"Cas!" Dean shouts. He's given up on hearing a response, and it's more unwillingness to stop searching than any hope of finding the angel that has him continuing to call out now. He has an angel blade in one hand and Cas' coat draped over the other arm, and he isn't sure where he is.
The angel is nowhere to be found, and Dean can only come to the sickening conclusion that Alastair has him. He remembers his dream of the demon torturing Cas, and tries not to vomit. That won't happen. That won't happen. That won't happen. It becomes a chant in his mind, something to keep him walking when he just wants to drop to his knees and howl at the sky.
He must have made his way around in a circle, because he recognises where he is as the other side of where he had last seen Alastair and Cas. His footsteps become lighter as he focuses on his surroundings more. There should be another demon around here somewhere, if it hasn't left already. And Dean doesn't think that it has left.
It only takes another minute of Dean searching around the area before he finds the demon. Or rather, the demon finds him.
Dean grunts as the weight of something heavy hits his back. His knees buckle under the weight, and he throws an arm up to stop the demon from pushing a knife into his throat. It skates across his forearm instead, and Dean uses the bite of pain to help him grab the demon and get it off him.
As soon as the demon's on the ground, Dean stabs it, thrusting the angel blade deep into its side. The demon lets out a choking sound, the body of a young man falling limp under Dean's hands.
Dean grimaces at the blood, and wipes off as much as he can on the demon's clothes. The man wouldn't need them, after all. After he's done that, he stares down at the body. There shouldn't be any more demons here. And Cas is gone.
He breathing quickens when he thinks about that, but he physically forces himself to calm down, to calm his breathing and his blood rate. He's not going to help Cas by fainting here. He repeats that in his head a few times.
The unexpected noise of a phone ringing startles him.
It's coming from the demon's pocket. Dean rolls the body over to get to the front pocket of his jeans where the phone is kept. When he looks at the screen, it simply says 'Boss.'
Dean swallows before pressing the green button and lifting the phone to his ear.
There's silence on the other end. Dean doesn't cave and say anything, but the demon on the other end still somehow knows that it's him.
"Dean," Alastair's voice purrs. "I was expecting you to kill the demon I left behind, but I had no idea you'd be so snappy about it."
"Alastair," Dean says lowly. The demon chuckles.
"That's right Dean. We didn't get much of a chance to talk when you tried to stab me with that pretty little knife of yours."
"I don't plan on speaking with you Alastair. I'd much rather just kill you before you open your mouth," Dean says softly, dangerously.
"Oh, I don't know about that," Alastair says, still too jovial in Dean's opinion.
"Why not?" Dean asks.
"Because Dean, not only do I know where your brother is, at this exact moment I have your angel. Although, I wouldn't call him much of an angel any more. I was going to keep him, to try and figure out why his Grace was ripped from him and the other Heavenly scum got theirs back, but I suppose I can arrange a trade." Alastair's voice is made more disgusting by the static of the phone. Dean feels his nails bite into his palms.
"You will give him back."
"Only if you do some things for me," Alastair replies. It sounds like the demon is having too much fun. Dean fights to keep his breathing under control.
"What do you want?" He says, fighting to not snarl the words.
Alastair laughs. It's not a nice laugh. It's mocking and contemptuous and evil.
"Well, if I only knew how easy it would be to get you to give in. I should have kidnapped the angel months ago."
Dean closes his eyes and waits for Alastair to get to the point.
"I smelt you on him. All over him. Can I ask, how did you manage to convince an angel to Fall for you? To bend over for you? It's not something that just anyone can do, and although you're special, you're not that special. The halos aren't usually into getting down and dirty with mortals. It's a demon's job to corrupt. Maybe my teachings went deeper than I thought." Alastair's voice turns thoughtful.
"I didn't convince Cas to do anything," Dean snarls. And Alastair is wrong, anyhow. He and Cas hadn't… done anything that Alastair is implying. The demon doesn't know everything. Dean tries to hold onto that thought when he continues. "Now, what do you want?"
"I'll get what Castiel knows out of him," Alastair continues conversationally, as if Dean hadn't spoken. "You know some of the things I can do to him. And although there's still enough angel in him so that I can't possess him, there are still things I can do with him as is. I did some of them to you. Good times, yes?"
Dean's breathing has picked up, and he's trying not to let red cloud his vision. He tries not to let memories of Alastair coming into his cell, of the demon holding him down no matter how he struggled, of his weight and his laugh come to the front of his mind.
"And as for what I want…" Alastair trails off. "It's simple, really. I want you, again. I want you willing to serve Hell in all the ways you were serving Heaven. You know you're needed for the final step of the spell. Let me possess you and finish the spell. And maybe I won't kill your angel."
The phone clicks and the buzzing sound of a dead line comes over the phone.
Dean lets it fall out of his limp fingers, his eyes unfocused. He looks down at the phone, unseeing, for a long time.
Then he bends down, picks it up, and dials a familiar number.
"Hello?" His brother's familiar voice answers.
"Sam," Dean says shakily. "I need help."
Castiel wakes in darkness.
It is disorientating. Not only is he not used to sleeping, he can see in the dark. Could see in the dark.
It is cold – his coat is gone – and he can hear a dripping sound in the distance. A ragged moan starts, becoming louder before fading away. He swallows.
He tries to move his wings. They do not respond, and he frowns. He tries to move them, feel them, acknowledge in any way that they're there.
Nothing happens.
Castiel tries not to let a choked sound come up from his throat. He's cold and wet and the ground is hard where he's lying on it. When he looks up, there's a sliver of light that lets him see part of the binding on the roof, one designed for him, with his name worked into it. While the rest of this place might be filthy, nothing mars the surface of the binding spell, done in blood.
He sits up slowly, cataloguing the various aches and pains around his body. The biggest is his head, and the memory of a piece of cement colliding with his skull surfaces.
Dean had been with him then. His breaths become faster and he looks around quickly. Dean. Where is Dean? How had he gotten here?
He starts at the first memory of the day. Dean snoring quietly beside him, arms wrapped around him securely. It calms him, and he takes a deep breath before continuing. He moves through the day slowly, remembering how they had purchased the ingredients for the spell and then found the pure blood. Or had the blood been first, and then the ingredients? He shakes his head.
Then they had completed the spell, and Castiel had discovered the exact direction in which the sword is. And then his siblings had shown up. And then Alastair had hit him and the other angels with some sort of… spell, he supposes. He had felt it stripping him of his Grace, the already loose thing tearing away easily. He hadn't made any effort to grasp it either, because of the recoil from the cement, and that had probably been why it had left so easily.
His stomach turns over. Dean had defended him against the demons. And Dean is not here.
Castiel swallows, looking around his cell. He stands slowly, wincing, and walks slowly to the edge of the binding. When he presses against it, it bends outwards, his hand feeling like it is pressing against something slick and gelatinous. The further he pushes outwards the harder it is to move.
When he pulls his hand back in, it tingles for a minute. He rubs it while looking out the window. He can see another cell through the bars, the space behind it a shadowy darkness, swallowing all light that comes near it.
The shaky moan starts up again. Castiel looks uneasily around him. Steps echo through the hallway. A laugh starts, insane and wild, which is quickly quieted when someone kicks a door, the rattle too loud in the otherwise quiet corridor.
The steps stop outside his cell. There is the clunk of a lock turning and the door ponderously swings open.
Castiel does not recognise the demon. She looks bored, but Castiel recognises the pair of hand cuffs in her hands. He hurries to the opposite side of the binding, pressing against the gooey wall to try and get away from the demon.
She sighs. "Don't make this hard," she says, rolling her eyes. "Just come here."
Castiel shakes slightly as he tries to stay away from her. But she's a demon, and he has none of his powers, so it takes less than a minute of Castiel scrambling away and her following him until she's forcing the cuffs around his wrists.
Castiel feels the cuffs snap around his wrists tightly. He waits for the inevitable pain of the enchanted metal against his skin, for it to snap his Grace and wings into submission… but nothing happens.
That scares Castiel more than if he had been in pain.
The demon breaks the binding spell and easily drags him out of the filthy cell. Castiel keeps his feet under him, stubbornly walking behind the demon, even though her stride is longer than his, and he stumbles over the uneven floor.
He memorises the passages as they go through them, probably all designed the same to confuse escapees and to prevent them from leaving. But he's had millennia to train his mind, and something like this is easy to remember.
It's a long walk. The passages only get dirtier the further they go in, and Castiel can tell that they are beneath the surface of the earth, possibly a long way down. No one would accidently stumble across this place.
When they stop outside a door, it's almost a relief. They go in, and the only furnishings are two chairs, one metal and one plush, and low table. The demon still looks bored as she locks Castiel to the metal chair and gags him, Castiel angrily allowing it when she threatens to snap his neck.
The demon leaves. Castiel waits.
It's an hour before Alastair comes in. The demon smirks at him, and if Castiel could have made any noise, then he would have.
"Castiel. How pleasant of you to cooperate with Georgia." Alastair sits in the other chair on the opposite side of the room, one that is more comfortable than the one that Castiel is sitting in. "I contacted Dean and told him that I have you. He was most… receptive to getting you back. Or at least to not seeing you dead." The demon slowly tilts his head. "Thank you. You make Dean easily pliable."
Castiel narrows his eyes.
"Of course, with you gagged it's sort of a one sided conversation," Alastair muses. "You see, I've told Dean that I'll trade your life if he cooperates. He seems willing enough. But, you are the only being in existence that knows the direction in which the spell you performed pointed you. I have this," Alastair drawls, lifting up Castiel's own blade. "So I can get you to talk. But it'd be much, much nicer if you just told me." The demon pouts. "Less fun, of course. I would prefer to get my hands dirty. But orders are orders, and mine come from high up. Or low down. What do you say when you're talking about Hell?"
The demon doesn't wait for or seem to expect any response. He's looking at the angel blade, turning it over in his hands. Castiel's mind is racing, processing all the information that Alastair is giving him and trying to figure out some way in which he could get out of this situation. Like Alastair, his attention is fixed on the angel blade in the demon's hands.
Alastair finally looks up at him. He walks around to the back of him, and Castiel tries not to flinch with the demon behind his back, having the opportunity to do whatever he wants. Alastair unlocks the chain binding the cuffs together, and Castiel immediately yanks the gag out of his mouth and stands up, turning around to face the demon. Alastair leers at him, eyes flashing white.
"So, pretty bird. Sing me a song, will you? Where is the Sword?"
Castiel bares his teeth and doesn't answer. Alastair has the only weapon in the room, and he doesn't have his usual strength, so he can't beat him in a physical contest. His only option is to get his blade off Alastair.
Alastair's grin grows bigger. "You're going to make this difficult, are you? Well, I can't say I'm upset. Come with me." Castiel tries to duck under the demon's arm as it flies towards him, but Alastair must have been expecting that, because Castiel finds his hair in a too tight grip, the senior demon forcing his head back so his neck is exposed. Castiel freezes when his sword touches the skin there.
"Now, now, now. You're going to be nice and compliant, aren't you?" Alastair starts dragging him towards the door by his hair, Castiel resisting every step, not wanting to press into the sharp tip of the sword. Castiel struggles as the demon pulls him deeper into the bowls of the maze, Alastair not caring if the tip of the blade cuts into Castiel's skin because he trips.
And Castiel is afraid. He has seen what Dean went through, in his dreams and from what Dean himself had told him. He can't let this demon have him. He struggles against Alastair's grip, the demon putting up with it until Castiel rips his hair out of the demon's grasp, leaving some dark strands in the demon's grip. Before he can do anything, Alastair has rounded on him, and Castiel has the breath pushed out of him as he's thrown against the wall. The back of his head immediately starts pulsating with hurt at the impact with the wall. Gasping, Castiel keeps his eyes trained on the demon.
"You cannot escape here Castiel," Alastair sneers, and Castiel grimaces as the demon drags his blade through the flesh of his upper arm. "You are under my control now." The demon trails the blade over his skin, cutting different places as he pleases. Castiel fights not to let any noise escape him, squeezing his eyes shut as the pain assaults him. He hisses as the demon leaves a deep cut across his chest.
"Tell me where the Sword is," Alastair commands, pausing with the blade's tip in his upper thigh.
Castiel opens his eyes, baring his teeth at the demon. "Go to hell," he snarls. Alastair screeches wordlessly at him, and violently pushes the sword into where it had been sitting in his thigh.
Castiel screams as the blade cuts through the muscle of his leg. Moaning quietly, he slips down the wall, free from Alastair's influence, the sword coming with him when Alastair lets it fall from his grasp.
"You will tell me where the Sword is." Castiel opens one eye blearily, struggling to breathe. "Or at least, the direction in which you were pointed." The sword is still in his leg. "There is nothing you can do to stop that." The sword is still in his leg. "It's inevitable." Why is that important? "They all talk, eventually." Sword. His sword. "And so will you." His sword, that can kill demons.
His sword, that's within reach.
Castiel pretends that he's curling up on himself, but he keeps an eye on Alastair the entire time. He blocks the sword form the demon's eyesight and wraps a hand around it. The demon takes a step closer, and Castiel takes a breath to brace himself against the pain. He would only get one chance.
Alastair takes one more step towards him, and Castiel tightens his hand on the blade. In one motion, he rips it out of his leg and twists, flicking his arm upward and disembowelling Alastair, the demon's position above him giving him the perfect angle to swipe the blade right through his belly.
The demon makes a strangled sound and Castiel sees hatred enter his gaze. That chills Castiel to the core. He could deal with Alastair wanting to go after him for business reasons, because he's ordered to. He cannot deal with the demon having a personal vendetta against him.
Castiel lurches to his feet. He's not going to delude himself – Alastair isn't dead. Only an archangel's blade could do that to him: Alastair is powerful. But Castiel had put him down for the time being, and he would use that time to escape.
His body screams at him, and Castiel takes a minute to block off all the pain that he can before staggering back out of the maze, away from the demon on the floor and towards where he could hopefully find a way out. He retraces all the steps that he can find, looking for any way out. He has not come across anyone else, but he is sure that it is just a matter of time until he runs across a demon.
Time ticks by. He wanders around the maze like corridors, building up a map of the place in his mind. It is a miracle that he hasn't come across any demons yet, but he knows that it is only a matter of time until he finds one, or Alastair recovers enough to sound the alarm.
Castiel pauses when he hears the sound of footsteps. Alarmed, he looks around, trying to find some place to hide from the demons. There's an alcove in the wall, more like a crack where the earth had split in two next to the tunnel. Castiel wedges himself in as deeply as he can, keeping his breathing even and as silent as he can. The demon's footsteps shuffle past, and Castiel closes his eyes, hoping that they would not notice his fresh blood amongst all of the other blood on the floor.
They move past him, and Castiel lets out his breath. He slips from the alcove, going in the opposite direction that the demons had gone. He looks over his shoulder, making sure that the demons had not noticed that he had been hiding there. And since he is not looking where he is walking, he catches his foot in a crack on the ground, and his leg gives out under him, sending him sprawling to the ground.
The steps moving away from him stop. Castiel freezes, scrabbling to his feet, panting. The demon's voices get louder once more, and he starts hobbling forward, looking for any door. He turns down a passageway, and his breath catches as he sees a door that isn't the same as the ones used to hold prisoners.
Castiel pushes the door open, trying to mute its screech. The steps begin to get louder. He pokes his head in the door, looking around. Letting out a quiet breath as he sees the stairs going upwards, he closes the door behind him after he steps into the room.
Castiel runs up the stairs, feeling Jimmy's body have to work for the first time in over six months. He's kept the body as he found it, and he thanks his Father that his vessel's chosen physical activity had been jogging. He blocks out all of the pain as best he can, ignoring the alarm bells his body is tolling. After several flights his thighs are burning and his breath rasps out from between his lips, but he can still hear demons coming up the steps after him. He pushes on, forcing his body to leap up stair after stair, before he finally gets to the top.
Not only are his muscles burning, he can feel his cuts bleeding and the deeper stab in his leg throbbing with hurt. The door screeches as he opens it, pushing at the rusted hinges. There are two demons waiting for him on the other side, and he loses precious time dealing with both of them. They are not powerful however, and he can deal with them even in his weakened state. Castiel casts a look at the door he had left open before fleeing the building.
He looks around where he had emerged into the sunlight. Despair rises, thick and clogging his throat. Instead of being anywhere where he could immediately escape, he had come out in the middle of a forest. There is no road he could follow, and the entrance is a very small hill in a clearing. There are no landmarks visible in any direction.
Picking a direction, he starts off, sure that he's leaving a trail of blood that anyone could easily follow. He staggers through the trees, trying not to catch anything on his leg. There's blood dripping down his shin, and he thinks in a fragmented and disjointed way that the wound might have been deeper than he had thought. When he accidentally steps in a hole in the ground and trips, he cannot find it in himself to get up again. There are dots dancing in front of his eyes, and his head is spinning, spinning, and it feels like he's trying to stand up on a vertical wall.
He gives up trying to get up and lets himself fade into the blackness that's waiting for him.
Dean waits at the airport terminal that Sam's flying to. Sam had calmed him down over the phone and had then organised to fly over on the next plane. Dean had only managed to stammer out a few sentences about Alastair and Cas before Sam had interrupted him calmly, telling him that he would be there as soon as possible, and that Dean should get to the airport in Logan, and Sam would be there as soon as the next plane left. Dean had shakily agreed, and had driven straight there, not stopping for food or sleep. A day after Cas had disappeared, and there had been no word from Alastair about anything.
Sam's plane is due in soon, and Dean's drinking his fourth coffee since he got there. He wants something stronger than caffeine, but airports are alcohol free zones, and he doesn't want to get kicked out and miss Sam's flight.
"Flight 287 passengers, please collect your baggage at terminal two. Have a nice day."
Dean lifts his head. That had been Sam's flight and if his brother had packed anything except carry on, Dean would be surprised. He is standing outside the only Starbucks in the place, and that had always been where he and Sam had met if no meeting place had been assigned. Starbucks were pretty easy to find, and the one already there could always get some coffee while they were waiting for the other to show.
Dean feels the tight ball in his chest loosen slightly as he sees Sam coming towards him. His brother is easy to spot, being a head taller than most people, and with his long hair bouncing around his shoulders. He has a backpack slung over his shoulder, and his eyes are scanning the crows, trying to spot Dean. It doesn't take very long. Dean is sure he's got a dark scowl on his face, and that coupled with his plaid and ripped jeans covered by his leather jacket, means most people are trying to stay as far away from him as they can. That means that there's a small space around him in the crowded airport.
"Dean," his brother greets him, before pulling him into a hug. Dean breathes in the scent of Sam, trying to let it calm him down. The ball loosens some more.
Sam lets him go and steps back. Dean looks up and meets his brother's eyes. They're wide and full of concern, and Dean feels a rush of worthlessness. His brother flew here, abandoning job and family, just because Dean had called him and asked. He's not good enough for the person standing in front of him.
"You good to go?" Sam asks him. Dean nods.
"Yeah. The Impala's parked outside."
Sam follows him to where he had parked. He pays the ridiculous parking fee with one of the new credit cards he had picked up. Credit card fraud may be illegal, but he had been low on cash, and he cared very little about the law at the moment.
Before Dean starts the Impala, he looks over to Sam. He doesn't know what to feel. On one hand, Sam is sitting in the spot that he's meant to be sitting in, next to him, ready to help him. But Dean had just been getting used to having Cas sitting there, staring at him too much and asking strange questions with a straight face.
Dean purses his mouth and turns to look ahead, starting the engine. They roll out onto the road with minimal fuss, and Dean starts them on the road that leads out of Logan. Dean heads west almost automatically, heading towards the road that would take them to the Roadhouse.
Sam knows that the road calms Dean down, and he must know where they're going as soon as Dean heads towards the I-84.
"Can we talk when we get there?" Dean asks, voice rough.
Sam nods slowly. "Yeah Dean. We can."
Dean jerks his head sharply and turns the radio up, trying to drown in the music.
They arrive at the Roadhouse just before the restaurant opens for dinner. Sam and Dean get out and easily walk through the door. The bell chimes when Dean moves it, and before it swings closed behind them, there's a voice ringing out from the back.
"Shop's closed for another hour!"
"I hoped we be more welcome than that, Ellen," Dean yells back. Almost immediately, the doors to the back swing open, and Ellen comes through them.
"Well, well, well. What a surprise. The two Winchesters, turning up out of the blue? Dean, I thought you were a wanted criminal. And Sam, don't you have a life somewhere north?"
Dean cracks a strained smile. Cas would have taken it all literally, and Dean would have laughed at his confusion when Ellen hugged him. The angel's absence chokes him for a moment before he can reply. "It's good to see you too Ellen."
The older woman grins. "Come here you two."
Both Dean and Sam willingly hug their foster mother. Ellen looks them both over, shaking her head at Sam.
"I swear, you get taller every time I see you boy."
Sam ducks his head. "Yes ma'am."
"Who's there Ellen?" Bill shouts from the back.
"Dean and Sam," Ellen yells back. There's a crash and a muffled curse, and then Bill comes through the doors as well.
"Sam and Dean. Well I never," the dark haired man says, grinning lopsidedly. He throws a cloth at them both, and then raises his eyebrows. "What, you think you can get out of work just because you don't live here anymore?"
Dean and Sam shake their heads. Dean starts wiping down all of the tables, putting the chairs down as he does. He knows that Sam is probably burning up with the urge to ask questions, but he won't ask Dean until Dean tells him he's ready to spill.
So they clean and welcome the staff as they trickle in. Some they know from when they lived here, but some are new. Dean lets Sam greet the new people and hoped that no one would recognise him as the man from the viral video.
Finally, they sit down in one of the more secluded booths. It's in the corner, and there's a reserved table next to them that hasn't been filled yet, so they could talk without anyone overhearing them. A young girl comes up and takes their orders, and then Sam leans forward, eyes open and ready to listen.
"So what's been going on?" Sam asks softly.
Dean shakes his head. Sam knows about the angels, sure, but he doesn't know anything about what Cas had been teaching Dean, or about the angel's struggles with his superiors. His doesn't know anything about the weird sword that they're all chasing. All he knows is that Alastair had Cas, and what he could deduce from that video. Which is probably a lot, since his brother's a smart cookie.
"It's a long story Sam," he sighs.
"You have to start somewhere," Sam says diplomatically.
Dean nods slowly. Then he tells Sam everything that he can think of, about Cas and the angels and Raziel and his Sword. It takes all night, from when they eat their food and then to when Ellen banishes everyone who isn't a hunter from the premises, to after when Ellen has kicked everyone out, and Dean's spilling his story to Sam as they wipe down table and clean the floor.
Ellen's used her skills in reading them both, and has kept Bill and herself from the front room while Dean talked. She's probably burning up with her own questions, but she would wait until Dean came to her. That's something that she learned early when dealing with him.
"And so, I looked around, but I couldn't find anyone anywhere, until I came across a demon. After killing it, it's phone rang, and I picked it up. It was Alastair." Dean's hands tighten on the rag in his hands, and he forces himself to let it go. "He told me that he had Cas, and that he wouldn't kill him if I cooperate with him." Dean doesn't tell his brother about the coat that's tucked up in a ball in the trunk of the Impala. It seems too personal somehow. "So I called you, and you know the rest."
There's silence. Dean had expected as much. His brother would need some time to absorb all of the new information that Dean had thrown at him. He nervously twists the cloth in his hands, finishing the last table and putting up the last chair. Sam's already getting the mop, and Dean puts away the last of the bottles behind the bar while his brother cleans the floor.
"That's fucked up," Sam finally says. Dean can only nod.
"I know."
"So what's the next step?" Dean looks up at his brother. Sam has paused half way through cleaning the floors and is looking at him expectantly, like Dean has the next few moves of the game planned out already.
"Just do what Alastair says until I get Cas back," Dean says finally, a wave of despair threatening to engulf him. He hasn't slept in two days. It's beginning to catch up to him.
"What?"
Dean looks up. "Well what else can I do? He has Cas."
"Dean," Sam says, not unkindly. "This is why he took him. He wants leverage. Don't let it work."
"Then what am I meant to do?" Dean asks angrily. "Leave Cas to his fate?"
"No!" Sam sounds aghast at the notion. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all." He sighs. "Dean. You haven't thought this through. Yes, Alastair has Cas. No, it's not a hopeless situation."
"What do you mean?" Dean asks, feeling rather hopeless.
"You can't just give up Dean. He wouldn't want that, would he?"
Dean looks at the ground, away from his brother's eyes. No, Cas wouldn't want that.
"So, we make a plan. When Alastair contacts you, whenever that is, we look and act like we're playing along. And then, when we're near him, we jump him. Bring some holy water and salt, blare a few exorcisms, you have the knife, and kill some bitches. We'll get Cas back. Dean, look at me."
Sam has moved to the other side of the counter. Dean slowly raises his eyes, swallowing when he sees the worry in Sam's. "We'll get Cas back. I promise." Dean clenches his jaw. "But until then, there's nothing we can do. So don't beat yourself up, okay? Don't blame yourself for this. It's not your fault."
"Bullshit," Dean grunts.
"It's not your fault," Sam repeats.
"That is crap Sam, and you know it. If I had been faster, stronger, smarter…" Dean trails off before rubbing a hand over his face.
"Don't." Dean looks up. There are deep pits of anger burning in Sam's eyes, and Dean looks away from them. "Damnit Dean, don't say that. You sound like dad."
Dean flinches, and Sam almost looks apologetic. "It's true," Dean mumbles.
"It is the biggest pile of shit I've ever heard in my life," Sam says assertively. "You are worth something to me Dean. You are worth something to Ellen, to Bill, to Bobby and Jo and Charlie. You are worth something to Cas. Are you saying that we're all crazy? That we're seeing something in a hopeless case? All of these rational, logical, smart people? You think we're all wrong?"
Dean shakes his head, not looking his brother in the eyes. "That is the real bullshit here Dean. Don't try and play your whole self-pitying thing to me. I see right through it."
Dean wants to say that it's not an act, but his brother's face tells him to shut up. "You are worth a whole lot Dean," Sam continues softly. "Don't make me beat that into you. Because I will do it."
When Dean looks up Sam is smiling softly. He runs a hand through his hair. "Okay. Fine. We'll set up an ambush for Alastair and whoever comes along. We find Cas, and no one dies."
Sam nods sharply. "Sounds pretty good to me."
The radio at her hip buzzes. Madison scowls at it but answers, looking around the forested area.
"Thomas, what is it? I told you to try and keep quiet."
"I've found some guy, unconscious. He's bloody and I'm pretty sure he escaped from the facility."
Madison shakes her head. "Where are you?"
"Near the three tree clearing on the west side of the facility."
Madison starts loping her way over to where Thomas is. Really, she shouldn't be on patrol, and she shouldn't be with Thomas either. If something happened to them, the pack would have a large power vacuum in it that would probably tear it apart.
It only takes Madison a few minutes to make it over to where Thomas is. She comes through the trees slowly, watching for any demons that might be around. With so little distance from the facility, there's a large chance that there will be demons around. Especially if they have an escapee.
Madison hears crashing sounds in the distance, and growls to no one in particular. There are demons coming. They need to get out of here. Whether or not they take the man with them is still to be decided.
Thomas looks nervous, but he relaxes somewhat when he sees her. "There are demons around," he says quickly. "They're probably looking for him. We don't want trouble, we should just leave him here."
Madison looks at the dark haired man on the ground. There are knife wounds all over him, and she can see the trail of blood that he left when he had made it here. But when she takes a deeper breath, there's something else there. Thomas is looking around, but she doesn't pay him any attention.
She kneels next to the man, to try and smell that again. Taking deep breaths, she comes to the conclusion that he is not human – not completely – and that there's something familiar about his smell.
She breathes in again, trying to place it.
"Madison, we have to go," Thomas says nervously, looking around. The demons are coming closer. Madison can hear them. If they catch them, they'll take them or just kill them on the spot. She knows this. They should go, and leave this man here. And yet there is something, somethingabout his smell…
She finally places it. "Dean," she breathes softly, looking at the man lying on the ground in front of her with new eyes. Dean's mate. She narrows her eyes. She can't leave him here.
She picks him up, and Thomas looks like he's about to argue. She gives him her best glare, and he quiets. He goes in front while she carries the strange man who isn't human with Dean's smell on him under the blood. They're only a few hundred metres out when she knows that the demons have reached the clearing where they found the man. There's immediate noise and a scuffle, and she increases her speed, moving as quickly as she can while carrying Dean's mate. He's dead weight, and she can feel his blood spreading everywhere over her clothes. It's congealed enough that it won't drip everywhere, and she hopes that she's not leaving a trail that the demons can follow. They can't smell anything over their own sulphur stink, so she doesn't have to worry about that.
They move through the forest silently, heading towards safety.
Ellen and Bill move around the bar, discussing something quietly. Dean watches them while playing with the bottle of beer in his hands. He can't just expect them to house him and not ask any questions. They both know that approaching Dean usually yields little results, but Dean found himself wishing that they would this one time. It would mean that he could open the conversation more easily.
"Do you want me to talk to them?" Sam asks quietly.
Dean jumps slightly. He hadn't noticed Sam coming up behind him. He sighs, rolling the bottle from one hand to the other, the beer inside gone warm a while ago. Sam is giving him an out, and he knows it.
"Yeah," Dean says shakily. He doesn't think he can explain it twice in less than a day. "If they've got any questions, gimme a yell, okay?"
Sam nods. "Got it."
Dean stands and moves towards the back of the restaurant, where all the things needed to run a successful business are. But there are also the more homely rooms, Ellen and Bill's room, and the rooms where Sam and Dean had stayed when they were younger.
Dean pushes open the door to what used to be his room, standing in the familiar place and letting it calm him. He had always come here when the world had got to be too much for him. Everything's pretty much the same as he had left it when he had taken off in the Impala, all those years ago. Ellen isn't one for change. It makes him feel like he's eighteen again, safe and secure in the knowledge that this is his home, and had been for two years, and would be for as long as he wants it to be. He can imagine himself and Cas here, curled up safely against everyone and everything. He swallows and shakes his head, loss stabbing it's jagged edges into him. He closes his eyes and refuses to feel it. Cas isn't gone. He's still out there, still alive. There's still hope.
Dean sits down on the side of the bed and watches the clock click over from three to four. After Sam talked to their foster parents, they would go to bed. Dean doesn't think anyone will disturb him until the morning. He slowly tugs his boots and socks off, and then lies down on the bed, staring up at the exposed beams in the ceiling. The bed feels too large without another person in it, and Dean tries not to let the loss he feels over Cas's abduction overwhelm him. Cas would be fine. They would get him back. Dean repeats the words until he could maybe believe in them. The half open curtain is letting a faint gleam of moonlight through, illuminating the room enough so that Dean could see.
He's had too much to drink, and his head feels fuzzy and light. He hadn't gone light on the booze while he had been explaining everything to Sam, and it's starting to catch up to him. Even knowing that he'll regret it in the morning, he doesn't take any more of his clothes off or brush his teeth, letting his eyes close gradually and the world fade.
Alastair grinned at him, teeth stained red with blood.
"So Dean, are you going to be a good boy? Or are you going to make me get inside your lovely meat suit again? I do so love hearing your dark little thoughts."
Dean tried to close his eyes. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.
"Oh, but it is." Dean didn't say anything, just mutely shook his head. He heard Alastair's sigh. "Fine. Possession it is. You know, I find it to be lacking, really. A pupil should learn by their own discretion. Things taught by force rarely stick. But I suppose I'll have to teach you to like it before anything else happens."
Dean gagged on the smoke, but it forced its way into his mouth anyway. He felt himself losing control over his limbs, until he was completely locked in his own head. He felt Alastair's leer stretch his mouth.
"This is better, isn't it?" His own voice asked. Dean tried to be small. "Fine, fine, I understand. You just want to get to the action. I have a nice one today. So very pretty."
Dean felt himself walk out of the cell without resistance from the demons sanding outside, and Alastair directed the body towards his workroom. A sick sense of wrongness came over him when he saw the man strapped to the table. He was already bloody, knife wounds all over his chest and arms. Blood trickled down from the back of his neck, and Dean could see a deep wound in his thigh.
He ran to the man, but the wounds were changing, Alastair on the other side of him, inflicting deeper, deadlier wounds. Dean tried to scream, but no sound was made, and he threw himself at Alastair, anything to get him away from the man. Alastair laughed, and the man opened his eyes and it was Cas, how could he forget Cas, and Alastair had him, fuck, Alastair had him –
Dean bolts from his bed to the bathroom down the hall. He throws up, and then presses his forehead to the cool porcelain. The memory of that day had turned into a real nightmare, his fears coming to life in his dreams. He could remember the first part of the dream as a memory. Alastair had taken him into the workroom, and there had been a pretty blonde on the table. She had looked like Jo, and as soon as Dean and thought that, she had become Jo, and then it had been him making Jo scream, cutting into her flesh and –
He throws up again.
"Dean?"
Dean freezes, and then looks around. Sam is standing in the doorway of the bathroom, and Dean nods to show that it's fine for him to come in.
"Too much to drink?"
That's probably part of it, but his nightmare had helped as well. He simply nods, however.
Sam looks like he doesn't know whether to believe him or not. His brother slowly comes towards him, kneeling down next to Dean, even though it probably smells terrible.
"Are you sure?" Sam's hand comes up and brushes away wetness from his cheeks. Dean shivers; he hadn't even realised that he'd been crying.
"It probably helped," Dean says eventually, voice rough. "What time is it?"
"Just after six."
"Go back to sleep," Dean tells his brother. Two hours of sleep is enough to get by on.
"I haven't gone to bed yet," Sam admits. "I just finished telling Bill and Ellen everything. They're… not surprised that the angels were bad all along."
"Not all of them are bad," Dean reminds Sam.
"Of course," Sam says easily. "But most are."
Dean has to concede to that.
"They have questions for you."
"I'll deal with them when they wake up."
Dean doesn't have to look at Sam to know that his brother is Looking at him.
"You're going back to sleep."
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Dean I can do this all morning."
"I can't," Dean admits softly, trying not to let the sentence sound broken. He doesn't think he succeeds.
Sam is silent for a few minutes. "Come and sleep with me."
Dean raises his head to look at Sam. "And put up with your stealing all the blankets?"
"It's warm, you'll live. Please," Sam adds, when Dean doesn't say anything else.
"Fine," Dean grunts. "Let me brush my teeth."
"Okay, I'll wait for you."
Dean bares his teeth as Sam avoids his attempt to get out of if, and grudgingly goes to find a toothbrush and some toothpaste. When he's done, he follows Sam back to his room. Whenever he had had nightmares back in the old days, before all the shit with Alastair happened and when they still lived here, Sam would drag him into his room, and they'd sleep together. It had never failed to calm Dean down.
Even though Sam's bed is a double now, his brother is so large that he takes up three quarters of the bed on his own. But it isn't too horrible, Dean thinks sleepily. He has Sam's back pressed up against his. That by itself calms him down. His brother's smell winds its way around him, and Dean lets it tug him down into a fitful sleep.
This time when Castiel wakes, it's far nicer.
He's warm, and he has a pillow under his head. He keeps his eyes shut, trying to figure out where he is before he lets whoever is near him know that he is awake. His knees and palms hurt from where he had fallen over, and the back of his head is throbbing, the wound that had been there from the cement reawakened when Alastair had thrown him against the wall. His thigh is a dull ache of pain that suggests that no movement is the only thing keeping the pain away.
"We know you're awake," a female voice says. Castiel opens his eyes and looks up. A woman with dark hair is leaning over him where he's lying on the ground. He quickly gets up, wobbling slightly when his knees have to click before they'll take his weight. His thigh screams at him as soon as he moves his leg, but he refuses to lie down in the presence of these unknown people. His head spins slightly, and he tries not to stagger. The woman holds out her hands for him to support himself with, and he does warily, looking at her from lowered eyelids.
He flicks his gaze around, absorbing everything else in the room. It's small, and there are several doors leading off to other parts of the building. The woman and a man are the only people in the room apart from Castiel.
"Who are you?" Castiel asks, coughing to clear his throat after he completes his sentence and letting her hands drop. The rough movement of the cough makes his thigh screech at him, and he grimaces.
The woman narrows her eyes at him. "I was about to ask you the same question."
"Where are we?" Castiel asks instead of answering.
"A safe place. I found you, passed out, a few hundred metres away from where we know a demon facility is. Thomas thought that you had escaped from there, but that wasn't why I had you brought in."
Castiel breathes deeply. Something about them tells him that they're not entirely human. His hand goes to where he had stashed his blade, but it's gone.
"We took your knife off you. It's quite pretty, and we wanted to make sure that you didn't hurt anyone before we talked."
"Who are you?" Castiel asks again, trying to ignore the pain in his leg. The woman sighs and looks at the man. He purses his mouth and backs off a few steps, obviously not wanting to leave. The woman narrows her eyes and he turns, walking out the door.
"I'm Madison," she says. Castiel nods slowly, flexing his fingers and wishing for something to hold. "It's polite to offer your name when someone else gives theirs," Madison tells him, eyebrows raised.
"Castiel," Castiel replies, after a moment has passed. Madison nods.
"Okay Castiel. I've got one question for you."
"Why did you bring me here? You could have easily left me for the demons to find. They are looking for me now."
Madison grimaces. "I saved you because I recognised your mate's smell."
Castiel blinks, confused. "My what?"
"Your mate's smell. The smell of who your mate is. It's something easily detectable to werewolves. Tells us if someone's taken or not. Yours was marred by blood, but I could still figure out who it belonged to." Madison takes a step closer, and Castiel takes a step back, keeping distance between them. "Why do you smell like Dean Winchester?"
Castiel swallows. Werewolves. "How do you know Dean?" He asks instead of answering.
"We've worked together a few times," Madison says, shrugging. "The last time I saw him he didn't have a mate smell on him though, so you must be recent. And you're not a one night stand, either. You've slept together several times."
Castiel's tongue felt like it was stuck to the top of his mouth. Yes, he and Dean had shared a bed but there hadn't been any… mating. Madison is still looking at him suspiciously.
"I…" Castiel says, unsure as to what the proper response is. Madison tilts her head again, but this time it's more curiosity than antagonism.
"Unless you haven't mated yet," she says slowly. "I mean, yes, most of your smell is intent, but there's contentment and satisfaction in it as well." Madison shrugs. "Whatever. It's not like it's much of my business. I just didn't take Dean as the type of person to take it slow."
Castiel swallows. "Thank you for bringing me here," he says cautiously. There's little doubt in his mind that the demons would have picked him up if he had stayed where he was. Madison is the reason that he's not in the clutches of Alastair once more.
His thigh pulses, and he bites his lip. Madison looks down at his leg.
"We picked you up last night. Most of your minor wounds have scabbed over, but that one's going to take a while to heal. Elspeth put some stitches in it. I'll get her to go over how to care for them with you. Other than that, you should rest. If anyone disturbs you, let me know."
"Can I have my blade back?" Castiel asks quietly.
Madison looks at him coolly for a few seconds. Castiel returns the gaze quietly, not letting up under her scrutiny.
"When you leave, you may have it back," she finally says. "It's silver. I cannot have it as a threat to my pack."
Castiel can only nod. He cannot ask more of her, especially after she saved him on his smell only. "Do you have a phone?"
Madison shakes her head. "It's a risk. You want to contact Dean, right?"
Castiel nods. It's been on his mind since he woke up, a burning need that's sitting in his heart.
Madison tuts. "I have Sam's email. I can email him. He's in contact with Dean."
No, he isn't, comes to Castiel's mind, but he nods. If Sam knows, then sooner or later, Dean will as well.
"Yes. I would appreciate that."
Madison nods. "Elspeth stitched up your leg, and she'll come in to show you how to take care of it, okay?"
Castiel nods, and Madison leaves. He's only wearing a large shirt and a pair of underwear, so he looks at the bandage around his leg. There's no blood on the bandage, but by the way that his leg is hurting, he wouldn't be surprised if some leaked through soon. He gingerly sits down on the blanket he had been under. It takes the pressure off his leg, and he breathes a bit easier.
A woman with black hair and green eyes comes through the door. She smiles at him, and Castiel finds himself calming for no reason he can name.
"Hey, I'm Elspeth. I'm going to teach you how to take care of your leg and cuts, yeah?"
Castiel nods, but the entire time she's showing him how to care for himself, he's thinking about how soon he can get back to Dean.
Dean wakes when Sam moves. His brother is trying to be sneaky about it, but Dean sleeps through nothing anymore, and Sam had had one leg trapped under one of Dean's. There was no chance he was getting out without waking Dean up.
"Yeah Jess, I'm awake," Sam says quietly. His phone must have been on vibrate under his pillow.
"And I'm awake," Dean grumbles.
"And Dean's up," Sam relays. There's a pause. "Well I couldn't help it. Yeah, I know."
Sam leaves, and Dean's grateful. Listening to one side of a conversation is always painful. He runs a hand through his hair, probably messing it up more than it is now. The clock on the bedside table says that it's just after nine am, and Dean yawns widely, not bothering to cover it with a hand. He slowly stands and then stretches, popping his spine pleasantly. He wanders over to his room, where he'd dumped his stuff, and gets a new shirt. He tugs it on and then leaves his room, heading out to the main part of the restaurant.
The Roadhouse had never been a breakfast place. Lunch and dinner, sure, but nothing is served before eleven. That is because Ellen and Bill don't want their house to be a full time business and have to be running off their feet every hour of the day, and also because they liked to sleep in a little after a night of drinking and staying up late.
Sam is in the main room, chatting quietly to Jess on the phone. Everything is too bright and Dean's head feels both full of cotton and about to explode, so he rummages around in the small, non-industrial kitchen that Ellen and Bill use for some painkillers. He swallows them with a glass of water, standing in the darkest part of the kitchen.
He closes his eyes and leans against the counter, taking his time to wake up. He doesn't particularly want to wake up though – waking up means facing the fact that Cas is still in Alastair's hands. He groans and puts his head in his hands. He doesn't want to think about it. Turning, he takes a bottle of scotch out of the cabinet and pours some into a glass to down. Then he tops it up again, ignoring his already pounding head from his hangover.
Sam comes in twenty minutes later. "Want me to make some food?" He offers, frowning at the glass in Dean's hand.
"I'd rather not get food poisoning today, if that's alright with you."
"That was one time Dean, get over yourself. I'm not that bad at cooking."
"One time my ass," Dean mutters. "I'll just grab some cereal. You can do whatever you want."
"Okay, I'll probably just have some as well then," Sam replies, going over to the cupboard and pulling out the different boxes. There's some sort of health one that Dean tries hard not to focus on, and that Sam happily devours. Dean isn't sure if he's up for food yet, but there's a box of Fruitloops that he's sure hasn't been touched since he was here last, so he'll see if they're still alright.
Sam pours them into a bowl for him without even having to be asked. "What did Jess have to say?" Dean asks him.
"She was just checking up on me. She wanted to know how you were doing as well. You freaked us both out when we saw that video on the news."
"It freaked me out when I saw the video," Dean mumbles as he sits down in front of the bowl Sam had poured, putting some milk in there.
"I gave her the condensed version of what's going on. She panicked when I finished, and I'm fairly certain that she's cashing in all of her leave to stay at home with Alicia and not leave the protection of the wards."
"Smart lady," Dean comments. Sam nods.
"She is."
"Where's your laptop?" Dean asks. It's rare to see Sam without it.
Sam grimaces. "I left it at home. I'm going to ask Ellen for permission to use her computer to check my emails."
"How are you going to survive?" Dean asks, mock concern in his voice. Sam frowns at him.
"I'll be fine. I don't live on it."
Dean scratches his nose and doesn't answer.
"I don't!"
"Whatever you say Sammy," Dean replies easily, leaning back in the chair.
"What's Sam saying?" Ellen asks as she walks through the door.
"That he doesn't need his laptop to live."
Ellen snorts before glancing over to Dean. "You shouldn't be drinking this early Dean," she reproaches.
"Sorry," Dean mutters, putting the glass down.
"Can I borrow your laptop?" Sam asks.
Ellen sighs loudly. "Well if you have to…"
"I just want to check if anything's come through for work."
"Fine, fine. You know where it is."
"Thanks," Sam says, brightening. He walks off towards the study, leaving Dean and Ellen alone in the kitchen.
Dean looks at the floor and swallows another mouthful from the glass next to him.
"I was serious about what I said boy," Ellen criticises. She takes the glass out of his hand and stoppers the bottle, putting it back in the cabinet. She sighs. "What did I tell you about going to work for the government?"
"That it would end badly," Dean mutters, looking at the ground. He doesn't want to talk about it.
"I actually said 'This is going to end in some real deep shit.' You don't have to mince words with me Dean. That's where we are."
"We?" Dean asks quietly, looking up.
"Of course. You think we're just going to abandon you because the government's decided they want to haul you in? Don't be ridiculous. I just hope you know what's going on with your angel."
Dean scrunches up his forehead. "What do you mean?"
The side of Ellen's mouth twitches up. "When I met him for the first time a few months ago, I thought he was stuck up, snobbish, and slightly rude without meaning to be. But I also saw how he valued every one of the people in my place, no matter what they looked like or what they did. I respect that. He might have changed since then, but I saw something in him when you brought him round Dean. And I think that he could be good for you. Time will tell."
And with that, she breezes out of the room, probably going to get ready for lunch. Dean can hear the first few employees arriving already. He looks at the glass that Ellen had left behind, still half full. Then he goes to find Sam, leaving the glass behind him.
Sam's sitting in the same booth they had occupied last night. Ellen's laptop is on the table in front of him, and Dean rolls his eyes at it. He sits opposite his brother, watching the staff begin to prepare for the customers that would be coming in soon.
"So are you and Cas serious?" Sam asks suddenly. Dean whips his head around to look at his brother.
"What?" He asks, mouth turning dry.
"Come on," Sam says, rolling his eyes. "I saw how you acted around him even before that video went viral with you two making out in it. I just want to know if this is going to be a permanent thing."
Dean refuses to acknowledge the blush that's coming over his cheeks. "I don't know Sammy. I can't speak for him."
"But you can speak for yourself," Sam continues his sentence, looking up from the computer to stare at Dean. "So, not concerning him at all, is it serious on your end?"
Dean stares at his brother silently. Sam patiently looks back at him, not letting up. Dean finally shrugs and looks off to the side. "I don't know. It's… new."
Sam Looks at him, and Dean hates it. "Really. That's your answer?"
"It doesn't concern you," Dean says testily.
"It kind of does. I mean, Cas has spent some time with Jess and I after you introduced us. Alicia loves him. We're friends, and I don't want him to get hurt. I don't want you to get hurt either, but it's not him that I'm worried will screw your thing up."
"Wait, what?" Dean asks, thrown off balance. "Cas visits you?"
Sam shrugs. "Sometimes. He talks to Jess mostly. She helped him hash out some of his feelings for you after you kissed him and after you made up. She's good like that."
Dean doesn't have a reply to anything that Sam is saying. "He didn't tell me," he says eventually.
"I can tell," Sam says, leaning back against the booth. "That doesn't really matter. What matters, are you serious about Cas?"
Dean leans back as well, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Yes," he bites out finally. "I am very serious about him Sam."
Sam nods. "Good. That's good. Because I'm pretty sure that after all he's done for you, he's pretty gone on you as well."
Dean bites his tongue and looks at the other people in the room moving around.
"So, ah, how far have you two… you know," Sam says, raising his eyebrows.
Dean stares at his brother, aghast. "Sam!" Dean hisses. "We're not talking about that!"
"So not far," Sam muses. "You know, you shouldn't freak out about it. It's just Cas."
"Shut up. I'm not freaking out about it. And you don't know anything," Dean growls, looking down at his hands. There's a pause, while Dean stares moodily at his hands, trying not to think of Cas or Sam or anything. Sam uses the time to click around on his emails.
Okay. So maybe he had been taking things with Cas slowly. But Cas is new to everything! He doesn't need Dean pressuring him for anything. Dean plays with the silver ring on his finger, twisting it around his finger. Yeah. That was it. It wasn't because he has issues, or anything.
He scowls, flicking his eyes up to look at Sam for a second. Damn him. Making him question things about him and Cas. He sighs silently. Okay, so maybe, he has some issues. He just wants to ease into things, for both their sakes. Dean doesn't want to freak Cas out and he doesn't want to freak out when they do anything.
"Hey," Sam says. Dean looks up from his hands.
"What is it?"
"This is weird," Sam frowns, tilting his head to the side.
"What is?" Dean asks impatiently.
"I've got some sort of spam email. But I've got great filters on here; nothing usually gets through."
"What's in the email?" Dean asks.
"Just a number. Probably a phone number."
Dean is suddenly gripped by something hopeful and cold at the same time. "Call it."
"What?" Sam looks up at him. "Why?"
"Just call it," Dean says, not knowing why, but knowing that it was important.
"No, it's probably some weird thing to get my phone number on their record."
"Then give it to me, and I'll call it," Dean says, grabbing the computer and twisting it around to look at the screen.
"Hey!" Sam exclaims. He takes the computer back, but Dean's already memorised the number. He pulls out his phone from his pocket and dials it, ignoring Sam's scowl.
It rings and rings, and just as Dean's about to give up, the line connects. "Hello?" He says warily, standing up to go somewhere quiet so that he can hear the other person on the line.
"Dean," a female voice replies it takes Dean a moment to place it, and when he does he shifts on his feet uneasily, hearing the door close after Sam comes into the small kitchen.
"Madison."
"Sam got my email then."
"Yeah, he did. You have a reason for getting in contact?"
"I do have something of yours that you might want back," Madison says. "He's clamouring to be put on, here, have him."
"Dean," Cas says, and Dean braces a hand on the counter to steady him.
"Cas," Dean replies shakily. "How…?"
"I escaped from Alastair, and Madison found me. She helped me get away and hide. It's unlikely I would have escaped by myself."
Dean closes his eyes. There's a rush of relief filling him, and he can almost ignore Sam's hurried questions beside him.
"Where are you?" Dean asks.
"Madison will work out all the details with you. She's reluctant to reveal to me where her safe house is." There's a pause, and Dean thinks of a thousand things to say. I missed you. I need you. I was worried sick. I dreamed about you. I need you here, with me, right this second. Your voice isn't enough. I need to feel your skin and hear your voice next to me, not over the phone.
Instead, all he says is, "Then put her back on. We need to work out where we're meeting as soon as possible." I need you with me again as soon as possible.
"Okay Dean. I will see you soon, hopefully," Cas closes the conversation with.
And Dean feels the ashes of what he could have said laying at the back of his throat the entire time he discusses details with Madison.