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Under Siege, Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Under Siege (Part One)
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby, Crowley, John, Balthazar
Word Count: 6499
Rating: NC-17 (for theme)
Summary: Near the end of Season Six, after "The Man Who Would Be King"...Castiel has not been seen or heard from since his last conversation with Dean at Bobby's. Time marches on without him and Sam and Dean keep hunting. One night Sam wakes to sounds he can't place and Balthazar appears, leaving a very wounded, unresponsive & comatose Castiel in their care before he disappears. Thus begins a mystery that will stretch the already thin resources of the Winchester boys to their limits...and may break more than one of them before the end.
A/Ns & Warnings: This is a fic that ate my brain, continues to eat my brain. It is partially the fault of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
varkelton and the conversation begun at her house on Saturday. Fair warning that the topic of that conversation was what situations either of us could conceivably actually slash Castiel with either of the boys....so while this has not yet gone to a slashy place, it very well may and may ultimately include Dean/Castiel, Sam/Castiel and quite possibly Dean/Castiel/Sam...consider yourself warned. As to warnings for this part? Much Castiel whumpage (including implied sexual assault, which it should be said is implied to include non-con bestiality of a sort). Mind fuckery. Implied and partially remembered violence.
There was a sound, something Sam remembered vaguely, but wasn't a part of his conscious thought…an itching, persistent feeling that made him sit up, reaching for his head, anticipating a headache that isn't manifesting.
The room was dark but for the sickly green glow of the alarm clock's face, quiet but for the soft snoring of his brother in the next bed. Sam looked around him, frowning hard enough that his face muscles hurt.
"Sam."
It was a whisper, barely that and if not for the things he'd seen and done in his life he might brush it off, ignore it…but he's Sam Winchester and disembodied voices in the middle of the night whispering his name really wasn't all that strange.
He stood slowly, hand slinking under a pillow to come out with a gun, and he stepped cautiously toward a window. He wasn't certain what woke him, what that tickling feeling in his head meant…or why his stomach was suddenly twisted up tight, but something or someone wanted his attention.
The parking lot outside their room was mostly empty. The light of the single lamp shone off the sleek, black side of the Impala, distorting his vision for the moment. There was a crack of thunder, but not a cloud in the sky, then his stomach churned and dropped like he was being yanked and pulled, then dropped.
His hands shook as he approached the door, sparing a glance at Dean who was only just starting to stir. Sam stepped carefully over the salt lines with bare feet, easing around the corner.
His gun was up, but he lowered it as lightning flashed and thunder shook the ground. Pavement cracked and Sam's eyes followed the broken asphalt to smoke and the smell of sulfur on the air. The illusion of dark wings spread wide and looking more than a little ragged was superimposed over the squatting figure whose head slowly lifted.
"Balthazar." Sam whispered the name.
The angel stumbled and listed to the side as he stood, his clothing smoking.
"Are you…" Sam didn't really know what to ask, and the angel didn't answer, just looked down at the ground beneath him. Sam started when he realized why. "Castiel?" He crossed the distance, stopped when he was close enough to get a really good look. "What happened?" Sam asked, looking up at Balthazar.
The angel held up a hand, shook his head. "Take care of him." His voice ws wrecked and he turned away slowly, as if every move was painful
"Wait…what happened?"
Balthazar stumbled, his hand landing on the trunk of the Impala to keep from falling, then he was just gone, leaving nothing but a handprint seared into the paint of the car. Dean was gonna love that.
Sam shook his head and turned his attention back to Castiel who hadn't moved. He was breathing, Sam could see the rise and fall of his chest. He awas nearly naked, the familiar trench coat gone, the shirt and tie missing. All that really remained was a pair of dirty boxers that were stained with blood and other things Sam didn't really want to think about.
He touched Castiel's arm, but pulled back almost immediately. The skin was hot. Too hot to be natural. Not that he knew what is natural for an angel. He did know he needed to get him out of the parking lot, get him cooled off and cleaned up. "Okay, Castiel, I hope you can hear me in there. I'm going to get you inside."
Which is harder than he first thought because Castiel was hot all over and unresponsive, so Sam was lifting dead weight that was uncomfortably warm. He finally got him in a fireman's carry and struggled toward the room.
Dean woke as Sam kicked the door closed and fought his way to the bathroom.
"Sam?"
Sam lowered Castiel, leaning him against the sink as he reached in to turn the shower on. He could feel Dean behind him. "Castiel?" Sam could start to see that Castiel was seriously torn up, though the layer of dirt made it hard to tell how badly.
Sam nodded. "Help me get him in. We need to cool him off."
Dean squeezed into the little bathroom and together they manhandled Castiel's unresponsive body into the shower. Sam ended up in with him, holding him up as the tepid water flowed over them both.
"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, his hand lifting to ghost over the lash marks that covered what Sam could see of the angel's back.
Sam could only shake his head. "I heard something…went outside. Thunder and lightning, then Balthazar was there, leaving Castiel like this and telling me to take care of him."
"Balthazar? Just dropped by and left us…."
"Pretty much."
Castiel's skin was starting to cool, but he still wasn't stirring. "Help me get him cleaned up."
"And then what?" Dean asks.
"Hell if I know."
Together they worked the small bar of hotel soap over the angel, not that it seems to be doing much good, until they reached the waistline of his boxers. Sam looks at Dean who looks back, neither of them really wanting to be the one who actually divested the divine being of the last of his dignity.
"We can't…." Dean sort of gestures. "I mean…He's…"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, we can't leave them on him either. Look at them."
Dean grimaced. "I'd rather not."
"It's for his own good." Sam argued, not sure he really believed it. It's not like we're…"
"Right." Dean agreed, nodding once. "Okay. I'll do it."
Dean hands Sam the soap in his hand and grabs Castiel's boxers, pulling them down over his ass. They hit the floor of the shower with a wet plop, but Sam couldn't take his eyes off the skin Dean had exposed.
Castiel's ass was nearly black, and even in the dim light of the bathroom, Sam could tell it wasn't dirt. The skin was bruised, torn open in places. It made Sam re-evaluate the rest of him.
"We need to get him out into better lighting." Dean said.
Sam nodded, turning the water off. It took a serious effort to move him out of the tub, now that they realized the dirt had been hiding hurts they hadn't imagined. They toweled him off and brought him out into the room, laying him down on the bed Dean had just recently left.
Dean turned on every light in the room and they both stared for a long time at the broken body that lay before them. Sam had dropped the towel over Castiel's crotch, but they both knew they were going to have to examine him from head to toe.
"Okay, I'll start with his feet." Sam said finally, moving to the end of the bed.
Dean nodded, but didn't say anything, just moved toward Castiel's head. Sam's first touch was tentative. The angel's left foot was bruised, the ankle swollen. He felt over it for broken bones, and finding none, he moved to the right.
There were welts there, all along the bottom of his foot, raised and red and angry looking welts nearly half an inch thick and the pads of his toes all looked as though they'd been burned recently.
Sam forced himself to continue his examination, working up his legs. The right knee was swollen, bruised, but the injury was not fresh. The skin all around his knees was covered in what looked like bite marks, though the mouth that made them was small. Sam leaned in to get a better look. Each tooth made a tiny, deep puncture wound, each mark had about fifteen tiny wounds, and there had to be thirty marks on each knee.
He spared a glance up at his brother. Dean was currently feeling his way down Castiel's chest, feeling out each rib carefully. His face was grim and set. Whatever had happened to Castiel, it was easy to see it hadn't been good. At least they understood why they hadn't seen him in weeks. More than that now.
Sam bit his lip and moved his examination up to Castiel's thighs. It had been more than two months since they'd seen the angel…maybe closer to three. The inside of Castiel's right thigh was black with bruising. Sam eased his legs open a little bit to get a better look. There was blood on the skin, but no visible wound until Sam moved his attention to the left thigh.
He swallowed hard, moving one finger to brush over what could only be claw marks, three deep punctures that oozed blood as Sam brushed them, as if something had grabbed the leg and used it to…he couldn't even fathom what. His stomach twisted again…something niggling his head…something he couldn't place…a feeling like he knew….
"Sam." Dean's voice was dark and he snapped his fingers at Sam, pulling him back to the moment.
"Yeah, sorry." He licked his lips and refocused. Dean pulled the towel away, exposing Castiel's hips and genitals. Sam gasped and wanted to look away, but he couldn't. The hips had similar bite marks as his knees, and the bruises were a spectacular array of colors, layers of abuse evident in the tender skin that led to his cock.
At least his cock looked…intact. It was a deep red and had a welt across the top that looked painful. "Is that…" Dean was squinting at the tip of Castiel's cock and Sam turned his head to get a better look.
"Yeah, looks like the same thing that was biting on his knees."
Dean shudder and exhaled. "Let's turn him over."
They were as careful as they could be getting him rolled, but they both stopped cold once they had. Castiel's back was a mass of old scars and fresh marks, like he'd been scourged with a cat o'nine tails over and over again…allowed to heal, only to start again. From his neck down to his ass, and if Sam looked close enough, he could see scar under the bruising that blackened his cheeks.
"What in the hell happened to him?" Dean asked, his voice hushed.
That tingling feeling in his head was back, that half a notion he remembered something that kept slipping away…then it was like something cracked, and there was sulfur and sweat and the burn of a lash on his skin. Sam stumbled back, reaching out for Dean, but finding the second bed first, sitting down hard on it and squeezing his eyes shut.
"Hell," he choked out. Hell is what happened to Castiel. Even if he didn't understand how or why. Somehow Sam just knew.
Sam was sleeping, or pretending too, his face turned away from where Dean paced. Castiel hadn't woken yet, though his body temperature was closer to normal. To be honest, Dean wasn't sure what he would do if Castiel did wake up right then.
It was clear the angel had been through an ordeal, and the fact that he wasn't healed, that Balthazar had just dropped him on their doorstep like this, meant that it was far worse than just a sick or beat up Castiel.
And, Sam's reaction was not making Dean comfortable. The sickly pale face, the way his eyes darkened and his hands shook….he swore he didn't remember anything, that the wall was in place, his memories of more than a year in the cage locked away safely behind it, but Dean wasn't really all that sure.
They couldn't afford for Sam to lose it. The memories would cripple him at best, tear him to shreds mentally.
Dean stopped pacing, biting his lip as he watched Sam. He had just gotten his brother back…after everything…all the bad decisions, the lies, the fighting…after a year of living a life that was never his…and the soulless thing…Dean didn't want to lose him now.
Not again.
He sighed and went back to pacing, because it was four in the morning and he had nowhere to go and nothing he could do. They had treated the worst of Castiel's open wounds, packed ice in towels around his knee, and now they could only wait for him to wake up.
To be honest, he knew Sam was right. The only place Dean had ever seen anyone as torn up as Castiel was in Hell. His hands tightened into fists as he pushed the sudden cascade of his own memories away, trying to hold them down.
Most days, he could keep them tucked away, hidden. And as long as they were tucked away, Dean could focus, he could function. He went to the table in the corner of the room where his duffle sat, rummaging in it until he came up with his flask. There wasn't much in it, but he just needed a sip. A little burn to make the images in his head fade.
He knew all too well what the marks on Castiel's body were from, the kinds of torture that left those kinds of scars and bruises and wounds had been visited upon him for years in hell. Dean swallowed down the last of the whiskey in his flask and tossed the flask back into his bag.
What he didn't understand was how or why Castiel had been in hell in the first place. The last time he and Cas had spoken Dean had begged him to stop the crazy train he was on, forget about purgatory, put Crowley where he belonged.
At the time Castiel had seemed…hurt that Dean didn't trust he was doing the right thing, that he had lost something in losing Dean's trust, but Dean knew he was wrong and he knew he had to make his friend see how wrong it was.
He went back to pacing. He had to believe that Crowley had something to do with this. His eyes stole to the clock on the table between the beds. It was stealing up on five am. He could go get coffee, breakfast.
They couldn't stay there, clearly. Balthazar found them, which meant Crowley could too. Dean was done trying to figure out how, with the Enochian symbols carved into them and the precautions they took, people kept finding them.
He was beginning to wonder if he and Sam were giving off some sort of homing beacon. Whatever it was, they were leaving as soon as Sam was awake. Dean had already packed their stuff up.
He grabbed the key to the room and his wallet, easing out the door and checking the lock behind him before he started for the diner attached to the dump they were crashed in.
Twenty minutes later he had Styrofoam containers with pancakes and eggs and bacon, and two large cups of coffee that he balanced on top. The skies were just starting to get light.
He got the door open and struggled a little to get inside, but then hands were taking the coffees and that made it just a little easier. Sam looked bleary eyed and still more than a little bit spooked, but he nodded and took the coffees to the table. Dean followed and they sat wordlessly, opening the containers and splitting the contents between them.
They were half way to done when Sam cleared his throat. “So, I was thinking. We should probably get moving. We don’t know what went down, but I’m betting that whoever did that to Cas is going to be looking for him.”
Dean nodded his agreement. “I thought the same thing. You said Balthazar looked rough?”
Sam grimaced. “He looked like he’d been through hell. His wings were…ragged when the lightning flashed and I could see them. He was hurting.”
Dean’s eyes flashed to Castiel who hadn’t moved. “Moving him is going to be a bitch.”
“Bobby’s?” Sam asked.
Dean nodded. “Yeah, at least until we know more. I’ll call him, let him know we’re coming.”
Sam stood, grabbing at the cheap ice bucket. “We should re-pack his knee before we move him.”
“Good idea.”
Sam headed out the door and Dean dialed the phone. Bobby’s voice was gruff and harsh when he answered. “What?”
“It’s me. Sam and I are headed your way.”
“You gotta call me at this hour to tell me?” Bobby groused.
“Yeah, well…things have changed. We found Castiel. Or…he ain’t good. We might be moving targets.”
“Might be?”
Dean exhaled heavily. “So far all we know for sure is that Cas is really beat up, and unconscious. He hasn’t been able to tell us anything.” Dean wasn’t ready to voice the idea of hell yet, even if it did seem to be the only logical explanation.
There was a time when hell wouldn’t have been his first or most logical explanation for anything, but then, that was back before angels were real.
“Okay, I’ll prep the panic room.”
“Call you when we’re close.” Dean hung up the phone and stood, crossing to the bed where Castiel lay. He sat down gingerly, fingers grazing over the bandages on his side where there was a long, curving gash. They had propped him on his right side, using rolled up blankets and pillows to keep him from laying on his back. “What the hell happened to you?” Dean asked softly before turning his attention to the swollen knee.
There was a whimper, soft, almost lost into the pillow, as Dean touched Castiel’s leg. “Cas?” Dean tried to keep his voice soft.
Castiel responded by rolling away from Dean, curling his body inward. “Castiel, it’s me. It’s Dean. Can you hear me?”
There was a rustling sound, like whispers carrying on a breeze and as Dean leaned in closer he could see Castiel’s mouth moving swiftly…there was little sound though, as if he had no voice to lend strength to the prayer.
Light filled the room as Sam returned, the door hitting the wall in his haste. He pushed the door closed, plunging them back into the gloom. “We need to hurry. I think we’ve got company.”
“Demons?”
Sam nodded, passing off the ice bucket and ducking into the bathroom for clean towels.
“Okay, Cas, I need to take these off, and ice the knee again. I’m not going to hurt you.” Which wasn’t necessarily true. Dean couldn’t begin to know the full extent of his injuries, so just moving him enough to unwrap the towels might hurt. While he worked the towels off, Sam was busy putting ice into the towel and folding it. He handed the pack to Dean, followed by a roll of duct tape. “Find him some pants. I think my sweats are clean.” Dean said, trying to hurry.
“Is he awake?”
Dean shook his head as he finished. “I don’t think so….not really anyway. He made some noise, but I don’t think he even realizes he isn’t…wherever he was.” Sam handed him the sweat pants.
It had been a long time since Dean had to dress a grown man. Sam eased onto the bed, arms moving around Castiel to slowly sit him up. Dean knelt beside him, guiding his feet into the legs of the sweats and down to the floor. He pulled them up, forcibly ignoring the fact that his face was delicately close to Castiel’s groin.
Sam hefted upward to get Cas off the bed enough for Dean to pull the sweats all the way up, then eased him down again, letting him lean back against Sam. Dean stood, huffing a little. “I’ll take the bags out to the car. You got him for now?”
Sam nodded and Dean grabbed the keys and their bags, headed out to the car. There was a woman at the end of the parking lot staring at him with black eyes. Dean opened the trunk, dropping the bags in and grabbing a shotgun. If she wasn’t alone they were screwed.
He looked up and she was gone. Dean raced back to the room. “Okay, let’s go.”
It was going to be close. Sam was already hefting Cas up into a fireman’s carry. “Door.” Dean grabbed the door and let Sam lead the way out, moving around him once they were clear and running ahead to get the back door open.
“Dean.” Sam’s voice held a note of urgency and Dean turned as the same woman reached for Sam. Dean shot two rounds of rock salt into her to give Sam some room, stepping in closer to finish her with Ruby’s knife. “Keys.” Sam yelled and Dean tossed him the keys, standing to find two more black eyed freaks coming at him.
He fired more rock salt as he moved back to the car. Sam was pulling out of the spot, and the door was suddenly open. Dean climbed in, still firing out the window as Sam hit the gas.
He plowed one of them over, some soccer mom in an apron, and the peeled out of the parking lot. Dean half expected one of them to land on the car, but a few minutes later, Sam had them on the highway, roaring toward Bobby’s place at a speed that probably wasn’t safe.
It rode him the whole way, the uncomfortable feeling that he was forgetting something important, something vital….that something was just outside his reach, trying to be seen, trying to climb out of the shadows in his brain.
He spent an inordinate amount of time reminding himself why he can’t remember, why he can’t try, and pushing the feeling away. It was like a scab, all puffed up and itching and he wanted to pick at it, scratch it, but he knew he couldn’t.
“You’ve been quiet.” Dean said.
They were still two hours from Bobby’s, pulled off at a rest stop. Castiel was still quiet and unmoving in the back seat. Sam could see the concern on his brother’s face.
“I’m okay.” Sam assured him, lifting his bottle of water.
“Yeah?” Dean asked, his eyes narrowing. “Cause you gotta tell me if you’re not. I can’t…” He huffed. “I can’t take care of him and you at the same time.”
Sam knew that, of course. He was balanced on a fine edge. “I’m good. Promise.” His eyes scanned the area. It had been empty when they pulled in, but a couple of big rigs had pulled in and a car was just stopping near the bathrooms. “Maybe we should go.”
Dean’s eyes were tracking the couple getting out of the car. He nodded tightly. “Yeah. Get in."
Sam rubbed at his forehead, trying to push away the not quite there headache that had been with him since he'd been woke up just before Balthazar showed up with Castiel. It wasn't building or going away…it was just there, like the nagging feeling he was ignoring.
Dean pulled them back out onto the long stretch of road.
"Go ahead and sleep if you want." Dean said. "I'm good to Bobby's."
Sam nodded, closing his eyes against the bright afternoon sunlight and letting his mind go blank. Sleep is easy, considering how little of it he'd gotten the night before and it wasn't long before he was snoring lightly, his breath fogging the window.
He's falling, flailing, coming apart, ripping into pieces of himself….until he's crashing, slamming into cold and hard and crushing….the pieces shattering, scattering….and everything hurts, every tiny piece of him screams out in agony as the fire rises up to consume him…but the fire only pulls him deeper, into the ground…drags the pieces through earth and rock…his lungs fill with dust, with mud…and he can't breathe, can't stop the endless dropping…can't pull the pieces together…can't…can't…
Sam was making very distressed sounds in his sleep and Dean was getting more and more concerned. They were only a little ways from Bobby's, but he slowed down, getting ready to pull over.
Sam thrashed, his head knocking against the window, making him wake with a start. "Hey, you---"
Behind them, Castiel twitched, whimpering. Dean almost had them pulled off the road when Castiel sat up, clutching at the seats, his mouth open in a nearly soundless scream.
Dean grabbed Sam and yanked him down against the seat, throwing himself over Sam and covering his head as the windows blew out. Glass showered them and the ground outside, the hood, the trunk. Dean sat up slowly, brushing the glass off him.
Castiel was still sitting, breathing heavily. "Cas?" Dean said as gently as he could.
Castiel's head turned, his eyes filled with…nothing Dean had ever seen in those eyes before. "Cas?" he said again.
He blinked, rapidly, looking at Dean as though he wasn't real, couldn't possibly be real. Dean understood that feeling all too well. His mouth formed the word, Dean's name, though no sound came out. Dean nodded. "It's okay. We got you. You're safe." He touched the hand Cas had grabbed the back of the front seat with.
Castiel pulled it back, shaking and curling into himself. His mouth was still moving, but he was no longer looking at Dean and Dean sighed heavily. "Just…hang tight. We'll be at Bobby's soon."
He got them started again and spared a glance at his brother. "You okay?"
Sam looked shaken, but he nodded. "Yeah…I…I think so." He shifted, brushing glass off of him. "I…nightmare." He shook his head, rubbing at his forehead again. He'd been doing that an awful lot. "I don't really remember…just…that it was terrible…"
The wind whipping through the now non-existent windshield kept them to a slower pace than Dean would have liked and left him feeling particularly vulnerable. He was relieved to finally cross the boundary into Bobby's property and roll up to a spot near the door.
Bobby was on the porch before Dean had the car in park. "What the hell happened?"
Dean opened his door and shook his head. "Castiel. Screaming." He tossed the keys to Sam so he could get their bags. "You got stuff ready?"
Bobby nodded as Dean moved to the back door of the car. He eased it open, but Castiel pulled away from him. "Cas, Bobby's got a bed set up for you. We're going to take care of you."
Castiel's only response was to pull his feet in closer. Dean sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to carry him. "Alright fine."
He took Castiel's wrist and pulled him toward the door, getting him up onto his shoulder and following Bobby into the house. The stairs were hard to navigate with Castiel lying like dead weight against him, but he eventually made it to the bottom and into the panic room.
Bobby and Sam helped Dean lay Castiel on the cot Bobby had set up. Sam pulled a blanket up over Castiel and the three of them withdrew to the doorway.
"What the hell is going on?" Bobby asked, his voice gruffer than usual.
Sam shivered and crossed his arms, tearing his eyes away from Castiel, but not really looking at either Dean or Bobby. “I woke up…and I heard something…went outside and Balthazar…just told me to take care of him and disappeared.”
“How made is he?”
Dean made a face, not really wanting to answer. He knew the marks on Castiel’s body, knew what made those marks. He knew the damage done to the parts of his body that Sam and Bobby probably hadn’t even considered…and how. Castiel hadn’t just been tortured or punished. He’d been raped repeatedly and by very large objects on top of demon dicks.
“Well, I think he’ll live. We need to start getting fluids into him though.”
Bobby nodded. “I’ll go get the IV kit.”
Dean watched him go, then flicked his eyes to Sam. He didn’t say anything, but then, he didn’t have to.
Sam inhaled and nodded. “I’m good. Go get some rest. I’ll sit with him a while.”
“If he wakes up, keep him calm.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “No Dean, I thought I’d see if I could get him to freak out on me.” He pushed Dean toward the stairs. “Go. I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
Dean left Sam still standing in the doorway, traipsing tiredly up the stairs. He wasn’t sure he would sleep, he was too tense, too on edge…but he was going to at least lay down. He had a feeling that the next few days were going to be difficult.
Sounds filter in to his consciousness…sounds he vaguely recognizes as the voice of this vessel…this body he is trapped in…sounds of pain and horror…sounds that rip from his throat until they are lost in a bloody gurgle as the flesh tears and rips…he has never felt so alone, so cut off from heaven, from his brothers…for the solitude of knowing he is loved…the body drips blood and gore from open wounds and try as he might he can not heal the injury, can not flee the body…and as the abuse begins anew, he feels the breech, the penetration…unwanted, violent…not just the body…no, this goes deeper…claws dig into his shoulders and hold him…not the vessel, as something large and hot is shoved into him. He screams “no” over and over again, but no one hears him and all around him there is laughter...
The silence was profound, even though he knew there should be sound. He was screaming. His eyes opened and he sat up, grabbing at the blanket covering him, half sure this was yet another illusion, another attempt at breaking him.
His breath came raggedly and it took him a moment to recognize where he was. At least it was a different illusion. He licked cracked lips and turned his head, stopping and starting to shake when he realized he was not alone.
“Cas?”
The voice was familiar. Castiel cocked his head, trying to see into the shadows. A dark figure moved closer and Castiel couldn’t stop himself from shrinking back away from him.
“Easy” He moved close enough that Castiel could see him.
Sam. Winchester.
“Easy, I’m not going to hurt you.” He held out a hand with a bottle of water in it.
Castiel lifted a hand to take it, pausing when he realized there was a tube in his arm. His eyes tracked to it, trying to make it make sense.
“You’ve been unconscious since Balthazar left you with us.” Sam offered. He moved closer slowly. “We had to get something into you.”
Balthazar. Castiel frowned. The name was familiar, he should know it.
“Easy.” Sam said again. “It’s been three days. You must be thirsty.”
Thirsty. The vessel did seem to be thirsty. Castiel took the bottle slowly. Swallowing hurt…not just on the level of the body, but hurt, and yet, as soon as the water had passed his lips, he craved more of it, swallowing rapidly until the bottle was empty. He held it out, thrusting it back at Sam.
The pain was incredible…the physical echoing the more metaphysical, as if he and his vessel were the same…one being, not two. He gasped when movement sent waves of agony through his body.
Eventually he realized Sam was talking, telling him about the injuries the vessel had endured…Castiel wanted him to stop. Just stop. He turned away, his eyes closing. No more. No more.
How many times had he said that?
He shuddered. Images flashed through him…emotions, pains, moments of despair, screams…He jumped when Sam’s hand touched him. No more.
NO MORE.
Sam jumped back as if Castiel had screamed it in his face. “Okay, Cas. Okay. Just…I can get you something for the pain….if you want it.”
The pain. That he shouldn’t feel. Not like this. He nodded slowly, grateful when Sam left the room, suddenly able to breathe a little easier.
He still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t just another of Crowley’s tricks…false safety, false comfort only to tear him back into the reality of his fate.
Crowley.
Castiel lifted the hand not encumbered by the IV to feel along the back of his head, up under the hair. His fingers found the raised flesh easily, tracing over the pattern. He couldn’t suppress the shiver, remembering all too well.
It was the reason he felt the vessel’s pain.
Crowley had sealed him, trapped him inside this flesh. He felt all that the vessel felt because he and his vessel were nearly one. It bound him, cut him off from much of his former existence, stole his powers.
He was nearly mortal.
He laid down slowly, curling in on himself. He was removed from heaven, from home. Possibly never to return.
Something hot and wet slid from his eyes and into the pillow. He was barely aware of the door opening and Sam returning. He did something with the IV and withdrew again. Castiel could feel the drug…the oblivion it offered as it fingered its way into him.
Not for the first time since this began, Castiel surrendered to the dark.
Sam ran a shaking hand over his face before he opened the door, stepping out of the stairway into the kitchen.
"How is he?" Dean asked from the stove without looking up.
"He woke up." Sam said. He could still feel the force with which Castiel had shoved him away, even if the angel didn't ever touch him. "He…I got him to drink some water. I think I made him understand he was safe."
Dean brought the pot of soup he'd been heating to the table, pouring half into a bowl he then nudged toward Sam before he poured the rest into his own bowl. "Did he say anything?"
Dean looked up when Sam didn't immediately reply. "Sam?"
Sam shook his head, remembering the very clear words, "No more," that Castiel didn't actually say out loud. Somehow he was sure Dean wasn't going to like that.
"He…not really." He sat, lifting his spoon to taste the soup. Old fashioned chicken noodle from a can. Some things never really changed.
"What does that mean?" Dean asked, clearly cranky. "Either he did or he didn't."
"I think his voice is stripped, Dean." Sam said in exasperation. "He didn't say it…but I heard him loud and clear."
Dean was staring at him, Sam could feel it. "What?"
Sam glanced up and shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it. He said 'no more'. I don't think he really understood it or whatever."
"Great, so now your psychic shit is coming back?" Dean pushed his chair back and stood, going to the refrigerator and coming back with a beer.
"No. It wasn't like that." Sam rubbed at his head. The headache he'd been dealing with since Castiel appeared was back, like a pressure was building.
Sam.
He looked up, looked at Dean and around the room. Someone had said his name, but it wasn't Dean and Bobby wasn't around. Dean was back to glaring at him. "What is eating you?" Sam asked. "You've been pissy all day."
"I don't like any of this." Dean responded, downing nearly half the beer. "We've been here three days and we don't have a clue—" he stopped when his phone rang, fishing it out of his pocket. "Bobby?" Dean nodded, looking at Sam and then away. "Yeah, okay. Come on back."
He hung up and huffed. "So…Bobby may have found us a lead. Not so much a lead as a set of omens that happened not far from here right after the last time that Cas was here."
Right after they'd found out the angel had been lying to them. "How far away?"
"Couple of towns east. Bobby says that it looks like a portal of some kind was opened."
"Portal to where?" Sam asked.
Dean shook his head. "Didn't say. He'll be home in an hour or so."
Sam focused on eating, slurping up the last of the soup and standing. "If you're okay keeping an eye on Castiel, I'm going to get some sleep." He put his bowl in the sink as Dean nodded. He headed to ward the living room and the stairs, but stopped when one of Bobby's bank of phones started ringing.
It wasn't one of the labeled ones, just one of Bobby's old phone lines. He looked at Dean who shrugged and nodded. Sam lifted the handset. "Hello?"
There was a shaky breath on the other end. "Who is this?" Sam asked.
He was ready to hang up when an even shakier voice said his name. "Sam?"
He looked at Dean, his stomach churning, his throat closing off. No. It couldn't be. "Who….who is this?" he managed to force out of his suddenly very dry mouth.
Dean was up out of his chair and Sam could only hold the phone out to him helplessly as his knees gave out and he grabbed at his head. No. No. It wasn't possible.
"Pathetic. Not even worth the shit your brother's taking. Dirty, pathetic, evil little cock-sucking whore. I should have let you burn in that crib."
"Who is this?" Dean was demanding. "I don't know what game you're playing at, you sick freak."
Dean hung up the phone and was squatting next to Sam. "Hey."
"No." He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled up tight, hoping somehow that the defensive posture would be enough. But with his eyes closed, his father's voice just boomed through his head, too real, too close, denigrating him, humiliating him. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. Just like the voice on the phone. "Dean…" He reached blindly for his brother. "Dad…Dad…"
Dean's hand was cool against his face. "It wasn't him Sam. Just somebody's idea of a sick joke."
Sam nodded. "Need aspirin, sleep."
"Yeah, okay. Let's get you up off the floor." Dean helped him up and to the stairs. "Go on up, I'll bring you something."
Sam climbed the stairs, keeping his eyes focused on each step. He was shaking, inside and out. His head felt like his brain was pushing to escape his skull, and his whole body felt tight, constraining…suffocating.
Dean bounded up the stairs behind him, pushing something into his hand. Sam didn't look, just tossed the pills in dry and swallowing. "Something…Dad…Dad was there." Sam said as Dean guided him to the bed.
"Where?" Dean asked as Sam sat. He knelt to help take Sam's shoes off, which only irritated Sam.
"I'm not a baby." Sam pushed him away and kicked off his shoes.
"Where, Sam?" Dean asked again.
"What?" Sam couldn't follow the conversation, there was too much noise in his head…roaring…like a fire that would consume him. "Dad." Sam blinked up at Dean. "In the cage."
But he couldn't know that. Those memories were locked away. It was an illusion. A reaction to Castiel and the voice on the phone and the lack of sleep. Though, that wasn't really true. Sam was sleeping. He slept a lot actually.
It just never really felt like he did.
Title: Under Siege (Part One)
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby, Crowley, John, Balthazar
Word Count: 6499
Rating: NC-17 (for theme)
Summary: Near the end of Season Six, after "The Man Who Would Be King"...Castiel has not been seen or heard from since his last conversation with Dean at Bobby's. Time marches on without him and Sam and Dean keep hunting. One night Sam wakes to sounds he can't place and Balthazar appears, leaving a very wounded, unresponsive & comatose Castiel in their care before he disappears. Thus begins a mystery that will stretch the already thin resources of the Winchester boys to their limits...and may break more than one of them before the end.
A/Ns & Warnings: This is a fic that ate my brain, continues to eat my brain. It is partially the fault of
varkelton and the conversation begun at her house on Saturday. Fair warning that the topic of that conversation was what situations either of us could conceivably actually slash Castiel with either of the boys....so while this has not yet gone to a slashy place, it very well may and may ultimately include Dean/Castiel, Sam/Castiel and quite possibly Dean/Castiel/Sam...consider yourself warned. As to warnings for this part? Much Castiel whumpage (including implied sexual assault, which it should be said is implied to include non-con bestiality of a sort). Mind fuckery. Implied and partially remembered violence. There was a sound, something Sam remembered vaguely, but wasn't a part of his conscious thought…an itching, persistent feeling that made him sit up, reaching for his head, anticipating a headache that isn't manifesting.
The room was dark but for the sickly green glow of the alarm clock's face, quiet but for the soft snoring of his brother in the next bed. Sam looked around him, frowning hard enough that his face muscles hurt.
"Sam."
It was a whisper, barely that and if not for the things he'd seen and done in his life he might brush it off, ignore it…but he's Sam Winchester and disembodied voices in the middle of the night whispering his name really wasn't all that strange.
He stood slowly, hand slinking under a pillow to come out with a gun, and he stepped cautiously toward a window. He wasn't certain what woke him, what that tickling feeling in his head meant…or why his stomach was suddenly twisted up tight, but something or someone wanted his attention.
The parking lot outside their room was mostly empty. The light of the single lamp shone off the sleek, black side of the Impala, distorting his vision for the moment. There was a crack of thunder, but not a cloud in the sky, then his stomach churned and dropped like he was being yanked and pulled, then dropped.
His hands shook as he approached the door, sparing a glance at Dean who was only just starting to stir. Sam stepped carefully over the salt lines with bare feet, easing around the corner.
His gun was up, but he lowered it as lightning flashed and thunder shook the ground. Pavement cracked and Sam's eyes followed the broken asphalt to smoke and the smell of sulfur on the air. The illusion of dark wings spread wide and looking more than a little ragged was superimposed over the squatting figure whose head slowly lifted.
"Balthazar." Sam whispered the name.
The angel stumbled and listed to the side as he stood, his clothing smoking.
"Are you…" Sam didn't really know what to ask, and the angel didn't answer, just looked down at the ground beneath him. Sam started when he realized why. "Castiel?" He crossed the distance, stopped when he was close enough to get a really good look. "What happened?" Sam asked, looking up at Balthazar.
The angel held up a hand, shook his head. "Take care of him." His voice ws wrecked and he turned away slowly, as if every move was painful
"Wait…what happened?"
Balthazar stumbled, his hand landing on the trunk of the Impala to keep from falling, then he was just gone, leaving nothing but a handprint seared into the paint of the car. Dean was gonna love that.
Sam shook his head and turned his attention back to Castiel who hadn't moved. He was breathing, Sam could see the rise and fall of his chest. He awas nearly naked, the familiar trench coat gone, the shirt and tie missing. All that really remained was a pair of dirty boxers that were stained with blood and other things Sam didn't really want to think about.
He touched Castiel's arm, but pulled back almost immediately. The skin was hot. Too hot to be natural. Not that he knew what is natural for an angel. He did know he needed to get him out of the parking lot, get him cooled off and cleaned up. "Okay, Castiel, I hope you can hear me in there. I'm going to get you inside."
Which is harder than he first thought because Castiel was hot all over and unresponsive, so Sam was lifting dead weight that was uncomfortably warm. He finally got him in a fireman's carry and struggled toward the room.
Dean woke as Sam kicked the door closed and fought his way to the bathroom.
"Sam?"
Sam lowered Castiel, leaning him against the sink as he reached in to turn the shower on. He could feel Dean behind him. "Castiel?" Sam could start to see that Castiel was seriously torn up, though the layer of dirt made it hard to tell how badly.
Sam nodded. "Help me get him in. We need to cool him off."
Dean squeezed into the little bathroom and together they manhandled Castiel's unresponsive body into the shower. Sam ended up in with him, holding him up as the tepid water flowed over them both.
"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, his hand lifting to ghost over the lash marks that covered what Sam could see of the angel's back.
Sam could only shake his head. "I heard something…went outside. Thunder and lightning, then Balthazar was there, leaving Castiel like this and telling me to take care of him."
"Balthazar? Just dropped by and left us…."
"Pretty much."
Castiel's skin was starting to cool, but he still wasn't stirring. "Help me get him cleaned up."
"And then what?" Dean asks.
"Hell if I know."
Together they worked the small bar of hotel soap over the angel, not that it seems to be doing much good, until they reached the waistline of his boxers. Sam looks at Dean who looks back, neither of them really wanting to be the one who actually divested the divine being of the last of his dignity.
"We can't…." Dean sort of gestures. "I mean…He's…"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, we can't leave them on him either. Look at them."
Dean grimaced. "I'd rather not."
"It's for his own good." Sam argued, not sure he really believed it. It's not like we're…"
"Right." Dean agreed, nodding once. "Okay. I'll do it."
Dean hands Sam the soap in his hand and grabs Castiel's boxers, pulling them down over his ass. They hit the floor of the shower with a wet plop, but Sam couldn't take his eyes off the skin Dean had exposed.
Castiel's ass was nearly black, and even in the dim light of the bathroom, Sam could tell it wasn't dirt. The skin was bruised, torn open in places. It made Sam re-evaluate the rest of him.
"We need to get him out into better lighting." Dean said.
Sam nodded, turning the water off. It took a serious effort to move him out of the tub, now that they realized the dirt had been hiding hurts they hadn't imagined. They toweled him off and brought him out into the room, laying him down on the bed Dean had just recently left.
Dean turned on every light in the room and they both stared for a long time at the broken body that lay before them. Sam had dropped the towel over Castiel's crotch, but they both knew they were going to have to examine him from head to toe.
"Okay, I'll start with his feet." Sam said finally, moving to the end of the bed.
Dean nodded, but didn't say anything, just moved toward Castiel's head. Sam's first touch was tentative. The angel's left foot was bruised, the ankle swollen. He felt over it for broken bones, and finding none, he moved to the right.
There were welts there, all along the bottom of his foot, raised and red and angry looking welts nearly half an inch thick and the pads of his toes all looked as though they'd been burned recently.
Sam forced himself to continue his examination, working up his legs. The right knee was swollen, bruised, but the injury was not fresh. The skin all around his knees was covered in what looked like bite marks, though the mouth that made them was small. Sam leaned in to get a better look. Each tooth made a tiny, deep puncture wound, each mark had about fifteen tiny wounds, and there had to be thirty marks on each knee.
He spared a glance up at his brother. Dean was currently feeling his way down Castiel's chest, feeling out each rib carefully. His face was grim and set. Whatever had happened to Castiel, it was easy to see it hadn't been good. At least they understood why they hadn't seen him in weeks. More than that now.
Sam bit his lip and moved his examination up to Castiel's thighs. It had been more than two months since they'd seen the angel…maybe closer to three. The inside of Castiel's right thigh was black with bruising. Sam eased his legs open a little bit to get a better look. There was blood on the skin, but no visible wound until Sam moved his attention to the left thigh.
He swallowed hard, moving one finger to brush over what could only be claw marks, three deep punctures that oozed blood as Sam brushed them, as if something had grabbed the leg and used it to…he couldn't even fathom what. His stomach twisted again…something niggling his head…something he couldn't place…a feeling like he knew….
"Sam." Dean's voice was dark and he snapped his fingers at Sam, pulling him back to the moment.
"Yeah, sorry." He licked his lips and refocused. Dean pulled the towel away, exposing Castiel's hips and genitals. Sam gasped and wanted to look away, but he couldn't. The hips had similar bite marks as his knees, and the bruises were a spectacular array of colors, layers of abuse evident in the tender skin that led to his cock.
At least his cock looked…intact. It was a deep red and had a welt across the top that looked painful. "Is that…" Dean was squinting at the tip of Castiel's cock and Sam turned his head to get a better look.
"Yeah, looks like the same thing that was biting on his knees."
Dean shudder and exhaled. "Let's turn him over."
They were as careful as they could be getting him rolled, but they both stopped cold once they had. Castiel's back was a mass of old scars and fresh marks, like he'd been scourged with a cat o'nine tails over and over again…allowed to heal, only to start again. From his neck down to his ass, and if Sam looked close enough, he could see scar under the bruising that blackened his cheeks.
"What in the hell happened to him?" Dean asked, his voice hushed.
That tingling feeling in his head was back, that half a notion he remembered something that kept slipping away…then it was like something cracked, and there was sulfur and sweat and the burn of a lash on his skin. Sam stumbled back, reaching out for Dean, but finding the second bed first, sitting down hard on it and squeezing his eyes shut.
"Hell," he choked out. Hell is what happened to Castiel. Even if he didn't understand how or why. Somehow Sam just knew.
Sam was sleeping, or pretending too, his face turned away from where Dean paced. Castiel hadn't woken yet, though his body temperature was closer to normal. To be honest, Dean wasn't sure what he would do if Castiel did wake up right then.
It was clear the angel had been through an ordeal, and the fact that he wasn't healed, that Balthazar had just dropped him on their doorstep like this, meant that it was far worse than just a sick or beat up Castiel.
And, Sam's reaction was not making Dean comfortable. The sickly pale face, the way his eyes darkened and his hands shook….he swore he didn't remember anything, that the wall was in place, his memories of more than a year in the cage locked away safely behind it, but Dean wasn't really all that sure.
They couldn't afford for Sam to lose it. The memories would cripple him at best, tear him to shreds mentally.
Dean stopped pacing, biting his lip as he watched Sam. He had just gotten his brother back…after everything…all the bad decisions, the lies, the fighting…after a year of living a life that was never his…and the soulless thing…Dean didn't want to lose him now.
Not again.
He sighed and went back to pacing, because it was four in the morning and he had nowhere to go and nothing he could do. They had treated the worst of Castiel's open wounds, packed ice in towels around his knee, and now they could only wait for him to wake up.
To be honest, he knew Sam was right. The only place Dean had ever seen anyone as torn up as Castiel was in Hell. His hands tightened into fists as he pushed the sudden cascade of his own memories away, trying to hold them down.
Most days, he could keep them tucked away, hidden. And as long as they were tucked away, Dean could focus, he could function. He went to the table in the corner of the room where his duffle sat, rummaging in it until he came up with his flask. There wasn't much in it, but he just needed a sip. A little burn to make the images in his head fade.
He knew all too well what the marks on Castiel's body were from, the kinds of torture that left those kinds of scars and bruises and wounds had been visited upon him for years in hell. Dean swallowed down the last of the whiskey in his flask and tossed the flask back into his bag.
What he didn't understand was how or why Castiel had been in hell in the first place. The last time he and Cas had spoken Dean had begged him to stop the crazy train he was on, forget about purgatory, put Crowley where he belonged.
At the time Castiel had seemed…hurt that Dean didn't trust he was doing the right thing, that he had lost something in losing Dean's trust, but Dean knew he was wrong and he knew he had to make his friend see how wrong it was.
He went back to pacing. He had to believe that Crowley had something to do with this. His eyes stole to the clock on the table between the beds. It was stealing up on five am. He could go get coffee, breakfast.
They couldn't stay there, clearly. Balthazar found them, which meant Crowley could too. Dean was done trying to figure out how, with the Enochian symbols carved into them and the precautions they took, people kept finding them.
He was beginning to wonder if he and Sam were giving off some sort of homing beacon. Whatever it was, they were leaving as soon as Sam was awake. Dean had already packed their stuff up.
He grabbed the key to the room and his wallet, easing out the door and checking the lock behind him before he started for the diner attached to the dump they were crashed in.
Twenty minutes later he had Styrofoam containers with pancakes and eggs and bacon, and two large cups of coffee that he balanced on top. The skies were just starting to get light.
He got the door open and struggled a little to get inside, but then hands were taking the coffees and that made it just a little easier. Sam looked bleary eyed and still more than a little bit spooked, but he nodded and took the coffees to the table. Dean followed and they sat wordlessly, opening the containers and splitting the contents between them.
They were half way to done when Sam cleared his throat. “So, I was thinking. We should probably get moving. We don’t know what went down, but I’m betting that whoever did that to Cas is going to be looking for him.”
Dean nodded his agreement. “I thought the same thing. You said Balthazar looked rough?”
Sam grimaced. “He looked like he’d been through hell. His wings were…ragged when the lightning flashed and I could see them. He was hurting.”
Dean’s eyes flashed to Castiel who hadn’t moved. “Moving him is going to be a bitch.”
“Bobby’s?” Sam asked.
Dean nodded. “Yeah, at least until we know more. I’ll call him, let him know we’re coming.”
Sam stood, grabbing at the cheap ice bucket. “We should re-pack his knee before we move him.”
“Good idea.”
Sam headed out the door and Dean dialed the phone. Bobby’s voice was gruff and harsh when he answered. “What?”
“It’s me. Sam and I are headed your way.”
“You gotta call me at this hour to tell me?” Bobby groused.
“Yeah, well…things have changed. We found Castiel. Or…he ain’t good. We might be moving targets.”
“Might be?”
Dean exhaled heavily. “So far all we know for sure is that Cas is really beat up, and unconscious. He hasn’t been able to tell us anything.” Dean wasn’t ready to voice the idea of hell yet, even if it did seem to be the only logical explanation.
There was a time when hell wouldn’t have been his first or most logical explanation for anything, but then, that was back before angels were real.
“Okay, I’ll prep the panic room.”
“Call you when we’re close.” Dean hung up the phone and stood, crossing to the bed where Castiel lay. He sat down gingerly, fingers grazing over the bandages on his side where there was a long, curving gash. They had propped him on his right side, using rolled up blankets and pillows to keep him from laying on his back. “What the hell happened to you?” Dean asked softly before turning his attention to the swollen knee.
There was a whimper, soft, almost lost into the pillow, as Dean touched Castiel’s leg. “Cas?” Dean tried to keep his voice soft.
Castiel responded by rolling away from Dean, curling his body inward. “Castiel, it’s me. It’s Dean. Can you hear me?”
There was a rustling sound, like whispers carrying on a breeze and as Dean leaned in closer he could see Castiel’s mouth moving swiftly…there was little sound though, as if he had no voice to lend strength to the prayer.
Light filled the room as Sam returned, the door hitting the wall in his haste. He pushed the door closed, plunging them back into the gloom. “We need to hurry. I think we’ve got company.”
“Demons?”
Sam nodded, passing off the ice bucket and ducking into the bathroom for clean towels.
“Okay, Cas, I need to take these off, and ice the knee again. I’m not going to hurt you.” Which wasn’t necessarily true. Dean couldn’t begin to know the full extent of his injuries, so just moving him enough to unwrap the towels might hurt. While he worked the towels off, Sam was busy putting ice into the towel and folding it. He handed the pack to Dean, followed by a roll of duct tape. “Find him some pants. I think my sweats are clean.” Dean said, trying to hurry.
“Is he awake?”
Dean shook his head as he finished. “I don’t think so….not really anyway. He made some noise, but I don’t think he even realizes he isn’t…wherever he was.” Sam handed him the sweat pants.
It had been a long time since Dean had to dress a grown man. Sam eased onto the bed, arms moving around Castiel to slowly sit him up. Dean knelt beside him, guiding his feet into the legs of the sweats and down to the floor. He pulled them up, forcibly ignoring the fact that his face was delicately close to Castiel’s groin.
Sam hefted upward to get Cas off the bed enough for Dean to pull the sweats all the way up, then eased him down again, letting him lean back against Sam. Dean stood, huffing a little. “I’ll take the bags out to the car. You got him for now?”
Sam nodded and Dean grabbed the keys and their bags, headed out to the car. There was a woman at the end of the parking lot staring at him with black eyes. Dean opened the trunk, dropping the bags in and grabbing a shotgun. If she wasn’t alone they were screwed.
He looked up and she was gone. Dean raced back to the room. “Okay, let’s go.”
It was going to be close. Sam was already hefting Cas up into a fireman’s carry. “Door.” Dean grabbed the door and let Sam lead the way out, moving around him once they were clear and running ahead to get the back door open.
“Dean.” Sam’s voice held a note of urgency and Dean turned as the same woman reached for Sam. Dean shot two rounds of rock salt into her to give Sam some room, stepping in closer to finish her with Ruby’s knife. “Keys.” Sam yelled and Dean tossed him the keys, standing to find two more black eyed freaks coming at him.
He fired more rock salt as he moved back to the car. Sam was pulling out of the spot, and the door was suddenly open. Dean climbed in, still firing out the window as Sam hit the gas.
He plowed one of them over, some soccer mom in an apron, and the peeled out of the parking lot. Dean half expected one of them to land on the car, but a few minutes later, Sam had them on the highway, roaring toward Bobby’s place at a speed that probably wasn’t safe.
It rode him the whole way, the uncomfortable feeling that he was forgetting something important, something vital….that something was just outside his reach, trying to be seen, trying to climb out of the shadows in his brain.
He spent an inordinate amount of time reminding himself why he can’t remember, why he can’t try, and pushing the feeling away. It was like a scab, all puffed up and itching and he wanted to pick at it, scratch it, but he knew he couldn’t.
“You’ve been quiet.” Dean said.
They were still two hours from Bobby’s, pulled off at a rest stop. Castiel was still quiet and unmoving in the back seat. Sam could see the concern on his brother’s face.
“I’m okay.” Sam assured him, lifting his bottle of water.
“Yeah?” Dean asked, his eyes narrowing. “Cause you gotta tell me if you’re not. I can’t…” He huffed. “I can’t take care of him and you at the same time.”
Sam knew that, of course. He was balanced on a fine edge. “I’m good. Promise.” His eyes scanned the area. It had been empty when they pulled in, but a couple of big rigs had pulled in and a car was just stopping near the bathrooms. “Maybe we should go.”
Dean’s eyes were tracking the couple getting out of the car. He nodded tightly. “Yeah. Get in."
Sam rubbed at his forehead, trying to push away the not quite there headache that had been with him since he'd been woke up just before Balthazar showed up with Castiel. It wasn't building or going away…it was just there, like the nagging feeling he was ignoring.
Dean pulled them back out onto the long stretch of road.
"Go ahead and sleep if you want." Dean said. "I'm good to Bobby's."
Sam nodded, closing his eyes against the bright afternoon sunlight and letting his mind go blank. Sleep is easy, considering how little of it he'd gotten the night before and it wasn't long before he was snoring lightly, his breath fogging the window.
He's falling, flailing, coming apart, ripping into pieces of himself….until he's crashing, slamming into cold and hard and crushing….the pieces shattering, scattering….and everything hurts, every tiny piece of him screams out in agony as the fire rises up to consume him…but the fire only pulls him deeper, into the ground…drags the pieces through earth and rock…his lungs fill with dust, with mud…and he can't breathe, can't stop the endless dropping…can't pull the pieces together…can't…can't…
Sam was making very distressed sounds in his sleep and Dean was getting more and more concerned. They were only a little ways from Bobby's, but he slowed down, getting ready to pull over.
Sam thrashed, his head knocking against the window, making him wake with a start. "Hey, you---"
Behind them, Castiel twitched, whimpering. Dean almost had them pulled off the road when Castiel sat up, clutching at the seats, his mouth open in a nearly soundless scream.
Dean grabbed Sam and yanked him down against the seat, throwing himself over Sam and covering his head as the windows blew out. Glass showered them and the ground outside, the hood, the trunk. Dean sat up slowly, brushing the glass off him.
Castiel was still sitting, breathing heavily. "Cas?" Dean said as gently as he could.
Castiel's head turned, his eyes filled with…nothing Dean had ever seen in those eyes before. "Cas?" he said again.
He blinked, rapidly, looking at Dean as though he wasn't real, couldn't possibly be real. Dean understood that feeling all too well. His mouth formed the word, Dean's name, though no sound came out. Dean nodded. "It's okay. We got you. You're safe." He touched the hand Cas had grabbed the back of the front seat with.
Castiel pulled it back, shaking and curling into himself. His mouth was still moving, but he was no longer looking at Dean and Dean sighed heavily. "Just…hang tight. We'll be at Bobby's soon."
He got them started again and spared a glance at his brother. "You okay?"
Sam looked shaken, but he nodded. "Yeah…I…I think so." He shifted, brushing glass off of him. "I…nightmare." He shook his head, rubbing at his forehead again. He'd been doing that an awful lot. "I don't really remember…just…that it was terrible…"
The wind whipping through the now non-existent windshield kept them to a slower pace than Dean would have liked and left him feeling particularly vulnerable. He was relieved to finally cross the boundary into Bobby's property and roll up to a spot near the door.
Bobby was on the porch before Dean had the car in park. "What the hell happened?"
Dean opened his door and shook his head. "Castiel. Screaming." He tossed the keys to Sam so he could get their bags. "You got stuff ready?"
Bobby nodded as Dean moved to the back door of the car. He eased it open, but Castiel pulled away from him. "Cas, Bobby's got a bed set up for you. We're going to take care of you."
Castiel's only response was to pull his feet in closer. Dean sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to carry him. "Alright fine."
He took Castiel's wrist and pulled him toward the door, getting him up onto his shoulder and following Bobby into the house. The stairs were hard to navigate with Castiel lying like dead weight against him, but he eventually made it to the bottom and into the panic room.
Bobby and Sam helped Dean lay Castiel on the cot Bobby had set up. Sam pulled a blanket up over Castiel and the three of them withdrew to the doorway.
"What the hell is going on?" Bobby asked, his voice gruffer than usual.
Sam shivered and crossed his arms, tearing his eyes away from Castiel, but not really looking at either Dean or Bobby. “I woke up…and I heard something…went outside and Balthazar…just told me to take care of him and disappeared.”
“How made is he?”
Dean made a face, not really wanting to answer. He knew the marks on Castiel’s body, knew what made those marks. He knew the damage done to the parts of his body that Sam and Bobby probably hadn’t even considered…and how. Castiel hadn’t just been tortured or punished. He’d been raped repeatedly and by very large objects on top of demon dicks.
“Well, I think he’ll live. We need to start getting fluids into him though.”
Bobby nodded. “I’ll go get the IV kit.”
Dean watched him go, then flicked his eyes to Sam. He didn’t say anything, but then, he didn’t have to.
Sam inhaled and nodded. “I’m good. Go get some rest. I’ll sit with him a while.”
“If he wakes up, keep him calm.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “No Dean, I thought I’d see if I could get him to freak out on me.” He pushed Dean toward the stairs. “Go. I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
Dean left Sam still standing in the doorway, traipsing tiredly up the stairs. He wasn’t sure he would sleep, he was too tense, too on edge…but he was going to at least lay down. He had a feeling that the next few days were going to be difficult.
Sounds filter in to his consciousness…sounds he vaguely recognizes as the voice of this vessel…this body he is trapped in…sounds of pain and horror…sounds that rip from his throat until they are lost in a bloody gurgle as the flesh tears and rips…he has never felt so alone, so cut off from heaven, from his brothers…for the solitude of knowing he is loved…the body drips blood and gore from open wounds and try as he might he can not heal the injury, can not flee the body…and as the abuse begins anew, he feels the breech, the penetration…unwanted, violent…not just the body…no, this goes deeper…claws dig into his shoulders and hold him…not the vessel, as something large and hot is shoved into him. He screams “no” over and over again, but no one hears him and all around him there is laughter...
The silence was profound, even though he knew there should be sound. He was screaming. His eyes opened and he sat up, grabbing at the blanket covering him, half sure this was yet another illusion, another attempt at breaking him.
His breath came raggedly and it took him a moment to recognize where he was. At least it was a different illusion. He licked cracked lips and turned his head, stopping and starting to shake when he realized he was not alone.
“Cas?”
The voice was familiar. Castiel cocked his head, trying to see into the shadows. A dark figure moved closer and Castiel couldn’t stop himself from shrinking back away from him.
“Easy” He moved close enough that Castiel could see him.
Sam. Winchester.
“Easy, I’m not going to hurt you.” He held out a hand with a bottle of water in it.
Castiel lifted a hand to take it, pausing when he realized there was a tube in his arm. His eyes tracked to it, trying to make it make sense.
“You’ve been unconscious since Balthazar left you with us.” Sam offered. He moved closer slowly. “We had to get something into you.”
Balthazar. Castiel frowned. The name was familiar, he should know it.
“Easy.” Sam said again. “It’s been three days. You must be thirsty.”
Thirsty. The vessel did seem to be thirsty. Castiel took the bottle slowly. Swallowing hurt…not just on the level of the body, but hurt, and yet, as soon as the water had passed his lips, he craved more of it, swallowing rapidly until the bottle was empty. He held it out, thrusting it back at Sam.
The pain was incredible…the physical echoing the more metaphysical, as if he and his vessel were the same…one being, not two. He gasped when movement sent waves of agony through his body.
Eventually he realized Sam was talking, telling him about the injuries the vessel had endured…Castiel wanted him to stop. Just stop. He turned away, his eyes closing. No more. No more.
How many times had he said that?
He shuddered. Images flashed through him…emotions, pains, moments of despair, screams…He jumped when Sam’s hand touched him. No more.
NO MORE.
Sam jumped back as if Castiel had screamed it in his face. “Okay, Cas. Okay. Just…I can get you something for the pain….if you want it.”
The pain. That he shouldn’t feel. Not like this. He nodded slowly, grateful when Sam left the room, suddenly able to breathe a little easier.
He still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t just another of Crowley’s tricks…false safety, false comfort only to tear him back into the reality of his fate.
Crowley.
Castiel lifted the hand not encumbered by the IV to feel along the back of his head, up under the hair. His fingers found the raised flesh easily, tracing over the pattern. He couldn’t suppress the shiver, remembering all too well.
It was the reason he felt the vessel’s pain.
Crowley had sealed him, trapped him inside this flesh. He felt all that the vessel felt because he and his vessel were nearly one. It bound him, cut him off from much of his former existence, stole his powers.
He was nearly mortal.
He laid down slowly, curling in on himself. He was removed from heaven, from home. Possibly never to return.
Something hot and wet slid from his eyes and into the pillow. He was barely aware of the door opening and Sam returning. He did something with the IV and withdrew again. Castiel could feel the drug…the oblivion it offered as it fingered its way into him.
Not for the first time since this began, Castiel surrendered to the dark.
Sam ran a shaking hand over his face before he opened the door, stepping out of the stairway into the kitchen.
"How is he?" Dean asked from the stove without looking up.
"He woke up." Sam said. He could still feel the force with which Castiel had shoved him away, even if the angel didn't ever touch him. "He…I got him to drink some water. I think I made him understand he was safe."
Dean brought the pot of soup he'd been heating to the table, pouring half into a bowl he then nudged toward Sam before he poured the rest into his own bowl. "Did he say anything?"
Dean looked up when Sam didn't immediately reply. "Sam?"
Sam shook his head, remembering the very clear words, "No more," that Castiel didn't actually say out loud. Somehow he was sure Dean wasn't going to like that.
"He…not really." He sat, lifting his spoon to taste the soup. Old fashioned chicken noodle from a can. Some things never really changed.
"What does that mean?" Dean asked, clearly cranky. "Either he did or he didn't."
"I think his voice is stripped, Dean." Sam said in exasperation. "He didn't say it…but I heard him loud and clear."
Dean was staring at him, Sam could feel it. "What?"
Sam glanced up and shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it. He said 'no more'. I don't think he really understood it or whatever."
"Great, so now your psychic shit is coming back?" Dean pushed his chair back and stood, going to the refrigerator and coming back with a beer.
"No. It wasn't like that." Sam rubbed at his head. The headache he'd been dealing with since Castiel appeared was back, like a pressure was building.
Sam.
He looked up, looked at Dean and around the room. Someone had said his name, but it wasn't Dean and Bobby wasn't around. Dean was back to glaring at him. "What is eating you?" Sam asked. "You've been pissy all day."
"I don't like any of this." Dean responded, downing nearly half the beer. "We've been here three days and we don't have a clue—" he stopped when his phone rang, fishing it out of his pocket. "Bobby?" Dean nodded, looking at Sam and then away. "Yeah, okay. Come on back."
He hung up and huffed. "So…Bobby may have found us a lead. Not so much a lead as a set of omens that happened not far from here right after the last time that Cas was here."
Right after they'd found out the angel had been lying to them. "How far away?"
"Couple of towns east. Bobby says that it looks like a portal of some kind was opened."
"Portal to where?" Sam asked.
Dean shook his head. "Didn't say. He'll be home in an hour or so."
Sam focused on eating, slurping up the last of the soup and standing. "If you're okay keeping an eye on Castiel, I'm going to get some sleep." He put his bowl in the sink as Dean nodded. He headed to ward the living room and the stairs, but stopped when one of Bobby's bank of phones started ringing.
It wasn't one of the labeled ones, just one of Bobby's old phone lines. He looked at Dean who shrugged and nodded. Sam lifted the handset. "Hello?"
There was a shaky breath on the other end. "Who is this?" Sam asked.
He was ready to hang up when an even shakier voice said his name. "Sam?"
He looked at Dean, his stomach churning, his throat closing off. No. It couldn't be. "Who….who is this?" he managed to force out of his suddenly very dry mouth.
Dean was up out of his chair and Sam could only hold the phone out to him helplessly as his knees gave out and he grabbed at his head. No. No. It wasn't possible.
"Pathetic. Not even worth the shit your brother's taking. Dirty, pathetic, evil little cock-sucking whore. I should have let you burn in that crib."
"Who is this?" Dean was demanding. "I don't know what game you're playing at, you sick freak."
Dean hung up the phone and was squatting next to Sam. "Hey."
"No." He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled up tight, hoping somehow that the defensive posture would be enough. But with his eyes closed, his father's voice just boomed through his head, too real, too close, denigrating him, humiliating him. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. Just like the voice on the phone. "Dean…" He reached blindly for his brother. "Dad…Dad…"
Dean's hand was cool against his face. "It wasn't him Sam. Just somebody's idea of a sick joke."
Sam nodded. "Need aspirin, sleep."
"Yeah, okay. Let's get you up off the floor." Dean helped him up and to the stairs. "Go on up, I'll bring you something."
Sam climbed the stairs, keeping his eyes focused on each step. He was shaking, inside and out. His head felt like his brain was pushing to escape his skull, and his whole body felt tight, constraining…suffocating.
Dean bounded up the stairs behind him, pushing something into his hand. Sam didn't look, just tossed the pills in dry and swallowing. "Something…Dad…Dad was there." Sam said as Dean guided him to the bed.
"Where?" Dean asked as Sam sat. He knelt to help take Sam's shoes off, which only irritated Sam.
"I'm not a baby." Sam pushed him away and kicked off his shoes.
"Where, Sam?" Dean asked again.
"What?" Sam couldn't follow the conversation, there was too much noise in his head…roaring…like a fire that would consume him. "Dad." Sam blinked up at Dean. "In the cage."
But he couldn't know that. Those memories were locked away. It was an illusion. A reaction to Castiel and the voice on the phone and the lack of sleep. Though, that wasn't really true. Sam was sleeping. He slept a lot actually.
It just never really felt like he did.