Chapter Text
"Now this is fucking fantastic!"
Lying on a cold floor was a dirty individual, bleeding from every inch of skin visible. His clothes were tattered to shreds, hair disheveled to the point where it looked as if it hadn't been washed in weeks, and a weak voice as he muttered sarcastically. He pulled at a cuff that held him in place against a steel pole jutting out from the floor, grimacing at the pain he felt with every movement.
There were no sounds, no smells, nothing that could tell him where he was. The only thing he saw was the pulsing light from a bulb on the ceiling, glaring at him, watching his every movement as he pulled at his arm, trying his best to release himself from the confines of his imprisonment. There were no windows and no exits, except for a large, steel door, and he could deduce that he was underground somewhere, in some mysterious place, trapped to suffer alone in silence. Where else could silence be so deafening? He wanted to scream in frustration and anger, unable to believe he was caught in such a predicament. He had been so careful, managed to fight them for so long, just to be caught like this, thrown into prison and tortured, so they could extract what they needed from him.
"God dammit!"
He screamed, a long shout that rang through the quiet, breaking the calm and creating chaos all around him.
The temperature of the room suddenly skyrocketed, and he was sweating profusely in moments. The heat was scorching; he could hardly stay seated on the floor without feeling the pressure building around him, clawing at his calm and tearing it to pieces. Sounds exploded in vivid detail, droplets of water from the ceiling, the sounds of shouts and screams, sickening laughter, and the very foundation creaking around him. They were enough to drive any man insane.
He crawled toward the wall in a rush, sitting against it, holding his hands against his ears in an attempt to return the silence. He had craved something, anything to break it, but now, his ears were being assaulted. Before he could shout again in panic, he heard the distinct bang of a door. He dropped his hands immediately, staring fixated at the large steel frame several feet away. Gripping his knees to his chest, tears streamed from his eyes in a rush. He wanted nothing more than to drop his head and look away, but something kept his gaze plastered to that door. It was a force, a bright beacon that called to him, whispering his name and motioning him forward.
Light burned through the creaks, blinding him momentarily, and for a moment, he was glad. He had to close his eyes to the assault, the pain was too great. A rippling buzz tore through the sounds, deafening him, making him fall onto the ground in agony. Then panic swallowed him whole and tore at his mind, ripping the last semblance of sanity he seemed to possess to shreds. He screamed at the top of his lungs before he began to shake uncontrollably, his eyes bulging out of his head in expectancy, as if he knew what was to come when whoever was behind that door reached him. They were going to torture him again, rip his body to pieces and then heal him as if it was nothing, just to play with him all over again. It was a miserable existence, being the plaything of demons and being thrust around and knocked silly for their enjoyment.
The sounds and the light fell out of existence just as quickly as they had come, but he was already ruined by them, crying frantically. The door opened, more-so it flew off its hinges as a creature stepped inside, walking toward him. There was another light shining through the doorway, but it was much less blinding than the last. It seemed to surround the creature and poured through his very soul, and though he was terrified, he began to take solace in the fact that calm swirled from that body and suffused through him. He could make out a silhouette centered in the limelight, strong and tall, and it descended upon him. The last thing he remembered was a pair of piercing blue eyes as he fell into oblivion.
"Dean? Dean!"
A frantic voice was calling him, pulling him from the abyss and dragging his mind out of the dark.
His eyes fluttered open, expecting to see black eyes peering down at him with ill-content. Instead, familiar brown met his gaze, and in that moment, he could hardly contain himself as several fat tears rolled down his cheeks. He gripped the broad shoulders above him tightly after pulling himself up, and practically slammed his brother into his chest, arms wrapping around him instinctively into a bear hug. He could feel the sudden gasp of surprise, but he didn't care. Months had gone by since he had last seen Sam, ever since they had learned that he was meant to be the true vessel of Lucifer. It had hurt him so deeply, ravaged his core, and he couldn't help but escape. Sam had left him because it wasn't wise to be near him. As he put it, he didn't want to put anyone in danger because of what he was meant to be. Dean had thought it best to separate, but it had been hard.
The worst part about the entire ordeal was when Zachariah had sent him forward in time. He had seen the future, knew what was going to happen, how Lucifer would take control of his brother after he said yes. After that day, Dean had tried anything to get his brother to come back, but he had never answered his phone. For two weeks, he had done nothing but look for him. It took a lot out of him; after all, he was the one to send his brother away, telling him they were better off apart for a while. It would be his fault if his brother truly decided to say yes, and he continued on until he could no longer. He had endured, hunting on his own, until the day where he had been trapped by several demons. There was no help coming for him at that moment, and they had grabbed him.
He remembered everything that had been done, from the stinking cage they had him lying in the first few nights, surrounded by feces and the stench of death, to the room that had been his prison for several days. He remembered how the demons had ripped into his flesh, so much like his time in Hell, though the agony had tripled due to his human form. He could see them, clear as day, grinning at him as they strapped him to a table. He felt their hands on his body, touching him in ways he had never imagined. Even in Hell, he hadn't experienced some of the torture they put him through – regardless of the fact that Alastair was Hell’s crowning torture-master. He couldn't stop thinking of the ways they had tainted him, and it gave him pause. He gripped his head tightly, hoping to dispel the images that were quickly circulating.
"Did you hear me, Dean?"
Dean flinched at the voice and pulled away, staring at his brother. He didn't smile, hell; he didn't think he was capable of smiling ever again. All of his torture in hell was swirling through his mind, the torture he had still been getting over before this had happened. Now? Everything was much worse, he could envision his time in Hell and his time with the demons on Earth. He sighed before walking away from Sam, still unable to believe his brother was in front of him, alive and well, and not possessed by Lucifer. Before he could go anywhere, however, he glanced in the corner of the room at the second presence. Castiel kept his distance, eyes seemingly burning into his soul, and Dean had to look away from the scrutiny.
"Thanks, Cas," he choked, trying his best to contain the sadness that was welling inside of hin, "dunno what I would have done without you."
The angel had saved him once before, from the fiery depths of hell, and he had rescued him again from the hands of the demon horde. Dean knew this was so because he remembered piercing blue eyes looking down upon him as he cowered in fear. He hated that the angel continued to see him at his worst, but there wasn’t much to be done about it, given the fact that he was his savior. He continued to save him, each time explaining that he would be of use, that God had a plan for him, that he was needed. Though that was certain, he couldn't understand why he was the one that always saved him. There were other angels, other beings out there who needed him as well. He always jumped headfirst into the pit, literally, and wouldn't give up until he had him in his grasp. However, Dean couldn't figure out why it always took so long. By time Castiel had rescued him, each time, he had been broken to pieces. He eyed the angel for one long moment before turning around to look at Sam.
"I'm fine, Sam. Where've you been all this time? I was looking for you for weeks. Couldn't pick up the phone, could you?"
His voice sounded a bit strained, as if he was hurt that his brother hadn't cared enough to look out for him as well.
Sam's face contorted into a frown, and he slumped over in apology. Dean was surprised he didn't tear into his brother's ass for leaving and staying gone when he needed him, especially after how frazzled he had been when he had come back from the End. He had left message after message on his phone, hoping his brother would come back and hunt with him like old times. Dean struggled with emotions for a moment, wanting to feel anger, but the only feeling he had was relief. His brother was safe, he was alive and well, and they were finally together. No matter what had transpired previously, that would never change. They were together again, the Winchester boys, with their mysterious angel in tow.
"Dean… you know why I left. I couldn't put you in harm's way, what with Lucifer practically breathing down my neck."
His voice was cracking, as if he regretted immediately what he said.
"Little too late for that, Sam."
Dean choked, raising his voice just a bit. He was never one for self-pity, or needing pity from anyone else, but damn if he didn't sound like he wanted a shoulder to cry on.
"Look, man, I need some time, okay? I'm glad you're here, but just give me a minute, okay? I need some food, some sleep… Hell, just leave me alone for a day. Don't leave, though. We still need to talk."
Dean turned away from him immediately, and finally started to notice his surroundings, and the pain that was tearing at his body. Though he healed each time the demons tore into him, this last time he was still pretty battered. It was strange, but he ignored it, knowing he would recover in time.
A gasp of surprise left his lips when he came tumbling down from the rush of adrenaline when he first woke up. Everything hurt, and as he looked down at himself, he saw he was covered in bandages of varying sizes. He knew he must look like hell, but he didn't bother with glancing in a mirror. The knowing gaze of Castiel was enough to tell him how vulnerable he must look. Those eyes were filled with concern, no matter how hard he was trying to hide it, and it had Dean feeling slightly strange. He turned his head immediately, needing to think of something else, rather than the blue of his gaze.
Glancing around the room, he noticed it was yet another hotel. He was lying on a soft bed, much unlike the stone he had been lying on as the demons worked on him. There were two beds in the room, one covered with clothes and other essentials. He glanced at Sam before his brother lifted his hands in defeat, leaving the room without another word. Dean was certain he would get another hotel room, and he wouldn't bother him for at least a few hours, and that was just what he needed: just a bit of time to himself before he had to explain what happened.
Lifting his head, he glanced at the angel, who was still staring at him with an intent gaze. He assumed he would have left by now, but the look in his eyes told him Castiel had some things to discuss. After he had freed him from hell, Dean always felt as though they shared something special. Castiel had explained it was a profound bond, or something equally ridiculous, but he was beginning to understand it as he felt the pull between them. They had quickly become friendly with one another; though Dean wasn't particularly sure he could trust him yet. He was still an angel, and those motherfuckers all seemed to be against him. Still, he did continue to prove himself each time he saved him.
"Dean, I…"
For a split second, Dean could see something in his eyes he could not identify. A glint that made the blue seem lighter. But it dissolved into a strong sense of guilt, and he damn well understood that particular feeling. Dean Winchester was the fucking king of guilt.
"What's up, Cas?"
He tried to sound as normal as possible, but his voice was still incredibly strained from all the screaming. He was hoarse, needed a good drink of water or something that would quench his thirst, but he didn’t feel up to the challenge of standing just yet.
Castiel eyed him warily before taking several steps toward him. He stood over the small bed, staring down at him, and Dean found himself feeling slightly uncomfortable. He was practically naked, for fuck sake, only covered by bandages and a pair of loose shorts. He pulled the bed sheet around him, pretending he was cold, and looked up into those blue eyes. Castiel always looked like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Dean could almost believe that he did. Dean moved over a bit, giving the angel some room to sit down so he wouldn't feel quite as awkward. He didn't like the way he was staring down at him. Castiel quietly sat down, and for the first time, he looked away from him. Dean almost thought he looked flustered.
"I could not find you, Dean. The demons took precaution against my kind, barring me from finding the building you were being held in. I… I tried to find you, I even alerted Sam of your disappearance. By the time we found you, it was too late. I am sorry, Dean."
Though Castiel always stared at him, he wasn't looking at him now, and the thought kind of made Dean take pity on the angel. He lifted himself up somewhat, the sheet falling down his chest, but he paid no mind as he dropped a hand on his shoulder. He felt something inching into his subconscious, scratching away at what was true and safe. The way the angel stared at him was unnerving, as if he was the sun in the sky.
"Cas, it's all right. Okay? You hear me, man? You saved me, that's all that matters. Yeah, it was hell, literally, but I can get past it. Don't feel guilty because you couldn't get to me in time, yeah? I'm a big boy, I can handle it. Thanks for getting me out of there. When I saw you, you wouldn't believe the relief that washed over me. I owe you my life, man. Again. It seems like I’m always in your debt."
Dean squeezed his shoulder only slightly, unable to believe he was actually comforting an angel after what he had experienced. He felt bad for putting Castiel through everything he had inflicted upon him. How many times did the angel have to save him from desperate situations before he could take care of himself? He felt as if he was taking advantage of him, a bad feeling if there ever was one, and he wanted desperately to make it up to him.
Castiel glanced at him then, and Dean had no time to prepare for what had happened next. The angel closed the distance between them, and for a moment, Dean had assumed he was back to his lack of personal space self. But it was much worse than that. Personal space was thrown out the damn window when Castiel placed his lips softly on Dean's, lifting his arms instinctively around him, and pulled him close. The feel of warm lips against his was foreign at first, having been in a cage and battered for months, but it wasn’t unpleasant.
Dean's first thought was to push him away, scream bloody murder, and rip the angel a new one. But the feeling was good, something he hadn’t expected. Castiel didn't move away, simply lingered there against his lips, and his heart was beating erratically. Dean's tongue slithered through the angel's mouth, creating a heavenly friction against the angel's own tongue that brought Castiel out of his sweet reverie and into a sudden pit of fire that consumed him. The kiss was sweet, much gentler than most women he’d been with in his short life, and he couldn’t help but fall into it. Months without any kind of positive, physical connection had caused Dean to pull the angel closer, not caring at the moment that he was a man, or not even human, as he rocked against him, tongues dueling sloppily for control.
"Hey, Dean! I-"
The sound of Sam's voice brought Dean out of his lust crazed liplock with an angel, for fuck sake, and he pushed Castiel away from him with a jolt, eyes wild as he stared up at his brother. The angel seemed to take this as a good time to leave, and he zapped away without a word. Dean stared at his brother, and would have laughed at the look on his face, if only he hadn't just been caught kissing his best friend, the angel and man, fucking Castiel! Dean was breathing heavily, and Sam wasn't moving an inch, still staring like he couldn't believe what was happening. Dean came to his senses almost immediately, though the raging hard-on under the sheet was making it very hard to concentrate.
"What the fuck!"
He screamed at the top of his lungs, and Sam ran out of the room in a panic. The scream was out of surprise, and perhaps a twinge of uncertainty. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into, kissing the angel with fervor equal to a horny teenager, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he cared.