Chapter 16 - "Do we have a plan?"
The cabin was beyond rustic.
In fact, Dean said no one had used it properly since they were kids.
There were holes in the porch floor, two broken windows, the back door was off its hinges so there was a drift of leaves and dirt and some kind of animal crap in the kitchen.
"Why come?" Cas asked as Dean struggled to pull the door shut.
"Bobby insisted. Said he'd explain when they got here."
Cas paced up and down the small room, shooting anxious glances out the window, waiting for Sams car to pull up.
It was nearly twelve hours since they'd left the Enochian Compound. He sat heavily on a chair and put his head between his knees. In that time he'd found out his mother was dead, Elijah was dead, Naomi had tracked him down to lie to him and now Meg was gone. Probably being held against her will.
Probably dead.
No.
He took deep breaths, digging his finger nails into the palms of his hands, grounding himself with pain.
"Hey. Hey man. You ok."
"I'm fine."
He felt Deans hand on his shoulder.
"Look its ok. Just try to…"
"Calm down? What!" He jumped up, slapping Deans hand away. "You want me to take some deep breaths, find my warm happy place? She IS GONE! And we're sitting here like we have all the time in the world!"
Deans face was etched with hurt at the outburst.
"Cas I'm just trying to help…."
"I don't want your help." Cas snatched up his coat and stalked out of the cabin, leaving a confused Dean staring after him.
Crowley had cuffed her uninjured hand to the piping under the urinal.
She was still trying to decide if this was a good thing or not. Her other hand was all but useless. So long as she kept it still, it was a pain she could cope with, dull, throbbing, burning, but manageable. When she knocked it or even moved it, the pain flared, glassy, sharp. It doubled her over as her stomach rolled.
Carefully she tried to work the cuff up the inside of the piping.
If she could get it up, behind and over the top of the urinal, she'd be able to stand on it and see out the window.
At least then she'd know where she was.
Christ this would be easier with two hands.
The cuff might fit past the piping, but whether her hand would…..
Cross that bridge when you come to it.
The tiles made her work echo around the room. The scraping of metal against metal. She threw quick, frequent glances at the door, but no one was coming.
Yet.
He knew about Cas.
This changed everything.
If she got out of this she couldn't just run again. He'd find Cas, do to him what he'd done to her. Try and get her new location out of him.
Only he wouldn't know.
No.
She'd have to find him, take him with her.
It was the only way.
The cuff screeched loudly against the pipe and she froze, watching the door carefully, ears straining, waiting to hear footsteps.
When none came she set back to her task, wiping the sweat from her brow on her shoulder. Gritting her teeth against the pain.
He walked half a mile into the woods and stopped.
What was he doing? How the hell was this helping Meg?
He felt the old fears rise up inside him and nearly succumbed, nearly let them wash over him, take his mind to that helpless place.
But he couldn't.
Not now.
With a bellow of rage he turned to the nearest half dead tree and put his fist through it.
As he pulled his hand out of the mess of rotten wood and bugs, there was a part of him that wished he'd been able to smash his fist against a strong tree, that he could have hit it till his fingers broke and his wrist snapped.
No.
- The child is violent.
- Violence is not tolerated.
- Castiel. You will be punished. Punished until you can control your temper in a manner that honours God.
But he'd only hit back.
Only hit back.
For her.
The older brother had hurt the girl, had knocked her to the floor and pushed up her skirts and no one… No one could see, except Castiel.
- So young.
- So young a child to be so violent.
- The influence of the outer world still resides within him.
Eleven was not so very young, it was old enough to know that the girl was trying to fight the older brother off, was pleading and crying.
-NoBrotherNoBrotherNoPleaseNo-
He had seen her tear stained face and her eyes had begged him. Begged him to help her.
So he had.
He'd jumped on his back and hit him in the side of the head.
- ..and his punishment?
- It should be fitting.
- Allow the youth to beat him?
- … there are other things. The punishment should be …long lasting.
She didn't stand up for him.
You don't.
Not here.
And when they lay his hands upon the block, he had locked eyes with her and she had not looked away.
She had stayed with him while the wood was placed over his knuckles and the hammer was swung.
He held his tongue for the first swing, and the second, but the third had broken him as surely as his knuckles.
But she had stayed till the end, and after she had sought him out, looked on his bandaged hands and smiled sadly.
Three weeks later the elders married her to her attacker, and Castiel pushed his rage once more to the depths of his being.
There was no point.
No hope.
He looked down at his scarred hands.
The knuckles calloused. Sometimes his fingers hurt when it was cold, like today. He figured that when he was old, the ghost of that day would sit with him constantly.
He clenched his shaking hands and brought them to his eyes, taking a deep breath and calming himself.
It wasn't in his nature to be so compliant, so quiet and forgiving, but even the wildest animal will protect itself with the cover of domesticity.
Not forever though.
One day the chain is loose, the handler careless, the cage door ajar and something calls.
Something soft but insistent, a wild song that can't be ignored.
Straightening himself, Cas stared down the path he had just walked up, looked towards the cabin.
He could see a car winding its way up the dirt road in the distance.
Sam.
A calmness washed over him and he headed back down the track.
She was stuck.
It was hard not to panic, but she bit down on her lip and made herself breath slowly.
One.
Two.
Three.
She exhaled and tried to make the cuff move.
It was nearly there, so close to the top of the urinal, but now the cuff was stuck, her wrist twisted unnaturally so she couldn't use it to get more leverage.
"Fuck."
Meg sat heavily on the floor, her cuffed hand raised in the air like she wanted to ask a question, thin lines of blood running down her arm where the cuff had rubbed her wrist.
She was going to have to use the other hand.
Shakily she got to her feet and cautiously pressed the heel of her hand against the cuff.
Grunting as the pain shot up her arm, she pushed at it, her useless fingers slapping against the porcelain, tears springing to her eyes.
"Come on you fucker…" She hissed to herself, pulling with the cuffed wrist, pushing with her ruined hand, shoulder against the urinal, trying to get some give, an extra fraction of space.
Suddenly she was through.
The cuff jerking upwards and she slipped, falling to the floor and automatically putting her hand out to save herself.
She didn't even scream.
The pain was beyond that.
Instead she vomited, making inhuman guttural chokes, her vision narrowing to a pinprick…
Oh God.
She couldn't pass out.
Not now.
Pulling herself up, she stood with her head lowered until the world stilled around her and the black tunnel around her eyes receded.
With her limbs trembling, she hooked one foot in the urinal and heaved herself up with her cuffed hand.
The window above was high and narrow. Even stood up there she could only just see.
Outside was what looked like miles of deserted lots, abandoned buildings, trees, wilderness after.
And one car.
Just one.
Stumbling down, she looked about her for something, anything sharp.
Finding nothing she kicked at the looser tiles near the floor until one of them finally gave, then she broke it.
Quickly, she scraped the cars registration into the wall, followed by her name, then ran a bloody finger over it, rubbing it into the scratches to make it stand out from the white tiles.
Exhausted, she sat down, in front of it so it wouldn't been seen when someone came in to get her.
Her whole body seemed to be throbbing, her head fuzzy.
It felt like she had flu.
She had tried.
If someone came looking here, if someone made it this far and she was gone, then at least there was something for them to go on.
Meanwhile, she'd just have to bide her time. Wait for an opportunity to present itself.
Broken or not, if she got the chance, she'd rip Crowleys heart right out of his chest with her bare hands.
Dean only glanced at Cas when he walked in.
Sam and Bobby were already there, waiting.
"I'm sorry." Cas said simply. "I needed a moment."
He didn't look at Dean.
Time enough to explain himself later.
"Well, we know where the rendering plant is." Sam pointed to a beat up map Bobby had laid out on the kitchen table. We're maybe forty minutes drive away."
"Do we have a plan?" Cas frowned at the map.
"Yeah. I do."
They all looked at Bobby as he walked across the room and pulled back a nasty looking rug.
"Did I ever tell you that me and your Daddy used to come up here when you were kids."
Kicking the rug to one side he crouched down and brushed away the years of dirt and dust to reveal a recessed hatch in the floor.
"No." Dean frowned.
"Well. We did. There's probably a lot about John you boys don't know about." He hooked his fingers in the slight gap and pulled the hatch open.
Inside was an arsenal.
Guns, sawn off shotguns, pistols, knives, machetes.
"Sonofabitch….. Is that a grenade!" Dean whispered.
Bobby shrugged. "Probably. I figure, we need everything we can get to go find Meg right? Doesn't hurt to be prepared?"
"Jesus. Were you guys like white supremacists or something?" Sam turned one of the pistols of in his hands.
"What? No! Idjit!"
Cas picked up a handgun, found the cartridge for it, and after a moments hesitation, hammered it home.
Bobby narrowed his eyes at him. "You handle a gun before Cas?"
"Not for a long time. But you don't forget."
They looked at him, he thought, with wariness, maybe even a glimmer of fear.
Good.
Fear was useful.
Fear could drive you to react quickly and without hesitation.
He didn't swallow it down anymore, he embraced it.
And instead of consuming him, it simply radiated from his pours.
He glowed.