"Okay…"
Sam drew in a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, his mind racing as he paced back and forth in front of the weapons table – undisturbed, nothing missing.
Which means Cas is unarmed… but so is Crowley…
His eyes were continually drawn toward the empty devil's trap in the center of the floor, the useless chains that Dean was examining intently, almost frantically, for any sign of tampering or other damage. Sam let out his breath slowly, struggling to keep his tone calm and controlled and not accusing, not his fault, what else was he supposed to do if that's what Cas wanted?
"Okay… okay, how the hell did this happen?"
"I don't know!" Dean tossed down the iron shackle in his hand in frustration. "He was completely restrained! There was no way he could have gotten loose!"
"Okay." Sam frowned, trying to put the pieces together. "So… maybe the cuffs weren't secure?"
Doesn't mean Crowley hurt Cas… maybe he just escaped, and Cas went after him… Cas can take care of himself now, he's fine, he's okay…
"They were secure." Dean's fierce glare made Sam swallow hard and look away. "I fucking quadruple-checked everything, Sam! There was no way for Crowley to escape!"
"Okay," Sam repeated, soft and appeasing, holding up his hands in front of him for a moment in a conciliatory gesture. "Okay, so… so then maybe Crowley didn't escape. I mean, he couldn't have, right? So – Cas did it."
"What?" Dean looked up at Sam, visibly alarmed. "No. Why would Cas break Crowley out? That makes no fucking sense!"
Sam considered the question, shaking his head. "I don't know, but – he has been testing out his wings lately. He's gotten pretty strong again, and… he could've done it. And Crowley couldn't have. So – it's the only thing that makes any sense."
Dean looked down at the empty shackles for a moment, before meeting Sam's eyes, his tone a little calmer. "Maybe he wanted to do it himself," he suggested quietly. "Take care of Crowley." He glanced at the heavily loaded weapons table, his eyes hard and resentful, before concluding grimly, "Couldn't blame him for wanting that."
"No," Sam agreed. "And Cas is stronger than Crowley. If that's what happened, then there's really no need to worry…"
"Cas is stronger than Crowley on a good day," Dean countered, a slight tremor in his voice, worry in his eyes as he looked away from the weapons to meet Sam's gaze. "But… he's still recovering. And Crowley was all chained up, couldn't use his demon powers or anything – but now he's not. If he sees a chance to get the jump on Cas…"
"Dean – we have to let him start making his own calls again, you know?" It was a struggle even to get the words out, Sam's stomach clenching with fear at the very thought of the scenario Dean was suggesting. "I – I want to protect him too, but – we don't get to decide for him what he does. We…" Sam went quiet, finding it suddenly difficult to go on.
But Dean finished the thought for him, his words low and soft, resigned. "We don't have the right."
Sam shook his head, staring down at the floor for a moment before closing his eyes, swallowing hard. "Cas, man… we get it. You've gotta do whatever you've gotta do, but…" He hesitated, letting out a shaky breath before concluding, "I sure hope you know what you're doing. Be careful, okay? And… come home soon. Please."
It had been a long time since Castiel had considered himself anything even close to holy. In fact these days he felt all too human – and as the door to the dungeon closed behind him, he certainly felt the rush of hot, resentful fury at the sight of the demon king who had orchestrated his ruin. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he saw himself lashing out, using the power of his grace to slowly sear out what was left of Crowley's excuse for life, to obliterate him as he'd done to so many demons before.
But then in the next moment, Castiel got a good look at Crowley – saw the way he was trembling, the white-knuckled fists straining against the chains that bound him, the wild look of panic behind the defiance in his eyes as he glared up at Castiel from his knees.
"So what's this then?" he sneered, but his voice was unsteady, and a trickle of blood fell from the corner of his mouth as he spoke. "You've come to take your turn while there's still a pound of flesh left?"
Castiel didn't reply, just stared down at Crowley, taking in the surprisingly pitiful sight he made at the moment – and remembering all too clearly what it felt like to be in that position. That exact position, helpless and desperate and filled with the despair of knowing that nothing he could do or say would end the suffering intended for him.
The difference was… Crowley deserved to be punished. But… not by Dean.
And not… not like this.
Castiel said nothing for a moment, glancing to Crowley's side, at the discarded handcuffs Dean had left there. He picked them up, then reached down and caught Crowley's wrist, effortlessly holding him when he tried to jerk away. The magic shackles fell away, but Castiel immediately replaced them with the handcuffs. He pulled Crowley up to his feet, showing no reaction to the suspicion and confusion on his face.
It was vaguely satisfying, the way Crowley flinched when Castiel reached toward his head, and Castiel could feel the demon's terror the moment his hand made contact, felt his twisted spirit writhing frantically, desperate to escape the searing grasp of angelic grace. But Crowley's pain was not Castiel's purpose, and an instant later they were standing somewhere in the middle of a cold, quiet forest in Maine – well out of the Impala's reach, if the Winchesters had even known where to begin to look.
Crowley stumbled a little before regaining his footing, looking around at their surroundings before looking back up at Castiel, incredulous. "What's this about?" he asked, tone guarded, eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you playing at here, angel?"
"I'm not playing," Castiel replied, taking a step toward Crowley.
Crowley immediately backed up, wary eyes watching Castiel; Castiel easily caught the chain of the handcuffs and pulled him back toward him. But then he touched his free hand to the right cuff, and they both fell away as easily as the shackles had before.
"I couldn't allow you to be free in Sam and Dean's home," he explained to Crowley's perplexed expression. "Couldn't allow you to do whatever damage you desire to them. But – I also couldn't allow Dean to do – what he was going to do."
Crowley's confusion faded slowly into knowing relief. "Why, Cas, darling," he drawled with a flirtatious smirk, flexing his hands and rubbing a little at his chafed wrists. "You do care."
"About Dean." Castiel looked away, swallowing hard, before meeting Crowley's gaze again. "You deserve every moment of every torment he would have inflicted upon you. You deserve to be utterly destroyed – and you deserved it long before this last deception."
Crowley raised an eyebrow, silently waiting for Castiel's point – so he made it, his voice quiet to mask its trembling, a deep ache in his chest for the things he felt that he had no desire to feel.
"But – Dean would have been utterly destroyed, too. And – I can't allow that to happen."
"It's too late for that," Crowley sneered. "That boy's soul is nearly as black as mine."
"You forget, I can see Dean Winchester's soul." Castiel's free hand clenched into a fist at his side, his other hand gripping the handcuffs so tightly that he could feel the metal biting into his skin, and he resisted the urge he felt to strike out at the smirking demon in front of him, to wipe the cruel satisfaction from his face. "He is not beyond saving."
"Perhaps not." Crowley shrugged, careless, his smile settling into something colder, more calculating. "But that profound bond you used to speak of… the… connection you used to have… that is, isn't it?"
Castiel looked away, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly exposed… and, inexplicably, ashamed. "That is none of your concern…"
"But that's all right, isn't it?" Crowley continued as if Castiel hadn't spoken, looking him up and down with calculating eyes. "Seems you didn't take long to find a passable replacement."
The sick feeling in the pit of Castiel's stomach intensified, and he swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. He couldn't look at Crowley, and found himself instead focusing his attention on the intricate markings of the handcuffs he held.
Crowley continued, zeroing in on the weakness he saw and latching onto it viciously. "That ridiculously over-sized scrap of flannel you're wearing belongs to Moose, doesn't it? Cruel, isn't it – how it's always so much harder to forgive the ones we love the most…"
"I didn't bring you here to listen to you talk!" Castiel snapped, turning back toward Crowley to fully face him and taking a menacing step into his space.
Crowley just smiled and snapped his fingers, disappearing only to reappear a few yards away. "Yes, about that. Bringing me here. Just to let me go. Mistake, Castiel." His tone was gently scolding. "Because now I'm free to use all of the considerable power at my disposal once again – and I know where the Winchesters' little clubhouse is located. So seems you've lost a move or two in this little chess match, haven't you?"
"Have I?" Castiel spoke the words, then matched Crowley's little trick by using his wings to disappear, and then reappear directly behind the demon. "Where is that clubhouse, again? Do you remember?"
Crowley had regained enough composure that he didn't startle at Castiel's move, only turned calmly to face him, scoffing, "Well, of course I remember, I was just there! It's in…" He stopped abruptly, a frown forming on his lips, as he thought hard. He shook his head in confusion. "It's… I was just…" He looked up at Castiel's satisfied smirk, understanding slowly dawning. "Bollocks." His eyes narrowed. "Must be getting your strength back fairly quickly," he remarked. "To pull off a maneuver like that."
Castiel shrugged, smiling tightly. "Simple memory wipe."
"On me."
Castiel took a step forward, and Crowley snapped his fingers – then blinked, surprised, looking around, before trying it again. "What… what did you…?"
"Finding yourself blocked?" Castiel observed, taking another step forward, gratified when Crowley took a hasty step backward at his advance. "You've no idea of the 'maneuvers' I'm capable of. For example… there's one other thing I've done – to you – that you're not yet aware of."
Crowley's retreat was abruptly stopped when he backed right into a tree, and Castiel moved in too close and too quickly to allow him to correct his mistake. Crowley's eyes widened and he stared up at Castiel for a long moment with mounting suspicion; when at last he spoke, there was anger and impatience in his voice – but Castiel could sense the fear of which they were born.
"Just what are you talking about, Castiel?" Crowley demanded. "Get to the point."
Castiel felt a slight tugging pressure against the power he was exerting, knew that Crowley was trying again, uselessly, to flee – and he smiled.
"You'll begin to feel it soon enough," he replied, matter-of-fact, his voice low and intent as he shifted in closer to Crowley, feeling a rush of satisfaction in his own power at the flash of fear in Crowley's eyes, the way he pressed back tighter against the tree behind him, but was unable to put any distance between himself and Castiel. "A faint burning under your stolen skin – a constant reminder that you are a marked – well…" Castiel reconsidered his word choice, amending, "… you're not quite a man, are you? But marked, you are, with a trace amount of my grace."
Crowley's eyes widened slightly, a slow swallow visible in his throat. His words were too quiet, too controlled, when he finally managed to reply. "And what, exactly, does that mean?"
"It's a mercy that you don't sleep," Castiel remarked, quiet and utterly in control, "because you'd surely find sleep difficult to attain. The touch of angelic grace against your withered soul will make it writhe and struggle and burn… but you won't be able to rid yourself of it. And it won't allow you to hide – not anywhere."
"Hide from whom?" Crowley scoffed, but his derisive voice shook almost imperceptibly. "You?"
"Yes," Castiel answered simply. "Because I'm not yet prepared to destroy you. For reasons which I have no desire to share with you at this time. But destruction is coming to you, Crowley. And when you meet it – it will be at my hand." He paused before continuing, "As the king of Hell, you do have the power of teleportation, yes – but angel's wings are even more effective. And anywhere you go in an attempt to avoid me – I'll be able to easily locate you there. So… I suppose what I'm saying, essentially, is…" Castiel concluded, glancing downward as the appropriate reference occurred to him, and then lifting his eyes to give Crowley a cold smile. "… you can't run… or hide."
Crowley swallowed slowly, his words too careful, steady only with a noticeable effort. "Why the theatrics?" he managed to ask, watching Castiel with wary eyes. "Why not just… be done with it and kill me now?"
Castiel had his reasons – but he'd already made it clear that he had no intention of telling Crowley what they were. Instead, he just smiled, secretive and reproachful and highly unsettling, judging from the quiver he felt run all through Crowley's dark soul in the moment before he finally released him. Castiel did not wait for any further response from the shaken demon before he took flight himself, allowing his strong, healthy wings to carry him back to the bunker, and the worried Winchesters who'd barely stopped thinking about him, and occasionally whispering his name, since the moment he'd left.
He chose to land in the library, where he thought it most likely that he'd find Sam, trying to occupy his mind with research and distract himself from the worry he was feeling. He found both brothers there, Sam seated at the table with a book open in front of him, and Dean pacing near the door.
Immediately they both froze, looking up at the sound of his settling wings – and then both moved toward him at once. Dean was the first to speak.
"What happened? Are you all right?"
Castiel tensed, turning toward him, wary and guarded.
He's just concerned… poses no threat… has no intention of harming me…
Frustrated irritation flooded through Castiel at the tone of his own thoughts, and he squared his shoulders, forcing himself to meet Dean's eyes.
Not that he could if he wanted to. I'm strong now. I'm whole. He can't hurt me.
Before he could bring himself to answer Dean's question, however, Castiel felt Sam's hand on his shoulder from behind him, pulling him around and into a close embrace. His voice was breathless, unsteady.
"Cas, thank God you're okay!"
"Yes," Castiel answered simply, glancing back over his shoulder toward Dean, who had stopped a few yards away, just within Castiel's line of sight. He was awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, very clearly trying not to watch Castiel's interaction with his brother. "I – I'm sorry to have worried you."
"What happened?" Sam asked, drawing back enough to meet Castiel's eyes. "Where's Crowley?"
"Gone," Castiel answered, quiet, his eyes dropping between them.
"You took him?" Dean asked, his tone tense and tightly controlled.
"Yes," Castiel replied. "I – wished to deal with Crowley on my own terms."
"Yeah." Dean nodded slowly, his stance relaxing a little at Castiel's explanation. "Yeah, that's – one hundred percent fucking fair, man. Whatever you wanted to…" He stopped, shaking his head, a rueful smile touching his lips. "Just tell me you made it hurt."
Castiel hesitated a moment, hating the lingering fear that clung to him, that made him wary of incurring Dean's anger – and he knew that his answer would make Dean angry. He averted his eyes, his hands instinctively holding a little tighter to Sam as he made himself answer, simply and honestly.
"I let him go."
Dean's mind refused to process the words for a few moments. He just froze, staring at Cas in disbelief, trying to make it make sense. But he couldn't think of any reason, any possible good that could have come from such a choice. He swallowed slowly, struggling to maintain control as he choked out a response.
"You – you did what?"
"I let him go," Cas repeated, refusing to meet Dean's eyes, not quite guilty, but still guarded.
The words were just as jarring as the first time, but Dean's shock was beginning to fade, replaced by a smoldering heat of rage. "Why would you…?" He fought to keep the anger from coming through in his voice, but he knew he was failing by the way Cas shifted just slightly closer to Sam as he spoke, his voice quiet but defensive.
"It is my right to do with him as I choose. Those were your words."
"Yeah," Dean replied. "Yeah, but…"
The more Dean thought about Crowley, and how close he'd come to making him pay for what he'd done, the stain of his blood on Dean's blade – not nearly enough – the fear in his eyes – so close – just to have Cas come in and decide to fucking let him go…
"Dean?" Sam's voice cut through his fury, and Dean looked up to see that Sam had moved to stand between him and Cas, holding out a cautious hand toward his brother. "Hey, take a second, okay? Just… hold on. I'm sure Cas had a reason…"
Dean had no interest in Cas's reasons. He stared down at his own trembling, clenched fist, vaguely alarmed at how violently angry he felt, and all at once his only interest was getting away from Cas before he blew up. He turned on his heel and stalked away toward his own room, ignoring Sam's anxious calling of his name after him.
He slammed the door, hard enough that some of the weaponry displayed on the walls rattled, in danger of falling. Dean paced back and forth, restless and agitated, fists flexing at his sides. They were itching for violence – but their target had been stolen away, and Dean found himself overwhelmed with frustration. He sat down on the edge of his bed, trying for a moment to gain control – but a moment later he swept everything from his nightstand with a guttural snarl of fury.
When he raised his eyes again, Dean froze – because Cas stood just inside his bedroom door, quietly watching him with wary eyes.
"Cas… I – I didn't know you were…" Dean swallowed hard, looking away. Guilt swelled up in his chest, overwhelming his anger, and he lowered his face into his hands, drawing in a breath and releasing it slowly. "Sorry," he whispered, shaking his head. "Sorry, Cas… sorry…"
Cas was quiet for a moment, before he broke the silence, his words soft and careful.
"I should explain."
Dean looked up at Cas, his heart sinking at the way Cas stood, eyes downcast, his back almost against the door – as far as he could possibly be from Dean while still being in the same room.
"No, Cas," Dean sighed, his words heavy and sad. "No, you don't owe me any…"
"You require explanation in order to find any peace with the situation," Cas insisted. "What I do or do not owe you is of no import."
It took Dean a moment to understand what Cas was trying to say, but when it sank in, he was overwhelmed with a sense of disbelieving gratitude – because whether or not he deserved it, no matter what he'd done to Cas, Cas still wanted to make sure that he was okay, to bring him any measure of peace that he could.
Dean couldn't even begin to fathom why.
"I – didn't want you to torture again," Cas explained. "Anyone, no matter how deserving of it. So – I let Crowley go."
Dean couldn't help it; the reaction was automatic, to the very idea of Crowley getting away with what he'd done to them all. His jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists – and Cas visibly tensed, wide eyes darting down to Dean's hands before meeting his gaze, calm but cautious.
"You think I made the wrong choice," he observed. "And – that makes you angry. You're – angry with me."
Dean swallowed hard, but couldn't keep his voice from shaking with frustration as he ground out, "No… no, I'm not…"
"You are. Right now, you're – angry enough to hurt me."
Dean couldn't breathe for a second, his chest clenched and aching, and he looked up at Cas in dismay – his heart sinking, horrified and guilty when he saw that Cas's eyes were focused on his fist, trembling against his knee.
"Cas…" His voice was strangled with tears. "Cas… no…" Dean lowered his head into his hands, his anger utterly dissipating into overwhelming shame. "No, I'd – I'd never…" He stopped, horrified. "I mean… that's not… I wanted to hurt him, all right? Not you. God, I never wanna hurt you again. I – all I want is to make this right." He was crying before he realized it, tears streaking his face and staining his jeans with tiny dark spots, and he swiped at them angrily for a moment before giving up, covering his face and allowing the tears to fall.
There was only silence in the room for a long moment, Dean agonizingly aware of every harsh breath, every choked sob – until he felt the mattress beside him slowly pressed down.
Dean completely froze. He didn't dare move. It could only be Cas, unbelievably venturing to sit next to him, closer than he'd dared to come since the cabin – and Dean desperately wanted to keep him there, at all costs to avoid frightening him away.
"I know, Dean," Cas said softly, and the hushed nearness of his voice, surreally familiar, like a memory from another life – it made Dean's heart race, and he ached to reach out, to touch, to hold Cas there with him. "But – punishing Crowley – that would only make things worse. It would only – feed that darkness, that part of you that – is capable of…"
Cas's words were quiet and haunted, and Dean couldn't bring himself to look up, a hot rush of shame flooding his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking his head slowly, fresh tears sliding down his face. "I'm sorry…"
Cas was silent for a moment. His voice was barely over a whisper, heavy with emotion as he confessed, "I… just wanted to protect you. From – from what you were going to do."
Dean felt an overwhelming weight of mingled guilt and gratitude. "I don't know why." His thoughts spilled out before he could stop them, weary and tearful. "Don't know how you can even still give a damn."
"It's my curse," Cas replied, and the touch of humor in his voice caught Dean off guard. He glanced up uncertainly to find Cas seated about a foot away from him, watching him with those intense eyes, the faintest trace of a sad smile touching his lips. "I can't seem to stop."
Dean barely dared to breathe, couldn't tear his eyes from Cas's face – and a moment later, Cas dropped his gaze, folding his hands in front of himself anxiously, abruptly self-conscious. Dean swallowed slowly, clearing his throat, before speaking softly into the silence.
"I'm sorry," he said, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn't talking about that night in Rufus's cabin.
Cas was silent for a moment, his lips parted, hesitating, before he admitted softly, "I'm not." Dean froze, trying to process what Cas was saying, desperately trying to push down the hope that rose, blooming in his chest, with those simple words. Cas finally looked up at Dean again, something aching and wistful in his eyes as he explained, "I – said I didn't know how to forgive you, Dean. Not that I didn't want to."
Dean took that in for a moment, his heart racing as the hope he barely dared to feel was confirmed. He struggled to keep his movements slow and careful, turning just a little to more fully face Cas, fighting to keep his eagerness in check so as not to push too far, too fast, and scare Cas away.
"Just – just tell me what to do," he pleaded, low and urgent. "Tell me what to do and I swear I'll do it."
Cas was quiet for a moment, before he spoke, soft and certain into the stillness. "Leave Crowley to me."
Dean's chest tightened and he fought against the desire for vengeance that made everything in him rebel against that idea. He wasn't sure yet that Cas had the strength or the will to make Crowley pay like he deserved, and he didn't want to be denied the revenge that might not fix things between him and Cas, but would certainly make him feel like at least on some level, he'd gotten some justice for his friend.
"Cas… I… I don't think I can…"
"Please." Cas cut him off, but his voice was quiet and imploring. "Dean, I – I don't know what it will take to get past this. I don't even know if – if it's possible, but – but I do know that – you don't trust my judgment, or my decisions. And – with good reason."
The shame in Cas's voice tore at Dean, making his chest ache, and he shook his head. "Cas, no…"
"I've made many mistakes, Dean," Cas continued, insistent. "I've – tried to do the right thing and failed, on many occasions. And – the thing that makes me afraid to – to trust you again… to let you in, is… I'm afraid that… that's all you'll ever see."
Dean couldn't answer; the pain in Cas's voice mirrored his own, and he couldn't find words to reassure Cas that it wasn't true – not when his recent actions were such damning evidence that it was.
"Someone will come to you with an accusation and – and you'll believe it, because – because why wouldn't you? I've failed so many times before. Or – you'll mistrust my actions and believe I'm going to – to mess things up, even without such an accusation, because… so many times…" Cas's voice trailed off, and he shook his head sadly, looking away. "What I'm saying is… I think that in order to trust you again, Dean… I need to know that you trust me."
"I do, Cas," Dean insisted, turning fully toward Cas, then wincing and going still when Cas flinched slightly. Dean lowered his voice, soft and reassuring. "I do. I've learned my lesson, believe me! I trust you…"
"Then… leave Crowley to me."
Dean went quiet. It felt like a lot to ask for – a lot to let go of. But – if it meant that Cas just might be able to forgive him…
"This is… what you need. To – to believe that… I can change. That things can be different between us. Better."
"I can't promise it'll fix anything," Cas admitted, looking down at his own knees. "I just know that – it's a start. I – do need you to do this, Dean. To – to trust me on this."
Dean took a moment to weigh the situation, to consider the consequences of either choice; it didn't take long. He nodded, waiting until Cas looked up to meet his eyes, to answer.
"Okay."
Cas blinked, visibly surprised. "Okay?"
"Okay." Dean nodded. "You're the one that got screwed over the worst in this whole thing; it's your call. With the condition that if he starts stirring shit up again, all bets are off. Me and Sammy'll take him out if we have to, but – I won't go looking for him again, not about this. All right?"
"Yes," Cas agreed with a hesitant little smile and a slow nod. "That - that is fair."
"I'm trying, Cas," Dean said, earnest and pleading. "I'm really trying, here. I'll do whatever I need to do to prove to you I – I'm not gonna…" He stopped, swallowing, struggling to keep his voice under control.
"I know," Cas replied, and the warmth and gratitude shining from his eyes was light beaming out over the darkness that had surrounded Dean for the past several weeks – reason for hope and the possibility for change. And in the next moment, that hope bloomed in Dean's chest, overflowing, when Cas reached out a hesitant hand to rest on his shoulder. His eyes were downcast, his voice almost shy as he said softly, "Th-thank you, Dean."
And then his touch, his smile, those warm, expressive eyes were gone – but Dean sat there for a long time, still basking in the glow of hope, and the chance he'd been given. It was just a crack in the door, just the faintest scrap of light seeping through – but he would cling to it with everything he had, and hope that with time and trust, it could become so much more.
"No, Cas," Dean whispered, closing his eyes, certain that wherever he'd disappeared to, his angel was still listening. "Thank you."