The Siege (Part Two), Supernatural, NC-17

[phantisma]

Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Under Siege (Part Two)
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby, Crowley, John, Balthazar
Word Count: 6364
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.





"Don't fucking tell me to calm down one more fucking time, Bobby." Dean yelled, pulling a hand through his hair and pacing furiously over creaking floorboards in Bobby's study.

"Don't bite my head off, I'm trying to help here."

"Sam…He's remembering shit. I know he is." Dean stopped pacing and shook his head. "He has nightmares. He doesn't remember them when he wakes up, but I hear them." Dean shuddered and went to pour himself a drink.

Listening to Sam suffer in his sleep had been getting harder. Dean's own dreams tended to follow the dark down into memories he tried to keep buried. And the way he hit the floor, the headaches…"You didn't see him." Dean had drugged him, given him percocet instead of aspirin when he asked for it. Anything to block up the cracks in the wall.

"How do you think it was on the phone?" Bobby asked, and for the moment Dean was grateful for the change of subject.

"I don't know. If I didn't know better, I'd swear it was Dad."

"Recording?"

Dean slammed back the whiskey in his glass and poured more. "Hell if I know. I mean, we've seen supernatural shit that can mimic voices." He huffed and went back to pacing. "Maybe it's Crowley playing fucking games with us."

"Don't actually seem his style." Bobby said, snagging the bottle Dean had poured from and pouring his own.

Dean had to agree, actually. "So tell me about these omens."

"Not a lot to tell. Some livestock with their eyes burned out, a large amount of sulfur turning up in the water supply, and a sink hole the size of a buick."

"But you said something about a portal." Dean insisted.

Bobby shrugged and sipped at his whiskey. "I didn't. A friend of mine did. He's been studying the signs. A lot of similarities to the devil's gate being opened, to what happened when Castiel pulled your ass out of hell."

"So something crawled out of hell?"

Bobby nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so."

Dean swallowed down his whiskey and put the glass down. "Great. Just what we need."

"Thing is, that was months ago, and there's been nothing since."

Months ago. When he and Castiel had fought over what he was planning. When he had begged Castiel to find another way. When Castiel had fallen off the face of the planet. "What if…" He shook his head. "So…what if Castiel…went down there after someone or something."

"What?"

Dean went back to pacing, scratching at his head as the thoughts formed. "What if he went down there to pull someone or something out, but got…trapped…that would explain how he got in this condition."

"But what? Who?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. You got any better ideas?"

"No. I guess not."

"I'm going to go down and check on Castiel. Start checking the area around that town your friend lives in."

"What am I looking for?"

"I don't know. Just look for odd stuff….people appearing or disappearing, stuff like that."

He left Bobby scratching his head. He was tired. Bone-weary…he couldn't remember where he'd heard the word, but it was accurate. It was never enough. They had been fighting their whole lives, but it was never enough.

He opened the door to the panic room. Castiel appeared to be sleeping again, though somehow it seemed a more natural sleep. That was something at least.

Dean snorted at the thought. Right. In the grand scheme of things it was nothing. For all he knew, Castiel might never recover. For all he knew, he wasn't even Castiel anymore.

He scrubbed over his face and started pacing around the room. It seemed like lately all he did was pace. And worry. And drink. But then again, when you've managed to avert one apocalypse only to find yourself facing another, and your brother's soul had to be retrieved from the cage where he was a plaything for Lucifer, and oh, by the way it was Death that did the retrieving and shoving of that soul back inside with a warning that the memories could destroy him…and you find out someone you thought of as a brother had betrayed you and is trying to open the gates of purgatory with your old friend Crowley who just happens to be the current reigning king of hell…well…really, what else was there to do?

A part of him wanted to say "fuck you" to everything and drink himself into oblivion. Not that the drinking helped necessarily. In the beginning it helped take the edge off, blurred the memory of what he'd been through, what he'd done.

And if he's honest with himself, that's the part that's eating at him now, the things he did in hell…because he sees the marks of those kinds of things on Castiel, he hears the sound of them in Sam's voice at night. It whispers him that he's not so different from Crowley or Lucifer in the end…that he should surrender to it, to the pleasure of it.

His hand clenched around the memory of a weapon in his hand and Dean realized that he'd stopped moving, savoring something he detested. He pushed the thought away and turned, startled to see that Castiel was awake.

"D-Dean?" Castiel rasped out with a voice that was barely a whisper. His eyes were wide and blue and afraid. It was enough to jerk Dean back into the moment.

Dean moved slowly squatting down beside the cot. “Yes, it’s me.” Castiel’s hand grabbed his with a surprisingly strong grip.

“Is this real?”

Dean inhaled, looking him in the eye and nodding. “Yes. I swear to you. This is real. I’m real.”

Those blue eyes closed and Dean watched as he swallowed. A tear escaped down his cheek. It left Dean feeling helpless. “Where?” Castiel asked when his eyes opened again.

“Bobby’s. Panic room.” Dean responded.

“How?”

Dean looked away, but didn’t try to take his hand away from Castiel, who was clinging to it as if it was the only thing holding him in place. “Not really sure. Balthazar showed up, left you with us. He hasn’t answered our calls though, and Sam said he looked like shit.”

Castiel gripped his hand tighter. “Balthazar came for me?”

Dean lifted his free hand, brushing hair off of Castiel’s forehead, though it was more a comforting gesture than anything. He didn’t know what to say, or if anything he said would matter. “You’re safe now.”

Castiel seemed to be drifting back to sleep, but suddenly stiffened. “Crowley.”

Dean closed his eyes. Son of a bitch.

“He will come looking for me.”

“Maybe, but he’ll have to come through us first. Me and Sam and Bobby.”

“I am afraid, Dean.”

The words were barely audible and tiny and Castiel was already slipping back into the sleep of the badly injured…but they cut into Dean, tore a hole in his stomach and crawled inside him. “I know Cas.” Dean whispered into their joined hands as a tear fell. “I know.”




“The good news is I found replacement glass for you.” Bobby was telling Dean as Sam came downstairs. “We should have it in a couple days.”

“Hey sleeping beauty.” Dean was concerned, but flippant as Sam joined him on the couch. “How you feeling?”

“Hungover.” Sam responded. He rubbed at his temples. His head didn’t seem to hurt like before, but it was tender…like it would start pounding if he moved wrong. “You drugged me.”

Dean didn’t deny it, just shrugged minutely. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

Bobby snorted. “Almost two days.”

Sam frowned at him. “No, really.”

“He’s serious, sunshine. Almost two days.” Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. “And I did not drug you that much.”

Sam had woken only a few minutes before coming down the stairs. He knew he had slept hard, there had been dreams, but they slipped away from him as soon as his eyes were open. “I must have been tired.” Sam said finally. “How is Cas?”

Dean inhaled and nodded. “Awake more often, but…”

“Has he said anything?”

“Not much. It was Crowley. Something about being…trapped….it didn’t make much sense.”

“Balthazar?” Sam asked, not really expecting much.

“No show.” Bobby replied.

“So where does that leave us?” Sam asked as Dean got up and went to Bobby's desk.

“Well, Bobby might have found us something. There were reports of a few disturbances near where the omens were. Police picked up a suspicious person right after the whole thing probably went down, so I figure I should go out and have look around, maybe see if I can get any details."

"I can come with you." Sam said, thinking that maybe he needed something to do to keep him occupied, anything to keep his mind away from the wall that held him safe.

Dean shook his head. "No, I need you here, keeping an eye on Castiel. And researching."

Sam could feel himself frowning again. "Researching what, Dean? We're flying blind here. Castiel doesn't need me."

"We have to find out why he can't heal himself, for starters." Dean said, huffing at him. "And Bobby's got some stuff on the local history, maybe you can dig up a reason that Cas chose that spot to start his three-hour tour of hell."

Sam stood, expressing his frustration with his own huff. "That's busy work. I need something to do Dean."

"It's important. I won't be gone long." Dean obviously wasn't interested in listening though. He grabbed at his jacket. "Make sure he eats something," he said to Bobby as he headed for the door.

"What am I, five?" Sam asked once the door was shut.

"He's worried." Bobby said, coming around the desk to lean against it, arms crossed, looking at Sam like he was, in fact, five and in trouble with daddy. "Fact is, so am I."

He wanted to say that he was okay, but somehow he was sure Bobby wasn't going to buy it. "Okay," he said instead, sitting back uncomfortably on the old beat up couch. "I get that. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried too. But…sitting around here isn't going to help."

"And being out there is?" Bobby asked.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"Why don't you tell me what you do know?"

Sam thought about that for a minute. "All right. I know that I'm dreaming. A lot. Sometimes I'm not even sure I'm asleep when I do it."

"What kind of dreams?"

Sam stood, his skin crawling with the emotion even if he couldn't conjure the images. "Whatever they are, they're terrifying….I can hear myself screaming…I wake up dry and my throat all scratchy…sweaty and shaking…but I can't remember them…and after a few minutes they fade."

He rubbed his hands over his arms, suddenly cold, though it had little to do with the temperature in the room. "And I hear his voice." He stopped in his tracks, turning to face Bobby. He wasn't sure why he'd said that.

"Who's voice?"

Sam shook his head. "I…I don't know. I just…" Something was eluding him. He could feel it and he wanted to reach for it…to grab it and haul it in so he could see it and understand it. "Right before Castiel showed up, I could have sworn I heard someone say my name…and again right before the phone call that sounded like Dad."

"Dirty, pathetic, evil little cock-sucking whore. I should have let you burn in that crib."

Sam closed his eyes and moved away from Bobby. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't his father.

"Sam?"

He blinked and looked back at Bobby. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself. "What if I can't….can't keep the wall from cracking?" He was starting to worry that no matter what he did, those memories were going to come roaring out and cripple him.

"You know what Dean told you." Bobby's voice was filled with concern. "You were down there more than a year, Sam."

He swallowed and nodded. He knew that. Logically anyway. He knew what Death had told Dean. He couldn't let himself keep dwelling on it. He offered a tight smile to Bobby. "So, where do we start this research?"

If he couldn't be out with Dean, he could at least keep his hands and mind busy.




Dean adjusted his tie as he got out of the car in front of the hospital. He hadn't gotten a whole lot of information out of the local sheriff, only that the man had been found naked, wandering, apparently lost, confused and disoriented, and that when questioned, his answers had made little sense.

It was when the sheriff mentioned demons in the man's rambling that Dean really thought he might be exactly what Dean was looking for. Which brought him here.

The man had been admitted to the psych ward, almost three months ago. He headed into the hospital and followed the signs up to the ward, smiling at the nurse at the front desk. He flashed his fake FBI badge. "Hi, I'm agent Plant, FBI. You had a patient come in here about two and a half, three months ago. A John Doe. He was delusional and talking about demons?"

She raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Yes, we did. He's still here, actually."

That sort of surprised Dean. "Good. I'd like to talk to him, if I could."

"What's this about?"

"Well, we think he may have been a witness to something." Dean answered. "I need to find out if he saw, what he saw." Not his best work, he had to admit.

"I'll need to clear it with his doctor."

"Of course."

Dean paced the hallway while she spoke on the phone, turning when someone approached him.

"Agent Plant, I presume." She was a pretty woman, dark auburn hair pulled back, glasses. She pulled a hand out of her lab coat pocket and offered it to him.

Dean shook the hand with a smile. "Yes, and you are?"

"Dr. Emily Miles. I understand you're interested in John."

He nodded. "What can you tell me about him?"

"When he came to us, he was pretty torn up, physically as well as mentally. It was fairly clear he'd been through an ordeal. Whatever ordeal that was, he has it hidden under layers of delusions."

Dean nodded. "Demons, Sheriff Lodge told me."

She pointed down the hall and together they started walking. "I have tried a number of things to get through the delusions, but the story he tells remains the same."

"And that story is?" They were stopped beside a door. She put both hands in her pockets and looked him in the eye.

"He claims that he was dead and in hell. He said that he escaped once, but couldn't find his way back to his body or into heaven and he slowly got sucked back down into hell. He hid from demons and ran through various levels or places until someone came to pull him out."

Dean inhaled. "Quite a story."

"Very detailed, and his nightmares are horrific. Whatever actually happened to him, it was pretty severe. Yet, his memory of before he supposedly died is shattered, he can't remember his name or where he lived, says he has kids, but…we let him try calling a few phone numbers he remembered, but…nothing."

"So, can I see him?"

"I don't know what you expect to get from him, but yes. Keep it short. Don't upset him."

"I'll do my best."

He had no idea what he would find when he opened that door, but he opened it, stepping in and shutting it behind him.

The man standing at the window was tall, nearly as tall as Sam. His back was to Dean, his body slouched as he leaned on the glass. His scrubs were loose on him, his dark hair shot through with gray.

Dean cleared his throat and the man turned. Dean blinked and stepped back unconsciously, into the door. “D-dad?”

The man standing there in pale blue hospital scrubs was the spitting image of John Winchester, minus some body weight. He blinked at Dean blankly, then slowly recognition formed in his eyes. A smile started. “You…I know you.”

Dean’s hand fumbled with the door handle and as soon as he got it turned, he was out in the hallway, gulping in air. The thing that had crawled out of hell was John Winchester. He took a deep breath and stepped back into the room. “I…ah….sorry about that.” He looked his father over. He’d lost weight, and he seemed skittish, the slow smile gone, his eyes dark with suspicion and fear. “I…”

What do you say to the father who died to save you, who went to hell so that you could live to keep on fighting?

He was clearly struggling to remember something as Dean took a few steps closer. “D-Dean. Right?”

Tears burned in the corner of his eyes and Dean’s throat closed off as he nodded. He wanted to hold it all together, he wanted to keep himself walled up…but all of the shit he’d been burying was rising up inside him, all of the times he’d wished for exactly this, the exhaustion of the never ending battle…”Dad.” Dean wrapped his arms around him and held on, barely breathing in fear that if he moved it would all prove to be an illusion.

Then John’s arms circled around him, pulled him in close and Dean could exhale. After a long moment, Dean pulled back reluctantly. “How…I mean…give me a minute.” He wiped his face, guiding his father to the two hard plastic chairs in the corner of the room. “Tell me what happened?”

John was still looking at Dean with a sense of wonder on his face. “I was beginning to wonder if you were even real.”

“Oh, I’m real. Just tell me what you remember.”

John nodded, rubbing a hand over his clean shaven face. “I was dead.” He glanced at Dean, probably to see if he was going to believe him. “I was in hell. They…it was…”

Dean touched his hand. “It’s okay. I know. Skip to the part where you got out.”

He shifted in his seat, but looked a little more comfortable. “Not sure how, but suddenly there was a way…and I got out. I wasn’t alone, other things got out too. And…you were there. You and Sam.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, we were.”

“We killed a demon.” John said, squinting as if he was trying to make the details clear. “I couldn’t stay there though…and I tried to find out where I was supposed to be…but I kept running into demons that tried to take me back to the pit, back to the torture.” He ran his hands down his thighs, then stood. “Then there was a demon…said he needed me and he could make it so I could come back…to you. And then I was stuck in this place that was all black…until suddenly there was light and someone grabbing me, shoving me…he said he was there to save me, and we started to leave, but hell hounds showed up and demons….and there was a fight, then he shoved me out.” John leaned on the window again, looking out into the late afternoon.

“At first I didn’t think it was real, but then people started to notice me…and I know I was talking crazy. I hadn’t spoke actual words in so long.” He shook his head. “Eventually, I ended up here.”

“Castiel.” Dean said, standing himself now. “At least that makes more sense. And I’m betting the demon was Crowley, but I don’t get why he needed you.”

And, it was obvious that what he was getting was the short version. There was more to it, even if his father didn’t remember everything. But the immediate need now was to get them out of the hospital.

“Do they have you on any meds?” Dean asked, crossing to the door to check the hallway. They had a clear shot to the back stairwell if they moved fast.

“Sedatives at night, to help me sleep.”

Dean nodded. He could handle that. Bobby had a decent stash. “Nothing else that we’d have to wean you off of?”

“No.”

“You got shoes?” Dean glanced at his bare feet, then back up to his face.

John seemed to not be sure why Dean was asking, but he shook his head slowly. “Slippers.”

“It’ll have to do. Put them on, we’re blowing out of here.”




Sam looked up as Bobby came to the table with a cup of broth. “You wanna take this down, or should I?”

He closed the book he was looking through and stood, stretching before taking the cup. “I will. I could use the break.”

Sam opened the door and descended the stairs. Castiel was huddled on the far side of the room, lifting his head as Sam stepped inside. His eyes were red and swollen like he’d been crying, but he had moved, which was more than he’d done since they’d found him.

“I brought you some soup. Bobby thinks you should eat something.” He stopped a few feet from the door, not sure Castiel was ready for Sam to be looming over him.

He inched slowly up the wall, his eyes on Sam. Once he was upright, Castiel limped toward him slowly.

“Thank you.” His voice was better, more solid. He kept the cot between them and reach for the cup. Sam held it out for him and stepped back once Castiel had taken it.

“How are you feeling?”

“As though this body has been tortured.” Castiel replied, his eyes averted.

“Judging from the look we got, I’d say that’s accurate.” Sam said. “Can you…tell me anything? We’re looking for a way to help you—“

“You can not help me.” Castiel said, cutting him off. “I am…broken.”

His hand slid up to his neck, rubbing at the back of his head. Sam frowned. There was a pattern to the movement. “What is it?” Sam asked, moving closer.

Castiel turned away from him and Sam caught a glimpse of something in his hair. “Cas?”

His eyes were on the floor. “It is shameful. I am unclean.”

”Dirty, filthy, floor-licking, unclean dog.”

Sam swallowed and pushed the thought away. “May I…may I see it?” Sam asked gently.

Castiel didn’t say no and didn’t lift a hand or move away as Sam approached. Sam ran his fingers through his hair, surprised to find a patch that was bald, and covered by longer hair from above. The skin there was raised, as if the sigil had been burned into the flesh. It was Enochian, Sam thought, though he wasn’t entirely sure.

Castiel turned toward him, his forehead brushing Sam’s shoulder. He was trembling and Sam rescued the mug of soup just before Castiel would have dropped it. Castiel's hands fisted in Sam's shirt and hot tears wet the fabric.

He sank slowly and Sam followed, until they were both on the floor. "Here…" Sam put the mug down and pushed it away, adjusting himself until he was sitting on the floor with Castiel awkwardly clutching to him, his ass on the floor between Sam's legs, his legs over Sam's leg, his face still buried in Sam's chest.

Sam didn't know what else to do but hold him while he cried silently. His shoulders shook and Sam lifted a hand to gentle caress a small circle on the angel's back.

"He did this to me." Castiel said softly without looking up. "He tarnished me."

His words stirred images in Sam's head, images that he didn't want there. "You're safe now." Sam responded, just as softly. "We'll keep you safe."

"I am unclean." Castiel said again. "He marked me." He lifted his head, his blue eyes startling amid the red skin around them. "They…I was…was an angel of the Lord…and they…desecrated me."

He lowered his head back onto Sam's chest. Sam kept rubbing, fairly sure it wasn't much help, but he was completely at a loss. Eventually the trembling lessened and Castiel was leaning more heavily into him, making Sam think he had fallen asleep.

He knew he should move them, get Cas up on the cot and himself up off the floor, but for the moment he was content to offer the angel the small comfort of his arms. Sam closed his own eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.




Dean had them stopped on the side of the road between towns and he was staring at his phone, trying to figure out how in the hell he was going to tell Sam and Bobby that John Winchester was alive.

His father was standing in the grass in his bare feet, his face turned up to the evening sky as the sun set.

"I forgot how good it feels." John said, glancing at Dean.

"Yeah, it's fucking great." Dean responded, shaking his head. He lifted the phone, but before he could dial he felt something and turned.

"Hello, Dean."

Ice water flowed through his veins and he had to force himself not to throw a punch. "Crowley."

"I see you got my little…present." He waved his hand at John who was lunging at him now.

Dean caught him and pushed him back. "Dad, don't."

"That's the bastard that—"

"Temper, temper, John. " Crowley said, lifting a hand. John went still, grabbing at his throat.

"Crowley." Dean growled.

Crowley shook his head and rolled his eyes and let his father go. "You have something that belongs to me. I want it back."

Dean frowned at him.

"Not him, you can have him. He was never much fun, even when old Alistair had him on the rack. Not my type. Too stoic. Doesn't scream enough." He shuddered mockingly. "You have my angel. I want him back."

"He's not yours." Dean argued, wishing he had a gun or something in his hand. It wouldn't kill Crowley, but it might piss him off some.

"Oh, but he is. I had my way with him Dean…you know, the way Alistair had his way with you? Fucked him inside and out, body and soul, mind and spirit. Marked him up and made him my bitch for the rest of eternity. Says so, right here." Crowley made a circling motion with a finger pointed at the back of his own head. "He squeals and screams and begs so pretty. You'd like the way he goes all still and quiet just before the knife slices into him…the way he bucks as my hell hounds fuck him…and his blood….mmmm…tasty."

Dean swallowed hard and took a step back. "You are one sick fuck. Go crawl back into your pit."

"No can do, Dean. Not without my toy. Give him back."

"No."

Crowley stepped closer, his feet crunching gravel. "I know you have him all holed up in that room at Bobby's….I know that's where Sam is. Give me Castiel or I'll let others in on that little secret."

"What others?" Dean quipped. "Is that the best you've got? Dad, get in the car." Dean turned to go to the driver's seat.

"What if I told you that a certain angel turned devil has slipped his cage and is looking for his lost vessel?"

Dean stopped. "What? Nice try. Lucifer is caged."

"Wrong. Raphael figured out a way to get them out. Thought he'd re-start the apocalypse. Only problem is, Michael and Lucifer have been down there for what…a little over a year, give or take…that's a hundred and twenty years in hell. In that cage, it's more like two hundred and fifty. They've already beat the shit out of each other a couple hundred times. They could care less what Raphael wants."

"What are you saying?" Dean growled at him.

"Lucifer is free and without a meat suit. My money is on him looking up your brother sometime very soon, seeing as Sammy's already said yes once. Won't even need permission."

Dean had the phone up and the number dialed even before he was in the car. Crowley was laughing, but Dean barely checked to make sure his father was back in the car before he peeled out. "Damnit Bobby, pick up the damn—Bobby, we got trouble. Crowley knows where we are and Raphael apparently let Michael and Lucifer out of the cage."

Dean dropped the phone and pressed the gas peddle to the floor. As long as Cas was in the panic room, Crowley couldn't get to him, but Lucifer…he was an angel, not a demon.

"Let's hope he does it right this time." Dean murmured. Beside him his father was pale, holding on to the seat as Dean raced toward Bobby's place. "It's gonna be okay, Dad. I…just…stay with me."




"There's my pretty boy." Hands pet over him, possessively, mimicking gentle caresses, but each pass is harder than the last and fingers catch on open wounds, dragging them open. The air is think and stinks of sex and sweat and blood. "Come on Sam."

He shakes his head no, struggles to keep his eyes closed. He isn't supposed to see…isn't supposed to know.

Something rubs against his lips, demanding, pressing…He jerks away, curls into a ball. No. No. No. He holds onto the word. That one word gives him power. He keeps his eyes closed and whispers it over and over.

"Let me in, Sam." He feels it now on his ass, the same thick, hard probing, pressing and he rolls away.

No. No. No.

A face fills his mind, even though he hasn't opened his eyes. His own face, twisted into a mockery of concern. "You know it's where I belong. We are one, Sam."





Castiel woke, still in Sam's lap, his fingers still curled in the fabric of his t-shirt. He moved slowly, crawling away until he could get to the cot and pull himself up. This body was still in pain, though it lessened each time he woke. It was cold too, he recognized the sensation, shivering almost as an afterthought.

Soon he would have to stop thinking of the body as separate. Jimmy was gone, had been a long time, and the seal Crowley had forced on him would see Castiel firmly kept inside until the body gave out.

He couldn't help the way his fingers moved to touch it. It was an abomination. His brethren would disown him and his father would cast him aside. It had not been done in a millennium. It was such a defilement that even demons would not bring themselves to attempt it.

Sam was dreaming, Castiel could almost feel the anguish. He pulled away. He didn't want to feel that.

Behind him the door opened. Castiel stood, despite the pain in his knee and foot, turning to find Bobby in the doorway. He smelled of fear, and adrenaline. "Crowley…" Castiel murmured, stepping back until the workbench was at his back.

"Not yet." Bobby countered, holding up a knife and cutting his palm. "We have bigger fish to fry." He nodded toward Sam. "Lucifer's loose and coming for him."

"No!" Sam jerked awake, the yell echoing around the panic room.

Castiel pressed himself against the bench as Bobby stood in the door, blood dripping from his hand. Bobby used the blood to draw sigils on the door…sigils that would keep angels out. He looked to Castiel when he was done, looking with expectation.

Castiel inched forward, squinting at them. The sigils on the door were perfect this time. Once Bobby closed that door, Castiel would be trapped inside that room until someone opened the door again.

But it would also mean no other angels would be able to open it, and Sam would be safe. Sam was climbing to his feet.

"What's going on?"

"I don't have time to explain." Bobby said, clenching his wounded hand. He leaned out the door and pushed in a couple of bags. "Dean's on his way. Told me to keep you both in here."

Bobby stepped out, pulling the door closed. Castiel listened to the locks, his eyes closing. They were trapped. He turned away from Sam, his stomach twisting.

"Cas?" Sam's voice wavered.

"This room is very small." Castiel said after a long time, fighting to get enough air into his lungs.

"It's okay." Sam said, though he didn't sound very sure of himself. "We'll be okay." He was nodding when Castiel turned to look at him. "We just need to….breathe and not panic."

It was fairly clear, even to Castiel in the state he was in, that Sam was bordering on panic himself. "I've spent a lot of time in this room." Sam mused, starting a slow circuit. "A lot of time."

"Bobby is afraid." Castiel said when the silence had gotten long and uncomfortable. Sam only nodded in response, still walking in a slow pace around the room. "He said Lucifer is coming."

Sam stopped walking, his arms crossing over his stomach. His eyes closed and he turned his head, as if listening to something Castiel couldn't here. "I know he is." Sam said slowly. "He wants me. He wants to be inside me."

Castiel shuddered, Sam's tone striking some chord inside him that made his body suddenly run cold. "Sam." Castiel wanted him to stop, but Sam wasn't really listening to him.

"He's been in my dreams…he whispers my name." Sam was leaning on the wall, his head back, his eyes closed. "He touches the wall and I see things, feel things…"

Castiel limped across the room. "He hurt you." Castiel whispers, the echo of his own ordeal so close and fresh he isn't sure where his own pain ends and Sam's begins.

Sam whimpered a little, sliding down the wall. "He…the things I see in my dreams…can't be real. They're too horrible." He seemed to huddle in on himself, suddenly seeming smaller and younger.

Castiel moved to sit beside him, shifting until he found a position that didn't send waves of pain through his body. "You must not let him in." Memory filled him, the body of his vessel violated, the tearing of skin and the thrusting of cock into him. He pushed the memory away. "You must fight him."

Sam lowered his head onto his knees, looking at Castiel through tear filled eyes. "I don't know if I'm strong enough."

Castiel understood that all too well. He too laid his head on his own knees, looking at Sam. "You must be."

Sam blinked and tears spilled over his nose. Castiel blinked and felt the wetness of his own.

"My father…" Sam swallowed, his eyes closing. "The words he says in my head…I know…I know it isn't him, wasn't him…but I can hear them and they aren't wrong. I am sick, twisted…I let Ruby use me, I became a monster…I…I said yes."

Pain and anguish radiated off of Sam, amplifying Castiel's own misery. He lifted a hand to brush through Sam's hair. It felt strange, but he had seen humans make the gesture often, and he had to admit when Dean had done it to him it had brought a measure of comfort.

"You stopped Lucifer when you said yes." He knew as arguments went it was not the strongest, for Lucifer would never have been free if Sam hadn't let him out in the first place, but at the moment, it was all he had.

Sam sniffed and rubbed away the tears. Castiel felt like he should say more, but he didn't know what there was to say. His hand fell to his side and let the silence fill the space between them.




Dean threw up a dust cloud as he slammed on the breaks and threw the car in park, already out of the car before his father had even opened the door. The skies were already dark, but he could feel the gathering storm coming, far more than just the clouds and threatening rain.

He had no idea what he was going to do about any of it. He just knew he needed to get his father inside, make sure Sam and Castiel were okay, then he would deal with whatever came at them.

Bobby was at the door, shotgun in his hand, but his eyes weren't leaving John's face.

Dean held up his hands. "I know, I know. Gawk later, we got company on our tail."

He pushed past Bobby, then reached back to pull his father into the house. Bobby closed the doors, straightened up the salt line and followed them into the kitchen.

"Castiel and Sam are locked in tight."

"You got it right this time?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Yes, smartass. All the doors and windows are salted, devil's traps in front of as many of them as I could manage."

"Good. It won't keep Lucifer out, but it should hold Crowley and his lot at bay." Dean turned to his father who was still in hospital scrubs and bathrobe. "Dad, go upstairs. My bag is on the bed. Find something to wear."

John looked around the room, then at Dean nodding. He could see memory starting to come back to him. "Okay. But we need to talk."

"And what a fun conversation that will be." Dean grumbled after he had walked away. "How are we set for provisions?"

Bobby shrugged. "Food and water should hold out a while. Ammunition…depends. Most of it's there on the table."

Dean turned to look, taking stock of the salt rounds and holy water, regular bullets and iron scattershot. They were ready for what was coming as they could be, under the circumstances.

"You gonna explain?"

"Now?" Dean asked.

"We got time."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not sure I know, honestly. He was what Castiel went to hell after. Crowley had him, was going to use him against us. Now Crowley wants Castiel back instead, and he knows we're here."

The windows darkened and the house shook as thunder echoed around them. The siege had begun.