. "Tell me where Crowley took Cas!" he said, twisting the blade.
"Up yours!" the demon growled.
Dean yanked the blade out and went over to his duffle bag. He took out a cloth holder and pulled out a syringe, slowly checking it over before he began to draw holy water into it, making sure the demon could see him. Sam stepped in then.
"Look, just tell us, you're gonna die either way, and you know it. You already failed your mission, so what do you really think is waiting for you back in Hell?"
The demon growled. "Like you know anything about that."
"Actually, speaking of," Dean said, striding over slowly, pressing the plunger on the syringe until it spurted a stream of holy water. "Why the hell are you going after old meat suits?"
The demon smirked. "Again, that's none of your business."
"Sure," Dean said. "Only you're not gonna talk about anything else, so you may as well talk about something. Because…" He yanked the demon's head to one side and stabbed the syringe into his neck, pressing the plunger down. "It's either that or scream."
The demon howled as the holy water directly entered his veins. He twisted in the chair, obviously in utter agony. Dean tried not to enjoy it as much as he did. He hoped the bastard was hurting. If Cas was with Crowley, then there was no doubt he was getting worse treatment than this. The thought turned his stomach and made him even more urgent.
He reached forward and grabbed the demon's chin, shaking him so he would focus. "You like that? I'll give you another dose, if you don't start talking, sweetheart."
The demon's head lolled, as his eyes flicked back to normal again. "Crowley's looking for Lucifer's crypts," he wheezed. "The meatsuits were used by demons who visited them back during the apocalypse. We were trying to see if there were any memories stored in their brains, but humans are so stupid. They didn't remember anything, and boy, we tried."
Dean hit him across the face. "Fascinating. See? Talking is good. Now tell me where Cas is."
The demon snorted. "Bite me."
Dean grit his teeth, furious, but trying not to let his anger show. He turned back to the table, drawing another syringe. The demon eyed him nervously as he came toward him and then Dean stuck the syringe into his neck again, and let him have it.
The demon screamed and jerked in his ropes.
"Wanna talk now?" Dean demanded.
The demon just hissed at him.
Dean folded his arms over his chest and nodded to Sam. "Sam, get me another dose."
The demon watched Sam turn aside to draw another syringe of holy water and then finally cried out. "Okay! Okay! Fine, I'll talk!"
"Go on." Dean made an impatient motion.
"You'll give me a quick death?" the demon asked then, glancing between the two of them.
Sam and Dean looked at each other shrugged. "Sure, just talk."
"They took him to Crowley's place, it's an asylum up in Massachusetts." He then gave the coordinates. Sam was already looking them up on a map app and handed it to Dean. His stomach sank. That was hours of driving. More hours that Cas would be left to the mercy (or lack thereof) of Crowley.
"Sam," Dean said, nodding to the demon. "I'll pack the car."
Sam turned back to the demon, and began an exorcism.
"No!" the demon yelled. "You promised!"
"I didn't promise crap, and you barely gave us what we needed," Dean snapped as Sam continued the exorcism and finally the demon got sent back to Hell.
Dean grabbed his duffle, throwing the last of his stuff in it, and slung it over his shoulder. "Let's go get Cas out of there."
Sam nodded in agreement, grabbed his own bag, and followed Dean out to the Impala.
Castiel had given up trying to bite back the screams. It wasn't like Crowley was going to stop torturing him either way.
His chest heaved with shuddering breaths, as Crowley finally paused, standing back with the angel blade held dripping crimson, head cocked thoughtfully to one side. There were red splatters on his apron as well, and Castiel had lost count of the bloody tears that slashed through his own clothes, blood making the fabric stick to his skin as he twisted in agony against the rack.
"Hm," Crowley murmured to himself. "Are we getting bored, Cas. Perhaps a change up?" His gaze fell onto Castiel's wings, which up to that point, the demon hadn't touched, most likely to create anticipation, and the angel felt panic rising in his chest. He cringed as Crowley reached out to stroke the feathers, tugging on them.
"Don't," Castiel growled, his wings jerking instinctively, but obviously they were strapped down, so they could do little more than bristle. He gritted his teeth at his helpless position.
"Curious," Crowley stated as he set the angel blade aside. "I wonder what you were doing with your wings out at all? Angels are typically more secretive of their most precious parts." He gripped a hand around the arm of Castiel's wing, and dug his fingers in, fingering one of the scars where the feathers still settled a little poorly from where Samyaza had driven rings through his flesh to string his wings up in Hell. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. He tried to ground himself, tried to remind himself that he wasn't back there. That he didn't have the Grigori whispering lies into his ears and coxing him to give in to his self-loathing.
"I'll admit," Crowley continued. "Your wings look quite a lot better than expected. After rescuing two Winchesters from Hell and then spending time there yourself. I'm guessing they weren't always like that."
Castiel turned to glower at him, hoping his gaze wasn't just a weakly veiled threat. Crowley clenched a fist and yanked, ripping a handful of feathers out. Castiel shouted in pain, but was thankful it was just his coverts, not any of his flight feathers. It was painful, but not crippling.
Crowley let the feathers fall to the floor, and rubbed his hands together briskly as he strode back over to the table of torture implements, perusing the selection there.
"I know that Hellfire is not good for angels, I'm sure your wings remember the way it felt to have the flames of Hades licking at your feathers." Castiel did, he recalled vividly the first desperate escape he had made with Dean, and then later, the even more desperate escape he had made with Sam—that time he almost hadn't made it at all. The deeper you went into Hell the more unlikely it was you would come back.
Crowley finally picked up a clay jug and popped the cork. Castiel eyed it worriedly, shifting uncomfortably on the rack.
"But, as much as Hellfire stings, there's something that hurts worse," Crowley said, and tipped the jug slightly so that a dribble of liquid slid out to land on Castiel's first primary feather at the tip of his wing. He flinched and Crowley smirked. "Isn't it ironic that holy fire burns angels just as much as the rest of us?"
"No," Castiel pleaded, jerking at his bonds as Crowley reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, flicking the top open. "No, please, don't do this."
"Should have thought of that before you reneged on our deal, darling," Crowley said with a shrug, but didn't bother to hide the glee in his eyes as he flicked his thumb over the lighter and the flame came to life. He slowly moved it toward the tip of Castiel's feather and the angel could only watch it horror as the plumage started to smoke, then sizzle and then finally lit with a conflagration of pure agony.
He screamed, feeling the fire attack not only his feather, but his grace—what little of it he had left. This was agony he had not felt since he was a prisoner of Samyaza and in his mind he was right back there, the fallen angel's scarred, and tattooed face leaned into his.
"You deserve this, Castiel. You know you do. Embrace the pain. It will cleanse you of your sins. Help you repent."
He didn't know how long it was before the pain finally started to die down, but every nerve in his wing felt frayed, his grace twinging at the assault. His face was wet, sweat beading on his forehead and pooling in the hollow of his throat; tears leaking from his eyes to slip down into his hairline.
Crowley stood by with a pleased expression. "Well, definitely effective."
"Please, no more," Castiel pleaded, his voice weak to even his own ears.
"Oh, darling, we're just getting started," Crowley said and without warning he dumped the jug over first one of Castiel's wings and then the other. The oil soaked into the feathers, clumping his plumage and making his wings feel heavy. Castiel was speechless in horror at the idea of what was to come.
"We'll make this interesting," Crowley said, almost reassuringly as he fiddled with something above him, and Castiel realized it was a weight system, attached to a pulley. He watched as Crowley put a bowl into it and lit the contents of the bowl on fire. Then he stepped back and snapped his fingers and the pulley started to tick.
"There, I don't know when it will fall, it could be at any time," Crowley said, pulling a chair around, and sitting in it, plucking a cup of tea off of a tray on one side of the room. "I must say, I'll enjoy this quite a bit. Best entertainment I've had in a long time."
Castiel's breath started coming in short bursts of panic. Crowley was going to burn his wings off. The wings he had just learned to use again. The feathers that had just grown in better than they had in years.
A flash of an idea went through his head, Samyaza's voice coming to him again. Accusing him of his pride; that must be why his wings were being taken away from him now, after all. But he squeezed his eyes shut and forced it away. Instead remembering how Sam and Dean had cared for him during his recovery. When he had molted out of season and gotten sick, and they spent countless hours helping him wash his wings with warm water, massaging the old feathers out and the new feathers in; healing not only his body but his mind until he had returned to better health than he had been in for years, despite the fact that most of his grace was gone, and he was mostly human.
His breaths shuddered in his chest, but there was a calm inside of him too. He glanced up at the contraption holding fire over his wing that could fall at any moment and maim him for good, but suddenly didn't feel as scared as he had been. He'd thought he was done in Hell too—had wanted to be done. But Sam and Dean had come to get him, to pull him from a perdition of his own making. They would come for him this time too.
He had faith.
The Impala screeched to a halt outside of the old asylum. It was broken down, covered in graffiti, and looked completely deserted, but Dean could tell there was warding on the windows that was not just some random tag job.
"This is it," he said, getting out of the car, and collecting his weapons.
Sam did the same, pulling his demon knife from his coat and gripping it tight.
"Let's go save Cas," he said.