FIC: Intervention (Chapter Two)
See Chapter One for warnings, etc
“Dammit.”
Dean crouched down and scooped up what was left of the cell phone he’d given Cas. The screen was smashed into a crazy mosaic, the casing cracked. He knew what a stomped on cell looked like and he doubted Cas had taken a hairy fit and did the damage himself.
He straightened up as Sam came over, and his brother’s face didn’t look like he had any good news.
“Tell me,” he said.
Sam motioned back to the small diner he’d come from. The waitress he’d questioned was standing outside, smoking, and watching them with blatant curiosity.
“She says a guy fitting Castiel’s description was staying over in the motel and came in last night around eight. She remembers him because he didn’t look too good and all he did was drink coffee. A lot of it.”
Dean squeezed his hand around the broken phone, pretending for a minute it was the stupid angel’s neck. “I knew letting him head out on his own was a bad idea.”
“Dean,” Sam said. “You couldn’t exactly ground him or lock him in his room. And we need all the help we can get if we’re going to get rid of the Mark.”
“I get it,” Dean said. “But he’s walking around with septic shock or something because he’s stuffed full of the wrong grace-type.”
Sam gave him one of his dubious looks, and Dean waved him off. “Ok, I get it, that’s not angel biology or anything. So, he was here, then what? He wasn’t?”
“Pretty much. He paid up, went outside to his car, and the last she saw he was talking to three guys and two women. All in suits.”
Dean glanced at Castiel’s car. Doors still locked, engine cold. “Great. Suits.”
“And the clincher is that she says she cleared his table and when she looked back out of the window, all six of them had just vanished.”
He felt a little sick even though he wasn’t surprised. There were only two groups he figured were interested enough in Cas to stage a kidnapping and do it dressed like stockbrokers.
“There’s no sulphur,” he told Sam, “so that rules out Crowley’s personal hit squad. Which leaves us with Cas’s everloving family. I don’t know who’s worse.”
“He said he was trying to build bridges,” Sam said. “Maybe if they did take him, they won’t hurt him, Dean. Maybe they just want to talk.”
“And Cas’s phone got smashed up during some over enthusiastic chit-chat.”
Dean looked over to see that the waitress had gone back inside the diner. It took him ten seconds to jimmy open the door to Castiel’s car, and only a few more to hot wire it.
He got back out and Sam slid in behind the wheel. “If all they wanted was a cosy chat, Cas would have been waiting in his motel room for us. They yanked him back upstairs, Sammy. Back to bible class.”
Sam paled, and Dean didn’t feel happy at the memory either. Whatever was done in cloud cuckoo land to discipline unruly angels, their equivalent of the naughty step had turned Cas into a Stepford angel.
That was back when he was chock full of his own grace. The same treatment, now, if that was their intent - it might kill him. But maybe that was the idea.
“If they just wanted him dead, Dean,” Sam said, like he could read where Dean was going with everything they’d found out so far, “they’d have just ganked him here. Left him for us to find.”
That wasn’t a comforting thought, but Sam was right. Killing was easier than kidnapping, and it gave them time to figure out what to do.
Time probably being spent by Cas having hot needles shoved under his fingernails or whatever other fucked up torture his family could design.
He remembered Alfie then, strapped in that chair with huge screws twisted into his head and his own blood covering his face.
“How the hell do we get him back, Sam? If they took him back upstairs?”
Sam, Sam who usually had the answers to most of their problems, or at least knew where to start looking, gave a helpless shrug. “I wish I knew. It’s not like there’s a civilian entrance. And I doubt our names are on the guest list.”
Dean snorted at that idea. “We’ll be on a list,” he said. “Probably the smite on sight one. Ok, follow me back to the bunker. If there is a way to get in there and snatch him back, I bet it’ll be in one of the books. Thousand years of knowledge, you’d think one of the Men might have stumbled over a secret entrance or something. You know, a way in that doesn’t involve being dead.”
He jogged over to the Impala, and got in. Maybe it was pointless - if Cas could hear him, and things were as bad as Dean feared, he figured the angel would be too distracted to be listening out for him, but he had to try.
I don’t know if you can hear this, Cas. I hope you can, dude. We know they took you and we’re going to get you back. Just…don’t give up, okay? Whatever they’re doing to you right now, we’ll make them stop and we’ll bring you home. Have faith in us, Cas. Please.
As he guided the car into the road, he wondered if other angels could hear him too. And even though he knew it was stupid, he couldn’t help himself.
As for the rest of you feathered fucks, think hard before you put a hand on him. ‘Cause we’ve ganked angels for less and whatever you do to him, I’m gonna do worse to you.
Bold words, he knew, but he doubted it’d make much difference to Castiel’s predicament. He’d never seen any angel back down from him or Sam, even when they had twenty or more kills under their belt. Heaven probably wasn’t too impressed with the Winchesters, which just went to prove how dumb they were up there.
The will of Heaven had met and broken upon their resolve, not once, not even twice, and yet they still didn’t get that it was possible for two humans to jam up the works bad enough to ruin everything.
If those two humans were them, and that was before they had an archive full of lore and weapons at their disposal.
He told himself Cas’s brothers and sisters didn’t stand a chance, but there was a fear gnawing at him that it was the other way around.
They didn’t stand a chance of rescuing their angel, and he was probably never going to see Castiel again.
“Dammit.”
Dean crouched down and scooped up what was left of the cell phone he’d given Cas. The screen was smashed into a crazy mosaic, the casing cracked. He knew what a stomped on cell looked like and he doubted Cas had taken a hairy fit and did the damage himself.
He straightened up as Sam came over, and his brother’s face didn’t look like he had any good news.
“Tell me,” he said.
Sam motioned back to the small diner he’d come from. The waitress he’d questioned was standing outside, smoking, and watching them with blatant curiosity.
“She says a guy fitting Castiel’s description was staying over in the motel and came in last night around eight. She remembers him because he didn’t look too good and all he did was drink coffee. A lot of it.”
Dean squeezed his hand around the broken phone, pretending for a minute it was the stupid angel’s neck. “I knew letting him head out on his own was a bad idea.”
“Dean,” Sam said. “You couldn’t exactly ground him or lock him in his room. And we need all the help we can get if we’re going to get rid of the Mark.”
“I get it,” Dean said. “But he’s walking around with septic shock or something because he’s stuffed full of the wrong grace-type.”
Sam gave him one of his dubious looks, and Dean waved him off. “Ok, I get it, that’s not angel biology or anything. So, he was here, then what? He wasn’t?”
“Pretty much. He paid up, went outside to his car, and the last she saw he was talking to three guys and two women. All in suits.”
Dean glanced at Castiel’s car. Doors still locked, engine cold. “Great. Suits.”
“And the clincher is that she says she cleared his table and when she looked back out of the window, all six of them had just vanished.”
He felt a little sick even though he wasn’t surprised. There were only two groups he figured were interested enough in Cas to stage a kidnapping and do it dressed like stockbrokers.
“There’s no sulphur,” he told Sam, “so that rules out Crowley’s personal hit squad. Which leaves us with Cas’s everloving family. I don’t know who’s worse.”
“He said he was trying to build bridges,” Sam said. “Maybe if they did take him, they won’t hurt him, Dean. Maybe they just want to talk.”
“And Cas’s phone got smashed up during some over enthusiastic chit-chat.”
Dean looked over to see that the waitress had gone back inside the diner. It took him ten seconds to jimmy open the door to Castiel’s car, and only a few more to hot wire it.
He got back out and Sam slid in behind the wheel. “If all they wanted was a cosy chat, Cas would have been waiting in his motel room for us. They yanked him back upstairs, Sammy. Back to bible class.”
Sam paled, and Dean didn’t feel happy at the memory either. Whatever was done in cloud cuckoo land to discipline unruly angels, their equivalent of the naughty step had turned Cas into a Stepford angel.
That was back when he was chock full of his own grace. The same treatment, now, if that was their intent - it might kill him. But maybe that was the idea.
“If they just wanted him dead, Dean,” Sam said, like he could read where Dean was going with everything they’d found out so far, “they’d have just ganked him here. Left him for us to find.”
That wasn’t a comforting thought, but Sam was right. Killing was easier than kidnapping, and it gave them time to figure out what to do.
Time probably being spent by Cas having hot needles shoved under his fingernails or whatever other fucked up torture his family could design.
He remembered Alfie then, strapped in that chair with huge screws twisted into his head and his own blood covering his face.
“How the hell do we get him back, Sam? If they took him back upstairs?”
Sam, Sam who usually had the answers to most of their problems, or at least knew where to start looking, gave a helpless shrug. “I wish I knew. It’s not like there’s a civilian entrance. And I doubt our names are on the guest list.”
Dean snorted at that idea. “We’ll be on a list,” he said. “Probably the smite on sight one. Ok, follow me back to the bunker. If there is a way to get in there and snatch him back, I bet it’ll be in one of the books. Thousand years of knowledge, you’d think one of the Men might have stumbled over a secret entrance or something. You know, a way in that doesn’t involve being dead.”
He jogged over to the Impala, and got in. Maybe it was pointless - if Cas could hear him, and things were as bad as Dean feared, he figured the angel would be too distracted to be listening out for him, but he had to try.
I don’t know if you can hear this, Cas. I hope you can, dude. We know they took you and we’re going to get you back. Just…don’t give up, okay? Whatever they’re doing to you right now, we’ll make them stop and we’ll bring you home. Have faith in us, Cas. Please.
As he guided the car into the road, he wondered if other angels could hear him too. And even though he knew it was stupid, he couldn’t help himself.
As for the rest of you feathered fucks, think hard before you put a hand on him. ‘Cause we’ve ganked angels for less and whatever you do to him, I’m gonna do worse to you.
Bold words, he knew, but he doubted it’d make much difference to Castiel’s predicament. He’d never seen any angel back down from him or Sam, even when they had twenty or more kills under their belt. Heaven probably wasn’t too impressed with the Winchesters, which just went to prove how dumb they were up there.
The will of Heaven had met and broken upon their resolve, not once, not even twice, and yet they still didn’t get that it was possible for two humans to jam up the works bad enough to ruin everything.
If those two humans were them, and that was before they had an archive full of lore and weapons at their disposal.
He told himself Cas’s brothers and sisters didn’t stand a chance, but there was a fear gnawing at him that it was the other way around.
They didn’t stand a chance of rescuing their angel, and he was probably never going to see Castiel again.