Now Arise

'Where then is my hope? Who can see any hope for me?'

'…Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful.'

.

Castiel emerges from depths unfathomable.

He feels thick and heavy, like a weighted pressure so old and so deep it lives its life in thickened silence. Hands keep moving him, rolling him and lifting him; and most of the time he's completely lost to the sensation. His eyes don't seem to be working anymore. There is a gentle moving pressure on the back of his skull, it tips and lilts as his head drifts sluggishly sideways. The voices in the air sound like whale songs.

Hands move him again, grip under tender shoulders and wrench him up. He has no energy to flinch though, he barely has energy to breath.

Things keep growing heavy and light, weight like clammy skin peeled off him, weight like downy comfort wrapped around. Dean and Sam support him and he thinks he's an anchor pulling them down. They haven't done the tests, why hadn't they done the tests? He might not be real. Might be something else. Light grows and shrinks as Castiel sluggishly blinks, but he doesn't really see. They should really run the tests. He tries to tell them that, when the world is calm enough to allow him to speak, but Dean just shakes his head.

'Shut up, Cas,' and his voice is nothing but gentle.

The world curls away into smoke.

Castiel jolts from brightness unbearable.

There is pressure on his chest, but it pushes up the wrong way. It makes fragile bones around weakened lungs squeeze taught against his breath. Air is thick. Hard like stone. On his front, he's on his front. A voice is trying to make him understand. We need to fix your back. Its hard to hear it over the grating pants. He barely remembers what its like to not be drowning.

His eyes pick out a table squatting ugly and prominent. It warps, melts, bends the wrong way. Everything is moving, rolling waves that mirror his stomach. Thick fabric flits across his vision, bringing forth a sharp, wet smell. Pressure explodes from his back, sharp and achingly deep. Castiel cries out, struggles weakly, but he can't flight it, hands hold him firmly down. The fabric appears again, only now it smells of blood.

Stabbing heat suddenly wrenches through his flesh. A pained gasp escapes. The strong muscles of his back shudder and twitch as cold needles stab forcefully through. Then comes the slow burn of thick thread being pulled, jerking with tiny tugs through sinews and skin. His back uncoils into flame, searing and blistering fire. His screams are weakened choking, they sound akin to sobs.

The world shivers away into vehement sparks.

Castiel plummets from heights unbreathable.

He slams back into the world like fury. He remembers, recalls, relapses. Heaven and the angels and the things that drive him mad. They cry out 'relent!' and Castiel has little choice but to obey. Something is falling fast. He is here, with no strength left to fight. He is here, with no strength left at all to keep the memories away.

With a bitten-back grimace, Castiel slams his eyes open, forces his pupils to accept the onslaught of light. The world shrieks visions at him, then he is staring blearily up into a face.

'Woah there,' says the face, and its lips are out of sync with its voice. 'Take it easy, Cas.' And when Castiel offers no response it goes on to say, 'are you with me? Hey...' and snaps its fingers in front of him with horrifying cracks.

The cracks prompt echoes. The echoes begin to scream. The next second the fingers disappear and the face mutters, 'Jesus!'

Pressure burrows into his straining muscles, someone clenches bone-tight around his arms. He is lightly shaken, a garbled voice talks worry. But he can't answer. Pain explodes fresh patterns. His body spasms, he remembers his body now. It rolls sideways and curls in on itself, defenceless. The world and the face blink out as his eyes screw shut.

All he can hear is the sound he swore to forget. A sound he can't block out, not with panting, not with screams. Lightheaded high-pitched buzzing; a jagged, whirring drill. It pushes forward slowly, moving steady and relentless. It eclipses his whole vision until all he sees is black. And then all he can do is to feel it gnaw deep. It crunches pulp and bone as it burrows into his skull. A thousand fissures crack, each one of them will break. Castiel is slavery, helpless bound to blinding pressure. It laughs. It snarls; barks commands and demands servitude. It hurts him to not obey. Say yes, Castiel. Cruel, unyielding force. Say it; thy will be done.

He is flayed into an object. To hammer until he's no use anymore.

Everything lurches as Castiel is pulled vertical. Everything spins as his eyes snap open again. The face is flashing, sharp and fearful before him, but there is comforting warmth now gripping him tight. His head is suddenly cradled, held firm between palms, rough hands made gentle pressing warmly into his skin. Two faces… there are two. He maps them out with his eyes, seeing and only half understanding. Their arms reach forward and they hold him steady.

'It's okay,' Dean growls shakily. 'You're okay.'

Dean.

... Castiels mind cautiously uncoils.

Dean and Sam.

The world seeps away into ice.

…I got nothing that points to angel activity, Heavens as quiet as Hell, nada on how Cas could've got out. Makes me think they're planning things. Like a trap? I don't know…

Castiel seeps from darkness unbound, drifting back into the world like wind.

He floats in the present, blissful freedom from pasts chains. The memories sit dormant, fully awake but content to sleep. Sluggishly, his mind reveals he is lying in a bed; its warm and quiet, first comfort he's felt in months. It would be all to easy just to slip away again. His body is stiff, heavy and weak. Underneath the surface his stomach clenches; aching spasms that make him want to curl up and fade away.

Castiels head is stone wrapped in cotton, his eyes feel unfocused even though he can clearly see. He lets his head drift sideways to take in more of the room. It's vapid and unordinary, like a thousand motel rooms before. But Castiel finds his comfort, and more importantly finds his home. For huddled around a table sit Sam and Dean, they are framed with scribbled sigils and lost amongst piles of books. Snatches of conversation pass between them, they are tired and wan, already deeply burdened without his own troubles to weigh them down.

'Well, we're warded, no way they can find us,' Sam rubs his eyes.

'Basters'll find a way if they're desperate enough,' Dean grunts from behind a book.

'Then we'll deal with them.'

Castiel tries to say, 'they're not looking,' but his throat doesn't quite form the words. So instead he considers trying to sit. He fights against his body recoiling then uses the momentum to try and push himself up. Torn, bandaged hands twinge painfully as they try to lift his weight. He pulls himself lopsided, exhaustion threatening to smother again.

But then the world becomes chaos. Both Sam and Dean leap up, equal faces of worry flash equal comments of 'Cas!'. He blinks at them with hesitance, taken aback by their suddenness. Sam is hurried footsteps. Dean grabs his shoulder and hefts, pulling him up to sitting. Castiel makes noise then, a faint lowing sound from the back of his throat to punctuate dull pain. Dean's face flashes worry, he hasn't moved his hand away.

'You okay?' he asks gruffly, scanning Castiel's face.

Cas glances at the spinning room and hesitates an answer; throat painfully sore. Besides, he doesn't know if he can answer, despite his desire to comply; he doesn't know what he is, let alone if he's okay. So instead he stares at Dean and his head jolts a small shake, something he supposes is answer enough.

Dean's face falls. He lets go.

'Here,' Sam reappears, offering water, 'drink, Cas.'

Castiel obeys, its nice not to think. For a brief moment his eyes slide shut, submitting to exhaustion with temporary relief. But he forces them open again. Brings himself back to Sam and Dean. They sit side by side on the opposite bed, watching as though he is a new discovery.

'You've been out of it near two days,' Dean comments. He glances at Sam and they hold a conversation with their eyes. 'We should, uh, get you some food. Humans gotta eat and all that,' his gaze flickers sadly over Castiel.

Sam says, 'how do you feel? Hows the pain?' and almost reaches out. But then seems to falter and instead smooths his fingers through his hair.

'Distant,' Cas manages to croak.

Sam nods good and a fraction of tension leaks from Dean. 'Yeah,' he says, 'we, uh, pumped you full of morphine.'

Castiel blinks at this, unsure, but Dean continues with, 'y'know, for the pain. We used it all up, actually. Not that we had much to begin with but, it, uh, stopped the screaming, so…' Castiel remembers, hopes it wont repeat. Dean shifts slightly and adds. 'Sam said he'd get more, case you need it, right Sam?' he looks pointedly at his brother.

'Yeah,' Sam agrees. 'I spoke to Garth yesterday.'

'Garth?' Dean seems suddenly thrown. 'Why?'

'Apparently he's got medical connections or something,' Sam's face widens into an open shrug. 'I just wanted to ask if there was an easy place to get some supplies, and then he mentioned his contact. He said he'd get back to me.' He defends Deans sharp scrutiny with a, 'hey, no point stealing if we can freeload.'

Dean says, 'huh...' and its not quite displeasure, but still laden with distrust.

Castiel basks in their voices, hardly caring what they say. The bed is soft and warm, its covers piling happily over him. Sam and Dean's voices are as solid and real as the prayers. They hold back their questions and he's thankful for it. It hurts to speak, and whatever they ask he wont be able to answer. Deep inside he knows it will still happen, there'll come a time when they'll ask nonetheless, and when they do he'll have to suffer for it. But he probably deserves that.

His thoughts are interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

It's followed by stilted silence and an exchange of looks from Sam and Dean.

Castiel can feel the weight pulling him gently down again, strong and insistent, smoothing his eyelids shut. He fights it best he can, struggling to stay coherent as Dean palms his gun and moves towards the door. There is a clunk and a click, then the door peeps open.

Standing boldly in the gap is a woman. She is a thin lipped smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

'Dean and Sam Winchester?'

The faint smile curls.

'I'm here for Cas.'

Quotes are from Job 17:15 and James 5:16

This chapter... man, y'know when you just stare at something for too long? You guys were so supportive of the last one (thank you so much) I wanted to make sure it wouldn't disappoint. Also taking bets on mystery woman, who or what d'ya think she is?