Chapter Three: Road Trip
He regained consciousness with his head pounding, and the definite sensation of moving. And an awareness that, however he normally was, at the moment he was somewhat prone to motion sickness. He kept his eyes closed and took stock of his condition.
He was in a vehicle of some kind. Smooth ride, low motor tones, smelled vaguely familiar. He hoped that was a good thing.
The blood fever was still strong, but weak enough that he'd probably been out a few hours. It hadn't ebbed enough for him to feel the cravings again, but it was low enough that the burning flood of sensation had dropped a few notches, enough for him to feel moderately in control of himself. He'd probably been down two to three hours then.
His myriad wounds ached, his face worst of all. Castiel had certainly punched him hard. He'd be worried about a broken nose if he wasn't sure that Lola had done that at least twice before. Though being Castiel, the angel could have simply given him a concussion.
He didn't feel naked any more. Neither did he feel properly dressed. He was wearing something with sleeves, but he didn't feel any undergarments on his person, and his legs seemed to be draped in loose fabric of some kind, with no other covering. And he was barefoot. There was a thin band of metal around his wrist that was most likely a demon-shackle, if Castiel was being his usual paranoid angelic self. And he felt a restraint that was probably a seat belt, though why the angel bothered was beyond him.
He might as well look and see what was what. He cracked his eyes open cautiously.
He was in the front seat of Castiel's god-awful gold car. The angel was in the seat next to him, driving. He looked different, but it took him a moment to place the difference.
Castiel wasn't wearing his bloody trench-coat. Instead, he was wearing only a simple three piece suit. Black jacket, white shirt and black pants. It made him look far more sophisticated, more worldly.
He saw a flicker of tan, and looked down, only to discover the reason Castiel wasn't wearing his trench-coat. The blasted thing was fastened around him instead. He grimaced. "You've got to be bloody joking. Beige is absolutely not my color."
Castiel's eyes flickered towards him. "You're welcome to remove it."
Considering how undressed he felt already, he shook his head. "You couldn't find anything better?"
"Not without alerting the hotel staff, and any possible demons. I did the best I could with what I had." Castiel didn't even take his eyes from the road. He'd bet the angel had learned to drive from Moose, not Squirrel.
He looked at the rest of his apparel, then frowned in appalled shock when he realized that Castiel had simply wrapped him in a hotel sheet. It covered him, he supposed, but the indignity of his current state of dress was humiliating. He glared at the angel. "What the bloody hell?"
"It was the best I could do."
"A sheet? Your best was a bloody sheet and a trench-coat? How in hell did you even get us out of there? I suppose you're going to tell me you walked out the ruddy front door for all to see?" he should be grateful to have been rescued at all, he knew that, but the circumstances grated, and his injuries made him snappish.
"I did the best I could." The phrase was getting repetitive, and the glare Castiel shot him could have fried a normal demon alive. "And no. I didn't walk out the front door. I took you down the back staircase. One of the staff helped me avoid the others and find the back exit. I told him you'd been...mugged. And I paid him for his help, and his discretion."
Well, well. He hadn't thought the angel had it in him. He wondered when the feathered wonder-boy had learned that particular skill set. Toting bodies, lying, tipping staff...it was such a human thing to do.
He forced his temper back to smoldering embers. "I suppose it's too much to ask for a decent set of clothing now. I'd prefer not to walk in on the Wonder Twins in my current state."
The angel's jaw tightened. He glanced at something on the front panel. "It's four in the morning. When we reach the next town, after daylight, I'll stop at a thrift store and see what I can find."
The idea of wearing second hand cheap clothing made his skin crawl. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers. And anything was better than his current attire. He'd half expected the angel to refuse to clothe him at all. Apparently Castiel was at least a little more merciful than that. He nodded. "Fine."
Four in the morning. Either he'd been out longer than he thought, or it had been later than he'd believed when Castiel had rescued him. He blinked at the clock. "How long have I been out?"
"Three hours."
About what he'd expected. He probed his face gingerly, then flipped the visor down to look at his face in the tiny overhead mirror. His nose didn't look to be broken after all, but he had a lovely purple-black bruise over the temple and forehead. "Honestly, did you have to hit that bloody hard?"
"Yes."
He scowled. "Are you going to spend the whole trip talking in monosyllables? Because I have to say, darling, it's going to be a rather long road trip if you are."
Castiel shot him a glare. "And what would you have me talk about?"
"Anything. I've been rather out of the loop the past few weeks, what with getting trapped and tortured and all." He sighed. "I don't suppose you've been keeping tabs on the state of Hell, and its merry band of troublemakers."
"I've been more concerned with the doings of Heaven."
Well, at least it was conversation of sorts. "Yes. I heard from my informant that things were a bit chaotic. Gates of Heaven shut, angels all over the place. Dividing into factions. I'd heard a number of them were after you."
"Yes." Castiel's hands tightened on the wheel. "They believe I assisted with the closing of Heaven."
"Ah. Awkward that. Can't imagine where they'd get the idea that you might be a power-mad maniac, or in league with one." It was stupid, he knew it was, but he couldn't help the jab. He felt raw, off-balance, oversensitive, and had the irrational desire to not be the only one who felt that way.
The look glare Castiel shot at him was hot enough to potentially smite him in his seat. He held up his hands, his irritability fading with the reminder that he was at the angel's mercy. "Sorry. Human sensitivity. Makes me a bit touchy."
Castiel glared at him a moment longer, then returned his attention to the road.
He watched the angel, then ventured a new topic of conversation. "So...a little bird mentioned you've had your own brush with humanity."
Castiel's jaw clenched. After a moment, though, he answered. "Metatron stole my Grace and used it as part of his spell. He made me human and cast me from Heaven."
"I'll wager that was uncomfortable." Castiel didn't answer. "Heard you got powered up on some borrowed energy. Have to say, I didn't think it was possible. Didn't think essence worked like that." he studied the angel's profile. "Makes me curious. This car...did you learn to drive to stay inconspicuous, or is because you can't fly on those borrowed powers of yours?"
"None of the angels can fly. Myself included."
"Ah. Makes sense, I suppose." He considered the meaning of that. "So...when I started calling for you..."
"I left my hotel the moment I heard someone call out for me. I didn't know it was you."
"Naturally. Can't imagine you'd have come if you did, despising me as you do. Still...it is somewhat nice to know you didn't simply ignore me." He paused. "I suppose I ought to thank you, saving my hide and all."
"You're welcome." The words weren't particularly gracious, but then, neither had his thanks been.
Silence settled over the car again, awkward and tense. Still, he couldn't think what else to say.
His wounds ached. He prodded his stomach, feeling the constriction there. The angel had used something as a makeshift bandage. Thoughtful of him. He wished the angel had done something to splint his broken bones though. His hands and shins hurt.
He considered. He couldn't do much about the knees. They were fractured, but not broken badly enough to be misaligned. His hands though...he surveyed the bloodied fingers. No bones poking through the skin, partly because Lola hadn't gotten that far, and partly because she'd wanted his hands at least semi-usable if he decided to cough up information. But several of the joints and bones were out of place. So were his wrists.
That, he could do something about. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it would help in the long run. And if Castiel and the Winchesters chose to leave him healing at a human pace, it would be marginally more comfortable. Same for his shoulders, both of which had been wrenched during his bouts of thrashing.
He considered, then took hold of the door handle with clumsy fingers, angled his body and jerked, twisting with a sharp motion that he'd learned centuries ago. He hadn't become a master torturer and the King of Crossroads, much less the King of Hell, without learning all the ways it was possible to put a body back together or take it apart. And there were his own years on the rack to consider.
His shoulder popped into place with a muted snap that made him wince, and Castiel twitch. The angel glanced sharply at him. "What are you doing?"
"Putting my bones back in their proper places. Do you mind, or shall I wait for you to do it for me?" He stared at the angel, wondering if Castiel would demand he wait. Wondering what he would do if the angel did demand he stop. It wasn't like Castiel could really do anything for him. Demon versus angel and all that.
Castiel frowned at him a moment, then returned his attention to the road. "Just don't bleed on the seats. I like this car."
"Fine. Got it. No bleeding on the furniture." He returned his attention to his injured frame.
It took him over an hour to tend to everything. None of it was pleasant. It didn't help that the throbbing in his joints was echoed by the pulsing in his head and gut, as the blood addiction made itself known. The ebbing tide muted the sensations of pain a little bit, but replaced it with a grinding aching desperation that was almost worse.
Finally, his bones were mostly aligned properly. He'd need to be careful not to jolt them, but at least they were more or less positioned correctly.
Dawn was coming up as he settled back into the seat. He swallowed hard against the rising tide of thirst in him, the desire for more blood. "Don't suppose you've got anything to eat or drink in this lovely little vehicle?"
"I don't need anything." Castiel frowned at him. "You shouldn't either."
"Still half human, Feathers. I won't starve, but a little bit of sustenance never hurts." And it would help mute the craving that flooded his system. He sighed. "Blast it. I would have preferred to remain forgetful of just how constricting humanity can be."
Castiel made a soft sound he couldn't quite define. Then, to his surprise, the angel actually answered him. "It does have it's points of unpleasantness. I never got used to being hungry. Or cold." The angel was silent a moment, then continued, his voice low and thoughtful, as if talking to himself. "The requirements of being human...bathing, sleeping, eating...urinating...they were all very frustrating. But it did have it's good points."
As distractions went, it was a good one. He was curious enough that it actually took his mind off of his wounds and the gnawing pain of his addiction. "Really? What did you like? I tend to go for the sex, Scotch and hallmark films myself. Decadence and sin and all that. Don't tell me...you were a fan of church hymns."
"I didn't spend much time in churches. Too much risk of being found and killed. No...I like food. And hot showers. And it was...interesting, having a job, dreaming, working. I'd no idea human lives were so complex."
Crowley snorted. "Figures you'd miss the good stuff. I thought one of the twins would have introduced you to at least some of the vices."
Castiel shifted. "I did...discover some of them. Beer is excellent. And sex...it was very good. Until the next morning, of course."
Crowley choked. "Excuse me? You, angel of the lord, mister 'not even going to kiss for a deal'...you had sex?" He stared at the angel. "Who in hell managed to tempt you into that?" He'd tried to tempt the angel, had some of his best demons try to tempt the angel. Hell, he'd even had some of his best mortals, the ones who'd do anything to extend their contract, make a pass at Castiel. It had driven him mad that the only being who'd ever made any headway had been that bitch, Meg.
Castiel's jaw tensed. He glared at Crowley, then back at the road. For a long moment, he thought the angel wouldn't answer. Then Castiel sighed. "Her name was April. She took me in when I got lost in a city. She gave me food, and a dry place to sleep, bandaged my wounds. After that, one thing led to another….and…it was quite excellent."
He almost asked for details, then decided he didn't want to know. More fun to imagine, and make sly remarks later. But his brain went back to what Castiel had said moments earlier. "Dare I ask about the morning after? Did she make you eat your vegetables or something?"
"She turned out to be a rogue reaper, hired by one of the faction leaders to find and interrogate me. After I woke up, she bound and tortured me." Castiel's voice went flat, cold, hard.
Normally, he'd have teased the angel. But given what Castiel had just rescued him from, he didn't have any room to speak on the matter. And there was enough humanity in his system to make him feel slightly abashed on the angel's behalf. As far as he knew, Castiel hadn't had a bed partner before his run-in with humanity. And Lucifer knew, even he'd had a better first experience than that. He grimaced. "My sympathies. Hope you at least got some pleasant memories out of it."
Castiel relaxed a little. "She was very hot. Even by Dean's standards."
Personally, Crowley didn't consider Dean Winchester to be all that discerning. Not that he could speak for his recent choices. But it made him wonder what Castiel's type was. He thought about it, then decided he really didn't want to know. It was amusing, thinking of a pious angel having a preference for that sort of thing, but he suspected that knowing the details would make him nauseous. And he didn't want to share that sort of moment with the angel.
Actually, the thought made him shudder a little bit.
"Change of topic, shall we?" He considered. "Favorite food. I'm betting you had a chance to get a variety in, what with the Witless Wandering brigade. What did you like best?"
Castiel shot him a glare for the slur to the Winchesters, but answered the question. "Sam likes salads and cereals, which are healthy, but not particularly filling. Dean favors things like burritos and cheeseburgers, which I liked better."
"Your favorite food is a cheeseburger?" He hadn't pegged the angel for a carnivorous type. Or the fast food type, honestly.
"No. Cheeseburgers remind me too much of my vessel."
"Well then...burritos?"
Castiel shifted in his seat. "Actually...I prefer peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches."
He coughed. "Seriously? All the food in the world, and you like five-year-old lunch food?" he stared at the angel.
"I like the texture. And it's easy to eat." Castiel glared at him defensively.
Crowley was tempted to make a smart remark, but really, when all was said and done, he didn't have much room to judge. He settled for looking away and shrugging. "I suppose at least it's a classic."
"What about you?" Castiel's question startled him.
He answered it, because turnabout was fair play and a return to silence would only leave him time to dwell on his myriad aches and pains. And besides, it wasn't that embarrassing. "Pizza. Mostly meat. Sometimes the pizza with everything. Not really the best with wine or scotch, but I make do."
"Dean says pizza goes with beer."
"Dean thinks everything goes with beer or rotgut. I wouldn't trust his taste in alcohol."
He saw Castiel frown in profile. Then the angel blinked, and abruptly pulled over and down an off-ramp, into the heart of a mid sized town. He pulled up to a stop sign, looked both ways, then turned right.
Crowley stared at him. "Any particular reason you pulled off here? Or did you just discover a random desire to explore rural America?" He frowned. "Can't be a bathroom break, or a food break. Neither of us need it." He wouldn't say no to a candy bar, but he didn't feel like admitting that.
"No. But I need gas, and I saw a sign for a Goodwill store down this road."
"Ah. That makes more sense." He hadn't paid attention to the slowly lightening sky, what with the injuries, and the oddity of actually having a successful conversation with Castiel that didn't involve too much blatant hostility and suspicion on both their parts.
A minute later, Castiel pulled the car into a gas station. Crowley stayed quiet in the front seat while the angel filled the tank and paid for the gas. A part of him was annoyed that they couldn't have gotten clothing first, so he could change while Castiel filled the tank. The rest of him was rather relieved. For one thing, gas station bathrooms were usually filthy beyond words. The idea of dressing in one made him shudder. For two, the idea of getting out of the car as he was, in public, made him feel mortified.
And there was the bloody addiction. He'd been able to ignore it, stuck in a car with Castiel and no one else, his mind occupied with tending his wounds and trying to uphold a truce-time conversation with his rescuer. But now, seeing people come and go, listening to the hum of humanity around him...the pain spiked, the desire rippling through him and clawing in his gut. The desire to grab someone and bite down. The urge to cut some random sap's vein and drink, the desire for just one syringe of red liquid….he ached with it, could feel the sweat beading on his face in withdrawal fever. He clenched his hands in Castiel's trench-coat to keep them from shaking.
Damn it.
He was so focused on trying to control his craving that he actually jumped when Castiel opened the door. "Bollocks. Warn a demon, would you?"
Castiel frowned at him. "I was not particularly stealthy in my approach." Crowley shifted as the angel studied him a moment. "You appear unwell."
He snorted. "I'm a half-human demon who's been tortured for god knows how long, and now I'm sitting half naked, powerless and beat up in a pimp car driven by an angel. Of course I look unwell." He turned away. "You should be grateful I'm not puking all over your bloody interior."
"Don't even think about it." Castiel shut the car door. "The Goodwill is just down the street." He started the car and pulled out. Crowley tried not to choke on bile as the craving translated itself to nausea. He felt like he could kill for a dose of human blood. Or a bloody chocolate bar. He'd even eat Hershey's or M&M's at this point.
Hell, he'd even eat a blasted peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Castiel pulled up to the Goodwill store and turned the car off, then looked at him expectantly. He shuddered. "I am not going in there choir-boy, no matter what you say or do. I'd rather be naked, thank you." The idea of walking around a store in his ridiculous coat and sheet ensemble made his skin crawl, and the idea of being in close proximity with so many people made his hands shake. He closed his eyes, so Castiel wouldn't see the desperation in them. "I can tell you my sizes, and I don't care what you get. Buy bloody sweats and jeans and boat shoes for all I care."
"I don't see why I should do your shopping."
He bit back a snarl. "Because I'm too bloody injured to stand up properly. Want everyone to think you assaulted me? Especially with the hardware?" He held up his demon-shackled wrist. "Might make people a bit touchy."
There was a long silence, and he thought for a moment that Castiel would just drive away. Then the angel huffed, exasperation in his words. "Fine. Tell me."
He recited the list of numbers corresponding to his sizes, shoulders and waistline and leg length, his shoe size and undergarments (the last made the human part of him flinch in humiliation), and the roughly corresponding letter sizes (medium or large) for the shirts and pants if Castiel did go for casual. Castiel repeated it with the air of a teenager memorizing an unpleasant shopping list, then hopped out of the car and left him alone again.
He felt pathetic, unable to clothe himself. He felt weak, shamed, and the craving beat at him in a steady throb of desperate aching need. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, fighting it with everything he had in him.
Damn the Winchesters for turning him human, for imprisoning him. Damn Abaddon for taking his throne. Damn Lola for her betrayal. And damn him, for the mistakes that had led to this. He clenched his fists, allowing the slow burning to take over. It was better than the torment of his addiction. He let the anger fill him, clear his head a little, then forced himself to focus. To plan. It was what he did best, generally speaking, and he'd need to have some plans in place if he was going to be at the mercy of the Winchesters and Castiel again.
He still planned to take back his throne. And kill Abaddon. And kill all her lackeys. He also still had a slightly vested interest in helping fix the 'angels on earth problem'. Too many glorified bird-folk was bad for business, and reduced life expectancy.
Short term goals first. He needed to heal from his wounds. He needed to help Dean get the First Blade, as they'd agreed. He'd have to find a way to get himself out of the Winchester's grasp, preferably without getting killed. Too much to hope they'd change their minds about him, even without Castiel at their shoulders.
Healing and the First Blade. Those were the priorities. That and managing his damned blood cravings. He'd deal with the Winchesters and Castiel as he had to.
The door clicked open and Castiel settled into the driver's seat and handed him two bags. "Here."
He looked. Socks, cheap polyester but wearable. Plain shoes, but at least they weren't boots or some such. Button-up shirt and slacks, both dark colors. Castiel hadn't bought him top-shelf clothing by any means, but it was at least clean, wearable, and followed his preferred style.
"Appreciated. Glad you have at least some modicum of fashion sense. Can we please leave and find some place where I can change in peace?" He closed the bags and glanced at the angel. "I'd like to get out of the sheet as soon as possible."
Castiel brought the car to life and pulled out. Crowley closed his eyes and clenched his hands in the bags, feeling the simultaneous relief and ache as the crowded parking lot vanished in the rear-view mirror. Minutes later, they were back on the highway.
Castiel drove for a good half an hour or so, then pulled off. Crowley eyed the clearly abandoned gas station they'd pulled up to. "You can't be serious."
"You wanted privacy." Castiel's voice was low and grating. "This place is deserted."
And filthy, but he'd inhabited worse. And he was tired of feeling the sheets over his legs, the roughness of the towel bandages, and very tired of feeling cold and exposed.
Castiel shut off the engine. Crowley unbuckled his seat belt with clumsy, awkward fingers, then opened his door. Swinging his feet to the side awoke a hundred dull aches in him, the sharp pang of roughly bandaged wounds and the deeper throb of abused muscle and bone. The rough gravel of the parking lot they'd pulled into hurt his abused feet, awaking memories he'd rather not revisit. He set his jaw and tried to pull himself up.
Pain exploded in his lower body as he put weight on the broken and fractured bone. A low snarl of agony ripped from him. He snatched at the door frame to stop his fall, only to gasp again as his hands protested the pressure. Damaged bones and joints that had stayed mostly in place when he clenched his fists wrenched and tore and twisted at the unexpected applied force. He let go and fell haphazardly to the pavement, robbed of breath as his shins and hands impacted concrete. Even with his pain tolerance his vision went gray and black at the edges, and it was all he could do to keep breathing and prevent himself from screaming.
He heard light footsteps, then Castiel's voice. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" He twisted his head up to look at the angel. Anger born of hopelessness and pain surged through him. "What's wrong? I spent days being tortured, my nerves rubbed raw by the humanity those two denim clad morons infused me with. What's wrong is that I have two fractured shins, a broken knee-cap, damaged shoulders, damaged elbows, damaged wrists, broken hands and more lacerations and burns than I can bloody well count, and thanks to you and Abaddon's bitch whore, I can't heal and I can't move properly and I can't even clean and dress myself with my powers...and I bloody well still feel like a bloody human! Which means I feel...everything!" He was panting when he finished the rant. He slumped sideways onto his elbows, because at least it hurt a little less.
Castiel stood over him a moment longer, then grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a sitting position. "Perhaps you should consider praying."
"Don't be any dafter than comes naturally. That was a one-shot deal to get your attention, so you'd either get me out or gut me." Crowley set his jaw, wincing at the pain.
Castiel dropped into a crouch in front of him, a foot away and starting at him with eyes like a laser. "I said, try praying."
"Expecting a legion of angels to come marching in to finish me off?" Crowley sneered the words, but Castiel's deep blue gaze never wavered.
It was unnerving. He huffed a sigh, then closed his eyes. 'Bollocks. I would be rescued by the one angel who can't even kill a bloody demon properly. Lucifer knows I'd almost swear off killing, if I could at least have my bloody legs healed enough to walk and dress myself! Honestly, I don't think I'd mind if a bloody angel knifed me in the gut, as long as I got five seconds not feeling like I'd been run over by a spiked steamroller and set on fire!'
Crowley blinked his eyes open. There were no angels. No one besides Castiel, who was still staring at him with unnerving blue eyes. "Sorry, don't think the Bible Brigade is coming, sweetheart."
Castiel's mouth twitched into a frown. "I heard you."
"Yes. I know. That's why we're here."
"No. I heard your prayer just now. You're still human."
"Part human." Crowley snarled the words out. "And yes, I know. I can feel it. What I can't do is see how that relates to my current predicament, beyond being an infernal nuisance."
"Angels can heal humans." Castiel lifted one hand. "It's not as strong as it should be, but I have enough grace to heal you. Partially."
A mingling of terror, shock and exhilaration washed over him. "Are you daft? I'm only part human, you feathered imbecile!"
A cold, bitter smile washed over Castiel's face. "And I'm less than half a proper angel." He reached out before Crowley could stop him and laid one shining hand against his head.
Power touched him, and something seized Crowley and seemed to tear him in two. The humanity in him surged up, leaping for the heavenly energy like a child lunging towards a beloved friend. The demon essence in him surged backwards in horror, fighting to escape. The opposing forces had his consciousness in the middle, and it hurt more than he had thought possible.
He heard Castiel give a choked gasp. Then the world went white.
Author's Note: And let the fun begin...
If anyone is wondering, yes, Cas did it because he can be compassionate. But also because he really doesn't want to deal with Crowley's fussing. And because it's inconvenient to deal with Crowley's dead weight.