Analysis

A gun has never been pointed so fast.

'Jesus Christ!'

The woman leaps back, presses a hand to her heat, raises the other one in the hair. Dean has to almost hold back a growl as she weakly steadies herself, 'Okay, she breathes deeply, 'wasn't quite expecting that.'

'You're not taking him.'

She pauses, lowers one hand. Her eyes flicker up and down him, bypassing the gun to look steadily into his face. 'Didn't think that was an option.' and he knows she's not afraid.

Dean clenches his teeth, feels the breath of the door as it widens behind him. Sam is suddenly there. He is solid mountainous stone, a gun of his own held steady. The woman takes him in, raises both hands again, then glances around the parking lot as though asking we're really doing this outside?

'Who are you?' Sam asks firmly.

She lowers her hands a fraction, cocks a disbelieving look. 'Um, Sarah…?' she says and her voice lilts it into slight confusion. Dean says nothing. The guns don't move and inch.

'Oh, for…' her body instantly goes slack, 'he didn't tell you did he? He's as hopeless as he is helpful!' her face holds hesitant relief. 'Look, I'm not a threat, I'm the contact.'

Sam's gun dips. 'What?'

In the sickly sweet of the night, Sarah takes a breath and resets herself. Her face is rounded and framed by upheld hair, pale eyes glint openly, they show her age and her energy. Her shoulders pull neatly back, arms stay loosely by her sides, she looks up at Sam and Dean with calm, controlled serenity.

'Okay,' its a promise of whats to come. 'I'm going to explain simply and to the point. I know what you do. I know about hunters and demons and ghosts. I'm a doctor, a good one. Lived a normal life till three years ago when a ghoul killed my partner,' she checks their reactions before continuing. 'And, you know how it is, once you're aware of that world its hard to pretend it doesn't exist.'

'You know Garth?' Sam clarifies.

She nods. 'I've been his medical contact since he saved me. He gives me addresses, I meet hunters and fix them up. I don't want to know you. I don't like your world. I'm just here to do my job, help and leave, okay?' before they can answer she nicks her arm with a small knife and pulls out a bottle for them both to see. A rosary floats in the water as she drinks it all down.

Sam relaxes, shoots Dean a look. His brother still hasn't moved, gun trained steadily on the womans head. Its easy to read him, tense and angry, a violent storm wanting to settle but being pushed into raging.

'What did Garth tell you?' Sam asks, trying to bring Dean to trust.

'He gave me this address. Said there were two hunters Sam and Dean,' she nods to each of them, 'and someone called Cas who needs medical help,' as though to further prove herself she slips off a bag from her shoulder and holds it open. Inside nestle bandages and bottles, antibiotics, pain relief.

Dean still hasn't moved. And Sam knows he is not retreating, but then neither is he advancing, instead balancing a knifes edge of frustrated acceptance. The womans words match those Sam said to Garth. He thinks he trusts her. Wants to trust her. Taking charge, he lays a hand on Deans arm, gently pushing it down and lowering his gun.

Inside the room, Sarah sets her bag on the table and begins routing through. She lays out bottles and bags of fluid, needles and crisp clean dressings. Nestled against the headboard on the far bed is Cas, he is exactly where they left him, quiet and still save for shallow breaths. His face is lost amongst bruising and his eyes are closed.

Sarah straightens and glances at him. 'Want to give me some basics before I start?'

Dean is glowering, standing stiftly between Castiel and her. He says nothing, even raises skeptical eyebrows and presses his mouth more firmly together. Sam know this is on him now, he's the speaker, he's in charge. Under her careful stare he begins to weave a gentle lie.

'He's our friend, a hunter too. He's been missing a month…' his mind races over Castiels injuries. 'We found him a few days ago, he said demons got him during a hunt.'

'Demons?' her faces purses, mixes strange understanding with cold consideration. 'That changes things a bit… a month...' she abandons her tools and turns to give them full attention.

'What happened?' but before Sam can answer she raises her hands, reacting to something in Deans face. 'Okay, I get it, I know. You don't wanna talk about it, specially to me. Best to keep it unsaid, right? You don't even know me. But hell, I'm trying to help here. I didn't need to haul my ass two hundred miles for this. If you really don't want to answer, its not like I can make you.'

'We're not sure,' Sam provides, his mind racing. 'We think they tortured him,' Dean shifts minutely, neither protest or acceptance. 'We don't know why.'

She makes a small noise in the back of her throat. 'So, he'll be dealing with psychological trauma as well…' she huffs a sigh and glances over at Cas again, the smallest shudder passes through him, though he does not stir.

'Okay, I'm going to ask him some questions that'll help me know how best to treat him. I'm not a psychiatrist, not here to make it all better or delve into his emotional well-being.' She pauses and offers Dean some attention, fully aware of how long he's been silently glaring. 'Again, I can't make him, or you, tell me anything,' the words but I'm trying to help linger unsaid.

Sam looks to Dean, who is stout and unhappy. Sarah has dealt with hunters before. She speaks rough and to the point, doesn't belittle or use unnecessary words. She is smooth and gentle and stern and strict, a business woman with some deeper sincerity.

'Yeah, okay,' Dean finally says.

'Hey, Cas? Time to rise and shine…'

Dean speaks hurriedly, giving Cas a gentle shake. The angel feels a mixture of far to heavy and far to light. A impulse tenses his muscles and he recoils as he wakes. Dean tries to hold him firmly in his gaze, at the same time looking anywhere but his bruised face. Cas moves his head blearily, coming back to a body thick and heavy. His eyes train upwards and fix unsteadily on Dean.

'C'mon, get up man.'

He pulls off the covers and leans over to help manoeuvre. Gripping Castiel gently, he leans him forward, keeping one hand firm incase he suddenly slumps again. He can feel Sam and the womans eyes burning the back of his neck as he pulls. A moment of confusion then Castiel complies, swinging bare feet to the floor as he sits on the edge of the bed. He is completely pliant, watching Dean sedately as though he doesn't understand.

'What?' he manages at last.

'Theres a woman here to look at your injuries,' Dean explains. 'Garth sent her, I dunno. I reckon she can fuck off but she here so… might as well.'

Castiel swallows thickly, sways, steadies himself then shudders, and Dean inwardly panics he's really not okay. Sitting slackly on the bed in just sweat pants and dirty bandages, Cas seems so broken, a fragile heart snapped out of ribs. And still he pushes himself forwards. Gives more, keeps fighting. His eyes waver then blink, and are focused when they open again.

'Okay,' he grates softly, and Dean wishes he'd say more. But at the sound of his acceptance Sam cautiously leads the woman over.

'She knows you were kidnapped by demons,' Dean says loudly and obvious, 'we told her how you went missing last month. When you were hunting.' Castiel doesn't react. 'She gunna ask some questions so just go along with it. Can you do that?'

A frown creeps its way along Castiel's forehead, the bruising deepening around his eye. But before he can speak, or struggle to, as the case is, the woman steps forward.

'Cas? I'm Sarah, I'm here to look at your injuries.'

Castiel blinks up at her. She stands before him stern and gentle. His face becomes taught and for a second he shrinks in on himself, but then his tired eyes relax and look sadly on. He slowly nods his head.

'First things first,' she's gentle business, soft and commanding, 'I'm going to ask some questions. You don't have to answer, but it'll help me to know certain things. I'm not looking for details, just facts. Afterwards I'll examine you.' She pauses and narrows her eyes at his throat. 'I'd like you to answer sparingly, as few words as possible, I don't want to aggravate any damage.' Castiel's face does not change.

She moves closer, pulls a chair to sit nearby. From her jacket she pulls a notepad and begins thumbing through. Stuck between obvious protection and feeling awkwardly obtrusive, Dean moves back to stand beside Sam. She clicks a pen to life. Castiel watches her quietly, small and solemn and sad. His body is still, his right eye twitches once.

'You remind me of someone,' he finally says. His voice is a tired mess.

She pauses, 'good or bad?'

Castiel doesn't answer.

'I'll take that as bad,' she concludes shooting Dean and Sam a look. Sam offers her a half-hearted shrug as if to say we don't know. Dean isn't paying attention, he's watching Cas, eyes flicking over the angel as he tries to understand, but Castiel just looks… lost. Something lurks hidden in his face.

'Well, I'm not that person,' Sarah says, 'or demon.'

Castiel turns his head slightly, angling his gaze away and dropping his eyes.

She finds a fresh page. 'I'll make this quick and simple, okay? Don't think about the answers, just say what first comes to mind. Preferably a 'yes' or a 'no',' Sarah speaks soothingly.

'No thinking,' Cas echoes obediently and it makes Deans stomach plummet.

'Did the demons torture you?'

'No.'

'You have injuries.'

'Yes.'

'From them?'

'Yes.'

Sarah scans her eyes over him and makes another thoughtful noise. On the paper the brothers can see she has written avoidance of eye contact.

'They hurt you, but you weren't tortured?'

Castiel seems thrown. Sarah makes another note, denial of torture, and then leans forward. 'I've seen this kind of thing before, seen the levels of stockholm syndrome,' Castiel looks up at her. 'Maybe you might not think it was torture, but you've just told me you got your injuries from them.'

'… yes.'

'So they hurt you?'

Castiel pauses, his breath still in his chest. His eyes dart around the room, searching answers to questions unseen. A heartbeat laster he speaks again, slow and careful, as though he's chosen a different path to tread. 'They…' he glances at Dean, 'corrected behaviour.'

The brothers freeze.

While Sarah accepts his words as some form of admittance, Dean and Sam are suddenly plunges into a different world. Because this isn't fabrication. Not anymore. This isn't Cas covering for a hastily thrown together story. Isn't even Cas talking about a demon fight. Replace demons with angels, this is simple truth. This is what they did to him, what he suffered for.

Castiel speaks a careful monotone, his body is still barely seeming to breathe; he watches Sarah with guarded sorrow, coated in strange acceptance and smothered under layers.

'Sam tells me they found you a few days ago,' she continues briskly. 'How did you escape?'

'They let me go.'

She frowns, 'what do you mean?' just as Dean jolts out a, 'What?'

Castiel becomes faint confusion, hesitates on repeating himself, concludes by just looking lost. Sam and Dean exchange a fleeting look that holds a silent conversation. Why would they? Dean is raging. Sam frowns back, mouth a twitching, unhappy line. After everything; the fight, the threats… Why the fuck would they just let him go?

'That doesn't sound like something they'd do, the, uh, demons,' Sam prompts, quelling Dean's frustration.

Castiel's confusion blends into deep thought with a frown. He stares down at his raw hands, nestled haphazardly in bandages, and then tries again with different words.

'They… discarded me.'

Sarah takes up the flow again. 'Discarded is an interesting word.'

Castiel scrutinises her. 'They were finished.'

'With what?'

His eyes narrow further. 'Me.'

'What do you mean, Cas?' Sam speaks open gentleness. 'What did they do?'

Its almost the opposite of a flinch. Breath and energy coiling in. Castiels throat works thickly, his back tenses, his stomach curls. Tiny, barely noticeable flickers of movement that say nothing at all but scream everything at once. His eyes dart again, body slowly pulling back into tension. Somewhere smothered in the back of his throat escapes a distressed noise.

'Is there anything in particular you want to tell us?' Sarah is crooning gently.

Castiel breathes out and closes down.

'What they did to you?'

He doesn't speak.

'Cas?' she coaxes.

The silence within the room becomes thick and solid, pressing itself against the brothers, wrapping their stomachs into horrendous knots. Sarah looks hard at Castiels face. His gaze pierces the floor unwavering. A wall of ice that can't be broken.

'You don't have to answer,' Dean cuts in suddenly.

He is stillness and tension, lips thinned in unhappiness; his eyes are flicking from Castiels face to his hands. He's had that look before, this has gone far enough. Sam follows the gaze down and gasps when he sees the blood.

Castiel is still. Castiel is calm. Castiel is trapped inside himself a screaming writhing beast. Deep in his eyes nestles a cold primordial scream, strangled blue opening painfully wide. It's like the opposite of a flinch. He breathes as though its his last. Hands are clenched so tightly that blood oozes thick between his fingers...

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This one goes out to Saileasa, who has mastered the helpful pester.

Thanks as always for the wonderful things you say, honestly brightens my day and gives me the spark to keep this story going.