Chapter Text
Gasping breaths were stolen by the air forced over his body, racing at several hundred miles per hour. Perhaps there were vocalizations, sounds of distress and pain as the wind tore at his skin, the pressure of such a fall compressing his head, his chest, his bones. Broken wings fanned out, attempting to slow and steady his descent. Despite the pain of working with such tattered appendages, he tried desperately to make them function as they once had.
Falling had been so much easier when Castiel had had his wings.
As it was, the gales screamed through the remains of velvet black feathers, muscles and Grace howling in the effort to steady the chaotic path of his fall. He was failing, tumbling head over heels over wings until, with blinding suddenness, he wasn’t. Like the comet he’d been masquerading, Cas blasted into the surface of this small planet, ripping apart the damp earth with the force of a small explosion. Damp soil rained down upon his smoldering form as he laid four feet under, chest heaving in gasps as he tried to recapture the oxygen that had been stolen from his lungs.
No angel enjoyed being banished. Banishment meant a fall, a type of pain so indescribable that no human could possibly understand. While not possessing the same level of agony as being cast from Heaven, it was still a fall that left his muscles screaming, his skin burning, his Grace spent. It was a caveat from his Father that all angels cursed with particular venom.
Cas’ mind was buzzing loudly and his body protested movement of any form with fierce vehemence, but he had to get back to Sam. He had to get back to him now. The angel forced himself up, crawling out of the small crater he’d created. He bit back a low groan of pain as he straightened himself, swaying slightly on the side of the road he’d been fortunate enough to land beside.
There was a man standing with his mouth agape, the frame of an old truck grumbling behind him. Well, at least the Universe had granted him transportation. He looked back and saw a flaming hole in a billboard he must have hurtled through just before landing. Dirt fell from his hair as he shook his head, wincing at the pain in his aching muscles.
“Where am I?” he asked, trying to keep the fatigue from his voice.
“Uh … Earth?”
“No, I - “ Cas rolled his eyes. Earth. Obviously. He tried to keep the sarcastic thoughts he’d developed from the Winchesters at bay. Obviously he was on earth. But this human unkindly reminded him that this species had evolved from apes. He took a deep, steadying breath. “How far am I from Lebanon, Kansas?” he specified.
“Uh … th-three hours, maybe?”
Cas tried to keep himself from rolling his eyes again. Did this man always phrase his sentences with the inflection suggesting a question? He was aware that he had very little patience at this moment, but the times were, indeed, desperate and he felt such impatience was justified. So when the human attempted to question him, Castiel, Angel of the Lord, merely placed two fingers upon the human’s forehead and forced sleep upon him. As he crumpled, unconscious, to the ground, Cas stepped into the driver’s seat and headed for the Bunker as fast as the truck would take him.
He punched off the music, lips tightened into a thin line. Look out for Sammy, Dean’s voice reminded him and something pulled painfully at Cas’ insides. Dean’s dying wish and, not forty-eight hours later, he had already failed. Worse, he had no leads. He didn’t know who the woman had been, other than that she had been human. He didn’t know what she wanted or how she’d gotten into the Bunker, let alone how she’d known about it. He didn’t know how she knew enough to banish him and that alone was enough to worry him. Very little humans knew about angelic magic and how to harness it. If she knew enough to banish him, even though the sigil had been simplified and less effective then the one the Winchesters had learned from Anna, then Cas had to be careful not to underestimate her.
For the thousandth time, the seraph cursed the Enochian runes he’d engraved upon Sam’s ribs. It protected them from Heaven’s legions, to be sure, but it was certainly a trial when he needed to be able to locate the Winchesters.
Winchester.
Cas’ mind numbly corrected the name to a singular format and the pain of realization nearly tore a cry from him. There was only one Winchester left. Of course.
He forced his mind elsewhere. Sam needed him and he had to be present. He could not allow his loss to impact the efficiency with which he retrieved Sam from this precarious situation. The most likely theory was that they wanted information, but of what? He didn’t know, but any bit of information was important and he guessed that there would be more clues back at the Bunker. He pressed down harder on the gas pedal, cursing the shoddy state of the truck he’d taken. It was in ill repair and poorly cared for, but, somehow, it managed to roll into the Bunker’s garage without breaking down on the side of the road. The angel nearly sent a prayer of thanks before remembering how futile that exercise was.
Ignoring the pang that sent through his chest, he stumbled out of the car with a small gasp. The two hours it had taken him to get here had not been kind to his battered body. His muscles were stiff and tight with strain and his skin was still burning. He had a monumental headache and his lungs felt bruised; each breath was forced and painful. He took a minute to lean against the truck for support before forcing himself back up and into the Bunker to look for a lead.
Had his Grace not been so depleted from the fall, Cas would have sensed her as soon as he’d driven into the garage. He was so spent, so drained and exhausted that he didn’t notice her, hidden behind a pillar, until he was halfway down the stairs. Fury rolled through him and, despite the enervated way his body was moving, his azure eyes were cold and hard as he stalked towards her, intent to release the full force of his wrath upon her should she decide to be uncooperative.
“Who are you?” he snarled. “And where is Sam?” He regarded the handgun she pointed at him with cold indifference. That wouldn’t hurt him and he had no interest in complying to her orders to raise his hands. This woman would lead him to Sam or he would show her why the people of the Old Testament had so feared angels. He took another firm step forward.
“Woah, woah, woah!” A second, intimately familiar voice sounded from the hall and Cas watched in astonishment as Dean, recently deceased, lowered the woman’s firearm. And it was him. There was no point in initiating the typical monster tests when angels could see into the soul and this was Dean Winchester’s soul, as broken and beaten and beautiful as it had been when he’d gone after Amara not two days ago.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean said quietly, almost with an air of apologetic shyness. Cas didn’t care. Dean’s name escaped his lips in a desperate cry of relief and joy and he threw his arms around him, holding him tight. Dean blushed slightly, embarrassment heightening by the looks he was getting from the woman accompanying him. “Hey, okay,” he mumbled, returning the hug before gently extricating himself.
“You’re alive?” Cas demanded, almost angry. “What about the bomb and the Darkness?”
But Dean shook his head firmly. “I will tell you everything, but first: where is Sam?”
Cas paled ever so slightly. “Not here,” he admitted, looking away.
“Are you a hunter?” Cas frowned over at the blonde woman accompanying Sam. The two men spoke together, words mixing in and over each other. Cas wasn’t sure a fully-formed sentence emerged as a result, but her eyes widened in shock, so she must have translated something meaningful. “Come again?” She looked over, bright blue eyes demanding an explanation from Dean.
“An angel,” Dean repeated. “With a capital A. Y’know, wings. Harp.”
Cas rolled his eyes in exasperation. “No, I don’t have a harp,” he clarified. Dean threw him a small smirk before introducing him.
“This is Castiel.”
The seraph felt his wings flutter slightly, whether in pride or self-consciousness, he couldn’t tell. But there was such weight and meaning when Dean spoke his name and he hadn’t thought he’d ever hear it again.
“Cas, this is … “ he trailed off, frowning slightly. “Mary. Winchester.”
There was a long moment of silence from Cas as he processed this information, searching Dean’s face for any sign of trick or prank. Dean’s emerald eyes were open and honest, chin lifted in … some form of emotion he couldn’t identify. As though daring Cas to question him. “Your mother,” Cas said slowly. He could see it, now. The firm confidence he often saw in Dean. Sam looked very much like her. He was caught between the sudden, miraculous resurrection of both Dean and his mother and he was in so much pain that when Dean started drilling him on Sam’s whereabouts, he had to focus to find an answer, but he had none.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “We came back here. There was a woman waiting for us, she blasted me away.” He sounded ashamed and Dean was frowning at him, trying to make sense of the odd situation. “I don’t know who she was. I don’t know what happened to Sam.” His eyes were swimming in guilt, particularly when faced with the man who had given him this task in the first place. He found it difficult to look at Dean with the knowledge of his failings. He ignored Mary’s queries, having no time to answer every question she had as Dean started working through things step-by-step.
“You said woman? Not an angel, not a demon. She was human.”
“She was human,” Cas confirmed, grateful he could at least give this little bit of information he’d gathered before he’d been banished.
“When did this go down?” Dean demanded after a quick moment, voice focused and alert as he started formulating a plan.
“2:12 AM,” Cas responded, ignoring the odd look he got from Mary for his specificity. Dean was merely grateful for the angel’s impeccable ability to tell time. He often poked fun at Cas for his very literal and precise way of thinking, but it had come in handy far too many times for him to consider it a character flaw.
Angel watched human run over traffic cams, fingers flying over the keyboard as he alternated between teasing his mother and scanning the traffic. He was no good at this, at using technology and he didn’t hide that. His demeanor towards Mary had changed instantly from hostility to neutrality and he interacted with her when he wasn’t busy convincing himself that this had actually happened, that Dean was still alive. Or, alive again. He wasn’t sure which situation was accurate. Knowing the Winchesters, it could be either.
And Sam … Sam had no idea. Cas remembered the numbness that had settled upon the younger man’s soul and repressed a shudder. This was a very delicate situation. If Sam felt he had nothing left to lose with a mind that could not process emotion, there was no telling what he’d do to get at those who had taken him.
Dean found a lead within five minutes and went to pack, grabbing a bag for Mary as well. She didn’t know her way around, so it would be easier to pack for the both of them, rather than showing her where everything was. Time was precious. He felt Cas’ presence constantly, even when he couldn’t physically see the angel. Cas wasn’t hiding, of course. The dude had a less-than-human concept of personal space and even less tact. He was being watched. No, that wasn’t right. He was being guarded. Cas was guarding him, making sure he wouldn’t disappear again. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, forcing himself to lay low and ignore the fact that his counterpart, his best friend, was walking to his assured death. Then, without having the time to process such a significant loss, he magically turned up alive, well … that kind of emotional roller coaster had to be taxing.
Knowing this, Dean didn’t fault Cas for the constant eyes, the constant brooding stares as he packed his bags. He just shook his head. “Cas, c’mon,” he called, feeling the angel just outside the door. “I know you’re there.”
Cas took a step inside. “I wasn’t hiding,” he said uncertainly.
“I know that. But if you’re going to watch me, might as well do it in the same room,” Dean reasoned with a slight smile. He threw a machete into Mary’s bag and stood up frowning when Cas stayed silent. “What’s up?” he asked. He knew Cas well enough after all these years to know when something was on the seraph’s mind.
“You gave me a task and I failed,” Cas said quietly. “Worse still, that task was keeping Sam safe. I not only failed you, but I failed him.”
Dean shook his head and his hand cut off anymore self-pity. “That’s enough. You couldn’t have known, Cas. No one knows about this Bunker. Even if they did, how could they possibly have a key to get inside, huh? And what’s more, they knew angel magic. This wasn’t your fault. You’re not to blame.” Cas didn’t look convinced, so Dean shifted the subject slightly. “What was that mark on the wall, anyways?”
“It’s a simplified Enochian banishing sigil,” Cas replied. “It has a weaker blast radius, you could say.”
“Where’d you end up?” Dean conversed, finishing up the packing and shouldering the two bags. Cas reached out and took one from him.
“A small rural area approximately two hours from here. Well,” he blushed faintly, amending the statement. “Three hours. I sped quite significantly.”
Dean grinned. “Thatta boy!” he praised, clapping Cas on the shoulder. When the angel winced, he frowned. “You ok?”
“I’m fine,” Cas said grimly. “Banishment is not a pleasant experience.”
Dean led the way out the door and towards the garage. “Well when we catch up to that bitch, I’ll leave a piece of her for you, okay? Now let’s go get Sam.”
____________________________________________________
Muscles ached and burned, as though they had frozen solid. Despite this, they were working hard, much too hard; spasming and shuddering in hard shivers as ice ran through Sam Winchester’s veins. The British Bitches had left, headed back upstairs to leave him to his misery. Liquid ice still fell from the shower head above him, raining down upon him like sleet. They thought they’d started small, were working up to something bigger and meaner. The thought almost made him laugh; they couldn’t have done much worse to him. The water’s chill had long since sunk into his core and there was no warmth left to him. Lucifer hung over him gleefully, walking about him in circles like the Devil had him in the Cage again.
For all intents and purposes, he did.
“They’re doing a pretty good job, don’t you think?” Lucifer’s tone was musing, a hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I mean, they can’t really personify my own brand of icy burn, but they definitely took away your ability to get warm. I mean, look at you! I haven’t seen you shudder this hard in a long, long time.”
Sam had no ability to whimper, to swear, to do anything but try to stifle the small sounds of hypothermia escaping from chattering teeth. He tried to press into his palm scar; the bindings left just enough room for his hands to reach, but his muscles were too frozen to control.
“Man, you really are in a bind, Bunk Buddy.”
He was too frozen to even flinch at the loathed term.
“I mean, Dean’s definitely not coming. I’d say he’s six feet under, but he’s probably been blasted into an infinite number of atoms by now. Auntie Amara doesn’t like to leave pieces behind.”
Sam tried to snap at him, but his lips wouldn’t form the words.
“Dear Castiel has been blasted to who knows where. Did you see that banishing sigil? That’s a new one! He could be dead for all we know. Even if he’s not and even if he could find you, you can bet that delicious little ass of yours that they’ve warded this place against things you haven’t even heard of.”
Hazy eyes screwed shut and he started running through the steps to field stripping his handgun, focusing on each piece and how it fit in with the rest. They needed information, they couldn’t kill him. Eventually the water would be shut off and he’d thaw out and banish Lucifer back to the Cage in his mind.
“Until then, it’s just you and me, Sammy! Want to run through all of our greatest hits?”
He was so damn cold. It was so damn cold. He didn’t know how he was still breathing; every short gasp of air sent blades into his lungs, when he could catch a breath at all.
“Hey, do you remember that one time when I took that filet knife to your eyes? Dad-damn, that was a good one. You know, I really do consider myself an artist. Sometimes I just get these creative kicks and - “
The door above opened, saving Sam from reliving that particularly gruesome memory as Toni and her partner walked down the steps. The former woman sat back down in her chair, regarding him with thoughtful, narrowed eyes. The latter, whose name he hadn’t been given, mercifully shut the water off. His cry of relief was indiscernible from the other wordless sounds being forced from his shuddering chest. It would take longer than they realized to ward the freeze from his bones, but the warm air could reach his skin now and it was bliss.
Toni watched him silently before shaking her head and standing. “Can we end this Sam? Please.”
Sam raised his head slowly and put every ounce of effort into forcing his mouth to work, chin jutted out with defiance raining fire from his eyes. “Screw … y-you.” Lucifer grinned in sadistic glee next to him, red eyes glinting in excitement for what would come. Sam glared at Toni, hatred radiating from every inch of his shivering body. They could do their worst and he would tell them nothing.
After all, he had nothing left to lose.